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?"

location, location, location

I may not be enjoying my job but it is in a great part of town. I swear, every single time I go walking around during my breaks or before work, something interesting happens. Today for instance, on my way to one of the three Starbucks' in a half mile radius, there was an old man waiting for the bus. He had a HUGE suitcase with him and he was talking to himself, crazy person talking. Then he starts applauding and screaming, "Bravo, bravo" to an empty street. So in the Starbucks I said something about it and apparently this guy rides the bus every single day and he talks to himself the whole time he's on the bus. I wonder what he has in his bag? Then on my lunch break, I walked to Rite Aid and there's this huge commotion. One of the clerks is throwing out this meth-head woman who I had seen throughout the day. He's screaming, "You fucking bitch, don't ever come back." And she screams, "Fuck you." Then as I'm walking up to the store, she's looking inside all crazy-eyed and pointing at the guy and saying, "You're gay, I'm telling everybody that comes in here that you're gay." THE DRAMA!

scratch and sniff

Jesus! I'm on the shuttle between work buildings and somebody really smells! Like a cross between a homeless person and a nursing home. Don't people realize when they smell that bad?

bad day

You know, nine hours is a lot of time when you're wearing uncomfortable undies, and it feels much longer. I literally had my panties in a bunch today, and ended up in a pissy mood because of it...you can only pick a wedgie so many times before it becomes lewd conduct in a public place. In fact, I was in such a foul state of mind today that I felt an impending rant chock full of terrible generalizations and filthy four lettered words. I was going to moan about work and social beauty standards and the predictability of people, even the ones who consider themselves on the fringes of society. But then I argued with the rideshare guy the entire drive home about date rape and gender roles and other feminist-lite subjects, so that took a lot of the steam out of my engine...lucky you. However, let it be known that I have decided that I definitely HATE my job. It is giving me the much needed motivation to get my shit together and study for my GRE so I can have a useless graduate degree to go with my useless undergrad degree. But next time around I'll have student loans to default on, so it'll be that much better.

bad day

You know, nine hours is a lot of time when you're wearing uncomfortable undies, and it feels much longer. I literally had my panties in a bunch today, and ended up in a pissy mood because of it...you can only pick a wedgie so many times before it becomes lewd conduct in a public place. In fact, I was in such a foul state of mind today that I felt an impending rant chock full of terrible generalizations and filthy four lettered words. I was going to moan about work and social beauty standards and the predictability of people, even the ones who consider themselves on the fringes of society. But then I argued with the rideshare guy the entire drive home about date rape and gender roles and other feminist-lite subjects, so that took a lot of the steam out of my engine...lucky you. However, let it be known that I have decided that I definitely HATE my job. It is giving me the much needed motivation to get my shit together and study for my GRE so I can have a useless graduate degree to go with my useless undergrad degree. But next time around I'll have student loans to default on, so it'll be that much better.

traveling man

So this guy I rideshare with...he's a talker. And like I've said before, no topic is sacred with this guy. We've talked about religion, homosexuality, politics, finances, relationships, sex, drugs, rock and roll. He's recited his poetry to me and he's offered (threatened?) to bring cd's of his music. But his big thing now is figuring out what I want to be when I grow up. He's on that whole "What Color is My Parachute?" journey, so I guess if he asks me just the right questions, in the space of a month, he'll manage to do what I haven't been able to do in thirty years (though I'm pretty sure that at least the first eleven don't count). But lately, he's decided that my problem is my attitude. According to the guy, I just need to accept my lot in life, realize that I've probably got it better than I ever will, and just deal. To which I said, "PHOOEY!" Well, not really...what I actually said rhymed a lot with "duck fat." I told him that advice was so bad, it was practically insulting. Accept your lot in life...who says that? Does anybody actually do this? Isn't the point of life that you don't only have to play the cards you're dealt (or whatever other nifty little colloquialism I can remember for those AA meetings)? Or am I just crazy and this is actually good advice?

soy un perdedor

I am such a social reject. I have absolutely zero skills in interpreting the actions of others. According to Cosmo and Glamour and even Star magazine, you are supposed to tell what people are telling you through their physical actions. But I can't, I am a socially inept disaster.

Scenario: a person or persons who you are briefly introduced to, who you find particularly attractive, finds you staring at them and raises their glass at you. Does this mean:

A. They noticed you are staring and by raising their glass, they are positively acknowledging the attention?

OR

B. They see you staring at them and the raised glass is a secret signal to the bouncers and bartenders that some psychotic loser girl with no chance in the fieriest of the fiery pits of hell is obsessively staring at you and to kick her out if she gets within ten feet of you?

OR

C. I am thinking way too hard about an innocent, friendly little gesture because I am a hard-up L-O-S-E-R who has hormones raging harder than a thirteen year old boy with a National Geographic magazine.

And just to reiterate the loser point, the title for this post...the Beck song? When it first came out I thought he was saying, "Sore from head to toe...I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?"

revenge of the nerds

I went out last night to see Jen play a great set at the Baltic Room. She was amazing. I got to meet a lot of her friends, of which she had many. The introduction usually went something like, "Hey, I want you to meet my friend from high school." And everybody thought it was awesome that we are still friends after so many years, which it is. But about two-thirds of the time, people would say, "God, I was such a geek/nerd/dork in high school." I can say emphatically and without hesitation, I was a big nerd and a dork in high school, for god's sake I was on the Math Team and I was (and am) a big girl with feminist ideas and a rock solid anti-touching policy. But I wonder, can all the people who are claiming high school nerdhood really have been nerds? First of all, there are way too many people claiming to be a part of the band geek brotherhood...the numbers just don't measure up. Are we confusing nerdorgeek with just not being popular, because those are two completely different things. Second, if they were nerds, puberty must have hit them in college or something. I mean they fought really hard to break out of the geek mold because most of these people were very good-looking and cool as hell (*cough*Robb*cough). Third, if all the people out in clubs are former nerds, where are all the old cool people? Don't they go out or are they still sitting at home reliving their high school glory days, maybe they're still having parties at each other's houses? Or are there actually elite cool kid clubs that you have to prove your secondary school popularity...a secret society of cheerleaders, jockeys, and preppie rich kids

?

So is it a good night when you've seen a stranger's boobs and it wasn't at a strip joint?

there's always room for j-e-l-l-o

Jello shots are devilish little concoctions. They're deceptively tasty and hell who isn't happy tonguing a glob of jello out of a plastic cup? But those little suckers really sneak up on you! I don't think that something so yummy and so associated with childlike glee should cause a hangover headache. It just doesn't seem right.

meme time

Go to Google images
Enter ALL of your initials and click Search.
Click the first picture that comes up, then click "See full-size image"
Post your initials with the picture (or the url to the picture) and explain how it relates to you.
Post these instructions on your website, blog, etc.



