Worth a thousand words

Recently I deleted my Myspace profile. Shocking I know. I am now one of about three Americans under the age of 30 who does not have a page. Upon deleting my page an old high school friend (who was on my friends list) called me and we had the following conversation:

Brad: So you deleted you page huh?
Me: Yep.
Brad: Why?
Me: I was sick of it. I was spending too much time on it at work.
Brad: You know its probably a good thing.
Me: Yeah I think so...wait why do you think its good?
Brad: I could hardly look at your page. It made me a little sick to my stomach.
Me: [stunned silence]
Brad: Hello? Can you hear me now?
Me: WTF? Why did my page make you sick? Was it too pink and flowery? Cause I thought it was cute.
Brad: No it was your profile pic.
Me: My profile pic? Aren't you over reacting a little?
Brad: No. You had someones shoe in your mouth. You don't know where that has been.
Me: In fact I do. They came directly out of the box about 15 minutes before we piled into the limo where this picture was taken. You are such a drama queen.
Brad: Still its gross.
Me: I could charge money on some websites for people to look at that picture.
Brad: Gross.

We did a little more back and forth on the topic of foot fetishes. We never reached an agreement on the picture in question. Personally I maintain my stance that the shoes were minutes old and I probably had enough alcohol in my system to sterilize surgical instruments. Brad however disagrees and now finds me to be a repulsive individual.

But I will allow you to be the judge.

Letters from my Cat

I am back from Chicago. A play by play post is forth coming and true to my posting schedule I may have it up next year sometime (but I wouldn't hold my breath).

My good friend Rose watched Ginger for me and I know took wonderful care of her. I know this because Ginger usually chews me out when I walk through the door (if she decides to wake up long enough) for leaving her alone. Well after almost 5 days without me she did that cool guy chin jab thing and I could read her thoughts that said "Whats up dude?". I can say that at least my cat was happy (indifferent?) upon my return.

This is what I came home to at 11:30pm Monday night:

1. A hacking cough most likely contracted from some germ infested passenger on the many many flights or train rides I took in my epic voyage home.

2. Some jerk egged my car. As the temperature reached over 100 degrees over the wekend the egg was fried on my driver's side door. Egg does in fact eat paint and I now have a claim into my insurance to have it fixed. ARGH!

But I digress....the point for my post is that before I left Ginger dictated and subsequently signed a letter addressed to her Auntie Rose.


Auntie Rose,

Thank you for taking care of me while my dead beat mother vacations in Chicago. Were it not for your divine intervention my litter box would become unbearably full. I hate that. Also I work up quite a large thirst napping and ruling the neighborhood from my throne in the window. Not to mention the hours I am obligated to lounge on the back of the recliner and make faces at my mother. Needless to say with the rigorous schedule my water dish is in constant need of refilling, which I assume you will also be in charge of. It really is very exhausting being me and I again appreciate your efforts to maintain my lifestyle while my selfish no good mother is off eating pizza and drinking beer (she is such a bitch sometimes).

I have made a list of things that you will want to know about my needs. I only ask that if I am asleep that you refer to the list in anticipation of my every want and desire when I awaken. Please do not disturb my beauty rest, I am rather grumpy and unpleasant if woken up. Do so at your own risk:

What to expect at night:

You may close the blinds when the sun goes down. I no longer have any use for looking outside. I will patiently wait until you fall asleep and I will commence my evening calisthenics. I am watching my figure and do need to get my heart rate up on a nightly basis. Please don't be alarmed when I do burn outs across your chest and stomach. It is all a part of my circuit training. As is playing with my favorite ball. The ball has a bell inside of it and I am sure it will keep you awake as it ricochets off the kitchen cabinets and bathroom floor. Please do not get up and take the ball away from me. It will end badly for you and I am just looking for an excuse to slap the crap out of you.

When you walk in the door:

I expect a greeting. Acceptable greetings include (but are not limited to):

1) Picking me up and kissing me on the forehead (a personal favorite)
2) a pat on the head (tolerated only if followed by picking me up and kissing me on the forehead)
3) Verbally saying "Hello" (acknowledged, however I will wind through your feet until you fall over or pick me up and kiss me on the forehead)

What to expect if by chance you make use of the bathroom:

I will be in there with you. There are no other options. If you shut the door I will try to dig my way through the door to get in. Don't test me I will get my way. I am after all a cat and ALWAYS get what I want. Our time together will be much easier on you if you learn this lesson early.

General up keep:

I do not like my litter box to be very full. Please scoop once a day. However if you cannot scoop once a day, every other day will be okay (and who wants meritocracy, not I). Know that if you wait every other day that I'll give a look that will wither your self esteem (I have perfected that art, ask Mom). While every other day scooping is tolerated it is not my ideal.

My mother has seen to it that my nails have been done and my ears are clean. Also I was just given my Revolution last week. You will not have to worry about my grooming. However if you do decide to brush me, every other day scooping can be forgiven. It is a deal that my mother and I reached long ago....I will extend you the same courtesy.

As far as my food and water is concerned. I do not like to run out of either. If for some reason either bowl is empty I'll make a rather unpleasant yowling noise that will make you want to beat your head against a brick wall until you fill the offending bowl.

