Wednesday, May 30, 2007


You might notice a few changes to this blog.

The most glaring (so far) is that my list of authors and books is missing, but also that my archives bar looks funny. I'm attempting, rather unsuccessfully, to make a few housekeeping changes and instead of submitting to my will like a good little tool, blogger is choosing to force itself on me in a most unflattering and unwanted manner.

I've achieved a point where I am, mayhaps, JUST shy of throwing my beautiful, lovely, charming Mac out the window and we all know it isn't nice to put the blame where it doesn't belong and with that being said, I have this to add: FOR SHAME, BLOGGER.

I'm give up for the evening. I'll try again tomorrow.

EDIT: Right after I finished that lament it started working. Oh my shit, this is like the freaking red-headed step-child of upgrades.

NOTHER EDIT: That's RIGHT, Blogger! You will bend to my will!


Girl Roommate? She has magical boobies. Give her a fussy baby and ten minutes, the kid is out like a light. My theory is she sufficates them between her watermelons (not REALLY that much of an exaggeration). Her theory is that they're soft.

I know. Not much of a theory. My borderline child abuse theory? Much more likely.

* * *

Girl Roommate and I spent much of last evening playing with some of the neighbor kids. My contribution to the playing included threatening to dunk one of them in the pool by his ankles if he aimed the hose at me, getting told NO, I DON'T WANT YOU TO HELP ME DOWN THE SLIDE, YOU HEINOUS BITCH! (she's 2, so I gleamed that last part from the expression on her face), and getting smacking ON BOTH CHEEKS for telling said 2 year old that her friends? They went home. Because they did. They really went home. But I wasn't supposed to tell her that I guess.

But it's okay because she provides material.

Like peeing.

"Daddy, I have to pee."

Yes, child, we can see that. You're still doing it.

"I told you to go behind the bush."

And she does. Well, kinda. She wondered over next to the bush and then squatted down in an attempt to check herself to make sure she was done and grabbed at her crotch in a way that would make most baseball players proud.

I then suggested the hose wielder aim it on over to that funny colored puddle.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007


It's a wee bit short. Apparently "between my chin and shoulder" translated to "between my chin and nose."

Why yes, I do know I have a huge ass forehead.

I haven't decided if I like it yet but dear God did I get a shit ton of attention at work today. EVERYBODY and their brother noticed my hair and squealed in delight.

When I woke up on Sunday, I HATED it. We are talking absolute loathing but it has since started to grow on me. The only real problem with the haircut is the number of times it's been compared to a child's, i.e. - my neighbor's 2 year old and my coworker's 7 year old granddaughter.

Charmed, I'm sure.

Before some of the gents I hang out with managed a completement I got some of these little gems:

"Do you like it?"

"I'm not really up on women's hairstyles to know."

* * *

"When did you get your hair cut?"



* * *

"What happened to your hair?"



I got my hairs cut. I have made SEVERAL attempts to showcase a picture of said hairs but it keeps clogging up Safari and then I have to force quit in a huff of annoyance.

So you get this instead.

* * *

My head? Yeah, it's doing that thing again. Remember the demons?

So because I honestly believe him when I talk to him, and because I'm not going to get the reassurances I want when I want them, I've been instead instructed to think of all the things I want to do, research them until my head is ready to explode, and then do them. All to avoid driving myself insane with an imagination from hell.

In no particular order:

  • I want to go white water rafting again.

  • Dad and I are talking about visiting Tiff. Details are not so easy to hammer out with that man. How it will work out is I will basically plan the trip and tell him when and where to show up.

  • I NEED, not just want, I physically need a dog. I don't care what breed though since I recently started to want to name him Johnny Cash (Cash for short), I'm thinking there is no way to go but black. Maybe I'll volunteer at a local shelter.

  • I want to join a pottery class. I always LOVED sculpture and I was always good at it. Now, the reason I have YET to do this is:

    • It's expensive.

    • I don't know when my ticket will finally get punched and I'll be heading to Columbus and I don't want to only be half-way through a class when it is so damn expensive.

  • I want to learn to belly dance.

  • I want to find a job and move to Columbus.

