HAPPY HAPPY JOY JOY

My mother told me once that she was afraid I don't know how to be happy.

At the time, I was mad. Why couldn't she cut me some slack? Everyone gets into bad moods, everyone has their down days when they feel like the world is against them, everyone feels like this. It was temporary, it would pass.

But she was right.

I decided today that I should do one thing each day that brings me joy. Seems as if it might be simply enough, no?

Except...

I couldn't think of anything.

Sure, there are things that I like to do, things that may make me happy for the moment--hanging out with friends, talking a walk through my neighborhood, folding paper into stupid shapes, writing about it all and assuming you want to read it--but there is nothing that I would describe as joyful.

I'm not so sure anymore that the answer is depression. I've suffered from this affliction all my life. I was an uptight, serious child and I am not kidding in the slightest when I tell you all I did not have a sense of humor until I was 15 years old and that, even now, it is sometimes still an uphill battle.

For so long have I told myself, "I'll be happy when I achieve this," or "I'll be happy when I live here," that I've managed to completely lose what it's like to be happy NOW, in this moment and not waiting for what might happen in the next.

And what a sad life that is to lead.

But how do I get around this trait in myself? I am a planner. I like knowing how things are going to turn out. I like having an idea of what plans are going to be like, where I'm going to end up, how it's all going to happen and when, because my head just won't let it go.

Funny thing is, the times I really remember finding joy in my life are the times I went against the grain of my own personality, the times I was spontaneous or reckless, maybe even stupid. White water rafting, skiing down a hill that was far too advanced for me, walking into Young Life (drop it) when I knew absolutely no one, the first time I ever realized I could be funny.

So basically, I'm the problem. But maybe now I might fix it.

AND I SAY THAT WITH AS MUCH LOVE AS I CAN MUSTER

Today is my Mommy's birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOMMY!!! Even if you are on the beach. Without me. Bitch.

GO GO GADGET EGO BOOST

I, my friends, am maybe a little bit drunk. And I, my friends, got hit on tonight. H-I-T ON. Whooo.

Granted, I dressed for the occasion. Top shows a nice amount of boobage without really worrying about the whore-ish factor. Yay BOOBS!

Anyway, on the way home from the bar tonight? Some guy in the car next to us was staring. And he waved.

I waved back. I am so totally hot and attractive like that.

Yes, Guy In Car. I shall be Your Friend. Ish. Maybe. If you aren't totally a creep wad. BUT! Sans Creep Wad, we could totally do business. Not, like Dirty Business, but... yeah, you probably don't know what I mean.

AND! BEFORE THE DRINKING EVEN STARTED?! This gem of a conversation:

"Give me your number! Give me your number! Hey shorty!"

"Is he talking to you or me?" ('Me' being.. well.. me and 'you' being Girl Roommate, who definately just burped)

"I don't know, but he say shorty and you and I are the same height."

"..."

Why, yes! Girl Roommate IS a blond. Why do you ask?

XX MAYBE, BUT CERTAINLY NOT XXX

A number of things sort of came together this weekend to produce HOURS of entertainment for me.

1. I was attempting to clean my house so my landlords can sell it (AND OH MY GOD THEY ARE GETTING RID OF MY HOUSE, MY BEAUTIFUL HOUSE THAT I LOVE AND HAVE LIVED IN FOR FOUR WHOLE YEARS AND I DON'T WANT TO MOVE, LET ALONE MOVE TEMPORARILY WHILE I FIND A JOB IN COLUMBUS, AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE COLUMBUS FREAK OUT I WAS HAVING TODAY, OH MY GOD).
   
   Ahem.
   
   Anyway, cleaning is boring and there is a hell of a lot of it to do and, frankly, I don't wanna.



2. I found a link to a VERY fun, mucho easy to waste copious amounts of time on website.



3. At the moment, I'm not so much a fan of men, particularly men that get to wear ex- before their once upon a title.

Rather than being all bitter and mean, I thought I might regale you with tales of intrigue and woe, love and loss, the eternal struggle of mankind.

And then, when I failed to get past the bitter and mean, I decided to share with you the tale of My First Boyfriend, because HE DOESN'T READ THIS WEBSITE. I THINK.

A little background for those of you who are not in the know:

• I met My First Boyfriend at Young Life (youth group whore!).


• When we were both still in high school.


• His dumb ass did NOT ask me to his senior prom because he thought I was WAY out of his league. (HAH! That doesn't make a lick of difference when it comes to getting asked to PROM, ASSHAT!)


• Instead of taking me he took a girl who would later, in college, realize she wanted to be a guy.


• A really, REALLY good way to piss him off is to mention that little tid bit.


• We started dating because I grew a pair and kissed him on my 18th birthday as we were playing in the snow. I know, I KNOW. I should totally keep it in the pants, but a girl has NEEDS Y'ALL.


• I really only dated him because I was flattered he was interested and I wanted the experience. Oh, yeah, and he was an Older Man (because we all know that being a freshman anything, let alone college makes you hot shit).


• We dated three whole months. He was My First A-Lot-Of-Things.


• I created and refined my Dick Tease status on him.


• Yes. He really did take me on a date to the cafeteria and I STILL waited a month to break up with him because I ain't no Gold Digger!


• I do not consider him my first love.

As for my choice in characters, I chose to portray him as he pretty well is today (last I heard/saw/any information whatsoever which was he was getting married, which, I mean, I sure lucked out, huh?), sans the cigar because I did not design the character, merely used what was available to me.

I am the devil because, well, this ex- once upon a title told me a few years after we were involved that he thought I was terrifying the entire time we dated. T-E-R-R-I-F-Y-I-N-G. Which, seriously. Me. Demanding? Yes. Stubborn? HELL, yes. Terrifying? Pussy.

BEHOLD! My masterpiece!

THE EX: Part 1* (Also known as My First Boyfriend)

Depending on how well this goes over (as in LEAVE ME COMMENTS BECAUSE I WANT TO FEEL LOVED, DAMNIT) I may have future installments. Which I may do anyway. COMMENT!

*Yes, this is a pretty realistic representation of how our relationship went. Scary, I know. I promise I'm not THAT shallow anymore.
**Okay, maybe he wasn't exactly CRUSHED, but he was dismayed. Briefly.

ON PURPOSE DAMNIT

"So where is VD? I haven't seen him around recently."

"He's been working a lot and is taking care of the girlfriend."

"You know, people who completely ditch their friends when they get a significant other are total assholes."

"..."

"I WAS BEING IRONIC ON PURPOSE!!!"

BEHOLD! THE FEMALE CAR EXPERT

My car stopped working yesterday. Turned the key and.. nothing. Not even a whimper.

My attempt at a lunch might have been foiled (and woe to the world had that happened), except I was going to lunch with Intern. So he drove.