In case of Emergency:

This is my Doctor's phone number and address.[editors note: deleted this portion as I am sure no one is actually interested in Ginger's Vet info] They are very nice and I am sure will help you to help me if necessary. Also my mother left a blank check on the refrigerator to pay my doctor for his niceness.

In case I decide to injure myself after hours and you need to take me to the emergency room this is the address and phone number to the closest Emergency Vet.[Editors note: again deleted this section because if you don't want Ginger's vet info then you probably don't want her emergancy vet info]

But before you go rushing me off to the doctor you must put me in my purse. It is the pretty canvas bag with hot pink paten leather piping and handles next to the entertainment center. My mother has placed my medical records and collar in there for you to take with me when if I need to be taken anywhere.

Fun stuff:

My favorite thing to do is read with my mom. If for some reason you find yourself wanting to curl up on the couch with a good book I will be happy to sit right next to you and cuddle. Also I do enjoy watching television. I will sit on the back of the couch and possibly bat at your head every once in a while to let you know that I am still here. Also to remind you to tell me I am cute. A girl can never hear that enough.


Licks



Ginger (AKA Little Mamasita)

Look Ma! I'm literate!

Subject in Question:

I picked this book up about a week ago on the off chance that I would absorb a little culture. Also I needed to balance out the Harry Potter Overload (HPO). HPO is a frame of mind that is not unlike those that watch too much Star Trek or Lord of the Rings. Recently I was so engrossed in the the world at Hogwarts that in the morning when I would get dressed for work I would look in the mirror and make this observation "I look cute and all, but I need are black robes and a wand. Then I would look perfect.". After devising ways that I could give myself the the signature lightening bolt scar I decided that something had to be done. I. Must. Read. Something. Else.

That was when I picked up this book. It seemed light and easy to read. Exactly want I needed. I have to say that Entre Nous was not life changing but it was an interesting read. If you know a lot about French culture then I am sure this book would be elementary. However for those like me it fits the bill if you are interested in an overview of French women and what makes them special.

On a scale of 1-10 I would give Entre Nous a 6.

I'm Baaak (Insert the Jaws theme song here)

Long time. No post. No fear, I am alive and kicking. I have just been so super busy at work lazy. Truth be told I guess my life has just been boring and run of the mill lately. I am sure most would consider it a good thing. After all no excitement is better than tragedy and heartache. I would have to agree but it would be nice to get a girl’s blood pumping every now and then.

Boring or not, change is unavoidable and there have been a couple of things going on.

First being that I was given a substantial raise at work. It was a merit raise that was totally unexpected. I went with my boss to pick up pizza for the office and she broke the news to me while The Pussy Cat Dolls sang “Don’t Cha” on the radio. It was a moment worth remembering folks.

Second I was introduced to Dailylit.com. It has managed to suck hours and hours of my time. For those of you unfamiliar with dailylit.com its this genius website that has a cache of books available for you to read via email. Installments are sent to your email address from the book of your choice. At the end of each installment you have the choice to wait until the next day for the next installment or have it sent to you RIGHT NOW. I tell you it’s a black hole for the work day. I find myself reading and clicking for that next installment over and over again (see I totally deserved the raise). Currently I am reading The Swiss Family Robinson.

Third, my garbage disposal spontaneously stopped working for no apparent reason what so ever. I am positive it had nothing to do with the coffee grounds and potato peels I crammed in it. Now I will have to lock my cat in the bathroom while someone comes in to work on it. I am dreading this for one simple reason: My cat is a total bitch after being locked in the bathroom. I had to contain her in the bathroom not too long ago when there was a recall on my dishwasher. She was less than understanding when I tried to explain that unless it is fixed the damn thing would most likely explode thus causing my pretty pink dishes be reduced to shards of pretty pink shrapnel. But I digress…after being locked in the bathroom for less than four hours (as that is when I came home for lunch) when I opened the door she shot out of there like a little brown blur expressing her displeasure by howling her feelings at me and promptly sat under the kitchen table grumbling at me every time I walked past.

Lastly for your viewing pleasure:



I call this: My interpretation of Brittany only with slightly more class and a lot less cRaZy

Updates in the life and times of...well...me

I have been MIA for a bit here. And I would like to say its because I have had so much going on that I have not had a chance to post. But I would be lying. And I am not good at lying. As a child I always got caught and eventually learned that it is better to tell the truth. So the truth is that I am boring and simply re-reading my last entries will tell you exactly what life has been like lately.

I am still swimming and working out after work. I lost another three pounds bringing my total to 14 pounds lost. I am giving myself a little pat on the back. 14 pounds make a difference in how clothing fits and I am happy to say my work pants are feeling a little more comfortable.

Went to visit my mom over the weekend. We went shopping and mom bought me the cutest dress I have ever seen in my life and will I eventually post a picture as soon as I a wear it. But the most significant thing about the weekend was my sister. She spent the whole weekend with us. She was happy and pleasant and generally nice to be around. It made me think back to a couple of years ago when she was running away, making bad life decisions, and flat out mean sometimes. This weekend made me realize how much I missed her and how happy I am to have the baby sister I remember back. Her most recent relationship ended while I was there and it was painfully obvious that she was hurt and hurt bad. It instantly made me want to go beat the little bastard up Godfather style....break my sisters heart and I break your knees.

