New Year's Plans?

10:30 PM New Year's Eve, I'm sitting at work doing Will Call for the casino's nightclub.

Up walk the four most fake, beautiful girls in the casino at the moment. You can tell it took them hours to get ready; their hair is curled and you can tell it took them hours to get on all that makeup. They strut their stuff and walk up to me. Head Bitch says "Four Tickets for (the nightclub)."

I raise my eyebrow. This is not sounding like a will call request. I take a deep breath and ask "For tonight? Do you have a reservation?"

She gets snotty and says "No, we need tickets for tonight."

I can't even put on my sympathetic smile as I say "We sold out earlier this afternoon, there are no tickets left."

Shock and disbelief crossed her face. I don't think anyone had ever told her no before. I could see the wheels turning in her head, thinking of what hot guy she'd met earlier could get her in....fuck her friends, they could find their own way in.

"What? Well, what do you expect us to do? It's New Year's Eve!"

I couldn't help the smirk that crossed my face.

"Well, you could make a Resolution to book ahead next time."

Makes You Think About Herbology In A Different Light

Rodlyman asked if I was sick of the Christmas music. The short answer; always. The longer answer is...well, longer.

Here's the thing about Christmas; First of all, not everyone celebrates it. Yes, I am one of the 2% that does not celebrate the birth of Jesus. In fact, according to some, I killed him. Yes, me personally. By not celebrating Christmas.

It's almost impossible to explain how this time of year makes me feel. I'm gonna try anyway.

Okay...deep breath, all of you. Here we go:

It feels like everyone on earth is a Herbologist. That's right, they think Herbs are the greatest. They worship herbs. You don't mind this, it's just not for you. You believe in something different. Once a year they celebrate their annual HerbFest, when they believe Herbs first came into existence. At least, that's how the holiday got it's start.

The problem is that they think everyone is a Herbologist. Everywhere you go, people are offering you Valerian Root and Herb Tea...and you just don't care. You get worn down with people telling you "The Message" of HerbFest is to bring people together, when really all it's about is material possessions. You get knocked down in a store for a scarf, and you can't get away from the insipid music at every corner. It's not about St. John's Wort, it's not about togetherness. It's about knocking that old lady over in the parking lot so that you can get the closest parking spot to the mall.

That's kinda how I feel about Christmas. I don't have anything against the Christian religion itself, but having it in my face the whole month of December (and let's face it, most of November) tends to make me...let's just say, more than a little crabby.

I know I might stir up a lot of controversy with this post, but that's how I feel. I don't expect a lot of people to understand the way I feel, and that's fine. But I won't change my beliefs.

One of These Things

Good Old Andy the Boy Wonder (Because it's a wonder he has so many cute boys!) asked about why cosmic injustice existed.

Picture This.

The marble floor reflects the perfection that is this girl. Her slender leg is bound by her stiletto boot, which covers most of her leg. It leaves about an inch of flawless skin before her short skirt covers the rest of her lower torso. Her flat stomach defies logic, and her near perfect breasts make every man a "boob man."

Walking beside her stands a man who looks as if his last ten was when he was a toddler. His pock-marked face looks like a white sheet, and you can almost see the original Star Wars Trilogy flicker in his eyes. He's just dying for you to ask him about his stamp collection.

As you watch the two exchange a kiss, you can't help but think..."why?"

On one hand, it could be like one big Sesame Street Game (you remember it...). On the other, it could just be that opposites attract. It could be that they are actually in love.

It could be that the more attractive one has low self esteem, and thinks that by being with the less attractive one, that makes them more attractive.

I'd take it on a case-by-case basis. Short Answer: Who the hell knows?

Where Did the Old School Bloggers Go?

(suggested by Jamie)

I suppose they all got lives, which I'm insanely jealous about. Or maybe, like me, they suffered a blow that killed their confidence and their ability to blog the way they used to, so they just stopped altogether. Most just seemed to slide into a different space in their life, and there was no room for blogging.

It feels like we either have to much free time on our hands, or not enough. Even the origin of this post was hand-written while I was wasting time at work. And I don't know if it's my state of mind or theirs', but the new generation of bloggers just don't capture my attention.

I continue to be on the lookout for the new Outburst, my first blog crush. Blush, I guess they say. If you find any good ones not already on my blogroll, let me know!

Recently I've re-found Team Gingerbread, and through her found "Why Don't We Get Drunk And Blog?"

I'm not going to give up until I find a bunch of people who blog well and often!

***

Do I want children? Well...every now and then I see a kid that makes my ovaries itch, as I put it. Basically, a kid so cute that it makes me want to have children. Because usually I think of a child like I think of having a dog: Damn cute, but I would hate to pick up the doggy poo.

The other night, the last living baby that made my ovaries itch, needed babysitting. I was asked to babysit and said yes, mostly because they didn't have anyone else who would be able to. So it takes me an hour to get this baby into my car and strapped in, and get the massive baby stroller into the trunk. This is after I get the baby bag stuck in-between the trunk and the stroller, and spend more time than I need to trying to free it.

