Wednesday, May 31, 2006


It is really, really, REALLY sad that my ex-boyfriend has better hair than I do (he didn't when I dated him but he does now). It's pretty and shiny and styled like it should be on a girl's head OR, at the very least, on either a gay or emo boy's. But I can take to heart that the OTHER ex-boyfriend is definately taking after his dad when it comes to male pattern baldness. My dad has more hair (yes, Dad! You have more hair than a 24-year-old! At least I think you do. So, WOO!! Good job!).

There seems to be a pattern forming. After I date a boy he goes metro. I must have a slighter version of my mother's ability to make men (just one really) realize they're gay. Not TURN THEM GAY because you can't really TURN someone gay... just realize it. Go, Mom!

Tuesday, May 30, 2006


- Chocolate.

- Getting distracted when a puppy walks by.

- Ending class early in case of rain that doesn't come.

- Turning in a final assignment.

- Doing the 'celebration' dance and not being the only idiot doing it.

- Pinning your roommate to the floor by laying on top of her and then tickling her thighs with your toes.

- Air-conditioning.

- Actually watching a movie instead of having it on just for background noise.

- SnapPea crispy thingies. I could eat ALL OF THEM, the whole bag. I love them almost as much as I love chocolate and they're a whole lot better for me.

- Playing stupid games with my sisters during the rare moments we're all getting along, and knowing Mom and Dad won't yell at us for being too loud because they don't get to hear us be loud anymore.

- People getting as much enjoyment as they do when they startle me (why don't you people find something that's more of a challenge?!).

- Watching a guy dressed up as a minotaur fall flat on his face at a full sprint.

- Long walks with a good friend on a hot night discussing what's to become of our lives.

- Sleep.

Monday, May 29, 2006


It's my own damn fault. Really. It is.

I mean, I am the one who invented the game... but when you're 16, you really don't think about the consequences of your actions following you, not only through high school, but all of college as well and yesterday, those consequences came down with a resounding "thwap" right in the middle of my forehead.

Yes, I was bested by my future brother-in-law at Lick and Stick (WHICH SOOOO SHOULDN'T BE COUNTED BECAUSE I WAS A-S-L-E-E-P!!! The only way I would have been able to forgive him is if he'd remembered to yell, "whose laughin' now, bitches!").

You may well be wondering what is this Lick and Stick I speak of? Well... um.. I have an annoying cousin, Matthew, who is about 6 years older than me, give or take a few months, and when I was 16 I wasn't allowed to cuss and he SO needed a good talking too so I did the next best thing. I licked my hand and slapped him in the forehead. This later turned into a game where two competing factions... well, attempt to hit the other in the forehead more times with a spit covered hand. GROSS! I know! No one in this family has played this game since I was still in high school so imagine my surprise when my brat of a little sister LICK AND STICKS ME IN THE FOREHEAD! Bitch.

Anyway, a HUGE Lick and Stick battle ensued between me and my sisters and I TOTALLY WON BECAUSE YOU TWO ARE SLOW AND COULDN'T POSSIBLY WORK TOGETHER TO GET ME! HAH! And we left the guys out of it. It was just between me and the sisters, no fiances but this morning! This morning my asshole B-I-L totally Lick and Sticked me at 5 IN THE MORNING WHILE I WAS ASLEEP!

"Don't go to sleep angry. Stay up and plot your revenge." You have been WARNED, Trini!

On another note: They have a POTTERY F'ING BARN OUTLET STORE!!!! (Exit 65 off of 71 - Jeffersonville) I am all about Pottery Barn, Crate & Barrel, West Elm, and IKEA all rolled into one. I love me some mass produced modern design.

Wednesday, May 24, 2006


Kinda, sorta, not really reminds me of the ring Rachel has that I WILL SO STEAL ONE DAY, WOMAN, SO YOU BEST BE HIDING THAT THING IN FORT KNOX!!

Everyone needs their own special piece of gawdy jewelry.

Actually, this one is just sooo very close to the one I love the most...

...which would be this one. HOW. I. LOVE. THEE. Beautiful, gorgeous, you are god's gift to women. I don't want to give you a complex or anything but you've got to be the prettiest lil thing I ever did see. Yes, you are! Come to mama! (ARE YOU LISTENING FAMILY?! YOU BEST BE LISTENING!)


