back it up, baby

I've had a few problems with my sink backing up since I've been in this apartment. It's actually a pretty gross problem because twice I've looked into my sink and realized that the food backing up wasn't anything I'd ever eaten. But it was a small problem that seemed to fix itself, and I didn't want to be a whiny tenant. Until last night. Gabs was ironing his clothes and noticed water backing up, water that soon turned into something a lot like turkey soup. But I didn't worry all that much because it had always drained away again. So I put a little drano into the sink and then we went out to dinner and to get a drink. We get home and I turn the corner of my hallway to find my little "kitchen" flooded with funky turkey soup water. GROSS! Of course it's midnight at this point, I lost the manager's number during the great phone crisis of October, and I'm really hoping that Iniki wasn't lapping at the turkey-drano cocktail on the floor. I go to the manager's apartment, who not surprisingly doesn't answer her door...though probably for the best since every time I see her, she threatens to tow my car. Luckily, nobody in Seattle sleeps before four a.m., so I'm able to get the main manager's phone number and call him. He says he'll be out here first thing to snake the drain...then doesn't show up til after 10. And that leaves Gabs, my visitor from Kentucky, driving my car down to the airport to pick up our friend since I've got to hang around for my sink to be fixed. Lesson learned from this experience: complain your ass off when things start going wrong with your apartment, cause they will just invariably get worse.

I think I just walked past a person I went to basic training with (in the airport parking lot). Weird.


UPDATE: I saw him again in the parking lot, so I stopped him and asked him. As it turns out, I did go to basic training with him. He was our platoon guideon carrier. Weird indeed.

anticipation

In about nine hours, the ultra-glam Mr. Gabs H. will be gracing Seattle with his presence. I'm so excited, I could barely sleep and I'm up at 8 am... which, if I were Catholic, would count as a miracle and put me on the road to sainthood. It'll be nice to have somebody around that REALLY knows me. Talking yesterday on the phone, Gabs says, "I'm bringing some jeans and shirts and my travel iron, because I know you still don't have one." Damn skippy, domestics and Masil do not a happy couple make.
At any rate, if I don't get around to blogging much, it's because I'll be out and about. Thank god I rested up for the week. There are going to be a lot of rockstar days.

dance, dance i say

Christmas isn't REALLY about giving. No, it's pretty much about buying the presents you wish you had been given. If they're for kids, the gifts are basically the things that you as an adult want to play with. And that explains why my brother's three kids didn't get nearly as much play-time with the Dance Dance Revolution Extreme game and foot pad thingie as my sister, brother, and myself. Mostly because it's not nearly as funny watching kids trying to play the game as it is watching three adults with limited coordination skills. It's something akin to drunken cockroach stomping followed by a grand mal seizure. And seriously, my knees are killing me today.

eyes wide shut

My head is HUGE! No doubt about it. I can't wear women's hats because they often don't fit my massive cranium. I also have trouble finding glasses that flatter my ginormous head. But I never realized that, in addition to my monstrous noggin, my eyes are incredibly far apart, until I noticed that I have to adjust the microscope lenses after EVERYBODY...even the men. And everybody has to adjust them after me, several centimeters in fact. I guess that makes me some kind of opticular FREAK! But I think I remember reading something about people with wide-spaced eyes appearing more trustworthy, as opposed to beady-eyed people...so maybe that's why I get all the boob talk. Hmmmm.

taking into account

I put myself on a pretty strict budget a few weeks back. Basically, because I figured out that I was spending about four times more than I should be and my nest egg was dwindling very quickly. The first couple of weeks, staying within the budget was easy. The last couple of weeks were not so great. But this weekend I decided to get back on the ball, even though I have to spend money because of the stupid holidays that I'm not even remotely interested in celebrating (can I get a bah-humbug?). So I was good all week: only one song bought on iTunes, only one visit to the coffee shop, eating the crap in my fridge... I managed to hold onto my last ten bucks for four days, that is until today. Today I went and got a coffee...trust me though, I TOTALLY deserved it. I had a little over five left, which would have lasted through Saturday. But then I guess I dropped the money and now I only have thirty-five cents left. My punishment for getting the coffee I guess, now some random street-person can better afford his meth habit and I won't be able to buy my prawn taco come Saturday.

tee and aye

There's some strange phenomenon afoot that I've just really started to recognize. I give off some major boob-vibe. It seems like whenever I go out, women feel compelled to talk to me about their breasts. Friday night, standing outside, a complete stranger just started telling me about the smallness of her boobs and then told me the oddest story about marathon running and moleskin. And this kind of thing happens a lot. Then every once in a while, I get to see boobs too. I've probably seen more boobs than a lot of men out there, and I'm not even counting all of the shower time from the Army days. I wish I could figure out exactly what gets these ladies going on about their boobs...I would SO write a self-help book and cash in.

revisiting

"I can totally relate here. I've always hated my moniker and while in DC I did something about it. I made everybody call me the pseudonym I thought of some random drunken night while chatting on AOL. Those months as that person were the best of my life. But somehow I know I can't go back, so now I have to figure out who the new me is as I approach my third decade."
Jen emailed me that. It was a comment I left on her blog. I remember writing that though I don't know exactly when I did. But it got me thinking about my life here in Seattle. I moved here to Washington in May and up to Seattle in October...both really short spans of time. And my life is so profoundly different than it used to be. If I think back to a year ago, it would be almost impossible to imagine my life as it is now. Sometimes I feel like this life, in this time and space, is all a dream that I'll wake up from and think to myself how strange it all was. Other times I can't decide if my life is surreal or superreal. It's not just that I look different, though that fact alone contributes quite a bit to the world treating me differently, I feel completely different. Parts of me that had laid dormant for years are just starting to awaken. Frankly it feels a bit like your foot waking up after being completely numb and asleep, all of those tingling electric shocks that are a little painful. It's a curious thing, this journey and evolution. But I'm not working on the new me, I'm just working on me.

chameleon

Sometimes I feel like I'm completely invisible.

itchy and scratchy show

My dog has fleas. And since I'm one of those dog owners who lets her dog sleep with her and climb all over the furniture and pretty much own my space...well I guess that means that I have fleas too. Why all the bites have managed to be concentrated in my groin area is beyond me...

working at a dump

Definitely have to be vague here as I don't want to end up one of those unemployed bloggers. As it turns out, not only does the place I work serve crappy Christmas dinners...but they're destroying the planet. The public relations department is already serving up big bowls of ignorance with big heaping spoonfuls of denial of any wrongdoing. Typical. And the irony of the whole thing is more than I can stand. My neck is getting sore from all of the incredulous head-shaking I've been doing tonight.

six stories of story

Just saw Harry Potter on Imax. Maybe I'm a sucker for a blockbuster because I have to say...I really liked it! It could have been the crystal digital sound, it might have been the forty feet of boys that it is completely illegal of me to have lustful thoughts about, or quite possibly the fact that I had a couple o' few drinks at a happy hour before I got to the movie...who knows? All I can say is that I enjoyed my three hours with The Goblet of Fire. I agree with some of the things people have pointed out as drawbacks, but it didn't ruin it for me even the slightest. And I shed the biggest crocodile tears when Cedric's dad started howling. I am a sucker for melodrama...I grew up watching Korean soap operas, how could I not be? But really, I think I need to step outside of the children's movie box because it's getting a little weird that I'm whispering to my friends that I think high school boys from HP:GOF and fauns from Narnia are hot. Next on my list of movies to watch...King Kong by Peter Jackson. And it has nothing to do with my weird fascination with Adrien Brody... REALLY!

deceptacon

Okay, massive rant coming on...just warning you.
Why are deception and lying such easy things for people to do? How is it possible that a person can actually convince themselves that deceiving somebody is the correct fucking course of action? Do people really think that somehow the withholding of important information is somehow any different than an outright bold-faced lie? SERIOUSLY!!! Is it any different? When somebody purposely withholds an important piece of information, a little tidbit that could change the course of somebody's actions, do they REALLY REALLY think that it's any different than out-and-out lying to that person? I have to believe that people must really believe that, because it happens with an amazing consistency. If a person has the chance to tell the entire story, has several opportunities to do so, and then doesn't...it makes them a LIAR, that's all there is to it, no negotiating levels of truth here!!! And that makes that person incapable of any true connection with a person on any level, despite all of their pretenses. ARGH, I try so hard not to lie or deceive, I've spent years trying to escape the pathological lying that came so easy to me before. But what's the point, the reciprocation of honesty is so pathetic that it makes it hardly worth the effort. I just want to fucking scream, rip my hair out and leave shiny bald patches on my scalp. I'm ready to GIVE UP on my journey to try and better connect with people because I keep getting sucked into other people's deceptions. I should be smarter than this, I should have enough experience to realize this, I should have kept my fortress solid to protect against these things because so far it hasn't been worth it to try and tear them down. Poor me, my control drama rearing its monstrous head. My choices are my follies, and I don't even have my youthful naivete to blame it on any more.

weekend update

I had a really great weekend. It was one of those weekends that you wish you could relive again and again. I went to a great party on Saturday night, my first Consolidated Works and first large scale Burning Man party. I left that party thinking how much I love being in Seattle. I saw a lot of really cool people I've met since I've been here, I met some really cool new people, and frankly Seattle is CRAWLING with totally hot people and I think most of them came to this party...meow, seriously something about people in rubber and fur (well fake fur at any rate)... Great, great, great night. Which is good because for some reason I got a little freaked out about it Saturday afternoon and almost didn't go. But I have to say, I'm REALLY glad I did.
Then yesterday we saw Narnia. It was a really good movie. Granted it was a packed movie theater and we had to sit in the second row, so my neck is totally killing me, but otherwise I have no complaints. I heart Tilda Swinton. She made an amazing White Witch and her costumes were gorgeous, I'm thinking that I know what I want to do for Halloween next year. It says a lot about the quality of movies being released lately that the only movies I ever go to see anymore are basically what amounts children's stuff. Wednesday I'm going to see Harry Potter on Imax. YAY.