All the while this baby has started to cry. She needs constant attention, and I'm too burnt out to give it to her. Her constant crying finally wins out in the end, and I spend the rest of the night walking around my apartment with her being bounced all the while.

That cured me of wanting to have children. They give me instant Epstein Barr and their constant crying makes me see why parents sometimes shake their babies or drive them off cliffs.

Every once and a while the urge comes back, and I think about how cute it would be to dress up a baby or teach a five year old new things and watch him or her blossom.

But when I hear them cry, the ovaries stop itching. I am cured. I promised Lover Boy that we would re-visit the idea of having children when I'm about 35.

The Real World, Mega Edition

Lisa B asked when she was going to win the Mega-Millions. I have to wonder if Mega-Millions was kinda like Mega-Bucks.

Winning at either of these, much like Area 51, is fictional. Area 51 doesn't have anything shady going on. Mega-Millions doesn't actually give away any of their money. Each news report saying someone has won is made up and performed by paid actors. Don't you ever wonder when anyone from Sin City wins, and then mysteriously the money is stolen from them, or they die?

Not you, LisaB, or anyone else will ever win Mega-Millions, because the money doesn't exists.

Anyway, It's really Area 54 you need to worry about.

*********
Jamister, you wanted to know if I think Alex and Colie are the new Danny and Melinda on The Real World.

Ah, The Real World. Remember how it used to be, with cute stereotypes like "the country boy" and "the lesbian?" Not the faux lesbian, but the actual girl who would only make out with other lesbians? Remember the harmless pranks, like making bazillions of copies of Aaron's calendar picture and putting them up all over the house? Remember when the house-mates' worst problem was Puck eating out of the peanut butter with his fingers?

Then, there was Danny and Melinda. The couple who made you want to scream at the TV: "You shouldn't be that dependent on another person!" They were two people who couldn't be more unfit for a relationship. Are Alex and Colie on their way to becoming the same thing? I wish I knew, but Denver just didn't sound that appealing to me, so I haven't watched. Danny and Melinda just put me off The Real World for life.

PlayList

DragonFly asked what my top 3 songs were. My top three songs were really hard to think of! Although I've been all about downloading songs to my Creative Zen MP3 Player, I haven't had time to listen to any of it! Even when I'm in the car I'm always talking on my Bluetooth and not listening to the radio. (Okay, before you go calling me a Gadget Geek, it's against the law to talk on your cell phone while driving without one of these. Plus a Razr is hard to balance on your shoulder while parallel parking.) I suppose I can come up with three songs that are constantly playing in my head!

1. Since Lover Boy gave me The Beatles Love for Hannimas (our answer to the holiday season), I guess my first song would have to be Get Back. It's my favorite part of the production, where all your senses are attacked from everywhere.

2. Agony from Into the Woods. If you haven't heard of it, Into the Woods is a musical that combines all the childhood fairy tales into one. The first act sets it up as you know it, then the second act shows when it all comes crashing back down. You know, the breakups, adultery, death...that sort of thing. It's hilarious, if you ever get a chance you should check it out.

3. Clark Gable by The Postal Service. First, check out the lyrics here. I love Postal Service, because you can chill out to their music, or you can listen to the lyrics and be moved. They are my all time favorite. I love Clark Gable because of the lyric "I'll kiss you in a style Clark Gable would've admired." Can you imagine what a great kiss that would be?

I Just Need it to Hold My Stuff

I think of handbags as pure function. When I got out looking for a handbag I look for just a few things;

• Is the price reasonable?
• Will it hold all my shit?
• Does it look like my grandma pawned it off on me? (If it does, I won't buy it!)
• Will it match..basically, is it black?
  

As long as it fits the criteria, I will buy it. It hasn't ever been a problem, me finding a purse.

Not until now.

In-between the last time I found a purse ($5 at Old Navy, it lasted for over a year!) and now, handbags have suddenly become a different thing. It's not longer a place to hold all your shit, but a status symbol.

Coach is the perfect example of how ludicrous the "handbag industry" has gotten. This is a $300 dollar bag from Coach:
Do you see all that writing on the bag? Yeah, that's telling you that it's a Coach bag and it's only made from the best materi--Who Cares??? You just paid $300 to advertise for Coach! A quick Google search showed me that there are some handbags that cost more than I paid for my car. My car!

Regardless, my $5 bag from Old Navy is about to die on me. I had to go shopping for a new bag. I ended up paying $75. If you are grading on a curve, that's not bad.

But I'm still angry I had to pay that much for a damn bag. It better last until I die, because I never want to spend that much money on another bag again. The label says it's Kathy Van Zeeland. In fact, Kathy included a little note inside the handbag thanking me.

I'm glad someone is happy about it. I'm still a little sick to my stomach. Maybe it'll grow on me, but for now it's functional, and I'm content.





Do you think I made the right decision?

Top TV Boyfriends, Part II

So, I don't watch as much TV as I thought. So we are switching to movies!

Rhett Butler from Gone With The Wind

How we'd meet: We'd meet at a party and he'd offer to be my escort home. He'd bring me back sexy stockings from Paris, and a romance would blossom.

How it would end: Two Words: Belle Watling.