My other sister who has been living in Taipei, Taiwan for the last year was offered a job in Istanbul, Turkey. She will be living over seas for another year. I am incredibly happy for her and I am excited to see her when she is home to renew her VISA. I would love to visit her but a flight costs like $2500 and takes 28 hours. Who knows, maybe I'll win the lottery and be able to afford a nice long vacation. [Mental note: Must remember to actually play the lotto]

Had the last of my cavities filled this morning and had impressions made for bleaching trays (insert fun gagging noise here). Next up bleaching my teeth and then replacing the crowns. I have to say that I am looking forward to a pretty new smile. On my way to work (post dental appointment) I stopped to get gas and I was feeling pretty damn good about myself when a guy started to talk me up while I was at the pump, but it turned out that he only wanted to sell me car wax.

One last thing and I think the internet is up to speed on my life. I am headed to Chicago at the end of next month. Its a 27th birthday gift to myself. An old high school friend is living out there attending grad school so I will be staying with him and seeing the sights, eating my weight in Chicago style pizza, and maybe driving by Harpo Studios a few hundred times to maybe catch a glimpse of Oprah herself.

Okay folks, I'm out....must get busy pretending to work

Okay for some reason Blogger is not letting my type anything in the title section, so this entry is going up without a title. But thats okay as the title I had in mind was not all that clever or interesting.



Can I just say that I no longer like having a day off in the middle of the week. It really screws up my work rhythm. Having Wednesday off and then work again on Thursday was too much of a tease. Give me the standard three day weekend anytime.

This weekend was a bit spur of the moment and a lot of fun followed by a lot of recovering. Rose invited me to a wedding in Bodega Bay. The wedding was Saturday morning and she extended the offer on Thursday evening and we were to leave Sacramento Friday after work. There was much frantic preparation and there were numerous causalities. Lets make a list for fun shall we:

1 Albertsons Employee's Confidence (when a sign says buy one get one free and the scanner does not register that, it is best that you give me the buy one get one price as I will eventually get my way and you will leave in tears)

1 Washington Mutual ATM (How the HELL is an ATM out of money? I am fairly sure that WAMU will be sending me a bill for the dents I put in the machine with my foot.(in my defense I was fresh from the confrontation at Albertson's and feeling more than a little combative.))

1 Chevron Customer will now pump gas with a limp for the rest of his life (Shockingly I had nothing to do with this. He tripped and fell on his way into the store and I may or may not have laughed myself into an asthma attack)

2 shoulders after being in the sun for WAY too long on Saturday (But the beach was soo pretty and beach combing is very involved. Two hours can seem like 20 minutes, without sunscreen that is a deadly combination for my delicate skin)

1 pedicure (rocky beach and painted toes are not to be combined for any length of time...ever)

The wedding was very nice. The ceremony was on a beach and very short. Which was good because standing for any period of time on the rocky shore would have really sucked. The reception was at a house that the couple had rented. It was A-M-A-Z-I-N-G! The house that is. The views alone were worth a million bucks. But the house itself was huge and decorated impeccably in a beach theme that was tasteful, not cartoon like Red Lobster-esq with fish nets on the wall. I would post pictures but there were numerous camera malfunctions (I would put this on the causalities list, but it was not my camera and it did start working again on Sunday). After the reception Rose and I made a little stop to stick our feet in the Pacific. We beach combed for two hours before we noticed that we both resembled boiled lobsters.

Rose and I headed back to Sacramento on Saturday and we stopped at some outlets that were on the way. I ducked into the Banana Republic and came out with a shirt for work and some tortoise shell bracelets. Then I ran across the parking lot to the Gap and bought a pair of capris, long shorts (they graze the top of my knees) and a cute short sleeved sweater (totally work appropriate). The prices were good but not stellar, it was all stuff that my closet was in dire need of. I had not shopped for clothing in months.

Sunday I spent the day passed out on Alicia's couch. Being sun burnt takes a lot out of a gal. Fortunately she is used to me being a lousy house guest and proceeded with business as usual.

That brings me to today looking down the barrel of a five day work week. I fell off the diet wagon BIG TIME this weekend so I have big aspirations of adding 10 minutes to my tread mill time everyday this week. I am hoping that it won't kill me. Send me good work out non dieing vibes......

Why I am not a mother...in case anyone was curious

Happy belated Independence Day!

I hope everyone had a lovely 4th and woke up today not having blown any of their fingers off in an ill fated fire works extravaganza.

Personally all of my fingers and toes are accounted for as I did not not so much as hold a sparkler. But around 9:30 pm I did watch some really annoying people set off fireworks for about 30 seconds until I lost my temper and left the area squealing my tires for dramatic affect. I am so the Grinch that stole the 4th of July. But in my defense the jerks were setting off their fireworks no less than 3 feet from the bumper of my car. When they could have moved 10 feet to the left to a completely bare section of street and proceeded to blow shit up. Yeah, yeah I know California has some kind of law rendering all fireworks sold in the state to be practically...um...fireless. Literally. Still, with all the problems that my car has given me lately I was not going to leave my car in that spot risking some sort of firework induced damage.

