IF I SAY IT ENOUGH TIMES

Alright kids. I'm done with my book. Which means I'm down a distraction from this wedding coming up in nary two weeks. Don't get me wrong. I'm as happy as I can be for Bean and Bob, my dress shows A LOT of titty, and I get to see Tiff in just over a week (plus two days off work - unpaid but I'll take what I can get).

I'm just... frustrated.

Again with this line, huh? Well, feel free to depart if you have to and I shall continue tomorrow with made-up stories about anchovies. TUNE IN THEN!

Anyway, I'm frustrated. And I don't want to be. But, God damnit if I don't REALLY want to go to yet another wedding alone, particularly one I can't really run away from (um, yes, that has actually happened). And no, I can't ask anyone to go with me. There isn't anyone I want to go with and God that would be like torture for someone who knew no one in my family. Yes, they're nice, but it isn't exactly polite for me to stick you with my dad and future brother-in-laws while I run off for a manicure and oh, by the way, could you help cook for the rehersal dinner while you're there and with no hope of getting any since I'm not interested in you I simply asked you along so I wouldn't be alone at another one of these effing things.

I'll be fine. I know I'll be fine. I'll have Tiff and Trini and a bottle of wine. I'll be fine.

THE HALL OF AWKWARD CONVERSATIONS

"Did I show you my new purse?"

DID YOU AND MAN FRIEND GET BACK TOGETHER?!"

"Did I... wait, what?"

"Well, you got a new purse."

"My mom got it for me when she was in New York."

"Oh."

NERDED OUT

This weekend was Bean's bridal shower, also to be known as the weekend of awkward questions. All of them directed at me.

But, alas, that story will have to wait because I hold in my hot little hand a borrowed copy of Harry Potter the seventh. If any of you know the way I throw myself into books, you won't be entirely surprised if I don't post for a couple of days.

Yes, I am fully aware of my nerd status.

No, I won't tell you if Harry dies AND IF ANY OF YOU ASSHOLES ATTEMPT TO TELL ME I WILL CUT OUT YOUR SPLEEN WITH A SPORK!

Have a pleasant day.

MAN-HANDLED

HEEEEE!!!!

I'm so excited you guys are PLAYING ALONG. Hellz. Yeah. I'm da coolest person in the world! People love me! I am popular! Suck it middle school bully! Suck it long. Suck it hard. ((Butt jiggle jig of joy. Yes, it's a REAL dance.))

Okay, okay. I'm cool. I'm totally not swooning from the attention.

Anyway, since three of you responded to my request SO FAR (Hint. Hint hint.) I'm going to span these out over the next few days starting in the order they were requested.

No, you may not object.

I only said every question would be answered. I NEVER SAID WHEN. Back the hell off, demon spawn.

Cough. Anyway. On with the show!

* * *

Our first LOVELY contestant is c. holly who writes: Tell them about our secret sex affair.

* * *

SLRd Design Productions in cooperation with Man Slut Studios presents:

Man-Handled: A Fictional Affair

Well, I guess I HAVE to tell you all now about our SECRET sex affair since SOMEONE let the cat out of the bag. Dick. Though, I guess, to be completely fair, it wasn't much of a secret. It's quite difficult to keep anything a secret when you get caught in the act.

I'm not sure who eyed up whom first, who was the first to whisper of a love that dare not speak it's name, but I do know he made the first move. I mean, with a package like that, it's gotta be hard to keep it under control. And Mr. c. holly ISN'T known for his self-control.

I hold to the truth that I was an innocent victim to Mr. c. holly's lustful longings. Poor, sweet, innocent me who'd never known the rough touch of a man (shut up), me who was so naive to the world (SHUT UP), at first I only thought his attentions to be completely innocent.

I was wrong.

He cornered me on the stairs.

I was helpless to defend myself so I just gave in (Again with the shutting it up).

It was wild. It was dirty. It didn't last very long.

When he'd finished, he glanced up to find my roommate standing at the top of the stairs, her jaw hanging down, a wee strand of drool glittering in the sunlight.

Her eyes were glazed over in anger and she huffed like a furious bull. "You guys," she whined, "that stain is NEVER going to come out!"

And she was right. Even a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser couldn't remove that mess.

WHAT?! I said it was dirty!

~Fin.

* * *

Yay! That was fun! Gimme more.

ASK.COM

Alright. We're going to try something new. YOU tell ME what you want me to write about. Is it a story about us you want the world to know? Is it something make believe that I just pull out of my ass? Hell, it could even be my height (5'5"ish), shoe size (8.5 - 9.5 depending on the designer), or favorite color (blue).