"Chill out! I'll touch your boobs in a minute!"


"Smiley Kyley the vagineer, makes you smile from ear to ear." -Tim

Tuesday, May 23, 2006


In case you so happen to lack some of the finer social graces, I have a couple signs, keys, nuances to look for that might clue you into the fact that YOU are in the running for Favorite Sibling.

Some of us aren't so lucky to only have one sibling, therefore retaining the title of Favorite by default, never to be thwarted no matter how big of a pain in the ass we may be. But if you're like me and happen to have two sprightly, vivid siblings, you have to know the rules in order to keep yourself in the game.

Here are a few helpful hints to know you might be at the forefront of Favoritism:
1. If one sibling sends you an email titled: YOUR SISTER. In this case, sibling A is denouncing all claims and relations to sibling B, thereby subtley blaming you for sibling B's very existance, like I should have drop kicked mom's ovaries on my way out of the canal to prevent the chance that another might come after me. Though that may sound like you're in trouble, it is in fact a good thing IF you know how to play it off. Allow sibling A to bitch and whine and moan about whatever transgression sibling B may have done. Don't add to the bitchfest however, because this may backfire and take you out of the running for Favorite of sibling B's if magically sibling B and sibling A make up.

2. If sibling A ends said email with something along the lines of: "I love you more than Starbucks," you're an almost guarenteed shoe-in. In this caffeine driven, materialistic society, being loved MORE THAN FREAKING STARBUCKS is like someone putting you onto a SOLID GOLD PLATFORM that TOWERS, not only over the world BUT also over the only other possible choice for Favorite Sibling, sibling B.

3. If you're about to be in close quarters (all 3 of you) for more than the pre-specified time limit (varys from sibling to sibling and family to family) and you're already offering to run interference, you'd DAMN WELL BETTER BE THE FAVORITE! DO YOU HEAR ME WOMAN?! YOU WILL NEVER QUESTION MY SUPERIORITY! Not that I think you were, but just in case.

*In case someone reading thinks this may actually have happened, I assure you that NEVER in the last 10 hours have I questioned my position as Favorite Sibling. Not once.


My dream involved DAAP... only about 100x more confusing and complex with a lot more 'secret passages', laughing gas, an elevator, and Dennis Rodman. We had to get the laughing gas away from Dennis Rodman because he didn't want to share it with the woman who was dying and needed it more than he did.


New favorite comedian, Mitch Fatel:
"Small breasts have more personality. They're like, 'Hi, can I help you with something?' and you're like, 'No.... I'm just lookin'."

Monday, May 22, 2006


Over the weekend I asked Dan to help me think of something to tell my sister to get me for my upcoming graduation because "How the hell should I know?" isn't turning out to be a valid response.

"Why don't you ask her for pole dancing lessons?"

(Copious amounts of wicked laughter) "Where did THAT come from?"

"I read it in CityBeat. Apparently (some local club I don't remember the name of) is offering them. It might be fun (said in creepy Dan: I'm-trying-to-bend-you-to-my-will voice)."

"You really think I need to prepare myself with a backup career like that? You know, in case I don't actually manage to graduate?"

"Oh. I hadn't thought about it that way... but yes."

"I'll bet my parents would be so proud."

Sunday, May 21, 2006


I dislike weddings. I am also a senior in college.

And so are a few of my friends.

This means a large number of them are in a race for that next stage of their lives, so during summer 06 there is a plethora of these events to attend, or a smorgasbord if you will (did you see it? See what I did there? I tied in the title. How clever am I?!)

In my 23.416 years, I have been TO more weddings than I choose remember, and I've been IN 4 (technically 5 if you count the time I was a flower girl at a wedding I really don't remember, nor have I ever seen any pictures as means of proof) with plans for a 5th (6th) screaming up here in 2007. Now some of you (Mel) might point out that this is proof that a lot of people consider me a really good friend, and yes, I must say it's almost like a badge of honor TO A POINT. I get the destinction of spending copious (god, I LOVE that word. It's beautiful and almost crass the way it just HURLS itself from your mouth and prostrates about like some harlet and, AND! it so perfectly describes every aspect of my life. A word like that makes me feel as if I'm basking in a pool of language with words floating up slowly, almost gracefully, to the surface like little fart bubbles to erupt into a cornucopia of literary merit) amounts of money (another word I might be a tinge fond of) on presents and parties and a really ugly dress* I WILL NOT wear again no matter WHAT I MAY TELL YOU OTHERWISE! Let us not even speak of color.