you get what you pay for

Oh, why don't I learn to stay away from free meals? The hospital I work at (not for) was generous enough to give us a free holiday meal. There was a salad, a piece of bread, carrots, potatoes, big massive slabs of animal flesh dripping with greasy bloody juices and then covered in a sludgy gravy, a savory vegetarian selection, and the most SINFUL piece of chocolate cake. Most of it was boring and bland. OH BUT THE CAKE! Worth every little piece of cellulite currently attaching themselves to my thighs. Everything else though...not really worth the gassy stomach-ache. Seriously, if that's the best they can offer me for the short months of barely dedicated service I've grudgingly given...then I'm glad I spend most of the day slacking off.

top dog

Who knew my dog was a top? I took him for his long walk, otherwise known as the poo-poo walk, and there at the park were three other dogs about the same size as he is. Generally I've found that the city-folk don't like a lot of pet-to-pet interaction, maybe just some mild butt sniffing. But these ladies were letting the dogs frolick and romp and they were gracious enough to let pups join in on the fun. The dogs were wrestling and nipping at one other, it was fun to watch. But it wasn't enough for him to just join in the reindeer games, no he had to show the other pups who was boss. I know it's perfectly natural for dogs to show dominance, "playing horsie" as my little five-year old neighbor used to call it, but my god my pups does it a lot! A LOT! It's like a switch goes off in his little top brain and then he's ony capable of doing the one thing. Pretty soon nobody will let him play anymore...well except for that little chihuahua that the owners dress in a leather vest.

outburst

So I kind of went off on this girl at work last night. Not a full-blown temper tantrum, but definitely a snarky showing that wasn't really necessary. Now I feel a little bad. Overall, this person is really nice, but something she was doing started to bother me. Mostly because her actions reminded me of someone else. So I reacted. And then created tension just to relieve some of my own internal tension. Not that I'm discounting my feelings, she was doing what I called her on. The pacifier in me says I should apologize. However, the stubborn bitch devil's advocate in me says that I shouldn't say I'm sorry. I'm torn.

dreaming

I said a while back that I would take nightmares if that would bring the dreams back. Who knew I was a psychic? I have had terrible dreams lately...and the same one has been replaying the last few nights. In these dreams, it's always the nice people who turn out to be the monsters. And for some reason, they're always trying to take my puppy. And nobody will lend me their horse so I can try to escape. But there's always time to wash my hair. And the people I feared most actually turned out to be more helpful than others. I'd like to see somebody interpret the meaning of that.

quandries

Here's some of the questions we debated at work last night, definitely the kind of stuff that will keep you up at night.

How does Superman get a haircut?
Would you need kryptonite shoes to kick Superman in the groin?
Who would be better in bed, Superman or Spiderman?
Is Spiderman into s&m?I
s Wonder Woman a lesbian?
Oops, forgot one...Would Wonder Woman and Xena make a good match?

* * *

It's snowing!

elborate ruse

I found out today that I've been victimized by an imposter. I had been writing back and forth with my friend on our myspace accounts, thinking the whole time that I was writing to my friend. But as it turns out, it wasn't her at all and the conversation we had been having was somebody else pretending to be her. The only reason I started to get suspicious was when this person started talking about cheating on her husband and then I knew something was up. But up until that point I had no idea.
PS-I got a library card today. YAY!

grumble

I bought the new Madonna CD on pre-order from iTunes. Steve and company pulled a fast one on me. Instead of releasing the cd with individual tracks, they released it as one long-ass cut. So I have one 53-minute file instead of like nine 4-minute files. Lame lame lame. I get it, they want to prevent p2p sharing. But I don't have fifty-plus minutes to devote to listening to one cd and because it's such a huge file I won't put it on my iPod so the end result it that I haven't listened to the cd or most of the songs. Not that Steve and Esther care, they already have my money.

bird flu

Only days after eating turkey and chicken, I have the flu. Coincidence? Probably. I should probably go get orange juice and other nourishment but I'm too tired. I miss having somebody around the take care of me when I'm feeling shitty. But at least there's room at the table for my pity party of one.

got game?

I realized the other day that I haven't dated or been on a date in eight years. That's a long time. My reintroduction into the dating pool, thusly unsuccessful. I'm definitely relearning by trial and error. For instance, while flirting with a cute boy, would it be considered bad form to point out he has a little booger hanging out of his nose? Yeah, I thought so. Another lesson learned the hard way.

fan mail

Dear Fergie,
First off, let me say that I can remember back when you were Stacy on Kids Incorporated. My cousin Stacy would pretend to be you, I would pretend to be Gloria/Martika, and my sister got stuck with the other girl...what's her name.
I even remember when you were in that group Black Orchid...or some other flower.
So though I haven't followed your career that closely, it's clear that I've mostly been a fan for a while. I mean I had never heard of the Black Eyed Peas until after you joined the mix.
That's why I feel like I can write this letter to you, we have history together girl.
Let's start with the props since most people like the good news first.
1. You have a bangin' body. The abs and the ass alone are worth the price of admission.
2. You have a smokin' hot fiance. Josh Duhammel...nice one.
3. You can sing, and not in a Britney Spears/Ashlee Simpson, "thank god for dubbing" kind of way...but you can work them pipes.
SOOOOOO, now that you're in the glow of positivity, I need to have a little talk about something else. See, I know you say you're beauty is all natural and sometimes a little delusion is good for a person, trust me girl...I feel you there. If you need to lie and say that power of the lip plumper is with you and not you know...surgically implanted fat from your ass...go right ahead.
But for the love of god, please please admit that you had some eye work done. Frankly, your eyebrows are scary. And scarier still, girls are starting to copy them. COPY YOUR EYEBROWS FERGIE!
Not good brows like Garbo or even campy fun brows like Crawford....your far too highly arched and way too penciled in eyebrows. Now it would be okay if it were just the drag queens doing it, but I've seen a lot of other ladies and it's just disturbing.
I know I can't be the only person having this guttural reaction to people copying your brows, so unless you want us to take it out on you by not buying your records....then just come out and admit that your plastic surgeon pulled a little too tight and that's why your brows are so creepy. You'll be doing a lot of sheep/girls a favor and helping me with the nightmares.
Truly,
Lisa M.

holiday wishes and holiday cheer

Happy Thanksgiving! Enjoy the ridiculous amounts of food, followed by semi-comatose television watching. While you're gnawing on your turkey legs, think of the poor souls like me who have to go in to work and handle jars of bodily fluids.

r.e.m.

No not the band. That mysterious magical time that happens during sleep, which has been eluding me again. I usually dream quite vividly but I haven't in a while. Either because I don't get much sleep or because I crash so hard from sheer exhaustion that I can't remember if I dreamt or not. I miss my dreams. I miss waking up and thinking, "What the hell was that all about?" I miss flying like Superman, kissing A-list movie stars, and growing that tail I've always wanted. I would even take a bad dream at this point. I read somewhere once that one of the most effective means of torture is to not let somebody fall into a r.e.m. cycle. That must make me a masochist.

noticable

I think that there are four types of people:
People who don't like attention,
people who could care less if they get it,
people who like it,
and then people who NEED the attention.

I'm always amazed when I go out how many people fall into the latter category. It's like they need some kind of outside validation to prove to themselves that they're pretty or interesting or worthy. For a while I found myself falling into that category, wanting attention to prove my worth. But after last night, I realized that I'm not that person any longer. I don't need somebody else's attention. I don't need to be told I'm beautiful or have guys crowding my space, because I'm going to walk away from that experience feeling as good about myself as I did before it. Because I'm learning to be fine with myself, a difficult journey for sure, and it just doesn't require somebody else's attentions to make it happen.

visitors

Remember the crackhead sized raccoons that REALLY were crackheads. Well last night they REALLY were raccoons. They were the biggest raccoons I have ever seen in my life. There were two of them and they were seriously bigger than my dog. And they weren't the slightest bit scared by me. They stared me down like they were ready for a bar fight. Chances are, they would have won.

like a fox

You never realize HOW crazy you are until you have the chance to comparison shop. Apparently my crazy runs along the lines of obsessive. Driving around in the middle of the night looking for a 24-hour Wal-mart (aka corporate SATAN!) so that I can buy a vacuum cleaner belt even though I intended to wait until the next morning to vacuum...not what normal people do. Normal people wait until the next day and go to the Target ten minutes away. But I've already rationalized it and blamed my insomnia.
On a completely unrelated note. I got this from Katie, who got it from her mother. For a change it was a picture that didn't have big nekkid boobs, but it does offer some good

fishlips

Yesterday I bought this.

Part of me was intrigued, fuller & poutier lips would put me dangerously close to Angelina Jolie lips.

Who doesn't want to be associated with that level of hotness?

The other part of me was repulsed.

Who wants a lip gloss with a warning label and promises to do exactly what herpes/fever blisters do to my lips.

But intrigue won out and I purchased the gloss.

So now on with the experiment...

Before the fatty plumping glossing (yeah, my lips are a wee bit chapped, it's winter):

So then I applied and within fifteen minutes there was a definite tingle and burn. But did it follow through with the promise of plumping and pinkness?

