2008

In case you didn't know because of some wildly obnoxious reason, tonight is New Year's Eve 2008, and, as is my wont, I have several resolutions that I'm going to share with you because, I'm hoping, successful or not, they provide some great blog fodder later on in the year.

Here's hoping.

Resolution One: Typical though it is, one of my resolutions focuses on losing some weight, because, let's face it children, I am plump. BUT rather than making a big to do of, "I want to lose 300 million pounds in five minutes," I'm forming a more complete, two-part goal:

1. I shall begin working out EVERY morning. Why yes, this does mean dragging my ass out of bed an hour earlier every morning (and about 5 hours earlier every weekend) BUT! it also means an energetic kickstart to my day as well as a boosted metabolism.



2. I will being lifting weights 3 days a week. Since I'll be taking care of the cardio in the morning, I'll be able to focus some of my energy on bulking up on the reps in the evening hours after work.

Resolution Two: I will move the HELL out of this god awful apartment what with the neighbors and all, and into my First Official Big Girl Apartment. Now, technically, I realize the apartment I'm in is my First Official Big Girl Apartment but it was only ever meant to be temporary and it feels it. Hell, my mattress is still ON THE FLOOR. I am still, technically, living out of a suitcase because THAT is the only place to store my unmentionables. No dresser and a mattress on the floor does not a big girl make. A headboard, bed skirt, and dresser? Yes, please.

Resolution Three: I will visit Dan in Guatemala. Luckily, I now have some potential travel buddies. (Three to be exact. You're welcome, Mom and Dad.)

Resolution Four: I will save for and purchase a motorcycle. Oh, and I will also get my license so I can ride said motorcycle.

Resolution Five: I will make an attempt (or at the VERY least explore my options) at travel writing, seeing how it's the only career I think I have ANY real incling to do (more on that later, like another post kind of later).

Yeah. Five sounds like a good, solid number to me. Ohhh, except:

Resolution Six: I will finally design and set up my web portfolio so that WHEN I get a chance to get the hell out of here, I CAN.

So there you have it kids. Six wholesome, wholey doable resolutions to keep me occupied well into 2008.

Also, as a new 5 year goal (though I certainly hope it doesn't take that long because suck!) is to get a new, awesome job (preferably one I can do from anywhere in the world... like TRAVEL WRITING) and move to Seattle. No, I'm not sure why Seattle but if I ever do move to the west coast, it would be north. Also, while there, I would like to date some rough and tumble Canadian mountaineer.

Um, yeah. I'm a H-U-G-E fan of guys who work with their hands. Seriously, the two sexiest things a guy can say to me, in order of importance, are:

• I have a 401K plan.


• Let me build you something.

And shut the hell up Matt:E, the 401K thing does NOT make me shallow because I am not looking for HIM to take care of ME, I'm much more interested in someone who is smart enough and forward thinking enough to make HIMSELF secure. So bite me, buttmunch.

You heard me!

I CAN'T GET OUT OF HERE FAST ENOUGH

Fear not dear and faithful reader(s) for I have returned! I know it was a long and dark week without me around but you should never fret, I could never leave you, my adoring fan(s). AND as a sign of good faith, I need your help.

I need your help to be mean. I need your help to be spiteful. I need your help to be mean and spiteful but what I really need is subtlety.

You see, dear reader(s), it's the "charming" ass wipes that live upstairs. They have this unholy need to party no matter the time of night or, and this is particularly to my distress, day of the week. Like last night. A GOD DAMNED WEDNESDAY. And this after I wrote them a (relatively) non-pissy note requesting they KEEP IT F*CKING DOWN ON WEEKNIGHTS.

Now, I've come to the stark realization that the only way I can get these guys to shut up is to move, but, alas, that isn't happening quite yet. So no, I'm not asking for ideas to keep them quite. No, what I'm asking for is ideas of things I can do to get back at them. Preferably legal things. Preferably something that doesn't necessarily point to any human culprit (such as letting the air out of a tire). Because THEY don't need to know something happened, because the POINT is I'll know something happened so the next time I'm awoken for the THIRD GOD DAMN TIME YOU PIECES OF SHIT I WILL END YOU, I'll lay there, cursing, but also, I'll smile a small, weak but knowing smile as I roll over and close my eyes YET AGAIN.