Gilbert Blythe from Anne of Green Gables

How we'd meet: We'd grow up together, never officially meet.

How it would end: He would get tired of me trying to make up my mind, and tell me to go out into the world and forget about him. I would tearfully agree.




Prince Henry from Ever After

How we'd meet: His carriage would nearly run me over. Being chivalrous, he would insist on taking me to my destination. The destination would happen to be my home. He would show up later in the week and ask me to a royal ball.

How it would end: Some stupid law about how he has to marry a real princess, and a Jewish American Princess doesn't count. Mmph.





Joe from Bend It Like Beckham


How we'd meet: I'd be writing a story on girl's footballing, and compliment his coaching abilities after a game. I'd then ask him out for a drink. I'd fall in love with his adorable accent, and we'd have a whirlwind romance.

How it would end: It was never meant to be; his life is in England, and mine is in America. I'd promise to write.



Leopold from Kate and Leopold

How we'd meet: I'd be Meg Ryan (Kate)'s much younger and prettier friend. He would just find me more charming than her because...well, I am.

How it would end: I'd eventually get sick of his gentlemanly ways and tell him to get a real job.

Is Now A Good Time to Panic?

I was going through my old blog posts and came upon this. Seems I've been having these panic attacks awhile now, doesn't it???

***

I woke up tired beyond tired. Tonight I had been dreaming that I had walked into a giant cage full of birds at the zoo to find them all dead. Their bones had crunched under my feet as I accidentally stepped on them.

I woke with a start, still freaking out.The feeling hits me like a ton of bricks; my rib cage is screaming for air. The pain is sharp but confusing. I take deep breaths and it doesn't help. I look over at Lover Boy, not wanting to wake him up. Maybe I just need to hit the bathroom and throw up.

By the time I get to the bathroom the feeling has worsened. I feel the air coming in and out of my lungs, but my brain doesn't seem to be registering it. I want the feeling to stop; it is starting to scare me. I sit in the bathroom waiting for relief for what seems like hours. Suddenly it becomes clear; I need water. I'm dehydrated, that must be the reason I feel like I can't breathe.

I crawl into the kitchen, the trip itself taking decades.How can we be out of water? Now that I've grasped onto the fact that cold water will make this feeling go away I can't possibly live without it. The sweat drips down my face as I pull myself up to the kitchen sink. I must look a sight, my face contorted with pain and my breath short and quick. A handful of water seems to keep me from panicking, but now I'm so hot I could die. Thoughts come into my head, the bath, going out on the porch. The think I want to do the most is wake LB and make him take me to the hospital.

More than once I think this is it; I'm going to die on the floor.The cold linoleum in the bathroom does little for me, and I go for the facet once more. I fill up the sink with cold water and stick my face under. I stay under for as long as I can hold my breath. The pain is duller now, but still there. I begin to breathe normally. I try sleeping on the couch, but there is no position I can take on there that doesn't hurt. Finally I give up and crawl back into bed. Sleep is far away, but it still comes before dawn.

Top Ten TV Boyfriends, Part I

V boyfriends... they are the boyfriends that don't exist, yet you wish they did. Here are mine! Jamie actually told how the relationship would end. I'm going one step beyond and making up a cute story for how we met. Yes, I have to much time on my hands.

Here are the first five!

Doogie Howser, M.D.

How we'd meet: I'd get a piece of food stuck in my throat and he'd perform the Heimlich on me. He'd get Florence Nightingale Syndrome and we'd start dating. (By the way, in this fantasy I'm the same age he was in the series. Don't get any gross ideas!)

How the relationship would end: I'd leave him for Vinnie. What can I say, sense of humor and a healthy sex drive always wins out in the end.





Aidan Shaw from Sex and the City

How we'd meet: I'd be writing a piece on unique furniture stores and come upon his. After a innuendo-infused interview he'd invite me to dinner.

How it would end: I'd want him to try and go global with his talent, and he'd be content to just stay in New York and make enough to live comfortably.



Jordan Catalano from My So-Called Life

How we'd meet: I'd finally get up the courage to talk to him in the hallway and I'd say "Um, did you drop your pencil in Bio last period?" and he'd say "uhhh....I don't think I, like, own a pencil." Two periods later we'd be making out in the boiler room.

How it would end: I'd be disheartened that he didn't care about graduating, and all I got out of him were a few driving lessons and peer pressure to have sex with him. I'd go after the good guy next, thinking I had cured myself of bad boys forever. I'd be wrong.



Logan Echolls from Veronica Mars

How we'd meet: In class, on my first day. I'd give a snarkier answer to the teacher before he could do it. I'd get in trouble, and he'd go out of his way to get in trouble too, just to spend detention with me. Sure, he's an obligatory psychotic jackass...but man is he sexy and quick with the wit.

How it would end: After I suspected he was cheating on me. A guy can only go to "Mexico" to go "surfing with the guys" so many times, ya know?



Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer

How we'd meet: After seeing that Buffy is a self-centered bitch that's only using him for sex, he'll be heartbroken...and turn to me. I'll console him right into the sack.