While I definitely agree that my lips got pinker, I'm not one hundred percent sold on the 20% size increase. Though I think they do look a little fuller, but that could just be from the gloss.

tidbit

So I guess I forgot this little piece of information about the guy in the break room. He wasn't wearing shoes. He had his boots in a bag and he told me it was because his feet hurt and his boots didn't give him enough ventilation. Now I told everybody that I thought he was on drugs. But the only part of the story that seems to get everybody's attention is the fact that he didn't have his shoes on and that I remembered what color socks he was wearing. So who exactly is missing the point here, them or me?

naivete

At work today, there was a pre-Thanksgiving/extended celebration of the Day of LisaM. potluck.
When I went to break there was this guy in the break room, a guy who I didn't recognize. Granted, I barely recognize half of the people who work in the other rooms of our lab, but I was really weirded out by this guy. Not only had I NEVER seen him before, but he set my alarms off in a big way.
Our breakroom is in a secure area and I had to put the code in to get in, so naturally I assumed that he got in via code as well. He was talkative and looked like he knew the place inside out, he knew where the get towels, he knew where we kept the spoons, he just acted like he belonged there.
So we're making some small talk and the whole time I'm thinking that something is amiss, so I ask him where he worked and he just brushed that aside and started talking about his shoes.
But I just kept thinking that something was off and so I paid really close attention to what he looked like and how he acted, I even thought that he was a tweaker and probably on meth because he just gave me that vibe.
After about ten minutes he left. So I just sit there dumbfounded, wondering what the hell just happened and who this guy was.
After my break I walked over to the supervisor's offices and saw him walking out. I wondered where the plate of food he had went, he couldn't have eaten it that fast. But he came out of the supervisor's office, so then I figured he must work with us because why else would he have gone in there?
As soon as I got back into the lab, I asked around...hey who's the guy with the goatee and somebody said, "Oh that's Dan."
Mystery solved right? Not even thirty minutes later, our manager has called security because somebody walked into her office (she left the door open) and stole a bunch of stuff.
And apparently I wasn't the only person who saw this guy and thought "What the fuck?" but I AM the only one who made conversation with him and saw him in both areas.
So I'm either naive, though the fact that I was suspicious kind of puts a small dent in that theory, or I am a totally jaded city person, the kind of person who would hear and see a person getting raped and murdered and not do anything about it. I'm a little scared either way.

lisa it's your birthday, happy birthday lisa

Happy Birthday to me! Though after today this day will no longer be known as the birthday, instead we shall call it the Day of LisaM.!

PS-I'm wearing Atomic Bombshell's t-shirt today! Yay for birthday presents. And thanks to Katie for the awesome gifts, including the world's biggest underpants. Thanks also to my Seattle and Lakewood peeps who came out and celebrated with me throughout the weekend. Now I'm just waiting for my sister and her plus one so that we can go indulge in a ridiculously sinful piece of cake at this chocolatier/bakery down the street. I might be wearing the world's biggest underpants yet.

whew

Definitely a rockstar weekend. I need a weekend to recover from my weekend. I would provide details, but I'm not sure how much of it would be accurate. Just two short days until I am no longer a twenty-something miscreant. The paradigm is shifting to thirty-something rapscallion. Although a girl at work did give me a good reason for turning thirty...you don't have to work as hard at the gym because you don't have to bring your heart rate up as much. Yay for less effort.

celebration time, come on

So the birthday weekend begins. I've got the hair, the dress, the boots...I'm ready to go. Expect drunken blogging throughout the weekend.

fast-track

Holy crap, it's only a matter of DAYS until the big three-oh. What the hell? I remember time coming to a grinding frickin' halt when I was waiting to turn twenty-one. I have to get myself out of this strange ripple in the space-time continuum that makes my impending thirties rush up on me like a homeless person after I've hit an ATM. It seems like only yesterday that I was deluding myself into thinking that a year from my 29th birthday was a long ways away.

ten ways to true love

o Always use the most shallow and superficial criteria for deciding which person you are interested in
o Make sure you choose one of the hottest people in the room
o Make sure that s/he knows s/he's one of the hottest people in the room, a good dose of megalomania is always beneficial
o Choose a person that is either moving out of town within the next few weeks or is already from out of town
o Misinterpret polite interest as true interest
o To ensure the above, be sure to NOT be at your most functional by consuming large quantities of liquor
o Get all up in people's space and make them uncomfortable
o Project an image of who you generally aren't, the overconsumption of alcohol is a big help in this regard
o Don't follow your intuition
o Try too hard and occasionally let the fact that you're feeling needy bleed through.

the great divide

TuI've been feeling very disconnected from people lately. It's almost like there's a short in my system that prevents any real connections from occurring with other people. Certainly there have been a lot of temporary connections, enough to gleen some momentary satisfaction. But it just doesn't feel like enough anymore. The more I experience these shallow connections, the lonelier I start to feel. It's like being incredibly hungry and then eating a handful of something and then just feeling that much hungrier after getting that small taste. And then of course, there's the rejection that goes hand in hand with shorted out connections. It's just all very strange and painful, I'm baffled. I finally stuck a pin through the bubble of self-preservation I made for myself for so many years and watched it explode, but now I almost want it back.

dress you up in my love

There was a line in the movie Mean Girls about girls and Halloween. I can't remember exactly how it goes, but it's something like "Halloween is the time when girls get to dress up like sluts." And it's true. Take any costume and no doubt there is a tarted-up, vaguely whorish version running around. I saw slutty geishas, slutty vampires, slutty nuns even...and then there were the girls that literally dressed up like whores or really cheap looking Victoria Secret models. I'm not sure I get the whole whorish-Halloween phenomenon. What's the appeal? Why do people think they have to be skanky to be sexy? The sexiest guy I saw was completely covered up in a costume that wasn't tight or revealing. And the sexiest girl costume was kind of tight, but not very revealing...but yeah, she needed to take some time off from the tanning bed. But that's another pet-peeve for another post.

happy halloween

This weekend was an intense one. I'm still recovering. The Carrie costume was a success, I was told by several people that it was the best costume of the night. But I didn't get any pictures. The strangest thing by far though was that I had to duct tape my boobs into the dress. I did to my chest what people do to their plumbing. And the craziest thing is that it works.

i'm it

I've been tagged by the fabulous Atomic Bombshell. Not surprisingly, we have many answers in common because as she pointed out a long time ago, we are cosmic twins.
So here goes...
Three ways that I am stereotypically female
1. I heart make-up, especially glittery drag-queen make-up
2. I am very emotional, I cry during commercials
3. I love to shop

Three ways that I am stereotypically male
1. I belch, quite loud, and am not the slightest bit embarrassed by it
2. I always try to give the firmer handshake
3. I will drive around lost for an hour before I stop and ask for directions

Three names I go by
1. Masil
2. Lisa
3. Azure

Three parts of my heritage
1. Korean
2. Cherokee
3. Irish

Three physical things I like about myself
1. My lips and teeth
2. My scars and tattoos, well I don't like one of the tattoos but it'll get fixed at some point
3. My eyes

Three physical things I don't like about myself
1. My lack of a waist and my spare tire
2. My feet, they're very scabby and always have blisters
3. The fact that my boobs will never be described with words like perky

Three things that scare me
1. The idea that I am incapable of happiness
2. Heights
3. Aging

Three of my everyday essentials
1. Ipod
2. Massive amounts of caffeine
3. Sleep, though because of number 2, not nearly as much as I need

Three LIES
1. I have self-esteem
2. I don't regret any of my choices
3. I really don't care what other people think of me

Three TRUTHS
1. My life is one big contradiction
2. I am a good cook
3. I have a really good memory

Three things I want in a relationship
1. Passion
2. Laughter
3. Friendship

Three physical things about men that appeal to me
1. Height
2. Necks
3. Eyes

Three of my favorite hobbies
1. Writing letters that the addressee will never read
2. Exercising
3. Listening to music

Three things I want to do really badly now
1. Fall in love, or at the very least...a deep mutual lust
2. Make more friends
3. Get board certified, the pay raise alone would make it worth it

Three careers I've considered
1. Museum Curator
2. Civil Rights Lawyer
3. Record Store Clerk

Three places I want to go on vacation
1. San Francisco, which has been a desire for a while and not for the reason that some might suspect
2. Brazil
3. China

Three things I want to do before I die
1. Burning Man
2. Start and finish an art project I've been thinking about for years
3. Feel an overall sense of satisfaction with my life

Three celebrity crushes
1. Johnny Depp
2. Jonathan Rhys-Meyers
3. Justin Theroux

ceremonial

I completely forgot to mention that I saw the most random gorgeous thing last night. I was walking my dog after work and there is an empty space down the street where there used to be a vintage store (ie overpriced goodwill). There were people in the store and they were doing some kind of ritual, maybe to get rid of negative energy and bad luck. The ritual was replete with chanting and incense and robes. It was amazing to see and the fact that it was just so...well I already said random didn't I? Sometimes I'm amazed at the things that go on here, mostly because nobody else finds them amazing, I revel in what other people consider banal.

honesty is the poor man's policy

How does that idiom go...honesty has its own rewards? Well, whoever thought of that expression, I need to have a little talk with them. I try to be honest, in fact I try very hard not to lie. Mostly because I'm really good at lying and if I didn't control it, I would be a pathological liar. So today when I went to register my car, I didn't lie and use my mother's address, which I had actually planned on doing. But the guilt of the lie sort of got to me...that is until I found out that I paid an extra $140.00 because I used my address instead of hers. I asked the guy why it was so much more, and he explained it was because of some monorail tax that Seattle citizens pay. I asked him if I would have paid it if I used my mom's address, and he said "But you don't live there." And I said, "But you wouldn't have known that if I had lied to you." Then he went on about karma and my honesty paying off at some point, and I told him that sounded like a bunch of bullshit. But we'll see...maybe my not lying will pay off in the future, with dividends even.

insomnia

What do most people do when they can't sleep and it's three o-clock in the morning? Cyberspace is starting to get a little boring and television is nothing but stupid informercials. So lately, I've been working on exercising the part of my brain that I haven't really been using since I graduated...I've been doing puzzles. I forgot how fun they can be, it's not often that you have to look at the big picture and minute detail all at the same time. This is the one I'm working on now...I've gotten the easy part finished but now all the pieces pretty much look the same.