My result:



A hotel in St. Petersburg, Russia.
The acronym bears the same letters as my initials.
Oddly, the hotel's description fits me pretty well too:
"a dreary 1970s concrete block, but it does offer affordable, clean, and unpretentious accommodation."

six feet under

Does anybody watch this show? It was great the first season. I knew I would forever love this show when Brenda suggestively said, "No, not that kind of ride." Nevertheless, it did experience a wee bit of the sophomore slump and flagged a bit the second and third seasons, but even at its worst it was and is still better than 99% of the other shite on the tellie. But by the fourth season, they came back like a lion. The whole Lisa storyline, George losing his shit and gaining truck-fulls of somebody else's, Claire finally coming into her own through hilarious sexual misadventures...and I immediately forgave them the last two seasons when they had Justin Thereoux as a bondage loving band geek. Now, the final season and it's bittersweet. I think it might be better than the first season. The writing, the acting, the story arcs, I'm so involved in the characters, except for Maggie...that calm, tranquil, zen bitch should have stayed in Arizona. I cannot believe what just happened this last episode, my heart shattered into a million tiny crystalline pieces of pure devastation. I can't wait for the next episode, but then again I don't want to be watching the last few episodes because then it will be done, no future seasons. There will definitely be a hole in the already vacuous land of television that will never be filled when this show ends.

gag me with a spoon

Bulimics are very specific about the foods they consume when they binge and purge. Definite no on the tortilla chips, too many sharp edges that could reak havoc on the throat. They pass on the spicy food because spicy plus stomach acid does not a happy esophogus make. They don't indulge in bread either because it clumps too much, and vomiting up big wads of bread is probably similar to pushing a baby out of a vag. But bulimics love stuff like cake, soft cake and smooth icing...mmm mmm good both down and up the hatch. They love cereal (but not Corn Pops or Raisin Bran) because the milk is so much the better for upchucking. But the all-time fave of most bulimics is ice cream...it's just as good coming up as going down, soft and cool...a real pleasure for the regular purger. But bulimia just doesn't really work for everybody. Take vegans for instance, they can't have the milk or the cake or the ice cream, and lactose intolerants, well I'm sure you can just imagine. Plus, the foods for bulimics are just so darn unhealthy. So I think we should institute a healthier more organic bulimia. Judging by today's unfortunate turn of events, I've found that tofu is ideal for puking, whether self-induced or not. The consistency makes it easy to hurl, it doesn't leave too bad an aftertaste, and you don't get as much stomach acid as you would trying to break down a big hamburger or something. So now everybody can be on the bulimia bandwagon and not just celebrities and sorority girls.

adventures in babysitting

It's not that I don't like children...well okay, maybe I don't like children who aren't blood related. But mostly, it's the responsibility involved in caring for children that I don't particularly enjoy. I watched my brother's girls yesterday and it wasn't as much fun as just going to their house and visiting. There were many responsibilities and too much rule enforcement. I admit it, I'm totally selfish and frankly I just want to be the fun aunt. The one they can play Barbies with and who will join in when they have fart contests. I want to recklessly chase them around the house while they carry scissors. I want to make toast while sitting on the ledge of the tub as they take their nighty-night baths. I want to teach them dirty words and slip them a twenty so they can go out and buy make-up for their first clandestine meeting with the boyfriend their parents hate. I don't want to yell at them and create boundaries. I don't want to not buy things because of the choking hazards and mercury filling. And certainly, I don't want to be in any kind of situation where I have to take advice from Dr. Phil. What's fun about that? Kids should be more like dogs. You love your dogs, they love you...even when they're in their teen years. You can leave them in the car with the windows down when you need to run into the drug store for one of mommy's little helpers. You get to leave them at home when you want to go out and eat. They lick their own butts so bathing is optional. Seriously, it doesn't get more perfect than that.

skeletor

There's a girl at the Y, she can't be more than 25. She is disgustingly, revoltingly thin. Her bones stick out all over the place, you can see each little bump of her spine. Her face looks like somebody recently deceased who hasn't been pumped full of embalming fluid. And she's like some mad-woman on the exercise machines. Obviously she is determined to burn every calorie she has EVER consumed in her entire life each and every time she works out. I find her very frightening. If I had to choose between being her and being 400 pounds, I might opt for the 400 pounds. At least that way you can kill yourself by being a lazy, orally fixated hedonist. They should institute a law at the gym similar to the ones they have in bars. Once a person gets too drunk, you have to stop serving them...so once a person gets that sickeningly thin, you should force them out of the gym, drag them down to the vending machines, shove hohos down their throats and make them sit there until they digest.

hair-raising

Somebody needs to talk to the lady training me. How am I supposed to pay attention and concentrate on what she's explaining to me when she has the thickest mustache I have ever seen outside of Sturgis? Not just thick but long too. And she's got a little soul patch growing, which can almost distract me from some horrendously crooked lower teeth. Seriously, how can I think about the proper way to use the machine when her chin-mole hairs are trying to ensnare me? It's impossible!

self-induced amnesia

Man, you know you've had one crazy night when you wake up with bruises all over your body that you just can't explain. How do you get a bruise on your boob? I don't remember there being a mosh pit or any chest region man-handling. But then again I also don't remember most of the text messaging version of drunk dialing I did either, though I'm almost certain I mailed a picture of a toilet. And come-on lines...generally really lame, but every once in a while you get something so creative you almost feel compelled to reward the person just on principle...not that I'm THAT much of a prize, but as almost everybody knows self-esteem is directly proportional to the amount of liquor one consumes.

weekend update

Man, having to work REALLY makes you appreciate having a weekend off. Especially the whole sleeping in part of the deal. Waking up before The Today Show ends just has no appeal other than the fact that you can get a croissant breakfast thingie from Burger King. It's easier for me to stay awake all night than it is for me to force myself out of a warm and cozy slumber. Plus, you dream a lot more when you aren't forced awake by the insanely loud harping of an alarm clock, and I am the kind of person that remembers my dreams and then overanalyzes them. Although yesterday, despite having to be awake before the roosters, I had the BEST dream. I woke up with a smile and knew I was going to have a great day. And I did. There wasn't any traffic on the way to work. I didn't screw up training. Then I went to see my awesome friend Jen and we hung out and had a great dinner, I haven't had crab cakes that delicious since I lived in DC. We watched Strangers With Candy, I remembered that the show is funny, but I forgot how completely random it is, Amy Sedaris is my hero...those DVDs are on definitely on my to buy list. To wrap up the day, I drove home and they actually weren't doing any construction, I didn't get pulled over by any of the kabillion cops that were out last night and I made it home lickity split. So now Saturday is upon me and I haven't a clue what I should be out doing. Because when you work, you're supposed to make your weekends count right? It's been a while, I can't really remember.