How it would end: After he gets to clingy, I stake him in his sleep. I'll do anything to get out of a rough breakup.

Panic Attack

Lover Boy looked up at me and said “There is only one solution. We are going to have to divide by two.”

With a gasp I sit up in bed. My heart is racing, and my chest is collapsing. I can’t breathe. I take my breath is serrated gulps. I can’t remember what was going on in that dream, but suddenly I am sick.

I take it into the bathroom so as not to wake LB, and lay a towel on the floor. I try laying down on my back…no good. Still can’t breathe. I feel like my chest is collapsing onto itself. I can obviously breathe, or I would be dead by now, but my chest hurts so bad.

Maybe it’s food poisoning. I have to throw up. If I throw up I’ll feel better. I don’t have the energy or the boldness to stick my finger down my throat. I have to throw up in order to get my chest to stop hurting so much.

I’m so frustrated because after what feels like forever, all that comes up is my stomach acid. I need to feel better, it hurts so much, I need to find a solution. My sobbing and gasping for breath wakes LB, and he feels terrible because I can’t tell him what to do to make me feel better. Finally a flashback to my junior year of high school makes it clear that the inflammation in the cartilage in my ribs must be back. I ask LB to get me a heating pad for my chest and lots of Mortin.

Two days later, and my ribs still feel like they have been hand dipped in acid and are slowly eating away. When telling my mom about this, she reminded me that I had pneumonia when I was a baby 3 times in 2 years. It might be something worse.

I think I need to find a doctor.

Funny, I Don't Feel Secure

Sadly, the 1st class line and the wheelchair access line merge into one before going through security. This is the line I need to be in as well, so I’m walking through the wheelchair line when out of nowhere a man comes from the 1st class line and cuts me off. I, being sleep deprived and crappy, come *thisclose* to telling him to get the hell out of my way, but then I just let it go. What’s one more guy in front of me?

Then a guy who uses the excuse, “Well, I’m with him so I need to get in front of you” shoves me from behind. I’m so shocked by his gall I almost hit him, but because I have to spend at least 15 more minutes with these guys, I just bite my lip. I’ll laugh when I get to see the holes in their socks…well, at least their geeky ass socks.

Then they take like 45 seconds going through their bag trying to find their tickets and their identification. They JUST had them at the last checkpoint. Somewhere along the stretch of 10 feet they lost their boarding passes. But they had to be in front of me! For one glorious moment I went into revenge fantasy land and kicked them both square in the face, told them they didn’t deserve first class, and then cut in front of them.

Nothing is Funny There Anymore

I used to love it here. People watching here used to be so fun. But now everyone is uptight and angry, looking to get out as soon as possible. Everyone is anal about their personal space bubble, but it’s to crowded to observe it, so everyone is slightly uncomfortable. It’s so small though, you just forget the emotion is there.

I’m not thinking about this as I sit at the information desk and wait. The only thing I’m thinking about is the fact that I was on my feet for 6 hours yesterday, and all I want to do is sit down. I’ve already visited the Starbucks to try and wake up, but it doesn’t work. I’m still tired and burnt out from trying to find a spot in long term parking. I remember the old man who asked for directions to the exit, and I couldn’t help him. He wandered off, and I absentmindedly wondered how long he had been wandering around. I imagined him as a young man, coming to pick up his new bride, but losing his way and wandering in long distance parking for all eternity.

Suddenly there is a horrible noise that jolts me from my thoughts; like a car crash, but I am inside. The grinding of metal and then a snap; I look wildly around to find the source of the sound. After a minute I find it; the escalator had broken off a piece and it had jammed into the machinery. I’m amazed at how scared I had gotten so quickly, almost as if I were on edge and I didn’t even know it, just because of the very building I was in. I looked around and saw that I wasn’t alone; men and women alike were clutching their chests, as if to stop their palpitating hearts from beating so loudly. All of us were shaken to our core, and all because of a broken escalator. Had this been in a mall, no one would’ve even noticed that the escalator suddenly grinded to a halt. I heard a security guard say “At least there was no one on it when it stopped, they would’ve gone flying.”

Five years later, and we are all still terrified in the airport.

Airport Woes

I used to love it here. People watching here used to be so fun. But now everyone is uptight and angry, looking to get out as soon as possible. Everyone is anal about their personal space bubble, but it’s to crowded to observe it, so everyone is slightly uncomfortable. It’s so small though, you just forget the emotion is there.

I’m not thinking about this as I sit at the information desk and wait. The only thing I’m thinking about is the fact that I was on my feet for 6 hours yesterday, and all I want to do is sit down. I’ve already visited the Starbucks to try and wake up, but it doesn’t work. I’m still tired and burnt out from trying to find a spot in long term parking. I remember the old man who asked for directions to the exit, and I couldn’t help him. He wandered off, and I absentmindedly wondered how long he had been wandering around. I imagined him as a young man, coming to pick up his new bride, but losing his way and wandering in long distance parking for all eternity.

