Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Some News About My Butt

June 23, 2006

Some of you may remember when I gave up wheat for Lent and lost my butt. Well, it found its way home, and for a week or two we had a happy reunion, until it invited in the old friend it had met up with on its adventures — a set of twins, actually: The Love Handles.

Today I am wearing a pair of adorable stretchy pinstriped jeans that are suddenly so tight in the buttal region they're actually squeezing my cheeks together. And the worst part is, the love handles, or "upper butt fat" as Rachel would say, is seeping over the top. Yum. You see, this is the look I want, versus the look I am trying to avoid:


However: It seems that for me, the first look is an impossible dream.  Instead I must choose between: Option 1: A good amount middle butt fat with a disproportionately huge amount of upper butt fat, or Option 2: Not enough middle butt fat, but still plenty of upper butt fat. Which is better? I'm not sure, but I do know that today I look like ten pounds of shit in a nine-pound bag. I can barely even sit down, these jeans are so tight. Operation "Not eating wheat: No, really, I'm not — well, OK, just a bite… dang, that's a good burger, hand it over," has ceased, and once again, Operation "Not eating wheat for Jesus, because that's the only thing that works" begins.


What’s That, Lassie? Timmy has fallen into the well?

June 20, 2006

My co-worker Scott showed me this link today and I have to show y'all.  It makes me want to run and jump and do cartwheels and kiss the first dog I see on the soft, furry head (unless it's a mangy stray dog with fleas and possibly rabies. In that case I will give it an appreciative nod from a safe distance).

How can you not be googleable?

June 14, 2006

In this day and age, explain to me how I can type a person's name into Google and come up with nothing relevant?  How am I expected to i-stalk old friends from my past?  It's really rude, if you ask me.  Put some pictures of y'all's selves up on the internet for me to browse, people!  Or do something noteworthy so someone else will, or at the very least get a dang MySpace page!  Otherwise, what am I supposed to do at work!? 

Conspiracy Theory

June 7, 2006

So… today I got an email forward.  I know that it was forwarded with the best of intentions.  I never send these on, but sometimes feel guilty for not, because maybe I should participate in "warning" people.  But part of me thinks this type of thing is fake, and the reason for sending them is to scare women.  Why?  If we're scared, we're immobilized.  If it's not safe to go to the gas station or the grocery store or the mall parking lot, or drive on roads, or whatever the latest forward is warning us about, what are we supposed to do?  I'll tell you. Just go home and sit.  And rot.  It makes me want to scream and cry and claw at my skin. It makes me angry.  A lot of times if we get angry about things like this, women are called "angry feminists."  Well… yeah.  Wouldn't you be mad? 

I know it really is pretty damn unsafe for women to be out and about at night, and frankly, even during the day.  I can tell you some really sketchy things that have happened to me personally, and to women I know.  But part of me wants to call bullshit on these "warning" forwards.  And whether they're true or not, the whole racket still royally pisses me off.  Because either way we have to constantly be on guard.  It's exhausting. 

Anyway, here's the forward.  

A friend stopped at a pay-at-the-pump gas station to get gas. Once she filled her gas tank and after paying at the pump and starting to leave, the voice of the attendant inside came over the speaker. He told her that something happened with her card and that she needed to come inside to pay. The lady was confused because the transaction showed complete and approved. She relayed that to him and was getting ready to leave but the attendant, once again, urged her to come in to pay or there'd be trouble. She proceeded to go inside and started arguing with the attendant about his threat. He told her to calm down and listen carefully:
He said that while she was pumping gas, a guy slipped into the back seat of her car on the other side and the attendant had already called the police.
She became frightened and looked out in time to see her car door open and the guy slip out. The report is that the new gang initiation thing is to bring back a woman and/or her car.. One way they are doing this is crawling under women's cars while they're pumping gas or at grocery stores in the nighttime. The other way is slipping into unattended cars and kidnapping the women.
Please pass this on to other women, young and old alike. Be extra careful going to and from your car at night. If at all possible, don't go alone! This is real!!
The message:
1. ALWAYS lock your car doors, even if you're gone for just a second!
2. Check underneath your car when approaching it for reentry, and check in the back before getting in.
3. Always be aware of your surroundings and of other individuals in your general vicinity, particularly at night!
Send this to everyone so your friends can take precaution.
Barbara Baker, Secretary Directorate of Training U.S. Army Military Police School