weekend update

Man, having to work REALLY makes you appreciate having a weekend off. Especially the whole sleeping in part of the deal. Waking up before The Today Show ends just has no appeal other than the fact that you can get a croissant breakfast thingie from Burger King. It's easier for me to stay awake all night than it is for me to force myself out of a warm and cozy slumber. Plus, you dream a lot more when you aren't forced awake by the insanely loud harping of an alarm clock, and I am the kind of person that remembers my dreams and then overanalyzes them. Although yesterday, despite having to be awake before the roosters, I had the BEST dream. I woke up with a smile and knew I was going to have a great day. And I did. There wasn't any traffic on the way to work. I didn't screw up training. Then I went to see my awesome friend Jen and we hung out and had a great dinner, I haven't had crab cakes that delicious since I lived in DC. We watched Strangers With Candy, I remembered that the show is funny, but I forgot how completely random it is, Amy Sedaris is my hero...those DVDs are on definitely on my to buy list. To wrap up the day, I drove home and they actually weren't doing any construction, I didn't get pulled over by any of the kabillion cops that were out last night and I made it home lickity split. So now Saturday is upon me and I haven't a clue what I should be out doing. Because when you work, you're supposed to make your weekends count right? It's been a while, I can't really remember.

kids incorporated

For some inexplicable reason people willingly go on the journey known as parenthood. Why? I have no idea, I've heard there's a ticking clock of some kind. Just one day with my brother's spawn is enough to compel me to get my birth control prescription refilled, lest I be "blessed" with crying over toys (the crier being me only a third of the time), being told to "back off" by a five year old, and washing a poo-poo butt other than my own during bathtime. Sure, some parent might try to convince me that the hugs & kisses, "I love you"s, and gut-busting laughter because of the funny things kids say makes it all worth it. But I have enough reasons to shroud myself in self-loathing, screwing up an innocent bystander would just add a really uncomfortable fifty foot train.

special, so special

In every job, a worker always has a knack for something, at least one thing that a person is just a little bit better at than everybody else. Even I, lab dunce that I am, have that one skill. I haven't used it in a long time, not since I was government issued. But today, surprisingly, I found that I haven't lost my little gift. See in the lab, we often have to diagnose "artifacts" or "foreign bodies" in stuff like urine and genital swabs...and for some reason, I can spot a spermatozoa like nobody's business, particularly when it's in a gal's specimen. Within seconds of popping in a slide, if there is a single wiggly-guy to be found, I'll find it. I'm like the McGruff of post-coital remnants...nobody goes missing on my watch.

high beams

Did I mention how freezing cold the orientation room was today? BRRRR, it was cold even though I happened to be wearing a t-shirt and a sweater. All us newbies were unpleasantly surprised by the lack of climate control in that torture chamber they call a conference room. But the human resources ladies, they're there every frikkin' day, so the frigid temperatures should come as no shock. Therefore, I cannot and will not forgive any of them for their short sightedness in wearing thin, silky, white blouses. I checked the orientation schedule AND the checklist and the areola & nipple color/shape/size gallery viewing was nowhere to be found.

the wheels on the bus go round and round

The transit website neglected to mention that public transportation is deodorant optional and where bad hair goes to die.

semper fi

I think that orientation days are like the first few days of basic training. They're designed to weed out the weak, only the strong survive through the torment of this level of tortuously, mind-numbing boredom.

countdown

I'm in a pissy mood today, so you'll forgive my negativity. I'm trying to savor this final day as a freeloader but all I feel is tired. I haven't even started working and I'm exhausted, from digging out my uniforms to looking up bus schedules to meeting my rideshare person...stick a fork in me already. The guy I'm ridesharing with is nice enough but he's the kind of person who thinks nothing is too personal to share with a total stranger. Fifteen minutes with him and I know all about his three ex-wives, why they divorced and his financial situation.I'm really nervous about starting this new job. Let's just say that I haven't had a stellar career in the lab. I've managed to either get by on my looks or sheer luck or something else entirely because I've always worked the easiest jobs out there. Now, I'm going to be working a "real" lab job where they expect me to use skills and knowledge I've long since forgotten. It's a little frightening, especially since it's not some job where I can just wing it or bullshit my way through it because, you know, I could potentially kill somebody if I screw up...ack, the pressure.Oh and fyi, I didn't get that unemployment. Apparently my reasons weren't "compelling" enough. I'm not disappointed because I didn't really think I would get it, but I am a little irritated. I hate to pull the vag-card here but the decision is some sexist bullshit. When I was a nice little wifey and moved for my husband, THAT was a compelling enough reason to get unemployment. But after becoming a divorcee and moving for myself, well that's just not reason enough. So a big middle-finger to the unemployment office of the armpit of the Midwest.

as a heart attack

Have you ever met one of those people that are too serious? They don't have that on/off switch to tells them that in some social situations, they're supposed to be light-hearted. All they do is talk about serious things. They'll ruin a perfectly good time by bringing up something just to get everybody heated, because you just can't help but get pulled into that black hole of acerbity*. And I don't mean a person who just loves to debate because the serious person is grim even when you agree with them. They're all about analyzing emotional states and telling you about their bad childhood or worse telling you what their therapist says is wrong with them. Or worst of all, they try to tell you about yourself, as if the five minutes they spent with you somehow gave them insight into your entire life. They grasp onto something like cultural background and think they've got you ALL figured out. Now don't get me wrong, I can have elements of this person from time to time, I can be a pretentious prick too...but I like to think I have a sense of humor and a certain frivolity to balance that out. Having that oh-so-serious attitude must feel like walking around with a fifty pound cement block chained to your leg, which kind of explains why those people are considered a drag.

*As you can see, I've been using the thesaurus again. (but apparently not the spellcheck, why didn't anybody tell me I misspelled thesaurus the first time around)

fight club

I filed for unemployment when I left Kentucky. They denied it and I appealed because they gave me the option, so I took it. I ended up having to go through arbitration because they wanted to see if I had been dishonest about my claim. Needless to say, I was pissed that they called my integrity into question. You can call me lazy, you call me ugly, hell you can call me Maurice, but don't ever call me a liar when I am in fact telling the truth. I was pumped for the arbitration, I decided that since there was a snowballs chance in hell I was getting the unemployment, I would be the biggest bitch they had ever encountered. I was going to yell, accuse my workplace of nefarious deeds (all of them true mind you), say rotten and vicious things that would cut like a knife...I was ready for a governmental battle royale of epic proportions that would make them rue the day they dared to deny me my freakin' benefits. But then the day rolled around (at 6:30 in the morning cause of the time change...assholes) and what a let-down. The conference call came and my former employer didn't even bother to respond. The guy on the phone was pleasant and it lasted a whole five minutes. Hell, the stupid oath they administered took longer than the testimony. I feel like those credit card commercials where the Vikings run in to pillage and burn because of the high interest rates, then find out the mayhem is called off and walk away dejected.

fire, water, burn

I usually stay pretty pasty-pale. I don't know if it's the remnants of the gothic lifestyle I once tried on for size or the complete phobia I have of aging, but I am usually fairly melanin challenged. So yesterday on what was probably the hottest day we've had all summer, it probably wasn't a good idea to spend the entire day outside without having slathered myself with sunblock. I have the worst sunburn I've had since I decided to lay out for seven hours straight the day before we left Hawaii. I feel like a piece of bacon sizzling on a smoking-hot iron skillet. I'm almost afraid to jump in the shower and feel those stinging needles of water pressing down on my tenderized flesh.Also, completely unrelated to the scorching hotness of my outer shell, I saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory last night. Truthfully, I didn't love it like I thought I would. The whole movie all I could think about was Gene Wilder's blue blue eyes. And the original Veruca Salt was much better. Don't get me wrong, I still liked it. I mean nobody can do crazy and still be hot like Johnny Depp...I think it's just one of those movies I'll have to watch several times before I really start to like it.