Suddenly there is a horrible noise that jolts me from my thoughts; like a car crash, but I am inside. The grinding of metal and then a snap; I look wildly around to find the source of the sound. After a minute I find it; the escalator had broken off a piece and it had jammed into the machinery. I’m amazed at how scared I had gotten so quickly, almost as if I were on edge and I didn’t even know it, just because of the very building I was in. I looked around and saw that I wasn’t alone; men and women alike were clutching their chests, as if to stop their palpitating hearts from beating so loudly. All of us were shaken to our core, and all because of a broken escalator. Had this been in a mall, no one would’ve even noticed that the escalator suddenly grinded to a halt. I heard a security guard say “At least there was no one on it when it stopped, they would’ve gone flying.”

Five years later, and we are all still terrified in the airport.

Naive Plastic

“I feel like I should be writing down our medical history or something” I said to Lover Boy, my pen poised above the clipboard. We had been suckered into a time share presentation, but promised a trip of some kind at the end of the 90 minutes (read: 2 ½ hours).

“TDG and Lover Boy?” A voice rang out. We stood up and faced our presenter.

Oh. My. God.

I realized at that moment, that I was sheltered. My whole life, I’ve never really been exposed to life. By watching a lot of TV I have fooled myself into thinking that I know everything about everything. You can see a Giraffe on TV or on the internet, but it never prepares you for the real thing. This woman was my Giraffe.

I spent the entire presentation staring at her face, amazed. I had never been that close to so much plastic surgery in my life. Her eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline. Lisa Rinna had nothing on her upper lip, and her lower lip was worse. She had the biggest cheek implants that should be allowed. Lover Boy said he knew it was a boob job. The nose was so strange it had to be a job.

After walking behind her for so long, it became apparent that the only thing she was saving up for was an ass job. She talked about how she loved to travel, and her ex-husband proposed in front of the Eiffel Tower, and how her now-boyfriend gets to travel all over, but she doesn’t have the money now.

I felt bad, because I wanted to be interested in what she was saying, but I stared at her face and couldn’t tear myself away. I felt terrible, and found myself fumbling over words. I had no idea that anything could shock me that much close up.

I’m naïve. Who knew?

Apple Pie Shooters

I took off my shoes and walked into the party which promised to be interesting. It was at the house of a gay couple, celebrating a lesbian friend’s birthday. I felt like I was with plastic surgery girl all over again as the party wore on. I have never seen that many butch lesbians in all my life. I swear they could’ve all passed for skinny little boys.

There was a particular couple that was so attractive I couldn’t keep my eyes off of them. The first girl was Asian and dressed like an Anime character, with an impossible black dress and some sort of funky ankle cuffs that looked faux-dominatrix. Her girlfriend I mistook for a boy until the moment she spoke. She sported a faux hawk and a white wife beater with a handkerchief tied expertly around her neck.

It all started with the drinking game. My fabulous friend (FF) brought the ammo needed for Apple Pie Shooters, and although I didn’t partake it looked delicious. AnimeGirl went first, and the people administering the shot surrounded her.

First the cupful of apple juice was administered. The girl pouring the apple juice was sloppy and spilled it all over poor AnimeGirl’s face, but she just wiped it away and the next person dropped in the shot of vodka. FF squirted the whipped cream into her mouth, and the last person topped her off with a dash of cinnamon. She was instructed to close her mouth and shake her head, then swallow.

She concurred that it tasted just like Apple Pie. She floated out of the chair and walked over to Handkerchief Girl and said “Taste it, Baby” and swept her up in one of the Top 5 Greatest Kisses I’ve Personally Witnessed. They made out like it was going to be the last time, and all of us stopped to stare. Later even FF admitted that it turned her on.

They were almost the same height, and for the rest of the party Handkerchief Girl would lean into AnimeGirl and they would have a steamy make-out session against various walls. They never failed to stop the party every time they did this, and we would all stare, because it was the most sensual thing we’d ever seen. These girls were hot, not because it was two girls, but because of the passion they had for each other.

I’ve seen porn, I’ve seen romance movies, and I’ve seen stage productions that were meant to turn people on. But I’m telling you, those two girls turned me on more than any of those things.

Just Fat, Thanks

Lover Boy and I were going to a show with some of our friends and co-workers. The girls decided to get dressed up, since we never get a chance to.

I straightened my hair and did my “smoky eyes” makeup, and I decided to wear my halter dress. This dress is my favorite because it hides my stomach, the place where 90% of my weight is. I still looked sexy, and felt confident as we walked out the door.

The opening act was fabulous, a beautiful woman in a brilliant red gown who sang like a dream. There was a 20 minute intermission after her, so I stood up to let everyone out, leaning back like everyone does (even though they know it’s not going to, it just ends up with you bending backwards over your chair).

Lover Boy’s newest co-worker was walking past and suddenly squealed; “Oh my god, you’re expecting???!!!” in her cute little high pitched voice. At first I had no idea what she was talking about, until I looked down and her finger was pointed right at my stomach.

I told her she wasn’t all that cute anymore, then I went to go stand in traffic.

Downward Mobility

“You do the best you can within the concentration camp. It’s very hard to keep your spirits up. You’ve got to keep selling yourself a bill of goods, and some people are better at lying to themselves than others. If you face reality too much, it kills you.”~ Woody Allen.