  • I want to finally do that drawing for Tiff and Trini I've been promising for over a year.

  • I want to go camping. For real camping, not Canada camping.

  • I want to be self-assured.

  • I want to visit Dan in Guatamala.

  • I want to build something.

  • I want to live by myself.

  • I want to go back to Las Vegas and go to a show.

  • I want to visit all 50 states.

  • I want to be happy again. I don't want to have to keep faking it.

Saturday, May 26, 2007


Bean and I followed behind Mom as we wondered through the grocery store picking out things for dinner. A container caught my eye and I giggled.

"What is so funny?" Bean demanded, barely turning to look my direction.

"That sign. It says Uncle Mike's Beef Jerky and it reminds me of something Man Friend used to say."

She relinquished her attentive stare from the hotdogs and glanced at me.

"Uncle Man Friend's Protein Injections. Can be taken anally, orally, or vaginally."

Her eyes went wide for a moment and her lips curled into a sneer of disgust. She regained her composure and, never one to miss an opportunity to delve into my sex life, leaned in conspiratorially. "And did you ever do any of that?"

"Nope," I grinned at her. "None of it."

"Really?" she asked incredulously.

My expression turned serious, almost hurt, "Why do you think he broke up with me?"

Her jaw hit the floor. "HE DID NOT!" she hissed.

I cackled maniacally.

She glared at me, still not wholey convinced. "You realize," she huffed, "this is how rumors get started."

Thursday, May 24, 2007


"Our gas bill is only $27."

"A person?"

"No, total. That means we each owe... $9."

"And would you like that in cash or sexual favors?"

"I'll take it in cash please."


"Because I need money bad."

* * *

"Well, since I no longer have a date to Bean's wedding, you and Trini can take mine and Man Friend's room. I just stay with Mom and Dad."

"I already reserved a room."

"I can't stay there BY MY SELF! I'll be all lonely and sobbing into my overly iced mixed drink."

"Well... tough shit. It'll just be a party room."

"Maybe I can talk Bean into staying with me."


* * *

"I'll give you a piece of my gum if you let me try a bite of that bagel."

"Sure, why not."

"Oh, that is actually good. Wanna go halvsies?"

"Yeah, I couldn't eat a whole one."

"Alright, well take your half out of the bag so I don't get it all fingery."

"I don't mind fingery."

"... You might not want to say that in mixed company."

* * *

"I had an ex-boyfriend tell me once that I had very German toes."

"And how long did it take you to walk away from that?"

"We only dated a month. He thought he was smarter than me and THAT just wasn't going to fly."

* * *

"One time, after Rafia and I came here, she stopped really fast while I had coffee in my hand and it went all over me. We're talking up my sleeve and all over my coat..."

"Well... this time might not be much better because I drive like an asshole."

Tuesday, May 22, 2007


Speak of the devil. Guess who I saw today?

My asshat ex-boyfriend.

Yeah, that one.

He was driving. Something he NEVER did when we were dating because he didn't have a car. No, back then it was much easier to use me to drive him and his best friend to the mall and then pretend I had leprocy. Asshole must have had a pair, too, because he still had enough gull to ask me to buy him $150 headphones.

I didn't for the record.

I'm pretty sure he recognized me, too, judging by the three times he glanced my way. Just to be sure.

He still has dumb looking hair.

Monday, May 21, 2007


The much funny that was spewed forth from the everloving assholes I choose to call friends this weekend:

"Your brother called me a whore. Defend my honor!"

"I can't defend THAT!"


"AGAINST!!! I can't defend against that!"

* * *

"I didn't call you a whore. I would need to first see your price sheet to make that determination."

* * *

"Look at me!"

"Oh, he's looking for the twinkle in his eye."

"I'm not going to get it looking at you!"

* * *

"I don't want to buy your ice cream."

"But you have a job (nevermind that I have one too)."

"But I'm not getting paid for it yet."

"But I got you bling! That makes you my bitch. You either owe me ice cream or sexual favors."

"Ice cream it is."

* * *

"On a scale of 9 to 10, how sexy would I be with a beard?"