I was also privy to an earlier fireworks display while the sun was still out (cause that makes sense people, but whatever) I was out on my balcony and looking down into this courtyard/pathway that is directly below me and there were some neighborhood children setting off fireworks in rather unsafe manners. Launching them off of the retaining wall, throwing them directly into the bushes (I am pretty sure the children drank some lead based paint prior to this activity), or waiting until people were walking past and lighting the fuse. I had a couple of options upon observing this.
1) I could have shaken my fist in the air while yelling about "darn kids" and "getting off my lawn" or 2) Knocked on their mother's door and made her a wear that while she was watching Oprah her children were playing with fire and possibly committing arson what with throwing lit fireworks in the landscaping. But I did neither of those things because a) I do not have a lawn nor am I ready to sound like the cranky old cat lady that terrorizes children. b) I'm not a snitch. The only action I took was going back in the house (damn it was hot outside) and figured that if they blew off an extremity they would learn not to play with explosives. I am all about life lessons people, especially the kind that leave permanent marks.

Do I really need my teeth?

In the long run I probably do need my teeth. However I seriously debated their importance this morning.

You guessed it, I just got back from a dental appointment. And I received some fairly bad news.


But first a little back story:

I have bad teeth I was born with bad teeth. I was actually born with some sort of defect that kept me from forming some of my adult teeth. Years of dental work later I am the proud owner of no less than two rather large bridges cemented into my lower jaw. I hate them with a passion. I have had them for about 7 years and they really have been nothing but a giant pain in my ass.

Fast forward to today:

One of the two bridges needs to be replaced. Mentally I am kissing my Christmas Bonus good bye. But also some of the cosmetic dentistry that are on my front teeth need to be redone plus I have a cavity and one tooth that will probably need a root canal down the road. As the dentist was pointing all this stuff out on the new fangled digital x-ray voo-doo magic thing they have I asked if he could just rip all my lower teeth out and fit me for dentures. I think he suppressed the urge to knock me up side the head and replied that unless I was a hockey player that he would not fit anyone under the age of 30 for prosthetic teeth.

Anyone know of a good hockey training facility (a.k.a ice rink (ring?)) in the greater Sacramento area? But more importantly do they make pink ice skates? Cause nothing says serious ass kicking girl hockey player like pretty pink skates.

Wal-Mart, Bars, and Photos....Oh My

So its back to business as usual today. I am looking forward to Wednesday. Not just because we get to celebrate our great Nation's Independence Day by grilling assorted meats and setting off fire works but because I get a paid day off in the middle of the week.

I do not currently have plans for the 4th but I am fairly sure it will not involve a bar-b-que. I foresee sleeping in and lots of Home and Garden Television.

Now for my weekend recap....

Friday after work I put in my time on the tread mill. Then Alicia begged me to keep her company while she drove out to call on one of her accounts. It just so happened that this account was an Indian Casino about 45 minutes out of Sacramento. I agreed and off we went. I figured while she was doing her work thing that I would park myself in front of a slot machine and maybe score a free cocktail or two. BUT! And this is a big BUT, they do not serve alcohol in the casino. So plan A went out the window. Yeah right, like I am going to sit there and pump money into that machine while no one serves me well drinks for the lovely price of free. I think not. I chose to enact plan B, I hovered while Alicia talked to official looking people and typed things into her computer. We ended up having dinner while we were there. Apparently this place is supposed to have a wonderful seafood buffet and it is a "must" if you are anywhere in the vicinity of this casino. Well I contend that it is a "must avoid". I was not impressed. Basically I had $25 single piece of sushi and garden salad dinner.

Saturday I spent a small fortune at the new 24 hour Super Wal-Mart. Word of advice if you have never been to a Super Wal-Mart...block off an entire afternoon if you plan to set foot through the sliding doors. The place is huge and they literally have everything that you could want. I was there for two hours but I do not feel like I utilized the superness of the Super Wal-Mart to its potential. Next time I go I plan to have my tires rotated, hair cut, taxes done, and grocery shop while I wait for my prescription to be filled.

Saturday night was a lot of fun. Alicia and I went to Crawdads Cantina. They advertise live music on Friday and Saturday nights. We got there a little early so that we had time to grab some dinner before the drinking and dancing officially started. Crawdads is a cool little place. It is located right on the river (I have no idea which one) and people with boats pull and dock to join the festivities. It was an interesting mix of people. Groups that you could tell had been on their boat all day in their flip flops and board shorts, people like Alicia and I eating and waiting to here some music, and there were two bachelorette parties.



The evening was filled with much dancing and much drinking, leading us to believe that it is not a little weird to take pictures like this:



Also we met a man with the largest hands I have ever seen in my life. Seriously, can you imagine how hard it is for him to find gloves?



Sunday I spent on my couch moaning and groaning about how I will never drink again.

It was a pimp grabbing, tank top wearing, rip roaring good time. Lets see if I can do it again this year...