“I didn't want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn't know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I'd cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.” ~Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar.

“Actually, it was only part of myself I wanted to kill: the part that wanted to kill herself, that dragged me into the suicide debate and made every window, kitchen implement and subway station a rehearsal for tragedy.”~ Susanna Kaysen, Girl, Interrupted.

“If only my life could be more like the movies. I want an angel to swoop down to me like he does to Jimmy Stewart in ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ and talk me out of suicide. I’ve always waited for that one moment to set me free, and change my life forever…but he won’t come. It doesn’t happen that way.”~ Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation.

I could’ve written these words myself. Out of all the literature I’ve ever read, these all cut to the heart of what I feel.

This worries me, because all these people went crazy. They were all certainly depressed. I’m sure if I went to a psychiatrist I would be diagnosed with all kinds of neuroses, but I know for sure I’d be diagnosed with severe depression. In reading Girl, Interrupted, I think I might also have a borderline personality.

I worry about myself more often than not, but I don’t have the time to be depressed. You better believe the second I’m rich I’m going to succumb to lunacy, and when I come out medicated and write about my downward spiral into the dark recesses of my mind, you can say you knew me when.

French Tattoos.

“Oh wise TDG, Friend, Confidant, Driver of a fantastic vehicle... knower of many things...for years I have wanted a tattoo, but been unsure of what to have permanently imprinted on my body. Then upon hitting my *gulp* thirties I realized that the time may have come and gone. My sister imparted these words of wisdom "Loser, your nickname is Dragonfly - get an effing dragonfly!" So... Should I get one... and where?” ~Dragonfly

It’s never too late to get a tattoo…until the moment after you get it. Then it’s too late to change your mind. They are forever, and even when removed they leave your skin icky and not aesthetically pleasing. The only time when it’s not possible for a tattoo to possibly not be a mistake is the day before you die. If you are not 100% sure you want one, don’t get it. As for what you want and where, you are the one who has to live with it. I would suggest a place other than your forehead. Good luck! ;-)

“Should I bite the bullet and take Term 3 of my French class even though I told off my teacher after level 2??? Keeping in mind it is the same teacher for level 3???”~Dragonfly

How badly did you tell her off, and how badly do you really want to take Term 3 of French? If the answer is “not that badly” and “Pretty badly” then take it again. Bring her an apple and apologize for blowing off steam, and blame it on your period.

Life Lessons

“Why do you think I procrastinate on cleaning my room (barracks room) so much, but yet keep a clean apartment when I have one?”~ Angel Girl

Have you ever heard the phase, “Don’t shit where you eat?” The Urban Dictionary defines it as “do not have romantic relationships with any co-workers" Basically, you don't want to make yourself uncomfortable (by potentially having a romantic relationship get ugly, or "shitting") at the place where you work ("where you eat").”

I personally think it has another definition. If it doesn’t, I’m going make it up right now. In fact, I might switch it around a bit.

Right now your barracks are where you stay, but it isn’t yours. It’s not your space, so therefore you don’t really care about it. It’s not a place where you are going to invite friends over and have a drink. Your apartment is.

Your apartment represents all that you are about. People come over and see what you represent by your apartment, and only a single video game-playing bachelor doesn’t care about a messy apartment.

I don’t know about you, but I feel like a failure when I can’t keep 950 square feet clean. It’s a reflection on me.

But no one sees your barracks, so who the fuck cares? Am I right?

“What's the absolutely worst thing you've ever eaten?”~ Rodlyman

I’ll give you the worst thing I ever drank, and the worst thing I’ve ever eaten…although technically they were both drinks.

The worst thing I’ve ever drank was “The Lemonade” from The Master Cleanse Diet. It’s a drink consisting of:

1. Hot Water
2. The Juice of 2 Lemons
3. Cayenne Pepper
4. Maple Syrup

It was the most disgusting thing ever. On the second day of the diet I got acid reflux so bad I had to stop. That crap was burning my esophagus, and to this day when I think of that drink my throat hurts.

The worst thing I’ve ever “eaten” was a Quail Egg Shooter at a sushi bar. It was just like swallowing a raw egg…and all the icky goodness that comes with it. I'm always up for trying new things at the sushi bar, but I'll never try that again!

Ewww, Stinky

"Have you ever worn patchouli?"~Jamie

That reminds me of a great story;

My mom tried to go to her college class back in the day, and a police officer stopped her. He said to her "I'm sorry, but you can't go in there."

"You don't understand, I have a test in 15 minutes." My mother said.

"No...you don't understand; There is a riot going on on campus, and we can't let anyone in there."

Now, my mother has an agenda. She's bold. She's fearless.

Or maybe she's just crazy. But I choose to think she was/is Bold! Fearless! She had a test she needed to get to, so she told the policeman off, and walked to her class. Her professor wasn't there, and the test was put off. But she was there!