Yay, lunch.

I called my Dad and explained my well-founded belief that my car being dead was directly related to the little electrical something wrong with my car. See, my radio, when you turn the car off, it does not automatically go off. You either have to open the door or wait ten minutes.

Not too terribly long ago, that door thing stopped working. I was never really concerned because what was the big deal about turning off my radio if everything would go off in ten minutes anyway.

I wasn't really concerned until yesterday. Because yesterday my car died. Deceased. Dead.

Deciding an attempted jumping (heh) might be worth it, I enlisted the help of IT guy and Hot Blond, and lo, my car ROSE FROM THE DEAD. It purred (as much as a Cavalier can purr) and roared (again with the car insults) and sputtered maybe once and we decided it was worth driving it around the block because 1) my boss was not in the office yesterday and 2) that was pretty much the extent of our collective car expertise.

Dad had suggested I might have left my dome light on so as I'm driving around the block, I check. It was not the dome light. I'm still expecting it was a little terror of an electrical problem like I told Dad it was.

Then I looked down.

I LEFT MY HEADLIGHTS ON! Why the hell did I ever even turn them on?! IT WAS DAYLIGHT WHEN I LEFT FOR WORK. I DID NOT NEED THEM.

I guess it's just karma for yelling at Girl Roommate because bitch was IN MY WAY and THROWING OFF MY SCHEDULE even if she did HAVE TO LEAVE BEFORE I DID because I'M A BITCH.

Yes, I'm all done with the CAPS lock. Why do you ask?

NOT QUITE WHAT HE WAS THINKING

"I couldn't find shit at most of the stores I went to so all I ended up with was a new pair of pants and some lacy pink panties."

"Why would you buy lacy underware if no one is going to get to see them?"

"Well... because they make me feel pretty and then I'll project that."

"..."

"FINE! I'll show them off to Girl Roommate!"

WORLDS GREATEST SHOPPER AND OTHER WHITE LIES

I watched Thumbelina yesterday.

Yes, on purpose.

Shut up.

So after 86 minutes worth of an eye raping, THAT, YES, I WILLINGLY SUBJECTED MYSELF TO, SHUT UP ALREADY, I decided that I was going to go shopping.

By myself.

I am not a good shopper.

In fact, I hate, detest, loathe shopping. It takes me being in the right mood and even then I'm only okay. And dear, sweet God be with you if I pass my expiration date. It generally goes something like: Okay. Okay. Not quite as okay. WALL. and then I feel my body melting into a self-indulgant temper tantrum and I generally manage to piss off everyone within a 10 foot radius.

But, lo, that was NOT going to stop me yesterday because I? I deserved to treat myself to something nice because, well, Friday was payday and because I have such an issue buying things for myself EVEN IF I NEED THEM TO SURVIVE because OH MY GOD WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENS AND I AM EXACTLY $36.95 SHORT BECAUSE I BOUGHT A PAIR OF PANTS?? THE WORLD MIGHT END PEOPLE! AND IT WOULD BE ALL. MY. FAULT.

So I went to Lerners because I always do well at Lerners.

I didn't do so well at Lerners because I made the mistake of assuming they would have anything I wanted IN MY SIZE. I made the same mistake at Old Navy, except for a gray pair of swashbuckling pants and SERIOUSLY? Does ANYONE look good in that shit because it is soooo not the sexy to feel as if my generous hips have melted down to my knees. If my boobs will never be able to perform that task, I CERTAINLY do not want my hips taking over the job.

Sigh.

But, alas, I was willing to keep the torture but because I'm a good shopper. I'm a good shopper. I'll go on over the Gap though I've never bought ANYTHING from the Gap (I know, I know, I know, again with the shutting up which you will do right now because I said so).

I head to the dressing room and pull on the ONLY pair of pants I can find muttering to myself the whole time. "Son of a bitch, you have to be kidding me this is ridicu... Wha? They FIT?! Butt check. Not bad. Ohh and they don't press painfully into the soft fleshy parts like the OTHER pair I'm trying to replace. I AM WORLDS GREATEST SHOPPER."

So I pay and decide to try Target.

Who had nothing.

I am not a good shopper. I am not a good shopper. I am not a good shopper.

I bought underware.

What? Mine are getting to that not pretty, please, oh please GOD just throw us away already stage.

I can't believe I admitted that.

GUTS

I have always had obnoxiously opinionated instincts.

I am unsure whether this is because of the severity of my own moral code or simply something God so graced me with, but they are there. They are loud. They are not to be ignored.

Except I HAVE ignored them. My gut screamed at me when I first met Man Friend, told me that he was only paying attention to me because I was a new conquest, that the only reason he was so ready and willing to walk the drunk girl (ahem, that would be me) up the hill to the bathroom was so he could kiss me (okay, yeah, that one might not have been too terribly off). Eventually, in a blurry haze, we exchanged numbers and he made hugely flowering and sweeping promises to come down and visit. And then I left.

I honestly thought that would be the last time I ever heard from him again.

Except it wasn't. The weekend after I got back from Canada, he drove all the way down here to hang (make) out. With me. Because he LIKED me. And that was just the first of a million times he proved my gut wrong.

It wasn't a week later that I found out he'd finally gotten the phone number of a girl he'd been vaguely chasing for a while before he met me. He threw it out.

Once, maybe a month into us dating, I got up the courage to tell him my most humiliating secret, a secret that when I think about telling anyone else makes my stomach CHURN. IN. H-O-R-R-O-R. He looked at my red, puffy, guilt-ridden face and he told me none of it mattered. He loved me anyway.

So, why am I telling you all this?

Because, right or wrong, I've lost my gut instinct.

Tonight was the first night all week I finally got the chance to be alone with myself without all the distractions I face throughout the day. Tonight I asked myself a lot of very hard questions about how I truely, god-honestly feel about this situation.

And I don't know the answers. Nothing. Nip. Nada. Not even a little tingle in one direction or another.

I don't know how I feel about that.

* * *

ADDENDUM: Oh, son of a bitch. No. No. I did not mean that I-don't-know-how-I-feel-about-that shit ironically. You've got to be kidding me. God, sometimes I'm a real asshole.

OPEN LETTER TO MAN FRIEND

I decided today I wasn't going to feel bad anymore. Not something that is commonly just announced and perfectly followed so I'm expecting some bad days, but overall, I'm just tired of feeling sad or mad or numb.

It was suggested that anger, particularly anger directed towards Man Friend, would be the way to go to get over this. I tried on that role and it just wasn't that satisfying. Yes, I am unhappy with how situations were handled, with outcomes and my reactions to said outcomes, and yes, I am hurt, but he can not help how he feels or does not feel and I cannot see how my anger, beyond being a catalyst for my own healing, would help the situation. No matter how much I want him on the face of this, I can't be with someone who doesn't want to be with me.