WARNING! This is long. I ramble on for a while so perhaps you would like to take this time to grab a snack or use the bathroom before you begin. I'll wait.

And now, on with the show (blog? story?).

I am generally a non confrontational person. I try my hardest to avoid conflict. I have never been in a physical fight. But apparently the mixture of a biker rally, booze, and one camera toting pimp brings out my hostile side. Thank God that combination rarely occurs in nature.

Last year I went to Street Vibrations in Reno, Nevada. Once a year for a week or so every single biker in North America makes a stop in Reno for a little bit of partying. Naturally I was itching to throw myself directly in the middle of that. I went with a group of girlfriends, Shellee, Rose, and Alicia.

We made matching tank tops for the occasion (Yes, you read that correctly. Matching. Tank. Tops.). It was an inside joke amongst the group of us. They were teal with silver glitter letters directly across our boobs that read "Grand Gals" with rhinestone martini glasses on the lower left side and a rhinestone high heel on the back directly between our shoulder blades.

We're Grand and we're Gals, don't hate.

Basically the meaning of the shirts was a combination of slang we all use. Allow me to clarify......

"Gal" because:
We do not refer to each other by name, girl, friend, lady, or hey you, we call each other Gal. Like "Hey Gal, check this out:... or "Gal, I'm serious, you need to open the bottle of wine.".

"Grand" because:

Nothing is simply great, wonderful, fantastic, awesome, tubular...you get the point. It is "Grand". If used correctly a phrase using "grand" would look like this...."Gal, look at the guy over there, he is grand." (notice the use of "grand" and "gal" in the same breath) or " This wine is grand. Pour another glass."

We wore the shirts all day and night. The first half of the day several people stopped us asking what "Grand Gals" were. At first we told the truth. We explained that it was an inside joke. But as the day progressed and our alcohol intake increased we started making up stories. Eventually the standard story we gave people was that we are all patients of a plastic surgeon by the name of Doctor Grand. We all met in the waiting room of his office. We had the act down. People either belived us completely or they were too polite to point out that none of us looked like plastic surgery after photos. It was a lot of fun and it was a great conversation starter. Again I feel the need to clarify: Normally I would not wear a shirt that matched my group of friends however given the event, it was appropriate. Venders come from all over and set up shop promoting whatever it is they are selling. All the while wearing identical tops advertising their product, or bike shop, or tattoo parlor, yada yada. Essentially we looked like a group of girls promoting one of those things or our boobs as the shirts would suggest.

Look Ma! No hands!

For the most part the evening went really well. Drinking, laughing, talking. Just generally having a good time. Alicia pushed her limits on alcohol consumption and it was starting to affect her so we stepped out of the bar that we were currently gracing with out presence. Rose and Shellee decided to stay inside. While Alicia and I were taking a breather her stomach decided to protest and she ran to a neighboring doorway and proceeded to get sick. I was holding her hair back when I see a guy with a video camera cross the street and walk directly up to Alicia and begins to roll tape. Alicia is otherwise engaged at the moment and unable to express her distaste at being captured on video at this exact moment, so I step up. This is when "the guy" who is wearing a faux fur jacket in the middle of the summer, opens his mouth to narrate what he is filming.

::caution, explicit language.::

Me: Hey asshole. Turn the mother fucking camera off. (as I grab his arm and turn him the other direction)
Guy: Fuck you, keep your hands off me
Me: Well turn the camera off and I would not have to touch you.
Guy: Don't ever put your hands on me.
Me: Move it along fuck face. And turn the mother fucking camera off.
Guy: Bitch, don't touch me.

There are a few more rounds of conversation that sounds a lot like that...but then he busts out with this gem:

Guy: Do you like dick?

I pause not sure what to say. As I do not have any objection to the part of the male anatomy he is refering to, but somehow I didn't think it would work in my favor to express that.

Guy: There is a bowl of dick right there bitch, eat it.

I'm silent because at that point I honestly have nothing to say to that. Words have escaped me. Insult me, curse at me, shove me a little. But A. Bowl. Of. Dicks. How the hell do you follow that? At this point is when some haggard looking girl walks up and starts also yelling about a bowl of dicks. She even goes so far as to point to the ground where I guess she believes there to be a "blow of dicks". Still I am quiet and turn back to Alicia to make sure she is still okay.

He turns and walks the other way. Girl follows in tow. It was then that the group of scary looking biker guys walk up (mucho thanks for standing there watching this sweet looking "Grand Gal" confront the scary looking Reno local) and say that the guy was a pimp and that was one of his "hoes". To which I respond "Whatever, but why fake fur. If you own women you should own real fur."

The rest of the night was met with more fun, a KISS cover band and an obvious lack of faux fur wearing pimps. Good times.

My jugular is dangerously close to being ripped out by this guy, but notice that my drink is well out of harms way. Eminent death is no excuse for spillage.

I would like to say that I'm sorry for the profuse cursing in this entry but really I am not sure I could have made my point using a bunch of "screw yous" and "butt heads".

Was I that annoying?

Yesterday I was very good. I jumped on the tread mil after work and increased my speed from 3.0 to 3.1. That sounded like a small increase however at an incline of 6 I could really feel the burn.