Later in life she would walk through a riot to get me from work, and I appreciated her boldness ever since. You see, my mom was fabulous hippie. True, she never walked in a protest, but she had the fashion side down pat. She only washed her jet black hair once a week, and she worked at a shoe store for a stint, so she had fabulous shoes. She had style, she had flair...and she kept everything. So earlier in my life I was a fabulous 60's throwback in my wooden wedge shoes and my bell bottoms.

But sadly, both my mother and I have an aversion to certain fabrics. So everything we shared from the good old sixties was cotton or cotton-like. Hemp, or patchouli, was far too itchy.

So, No. Never wore it. Even though I'm half hippie.

Death Machines

A few days ago I was driving down the freeway. It was unusually uncrowded, and I came upon a cement mixer. I was in the fast lane and the mixer was in the slow lane, but it was going fast enough I stayed behind it about 4 or 5 car lengths.

Then, suddenly, a cloud of dust exploded out of the bottom of the cement mixer and I watched like it was slow motion; the blown tire wrapped itself around the wheel base once more before pulling free and shooting out from underneath the truck.

It was headed straight for my brand new windshield.

I slammed on my brakes and felt my car fishtail. I let up on the brakes and straightened myself out. The remains of the tire had come within feet of my windshield. I finally came out of the dust and watched the mixer pull over and the driver get out to examine the damage.

These sort of things always happen to me, and I always say that God hates me, but my Lover Boy always says that if I had only done something different the result wouldn't be the same.

The night I told him about my accident he said, "Okay. It's official; God hates you."

I Read A Lot

Laughing Frog tagged me. I think she's trying to tell me something.

1. One Book That Changed My Life: Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk. I never knew that a man could have such an amazing insight into women. CP is amazing, and you'll never read a novel by anyone else once you start on him.

2. One Book That You've Read More Than Once: There are dozens that I've read more than once, but I guess I'll have to say Wake Me When It's Funny by Gary Marshall. His autobiography is great and so funny, I can't help but read it at least twice a year. All the behind the scenes action on all his movies are wonderful.

3. One Book You'd Want On a Desert Island: Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden. His ability to take you away to another land is something I would need if I was stuck on a island!

4. One Book That Made You Laugh: The Nanny Diaries by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus. The tone tells me most of the story is true, and you have to laugh at how completely stupid parents can be. I really hope they don't screw this up as a movie.

5. One Book That Made You Cry: Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery. I love that book, and it was one of the few books that I just grew up reading. I honestly don't remember the first time I read it.

6. One Book That You Wish Had Been Written: Biography of Chuck Palahniuk. I want to know what happened to him to get him to come up with the crazy ideas.

7. One Book That You Wish Had Never Been Written: Anything by Jane Austen. The women kills me. I can't handle the crap-tacularness.

8. The Book You are Currently Reading: Everything About Me is Fake...And I'm Perfect! by Janice Dickinson. If you read her books you wouldn't hate her so much. Trust me.

9. One Book You've Been Meaning To Read: Angels and Demons by Dan Brown. I finally finished The Da Vinci Code, I've heard that I need to read it.

10. Now Tag Five People: I'm not evil. Do it if you want to...But whatever you do, click this sad unemployed girl's ads. Thank You.

But, I Thought I Was Awesome...What Happened?

"You don't get along with all people."

At first I resisted it. I mean, I'm totally lovable. I'm funny, I'm cute, and I'm fair. Above all I try to look at both sides of something before I jump to conclusions. I love to laugh and have fun with everyone I interact with.

I'm also extremely self-righteous. I'm vigilante. I chatter a lot. Random things come into my head, and I think they are funny, so I say them. It's hard for me to admit that some people might not like me.

Is this just a healthy self-image, to think that I'm great to be around? Or is it deluded? I try and be nice to everyone, and I never thought I was one of those people that had to...For lack of a better term, "got." You know how some people say "They just don't get me?"

I put everything out there for everyone to see. I don't hold anything back or try to lie unless it's to protect someone's feelings. I like to make people laugh.

I never thought it was hard to understand me.

Mr. and Mrs. Complete Tool

Lover boy and I went to pick up my new car today, and decided to stop by a Sushi Bar/ Benihana type restaurant. They had just opened for lunch when we walked in, and there was only one other couple with a baby just sitting down.

LB and I weren't familiar with the menu yet, so we decided to sit at one of the "we cook it right in front of you" tables. The host lead us to the same table as the couple.

At first the couple didn’t really capture my attention. In fact, we all were asked to move before we even sat down; they were doing construction and they didn't want us to be bothered by the dust.

The wife (Mrs. C. Tool) was skinny and blonde. She was the kind of blonde where you didn't know if it was dyed or not, it was such an odd shade. It must've been natural because Baby Tool had the same hair color. Oddly enough, Mr. Tool had the same hue; only his pink scalp was showing through the thin hair.

A sudden surge of anxiety came over me as we sat down. I didn’t know why, but it was as if the air had suddenly changed. I couldn’t explain it, but it soon became clear to me when our busboy came over to get our drink orders.

"I want some of that beer, you know, that warm beer? Japanese beer...or maybe it’s Chinese, I don't know” Mr. Tool’s voice carried to the far reaches of the restaurant as he continued to berate the waiter. "Sapporo? I need that. In a glass. A cold glass. Like, frosted. Really cold. Do you got that?"