Nothing it taboo!

Nothing is off limits!

Every question WILL BE ANSWERED!




Okay, your turn now.

TIDDALY BITS

Which is basically my way of saying I have not the will nor the function to form a proper entry so you get to enjoy the random shit going on in my brain.

* * *

"You can't use that outdated photo."

What other option would you suggest? And I don't remember asking for your permission. Or even your opinion, for that matter.

* * *

I will never live up to the standards I set for myself, though I certainly live up to the standards I set for others.

* * *

It is exceptionally frustrating to be sexually repressed but not really interested in anyone who could (and probably would) help alleviate it.

* * *

I very much miss make outs.

* * *

"Oh, you just lost coolness points for asking me that."

...

I'm sure I'll get over it. As a matter of fact, I'll tell you what. If I'm not over it within the next two minutes, I'll let you know.

* * *

Seriously woman! If I tell you that's enough, that is not an invitation to do it again AT AN INCREASED VOLUME because just maybe I'll find it funny the next time.

Moron.

* * *

I shouldn't laugh near stairwells because I'm already loud enough without throwing echos into the mix.

* * *

I very much enjoy my bitchfests with the IT guy.

* * *

I'm tired of being a push over. I'm tired of just allowing people to hurt me with a "you gotta do what you gotta do" attitude. You know what, screw you guys.

* * *

I wish life wasn't so hard sometimes. And I feel like a pussy for thinking that anything in my life has ever been hard.

* * *

I'll pay $10 for an audio book but I won't pay the $4 to get rid of my library fine.

* * *

The only friend I have that would drop everything for me is 1,730 miles away (and has been and will be and it sucks ass) and hasn't been emailing and I swear to God if you don't get ahold of me in SOME FORM by the end of the week I will fly down there JUST TO KICK YOUR ASS! DO NOT THINK I WOULDN'T DO IT!

TORTURE IN PRESENT FORM

There is a running debate throughout the immediate family right now and it seems as though it might be tearing a rift between us.

See, Tiff and I went in together to buy Bean's wedding gift.

Bean's bridal shower (the one I'll actually be at) is this coming weekend.

Tiff will not be as this shower.

Bean is all hot to trot and would be exceptionally pleased if we told her to have her way with the crappy red wrapping paper. Now, as much fun as it is place something tempting in front of Bean's face and then repeatedly, oft times in a sing song voice, tell her she can't have it, Tiff and I were planning on putting her out of her misery and just letting her have it at this coming shower.

Mom thinks we should wait until Tiff is home since she bought the present too and part of the joy of the thing (the thing is called "giving" and you could do more of it in my general direction as a matter of fact) is watching the evil, greedy gleam in Bean's eyes as she tears bloody savage into the paper.

Needless to say, Bean is not thrilled by this plan.

So, I'm rather at a loss about what to do. Should I just end her pain and suffering and give her the damn present this weekend like God intended or should I milk her torment for all it is worth?

Milk it? Really? Well, alright. If you say so.

GIANT HILLS OF DEATH AND MAYHEM

Annnnnd we're back from Cedar Point.

Whole.

No one lost their feet on any rides, though I did lose my voice on the Magnum XL-200, which makes me feel like a pussy because I was totally cool on the Millenium Force but those damn tunnels in the dark with the unexpected dips and you can color me a pansy. To make matters worse there was a little girl right in front of me, couldn't have been more than 10, with her parents. Didn't make a peep. Not a single sound. At least, not any I could hear over my SCREAMS OF TERROR.

The other REALLY noteworthy thing that happened was that while waiting TWO WHOLE HOURS for the first ride of the morning (Raptor if you really MUST know), a seagull managed to shit on several of us, yours truly included.

Why yes, that WAS a pleasant start to the day. It was suggested that rather than wipe the white stuff off my arm myself, I simply wait until someone forgot about the damn bird and thought I just hadn't rubbed in my suntan lotion. "Won't you rub that in for me? Oh, you look like you could use some on your face."

Because I want to never have any friends ever again.

CERTAINLY WOULDN'T

I get to cover for the receptionist in two weeks when she leaves for vacation.

"You can think of me on the beach!"

"But then I wouldn't be thinking of you fondly."

NOT SURE IF I SHOULD BE FLATTERED

I guess it's a thing that some people do, they have strange, little habits and strange, little sayings that are really only funny to them.