noise-pollution

I must be getting old because somebody down the street played and replayed and replayed the Yin Yang Twins cd last night until like three in the morning and their stereo had a lot of bass so you could hear it from miles away. God, I was pissed because it interrupted my pharmaceutically (legal mind you) enhanced sense of calm. If I ever hear that stupid Whisper Song again, I might have to kill somebody. Stupid kids and their new fangled music, can't they just listen to the grunge or Sir Mix-a-Lot from my day.

ghetto gourmet kitchen

Did you know that Hostess products have a web-page? And on that page, they have recipes. Not just any recipes...but recipes that any gourmand can be proud of, including a Twinkie Wedding Cake! Young brides in trailer parks around the world are very very excited.

old kleenex

There's nothing worse than letting money come between people. So why do people always put themselves in the position of letting money get in the way? Who's really in the wrong anyway? The people who borrow the money, the ones who never bring up paying the money back, as if avoiding the situation will alleviate them of their fiscal responsibility? Or is it the people who lend the money, knowing they probably won't get it back but holding onto that smoldering grudge nonethless until it eats away every positive facet of the relationship? The borrower who feels weak and beholden to the lender so that they start resenting them? The lender who feels used because they think the relationship is being measured in the dollar and cents that they can part with? I can't borrow money from other people, I don't even like to borrow ten bucks for a day...all the love and respect and time you spend investing in a relationship can just poof, disappear because of money and that seems like such a stupid reason. Personally, I'd prefer sex or violence be the things to get in the way of my friendships.

steamed at stinkies

Dear Miss Manners,

I was working out in a completely empty exercise room today when a woman came in and started working out on the machine right next to mine. I was a little confused because all of the other machines were empty (including approximately 15 additional machines in other rooms) and the woman didn't use any of them. It would never occur to me to use the machine right next to somebody when there are other machines to choose from. Could you please let me know if there are any rules of thumb regarding exercise machine use? Thank you very much.

Leary in Lakewood,
LisaM.

Dear Leary,

I am often asked this question and have to wonder what could possibly make a person choose to sweat right next to another person when they don't have to. I have found that workout machine etiquette is just like urinal etiquette, never use the potty adjacent to another person unless it is completely unavoidable or you are cruising for a glory hole partner (which has complicated rules all its own found in Miss Manners Does San Francisco co-authored by my glorious son/stylist Kristopher). Lucky for you, you can test your urinal etiquette here so that you won't make the awful faux-paux of getting too close to people unless absolutely necessary. Remember, it's just bad manners to expose people to the smell of your ass-sweat, whether at the gym or at the potty, unless there are no other options.

Truly,
Miss M.

lots of fun with picture pages

They have a track inside the YMCA's building. There are five paintings around the track so that when I walk it, I'm inundated with these repetitive images. I think that the Y is slowly trying to indoctrinate me. Now it's probably just an innocent way to instill good values, but that wouldn't be very entertaining. So let's take a look at the pictures through the lens of LisaM.

ForgivenessSomehow I doubt that Shaft would be asking forgiveness from anybody with hair dangerously close to a mullet. Cause you know Shaft...he's a bad motha...

Respect

I'm pretty sure that making the Indian dude a stereotypical computer nerd without enough fashion sense to NOT pair a short-sleeve button down with khaki shorts and socks pulled up half-way to his knees is NOT respectful. And what's with the Fonz's thumb action on the other guy...respect? I think not.

Service

Well it's not really fair to expect us to serve in the same way these two are...look how big their hands are. I can't compete with that.

Honesty
Yeah yeah yeah, women are the cause of all evil. Our dishonesty and trickery got us kicked out of the Garden of Eden. Seriously, I get it...enough already

Responsbility

Doesn't old man Weatherbee know that Archie's entire existence relies on the fact that he's completely irresponsible! How else is old fire-crotch supposed to nail the hottest chicks in town?

CaringNow this may just look like it's just a nice young lady giving a caring hand to a nice boy. BUT, the deeper context is telling me something else. It's saying that Latina or Asian ladies, probably undocumented, should prepare themselves to become the "au pair" or "domestic help" of some upper middle class family who'll pay welfare wages and consider it a sign of their generosity to let the gals eat the leftovers that they spent hours preparing.

whoopsadaisy

When you've spent almost your entire life living with other people and then all of the sudden you're living by yourself, you get used to things. And it's hard to adjust when you start living with other people again. No more walking around naked, no more eating ice cream right out of the box, no more shaving of extraneous body hair in front of the hallway mirror. I definitely learned this one the hard way this morning, no more brushing of teeth with the lights off because the horror of realizing that you've just brushed your teeth with somebody else's toothbrush...I can only think of a handful of things more disgusting.

just an excuse to eat popcorn and candy

Just saw Fantastic Four today. It was complete summer fluff, so naturally I loved it because if I wanted to think, I would watch... hell who am I kidding, I don't mix thinking with my entertainment. Johnny Storm...HOT, no pun intended. Which reminds me, before the movie started my 10-year old niece says, "Wow, Johnny Storm is really hot!" referring to the fact that he could self-combust. The sis-in-law and I laughed and the niece says, "What's so funny? (Pause for a good ten seconds) OHHHHH, I get it now." Sometimes she's so grown-up...she's like a little mini-thirty year old. AND after watching this movie, I realize how unfair the world is...it's just not right for somebody as amazing looking as Alba to exist on the same planet as the rest of us ordinary folk...it's definitely a cosmic joke on the rest of womankind.

it's a small small world

I'm rarely recognized as myself, I am usually only recognized in relation to somebody I know. Usually it's something like, "Oh, you're a friend of so-and-so" or "Right, you work with that person." But back here I am recognized in relation to...well...my relations, and it's happened twice in the last twenty-four hours. The first time I was walking my pooch at the park and there was this minor traffic jam caused by butt sniffing and genital licking (I'll just let you assume I'm talking about the dogs). Then this woman starts calling out, "S----" and I ignore it. "S----? Hey, you're S---- right?" So it dawns on me that she's talking to me and I say, "No, but I have a sister named S----." "Oh, you're H---'s other daughter." Yep, I'm either my mother's other daughter or my sister's mysterious older sister who just moved from "Alabama, oh Kentucky, same thing"...not an actual person with my own name. Today I opened a bank account and the girl looks at my name and asks me if I have any relatives that also bank there. I tell her that I didn't think so, but then she asks me, "Are you sure you're not N-----'s sister?" "Ahhhh, I am indeed his sister, I didn't realize he banked here."Hmmm, I guess I only have an identity when it is attached to somebody else. So does that make me an identity parasite?