I love him, very much I love him. I had thought I might spend the rest of my life with him. This doesn't mean it couldn't still happen. From what he tells me he still loves me and misses me. I find that infuriatingly frustrating because why can't that be enough?

But I have faith. It's hard earned and faltering at times, but it IS there.

I believe that one day Man Friend will pull his head out of his ass and realize what a mistake he is making, that no matter what, I'm not worth losing. Whether or not he's too late is yet to be told, but we were good together. Even when things weren't so great, we were good. I would have done, probably would still do, almost anything for him.

I had a dream last night. Man Friend was leaving, driving a van, and inside that van were all the people I ever met through him, even a few of my friends (you traitorous bastards). The one person I remember vividly was my favorite of Man Friend's buddies. He met my eyes for a moment, his look forlorn and an overwhelming feeling came over me as I realized I wasn't going to be invited.

Becase those friends, they've been around longer.

Part of me truely understands. Part of me respects him for this decision that is obviously hard on him, too. Part of me.

And that part is telling me to forgive him.

MINI MINIONS

I definately washed my hair in the kitchen sink this morning.

I got home last night to find our bathroom in disarray because SOMEONE (Girl Roommate) didn't tell me the painter guy was coming to fix the goddamn bathroom and that is so not cool and I was already in a FABULOUS mood so adding that to everything was just DANDY as mother effing CANDY.

But I digress.

I got a call from a recruiter today (who wants to find a JOB and thinks I'm SMART and that I have a lot to OFFER and HELL YEAH you are more then welcome to hook me the hell up).

When I got to work I told the IT Manager (whom I ADORE) and she got vaguely distraught. See, she has a plan. She thinks the IT guy and I should hook up.

I believe her exact words were, "It's your duty to procreate and have smart children," and, "He likes burnettes, and I'm pretty sure he's over his whole tattoo thing."

Um. Yeah.

I tried, and failed miserably, to hide my embarrassment and eventually suggested she only wanted us to create mini minions so she could take over the world. I also told her I was charmed she was thinking of me but I really didn't need to be hooked up with the IT guy.

True, I think nerd is a brand of sexy but... um, yeah.

And I totally went to lunch alone today.

* * *

ADDENDUM: Ben apparently thinks I'm a hot piece of rebound ass.

SCREW IT

I've attempted to start three posts before this one. I can't decide which emotion to go with and I don't much feel like writing.

That's a lie.

I do feel like writing, but what I want to write is fiction and I'm unwilling to share that with you. I am willing to share, in obnoxiously vivid detail, every emotion I've ever felt and nearly every thing or event or person that has ever made me feel that way, but my fantasies, my daydreams, my longings. Those are mine.

And you.

You don't deserve them.

THE MAKINGS OF A GOOD DAY

This morning, as I stumbled through the living room, quiet as a wildabeast, I yelped. I looked down. The bottom of my left foot was bleeding.

Stoicly shrugging away the excruciating pain, I took a step forward and realized whatever the hell caused me to bleed was still in my foot. I hobbled to the couch and used my fingernails like tweezers to extract a clear, plastic splinter from the ball of my foot. I made my way up to the bathroom, cursing under my breath because now I was really going to be late, and put some New Skin and a bandaid over the offending hole.

I returned to the downstairs to make breakfast. I looked down. There was a red line across the top of my RIGHT foot.

"I don't remember scratching myself," I thought. "It can't be a scratch," I thought. "It must be pen," I thought.

THEN I LICKED MY THUMB AND RUBBED IT.

It burned like a goddamn scratch.

Then I thought, "I am a mother-effing idiot. Now I've gone and infected it and my foot is going to swell up to the size of a watermelon and fall off."

I returned to the bathroom for some more New Skin.

Upon arriving at work, I picked up an Xacto blade and began cutting out the invitations I printed for an upcoming event.

I poked myself in the forearm with the Xacto blade.

I sighed, heavily, and pushed back away from my desk. And rolled over my own toe.

* * *

For the record, I feel much better today.

I also totally forgot I owe Sarah Cool dinner.

* * *

I love you. I want to keep you and smoosh you and play with you and walk you and give you treats until you fall over in utter exhaustion from all the attention and lovins and belly rubs.

THE END

As of yesterday (Tuesday, June 5, 2007), I am officially single. It was honestly a title I didn't really think I'd ever wear again.

And sure, I know, technicially I've been single for five weeks now, shut the hell up, I don't want to hear it. I obsess and find any little reason to hang on when all the obvious signs tell me I should let go but goddamn could I cling to a hope, a sliver that break meant temporary and distance meant healing, or missing, or change. Change of mind, change of heart, a sudden "Oh shit, what have I done?" realization. I've spent the last five weeks wondering, despite every reassurance it wasn't me, what I did to break it or what I should be doing to fix it, to make it not happen.

And the answer is nothing. It isn't me. It isn't anything I did or didn't do.

I cannot fix this.

He just needs to be selfish, to do what he wants to do, to not cater to anyone, and I am just shit out of luck, I guess.

No, you can't help. No, I don't want a lecture on how I'm better off without him or at least now I know or even maybe you'll come together again someday because, you know what? Screw you and your pretentious advise. I know it's there. I know it itches like a pesky mosquito. I do NOT want to hear it.

The deal now is that I'm going to be sad until I'm not.

JUST TIRED

I've been talking to God a lot recently, and I mean really talking. The kind of talking where there is just as much yelling and cursing and accusing as there is begging and pleading and cajoling.

I feel like I'm getting nowhere. And I'm angry.

RANDOM SMANTERING

I can't sleep. And I found the green stick thing. I have to get up in 5 hours and I am not entirely pleasant without a good 8 (as in 3 more than 5) hours sleep. But here you go anyway.

You're welcome.

* * *

I bet you did not know that among my mad skillz, the shaving of the head with an electric shaver and guide attachment was numero uno.


Or that might be a complete and utter lie. Boy Roommate's Not Girlfriend was over and suggested that he was in desperate need of a hairs cut. I jumped at the chance. It is actually something I quite enjoy doing. Hell, the frat boys used to have haircutting parties (Okay, not really. It was usually someone needed it done and someone else thought, what the hell since you have it all out, do me too) in which I participating in the shaving of the heads, one reason I was surprised they asked me to be their Sweetheart. Not because I didn't do a good job because, hah! Let's be real. Of course I did a good adequate good enough... FINE! They told me I wasn't allowed to do it anymore because I missed one too many spots!

No, I did not tell Boy Roommate about the revoked head shaver privileges.


SEE?! It turned out okay! He even gave me an uber lame, I'm-a-Classics-major-surprise-surprise thumbs up.

Dork.