We have that at work. When we talk like we are from the deeeeeeep, way out in the boonies, south.

It makes us giggle to say things like, "sumbitch, that ain't right," or, "step on out there an meet Jesus," or even, "butter my backside and call me a biscuit."

I know. We're weird. This isn't new information.

We're constantly trying out out new phrases and or attempting to top one another, and I must say, I'm mightly good at my Bobby Jean impression.

Too good, apparently.

It's always odd when you throw someone new into the mix, someone not quite as up on the joke but who's a good sport and willing to play along. Someone who might actually BE from the south. Someone who is so convinced by your accent they ask where you're from originally. Someone who scoffs when you tell them you're from northeastern Ohio.

It was eventually decided that I'm half red neck, half blue blood, which means I must be purple.

DISAPPOINTED

GOD DAMNIT.

So Chad Sofa will not be coming to live with me as previously indicated. It doesn't fit through the door.

The good news is I managed to hold off crying until AFTER the delivery guys left. And the hell? I'm crying. Over a freaking couch. But that couch had symbolism. That couch was good news when I had no good news.

Add to that I'm tired and angry.

F#@%.

YOU WOULDN'T LIKE ME WHEN I'M ANGRY

On second thought, you might find it refreshingly relatable. Maybe that trait will make me seem human.

See, I have this thing. I don't really GET angry.

Go ahead. Scoff. Laugh if you must. I understand if you don't believe me.

Alas, your doubt and skepticism do not make it any less true. I do not really get angry. I won't let myself. Instead I get frustrated. Lets call it Self Preservation. Because, see, I have this other thing. We'll call it a Bad Habit. I tend to say most anything that pops into my head, oft time to the point I walk away from many an interaction thanking God they find me funny.

I'm afraid of my own anger. Because I feel it might drive me to say something that won't be interpreted as funny, something I won't later be able to fix. Because some people hold grudges (and y'all need to knock that shit off.)

So rather than rely on my rather severe lack of an internal editing system, I don't get angry. I redirect that energy internally (much to the detriment of my own mental health) and regenerate it as frustration, something that upon recent reflection, I don't handle NEARLY as well as I handle anger.

Who knew?

My point in all of this is that I've recently been learning to accept and thoughtfully deal with my own anger. Then there are times I fail.

I was talking with the Pretentious Intern at work today about something decidedly not work related. My dad and I saw Ratatouille this weekend and as has come to be expected by the best the industry has to offer the CG was AHH. MAY. ZING. I mean shit. They paid attention to details as minute as the DENSITY OF THE BREAD.

I, apparently, was stupid to comment on this.

PI: "I mean, I've heard that the story is good, but no one has said anything about the CG."

Now, for those of you not paying attention: first off, knock that shit off. I am important because I have a blog therefore PAY ATTENTION TO ME. Second off, my background IS IN DIGITAL DESIGN. I would be remiss NOT to notice.

I stated this fact.

PI: "What software do they use to make it?"

ME: "In school, we used Cinema 4D though that isn't the industry standard."

PI: "Well, I don't understand why you're so impressed. I would think anyone would be able to do that if they had the software available to them."

ME: "..."

WTF?! Do you even realize you just negated my FIVE YEARS of schooling, not to mention the couple thousand my parents threw at them every couple of months for me to go TO said schooling IN ONE GOD DAMN SENTENCE?!

I mean shit. Do you think anyone could be a brain surgeon because they have a scalpel or an opera singer because they have a voice? (And do I think my art is on par with either of those things? No, but I'm trying to make a point here people!)

And I didn't say anything to you at work. Because we were at work. But I do have a few answers for you:

"Why didn't you invite me to lunch today?"

Because you're an asshole.

"Why don't we ever hang out anymore?"

Because you're an asshole.

"Why haven't we gone to that one resturaunt?"

WE have. WE just haven't invited you.

Because you're an asshole.

HAIRY HARRY

Tonight I had one of those mass hair removal-a-thons, what with the shaving and the waxing and the voodoo.

Oh, don't even ACT like you haven't done that before.

And there will be none of the negative thinking that I let this things get away from me on purpose. I mean, I'd had plans to thwart my eyebrows from mating for WEEKS now and, seriously, I'm single. Why the hell do I really need to shave my legs? Really. NO ONE IS GOING TO SEE THEM.

Let us not even speak of the touching.

But there are limits even I won't cross and, apparently, that limit is when I can glance down while STANDING AT MY FULL HEIGHT and see leg hair. Seriously? Ew. The good news for me, however, is it seems to take about 6 weeks to get to that level of disgusting.