Won't you help me smile?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME

Today is my 25th birthday. React accordingly.

BABY DADDY

Before I regale you with the originally scheduled story, I feel the need to tell you about the incident that happened today.

So there I was, minding my own business when OUT OF NO WHERE, my business decided, "Elbow? I don't need no fricking elbow." To which end I promptly swung my innocent appendage into a cabinet.

Holy freaking crap the pain. NO ONE ON EARTH HAS EVER FELT THIS MUCH PAIN. (Commense with the shutting it.) The searing heat of the assaulted area combined with the prickling, heavy sensation of my hand, friends, I have not been that breath-takingly stupid since I nearly tore my toe off when I crushed it against the side of my computer tower and that was nearly two whole months ago. (And, apparently, nearly scaring the piss out of D.O. when I almost fell on the trail that was quite close to a cliff is a whole new kind of stupid and thus doesn't apply here.)

And now on to our regularly scheduled programming.

This is Matt:E.


Everyone say, "Hi Matt:E."

(Hi Matt:E.)

For those of you new to the area and those of you not paying attention, Matt:E has been a somewhat prominent feature through the years. (You can check him out here, here, here, here, here, here, here, also here, here, and finally, because I'm tired of looking, here.)

So it should go without saying that Matt:E and I? We're pretty good friends, much better friends than either of us probably ever admit. For some reason, probably because we're both sort of assholes, we just click. Hell, we went to Canada together for a week, a 15-hour drive each way and NOBODY DIED.

Now all of this is NOT to say that Matt:E and I have EVER had any sort of romantic feelings towards one another. Because... he's Matt:E. Attractive though he may be... he's Matt:E. Case in point: Just the other day, while I was wearing my new favoritest shirt ever, he actually asked me why I was looking so sexy. (For the record, it was my new favoritest shirt BEFORE he said that.) While there was certainly some awwage, there were no funny, twinkling feelings of crushiness nor overzealous joy nor did I begin planning our wedding or naming out 2.5 kids. It is just not in me to have THOSE feelings for Matt:E.

So imagine mine and everyone elses surprise when I had a dream about Matt:E. A dream about him and me and me and him having a baby. Together. A female baby. A baby that asshat kept losing.

And even in the dream I'm all "Dude? The hell? HOW DO YOU KEEP LOSING OUR KID? NO, I WILL NOT CALM DOWN UNTIL YOU FIND OUR GOD DAMN BABY!!!"

He found the baby and I'm not eating right before bed EVER AGAIN.

UNDERWIRE WOES

"Well, that was awkward."

"What was?"

"I just had to adjust my underwire in a public bathroom. I noticed it was about to poke me when I leaned over to wash my hands."

"Yeah. I noticed that."

"What?! You saw that my underwire was about to jab me in the boob and you didn't tell me about it?"

"Well, it was kind of hot to see a bit of your lingerie I'm not supposed to see."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Hey! Our waiter's been looking all night, too."

"Wait. What?!"

"Every time he's been by here he's been checking you out. Why do you think he's been so prompt with your refills? I can tell you right now it isn't your charming personality."

"God, is it that blatent? Most days I wear a tank top under this shirt but I forgot this morning."

"I'm not complaining if that's what you mean."

THESE ARE THE IDIOTS I CHOOSE TO HANG OUT WITH

Don't they look sweet in that post-coital glow? They slept like that all night, smiles plastered to their cherubic faces, wanted so desperately to cling to one another in the cool, dark still of the night.



Matt:E and Jennith share a contemplative gaze, discussing the meaning of life and how to solve world hunger and cancer.



Until Matt:E get's fresh with Jennith's boobs and she attempts to eat his sombraro in a half-hearted retaliation.



These are shots that should have been in Matt:E's high school year book.
Matt:E happy:



Matt:E pensive. Or constipated:



Umm, yeah. That would be D.O. in a trash can. Because there is no other shot I would rather get when out in nature than sitting with a trash can lid on my head.

Sadly, he was actually allowed to be the alpha male of the group for a whole 10 minutes after pulling this stunt.