insomnia

What do most people do when they can't sleep and it's three o-clock in the morning? Cyberspace is starting to get a little boring and television is nothing but stupid informercials. So lately, I've been working on exercising the part of my brain that I haven't really been using since I graduated...I've been doing puzzles. I forgot how fun they can be, it's not often that you have to look at the big picture and minute detail all at the same time. This is the one I'm working on now...I've gotten the easy part finished but now all the pieces pretty much look the same.

dress-up

After some debate, initially deciding between a Catholic school-girl or Madonna circa Immaculate Conception...I've finally hit upon what I'm going to dress up as for Halloween... I've just paid for the dress (an ebay find), the wig, a tiara, and three huge bottles of fake blood (gotta love those Halloween super-stores). Luckily I already have the dirty pillows...

complimentary

Last night I chatted with some people (i.e. drunken conversation with strangers) while I was out and about. And I got the coolest compliment. Normally people compliment me on physical things like my teeth or hair (just like with a horse) and often times the things that come in pairs. But last night a guy told me that he thought it was hot that I was analytical. It was surprising and frankly one of the most flattering things I've heard in a long time.

park and ride

My first apartment drama just unfolded (if you don't count the dumpster diving drug addicts). I get home from work and there is a freakin' car in my reserved spot. So I drive around looking for a space on the street. Of course being the hill, there isn't one within a five block radius and after vainly searching for thirty minutes, I was ready to talk to the manager. I pull up behind my stolen space and go up the manager's apartment to see if she'll let me park somewhere else...but alas, she isn't home. As I'm going back out to my car to put it in the pay lot nearby, she's outside with her friend and telling me that she's going to have ME towed. I explain about the person being in my space and then she proceeds to call to have the other car towed. I felt bad about it, and really I just wanted her to let me take another space for the night. At any rate, the tow truck shows up and the person who's car it is shows up about the same time and luckily nobody got towed. Still I felt like I should pacify the situation, so I talked to the guy and told him I wasn't being vengeful and trying to have him towed and he seemed to take that okay. But I'm still totally paranoid that I'm going to find a brick in my rear window or a bunch of key-gouges that spell out bitch on the hood. And I'm pretty sure I'm not making any friends in this building now.

homeward bound

I just spent the last two days in Lakewood. It was a nice little visit, though I was a little sad that my puppy was so excited to be back there when he is so clearly depressed to be living in the city. Initially I headed down there because of the lack of clean underwear factor, but then as it turned out, my mom was having shoulder surgery so I needed to be down there regardless. She is doing fine, though because she's pretty tiny (which makes the fact that I am an Amazon even more stunning), she was pretty icky-sicky after the anesthesia.

And her doctor was a grade-A, top-notch asshole. I guess since he can't charge the insurance company for a good bedside manner, he didn't feel any compulsion to offer it. I worked for an orthopedic doctor for several years and I hope he didn't treat the families as crappy as this guy. But I DO hope that my mom's doctor's Mercedez gets broken into and set on fire.

My mom was hilarious after the surgery. The minute they pushed her wheelchair to the car, she bounded out of the chair before the transporter could move the leg rests and screamed, "I'm hungry, let's go to the Korean store." And when we got there, she ate with a fork. She's about as bad at fork-eating as many people are with chopstick eating. I ended up putting her food into nice little bit size portions for her to scoop up.

Then I spent the evening with my sister and ate some really good food. I can say, without any hesitation, that yesterday I had the first decent meal I've had since...well since the last time I went to my mom's house. Lots of yummy Korean food was consumed, even a delicious crab soup.And I totally scored a bottle of mommy's little helpers. I guess somehow my mom ended up with two full bottles of the good stuff, so she offered me one. Like the good and filial daughter that I am, I couldn't possibly refuse...it would be a total lack of respect to say no to my mother's generosity. I was only thinking about her feelings when I took them.

Today, I drove my dog down to Olympia to take him to a super special veterinary specialist. I swear, they have some script from vet school that they use to explain medicine use because every single veterarian ophthalmologists Iniki has gone to has said the exact same thing verbatim. It's very strange and getting very repetitive. Maybe I can convince them to mix it up with a hip-hop version or a tap dance.

homeward bound

I just spent the last two days in Lakewood. It was a nice little visit, though I was a little sad that my puppy was so excited to be back there when he is so clearly depressed to be living in the city. Initially I headed down there because of the lack of clean underwear factor, but then as it turned out, my mom was having shoulder surgery so I needed to be down there regardless. She is doing fine, though because she's pretty tiny (which makes the fact that I am an Amazon even more stunning), she was pretty icky-sicky after the anesthesia.
And her doctor was a grade-A, top-notch asshole. I guess since he can't charge the insurance company for a good bedside manner, he didn't feel any compulsion to offer it. I worked for an orthopedic doctor for several years and I hope he didn't treat the families as crappy as this guy. But I DO hope that my mom's doctor's Mercedez gets broken into and set on fire.
My mom was hilarious after the surgery. The minute they pushed her wheelchair to the car, she bounded out of the chair before the transporter could move the leg rests and screamed, "I'm hungry, let's go to the Korean store." And when we got there, she ate with a fork. She's about as bad at fork-eating as many people are with chopstick eating. I ended up putting her food into nice little bit size portions for her to scoop up.
Then I spent the evening with my sister and ate some really good food. I can say, without any hesitation, that yesterday I had the first decent meal I've had since...well since the last time I went to my mom's house. Lots of yummy Korean food was consumed, even a delicious crab soup.And I totally scored a bottle of mommy's little helpers. I guess somehow my mom ended up with two full bottles of the good stuff, so she offered me one. Like the good and filial daughter that I am, I couldn't possibly refuse...it would be a total lack of respect to say no to my mother's generosity. I was only thinking about her feelings when I took them.
Today, I drove my dog down to Olympia to take him to a super special veterinary specialist. I swear, they have some script from vet school that they use to explain medicine use because every single veterarian ophthalmologists Iniki has gone to has said the exact same thing verbatim. It's very strange and getting very repetitive. Maybe I can convince them to mix it up with a hip-hop version or a tap dance.

nightcrawlers

Right this very second, there are crackhead sized raccoons digging through the recycling bins near my window. Well, at least they're industrious. And not creepy like the guy who stood in the bushes of the building next door to mine while I was out walking my dog at midnight.

seattlite

The thing I love most about this city is how deliciously random it is. I'm sure all cities are like that, but for some reason this city just does it for me. I spent ten years running away from Washington, trying to find a home, only to realize that it had been here all along. Okay, again with the digression. I think I need to start carrying around a camera to capture some of the things I see that I find strangely compelling.
Like the other day, walking my dog with my requisite steaming latte, somebody walks past with two half-gallon boxes of ice cream and starts telling everybody she passes, "Hey, there's free ice cream at the Rite Aid." And indeed, out in front of the Rite Aid, there were two huge boxes filled with half-gallon boxes of ice cream. People were elbow deep in the boxes looking for their favorite flavor, telling each other to grab a mint chocolate chip if they saw one.
Today, walking over to the park, I was standing at an intersection waiting for the crosswalk's flashing approval and I look across the way and see a young girl and her baby stopped by a newspaper machine. In the middle of the day, without a care in the world, this girl was graffiting the paper machine. She was just so matter-of-fact about it, like it was the most natural thing in the world to leave her mark on the PI box. When she finished, she straightened up, grabbed the stroller and walked off. I have to admit, I was more than a little impressed. It's one thing to do that in the shadow of night, but at noon on a busy intersection...that's hardcore.

climbing the hill

I think it's pretty clear that I'm going through some kind of existensial aging crisis. And as I've said before, a lot of that is because I did everything backwards. While kids my age were going away to college, doing keg-stands, and skipping classes, I was waking up at 4 am to screaming drill sergeants and getting gassed just so we knew what it felt like (not good, in case you needed to know). While kids my age were just graduating from school, trying to find their first job and apartment, I was settling into a suburban middle-class married lifestyle, sorting through fabric swatches and finding missing pieces to my china set. Then when people my age were looking to settle down on a house and a partner, I went back to school, got divorced, and now with one foot nudged firmly in the door of my thirties, I'm trying to figure out how to proceed from here.So now that I've gone off on a huge tangent. Here I am feeling pretty young, doing the things that young kids do, and I get to work and realize that I am working on the old people's weekend. Nobody I work with is under forty. The other weekend has all the young kids. Yet again I am trapped in this weird middle ground between being young and being grown-up and I just don't know what to make of it. But I know this, the soothing sounds of smooth jazz does not a peppy night make.

mile markers

I just realized that I'm celebrating a milestone tomorrow. It's going to be a strange day, probably involving an emotional rollercoaster ride. Tomorrow, I will have been divorced for exactly one year.

party monster

I'm going to stage an intervention for myself. I simply don't know how much longer this rockstar lifestyle can go on. I totally christened my toilet last night with streetside Polish sausage and then passed out on the bathroom floor in my underwear. However, when I left my house, the plan was to go out to a nice dinner. The road to hell really is paved with good intentions...and fruitylicious martinis.

significant other

Some might say I need a boyfriend for silly things like love, compansionship, a sex life, sharing of emotions and blah blah blah. But I really need one because I need somebody to hold my dog while I run into the grocery store and post office. A boyfriend would cut my errand time in half.

hair of the dog

I don't know who has a richer sense of humor, my fate or my irony. I also don't know how I can promise myself to only stay out for an hour, purposely not take a debit or credit card and only about twenty in cash...and still end up getting drunk and stumbling in at some ungodly hour. I would think it out but my brain is throbbing to some conga beat better suited for Carnivale rather than my cranium.

the new digs

I know you're all desperate to see my new crack-alley apartment...so I took a few pictures because it's 2 am and cyberstalking got boring.
Don't laugh at its lilliputian size.
Just remember, it's not how big it is, it's how you use it.