Um, yay? It's a yay, right?

So now that my Sasquach transformation has been abated, I can focus on more important things. Like Chad Sofa (who will be here WEDNESDAY! EEEEEE!).

BEST LINE EVER WRITTEN

"No mater what's going on, I'm up for a cookie. They're fun, they're always a treat and just about anytime of day I would like one in my mouth. They are the tits of food."
- The Sneeze

God bless the internet.

WITH BATTERY

It's true. I'm with battery and I've never been happier.

AND it's the battery that was sent to the wrong location. So Cupcake no longer needs a stern talking to about how to fill out a proper delivery form.

Hah. Oh, did I not tell you about that? Yeah, after the cell phone miracle I later realized that my phone still didn't recognize the battery when I attempted to charge the thing. So I was still stuck waiting for the battery that was promised me ON SATURDAY and rather than sit on my hands with no phone, I went to yell at the Verizon guy who found out Cupcake? Sent my battery to the wrong address.

But now it would seem I got it anyway. So, woo.

AND! My phone RECOGNIZES THE BATTERY. Which means I don't have to go back to the Verizon store YET AGAIN to replace the face. Hot damn.

Feel free to give me a call. I'm dying to hear from you.


P.S. - Is it wrong that hearing Bad Religion ON THE RADIO gives me a shit-eater grin? Also, I can sing along and not worry about being off key.

MORE BREATHABLE THAN COTTON

Seriously kids, the best part about living alone is getting to walk around in various states of undress AND NOT CARING.

No one is gonna see me. WOOO BOOBIES!

DUN DUN DUN

BEHOLD! I have INTERWEB!

I also have plans to show you all pictures of my new digs. But I'm tired. And you'll wait.

To be continued. DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNN!!!!

I'LL NOW BE BURNING THOSE SHEETS

Mom: "You're lucky it's so warm in your apartment. It prevented me and your dad from having sex in your bed."

Dad: "A second time."

STILL SHAKEY BUT A DAMN FINE WEEKEND

So today was the day of Meant-To-Be's. No, I DIDN'T get my new cell phone battery but while attempting to show my Dad how the phone would only flash the Samsung screen (and absolutely nothing else) when I pushed the ON button, it suddenly, sheepishly, sprang to life and LO, THERE WAS MUCH REJOICING.

And that, my friends, was the second well-hot-damn thing to happen IN ONE DAY.

I think I may be getting spoiled.

Mom and Dad came down this weekend to help me clean/decorate/revel in the new apartment (which is certainly starting to grow on me but I still fear it will never be home). They spent OODLES AND OODLES of money on me for things like a valance for the kitchen window. I mean hell (an appreciative and grateful hell, but hell nontheless).

Part of the weekend plan I had formulated was to use the existing sofa I had inherited from the parents (and by existing, I mean has probably been in existance since before I was born) and crappily recover it just so it MIGHT look better than brown burlap.

Mom and Dad formulated a new plan that involved buying me a new couch.

Heeee.

They set a limit of $300 (which I SWEAR TO GOD Dad told me $200 but whatever) and we proceeded to check out Sofa Express (expressly your style, my ass), Furniture Fair (style and flare, from 1987), and Lowe's (yeah, they don't carry couches) all to no avail. Not only was there a severe lack of styles I actually liked, but all the shitasticly overstuffed styles were a wee bit more than budget.

We checked out Big Lots which had a leatherish (I think it was real?) couch that wasn't bad but still a bit much and I didn't really want to have to fork over my money for this thing, because seriously. That $50 I spent on a table? Pushing it.

Our last ray of hope fell squarely upon the shoulders of Value City Furniture. And we went to Value City. Department Store.

NO ONE TOLD ME THEY WERE NOT THE SAME THING.

But we did get directions (and then I almost got in a car accident) and made our way on over and we found it. The couch that was destined to be mine.

It's blue. It's beautiful. It's a wee tall and I'm not entirely convinced it's going to fit through my door but the mover guys can figure that out. But best of all. It's $300. Now, if you were not paying attention, that means it was within budget. I'm just letting you know that because up to this point, I had not been paying attention and was still thinking I might have to hork (yes, HORK) over some of my money.

We were all ready to just tell the sales lady to wrap it up with a little bow but I thought I might want to glance at the other couch down the way JUST TO BE SURE when the first miracle happened to be sitting just down the way in all it's splendor.