* * *

I have bug bites. One is on my hip and, creepily enough, it resembles a sperm. You can't really tell because of my craptastic camera work, but it's almost as if the West Nile infected bastard (okay, not really) that bit me hit a vein and it's venom or whatever that makes you all itchy and gives you ANGRY RED WELTS, traveled a short ways down said vein. Thus, a sperm tail.


And on my side RIGHT where my bra rubs.


Fantastic.

* * *

And what you've all been waiting for:

My armadillo!


Okay, so, no. It is not a REAL armadillo, per se, but it is a pretty freaking cool parlor trick, huh?

How many numbers do you think I'll get now that I can turn a dollar into an armadillo? HOW MANY?

That's right, bitches! A COUPLE! Maybe even A FEW!

And that black crap you can see on the dollar is actually Sharpie from Man Friend who wrote all over said dollar after I won a bet. Because he was a bitter loser.

And I am a sentimental asshole for keeping that dollar. But at least now I'm keeping it because it's an armadillo.

And who doesn't like armadillos?

DAILY PUPPY DOT COM

I had a random entry all planned with photos and captions and the like, but I can't find the green stick that lets me upload photos onto my computer so you will have to wait until I find that to see Boy Roommate's mohawk, my angry bug bites, and my armadillo.

I have an armadillo.

So instead of ALL of that chocolaty goodness, I'm giving you this instead:

IT'S A NUGGET!!!!!!!!!!! (In case you aren't thoroughly stalking me through my blog - and if not, FOR SHAME - here is a little back history on the original Nugget.)

And here is a fuzzy manatee! And Steve Buscemi.

Enjoy.

FOLDED PAPER

Last night, Jennith had a shish cabob party.

There was much cooking of meat, a bad-ass badmitton competition (until Vishnu broke his shuttlecock.. hehe), and then... I found this, only it was last years addition.

I had forgotten how much I like origami.

Check out my parrots chilling on Girl Roommates wheat glasses.



And a blurry frog. He just wishes he was cool enough to hang with the parrots. And that grease stain in the background has been there since not too long after we moved into the house. I didn't do it.



This is SUPPOSED to be a lobster. Boy Roommate and I agreed it was a much closer representation of a crawdad.



Why, yes, I did already purchase the 2007 calender. No, I don't care that we are already HALF-FREAKING-WAY through the year. I'm not really planning on using it for it's given purpose when its pages double as origami paper. How freaking cool is that?

HAVING DIFFICULTIES

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!

PUDDLES

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.

MY NEW HAIRS CUT

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?"

"Today."

"Oh."

* * *

"What happened to your hair?"


Bastards.

RAIN, RAIN GO AWAY

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.

HOW RUMORS GET STARTED

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."

FUNNIER IN CONTEXT

"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."

"WHY IS EVERYONE TURNING DOWN MY SEXUAL FAVORS?!"

"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."

"ON HER WEDDING NIGHT?! Oh, you are CRUEL."

* * *

"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."

ASSHAT

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.

JACKASSERY

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."

NOT SURPRISINGLY

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.

CLICK HERE. BECAUSE I SAID SO

This is better than what I was going to post.

ITALIC SIGNALS INTERNAL DIALOGUE

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.

HOUSE WARMING

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

Bathroom
TP Holder

Patio
Fire Pit

Kitchen
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.

IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ME

I can fight or I can let go.

Either way, I've lost him.

And that makes me profoundly sad.

TALKING TO MYSELF

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.

SHOULD

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.

BREAKING NEWS

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.

BREAK

Hi.

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

COMRADE

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.

HE. HID. THEM.

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.

ANGRY BUTT

I finally went to the doctor after getting nauseous for the second time since I strained my neck. In her infinate wisdom she told me to:

- stop straining my neck (um, yeah, thanks)

- no more reading in bed (well, hell)

- not to use the elliptical machine at the rec (hopefully as in "just until this heals", not as in "forever", because the bike hurts my bum)


Then she gave me a prescription for 800mg Ibeprophin and shot me. Or rather had me shot.

In the ass.

With a big ole needle.

That sumbitch STUNG. And it was completely okay when I was walking but the second I stopped to chat with the clerk at the receptionist area, hot damn did my ass light on fire. And not even in the same area I got shot. It hurts about an inch below that area, but believe you me that area is bruised. It was supposed to be a muscle relaxer but HAH. I have them fooled. It would take a horse traquilizer to relax me.

Now all I have is a sore head and an angry butt.

IT WAS BOUND TO HAPPEN, RIGHT? RIGHT?!

Man Friend was meandering around my room, picking up his clothes and haphazardly shoving them into his knapsack. He reached for his phone charger, yanking the phone from the end of it's tether, and whipping the cord toward my leg.

"YOU LEFT A WELT, ASSHOLE."

And he did.

So I came at him with a hairbrush, whacking at his butt with abandon.

"Don't make me go for the ice."

I squealed in faux terror and ran for the cup that once contained ice AND water and quickly threw the lone remaining ice cube into my mouth.


***


Previous to the packing and the welts, Man Friend had requested I fetch him a glass of ice water. I did and what resulted was pinning me to the ground and dripping melting ice onto my skin. Including rubbing the ice cube down the back of my pants.


***


"You realize that ice cubes been in your butt crack?"

I spit it at him.

I ate an ass cube. I feel sick.

DON'T LEAVE ME HANGING

Read me.

EDIT: Because I thought of a WAY cooler title than the old one. See? It's a pun. Get it? Well you would if you read the link you lazy bastards!

COMING TO GRIPS WITH THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER

I pulled a muscle in my neck on Saturday.

I did it again last night.

I, apparently, should not hold my head at a certain angle. I tried to explain to Boy Roommate and his Not Girlfriend how this situation all started (my jaw muscles clenched from chewing a piece of gum into concrete) but they thought there might be another root cause. They are just so very funny.

ANYWAY, since this all started, I've been fighting a headache. And by fighting I mean whining. It wasn't bad. More of a dull ache than anything substantial. I'm of the mindset that I don't take any pills of any kind unless life will cease to exist without them. And while a dull ache is annoying, life was bound to go on.

Until last night.

I have NEVER had a headache that bad in my entire life, and I've hit my head QUITE a few times. (Shut it, you. And to be perfectly honest, this was the worst headache I actually REMEMBER having. Others might have been worse, but they've been washed away by the concussion that followed or the mere haziness of youth.)

For a moment I thought I might have meningitis but a quick trip to WebMD knocked me off THAT hypocondriac bandwagon and back into the far more rational rhelm of pulled neck muscle and that sumbitch HURTS! I mean damn. It's one thing to hurt where I pull you. But it is another thing ENTIRELY to wrap your greedy self around my head like a blanket and turn me into a pill-popping, whiney, little bitch.

I DO NOT NEED HELP IN THAT AREA.