To burn a few more calories I went to Alicia's to swim. We walk down to her pool and there were already people in it. We were more then slightly perturbed. But seeing as it is a community pool people from the community are technically allowed to be there. It does not matter how many times we call dibs.

Normally I would turn right around and wait until the occupants leave. But it was already after 9pm and I wanted to get to bed at a decent hour. So in we walk. The people in the pool consisted of a group of kids. But not kids like in the 6 to 10 year range. They were probably about 14. It was three girls and two boys. It took about two seconds of marinating in the hot tub to know that swimming was going to be an exercise in futility.

Tell me if this is a phenomenon that that you experienced as an adolescent girl, before you mastered the art of flirting? 80 percent of the time you were a normal human being scouring the latest issue of Big Bopper for pictures of your most recent heart throb and subsequently erecting a shrine to him in your bedroom. But as soon as you were faced with an actual real boy, a boy that you were to have social interaction with you lost your damn mind. All of a sudden you felt the urge to prance around, be as loud as you possibly could, and laugh at EVERYTHING. But I digress....

Well the three girls that were swimming last night were exactly like that only they cursed a lot more. And by "a lot" I literally mean every other word was the F bomb peppered with the N word every few seconds. I guess the saying is true you do in fact "learn something new everyday". I learned last night that you can have an entire conversation using only racial epithets.

Alicia and I did try to swim a few laps however that lasted all of about 5 minutes. Alicia was almost landed on when a cannon ball went a little hay-wire and I am fairly positive I was called "white bitch". Yes, I could have taken offense to that however the girl who said it was also white (not that it should make a difference, but I honestly did not know how to respond). I chose to take my "white bitch" ass out of the pool area before I was forced to drown a 6th grader.

I have plans to swim tonight and I am not afraid to pull the "I will tell your mother" card.

Monday again?

I was sick this weekend. I hate it when that happens. I am fairly certain that I had a summer cold. I am feeling better today, just in time for Monday, whatever stupid cold.

Recap for the weekend:

Friday night I went swimming with Alicia an Rose. Was drained of all energy by 9pm.

Saturday my parents brought me the entertainment center that had been sitting in their garage for two weeks. I was exhausted by the time they left and had to take a two hour nap. Rose woke me up and invited me to diner and a movie with a group of her friends. We saw 1408. It was a good movie, at least the little bit I actually saw. I'm not good with scary movies and spent the majority of the time with my fingers jammed in my ears and my eyes closed. So yes I paid $10 to sit in a theatre with a bunch of strangers to not watch a movie. But hey this accomplished two things 1) I got out of the house on a Saturday night and 2) I tried the TGIFridays Mint Mojito. It was hard to resist having more than one. But my sense of responsibility got the better of me.::sigh:: After the movie I was drained and went home to bed and slept until almost noon on Sunday.

That never happens. I feel like I've wasted half the day if I wake up at 9. I made it through most of the day but had to take a two hour nap at 4. I forced myself out of bed into the living room where I watched John Tucker Must Die and then went back to bed after taking two shots of Nyquil.

Goals for the week:

Work and swim all 5 days.

and

Not to watch The Simple Life Goes to Camp. I cannot help myself. I have watched every single episode this season. All it does is serve to piss me the hell off. Nicole is the only mildly entertaining thing on the show. And that is only because she taught 6 year old girls to throw up the middle finger.

Graduation

Awww look at the happy graduate posing with the Mayor of San Ramon (town her high school is located). And yes I do wish she would have trimmed her bangs a little, or removed her lip piercing or not stretched her ear lobes, BUT at least she has a high school diploma and no visible tattoos

I made it back folks....but I guess more importantly I made it out of the office on Wednesday without hurling a paperweight or a stapler. I did not even pelt anyone with paperclips as I bobbed and weaved towards the front door. (anticlimactic...I know)

My sister's graduation went off without a hitch. The drive down to my parents was a little perilous as I was petrified that one of my tires would blow out. However that did not keep me from doing 80 the whole way. I lost the battle with fast food and stopped for crispy chicken something or other that I ate while driving way too fast on very nearly bald tires.

Yesterday my father woke me up asking where my car keys were. This is not abnormal as my dad usually checks my oil and tops off my gas tank when I visit. My dad so rocks! But when he came home there was a brand new set of shiny black tires on my car! They are so pretty and will go with absolutely everything. Apparently my father and mother do not think that its acceptable to drive on tires without tread. They do not know the thrill a girl gets from the not knowing if one or all of her tires will blow out in the fast lane on I-5. My parents bought me the tires as an early birthday gift. I can honestly say that they could not have picked out a more perfect present.

After the unveiling of my tires my mother and I decided to take a little jog on the trail that is behind their house. My mother apparently has been training for some marathon and not told me about it. Because seriously she kicked my ass. My mother ran for miles and had to circle back around to make sure that her out of shape daughter had not collapsed. Realizing that my mother was in better shape than me brought up some mixed emotions. I was happy for my mother who, in her..um..er...well I won't reveal her age, has the endurance to run like that. I was sad for myself that I could not keep up. I just had to remind myself that I am working on it and getting in better shape. The tread mill and the swimming is paying off. I am losing weight and toning up. So eventually I'll be able to hold my own.