I get this type of thing ALL THE TIME.  And I'm always like, THIS FUCKING SUCKS.  Maybe this is happening; probably not.  In any case, it's really hard to go through life always looking over your shoulder.  Always fearing you'll be one of those "one out of three" women who gets raped.  It's so fucking inconvenient to be a woman, because sometimes I might want to go runing through my neighborhood at dusk, or ride my bike somewhere, or go pick up some groceries at 11PM, or maybe I'm about to run out of gas, but it's dark outside.  And I can't do any of those things, and if I do, I have to be nervous the whole time, so I can't enjoy it anyway.

Are these things made up to keep us at home? To make us depend on men?  To depend on men but also fear men? How are we supposed to know what to do, where to go, who to trust?  Call me what you will, but it makes me angry, and I won't apologize for that.

06/06/06, and “The Hills”

June 6, 2006

Today is 6-6-6, or 06/06/06, or June 6, 2006, depending how you like to write your dates.  I usually do it the second way, in case you're interested.

So I guess today is not only Satan's birthday or whatever, but it's also National Day of Slayer, and most importantly, National Emo Kid Beatdown Day.

Jeff and his roommates wanted to get up at 6AM to pound beers and blast Slayer, and I slept over there last night. I had to get up at 6 anyway so I could go home and get ready for work, and when my alarm went off I said, "Aren't you going downstairs to blast Slayer?" But Jeff said, "Fuck that," and immediatly went back to sleep. And I totally knew where he was coming from, because if I had to choose between pounding a beer and blasting loud music at 6 AM or sleeping an extra hour it wouldn't be a hard decision.  Because sleep always wins.  But really, sleep had a clear advantage in that match.  They really probably shouldn't have even been in the same bracket, you know what I mean?

In other news, I feel totally gypped!  Remember "Laguna Beach: The Real Orange County," and how it was my favorite show last year?  Well, I had an argument with a co-worker a couple days ago.  He said he thought it was totally fake and scripted, whereas I thought it was real, though a little encouraged.  Like, I thought the director was probably like, "OK, you're all going to get pedicures together.  While you're there, you should make sure you talk about Stephen and L.C.  Oh, and Alex H., at some point you should ask Kristin if she saw Alex M. hook up with Jason in Cabo."  But Bill thought it was totally, totally fake and all the situations, like the exciting love triangle between L.C., Steven and Kristin was all made up.  But I was all, NO WAY, it had to be real because no one could fake Jessica's desperation for Jason.  She had such classic low self esteem you just knew all that drama there was real.  And if Wikipedia's description is correct, I'm right.

Well: The other night I watched the season premier of the spinoff, "The Hills," which follows L.C. on her adventures to L.A., and from the get-go it was so fake it might as well have had a "Made in China" label.  L.C. clearly lives in Park LaBrea, which is near my house, and is recognizable to anyone who lives in this city, and is NOT in the Hollywood Hills.  But since the show is called "The Hills," they have to pretend it's called "Hillside Villas."  Gross.  Anyway.  So from Day One, L.C. has all these "good friends," who are all gorgeous actor-model types.  Where did these "friends" come from?  I don't remember seeing or hearing about a single one of them on Laguna Beach.  And the events are so clearly planned and scripted — every little thing.  I don't know how real or fake Laguna Beach was, but whatever they did worked.  This, though, is just an insult to my intelligence.  Stupid "reality" TV!  BAH!


May 17, 2006

Yesterday I was wishing they made hybrid Subarus, because I really want a Subaru, and gas prices ain't gettin' any cheaper.  $3.49 a gallon I paid last time, people. $3.49! 

You may think it's dorky that I really, really badly want a Subaru, that it is in fact my dream car, but I've got news for you: I'm a dork.  And once you drive one, you might want one, too.  I've rented two of them on two separate occasions, and both were unbelievably zippy and fun to drive, and the second one was an Outback, which Jeff and I drove up to Big Bear for some skiing, and that one was the most amazing piece of machinery ever created.  Not only was it zippy, as expected, it was roomy without being huge, perfect for our ski/snowboard equipment, its all-wheel drive hugged the road so completely that we didn't even notice there was snow and a thick layer of ice on the road, AND IT HAD HEATED SEATS!  And yes, I just shouted that, because it needed to be heard.  I had never experienced heated seats before then, but boy, oh boy, I don't think I can ever drive in cold weather again without them.  It was just amazing to come in from the snow, sit down, and almost immediately have a warm butt! 