I know what you're thinking and no, I am not jealous of the bride (I SAID I'M NOT, DAMNIT!). And this is what gets me. I pride myself on being open-minded, but weddings (specifically WHEN to wed) are the one thing I am so very closed minded about (I'm sure there are other things I'm not thrillingly open-minded about but for the sake of arguement SHUT IT!) I am not ready to get married. I'm not really ready to PRETEND IT'S EVEN AN OPTION, and I have to think if I were more open-minded about it, then I'd have a far greater chance of falling victim to it. I DON'T EVEN WANT TO DATE SOMEONE RIGHT NOW because I might, in the future, let them sway me away from doing something I really want to do or I would hurt them, and, despite my cold-hearted bitch exterior, I hate hurting people.

*Not all bridesmaid dresses I've worn have been ugly but I ABSOLUTELY REFUSE to tell you which ones were in case one of those brides happens upon this site and then SHOOTS HEAT-SEEKING LASER BEEMS OUT OF HER EYES.
**This is also why, in past years, I have REFUSED to catch the bouquet, in case it really does possess some form of magical voodoo that will force me to get married against my will. I'll behave and go up and stand there, but under no circumstances will I make any real attempt to catch the damn thing.
***Except that one time but it was really more of preventing the bride's sister from falling on her bright yellow ass in puddle of mud.

Saturday, May 20, 2006


OH. MY. GOD. Toon Disney has a cartoon version of D-U-N-G-E-O-N-S-&-D-R-A-G-O-N-S!!! WTF?!

It has whips and moaning and a Dungeon Master and a unicorn and Harry Potter with red hair (AND I SO MEAN HARRY AND NOT RON). THE DUNGEON MASTER LOOKS LIKE A CROSS BETWEEN YODA AND ET!

I don't know whether to be disgusted or long for a dungeon master of my very own.

Zombies! Zombies! Oh my god, they have ZOMBIES! This is starting to remind me of Scooby Doo with armour.

Friday, May 19, 2006


I recently started using a new facewash, Clean & Clear: Continuous Control ACNE CLEANSER, with 10% Benzoyl Peroxide (highest concentration you can get, bitches!) to TRY and take care of the adult-onset acne that I so conveniently PHOTOSHOP OUT OF THE PICTURES I POST ON HERE. Is that lying? Mayhaps. Cheating? Most definately, but it's for your protection as well as mine and I haven't gone to FIVE YEARS OF DESIGN SCHOOL FOR NOTHING!

But I digress.

Anyway, this new facewash has a smidge of a chance of drying out my skin. Namely: "skin irritation may occur, characterized by redness, burning, itching, peeling, or possibly swelling."

My skin is starting to FLAKE OFF! EVEN WHEN I PUT LOTION ON! Remember the dinosaur from Jurassic Park with the acidy spit? Sort of like what I imagine would happen to my skin if I had a run-in with that little bastard. BUT! I am totally willing to put up with this if it leads to a marked improvement because let's be honest. I would stick my head in a VAT of acidy spit if it meant nothing more than A MARKED IMPROVEMENT.

So last night, after the "Bridesmaid's Dinner" (my ass, Jenny), I washed my face with said creamy white facewash and laid down to get some much needed sleep, but nary did I close my eyes that my face started to hurt from the dryness. It wasn't so much burning as it was tightness. So I dragged myself out of bed and slathered on some face lotion. THAT is when the burning started. Not all over my face though. Just UNDER MY EYES!! THE MOST SENSATIVE PART OF MY FACE IS B-U-R-N-I-N-G! In tiny little strips of skin. So me, being the take action sort of gal that I am, I went to sleep with my eyes on fire.

And I'm cutting back that facewash to once a day until the fresh underlayer of skin comes in.