"Can you even grow a beard?"

"Shut up."

Sunday, May 20, 2007


I've been one, huge, jovial mass this weekend and a credit to my friends. They really did try to cheer me up, but implying I'm a whore and have no honor really only goes so far.

I can't say depression is new to me. I can't say I've never been affected. (Well, I could but a quick glance around this blog might produce some tell-tale signs to the contrary.)

But the severity of it, that's new. It literally feels as though someone has wantonly and maliciously carved out my chest. I feel hollow.

I am a creature of planning. I try, have tried repeatedly, to ease this feature of my personality. But not knowing, spontaneity, makes me uncomfortable. Makes me fret. Makes me analyze again and again the possibilities in my head.

I don't know if you know this about me but I do not have high self-esteem. Part of this comes from my exceptional ability to internalize anger and make excuses. The other part comes from my need for acceptance and terror at being singled out.

It really doesn't matter what I start out thinking, how convinced I am about the truth of something. The demons will come.

They hide in my imagination, and they prepare me for every possible outcome by showing me, over and over, in excruciating detail the worst possible scenerio. They show me bashing all my teeth out my head when I trip over a crack in the street. They show me breaking my neck and impaling my chin on the creepy little light fixture at the bottom of the stairs. They show me alone and lonely.

This is why I respect people who are blunt, people who will be honest with me no matter how much they think it might hurt. Because my demons, they are creative little shits and what they show me is always far worse than whatever the actual truth may be.

I face, for the second time in my life, the prospect that I am very easily discarded, very easily left behind. It happened once when I was 19, which, in all honesty, was my fault and it was my arrogence that caused it. I thought he would wait for me but three months later he was dating a cute little thing with a perfect manicure and was exceptionally content shoving that fact in my face. It crushed me that I was so quickly and thoroughly replaced. I didn't date again for three years, and when I finally did, he was an asshole and verbally abusive and I can't fathom now what I saw in him. Luckily, that mistake only took up a month of my life.

I blame myself a lot for things that I know are not my fault. I accept blows and more times than not, rather than getting mad at the person throwing them, I convince myself that I deserved it. I paid my dues with the boyfriend I hurt and lost at 19, but I can't help but feel, with such eerily similar circumstances, that I'm being punished, by God or by karma, for the pain I caused him when I so suddenly walked away.

I learned, in the three years after, that I am more than capable of taking care of myself and my own. It made me want to be more cautious with my feelings, but I'm not patient enough for that, nor does hiding how I feel really work with my need for honesty and my supposed inability to be anything less than blunt.

So what is my point? I don't really have one. I'm depressed, soul-crushingly so, and the only truly effective outlet I've ever found was writing.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007


I let my gym membership expire.

It wasn't worth the $40, particularly not since the weather has been so nice.

So, to suppliment my workout, I've started walking around the local neighborhoods again (which previously caused me to lose 15lbs (I've since gained it back) as opposed to the ZERO I've lost at that freaking gym.)

I was nearing the end of today's walk when I learned something new about myself.

* * *

I was still nearly fifty feet away when one of them yelled, "Hey, baby! I haven't seen you in so long! Come and give me a hug."

(Who the what now?)

Walking toward me were three scraggly looking thug-wannabe's, one of whom was now approaching me with arms spread wide.

I glared but continued my approach. It was too late to change my course and mother always said morons shouldn't be encouraged. By this point I could see my would-be hugger's features clearly, including his too large black t-shirt, the loose, black manpris that hung down to his midcalf.

And his gleeming gold tooth reflecting in the waning sunlight.

"Give me a hug."

His cronies chuckled.

"Don't touch me."

He looked at me dumbly, arms still outstretched. "What?"

"Don't. Touch. Me."

His arms dropped to his side and he squinted his eyes at me.

"Why would I want to touch you? I'm too good for you."

(Bitch, please. I never had to said I was too good for you.)

"You and your sausage patty ass booty."

(The hell?)

"My momma would be so mad at me for even..." he voice faded off as he continued his badboy saunter down the street.

(Aww, that's right, Snaggletooth. You save face cause you just got shot down.)