A couple years ago in Raleigh, North Carolina, where my sister April and brother-in-law Steve live, they had a ridiculous snowstorm, and both of them got stranded on their way home from work, cars stuck in snow up to here.  Steve was able to walk home, but April was wearing a skirt and heels, and kept slipping and sliding all cartoon-style, arms flailing about, complete with the sound effects like in Scooby Doo, where they run in place a couple seconds before taking off, like, "Blupety blupety blupe!"  OK, I kind of made that last part up, but I imagine that's close to what it looked like.  I didn't get the details, so it could be true.  Anyway, she clearly was in no position to hike it the mile or so home, so what could she do, but accept a ride from a huge black dude in a pimped out Escalade?  So she did, except that although she was quite close to her house, he said, "Well, I have to go pick up my son from school first," and proceeded in the opposite direction, at which point she began to hyperventilate. Because any time you're in a large, male stranger's car, and it's a somewhat rural area, definitely not urban, certainly not a lot of people around, and it's a snowstorm, and you can't run because you're wearing a skirt and heels and already experienced the cartoon pratfalls, as we discussed — Any time you're in that situation, and the large, male stranger starts to drive in the opposite direction of where you thought you were going — well, you start to panic.  And panic she did, in the form of hyperventilation. He was like, "Um, Are you OK?" And she was like, "Ehhhhhh…"  but as it happened, he indeed picked up his son and then drove her home, safe and sound, and because he drove a 4-wheel drive vehicle had no trouble gliding over the icy, snowy mess.

Immediately the very next week, as soon as Steve was able to dig his truck (which did not have 4-wheel drive, which, if you ask me, is so dumb for trucks to come in 2-wheel drive) out of the snow, he traded it in for a blue Subaru Impreza Outback, affectionately called the "Blubaru." This is not to be confused with my usual blingo, which takes the "bl" from the word "blog."  No, there is no such thing as a "blog Subaru," although I can only imagine how amazing that would be.  This time it refers to "Blue Subaru."  What's cute is that Steve drives the Blubaru, and April drives Rhonda, the Red Honda.  Yes, my sister is a genius.  It runs in the family, in fact.

Coincidentally, both Subarus I have rented have also been blubarus, leading me to the only logical conclusion: I am destined to own one, and it must be blue.

And last night, after wishing for a hybrid Subaru, I had a dream that one already existed, and I was about to buy it.  I was test driving my own Hyblubaru, or Blubarybrid (take your pick).  And life was good.

Aw, Man

May 10, 2006

I just re-read that post about Bankruptcy Barry and got really embarrassed.  I can’t believe I even dreamed that!  It’s so dumb!  Man!  Then, since I feel the need to prove my retardation to any and all who may not already be convinced, I have to go and tell the internet.  Can you believe I dreamed something so dumb? And not only did I just dream it and leave it at that, I wrote it down — well, actually, recorded it on my phone — I wish you could hear it because it sounds even worse in my half-asleep voice, and I actually raised my voice up a half octave or so to do the voice of Barry.  See, there I go again, wanting to show the internet my most embarrassing characteristics.  Good thing I’m not looking for a boyfriend.

Bankruptcy Barry Strikes Again!

May 10, 2006

Last night, between being awake and fully asleep, I had a kind of little mini dream.  I was just cognizant enough to realize it was ridiculous enough to be written down and recorded in the annals of my "funny sleepy thoughts" log, a list I keep of just such instances.  Last night, I have to say, was a good one. 

I saw an old-timey bank scene, not unlike the bank in It's a Wonderful Life. I guess the banker was bankrupt, because in came a pudgy little villain type, named "Bankruptcy Barry."  Bankruptcy Barry walked right up to the banker, shook his finger at him, and said, "This is barry, barry bad!" 

Whoa, dude.  Whoa.

The Mom and the Moon

April 12, 2006

I'm working late tonight, and I just got this IM from my mom in North Carolina:

Can't resist popping in to greet you. When you look at the full moon, look carefully because I blew you a kiss via the moon. I think he's sort of smiling for you, also.