We discovered a floor model of the EXACT SAME COUCH in the EXACT SAME COLOR I had just decided I wanted for, get this, $149.99, and LO, THERE WAS MUCH REJOICING and possibly a jig.

Behold:



It's name is Chad Sofa in Navy. At least that is what the Value City website says. It shall be mine a week from Saturday (it would have been this Saturday but I'm going home for a 21st birthday party).

No, you may not sit on it. You will sit on the floor with the rest of the dirty nasties BECAUSE CHAD SOFA SHALL ONLY BE FOR GAZING!

OOPS

Hi.

I broked my cell phone. So until I get a new battery (and hopefully it is only the battery) it's as if I don't even exist. Woo.

ADDENDUM: Hate. Hate. Hate. Loathing. Hate.

I went and waited for nearly an hour to get help just to find out that it's the battery (I TOLD YOU, SUCKA!) and they no longer carry my model of phone.

...

Of course you don't, Cupcake.

So they're mailing me a new battery. Snail mailing. Which means I might have it tomorrow. Or Monday. But if not by Monday I have permission to go back to wait in line for an hour to have them track it (and by that I mean bust a cap).

* * *

I couldn't wait any longer and I've rearranged my schedule and I'm now getting internet on Tuesday which is THREE. WHOLE. DAYS. better than Friday.

* * *

Tomorrow is Tiff's birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TIFF!!!! In case you forgot, you're old. HAHAHAHAHA. See? I'm helpful.

YET ANOTHER NOT FUNNY POST

So really? How sad it is that me minus internet equals much weeping and gnashing of teeth?

I felt better last night, due in no small part to Court but I'm still unhappy with my life at the moment. Yes, I'm making attempts to fix it. Yes, I know that is all I can really do but I'm frustrated. I feel as though I would be so much better off if even just one area got better, just one thing to look forward to.

I was SUPPOSED to move on Sunday. I believe it is a reasonable assumption that when someone says, "I will give you the keys on Sunday," that means they will give them to you at a decent enough hour, particularly given the following day was a work day, that you could accomplish all that is required when moving. HOWEVER, you would apparently be wrong. As I was. Asshat.

My new landlord (who happens to have been my neighbor the last 4 years) didn't deem it important to tell me in all the conversations we had about the move in date that he wasn't going to be home until 7 on Sunday. At night. At the earliest. Again, I reiterate: A-S-S-H-A-T.

By that point I knew I wouldn't get anything done and would be up way too late and would end up being a royal bitch on Monday, which I was anyway but for different reasons.

My God, I already DON'T want to move into that apartment and don't even get me started on the bathroom. I took a spray bottle of watered down bleach to it last night and have yet to go back to witness the carnage. And the ceiling fan? Looked as if no one had cleaned it SINCE IT WAS INSTALLED. Ew ew ew. I'm not afraid to clean but it's different when it's someone else's filth. The previous chick did a good job on the carpets but the place still smelled like dog.

The funny thing is (not as in, Funny HaHa, more like Kind-Of-Sad-and-Pathethic), I probably wouldn't have as much of a problem with this place if it was in a different location (say, Columbus?). I don't want to be here anymore. My friends (specifically one of the Matt's) mentioned this weekend how I just up and disappeared like David Copperfield for nearly nine months and I laughed and played it off by making jazz hands and saying "TA-DA" but... so? I was ready to move on. Am ready to move on. I'm ready to be somewhere else. I love my friends and I'll always remember the times I had with them but I just. don't. want. to. be. here. Six years is my cut off date, which means I have to be gone by the end of August. Not so very long when I've heard hardly a whisper on the job front. Something has just got to click. Anything.

Things just need to get better.

LONELY

Don't get excited. I'm at the cafe mooching the wifi.

I was losing my damn mind without internet. And I'm not getting my own until NEXT Friday. As vain and stupid and self-centered as it sounds, I think I might lose it before then. I literally ran out of the house fighting tears on my way over here.

The roommates are gone. I'm lonely. And I miss my old life.

I feel like I can't do this.

All I really want to do right now is give up, quit and go home to my parents with my tail between my legs and beg for them to fix it.

I don't want to be an adult. No, I don't want to be this kind of adult. I want everything to be fixed and the way it is in my head. I want to be secure in something instead of up in the air not really knowing. I don't like not knowing. It frustrates me not knowing.

And I won't give up, and not for any noble reason. I don't have any plans of fighting through this and perservering because I know tomorrow will be a little better than today. Nope. Not me.

I won't give up because to do so would be humiliating.