The bedroom-this is where all the magic happens...and by magic I mostly mean the part that happens in your imagination.

The living room-clearly I am in desperate need of some wall art.

The "office"-well, the corner that the desk fit into at any rate.

My sad, sad little refrigerator, with its second-hand condiments and bread with nothing to put on it.
But at least my little hobbit-sized appliance has some cool magnets.

weighty matters

I don't know exactly how this works in the world of physics, but I'm almost positive that the weights at my new gym are heavier than the weights at my old one. I'm so frikkin' sore from going to the gym for the last three days. I feel like I'm bordering on quadriplegic status here. But the thing is, I didn't lift any more weight than I normally do. I didn't do any more repetitions. I did the same routine I was doing when I left my old gym. I know one measly week off couldn't have taken that big a toll on my endurance.

blue lagoon

Something strange is afoot. My toilet water is blue, it looks like somebody added some tidy-bowl to the tank. I know for a fact that I didn't do it. So does that mean somebody is breaking into my apartment to put cleaning products in my toilet tank? Very strange...

copycat

Just because I'm this close to being in my thirties and single, does that HAVE to mean that my life has to be like an episode of Sex and the City? Last night I found myself being, as Carrie called it, emotionally slutty. I spilled far too many beans, I don't know what came over me... People were asking me personal questions and I didn't play coy or try to change the subject, I actually answered them. I'm wondering if that was the smartest thing to do. A total stranger probably wouldn't want to know your the results of your last pap smear, so why would they want to know intimate, personal things about your life? I think there are games you're supposed to play, and even though everybody says they hate them, they all seem to want to participate in them. This social life thing is going to take some getting used to.Although, it has by far and away increased since the move. It's nice being able to do things on the spur of the moment rather than having to plan days if not weeks in advance. And being able to drive home in fifteen minutes or less...priceless.

let me count the ways

I'm BACK!!! Oh how I missed this place, my little cyber-sanctuary. I almost went to an internet cafe yesterday but I thought I could make it one more day. I just got my internet and I've been spending HOURS going through all of my email. And let me tell you, once I get that bank account information set-up...that guy in Nigeria is going to make me one rich woman! And the deal on Viagra I got, WOW!So, I'm done unpacking. The apartment looks great. The walls however are paper thin, I can hear my upstairs neighbor peeing. And they don't seem to work or sleep, they're always home and always moving around. But I love it here. I love that I can walk everywhere. If I want a coffee, which I do almost every waking minute of the day, there are ten within a one block radius. And it only takes me five minutes to drive to work and I can walk to the gym.Speaking of the gym, do I ever have a story for you. So I signed up for a membership at 24-hr Fitness and you get one free training session. I had an appointment yesterday at 10:00 am. Naturally I was late, particularly since I didn't roll out of bed until 9:40 because I've been sick and had consumed half a bottle of Nyquil the night before. I get to the gym and ask for John, my trainer, and I'm waiting and waiting and this person walks up and I'm thinking, "Oh, that must be John, I think he's a trannie" because John was very manly looking but with some feminine features. A guy who works at the desk asks me if I need anything, so I point to John and say, "Yeah, I think I'm waiting for him." And he goes, "Oh, you have an appointment with Marybeth (or some girl name)." I was MORTIFIED! I mumbled something about just waking up and taking too much medicine, but I could feel my face heating up. How embarrassing, I felt like such the country mouse at that moment.

hiatus

I won't have an internet connection until sometime next week, so I probably won't be updating until next Friday or so.

SHHHH, don't cry...it'll be okay.
No no no no, don't blame yourself.
It's not you, it's me, I swear.
I promise, I'll be back and things will be better.
I'll call, I swear.

moving violations

You know, when I moved from Kentucky...I planned for months. I called around about moving companies, I collected boxes from work and school, I did everything ahead of time. This time, I haven't done anything. It's Wednesday, I move on Saturday, and I haven't done a thing. No truck, no boxes, nothing. But I'm going to get my keys today...and I called to have my cable and internet hooked up. The important things first right.

ghost stories

When I was in high school, my friend's mother used to tell us scary stories that she heard as a girl growing up in Germany. Maybe it was the accent on top of hearing stories you hadn't ever heard before, but those stories were pants-stainingly scary. They always had a little something, some detail, for your imagination to hold onto so that you couldn't sleep for weeks after hearing one of those stories. One of the tales I remember vividly involved a desciption of the reaper. He didn't wear a hooded shroud like we all imagine. No, this repear wore a long black cloak and a black hat with a large feather. And he would come to you and leave his hat for you as a calling card; you saw the hat and then he took your life. So imagine my surprise when I got into my car yesterday and looked in the rear view mirror and saw a black felt hat with a feather laying in the back window. My heart stopped beating and I know I stopped breathing for a few seconds, staring at that hat and hearing my friend's mother's voice telling her story. Then I remembered that Jen was wearing a hat when I picked her and her girls up at The War Room on Friday night...and things were right in the world once again.

canker sore

Sometime Friday or Saturday, those two days are a total blur at this point, I bit the shit out of the inside of my mouth. It was all raw and ragged. But because we can't help but touch the painful spots, I've been tonguing the sore for days and now it's smooth like the inside of an oyster shell. I guess this is one of the few times that you can keep poking at the pain and it turns into something that actually feels pretty good.
Also, at this after hours party Saturday night/Sunday morning some guy kept video-taping me. No matter what room I was in, every time I looked up I found his camera pointed in my direction. It was a little unnerving because I try very hard to keep my Wonder Woman and Diana Prince lives separated...but now there's some kind of video surveillance evidence of Wonder Woman out there. I should have asked me what he was video-taping for and got a business card or something. I shudder to think where that tape will end up, though I wasn't really doing anything. It was just weird.
I should be signing my lease on Wednesday and hopefully moving on Saturday. It seemed like it took forever and now it's just moving way too fast. I hope I'm ready for this new story arc in my life.

club dread

I'm exhausted. Between the triple shot latte that I drank at seven pm and my brain working at a frantic pace, I didn't get much sleep at all. It's really hard to avoid the elephant in the room when it is sitting (shitting? I haven't decided which yet) on your chest. But then again, I seem to be the only one who can see it, so I guess it's just me making something out of nothing, which is hardly surprising.

freak show

No, not now, not when I'm in the throes of an existential/late-youth crisis! It just can't be happening. WHY ME!?! WHY NOW!?! WHYYYYYYYYY!?!?!

I found my first old-lady chin hair today!

working hard

In the last twenty-four hours, I have been told by two of my good friends that I'm trying too hard. And I probably am trying too hard, or at the very least trying too hard at the wrong things. But here's the problem, where do you draw the line between trying too hard and not trying hard enough? Exactly how small is the "just right" line? Parts of me want to let things/life happen organically, happy people just go with the flow. But other parts of me just don't have that kind of patience and want to make things happen, successful people MAKE things happen. I'm feeling very Goldilocks lately, and I'm still eating from the wrong bowls of porridge.
So, I went and looked at this studio in the Belltown section of Seattle last night. It is a GREAT location and I am completely enamored with Belltown. I really want to live there but it's very spendy, I absolutely could not do it without a roommate. The studio was TINY, my bed would take up the entire "living" space. It was about 350 square feet. Then later, after talking to my sister about buying a condo rather than renting an apartment, she sent me some listings for condos. The only Belltown condos that show up are the studios in that same building I had looked at earlier. And those teeny-tiny, less than 400 square feet studios cost $150,000. Wow, I was blown-away. Talk about inflated housing costs. I should just be happy with my crack-alley apartment.

craigslist

So I'm a loser, I admit it. I pretend like I'm going over to craigslist to look for apartments (even though I have a hold on the other one, I'm still checking out other places), but that's just a pretext for scoping out the Missed Connections. I LOVE reading those. Every once in a while there is one that is just a precious precious gem of hilarity. But sometimes there are a few that I read and think, "Wow, that could actually be from me," because they read like something I wish I had said to somebody. So that made me think about connecting with people. Do the connections we imagine with other people actually exist? Can connections be entirely one-sided? It seems like a connection implies that both people would feel the pull, but judging by the great number of people looking for missed connections, maybe that's not the case. That makes me a little sad.

dreamspace

I don't know why or how, but last night I had a dream that I was making out with Scarlett Johannson. And she was a really sloppy kisser.

fit but you know it

Reading another blogger's hilarious post "not to be judged by my bra size" reminded me that I had a bra fitting this weekend at Nordstrom's. If you ever want an abject lesson in humiliation, I would recommend a bra fitting. The first clerk I asked for help stunned me when she looked at me and suggested a cup size; I won't even say it here because it makes me cringe just thinking about it. Then I ended up being helped by another young lady, who was actually really nice. Since I was looking for a strapless, which for the busty gal is like searching for the Holy Grail of bras, I knew I was in for a long day. And as it turns out, like most women, I am wearing the wrong bra size. At least that's what the clerk said as she poked at my boobs and said things like, "See all this tissue here, you need more support for it." Then we talked about the relative advantages and disadvantages of boob size and this is definitely a grass is greener situation. So in the end I tried on a billion bras, had a sales clerk get to second base with me, and surprisingly I found a strapless bustier for less than the price of a new Buick. I'm starting to feel like my boobs have a life of their own and the rest of my body is just a life support machine for them.

pillow fight

Do you remember somebody telling you not to eat before you went to sleep because it could cause nightmares? I vaguely recollect being told that and last night because of the overconsumption of sealife, I had the strangest nightmares. I dreamt that my pillows were trying to do me in. First it was all fun and games and they were just tickling me. Then the tickling became really aggressive and turned into an all out shaking. So in a half-awake state I threw them on the other side of the bed, but then a really deep man voice came from within what is normally the feathered goodness and started yelling evil things at me. So I hit the pillow and more mean things were said. Finally, I forced myself awake by screaming and then tentatively touched the pillows to make sure they were still the inanimate objects I went to sleep with. Luckily they were, somewhere between half-consciousness and full lucidity, an exorcism had been performed. I was one hundred percent creeped out and could barely fall back asleep after that.