frankie says relax

So what do you do after a long day of fixing the piece of shit car that belongs to your friend's daughter? Get a cucumber and honey facial of course! Like I really even needed to ask that question.

pinocchio

Almost everybody in this country has a car, but only about 1 in 50 people know anything about properly caring for it. Why don't they teach us that shit in school? Because let me tell you I've been hosed by mechanics hundreds of times but I've NEVER had to find the derivative of the tangent line of a circle. But I suppose that's the point of capitalism...make sure we're as ignorant as possible about the things that would actually be useful to us and then have somebody charge exorbitant rates to take advantage of our ignorance. So mechanics are on my shit list right now, they tried to hard sell me about five hundred bucks worth of services that I didn't need. The only reason I know I didn't need them is because my mom's friend checked to see if what they said jived since I suspected that they were trying to hose me. Had it not been for him I probably would have gotten the work done. So with that in mind, here is my top five list (in no particular order) of the occupations where truth-stretching is mandatory:

1. Mechanics
2. Politicians
3. Advertisers
4. Lawyers
5. Strippers

movers and shakers

The spindle has been touched, the apple has been bitten, I will now enter the deep sleep known as adult responsibility and employment. Two hours after I got back from my interview I got a phone call from the human resources person offering me the job. The pay is almost exactly what I expected, the terms I did not expect. I have to become board certified within a year...I guess that means I'll be looking for a new line of work in a year because I barely would have passed that shit right out of school...now ten years and multiple substances of abuse later, fuggedaboudit. I only have one more hurdle to pass before the job officially becomes mine.

tepid

I did really well at my interview today, it took an hour and a half which is generally a good sign. She asked me how soon I could start (I gave myself an extra two weeks of "extended vacation") and told me I would probably hear from them by the end of the week or early next week. Looks like all signs point to yes on my being employed. But I'm not really sure if I want the job. It's in a basement and frankly I have had more than my fair share of working in dungeons. The job is FAR, really really far away and the traffic is shit...I would lose countless hours of my life on a daily basis or I can move and pay way too much for a slummed out apartment. The place is kind of grungy, like ebola could be living on half of the counters. The supervisor is far too excited about the place which worries me...while all the cheerleading? None of the employees looked happy, they all had that dead eyed, tired look. But then again this is my only job prospect. The hours are good, I'm sure the pay will be okay. It wouldn't be a bad thing to live closer to Seattle, especially if I actually do go back to school next year. I just feel so lukewarm about it all, nothing about it really excites me.

signs, signs, everywhere a sign

I walk by this church almost every day and they change their signs weekly. Usually it's the boring, same old "Salvation found here." I just don't know how to feel about this one though...it's corny but has a bit of irreverence at the same time. But I'll be really impressed if they put a sign up that says something like, "One way ticket to heaven or your money back. Free tupperware gift with first saving."

to be or not to be

I've been thinking about mistakes lately. Mistakes I've made, mistakes I've avoided, how most of my mistakes have a trend based on my complete inability to maintain committments in my life. I self-analyze until I become self-aware enough to loathe myself...but then that's where I stop. I don't actually try and fix the things that are the roots of most of my issues. So is it worse to be completely unaware of why you do the things you do or worse to know why you do them and not do anything about it? I used to think it was worse to not know but now I'm starting to think that it's worse to know and not care enough to change it.

the horror!

SOB! I am in the throes of one of the worst crises of my young life...a bad haircut. I had wanted to find a salon that could rival the amazing powers of my old stylist back in Louisville, but then I let my mom convince me to go to one of her friends. I knew it wasn't a great idea, my wavy hair is hard to cut and I have a million and three cowlicks...a lot different that her mostly ajima clientele. But NEVER would I have guessed that I would end up looking like a harajuku kid who had just walked away the loser in an epic battle with a Flowbee. I need help, I am now collecting donations to find a master stylist with amazing rehabilitative powers, please send money to:

LisaM.
c/o Society for the Elimination of Hair Don'ts
3rd Pit of Hell Ave SE
Hell, WA 66666.

whoah

Though most people reserve their debauchery for Friday and Saturday nights, Thursday has become my fun night because it's the only night that my sister and her guy have off...so that's when everybody gets together. We went out last night to this place in Tacoma called The Loft. Now for those of you out of the Washington loop, Tacoma is considered the ugly bastard spawn of Seattle...we're considered utterly ghetto and totally not fabulous. But I guess The Loft is trying to have that little bit of Seattle sophistication, there's a dress code and they don't serve their drinks in plastic cups...but I'm digressing. So last night I got tee-rashed...and it was a good drunk because I was a friendly drunk and not the angry drunk I can sometimes be. I was walking around, giving people compliments because in my drunken stupors I try to up my karma by being ridiculously nice to strangers. I go to the bar and this really pretty girl starts chatting with me and then these Mexican sailors start talking to us. And somehow she and I both end up wearing their hats and this little little man in his white uniform starts dancing up on me like a rabid chihuahua humping somebody's leg...very not cool. So a guy I know comes up because he wants to chat up this girl I've met and I'm begging him, "Save me from the little man." He puts a protective arm over my shoulder, that arm that lays claim to somebody, and thankfully the little man got the hint and went away. But the girl thinks he and I are together, so we have to set her straight because at this point the guy is jonesing for her like a recovering heroin addict joneses for a Hershey's bar. Then the three of us go dance, and wow this girl is freaky....and I'm not easily impressed, so that's saying a lot. Then she goes potty and I go back to the bar, where the guy I had crushed on for a minute was standing and he gets me a drink as it's last call...which in and of itself was surprising because he usually avoids me like I'm some lecherous hag. Then the girl walks back up and I make him get her a drink too, then I introduce them and the girl is beautiful so I quickly become background noise to the two of them...cut to fifteen minutes later and they're playing one serious game of tonsil hockey as if their tongues are searching for some hidden treasure in the back of each other's throats. And strangely she had a camera, so now she has oodles of pictures of us. Thursday night madness...who knew?

about time

FINALLY! I have a job interview on Wednesday...yay for me! Too bad the job is hellaciously far from where I'm staying. Wish me luck!

personal-schmersonal

My poor baby is having eye problems again and so he's back in his cone. It amazes me that people feel like it's totally reasonable to ask me why he's wearing it though would consider it gauche to ask a person how much money they're carrying in their wallet. Today for instance, as I was taking my furry child out for his evening walk, some woman rushes out of her house and stops me to ask why he's wearing the cone. Now mind you I was standing on the side of a very busy road and she was shouting at me from the safety of her front porch. Then people just STARED at my poor little puppy-spectacle on our little journey. Does it never cross their minds that my dog's condition is none of their business? I guess not. So now whenever somebody asks me what's wrong with my dog, I'm going to ask them something personal in response.
Them: "Hey, why's your dog wearing that?"
Me: "Hey, how many bowel movements do you make in one day?"