I could not keep my eyes open last night as I BEGGED my nursing student roommate to kill me. Instead, she gave me permission to chase my Advil with two more Tylenol. I then laid down and willed sleep to come quickly. That or death. Whichever made my head stop hurting first.

I've continued this pill concoction into today.. twice.. and I plan to do it again. My mother suggested I go to the doctor, which is probably the smartest idea, but I'm afraid whatever I did is going to require a specialized doctor and I don't know if my insurance will cover that. So for now, I whine.

JUST ONE OF HIS MANY MAD SKILLZ

"Boy Roommate has a cold."

"Are you sure it's a cold?"

"Pretty much."

"Well, it could be the AIDS."

"..."

"Or it could be the Bubonic plague. Or nipple cancer."

"It is so wrong that that's funny. And he does not have any of those."

"Are you doubting my diagnostic abilities?!"

"Yes."

"What?! I am good friends with a doctor! I even know someone who has BEEN to the doctor. I am a wealth of medical knowledge."

"Boy Roommate will be happy to hear that."

"Good thing for Boy Roommate, not only do I diagnose, I also prescribe, though it's doubtful that he'll go for my go-to fixer-upper."

"Oh no."

"That's right. Uncle Man Friend's protein injections."

"That is more than just a little creepy."

"It'll cure what ails you."

"Hah."

"Two a day keeps the doctor away."

"Okay, you're done."

UPON SEEING A SIGN THAT SAID...

"Old school child care? What do they do? Beat them?"

"That is the exact same thing I thought the first time I saw that sign."

IT'S TRAGIC, REALLY

You want to know something pathetic? I CANNOT make a good pot of coffee, and I was a barista. FOR THREE YEARS.

T-H-R-E-E.

3.

1+1+1.

Oh, and don't you even go off on me about how pretentious the people who call themselves baristas are because they are just too cool and it has everything to do with the name and they think they are so much better than you because they were a barista, MAN FRIEND, because you have ALREADY made me cry ONCE (VERY early on in our relationship) over that and I am soooo not in the mood.

And why might you ask am I soooo not in he mood?

DEADLINES! And the people who ignore the ones I give them! (Oh, I segwayed the HELL out of that bitch)

I do not care if your program is our version of a media darling. Those babies are there for a reason. I will not put up with your shit. You promised me this stuff YESTERDAY, which, might I kindly point out, was the day AFTER it was due you. obnoxious. cow.

"Oh, but he was stressing over getting it done."

I HAVE NO SYMPATHY FOR YOU. Your lateness causes me stress AND! (oh, and) it make me look unprofessional which, when it comes to being on deadline, I am not. YOU HAVE KNOWN ABOUT THIS DEADLINE FOR A MONTH, NANCY (yes, I just called a man Nancy). Since it seems to take you so long, maybe you should get started on the next deadline! They happen EVERY. TWO. MONTHS. They have happened EVERY. TWO. MONTHS. since you started this job. It is really no surprise I'm asking for this stuff now. Do not EVEN act like I'm being demanding. Because I can be worse. DO NOT PUSH ME, NANCY!

Fin.

MORE THAN SLIGHTLY FRUSTRATED

You know what the biggest pain in the ass is when looking for a job? All of these damn places requiring more years experience than I have. I MATCH EVERY OTHER EFFING CRITERIA! But I will probably be overlooked because two of the jobs I applied for? 3-5 years experience. The one I applied for tonight? 5-10! Gah!

HAH! IF ONLY

Me: "My mom accused me that having wild sex was the cause of the holes in my air mattress. I had to tell her that Man Friend was NEVER HERE when any of the holes happened."

Boy Roommate: "You know what that means, right?"

Boy Roommate's NOT Girlfriend: "Whore."

BLANK

I don't have anything nice to say about myself so I'm not going to say anything at all.

SAID TO (OR IN FRONT OF) MY MOTHER

"So she called me and pointedly asked me how my PIERCINGS were doing. So I told her my ears were fine but my nipples were killing me."

"Sounds more like something I would do to her."

***

"You are 25 years old! I should not have to tell you to swallow!"

***

"I think he's cute."

"Who? Your dad?"

"...Not exactly."

WHILE PLAYING CATCH PHRASE

Guy 1: "What my penis is."

Guy 2: "Small!"

Guy 3: "Dude, why would you set yourself up for that?"

***

Guy 2: "Stiff?! The answer was stiff?! How was I supposed to get stiff? Does playing Catch Phrase turn him on?"

YAY!

I heard some wonderful news today. Some news that kept me smiling like a jackass for the last hour I was at work (QUITE the feat, you should be proud). Some news that made me draw YAY! in big, red block letters across the note pad I was using.

Man Friend FINALLY has a job to bid on in Columbus! AHAHAHAHA! Let us thank God for small miracles.

Now, this doesn't mean he has the job or anything and I don't have the slightest clue how long it will take for everything to go through but this is one GIANT STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION. Seriously. That? Probably the best news I've had in THREE GOD DAMNED MONTHS!

I need to find a new job.

But! Back to the glee at hand!

Man Friend's job, should he be accepted (and who WOULDN'T want that fine hunk of man meat?) would have shitty hours (3.30 - midnight) so once I finally, actually, for totally real this time, made it to Columbus, we wouldn't be seeing a whole hell of a lot of one another. Mainly just on weekends. Sort of exactly like right now.

But my mind, always with the calculating and the conniving (because I AM a woman and I HAVE to keep up appearances, folks), IMMEDIATELY jumped to only one possible scenerio. PUPPY!

If he worked mid-afternoon and I got home early evening... plus 5, carry the 1... that would mean the puppy would only be caged for 2ish hours during the day... and I would have something warm and soft and cuddly to come home to... que even larger, more obscene, jackass grin with a side of gleeful fist pumping every now and again when it all just got to be too much.


"My boss said that shift would be perfect for a young shit like me. Getting off at midnight on Friday before the bars even close. He said I could pick up a drunk girl and bring her home with me without even needing to buy her a drink."

"Did he now?"

"That's when I told him my girlfriend probably wouldn't like that. He said you'd be asleep and didn't even need to know about it."

"For the record, I don't like him."

"He forgot I was dating you. Besides, I'm too ugly to pick up girls at a bar."


Okay, now. Woah. That, my dear, sweet Man Meat.. I mean Friend! My dear, sweet Man Friend, implies that I have poor taste. And I most certainly do NOT have poor taste. My taste, in fact, is quite exquisite. Which, along with my AMAZING SENSE OF HUMOR is one of the MANY, MANY reasons you started dating me. And because I let you touch my puppies. Woof.

GET OUT WHILE YOU STILL CAN

I had a wonderful weekend with Man Friend.

I was calm.

I was relaxed.

I was wearing new shoes.

I had a meeting.

I hate the world.

FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE

Man Friend and I went to see two movies this weekend and I would like to tell you about them.

TMNT (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles): We went to this because we're lame. Oh! And we were both very big fans of the original live-action versions from the 90s (L-A-M-E).

Let me tell you what. This movie made me feel old. Not because I was probably old enough to see the original in theaters. Nor because Man Friend and I were the O-L-D-E-S-T people in the theater, save parents. But rather it was this group of annoying little shits who thought they were WAY too cool.

Before the movie even started, the one nearly fell down the stairs, which I was whole-heartedly rooting for, because he tripped while he was BOUNDING (LIKE A EFFING GAZELLE) down 3-4 steps at a time. I was begging for a face-splattering dismount. Why did I ALREADY dislike them before the movie even started? Because when they first walked into the threater, they felt the need to announce to everyone present that their friend was the ONLY black guy in the whole threater. Because it matters.

By the first preview I was threatening to beat them and then ground them. For a whole month. Take that you little snots.

I have to give them credit. Either they were taught not to talk much during a movie or they were far enough behind us that I just didn't hear them, but when we were leaving, two of them pushed their way past us to get down the steps. And I didn't really feel the need to be any resemblance of polite and let the other two past me before I started down the steps. Eff you high schoolers.

That's when the one who already couldn't shut up got lippy. He made this huge production about how they should really let these nice people (ie -Man Friend and me) go on ahead of them and generally pissing me off.

That was until Man Friend turned around to give him "stink eye". And he had to look down at the kid. While on the step lower than him.

Hell, yeah, Man Friend.

***

Shooter: Mark E. Mark. At least I think that is how it goes. He made another movie. And it totally DIDN'T SUCK. The plot was good. I was interested the entire movie. I got jumpy at the exciting parts. I was particularly fond of the fact they didn't show a rape scene, simply illuded to it. There were a few gruesome head shots, but nothing that I haven't already been desensitized to.

My only REAL problem with the movie was the added soundtrack the people right behind us INSISTED on adding the ENTIRE BLOODY EFFING MOVIE.

God damn.

I don't know who you think you are but I paid just as much money to come to this movie and I do not need to hear your BRILLIANT deduction that that bomb? It's going to go boom. Are you sure you actually passed the third grade? Really? I am so very impressed you pretentious bitch. SHUT UP, DUMBASS! How can you be THAT old and NOT KNOW how to shut your damn mouth during a movie?!

GAHHHH!

HELL TO THE NO

Have you ever noticed how, in the world of you, certain people you interact with take on a certain asexual quality? Now, I'm not assuming you actively think about these people HAVING sex, but rather think about these people THINKING about sex. It's more something that would NEVER cross your mind as actually within the rhelm of possibility. Right or wrong (usually wrong) this list generally includes grandparents, parents (unless they're mine), coworkers, generally everyone over the age where conception is a particularly good idea..

Until, that is, it gets smashed into your face with the force of a falling anvil. Say.. at a meeting. For a family-oriented event.

A GLIMPSE INTO THE MIND OF GUYS

"I'm bleeding and in pain and it's YOUR FAULT because you're a boy!"

"I know, honey. You're right and I'm sorry."


***


TV Commercial: "What are the three C's of diamond purchasing?"

Me: "Cut, clarity, and..."

Erik: "Carat?"

Me: "Yeah, carat."

Matt: "What about cost? Doesn't that factor in at all?"

Erik: "You know, I'm of the mindset of (some comedian that I can't remember) that if I'm going to buy a woman a ring then she's got to forge me a sword."

Matt: "That would be awesome."

WHERE THE PETS GO

Man Friend and I have a shared passion for dogs and, as a result, one of our favorite pasttimes involves going to the local Petland and gazing affectionately at all of the puppies.

Despite our shared affection for dogs as a whole, we have drastically different opinions as to which breeds are the cutest/smartest/bestest. His affections tend to lean towards breeds that slobber and tend to make ugly adults. I prefer... everything else (except poodles and anything that looks like a powder puff).

So it goes without saying that I'm not particularly fond of bulldogs because they fall in both the drool and the ugly adult catagories, so, obviously, Man Friend is smitten.

See, Mojo:


This image was taken (without permission) from Ballpoint Wren whose blog I like to read every now and again. And not that her dog is ugly per se but he IS a bulldog.

Well, today while hanging out in Columbus, we ventured the find the King of the Petland's, and we were not disappointed. Not only is it larger than all the other Petland's, they are FAR more encouraging of handling and playing with the puppies (something I am ALL for because it helps to socialize them and they aren't as likely to get bored).

After taking a general look at all the puppies and being handed one just for glancing at her, Man Friend managed to catch wind of a tiny, little, gray lump of a bulldog puppy. It took him several minutes to get ahold of her. A couple took her out to play with then passed her off to some children who finally handed her over to Man Friend. The poor thing looked terrified so I reached out to pet her and cooed at her a bit, to which she decided without any question that she would much rather I hold her than Man Friend (he took it much like a jilted lover would). She climbed her way over to me and started nestling into my chest. This little bundle tried to get as close to me as she could. She probably would have been extremely content if I would have wrapped her up in my coat and let her take a much needed nap.

And.. I totally fell for it. I've lost the war. I fell in love with an ugly bulldog (SHE was freaking cute but we all know that won't last).

I have named her Nugget.

No, I didn't buy her, but God damn did I want to. Man Friend had to force (FORCE!) me to give her back.

After all this, Man Friend again brought up his fear that all our future dogs are all going to like me better (jilted). This is partially because I am much more serious about training. And because I'm a girl and WAY cooler than his is. What dog WOULDN'T like me better? That is what I ask you. What dog?!

Actually, I simply explained to him that you go to daddy for play time and come to mommy for comfort.

See? Nugget already knows who her mommy is. She is the SMARTEST DOG IN THE WORLD.

PHOOEY

I'm feeling all nostalgic and I miss my friends. LOVE ME, DAMNIT!!!

HOLE-Y, HOLE-Y, HOLE-Y

"Can I borrow your stethoscope?"

"Why?"

"To see if I can hear where the air is leaking out of my bed."

"... It's in my bookbag."


That's right. My air mattress sprang a leak. Well, actually it sprang two. And no, the stethoscope didn't help.

Friday during the day, at some point, for some reason, my mattress started to deflate. And it wasn't very quick. Man Friend and I thought we'd take care of it later. And after waking up in a V-shape three times Friday night, two of those times with our butts pressed against the floor, I decided it was a imperative we find some sort of something to fix the leak.

At our SECOND Dick's (because the first was too small - ie. worthless), we found a repair kit for inflatable mattresses, granted not MY brand of mattress but our next best option was gorilla tape, which, rumor says, is stronger than boring old duct tape.

So at 2 in the morning I started attempting to patch my hole. Hehe. Get it? My hole as in MY hole. I'm not immature AT ALL.