celebrainguish

Today is my sister's 28th birthday. Happy Birthday to my favorite sister! We went out to eat and I cannot eat nearly as much as I used to. Less than a year ago, I could have wiped out an all-you-can-eat buffet. Now, I can barely make it past the salad. I'm so stuffed and it's been hours since we ate. And oddly enough, the restaurant we went to ran out of salmon. First of all, a seafood joint running out of salmon is bad enough, but for god's sake this is Washington...that's like running out of potatoes in Idaho.

hookers on the point

As of last night, it is official. I really DO look like a hooker. I was walking to my car because I parked pretty far away from the club I was meeting my sister at and decided to park a little closer. So as I am walking to my car, a car with some guys pulls up and they ask me if I had just been in the club nearby. I said no and then asked them if they knew how I could get to where I was going. So they're giving me directions and as all of this is transpiring, a cop car pulls up. So these guys pull away and the cop car pulls up to me and in his suspicious cop voice asks, "Is there a problem? What do you have going on here?" So I tell him I needed to get to point X and he proceeds to give me some craptastic directions and the whole time I'm standing there thinking, "Oh my god, this cop thinks I'm a hooker!" Surreal!

i'm with the dj

What is it about DJs that makes them so damn hot? Seriously? There must be something because if there is a DJ within a fifty-foot vicinity that spins amazing beats, I will most assuredly crush on him and make a complete asshole out of myself in the process.
Also, just to give you guys an update on the apartment situation...So I got a place in Capitol Hill of Seattle, which is a trendier part of town, though I would have preferred a Belltown location. It's pretty ghetto fabulous, right off the corner of Crack Alley and Homeless Boulevard. But it's a GREAT deal, plus I'll have a parking space for a nominal price, which is practically unheard of. Let's see, it's a 1-bedroom, not a studio, but the kitchen runs right into the living room so it feels like a studio from that standpoint. But they're putting in new carpet and new kitchen countertops (which is only like three feet of counter-space, but still it's new) and new blinds and they're painting the place, so it should look pretty decent cause right now it smells like a smoking room. The really bad thing, it's on the first floor and it faces the street, so I won't be leaving the blinds open ever. The other window in the place faces a brick wall that looks like a prison wall. There was actually another apartment I wanted in the complex but I missed out on it by a day. Apartments go amazingly fast in Seattle, blink and you're totally assed out. But I'm taking it, even though I've got a few doubts, I'm really excited about moving up there. I should be up there sometime in the beginning to middle of October, before my 30th birthday. WHEEEEE! No more long drives home from work and from going out.Also, I'm still out partying from the night before to celebrate my sister's birthday, right now we're in somebody else's apartment drinking more than should be medically allowed. I've been awake for 24 hours straight. Luckily all I have to do today is get a haircut, buy my kick-ass new boots, and go to the Puyallup Fair (just try and guess how that's pronounced) with a fellow Kentucky transplant. Responsibility is for suckers!

uban hunting

So the apartment hunt continues and the people I have talked to have mostly been a bunch of asses. Whatever happened to Pacific Northwesterners being uber-friendly people? They obviously don't work in property management. I just spent the better part of half an hour arguing about how much difference two pounds really makes and how I should be rewarded for my honesty because I could have just lied and said Iniki was under twenty pounds. Then after being offered a viewing, I asked the guy to not waste my time and just tell me no about the dog if the two pounds was really going to make that much of a difference; but no he's gonna waste my time and let me look at the place and then tell me no because of my dog. But at least I got a response from him, most people won't even get back to you. I've called oodles of places and sent out a kabillion emails and only about two percent of them have been returned. Seriously, now would be the time for a sugardaddy who could put me up in a decent apartment.

girls gone wild

Today I stepped on the scale and what should have been a proud moment was clouded by the fact that I'm still nowhere being "socially acceptable" as far as beauty standards go. And because of that, I realized the fruitlessness of my trying to be girly. And I've made an honest to goodness effort since I've been here. I've bought shirts with lace and sashes, purses, and I even own a few shoes with heels now. But that's just not me...I'd be more comfortable at a Dykes on Bikes rally than hanging out with the girls who work at bebe. I don't know why I felt I had to get girly....because I'm supposed to want to be that way, because guys like the girlie-girl, because I like the guys who like the girlie-girls...I don't know.
But I'll never be a that girl. First of all, I'm not built for it...I'm like a truck. I can build muscle that most guys have to juice up to achieve. Second, I just don't do cute. Though I generally haven't had nicknames that stuck around, most of them are along the lines of Bodyguard and Billy Badass. One girl used to call me Sunshine,but she meant it facetiously. All the pictures I traded in Basic Training (yeah, just like in high school) have "You're one kick-ass soldier, even if you are female" written on the back. So why am I trying to change myself? For whom? For what? I'm trying to fit into a world that tells me I'm not good enough because I'm supposed to emulate people like Paris Hilton?!?!?! Are you kidding me?!?!? Well that's never gonna happen, and even if it COULD happen, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't want it to. So to hell with it, to hell with being judged for not measuring up because we're just a bunch of sheep buying into a terrible beauty standard. I'm liberating myself from hating myself because I just don't have the energy to do it anymore.

crystal ball

You know, I really thought it couldn't get any worse at work. I REALLY thought that, it was almost a little optismistic for me. But then...I met HER, the most obnoxious and annoying person I have had the displeasure of sharing eight hours with...my god! We've already had a couple of tense moments and it was just ONE DAY! It was like working with a rabid little chihuahua who should be put down. Not surprisingly, she's friends with this other girl I can't stand...another drama queen with a shitty attitude. I mean, it's pretty bad when somebody makes ME look like Pollyanna and Mary fucking Sunshine all rolled into one.

nightlife

I worked my first evening shift last night. It wasn't too bad...a little boring...but at least the people were pretty nice. But, the drive...oh the drive...two and a half hours of my life wasted just driving to and from work. By the end of the week, that's ten hours and I don't deal with any rush-hour bullshit. That's an entire night of rest. And for what? A yard? Easy access to a strip mall? I can't lie, I would prefer a house over an apartment too. I hate smelling other people's cooking and hate hearing their noise. But I gotta move closer to work, I hate driving more than I hate any of the other things. And it would be a community service to remove myself from the road as much as possible...can you say road rage?

cinema paradiso

Because my daddy was in town this weekend, I didn't get out and do much other than eat copious amounts of animal flesh and drink beer. But it was nice, I can actually talk to my dad. He gave me a good & realistic pep talk, not just the rah-rah-rah cheerleader, everything will be okay bullshit. Candor is one of the things I appreciate the most. So anyhoo, we watched a couple of movies because that's what you do when you have nothing else to do.
Let's see, we saw Four Brothers. It was okay, I didn't hate it, but I didn't love it either. But I did love the littlest brother...MEOW, I love grungy little rockstar wanna-bes (and DJs, but that's an unfortunate addiction).
Then we watched some rentals. First, we watched Crash. This movie was devastating. It is the kind of movie that almost makes you wonder what the point of being alive is. How we can sometimes be trapped by a social structure that we had no part in creating. How we often perpetuate the structure even though we want it to change. How, often, we don't even care enough to try and make change. I cried during this movie, A LOT...a big blubbery cry. It was both emotionally draining and cathartic.
So, after we took my dad to the airport and I sat at home getting pissed off about the apartment hunting situation, I called up my sister and we decided to rent another movie. We watched Diary of a Mad Black Woman. This movie is HILARIOUS! Despite yourself, you hear yourself screaming stupid shit like "You go girl!" And Shamar Moore is HAWT, with a capital H! but the whole headband look...a little icky-poo. There were references to other movies in there, An Officer and A Gentleman, The Color Purple...and a few others than I can't remember now but they were fun to spot. Anyway, good movies all around. Well, I'm off to the gym and tonight I officially start working the evening shift. Sigh.

hatorade

I finally decided to look for an apartment in Seattle. Well no, actually I've been looking for a while, but I'm finally ready to actually move into one. But I can't find one that will take dogs...if they take pets at all, they only take cats. Well boo to cats...what's the difference? Some cats pee all over the place and that smell lasts FOREVER, some cats mew all night, some cats damage the apartment and they can get higher. That's what the deposit is for. Dog-haters.

personification

Since I've finally connected with my iPod, I decided to give her a name:

Neith: {night} The Huntress and Opener of the Ways.
Her name means "I have come from myself."
She is the Spirit behind the Veil of the Mysteries. Herbs, medicine, magick, healing, knowledge, rituals, meditation.

So let's try and figure out what Neith has been trying to tell me eh? Here are the last ten songs played in shuffle (some with lyrics when I could find them online):

Jem: Save Me
I've gotta stop my mind
Working overtime
It's driving me insane
It will not let me live
Always so negative
It's become my enemy

The Rapture: House of Jealous Lovers

Cheap Trick: I Want You to Want Me
I want you to want me
I need you to need me
I'd love you to love me
I'm begging you to beg me

Garbage: Stupid Girl
You pretend you're high
You pretend you're bored
You pretend you're anything
Just to be adored
And what you need
Is what you get

J-Punch: Bitch

The Ramones: I Wanna Be Sedated
Twenty-twenty-twenty four hours to go
I wanna be sedated
Nothin' to do and no where to go-o-oh
I wanna be sedated
Just get me to the airport put me on a plane
Hurry hurry hurry before I go insane
I can't control my fingers I can't control my brain
Oh no no no no no

Jimmy Eat World: Pain
It's a lie.
A kiss with opened eyes.
And she's not breathing back.
Anything but bother me.
(It takes my pain away)
Never mind these are horrid times.
Oh oh oh I can't let it bother me.