* * *

Now, can someone please explain to me what a "sausage patty ass booty" is? I'm reasonably sure he was refering to my back side. And I'm reasonably sure he meant to insult me. But, the hell? It MIGHT have stung if he called me something traditional, something like "fat ass" or "qahba" but why's the bitch gotst to bring breakfast food into this? I aught tell him momma.

Monday, May 14, 2007


Not that I have a new job yet.

Not that anyone has even nibbled.

But I read today that to get anything you want you need to have a clear vision in your head. So I'm envisioning my new kick-ass apartment.

Along with some house warming presents you can get me.

Just a suggestion.

Living Room
Key Holder

TP Holder

Fire Pit

Wine Holder

Towel Bar

Over-the-sink Dishrack

Sponge Caddy

Magnetic Spice Cans

Corner Sink Board

And I would be remiss without a tiny spork.

Sunday, May 13, 2007


I can fight or I can let go.

Either way, I've lost him.

And that makes me profoundly sad.

Thursday, May 10, 2007


I tend to over think stuff. You could even go so far as to say I'm quite good at it. Beyond compare even.

And it's when I start to over think things that I begin to doubt things I know to be true and solid facts. Things like: "I look cute today," or "2+2=4." That sort of stuff.

But today! In a fit of brilliance! I thought to myself and I said, "Self. What if you downloaded an audio book... say, Interview With A Vampire (Which I have attempted to listen to the whole way through for SEVERAL years now... And it isn't like it's boring. No, in fact, I was so intrigued on a car ride home once that I MISSED MY EXIT and ended up going 10 miles out of my way). You can listen to it on your definately NOT NEW iPod becasue someone didn't think you needed a new one when your old one still works fine, who the hell cares if the are now smaller and play videos?"

Then I thought back to myself, "Oh my god! Self! You... are brilliant!" (The other voice in my head, the one that responds back, it might like the exclaimation point a tad too much.)

So there you have it folks. I... am brilliant! Self told me so and she NEVER lies to me.

Unless I give her time to over think. Then she just turns into a heinous bitch.

Wednesday, May 09, 2007


Today was a day fit for those ooey, gooey Warm Delights.

It just did not end: from the "you've-got-to-be-shitting-me" meetings to the "my-design-skills-will-REALLY-be-expanded-answering-phones" job description addition. I feel like I got thrown to the freaking wolves today.

Not to mention the bleeding. And the cramping.

I hate my job. I'm not particularly fond of my life right now either. Nothing is going as planned. I should have a job in Columbus that I actually sort of like with an apartment all my own and a dog to take care of and love and cuddle. I should get paid more, have benefits and a vactaion plan, and be taking pottery classes at the local community center. I should be preparing for a trip to visit my sister or going camping and hiking or a vacation to some state I've never been. I should have a little herb garden growing on my window sill in matching, individual serving size, terra cotta pots.

Despite how it might sound, I'm not nearly as pissed off or upset as I was earlier today... like around 10 this morning (right about the time I found out about the phone thing and I was certainly in no mood to hide my sour expression from my boss who also told me if I'm going to call in sick - and never once when I called in did I say I was sick - I should do it the day of, not the day before to which I'm sure that same expression brighted DRAMATICALLY).

I'm actually quite pensive now. Contemplative, if that makes it sound better.

I could probably use some encouragement.

Tuesday, May 08, 2007


Word on the street is Man Friend and I are taking a break. (OH, SHOCK! You mean someone DOESN'T want to put up with my shit?! WTF, right?) Actually, I've been thoroughly cajoled and that is not the reason. At this point, there really is no official reason though I do have my theories (government conspiracy, alien invasion, etc.)

I missed two days of work because of this. Not so much because I REALLY needed too (okay, yeah I did, a little) but because my parents somewhat enthusiastically encouraged such behavior. I came back home to Cincinnati mainly because I needed clean underwears.

My hope is that this won't last very long/be permanent because I kinda like the fellow but I understand/respect/don't-much-like the fact that he needs his space.

I guess that is all I've really got to say about it.

* * *

In other news, not only do carney's have small hands and smell like cabbage but they drive like assholes, too.