Them: "What's wrong with your dog?"
Me: "Do you masturbate often?"Etc.

beezelbub

Two days in a row, the total calories burned calculation on the excercise machine (two different machines mind you) read 666. So does that make me satan or excercise satan? Cause it's a toss-up at this point.

you suck!

Holy shit, Wal-Mart and all of its business subsidiaries are fucking SATAN!!! Satan with a capital S! And they are a bunch of incompetent morons who can kiss my ass. See, I used to have a Sam's Club account that my X opened. When we got divorced we separated the account so he would have his and I would have mine. I rarely used it but the last time I used to they asked me if I wanted to add the Discover card to the account and I stupidly said yes. So a month goes by and I never got the card in the mail, in fact I hadn't gotten my bill either. So I call them up and ask them what's up and it turns out they were sending my bills to my ex-husband's old address in Georgia because they hadn't separated the accounts fully. Luckily they hadn't sent out a credit card. But I wasn't taking any chances and cancelled it all, the membership, the line of credit, and that stupid credit card. Today I check the mail and it's something from Sam's Club, I assumed it was the letter I asked them to send to confirm the cancellation...but NOOOOOOOO! It's a bill, apparently somebody in Mississippi who has a real penchant for beans and rice has my credit card. I am FUMING at this point and I call the stupid company to see what's up...twenty minutes of run-around time later I finally get to talk to the credit people. Apparently some other woman, with the same first and last name but different middle initial, has a Sam's Club account too. And I'm getting her bills, and god only knows where her bills were going because she had called the company last Wednesday to change the mailing address. And she had cancelled the account when they were going someplace else but had it reopened when she realized that there was no fraud taking place. Lucky for me, it was her SSN on the account on not mine. Seriously, how can people get it so wrong so many times? I guess I shouldn't expect much from a multi-billion dollar company who markets their low low prices and high moral values but outsources their labor to third-world countries where eight year old children are starved to death in order to make the neon colored picnic-ware and Kathie Lee Gifford line of clothing...that or they sell fifty gallon vats of pickles and enough oatmeal to feed an African nation and THEN encourage their employees to file for state provided welfare benefits. ASSHOLES!!!

intimacy

My mom has a friend who happens to be a guy, they're really good friends. They work at the same place and have known each other for years. He's a really nice guy, I like him a lot...the total opposite of my mother, quiet, mellow, rational. So he comes over every day, and has been coming over every day for about six years now. My mom cooks for him, he does stuff around the house for her, and they have a nice compansionship.But in MY family, you can't have anything without a little controversy. We pretend to be all nonchalant about it, but it's obviously just a front as we spend hours analyzing this relationship and most of that analysis revolves around whether or not mom and this person are more than friends?I say no, they're just friends. They're two lonely people who enjoy each other's company and both get something out of it, he gets a hot home cooked meal and she gets her gutters cleaned (no matter what chore I pick, it just sounds like innuendo, dammit). My sister and sister-in-law think I'm deluded and even worse, prudish. But I really don't think I'm in some "but ewwwww, that's my mommy you're talking about" state of mind, where I can't possibly imagine my parent as a sexual being. I just don't see that level of intimacy two people share, where you can look at them and say, "Yup, they're screwing."But my point here is this, can two people of the opposite sex NEVER be friends without people thinking that sex somehow fits into the equation? And not just two straight people because even when it's a gay/straight friendship, inevitably somebody thinks that the straight is trying to flip the gay. Hell, can two gay or lesbian people be good friends without the question of whether or not they're fucking ever coming up? Do all relationships with the potential for sexual intimacy have to be realized in order for them to be understood? Or am I really just a prude who can't think of people I care about doing the dirty dirty?

crazy eights

For some odd and inexplicable reason, people who are a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic are drawn to me. They're compelled to talk to me. I discovered this cosmic attraction in high school since our town has a state-run mental institution and our high school was directly across the street from it. The residents would talk to me everywhere, at the gas station, on the bus, when I went to the park... and it wasn't like I ever initiated the conversation, I didn't send inviting glances, hell I didn't even make eye contact for the most part...but still, crazy people inevitably approached me (and you can usually tell the crazies by the state of their fingernails). So today at the Y, I was working out on the elliptical machine, lost in my own thoughts as I contemplated more reasons to hate myself. All of the sudden I notice this lady in front of me, she's staring directly at me and talking. So thinking she is trying to tell me that I was bleeding out of my ears or my eye is about to pop out, I take off my headphones. Then she starts telling me about her daughter who wants to go to a party but she called the house and it was a party of nothing but boys and her daughter would be the only girl. No correct that, she doesn't start telling me cause she's already about a forth of the way through the conversation and just kept on going as if I had been listening from the very beginning. I half-heartedly replied and put my headphones back on, trying to be politely dismissive. But I notice her mouth is still moving and she is still staring right at me. So I stare back and nod at her for a bit, hoping she doesn't figure out I've still got my headphones on and can't hear shit. But then I start to feel a little guilty and I turn down the music and listen. So she starts telling me how she's out of lithium and some other medication, how she's been depressed for four years and that is four years too many, and how her PA can't sign off on the prescriptions so she'll have to get her psychiatrist to do it. All the while she's rolling away on her wheelchair, three feet per sentence. And this went on for ten minutes with little encouragement on my part. So I think I might be giving off some high-pitched noise that only crazy people can hear. Either that or I'm a lot crazier than I think I am and these people recognize one of their own.

what the hell?

Whenever you move someplace new, inevitably you start thinking how THESE drivers are the WORST drivers ever. I thought that in DC, definitely thought it in Hawaii, complained on-and-on about it in Kentucky...well guess what...drivers in Washington are the WORST drivers ever (which probably doesn't say a lot about me since I pretty much learned to drive and got my first license here). Maybe it's all the damn landscaping, freakin' big ass trees and massive hedges and blackberry bushes that will most assuredly take over the world someday. Maybe that's why people don't feel a particular need to stop before of at the end of their road but instead stop about three feet into the main road, they just can't see shit because of all the greenery. Maybe things have changed and the right of way no longer belongs to the person already on the main road but to the person on the side road, that could explain the evil-eye people give to me when I look at them in disbelief. Maybe evolution brought on by too much rain and constant overcast conditions changed the shape of the eyeball so now everybody has depth perception problems. I just don't know...but one thing is for damn sure, I'll have to move to New York City, L.A., maybe even Italy in order to keep up with this trend of worsening driving situations.

mikey likes is

Have you ever had somebody recommend something to you, something they knew "you would just LOVE!" And then it turns out that you hate it, that actually you think it's a big steaming pile of orangutan dung. Then you're left thinking, "Wow, this person doesn't know shit about me." And then you start thinking to yourself, "Hmmm, exactly who does so-and-so think I am?" Then you get really fuming mad, that irrational anger that makes your eyes bulge out of their sockets, and you call up said person and start screaming at them about being a grade-A asshole who obviously never paid very close attention to you, who doesn't know their head from their ass, who if they actually knew the difference between their head and ass they would realize how far up their ass their head actually was! Yeah, I don't do that last part either. But I spend a lot of time coming up with these elaborate scenarios that eventually lead to the beginnings of a serial killing spree. Call me crazy...just don't recommend any books you think crazy people might like.