Critkill: Rejection Perfection

Sick of It All: Maladjusted
Nothing satisfies, nothing will cause it won't get a chance to.
Altered spirit and altered mind take a turn for the worst soon.
Fear has struck, fear is stuck
MALADJUSTED
Assurance won't sit well at all cause no one is trusted
You've got what you wanted the reason you came control action control of the game

Tomboy: Player, Play On

chi-ch-chi-chi- hah-hah-hah-hah

I almost drowned once when I was eight. That memory will be one of the few that flashes before my eyes when I die. I remember almost everything about it. I used to think that depression was a lot like drowning...struggle, struggle, struggle, get up for air, choke on water, and back down you go. But now I'm thinking that depression is more like a horror movie. Trying to escape depression is like being the big-breasted, slutty sorority girl running frantically in high heels and panties, screaming, crying, and falling down a lot. And depression is like Mike Myers, slowly stalking you with a big, bloody machete in his hand. But what he doesn't know is that the girls who ain't gettin' any always win out in the end...

lust for life

You know you've been "eating healthy" for too long when you walk past a pile of cold, greasy, dirty french fries laying on the nasty ground of a parking lot...and for a brief, second you think, "YUM!"

gym happenings

I think I've hit my first weight-loss plateau. I haven't lost a single ounce in what seems like forever. I probably will need to increase the work-out, but man I already work out a lot. I certainly can't eat any less, I'm bordering on a prison diet as it is. Although, I guess I shouldn't really complain because I had a goal of so many pounds by my 30th birthday and I've already surpassed that. And I forgot my headphones today when I went to the gym. Not my iPod mind you, just the headphones...forty minutes seems infinitesimally longer when all you have to listen to is the heavy breathing of the lady next to you. AND my calves are still killing me from Monday...I'll probably pass a clot soon, calf pain is afterall a sign of deep vein thrombosis. So today, despite the power of the Supergirl underpants, I curse my good farming-stock Irish roots for denying me the waifish figure of my Korean ancestors. Although I can almost bench press two Nicole Ritchies, so that's something to be proud of I suppose.

the power of orange knickers

I had a GOOD day today. Work was good, I got a much needed confidence boost because I was doing things and the other techs' results matched mine. The eight hours didn't seem impossibly long. There was no traffic in or out of Seattle. I didn't get the crap scared out of me by random shady homeless people. And the people at work who I normally can do without were relatively nice to me. And I know why today, of all days, I had such a great frickin' day. I wore my Supergirl underpants for the first time. They gave me some mystical power to shift all the negative in my life in a positive direction. I think I'm going to have to go buy six more.

so right, it's wrong

Have you ever suspected something about somebody, something unpleasant? And you were sure you were right, even though you really hoped it wasn't true. So you never asked, never tried to confirm your suspicions. Because you knew that once the truth had been revealed, it would change things forever. But then somehow, under the strangest of circumstances, you find out you were right along. And for a brief second, you feel vindicated in thinking what you had because you weren't a bad person for harboring such negative ideas. But then the knowledge is out there and you see things in a new and bright light that burns your retinas and wish you hadn't learned the truth. Now it's too late, you know and your perceptions ARE different. Truth and knowledge are such complicated things, I still think I'd rather know everything than know nothing no matter how much it hurts...but indeed, occassionally ignorance is bliss.

talk the talk

Every place has a few phrases that are, if not unique then definitely more prevalent to that area. Southerners have that whole y'all thing going for them, midwesterners can't say caramel properly to save their lives, etc etc. Already, my vocabulary has been infiltrated by the phrases that people in the Pacific Northwest throw around. Everything is yummy, from crackers to creme brule, if it's even passably tasty, it's yummy. Expensive things are spendy, at first I thought it was just Jen and her friends that said that until I noticed that people at work were saying it too. When shit sucks, it's just not bad...it's bad-bad-bad because one to two bads just doesn't paint quite as vivid a picture. And when things don't go well, well it's a shame and it is a shame that I am such a vocabulary sell-out

tmi

Oh and by the way, my ASS and LEGS are killing me today STILL two days later. Oh the pain, the glorious pain.

best medicine

Holy christ on a popsicle stick, The 40 Year Old Virgin is HILARIOUS! Yeah sure, it has no redeeming social value and is about as fluffy as a marshmallow...but sometimes you just NEED to get yourself in the right frame of mind and then go watch something totally asinine and juvenile. And 40-Year Old is the ticket! Steve Carrell is the man, I've been a fan since The Daily Show but he definitely elevated himself to pedestal-worthy status when he stole every scene in Anchorman. The waxing scene alone covers the cost of admission. And I have had a total girl crush on Catherine Keener since Being John Malkovich. Well everybody, I hope you enjoy the holiday facetiously called Labor Day. I'm off to throw myself into a dormant volcano. Hell, since I'm a practicing virgin (and willingly about 92% of the time) I'm pretty sure the fiery gods nestled underneath Mt. Rainier will take me. But then again, considering my recent rejection track record...

c.o.d.

Well since Rehnquist is gone now too, I've decided to just cut out the middle man entirely and give the government my uterus and ovaries. I will clearly have no control over them any longer and a government that takes their sweet ass time responding to one of the worst natural disasters in recent history will get to make those decisions for me. I wonder if I should overnight the package? Do you think I can deduct the shipping when I do my taxes cause I'm pretty sure that they won't allow cash on delivery.

fall of rome

Hedonism is one of those things that sounds better in theory. In actuality, the time and energy required to recover from hedonistic tendencies takes away from the pleasure a little bit. Or maybe I'm just getting older and hangovers take a bigger toll than they used to.

straight-edge

Does anybody remember the Whoopi Goldberg movie Jumpin' Jack Flash? I heart that movie. I haven't seen it in years and I still quote it almost verbatim. Today this one kept running through my head:

"You see this face Earl? This is the face of a woman on the EDGE."
"I know, my wife has that same face."

I am definitely a woman on the edge and I so have that face. When the work day came to a close, I could barely keep myself from running out screaming and ripping out big chunks of my hair. I've discovered a whole new level of crazy these last few weeks. It won't be long before I start joining the suitcase man on the street in the morning. But one good thing to come out of all of this, the crazy brought forth the vision of my next tattoo, one I've been wanting for a while but not knowing what it would be. It's going to be amazing.

omen

Sometimes the world forces a bad day on you, even if you're trying your damnedest to make it not so. I even wore my optimistic scrub top, the one I plan to burn in effigy later. It has words like hope, love, charity, happiness, and peace emblazoned all over...but sadly today it was meant to be ironic.
So I get dropped off this morning and I'm walking to my dealer's place (aka Starbucks) and I see this guy crossing the street towards me. I'm thinking that it's still pretty dark outside and there's nobody on the street and this guy is looking pretty shady, wearing a hoodie with the hood pulled up over his face and his hands shoved deep in his pockets. But I'm trying not to jump to the wrong conclusions, even as I scan the roads for somebody else or a car nearby. I try to maintain my cool, walking the same pace as before as he's coming up towards me. I move over to the side of the sidewalk and I notice that's he's moving slowly towards the middle, which I find a little odd. Then I get within three feet of him, within grabbing distance, and his body does this thing in between a grand-mal seizure and a lunge towards me. So I stop dead in my tracks, eyes wide, ready to fucking scream and wondering what good that knife I keep for cutting my lunchtime apples is safely stowed in my bag. Then he says, "Sorry, I didn't see you." And at this point my wide-eyed fear turns to wide-eyed anger and I stare at him and walk away without saying anything because I know that mofo did that on purpose.
Then not even thirty minutes later, I go to the bathroom. Thanks to the anxiety produced anorexia and regular gym visits, none of my clothes fit anymore. There I was, pulling the tie on my scrub bottoms when it snaps right in two. Now, it would have been okay if I were half my size and could wrap the half-string around my waist...but alas that is so very much NOT the case. So I had to rig my pants so they would stay up and it was quite uncomfortable. It was like wearing clown pants with elastic on only one side, very not optimal for a long-long-long day at work.
And today, the full irony of finally meeting a straight guy and then him moving to San Francisco hit me. Ahhh, the irony in my life...always the irony, my constant companion.

m.i.a.

*My thoughts are racing and I'm using this as a pressure valve. So chances are it won't make any sense and is just a bunch of mental vomit*

Almost everybody I know is out of town or going out of town this weekend. My sister is going out of town to visit grandparents and enjoy a practically free mini-vacation in Vegas. My friend Jen and several other people are at Burning Man near Reno...so basically Nevada is the place to be and everybody I want to be with is there, so a big middle finger to Nevada. I'm really curious about this Burning Man thing. The whole point is to escape the hustle of our "real" lives. I'm fairly certain cell phones don't work, I'm sure there isn't much call for television viewing, I seriously doubt that there's wi-fi or that The New York Times delivers...so do the attendees know what's going on out here? Do they know about the devastation from the hurricane? Are people finding out what's happening?
When I was in basic training, we weren't allowed to read newspapers, watch television, or listen to the radio. The outside world ceased to exist and the world that did exist was something designed to constantly keep us off balance. We didn't know anything unless they (the drill sergeants, the Army, the government) decided that we needed to know something, unless you were lucky enough to have people writing you letters regularly. One day during one of our classes, a drill sergeant came in and told us Iraq attacked us again (this was in 1994) and we were going to war. Then he showed us a body bag and said that at least some of us would end up in it. I remember not being afraid, no questions to ask, just resigned to my fate because at that point there was nothing I could do to change anything. When they told us they were lying, I was astounded. I actually thought that if I were willing to relinquish control of myself over to them, they wouldn't deceive me. And yeah, to this day, I am still THAT naive. Now that lie is somebody else's truth and I'm sitting here wondering if it's better to know nothing than to know too much. Knowing nothing makes life easier to accept.

conjoined

I heard it could happen. But honestly I thought it was just some unsubstantiated rumor designed to make cool kids feel even cooler. Then it happened. My iPod and I have emotionally synced. Even though there are nine hundred songs, most of them dance and other fluffy fare...lately the shuffle has been choosing just the right emotive wailing to provide the soundtrack for my self-loathing. I have almost achieved iPod jedi status.

funny guy

On the news yesterday morning, a newsreporter said to another reporter:"I can hear people walking behind while you're being blown."
HAHAHAHAHAHA! I've had a good laugh about that for two days straight.

roller disco

What could possibly pull a person out of an emotional slump? Why ROLLER DISCO OF COURSE! And when I do a thing, I do it right. Check out the socks and the old school quad-skates...no inlines for this girl. If I wasn't afraid of skinning my legs from ankle to hip (and if I had the appropriate legs and ass), I totally would have sported the super-shiny short shorts with contrasting ribboning.