It made me get all teary, lump-in-the-throat-y.  I had actually just been looking at the moon, and it is amazing tonight.  Full and bright and clear, and it glowed against a backdrop of pink melting into blue.  Now it's even brighter against a dusty, navy sky.

I am so lucky. 

Pilgrims, tea parties, boats, and the like

April 6, 2006

Recently I've become interested in investigating my ancestry. Unfortunately, the most anyone can tell me is that we came to America at some point in history from someplace white people live. Nobody really seems to know, or care — not even my grandmother. This leads me to believe my family has been in America for a good long time, since nobody can seem to remember anything but that. I think that's kind of cool, actually. What if we came over on one of the first ships? I could totally dig that.

My friend Elise came up from San Diego to visit me last weekend, and we were discussing how and why certain parts of the world appeal to us. She said she'd always felt called to the landscape of the British Isles and Portugal, which is where her ancestors hail from.  She said she felt really comfortable when visiting the English countryside, like a feeling of belonging, of home.  Well, I get choked up whenever I hear our National Anthem, even if I'm balancing a beer and a dodger dog and trying to avoid stepping on something sticky.  Does that mean I have ancestral ties to America that are so old they're stronger than any other? Maybe… or it could just be the patriotic brainwashing we all received in elementary school while coloring pictures of the pilgrims and Indians eating Thanksgiving dinner together.

I heard another interesting thing on the radio recently: Studies have linked a person's heritage to his or her ability to learn accents. For instance, many Americans are decended from Southern Irish ancestors, and find a Dublin accent easy to learn, but have trouble with a Northern Irish one. I say it's just because that accent is weird, but who am I to say? But really, I like the theory, and I hope it's true. I think it's really cool that we could be tied to our ancestors in that way.

Another thing I've heard is that some wounds can be so deep they last for generations. Maybe this is why sometimes we find ourselves sad and don't know why, or why we're extra sensitive to certain topics. Elise wondered if something like that may explain why she's always been drawn to melancholy songs, even ones that are so maudlin they make her miserable. I wonder if it's the reason I'll start crying if I even imagine losing a lover. Maybe too many women in my family have watched the men in their lives die.  But then again, I've been known to cry at credit card commercials, too.  ("Going Home! It is priceless!  It's priiiiiiiicceeeelllleeeessssssss!")

Could this explain why sometimes we arrive at a place we've never seen, but it looks so familiar we just know we've been there before? Or when we have deja vu, could it be our great great great great grandmother had the exact same conversation, or sight, or sound, and that's why we get that feeling?

I wish I could find out more about what really happened. I wish I could read the diaries of my ancestors. That's why I'm going to write for as long as I live, so my thoughts can be waiting for my daughter, and her daughter, and on and on for a hundred years. So if they suddenly decide, as I have, that they want to know, they can. I want to give them a legacy. 

Or at least some bathroom reading material.

Has Anyone Seen My Butt?

April 1, 2006

I seem to have lost it.  Seriously.  I can't find it.  I guess maybe i've been losing weight because I haven't been eating bread or anything made from wheat, but why can't I lose any inches in my waist?  Why just the butt?  I need all the butt I have.  I can't spare any.  I didn't have much butt to start with, and now I'm pretty sure I have less.  It's disappearing.  My pants are saggy. 

Please, if you see a little butt wandering around lost, can you send it my way?  Thanks.

So this is what heartburn feels like?

March 24, 2006

Wow!  I guess what they say is true: 27 is older than 26. I think I have heartburn!  I’ve never had it before, but here’s why I think I do: I am experiencing a burning sensation from the stomach area all the way up to the throat area.  This happened immediately after quickly downing one of those Starbucks Frappuccinos that come in a glass bottle.  Also, I’ve been taking 4 Advil every 4 hours today to sedate the elves that usually sleep in my uterous, but wake up once a month when I get my period and begin trashing the place, which causes me a fair amount of pain unless I keep them heavily sedated, those jerks.

So I guess the fistfulls of Advil and the 9.5 FL OZ of coffee and sugar tossed back in mere seconds was a bad combo for the ol’ acid balance?  I’ll have to keep that in mind for the future.

Cutebag Double-oh-two

March 23, 2006

Rebecca gave me a belated birthday present today, and it is wonderfabulicious.  Here’s a picture!