Thursday, May 18, 2006


In no particular order:

"I SO did not trip because I've been drinking! I tripped because of the... of the..."
"The cobble stone?"
"YES! I tripped because the cobble stone's all cobbly."

"I've been taking human sexuality, so I have a few pointers for you on how to avoid premature ejaculation."
"Tell him to think about baseball."

"OH! I thought you kept saying 'cracker' and I was all like, 'don't you know that means white people?' I wondered why you kept yelling that across the restaraunt."

"She should be wearing the maternity bra, top off with the flaps down saying, 'Sup fellas! It's my last night as a single lady! Who wants a go?'"

"Red on the head means good in bed!"

"Just imagine, Christina. Three nights from now it will be the best two seconds of your life."
"NO! You shouldn't expect much your first time!"
"Yeah, I told him he probably needed to work on that."

"What if he's really bad at it?"
"He won't be. He's got rhythm."
"That doesn't mean he knows where to put it."

"I'm like a Cadbury Cream Egg! Chocolate on the outside and white in the middle!"
"Does that make you Asian in the very, very middle?"

"HEY! RED HEADED TRIPLETS... TWINS... WHATEVER THE HELL YOU ARE! There's a pole here for a reason."

"We're back here talking about wifery."
"Just because it came out of your princess mouth does not make it a word."

"You can totally grind on him. You'll be married."
"Just make sure nothing pops up on the dance floor."

"YOU GUYS!!! We just sang TOXIC in front of a bar full of people!"
"And I have photographic evidence."
"We should have sang Hit Me Baby On More Time."

"We totally had a cleveage fight while you were in the bathroom."
"Who won?"
"I guess I did since mine are bigger."

"Ow! I need those to be not injured for Saturday!"
"EW! I didn't need to know about that!"

"You can't call me cracker!"
"Fine! Melba Toast!"

*Names have been withheld to protect the ignorant.


Some guy rubbed my arm, then he offered me a pickle.

It was a good dream.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006


While at work today, I wasn't hungry enough to go with everyone else and get real people food so instead I perused on down BY MYSELF to one of the markets to get a little snack. I wondered the narrow aisle waiting for something to jump out at me, which is a literal possibility when you shove THAT much shit in THAT small a space.

Starring longingly into the refrigerated food case, mine eyes lit upon it, cookie dough! Glorious, wonderous, stupendous cookie dough and in my (cough) state, I had to fight every fiber of my being not to inject it directly into my veins right there on the floor and smear gobs of sticky tan goodness across my cheeks while flecks of chocolate chips fall into my hair as I convulse in my sugary coma. Raw cookie dough is not something you eat in front of disgusted coworkers. It is a dish better saved for the privacy of your own kitchen where the only disgusted looks are from your roommates at your refusal to share.

So, instead of embarrassing myself and in order to prevent my butt from ballooning until it would be impossible to exit a normal sized door, I opted for a steaming cup of hot chocolate WITH a more than healthy splash of caramel steamer. It SMELLED divine, but I showed restrain. I waited until I walked ALL THE WAY BACK TO WORK before partaking in the chocolatey caramel goodness. IT TASTED LIKE CAKE BATTER! OH. MY. GOD. Heaven should taste so good. If it wouldn't have been in bad taste, I'd have rolled in it (actually, I chose not to roll in it because I was wearing a brand new shirt AND I HAVE LIMITS PEOPLE).

SO, if you're within 100 miles of some cheap-o convenient store, say a 7-11 or something to that effect, GO! Go and bask in the glory that is drinkable liquid cake batter or, if you prefer, PMS CRACK COCAINE. It's an orgasm in a cheap, styrofoam cup (NOT THAT I HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THAT'S LIKE, MOTHER).

Tuesday, May 16, 2006


On rare occasion, the roommates all gather together in the living room to watch TV. On even rarer occasion, we let Katie have control of the remote.

Normally, these strange and often majestic occasions result in one of us rolling our eyes and asking if there isn't anything else on TV, like Law and Order? Particularly when Katie makes us watch America's Funniest Home Videos. I mean really. How 90's can you get? I'm not exactly a fan of AFV, and not for the standard reasons. It isn't because of the cheesy jokes, or the lame host, or the excessively kitschy graphics. No. I dislike AFV for a more deeply sentimental reason. It makes me uncomfortable to watch people get physically injured, like I ate a bowl of living squids trying to escape.