I've decided that roller-disco is my new metaphor for life:
You get back on that rink after being off of it for a bit. At first you're shaky and can barely keep your balance. You're worried about falling and even more worried about somebody witnessing the massive meeting between hardwood floor and ass. You hang on to the walls and the seats that encircle the rink and feel way too insecure to just let go and roll. But eventually, your confidence increases and before you know it you're rushing out to join the fast skate and your friends and family are cheering you on (and probably being sincere about half the time). Somewhere in this metaphor there's a part for sweat dripping down the crack of your ass and trying to do the chicken-dance on skates...but I haven't gotten that worked out yet.

hustle and flow

I could say that Fate is a cruel mistress but that doesn't quite cover it. Fate is a six foot, raven-haired dominatrix. One who wears six inch spiked heels and then steps on your testicles...and she is terribly ironic.I feel a little strange today. One day so consumed with wasted hope, pain so palpable that I could feel it picking at me like a buzzard and the next day, empty.Empty is so still, if I didn't know any better I could confuse it with calm. Except the empty will eventually become stagnant and have the putrid smell of dry ponds.Most people are a lot more comfortable with the empty, whether within themselves or in others. I'm not, underneath it all, I want volatility and drama, I'm an addict jonesing for my next fix.And with Fate being who she is, I know there's more to be had soon...Fate is my pimp and my dealer and I'm in deep.

old man river

Yesterday at the gym a man old enough to be my grandfather flirted with me. I guess he was impressed by the amount of weight I could squat...or at least that was his approach point.

"Wow, that's a lot of weight."
"Yes it is, I've been working up to it for a while."
"Wow, I can't believe it."
"Well, I'm a big girl."
"No, you're a STRONG girl."
-Smile-
"So what's that picture tattoo on your leg?"
"It's a fan, a Korean fan...I'm half Korean."
"Oh yeah? Anyohasayo?"
-leer-
It's good to know that for the rest of my freakin' life, I'll have to listen to the same tired ass lines. There's always some comfort to be had with familiarity I suppose.

keep hope alive

Generally, I consider myself a person who stays on top of things...but lately, I've regressed into somebody else entirely. What kind of complete lack of any discernible intelligence or rationale allows a person to want something that they will NEVER have? And it's not as if I don't know that I won't and can't have this thing, because I do know that. I know it more than I know how I take my coffee or which way I like to part my hair. Yet, I cling desperately and stubbornly to the hope that if I want this bad enough, I might actually get it. Who made that bullshit up anyway, if you want something bad enough, you'll get it? Did they mean that specifically or in a more general sense? Because if they meant it specifically, well I've got news for them...it doesn't work...so frankly, whoever that person is can shove their sage advice up their ass. And in a general sense, it's still crap advice because then you're not really wanting anything really, you're just hoping for positive results in any aspect of your life. I wish my hope would die, because if you ask me, hope is just some bullshit optimistic way of avoiding reality. I wish somebody would beat my hope with a sledgehammer until it shatters into tiny shards of defeat. Then they can pour gasoline on all that wasted hope and light it on fire until it is consumed in a pale blue flame and the ashes blow away, never to be seen again. I've taken a few steps in this direction, but to no avail. But then again, I kinda hope that it doesn't happen.Edit: Hopefully this will be the last of the woe is me crap. We should be back to the regularly scheduled program of sarcasm, vitriol, and general crankiness soon. Thanks for all of the comments.

dead air

Sorry about the lack of updates. I've been a little under the weather and I'm working out some things. Hopefully I'll perk up by the end of the week, although that's unlikely because everybody I know is heading out of town and I really wish I could be going with them. Somewhere between taking care of my responsibilities and taking care of myself, there is a happy medium...and maybe I'll figure out how to get there.

20,000 Leagues

The unknown is already frightening enough without having an imagination as vivid as mine. I imagine these elaborate scenarios of how events are going to transpire...usually ending in gunfire or suicide pacts. Then I convince myself that my imagination is really a premonition and wait around for these things to happen. Maybe I should use my powers for good and make my stories more fun, replete with happy endings. Though less likely than the usual scenarios, I'd feel a whole lot better waiting for them to happen.

ways to know your week sucked

o You come home and find out that your dog pooped on the carpet...in three different rooms
o Your supervisor wonders whether they should extend your training period because you're having a bit of a hard time (and also because the training program is absolute also poop but it's probably wiser not to mention that part). Lucky for you it is the hardest thing to do, so you only look moderately stupid...even luckier that of all the new people that started about the same time, you got to be first
o The only guy to have called you is the one you rideshare with and his kids are older than you are
o Some guy calls you a "stupid fucking bitch" because you're driving the speed limit
o You get sick, get your womynlies, and get kicked off a horse (metaphorically) in a relatively short span of time
o After a week, the total shit-sucking pain of rejection and a massively bruised ego continue to sting like you've had a run-in with a hornet's nest
o Six Feet Under ends
o You're pissed that you're throwing yourself a pity-party so you decide to go out for drinks instead...

all aboard

The old man with the suitcase was out this morning, but today he was scary. He went on and on about death and dying and sacrificing himself and how he wasn't scared. I tried to walk slowly, make sure I was at least four paces behind him so that if he turned on me in a fit of insane rage, I could have that little bit of a headstart. Then there was another crazy woman who stood on the corner and looked to be miming a check-out person putting groceries in plastic bags. Lately I've been feeling like I'm on a one-way train to crazytown...but after seeing all these people who have made the trip repeatedly...I know that I haven't even gotten off of the platform.

tragically hip

I mentioned that my workplace is near the trendiest, hippest part of town. During my breaks, I go for walks rather than wasting one more minute in that evil dungeon where feeling like a drooling moron is part of the job desciption that they didn't advertise. I walk up and down Broadway, Pike, and Pine and every day I fall in love with Seattle a little more and more. There are a bunch of cool stores, restaraunts, and of course you can't go two blocks without running into a coffee joint or a homeless person peeing out in the open. I also get to see all the urban hipster chicks walking around in their baby-tees, low-rise pants, and black rimmed glasses so that by the time my walks are over, I feel completely inadequate. Well, since I won't go the meth route, I've decided that I too will become horribly emaciated through anorexia. I'm telling you, when I have the body of Fiona Apple (whose album is being released finally) it'll all be worth it, especially when the hunger pains that double me over and the random fainting in alley ways cease. Because there is nothing more important than completely fitting in when you are trying to set yourself apart.

work it girl

I don't know why people go out and have massive Pamela Anderson sized saline filled watermelon rinds inserted in their chests. I'm naturally well-endowed and I HATE IT! My greatest wish is to have the waifish breastless figure of a heroin addict...but with better hair and teeth. Back pain, shoulder pain, people assuming your IQ is inversely proportional to your cup size...who needs it? And today I made the mistake of working out in the room with the mirrors. Despite wearing two sports bras to exercise in, I caught my reflection in the mirror...and I still look like I'm juggling two puppies. Man, a b-cup would be heaven in a wonderbra.

on the down low

Somehow intoxication creates a level of candor that you don't often find in "real" life when people are ever vigilant about keeping up appearances. This is why I like to get drunk with guys, I learn something new each and every time. Especially when it comes to the games they play with the ladies. This weekend somebody said something about wanting discretion. They said that they were all about discretion, not wanting anybody to know their business. But aren't you really only discreet about the things that you're ashamed of? You don't boast about your drug problems, your porno addiction, your fifteen foot by seven foot altar dedicated to Alan Cummings. So is discretion basically cowardice disguised as privacy? Or am I missing something here?

scheduling conflicts

Well, I had planned on curing cancer, rescuing shivering little puppies from wells, and creating a soy & seaweed based malt-o-meal that would feed all the starving people in the world. But since God is busy laughing at me and crushing my self-esteem, I'm too self-conscious to do it now. So I guess I'll go smoke some crack and have sex with random homeless men instead.

wishful thinking

Have you ever wanted something badly? Not anything you necessarily needed, just something you thought would give you some momentary happiness, a respite from the big ball of blah that is your usual life. And the thought of having this thing, this relatively unimportant thing, just consumes you. All the while, you're thinking that you'll be left with nothing more than the carcass of your craving, knowing that what you want will never happen because you fell into the quicksand of cynicism and self-doubt so many years ago.But then, surprisingly, you get what you wanted. You may even get more than you wanted. And while that momentary happiness fills the empty inside just a little, you spend so much time overthinking and dissecting the gift that you rip the positive energy away like wrapping paper. And inside you find a one-way ticket back to where you started.Sometimes, I really wish I could be the kind of person that just lets things be, strictly a surface level life. In the words of that amazing chanteuse and philosopher Avril Lavigne, "Why'd you have to go and make things so complicated?"