laundromania

Intro:
I have these massive Korean bedspreads called mink blankets. They're huge, weigh a fucking ton and a half, and won't fit in a standard washer and dryer. Therefore, I have to lug my blankets around to laundromats that have the extra-capacity front-loading washers.
Story:
Now once in Kentucky I went to wash my blankets before I put them away for the summer. When I walked into the joint, it was full of people. Ever so slowly, people trickled out and before I knew it, I was alone...well, technically I wasn't alone because the owner and proprietor was in the back room watching Korean serials (the best television shows ever!). So this guy walks in, a cowboy sort with too-tight Wranglers and a down-home polo shirt, and he goes to the bathroom. He comes out and walks by me as I'm taking my blankets out of the washer. Then he starts asking me questions about the washer, why is it more expensive, is it better than the other ones, do more clothes fit? So I patiently answer and then go to sit down and read my book. "Thanks a lot," he says. So I look up, "You're welcome." "No seriously, I really appreciate it," and I can tell by his tone that he needs some attention. So I look up, "Sure." Then I notice his arms moving, so my eyes follow his arms down to his hands. Of course I didn't have my glasses on and he was a good fifteen-twenty feet away so I think, "What is he doing with his belt buckle?" Then it clicks and I realize he's jiggling his dick at me. So I think I squealed and looked away as he ran out, probably pleased with himself that he had pulled it out and pulled one over. I go to ask the lady in the back room if she knew who he was and she says to me, "Oh no, I thought he was with you." I tell her that he most assuredly WAS NOT and her response, "Oh, well then I should have charged him a dollar for using the bathroom."
Follow up:
So since that fateful day, I am petrified of going to laundromats by myself. I get sweaty and go into panic-attack mode. But today I HAD to go all by myself to wash my blankets. First of all, they smelled musty and second I had to put them away for the summer. When I got there it was me and just one other guy, a sort of cowboy looking guy with too-tight Wranglers and a polo shirt. But he turned out okay, he traded me dimes and nickels for quarters so I didn't have to get five more bucks worth. But then these two women walked in and one of them, easily pushing about 290, was walking around in a tank-top with no bra on and really tight jeans with the button undone (actually more like unable to be done) and the waist-band rolled down. So now I have new things to fear...I may never reach a good place with the laundromat.

bummed out

Man, don't you HATE that feeling you get in your stomach when something you thought would happen doesn't? That nauseous, fluttery feeling where you don't know whether to scream or cry? Dammit, I don't know why I let myself get worked up over long shots.

lecherous

My sister warned me about this guy they hang out with, she said that he'll try to screw anything with genitalia remotely resembling a vagina. I saw this first hand the first time we went out and he eventually ended up shagging this girl who would sleep with a goat if it made her feel momentarily attractive. But he hadn't hit on me, so wow...what a blow to the ego right? But I guess I'm vindicated now because he tried to hook it up last night and even tried to follow me into the bathroom, at which point I yelled out, "Dude, I'm taking a big stinky shit and I need some privacy!" Though note that I wasn't making number two, I just thought (and rightly so) that it was the quickest and most sure-fire way to get rid of him. So I guess that makes me a regular old girl now and not the Medusa with the venus-flytrap vagina that I was slowly starting to suspect I was.

honest = best policy ?

How exactly are you supposed to answer when your mother's friend asks you if you smoke the "happy smoke" while miming the requisite thumb and forefinger finger squeeze while sucking her cheeks into hollow pits? Do you tell the truth? Do you lie? And then what do you do when your mom says, "Yeah, whenever her, S____, and S______ get together."? Do you still deny all accusations as nothing more than circumstantial? Or do you just give it up to mom's keen sense of observation? Personally, I say deny, deny, deny...we all have our little roles to play in life and lying to your parents is just one of them.

hello ass, meet thumb

o So when does an "extended vacation" officially become a loser's life? I think I'm just about ready to cross that threshold.
o When Katie and I went to New Orleans, we had the obligatory psychic reading (because I guess the more crawdads you eat, the closer in tune you are with the psychic realm). Her tea-reading lady was AWESOME...everything she said would happen has happened and not just to her, to her family as well. My guy, a total fluke...there was supposed to be money and love and good things. Never believe anybody with overplucked eyebrows...if they can't predict the sheer and complete WRONG of having no arch left in their brow, then they certainly CANNOT predict my future.
o On the plus side, I found a graduate program that I'm interested in. On the minus side, I have to take the GRE and wait until Fall 2006.
o I still have no job prospects, which is crazy! I HAVE A LIBERAL ARTS DEGREE!!! I thought that meant like guaranteed six-figure salary with full benes and company Mercedes, but then again I am out of my Lithium and Risperdol.
o Also, the weather here is ass. Here we are, on the cusp of summer...and it is fucking 63 degrees outside. It almost makes me yearn for the days of 90 degree heat with 90 percent humidity, almost.

chasm

45 miles. That's the approximate distance between Lakewood and Seattle. But after Jen's party last night, I'm starting to think that 45 miles might as well be 450 miles. I don't know how many times people asked me "So what's Tacoma like?" in the same wonderous way they would ask, "So what's Kentucky like?" You would think Tacoma and Seattle are neighboring states rather than neighboring cities. I'm not sure how I'm expected to answer. Do they think we're super-country and I'm going to yeehaw and slap my knee in hee-haw joy? Do they think we're super-ghetto and I'm gonna bust out wid som' ghetto flava? It's funny to me because in my study of urban centers, the books all consider the Seattle-Tacoma area just one major metropolis...but the people obviously don't agree.

double your pleasure

Lessons for the day:Just because one of something is great, doubling up on it doesn't necessarily make it better. And you can sleep for eighteen hours straight to recover from a massive migraine and still wake up tired as hell.

slacker

One of the greatest things about being unemployed is that I can party all night on a Thursday and not have to worry about getting up in the morning and schlepping off to a job that I would probably hate anyway. That my friends is one of the benefits of having no responbilities whatsoever. Of course, I'll feel quite differently when my money runs dry and I am selling my ass on the street corner to pay for my car insurance. I can see it now, all cracked out on the street trying to pay for my pet insurance and make-up addiction. "Wassup baby, I'll suck yo dick for a MAC eyeliner." But it feels good to feel young again, really really good.

naked dreaming

I have an irrational fear of running into people from high school. The fear has seeped into my subconscious mind because I dreamt about some people from high school the other night and had a dream about another high school boy last night. Oddly enough, the morning after I dreamt about the pharmacists, I checked out my friend Jen's Evite page, and lo and behold one of the guys in the dream is going to be attending. I think my fear of running into people stems from the fact that we'll have the obligatory banal banter about what we've been up to since high school, what we're doing for a living, blah blah blah. I get a migraine just thinking about it, mostly because I loathe that I've lived such an ordinary life. So this morning in the shower I decided to tell people that I've just gotten out of prison. I've developed a whole backstory too and I gave it a feminist edge.