Kings of the world.

TUMMY ACHE

Hi.

I have a stomach something that has been struggling to suppress my immune system for some time. Unfortunately, I gave it a helping hand Friday night what with the drinking and the damp.

I don't feel good. Leave me alone.

HAPPY (EARLY) BIRTHDAY TO ME

Friday afternoon, a coworker who happens to be the Distraction's boss asked if we were dating. We aren't and I told her so. She seemed disappointed but she told me that she had plans to give the Distraction what I thought were some coupons so he could take me out for my birthday since she wasn't going to be around to use them. I told her that wouldn't be a problem since we are friends and do hang out when time and work permits.

The Distraction just called. Apparently, what I thought was a coupon is actually a gift certificate worth $175 to the Cincinnatian, a four star, four diamond hotel and restuarant where, according to the menu they have online, a STEAK, a prime ribeye with gratin of potato, shallot marmalade, and beef jus, costs $51. FIFTY ONE DOLLARS. Hell, the cheesecake costs $12.

I mean, god damn.

She must really want us to hook up. I mean REALLY really. I don't even know what to think.

Aw shit. What the hell am I going to wear?

FUN WITH LETTERS

Okay, something funny DID happen at work today. And I tell you this tale lest you say something so stupid in front of your entire HR department:

"What is in this soup?"

"GHB."

(Very Pregnant Pause followed by Very Loud Laughing.)

"Oh, son of a.. I meant MSG, didn't I?"

"For your sake, I sure hope so."

I LIED

Yeah, I know I told you to come back today for a nice, shiny post but work kicked my ass and if I post want I really want to say about it and someone from work found it, I wouldn't be terribly shocked if I were reprimanded, possibly even fired.

Unfortunately, things like that make the funny go away. Good god, I need a jolly good boinking.

COME BACK TOMORROW

So you might be familiar (at least in name) with my big sister, Tiff. Tiff already got me a totally awesome Christmas present* LAST WEEK and may make something borderline magical happen for (or around) my birthday.**

So when that sister requested that I use my degree and make her pretty pictures on that there voodoo box I responded as any put-upon sibling would:

"Oh, god DAMNIT! What do you want? No. What do you want? NO! I'll do it. I said I'll do it, just tell me what you want! Yeah. Yeah. Oh, you've got to be kidding me. No, I'm not judging YOU. I'm just judging your taste. What? No, I didn't say anything. No, I didn't. Yes, I think it's a (cough) good idea. I mean, it is if you want it to look like shit. What? Wait. No! Stop crying. Come on! No, don't tell mom, I'm sorry! Come on! It was a joke! I'm kidding! You do have good taste. No, really. I mean it. I'm sorry. No, no, you have nothing to be sorry about. No, it's just I've been hormonal recently and I'm stressed at work... It isn't you. I P-R-O-M-I-S-E. Yes. I'll do it. Now, when do you need it by? I.. what?! You realize I have a life, don't you?! I am not a brat! Yeah? Well, you're a whore! No, you go ahead and tell mom! I DON'T CARE! Fat ass. What?! I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING YOU CRAZY BITCH! WELL I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU ANYMORE EITHER! FINE. FINE! What? Yeah, I'll do it. But you sooooo owe me."

Aaaannnnnddddd THAT is why I can't write you a proper post. Please come back tomorrow. KTHXBYE.


*Fret not. There are still 20 shopping days left until Christmas for you to buy your way into my good graces.

** The 20th. Of this month. Yes, another present is required.

MAMA WANT

I recently stumbled upon a blog about a woman who spent two months in 2005 riding across country, from LA to NYC, on her Vespa.

I am drooling and turning a peakish green color in envy.

While every single part of me wants to exactly emulate her trip, right down to riding a bull in a bar, for me to take such a venture on a Vespa would be cheeky and kitsch. Cute certainly, but not exactly my style.

Unlike this:


THAT would most certainly be my style.

Anybody want to get their motorcycle license with me?

JUST A SUGGESTION

Should you ever find yourself in a situation where you are trying to come up with suggestions for a game of charades and should the topics be books, movies, songs, and television shows, I recommend "Like A Virigin" by Madonna.

You will not regret it.