Cutebag_002 I uploaded two photos of it onto my computer.  This was the second one I took, and I called the set "cutebag," so the system automatically called this one "cutebag002."  I like that, so I think the bag’s name from now on will be "Cutebag Double-oh-two." 

I hung my sunglasses on it for ultra cute maximization, as well as to give the photo a sense of springtime fun, as though I had just set it down after a rousing tennis match or outdoor shopping trip, and had hung my sunglasses there while moving on to my next exciting activity.

I received several fun gifts for my birthday, and I’d like to just go ahead and admit that receiveing gifts is fun.  Almost as fun as giving them, and in some cases, more fun.  Jeff’s grandparents got me a gift card to Bath and Body Works, for example, and although I usually steer clear of that place since the combination of smells makes me dizzy, I went on my lunch break yesterday and had worlds of fun.  I ended up spilling some lemon merengue body cream all over my shirt and pants, and for the rest of the day I smelled like a yummy dessert.  I didn’t actually buy anything because I spent so much time smelling that by the time I was narrowing down my choices it was time to return to work. But anyway, gifts are fun, both the giving and receiving of, and I’m thankful that I’ve been lucky enough to be on the receiving end of some super good ones lately. 

Anyway, gotta go, Cutebag Double-oh-two and I are going shopping. (Not really — I’m still at work, unfortunately — but soon!  Soon!)

Bathroom Attendants: Why?

March 18, 2006

If ever there were a job created for the sake of creating a job, it is that of the bathroom attendant.  One question for you: WHY?  Is it really any easier to take a paper towel from the hand of the attendant than to get one out of the paper towel dispenser?  There’s a distinct advantage of taking the towel from the dispenser, and that is this: The dispenser does not give you a sad or disapproving look when you don’t give it a tip. 

Blogging While Drunk: Good idea or bad?

March 17, 2006

So I’m at my house, by myself, and it’s 11:14 PM, and I’m considerably buzzed slash borderline drunk.  Not slurring the speech drunk, but occasionally grabbing the bar for balance slash laughing really hard at things that may or may not actually be that funny slash having to correct every other word as I sloppily type drunk.

I was right when I said this would be a good night.  It was.  I had a really super good time  with Matt, Corey, their roommate Jon or John, Brennan, Gina, and various others from my old travel agency, who were all at this bar within walking distance to my house.  As I predicted, my convenient location would come in handy tonight, when I wanted to avoid being on the road with all the drunk crazies and crazy drunks.

The best part of my night was the joke the boys were doing when they got to my house, and which we kept up while walking to the bar and back.  It’s what if there were a James Bond movie where the antagonist / villain is an old grandmother type.  We kept making things up that she would say in a shaky, old British voice, like "Mr. Bond, can you please wheel my wheelchair over to my gun rack so I can kill you?" and "Mr. Bond, Can you reach the Earl Gray from the top shelf, please? I was going to poison it, but I can’t reach it, so we can just have a cup and I’ll figure out another way to kill you."

On the walk to the bar they all made sense, but on the walk back they got more and more ridiculous slash retarded, culminating with my favorite, which Matt said: "Mr Bond, can you squeeze these prunes for me so I can drink the juice and take a shit?  And then I’ll kill you by locking you in my cupboard… of… cats."  Oh, man, we laughed so hard at that, and kept on adding onto it with things like, "They’re actually still kittens, but they may scratch, and there is a 1/1000 chance they’ll hit your jugular," etc. MAN.  We’re f-ing geniuses.  That one was so funny to me I had to stop and lean my head against the trunk of a palm tree, I was laughing so hard.  I think anything was funny to me (but especially that becuase, come on: genius!) because a. I was/am a little drinkie drunk, and b. it was so good to see those guys again.  My college experience was so near and dear to my heart, SO near and dear, and rehashing some of the fun we had is priceless.  There’s nothing like old friends.  And yes, it freaks me out that I’m starting to think of college friends as "old" friends, like "Man, we’ve got history together. We used to do such and such and go here and here BACK in the DAY, Man."  Yeah, I’m old.  Scary.

To conclude, today is Matt’s birthday.  So tonight while we were hanging out, it was not St. Patrick’s Day, but St. Mattrick’s Day.  Once again, I’m a genius, Ladies and Gentlemen.  If you ever doubted it.