Man Friend's version of helping involved staying out of the way, much the same method of helping I use with cars.

So now hopefully both my holes are closed for good (or at least dramatically slowed), because I had to get up last night at 2 to blow up my bed. And not blow in a good way.

BOYS ARE GROSS

"Is this yours?"

"No, but it looks delicious."

"Uhh. I wouldn't eat that."

"Why not?"

"That's been in there since I got back from Honduras." (roughly translated to about 5 weeks)

"And you WOULDN'T eat it?"

SPEAKING OF PUSSY

I'm not really a fan of cats. I am what you would call a "dog person." And you know why? Because dogs think you are the coolest thing since Beggin' Strips and cats are only friends with you so they can copy your homework.

I don't really DISLIKE cats. It's generally more of a mutual tolerance. And I've had boyfriends before with a fondness for the feline persuasion. The most notable of which was a cat I (not so) fondly called Fatso.

But Man Friend. He's a dog lover. His favorite breeds rival draft horses in height. This is one of his many qualities that has him placed firmly in the "keeper" catagory.

But Man Friend has a cat.

To be fair it's his mother's cat. And it's a nice enough cat but there is also a dog in the house who I shamelessly placed into my deepest affections immediately.

Initially, I wanted nothing to do with this cat. But then, slowly, he managed to catch my attention. I realized this cat. He likes to wrestle. With the dog. Then he got caught in a number of questionable kitty yoga poses, one paw stuck back behind his head, tongue sticking out as he paused to contemplate me.

I think, however, our relationship began the night he darted his fuzzy little butt into the bathroom and stood there beside the toilet, awe struck as I evacuated the contents of my stomach. Repeatedly. He even took it good naturedly when I shoved his head out of the way when he got too close. And then, when I thought (wrongly) that I had finished, he kept me company while I munched on a cracker at 3:30 in the morning.

He has a fondness for wrapping himself around my feet, particularly on the way down the steps and I've more than once kicked him in the head "unintentially." This weekend he even curled up in my lap while I read on the couch. Until someone showed up. Then he pretended what we had never happened. Bastard.

He also puts up with Man Friend, which is a testament to anyones patience. (HEART!) As I was getting ready to leave yesterday, I took a small detour to the bathroom. When I emerged Man Friend had an enormous bulge protruding from his sweater.

"I'm pregnant," he announced cheerfully.

Slightly put off, I pressed the mass thinking it was my coat.

It felt too warm to be my coat.

Then it moved.

He had shoved the cat up into his sweatshirt and had a real fear the cat was going to bite his nipple.



"He probably WANTED the cat to bite him. That's the kinky stuff he does when you're not around."

"Hey, a little well placed peanut butter goes a long way."

"Brings a whole new meaning to the term 'pet lover.'"

WARDROBE MALFUNCTION

"I can't wear girl boxer briefs. My thighs are too thick and they roll. I have to wear long underwear."

"Why don't you just wear regular underware?"

***

"Well, I can't put on a sock with one hand! Besides, it's extra hard to put on socks when your pudgy. And they're Doctor Scholls stretchy socks... which is just another word for orthopedic."

"Geriatrc."

"Mom just said they're 'old guy' socks."

IT WAS HOT BACK THEN, TOO

This is my best friend.



He is currently in Guatamala.



Yeah. The 70s called. They want their hair back.

I BEG YOUR PARDON

"That's why nobody likes you, because you're mean."

"You like me."

"We'll I'm stupid."

"You certainly are to talk to me like that."

THIS POST HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH MAN FRIEND

"He was so nervous I was going to break up with him he actually threw up."

"Your empathy is just over flowing."

"I thought it was cute."

TOLD YOU SO

It is a well stated (albeit underestimated) fact that Bean does not take well to teasing. Man Friend had been THOROUGHLY warned about this trend. But that stubborn ass swore up and down, left and right, that he and Bean had a report, an understanding if you will.

My ass they did.

So Saturday while driving Bean home to fetch her car so she could head to an appointment with the florist, Man Friend did something very stupid. We were playing a favorite game with Bean, namely trying to disgust her (which is not at all difficult to do), when Man Friend decided she was tough enough to take a little teasing.

Man Friend told my sister she was easy.

You could hear the collective groan as it exited his mouth. He knew instantly that he done just effed it ALL up. The silence that followed was RESOUNDING. She didn't say a word. She just stared out the window, the pressure building.

It took a moment but I jumped to her rescue. I pointed out that Man Friend? HE should not be talking about who is easy in that there vehicle because oh my God is he a whore. And a hermaphrodite (not really but that didn't stop us from telling my sister that... he even offered to show her. She passed.) And the storm... it passed by without incident.

And I realized something. Maybe the reason Bean does not take so well to the teasing, beyond other reasons, is because she's not so quick on her toes with the comebacks. Now, I'm not saying that Tiff and I are the funniest people in the world because we aren't (though I am W-A-Y funnier than she is), but we have managed to hold our own in this family. No small feat, might I add.

I don't have to tell you how I rubbed THAT little incident into Man Friend's face, because I was right and he was so very close to feeling the wrath of one of my father's children, punishment enough I suppose for such a transgression, but the man have enough work ahead of him just trying to keep me happy. BECAUSE I AM A PLEASURE TO BE AROUND.

GOOD ENOUGH FOR GOVERNMENT WORK

I don't know if it was the sudden realization of JUST how much is actually on my to do list or the impendng influx of even more but I had a bit of a God complex today and not in a good way (not that there really is a good way). It was one of those infuriating days where everyone I talked to seemed to expect miracles. Like everything they handed me was my top priority and I could get it done immediately.

It is true, I work fast. I apply the same sort of nervous energy to a project list my dad applys to everything.

I am not, however, anything close to a miracle worker and I have a very. long. list. Some of it my own doing. Which was another disappointment today.

I finally had the chance to present this project (that I WAS very excited about and all gung-ho to do) to the people it is meant to help and I walked away from it completely deflated. I can just sense they don't realize how much they need this project done to unify the publications the center produces and they all still have the mindset that they want THEIR stuff to stand out, not realizing this will be better for the whole.

Short sighted bastards.

I have management behind me but they aren't exactly effective at rallying the troups. It is easy to see they have no confidence in the intelligence of their employees from snide comments they made at the introduction of ANOTHER project I'm attempting to launch for them. Comments which were later refuted when I pointed out the severe lack of problems she suggested would happen.

Another problem I'm facing is simply the fact that I've worked with a few of these people before and I DO. NOT. LIKE. the one woman. She's bossy and condescending and maybe it's her regular features, but she always seems to be sneering. She seems world weary without the experience to back it up.

You know what the nicest thing anyone said to me today was? "You're a busy woman." Because someone ELSE realized how much effort I am putting into this T-E-M-P-O-R-A-R-Y job.