Peace out, yo!

I have a short day at work today. I get to leave at noon. My youngest sister is graduating from high school this evening. I'll be making the two hour journey to the San Francisco Bay area to watch her walk across the stage and get her diploma. I have to say that I am more that a little relieved. For a while it had looked like a high school diploma was not in her future. But she somehow got her act together and did it. Thank sweet baby Jesus! (I'm generally not religious but I am not afraid to give credit where credit is due)

I also took Thursday off so that I could start work on refurbishing an old entertainment center. It was given to me by one of my sister's boyfriend's parents (whose cousin is twice removed from....blah, blah, blah more complicated six degrees of Kevin Bacon crap). Its totally not my style but with a little sanding, spackle, and paint I think it will look like something I would actually consider purchasing if I had not already gotten it for free.

Well I had better get started on actual work as I some how have to cram 8 hours of paperwork into 4. I have no doubt that I will heave a paperweight at an attorney by 10.

I can't think of a title.

Last night I had the pleasure of reading Stephen King's newest short story, "Gingerbread Girl". If you are at all a fan of King then I suggest picking up the July issue of Esquire. I guess Esquire is trying something new or whatever. I don't know, I can't say that I have ever purchased an Esquire before. At first glance its a lot like Cosmo for men....only less dumbed down (I think Cosmo is a waste of money, I mean honestly how many times can you publish the Karma Sutra? Get new material for crying out loud.).

Prior to reading "Gingerbread Girl" last night I had to make the long drive home from work (its two stop lights, so don't pity me too much) and its a funny thing that all of the bitching and moaning I do about my car makes me forget the stuff I like about it. (I drive a 2003 VW Beetle) The perfect example occurred when I pulled into my complex and there was a group of about 6 children returning from the pool. When one of the kids saw my car turned to one of the others in the group and punched him square in the arm. Then it was a free for all, they all started hitting each other over and over again. All the while screaming "slug bug" at the top of their lungs. Watching children beat the crap out of each other has renewed the love I have for my car. Thank you children.

Monday again.....damnit.

This weekend was boring. Not even worth a recap. However I do need to get this out of my system::::: STUPID STUPID FUCKING CAR!! IT SUCKED $400 OUT OF MY MOST RECENT PAYCHECK KEEPING ME FROM PARTYING WITH JOHNNY KNOXVILLE!!!! SON OF A BITCH! I DON'T EVEN LIKE JOHNNY KNOXVILLE, BUT THAT IS NOT THE POINT!!! STUPID STUPID FUCKING CAR!:::::

Whew, I feel a little better. I am done with the bitterness at my car. I promise I will suffer the burden in silence from this point on.

I was supposed to go to Reno this weekend but couldn't for reasons that I promised not to mention and of course my friend who was able to go got to party with Johnny Knoxville. Noting cool ever happens when I go to Reno the only accomplishment is that my tolerance level for White Trash is raised (lowered?). Or I almost come to blows with a pimp wearing faux fur in the middle of the summer. (That is a story for another day.) The one time I don't go, there are B list celebrities ready to drink and whoop it up. Oh well, again I will swallow my jealousy and move along.

In other news (good I swear) I have lost 9 pounds! I have been dieting and exercising (read: swimming) for three weeks. I turn 27 at the end of August. I would like to be 39 pounds lighter by then. That leaves me 10 weeks to lose the remaining 30 pounds. Everyone cross your fingers for me and send me happy weight loss thoughts.

I did have one mishap over the weekend. I have been so good about kicking the junk food habit and eating healthy organic foods that it did not dawn on me until it was too late that croutons taste better than potato chips.

List of things no longer allowed in my house:

1. Cheese Puffs
2. Ice Cream
3. Delia's catalogs (not for dieting reasons, but I am powerless against things like this. And no one over the age of 16 needs that or should wear that)
4. Frosting

and now

5. Croutons (did you know that an entire bag of croutons (consumed in one sitting, PMS anyone) has 700 calories and 30 grams of fat?

Escaping the clutches of death yet again

This morning I took my car to the VW dealer to start the $800 in repairs that they told me were needed back in April. Of course I have this weird unsubstantiated need to keep a roof over my head and food in my cat's bowl so I can only authorize $400 in repairs. The guy behind the counter was very understanding when he also told me that I was due for a new set of tires. So tack on another $300 for that. Stupid, stupid car. I actually knew before hand that I need new tires but still....stupid, stupid car.

The real adventure started when I boarded the dealer provided shuttle that would take me to work. The driver was a shady looking character. He was a tweaker at one point in his life I can feel it. He has the skin that sags making him look older than he really is, the raspy voice from years of freebasing and that twitchy can't hold still body language. I hesitate before climbing in, as I would like to demand a piss test before I let this guy take me anywhere. But I have already been at this place for 45 minutes, I throw caution to the wind and flop myself in the very back of the van. Its decided that the most efficient way to deliver the van load of people is to start at the opposite end of town from my office, leaving me to be the last person in the van. Freaking Great.