Sunday, May 06, 2007



So, I'll be around on the weekends from now on if anyone wants to do anything.

Tuesday, May 01, 2007


Hi kids.

Yes, I realize it's been a long time since I last updated. No, I really don't have an excuse. Nor would I probably give one if I did. This is a blog people. More specifically, it is MY blog and I do with it what I will.

That being said, I do have quite a lot to talk about:

* * *

There have been a few times in my relationship with Man Friend when I have felt the urge to make him cookies.

Such as this weekend. Because I'm awesome.

The first time I ever made Man Friend cookies was for naught because he butthead father who shall hence forth be known as Dirty Old Man (Yes, I call him this to his face. Shut up. He thinks it's funny), ATE EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM.

At least that is what we thought.

I brought Man Friend two containers of cookies with the intention of giving his dad the second container. I thought it best since they were Man Friend's cookies to let him decide if his dad was to get any (see: the first time I ever made him cookies). He was kind, much kinder than the Dirty Old Man and decided he would share... just not all of them. He took out the majority of the cookies leaving three behind and handed the container to his greedy father who hoarded his small stash like it was going out of style.

Munching upon his second cookie, I explained to Dirty Old Man how SAD it was that I could not simply do something nice for Man Friend without having to include his dad in the mix, siting the aforementioned reason above.

Talk about lame.

He then proceeded to tell me that he had NOT eaten all the cookies that night as we previously believed when we saw an empty container. Oh no.


Again. He hid the cookies, Man Friend's cookies, and didn't even save him ONE.

Now.. it was ALMOST forgivable when he'd just eaten them all. You understand, weakness of will and all. But to maliciously and intentially hide cookies that were not his. That took a brass pair.

And I told him so.

"But I'm an old man. I deserve a few cookies."

"Yes, Dirty Old Man. A FEW. Which I offered you. BUT THEY WERE NOT YOUR COOKIES."

"Well, I have my faults."

"And they are GLARING."

He laughed and went along on his merry way, not convinced in the slightest that he was wrong as hell. Little does he realize he shall never taste another of my cookies again.

* * *

Man Friend went to the doctor yesterday (it should have been Thursday but his doctor cancelled, strike TWO for doctor (strike ONE was because they didn't fix it in the first place)) because his gut still hurts him. So much so that he isn't eating and his mood is not the sweetest, though, with constant pain, that is completely reasonable.

Strike THREE for the doctor is they STILL do not know what it is but he earned brownie points for giving Man Friend Vicodin. Boy is in the best mood of his life. I have never heard anyone so happy to have to take ethics training (and before you say anything, it was required, and not because he did something stupid).

Thursday, he gets to go back to the doctor for an ultrasound (because he's pregnant with Drew's (or his doctor friend's) lovechild) to find out if it isn't, in fact, his gall bladder causing him trouble WHICH THEY SUSPECTED IN THE FIRST PLACE. Why they couldn't have just gone with that is beyond my comprehension and why I am in great dislike of doctor man.

* * *

This weekend, Man Friend and I went to see two movies. The second of which was Hot Fuzz which got funnier as it went on.

But the first movie... The Condemned was H-O-R-R-I-B-L-E. I mean it sucked donkey toes and it sucked them hard. Like it enjoyed it.

Upon informing Drew of this later at the bar, he looked at me incredulously and demanded to know what I expected.

"Senseless violence."

Man Friend then piped up to inform him that I'm into that one thing, oh what was it again?

UFC. I am a fan of UFC.

Which, might I add, is NOT senseless violence? They're fighting for a reason! A shiny, fake gold belt. Not... unlike wrestling. Which I don't like at all because it is fake and UFC? They ACTUALLY kick on anothers asses. The last fight was AWESOME. Gonzaga or however you spell that kicked Cro Cop in the head knocking the poor bastard out cold.

Which was a shame.

I wanted Cro Cop to win. I've got a little thing for Russians (and by "Russia," I mean any country previously a part of the USSR because Cro Cop is actually from Croatia which, is that even near Russia?). Nor do I find him at all attractive.

I just want him to call me comrade.