I feel exhausted and mentally drained and I've lost that excited spark I once had about this project which means, from now on, it's just work.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY

Oh, you little shits are getting S-P-O-I-L-E-D with all these pictures.

Man Friend is at it again. I got a call this afternoon while I was at work from a florist wondering if I would be home so she could drop off some flowers. It was unexpected and certainly unnecessary because I really don't require that sort of thing but, that being said, I was so freaking giddy for the rest of the day after receiving that phone call. I managed to turned a burning shade of purple while on the phone with this woman even though there was only one other person in the office (HI!) because that is what happens with me.

When he called I inquired to whether he had gotten me flowers and he responded with a guilt-ridden, "No... why?" Guilt-ridden because he was lying through his teeth which made the whole situation that much cuter.


I feel as though I have been bragging an awful lot about Man Friend recently and I want to qualify it. I'm not doing it to show you all how much better he is than your boyfriend, but rather to simply give credit where credit is due. The hope is with due and proper recognition, he'll be encouraged to keep this kind of behavior going.

On a different note: I know it's dangerous, I know it knocked out power to 122,000 people (me included for 8 hours last night), I know it sucks ASS to drive in, but I love this time of year.


It is just so very pretty.

DIFFERENCE OF OPINION

This is Bean. Bean is engaged to Bob. She is actually wearing the scarf I picked out but Man Friend bought her for Christmas in this image because she LOVES IT. Go me. And Man Friend, too, I guess.



This is Bean's centerpeice for her upcoming wedding in August in which I am the Maid of Honor (need I really explain how bad an idea THAT is?).



Now... I love my sisters. Both of them. But Bean and I? We have DRASTICALLY different tastes. Case in point: despite my like of her vase choice, I would not use pink. Or her other wedding color (blue) for that matter. At least not that version of blue.

Another case in point: THIS is the shoe she proposed I prance my pudgy, girdled ass down the aisle in. Oh, and doubt ye not that I will be girdled because the other two gals in this wedding party? A bean poll and twig respectively. "F**k me," is all I have to say about that. I am going to look like a W-H-A-L-E. A soft, fleshy whale. In a girdle. And whales do not walk to delicately in 4 inch stilletto stripper shoes. Oh, no we don't. We trip and die.

I LOVE WEDDINGS!!!

I'm going to bloody freaking elope (and not anytime soon).

ODE TO MAN FRIEND

THIS is Man Friend (he hates it when I take his picture and not just because they turn out blurry). We have been dating six months today. It has actually been longer but that's when we decided it was all official like (just saying that makes me cringe in my teeth because how high school does that sound?)



In lue of such a milestone I wanted to show off all the things Man Friend has gotten me over the course of our relationship.



Behold. The first gift he ever got me at Gallery Hop in Columbus for no real reason at all. I pointed it out and stated just how much I coveted it and he surprised me with it later that night. You go, Man Friend.



I know you can't see it very well because, again, these pictures are awesomely blurry but those are in fact diamonds. For my birthday. Oh, he is good.

Um, I can actually REMEMBER what he got me for Christmas. SORRY! Shhhhh.. Don't tell him.



THE PURSE. Oh, I love this purse. And that isn't to say I don't also love all the other things he has gotten me but I really, REALLY love this purse. It holds ALL of my stuff. It is a perfect size. It is a perfect color. I am actually knitting a scarf to match this purse. And it TOTALLY matches the bracelet and necklace. Score.

Granted, I would still like you even if you didn't get me all that cool stuff. But I can't deny it helps. And neither does that face.



Head. Chest. Poke.

BECAUSE HE'S A GOOD LIAR

"Can we go to Disney World?!"

"We can't go right now. You're sick."

"Well, then we'll go tomorrow."

"They aren't open on Sundays."

"It's comments like that that make me think you'll be a good dad."

ZOOM

Okay, so I went a half a day but that was only because my windshield wipers miraculously started working when I started my car this morning to drive it to the shop. So I spent my morning chipping away the remaining ice around the mechanism. And by "chipping" I mean "hacking the shit out of" and muttering explicits under my breath whenever I accidently caught the hose that delivers my washer fluid.

Why bother with the muttering? Because my neighbors' neighbors' son was sledding down the little hill at the end of their yard and I wasn't going to be the person to teach him his first cuss word. That is his parents' job.

But it needs to be said (but NOT repeated to my mother who thinks I speed WAY more than I actually do), I sped the WHOLE way home from work today. It felt wonderful. And it made me realize I want a car that goes real fast. R-E-A-L FAST.

THIS IS GOING TO BE ONE BIG OLE BITCHFEST

Oh my shit, I have needed to pick my nose since 3:30.

By that time I'd be on the road since 2:30. Around 6:30 I finally got home. IT. IS. A. 30. MINUTE. DRIVE.

Thirty. Three, oh. Half of ONE hour. NOT 4 MOTHER EFFING HOURS.

In the time it took me to drive the less than 25 miles home in the snow that shut down this goddamned excuse of a city, my windshield wipers? The motor burnt out.

They are no more.

They refuse to go swish.

It was my own fault really. I pushed them too hard.

DESPITE the fact that I had the defrost on high the entire ride home, much to my own personal discomfort since it was 13 degrees, about 13 more than it was this morning when I left for work, they iced up anyway. And that ice kept building right down in the crevise between the windshield and the hood of the car. And then up onto the wipers themselves. But I could still see and traffic WAS moving (albeit at 5 miles an hour) and I didn't get out to scrap it off. And then, with one mile left to go (and traffic at a perpetual standstill) they stopped moving. And then I smelled burnt rubber. F**k. F**k,f**k,f**k. Double bloody effing f**k.

That is when I started crying. I made it through the first 3 hours without crying.

Ohhh, WHAT?! That's right. Do that math. One mile left. 4 hours total. Only 3 hours gone? F**KING HELL SHIT HOLE SUCK!!!

THEREFORE, I'm taking a personal snow day tomorrow. I have to get my car fixed. SCREW YOU WORK PLACE WHO LET ME LEAVE EARLY BUT REQUIRED I USE PERSONAL TIME TO DO IT. I give you my danty middle finger.

DELUSIONAL MEN

"Your mom totally wants me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's true. If your dad weren't in the way, she would be ALL OVER this."

Snorting laughter.

"Oh, what? What's her other option? Bob?"

(Bob is how I, from this day forth, will refer to my younger sister's fiance.)

***

"I finally figured out how to make it 8 inches. Ask me how."

"How?"

"Fold it in half."

***

"My vagina can grow a better beard than you can."

FIGURES

"So are you and Female Friend an 'item' or are you just friends?"

"She's married."

"No. Get out."

"It's true."

"Well, that sucks for you because she's awesome."