It was then time for Mrs. Tool, who just said curtly "Warm Sake." The poor busboy seemed thrilled with our diet coke and water order and ran off as fast as he could.

The waiter came over and flipped on the heat lamps so that they would be warm for the"show," when they came to make our food. About 30 seconds later Mr. Tool freaked the hell out because it was “too hot.” In fact, he told the manager, the busboy, and the waiter that it was necessary to turn the air on, because he was hot, unreasonably hot. He told them all this within a 30 second span!

Lover Boy and I exchanged looks that said "Dude, why are you sitting at the 'make the food in front of you' table and complaining about the heat? It has to be hot to make your food!" LB and I finally waved the waiter over at the same time and requested we be moved to a table. We tipped him a lot, not because he moved us, but because he had to deal with those people by himself now.

As we were moving to the new table, Mrs. Tool said "It’s so busy in here, usually we are the only ones in here."

"This is their usual spot to eat? We will never eat there again!" I thought as we settled into our new table.

We were only about 20 feet away, but my blood pressure immediately improved! I hugged LB and told him I loved him, and I’m so ecstatic that he will never be like Mr. Tool.

Goodbye Old Pal

Tomorrow is the last day I get to spend with my best friend for the past 7 years. We met my senior year of high school, but I knew Red had personality the moment I saw him. It took some warming up to get used to him. But we became fast friends. Whenever I wanted to go anywhere he was there for me. We went up to the lake...we never got there fast, but we got there and had a good time.

The only time Red ever left me when I needed him is when he knew others were there for me. He never abandoned me, and I've never abandoned him. Until now. I feel tremendous guilt over it, but our time was up. Even though I love him, Red was getting old. Even though I know I can always depend on him, I know his days are dwindling. It kills me that he's getting older, and not looking so hot anymore. I worry about what is going to happen to him when I leave him. How can you not be upset when you've spent the past 7 years in each others presence? We've never been apart from each other more than a few weeks. We have a history together, and you can't expect me to not be a little emotional.

I don't care that he's just a car. Red had personality and style, and my new car does not. My new car is a Black 2000 Camry. Blah. It's bland and dependable and safe, and does NOT help my quarter life crisis. My mother drives a Camry for crying out loud. I need to think of a name for my new car that recaptures my youth, and makes me feel good.

But for now I'm going to miss Red and all the good times we had. I love you Red, you'll always be my first...

You Ask a Silly Question...

Dearest Millo:

It takes 300 1/2 licks to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop.

If train A leaves station 1 at 4pm going 89 mph and train B leaves station 2 at 6pm going 101 mph, the passenger in seat 43 on train 2 eats lunch at 1pm, Mountain Standard Time.

If the answer is: 24 and a live camel, the question must be "What is a popular TV show and the only animal that likes to spit?"

And I didn't even get to eat the cake, so sadly I have none for you!

***

"why do you think i feel anxious around my own sex (women) and comfortable around men?"

Short Answer: Because women are conniving backstabbing bitches who will chew you up and spit you out in three seconds flat. You are anxious because you are waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Slightly Longer Answer: Do you ever notice that it's really only certain women? You are most likely a "guy's girl." Guy's Girls can only be friends with guys, and other guy's girls. Guy's Girls don't bullshit, and they don't play games. All other girls do.

Just so we are clear, if you were ever in a sorority, you could never be a guy's girl...no matter how much you think you are. (Why yes, I AM talking to you.)

Anyway, Girl's Girls are NOT like us. They think everyone is out to get them, they have low self esteem. So therefore, they set out to bring everyone else down. Girls like us are not comfortable around people that are out to get us....male or female. They say women have a sixth sense, and it is just telling you that these girls can't be trusted.

Question answered? :-)

In other news, what in the hell is this? Just me, how do you own shares in my blog? It's a little frightening how much information is on there!

Walking In The Moonlight

In a perfect year, here is who I would have with me and why (Sorry Rod, I can't choose just one);

• Cassanova to have sex with.
• Garry Marshall to write and film a movie with.
• Walt Disney, to visit D-Land everyday with. However, if it finds out that he is anti-semetic, we will spend the year with him kissing my ass.
• Einstein to talk to, to see if he is nice to hang around with.
• The entire cast of Veronica Mars, and watch them film a season.

So, men "go on walks" by themselves. Even when they are in relationships and they can go on walks with their gilfriends, they still occasionally take walks by themselves.

You all know what I'm talking about.

Men would love to know why us girls get all upset when they "go on walks by--" ah, screw it. When they masterbate. MB for short.

Girls love to feel needed in a relationship. Even if we aren't in the mood to have sex, we love it when you ask us. We might act angry, but deep down inside there is a little piece of us that feels great that you want us.

When you MB, you don't need us. When we are in the house and you do it, we feel like you don't need us anymore, which equals you don't love us anymore. Whereas you guys think it's hot when you know we are doing it, it just isn't the same for us.

It almost like a legal form of cheating. We certainly can't tell you to stop, but it bothers us as if you were cheating.

So we pout. What can we do?