But on this night, this night the winning video involved no sort of external injury, but rather the glorious pain of humiliation: making a desperately white guy dance.. FOUR TIME! It was a wife and husband duo and she brilliantly had control of the camera. I guess the premis is they play a little game of locking each other out of the house/car and making one another dance to gain entrance. Four times she locked him out and four times his response was nearly identical: a plaintive whine of, "COME ON!" EVERY TIME! One time she locked him out when it was raining, another time she managed to lock him out of the car.. twice.. in the same day.

Well, we roommates have made a habit of copying this game. Namely I lock Katie out of the house. We really do it more for the "come on!" aspect of the whole scenerio but it is fun to watch her attempt the running man. Tonight I even made her do the shopping cart which can be viewed here. (if you're at work, make sure your volume is up REALLY loud)

COME ON! I really doesn't get old.


I am Charlize Theron's LONG LOST TWIN.

I should totally claim royalties from that movie. However much my roommate paid for it, I get HALF for use of my likeness.

What the hell happened? These were SUPPOSED to be professional photos and I look like I just got back from watching NASCAR. I. HATE. NASCAR. And the wings that form at the sides of my head? When did all this start? I don't remember my hair always doing that, or EVER doing that until this year. Then low and behold, one morning my hair starts trying DESPERATELY to fit in with some of my dad's side of the family. I can hear him now, "I RAISED YOU BETTER THAN THIS!"

Now, I am by NO MEANS ANYTHING CLOSE TO PHOTOGENIC. That phase of my life passed away at the young, tender age of 10, EXCEPT FOR ONE MIRACULOUS PHOTO MY MOTHER IS HORDING AWAY FROM ME!!! Seriously, the last photo shoot I had before this one... we took 120 pictures. I liked FOUR OF THEM! AND during this photo shoot, I knew it was barreling down hill like a kamikaze pilot, but one of the guy's there still had the nerve to tell me it wasn't that bad. Yeah? Well, you know what buddy? That's like me telling you your penis isn't that small.

Monday, May 15, 2006


Is it wrong of me that I deem the entire load of laundry needs redone if I so happen to drop ONE pair of panties on this floor as I pull the clothes out of the dryer? Cross contamination! IT'S MY SENSATIVE GIRL BUTT AT STAKE HERE PEOPLE!!!


(This photo is to make my mom happy) Clematis along the front walk ATTEMPTING and FAILING to cover the rusted fence.

Twisty, twirly pieces of rusted metal just PRETENDING to be a fence.

In case you didn't believe me that I do, in fact, have a FOREST as my back yard, here is a pretty little example of what we have left to tear out of the ground. EVERYTHING is coming out that isn't officially title "tree".

"It was cracked already.", "It adds character.", "It was like this when I got here." Hehe, oops.

THE PATH!! THE GLORIOUS, BEAUTIFUL PATH MEANING THE MAIL-LADY CAN'T YELL AT US ANYMORE! Those rocks to the side are what used to be considered the path.

Let the fornication begin!

Sunday, May 14, 2006


I think I may be a bit of a masocist.. because nothing is more rewarding than tearing little tiny hairs from your forehead with hot wax. NOTHING.

And I totally missed a spot.

10 WAYS TO END A GOOD DAY (but make ME laugh at you)

(-1) Walk in late when you're supposed to go anywhere with my dad who isn't the most patient of people AND HE SO DID NOT PASS THAT ON TO ME!

(-2) Let it rain when you're moving stuff and get the TV wet (shh! Mom didn't tell Jaymie about that yet).

(-3) Show up at grandpa's house to move stuff in when both of you forgot the key.

(-4) Pinch your finger rehitching the borrowed trailer.

(-5) Get yelled at by grandpa for putting the dresser and desk in the garage (on the side!) when there isn't any room to put them in the house.
     (+1) Secretly plot to move the dresser and desk behind his car.

(-6) Borrowed truck's airhorns start BLARING for No. Apparent. Reason.