flowers in the attic

I think I've read too many V.C. Andrews novels because I am slowly convincing myself that my mother is putting arsenic in my cookies...my stomach has been hurting all week.I had a recruiter interview yesterday. Since when did interviewing become a two-step process. Whatever happened to sending in your resume, going in for an interview, and then getting a job? Seriously, this isn't nuclear weapon development we're talking about...it's testing pee.

unexpected

Here's something you probably wouldn't have imagined...Tori Amos covering a Kylie Minogue song.

dream a little dream

I remember most of my dreams and they generally seem to indicate that I am one crazy mofo. The other night my dream involved supermodels and the Dog from Dog the Bounty Hunter (a hilarious show that takes place in Hawaii by the way) who were trying to rob and murder me. I can't remember the reason, but I do remember waking up shouting for the police, except I woke up completely half way through the shout so it sounded like "PPPOOOLLLarrgghhhbrrrrssstt."Then last night I had this weird dream that a room full of people were trying to score some drugs from these two guys I went to high school with (initials S.F. and B.F. to anybody interested) and they had this massive set-up that was just like a pharmacy. And one of the guys even dressed in the white pharmacist jacket while dispensing the narcotics. For some reason, there were also a lot of supermodels in this dream, except this time there was a brawl and later a quick Getaway in a Geo Metro that I drove on styrofoam bridges until I got to this twenty-story Sears building where I went to shop for throw rugs and I kept quoting the dudism, "I need something to tie the room together."Anyway, I can figure out the significance of supermodels harassing me, but styrofoam bridges... who knows?

crushed

So the other night when I was massively drunk, apparently I stared too long at a guy and now he thinks I like him. Granted, I do think he's attractive, both physically and otherwise...but I do not "like him that way." I don't know what bothers me more...(A) that you can't just be drunk around somebody and do the things that drunks do like stare or talk too much or smile and laugh for no reason (oh no wait...that's high, not drunk) without them immediately jumping to the conclucion that you like them, (B) I am starting to become transparent in my old age and not very good at fronting anymore, or (C) that I am so repulsive that somebody would be concerned that I am into them, or (D) that I'm in a constant six year cycle where I keep living and reliving my junior high and high school days over and over and over again, ad nauseum. What the fuck? That whole, "you can never go home again" is bullshit...because you can, and it usually fucking sucks just as bad the second time around.

june cleaver

My mom has always had this secret desire to turn me into a "proper woman." I swear, I have received more skirt and sweater sets in the last two weeks than I have bought for myself in the last two years. And I have a purse, a REAL purse, and not the messenger bags or anime covered children's bags I normally carry. But one thing I wouldn't let her talk me into getting, a cute pair of shoes. I heart ugly shoes, and I super duper heart flip-flops/slippahs/sandals/thongs, and even though I tell myself that I'm going to buy just one pair of inappropriate shoes with a high spiked heel and pointy toes, I always end up going with a more sensible shoe. But then again, Dr. Marten Mary Janes with a three-inch sole would look pretty kick ass with my new fifties housewife outfits.

liquid courage

I got so hammered last night, all because my sister's significant other invited this guy to a barbeque that I'm totally crushing on...because I'm junior high like that. Words of widsdom, never have philosophical/semantic arguments when you're drunk and outnumbered 3 to 1, and the other three are guys who get that whole penile comraderie thing going. Especially don't argue when you're drunk when you are already the kind of person who's voice gets fifteen octaves higher and twelve decibels louder each and every time somebody disagrees with you. Being loud and obnoxious... probably not the best way to impress a guy...but then again being a fat-ass isn't either.

bored

I have nothing to post about...mostly because I have nothing going on right now. No job, no school, no B., no K, no ANTM/Qdoba night, no useless errands. Unless you want to hear about the sale they have at Albertson's...I got nothing. So let's play a vocabulary game, and no cheating by running to a thesaurus.Come up with three synonyms pertaining to some aspect of boredom. It can be a verb, noun, adverb, present tense, past tense, etc. The person with the best word wins nothing less than the sheer joy of having a better vocabulary than everybody else.ennuilackadaisical-I had to look up the spelling for this one, but I wasn't too far offuninterested

danger, watch yourself

See, even road signs are giving me reasons not to break my vow of chastity.

price check

I went out with my sister, her...uh....the guy she lives with, and a bunch of their friends. It was pretty cool and honestly, I thought I could party pretty hard but going out with them made me realize that I'm just an amateur...either that or I've mellowed out with age. So there was a pretty large contingent of guys there and each and every one of them clearly considered themselves THE gift from god. But seriously, only one of them was worth anything and it only totaled about the price of an Easter basket.

masticator

I swear to god, I have eaten more rice in the last week than I probably ate all of last year. And apparently Iniki likes kim/nori/dried seaweed. Coincidentally, since he's been eating it, his poop is a lot easier to clean up.

surreal life

Just got back from a barbecue at my brother's house. You know, I thought I had seen a lot and thought I had some strange friends, BUT THIS TAKES THE CAKE! My sister-in-law had a friend and her husband over as well as me and some guy I knew when I was just a wee thing. Apparently they just got a new laptop and enjoy looking at sites like ratemythong.com and ratemycock.com (no lie, these REALLY exist). It also seems that the wife desperately wanted to put her husband's weenie up on desperateforapproval.com. So part of the night they were trying to take a digital picture of a Polaroid they have of him lounging around all Sylvester Stallone circa Playgirl spread. When that didn't work out, he started taking actual pictures of his penis with the digital camera. First, he went to the bathroom, I guess he wanted to be discreet. But when that proved too taxing, he full on whipped it out at the dining room table. Lucky for me, I was across the table from him and there was thankfully a very big bag of tortilla chips blocking my view...but I guess my sister-in-law saw it. I can only presume that he didn't like the lighting from the dining room, so he went outside on the deck and started snapping away. Every three to four minutes you would see a flash go off outside; and this went on for a good twenty minutes. Can you imagine?

frightening and sad

I found out today that a person I used to work with in Hawaii, actually the person that took over my job when I left, died recently. She was only 37 years old.

stop. thief.

Never one to shy away from stealing other people's ideas when I have none of my own...

Top Ten Brands You Cannot Live Without:

1. Coke-it's the real thing AND Diet Coke has that Adrien Brody commercial I love.
2. HBO-without this little slice of television heaven, I wouldn't have anything to watch, especially since America's Next Top Model is finished.
3. Apple-iPods, iTunes...my credit card has never been the same.
4. General Foods International Coffees-two words: Chai, Latte. Nuff said.
5. Fendi-the few sunglasses that fit and flatter my ginormous head.
6. Ambien-every once in a while, you need a good night's sleep.
7. MAC-for my fabulous inner transvestite.
8. Lancome-the reason I still look 24, or at least the reason my friends lie to me about looking 24.
9. Target-cause I love cheap, any store with a dollar spot is all right by me.
10. McDonald's-french fries are the food of the gods.