(-7) Get pulled over by an idiotic Jackson Cop for No. Apparent. Reason.

(-8) Borrowed truck's airhorns start blaring AGAIN as you pull over for the cop. In a fit, yank the keys from the ignition and throw them as far from you on the dashboard as possible to stop the bleating. Borrowed truck's airhorns are STILL BLEATING.

(-9) Explain the ownership of the car to the cop twice who isn't actually listening either time.

(-10) Get an $80 ticket for faulty licence plates on the borrowed trailer that SHOULD BE RIGHT BUT THE BMV SENT THE WRONG ONES!)

Rinse and repeat.

Friday, May 12, 2006


I've lived in this house long enough that I've developed a rather nasty habit of imagining, vividly, what I would do with it if I weren't a mere renter but, in fact, owned the property. Most noted of these daydreams has been to cut back (or down entirely) the invading bushes that separate our back porch (it's really more like an awning with steps) from the sidewalk on the south side of the house and "pave" a walkway out of the bricks we tore up from the NORTH side of the house last summer. The current walkway, if you can really call it that, is just pieces of broken up concrete that don't actually cover the whole path.

Only problem with my brilliant plan! I don't have time for yardwork.

Yesterday, upon returning from YET ANOTHER pointless design class, I'm told to go look at the back yard. I assumed Katie just made another feeble attempt to cut back the growth that's consuming what once MIGHT have been a fence and, walking into the kitchen, I expected to see a barely noticable dent in the green wall of death.

It's a dent alright. She cut both of the bushes DOWN. They are mere stumbs where once fierce green tentacles of hate had stood. I would have been thrilled at that sight alone, and then... I see it. Chris, Katie's best friend, kneeling where the broken concrete once dug its ugly tooth into the earth, PAVING MY WALKWAY!! WITHOUT BEING ASKED (by me)!! DESPITE THE RAIN!!

I have NEVER been more excited by yard work and I announced to everyone present that if Chris was my husband, we would totally be having sex in the back yard RIGHT THAT MINUTE, MUDDY HANDS BE DAMNED.

Thursday, May 11, 2006


Monday night Marta and I lounged in the... room next to the lounge. She stretched out on the couch and I stretch out on the floor with my back to the couch while wearing my oh-so-sexy baby blue pajama shorts. The ones with clouds all over them WITH! a black tank top that SOOO doesn't match the shorts. It was late, about 2a.m. and we were watching Law and Order because I have this magical ability to will Law and Order to be on the TV just by my mere presence in a room. What can I say? It's a gift AND HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE FACT THAT LAW AND ORDER IS ON ALMOST ALL THE TIME and I am focused on the drama being spoon fed to me in my little TV coma.

"There's a head in the window."

I glare at Marta incredulously, slowly shaking off the magestic haze that is Elliot Stabler. "There's a what?"

"A head, in the window," and she points to our front door.

Lo and behold, some guy is standing on our porch, in the dark, at 2 IN THE MORNING, starring at us.

"Who the f*ck are you?" but apparently he can't read lips.

Standing up and walking towards the door the first thought that goes though my mind is, "I look really dumb in these pajamas." Second though, "I don't care if your car is broken down, I am NOT letting you into this house." Then I OPEN THE DOOR!!

"Can I help you?" in my second to closest bitchiest tone of voice.

"I was wondering if there was a party?"

"I BEG your parden (when what I really mean is: GET OFF OF MY PORCH!)"

"I was wondering if there was a party."


He mumbles something like an apology and walks away.

WHO THE HELL OPENS A DOOR AT 2AM FOR SOME GUY THEY DO NOT KNOW?! I've been watching SVU! I know what terrible things can happen to a woman, the same damn things that keep me glued to my seat for the hour of my life (or four) Law and Order occupies, EVEN IF I'VE ALREADY SEEN THE EPISODE! I'M. AN. IDIOT. I could have been raped and pillage and left for dead by some dumbass who smelled of old cigarettes BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW ELLIOT STABLER IS TOO BUSY IN NYC TO COME RESCUE ME! That was so worse than the night Marta cat-called the drunk Mexicans.

Monday, May 08, 2006

Attempting a new blog.