I hate situations like this. I never know what to say to strangers. Its like being on an airplane. The only thing that you have in common with the person sitting next to you is that you are, well, sitting next to them. How do you break the ice? "So you have a VW. Did you know that Hitler created the Volkswagen Company?" I choose to say nothing and look out the window.

Upon pulling out the the dealer's driveway the first thing I notice is that our driver is a tail gaiter. I loathe tail gaiters. Its bad enough when you are the one being tail gated but being a passenger when the driver is tailgating is worse. Generally I would offer driving tips in a situation like this. As I know mister crack head would benefit from my perfect driving record (the first person to utter "back seat driver" gets bitch slapped). Since I am in the very back of the van, yelling over the heads of three people might be misinterpreted as rude. Again I choose to keep my mouth shut and stare out the window while I grip my arm rest so tightly that my knuckles turn white. Crack Head weaves in and out of morning traffic. Eventually every one is delivered to their respective office buildings. Now we can start the LONG journey to my office. I am alone with Crack Head....he does not attempt conversation which is smart on his part as I am poised with my pepper spray if he even so much as reaches for his stash that I am sure is hidden somewhere in the van.

Crack Head is a man on a mission he tail gates more and cuts people off with every lane change. All I want to do is apologize to the poor motorists that are subjected to this guy. If not for me he would be miles away cooking rock on a spoon. Instead here he is driving me to work because of my stupid, stupid car. Finally Crack Head drops me at my office and I stumble in the front door. I am thrilled its Friday and I am looking forward to the weekend. Lets hope that I make it through this weekend and not die of heat stroke. Its like 102 in Sac right now.

Weekend recap

Yet another thrilling heart stopping weekend in Sacramento.

Friday night was bunco. I didn't win anything but thats nothing new. I have never been lucky with dice. After bunco Alicia, Rose and I went to Alicia's for our evening swim. Rose had work to do tying bows on menus for some big event at her place of employment. Alicia and I swam, while Rose tied. Around 11pm Rose blurted out that 300 of the invitations had to be completed by the next day. As "the event" was happening then. Alicia and I jumped into action after pouring rather large glasses of wine. Two hours later the three of us are spread out on Alicia's living room floor tying bows like our lives depended on it. Then there was a knock on the door. A rather loud demanding sort of knock. It was Alicia's neighbor who wanted to very combatively explain to her that her air conditioning unit was making a ruckus and disturbing her. Bitch. Alicia was cordial and nodded her head and smiled. After the door was closed she walked over to her thermostat and turned the AC up higher. She threw blankets at Rose and I and told us to bundle up she was going to give the snatch something to complain about. But don't think ill of Alicia. She has made an appointment with a repair guy this week. And the C U Next Tuesday neighbor did pound on the door at one in the morning.

Saturday was almost completely consumed with watching the entire first and second seasons of WEEDS on Showtime. Its such an addicting (no pun intended) show. It almost made me wish I smoked weed so I could have a dealer just like Nancy. Saturday night Alicia and I went on yet another swim. But this time we brought some keg cups full of wine to pool. I tell you swimming laps half buzzed is fun. We only paused for like half an hour to practice doing hand stands.

Sunday I broke down and went to the mall. I have a generous gift card to Nordstrom's that I have been saving. I purchased this. My face feels like a baby's ass. (That sounded better in my head.) But if you don't believe me please feel free to come over and rub my face.

UPDATE: As for John (the 25 year old house party throwing loser) this is the bulletin that he posted on Myspace inviting people to his party. (WARNING: Be prepared to throw up a little)

"Party tonight at my house, the house is empty, the dog is in the garage, and I have a feeling chicks will be gettin' it on!Give me a call if you got it, or shoot me a message on here. There will be BBQ as well, but for the most part it's BYOB."

I am not sure what happened to the keg he promised in the email that he sent me and I am not sure which girls were supposed to be "gettin it on" but all in all I am thrilled that I spent my Friday night tying bows on menus instead of standing around waiting for some girls to start making out.

Swimming really is fun

It has been YEARS since I have stepped foot in a pool. When I was a kid I practically spent entire summers in a pool, chlorine burning my eyes and blonde hair turned green due also to chlorine. But then I got a little older and got a lot self conscience of my body and avoided being in a bathing suit like my life depended on it. However in the last week I have been swimming no less that THREE TIMES. Of course its been after the sun has set and the pool area is poorly lit and surrounded by hedges taller than me. Suffice it to say the outside world would have a hard time catching a glimpse of my bikini clad body.

In the three times that I have been swimming this week there are two things that I have noticed:

1) Chlorine really does thrash your hair. (deep conditioning is needed, I make a vow here and now to be more vigilant on my hair care)
2) Swimming makes a person hungry. By the time I am done with my 20 laps I am starving to the point where the neighborhood cats are looking tempting.

I have not noticed a difference in how my cloths fit or the number on the scale. I know that it has not been enough time to drop weight or a pant size. But I do feel like I have more energy. I have plans to go again tonight and then I will go again after bunco on Friday. London 2012 here I come! I wonder if they have an event for the Doggy Paddle? It probably falls between the synchronized swimming and the back stroke.

Sometimes you have to stop and appreciate the weirdness.

I got to thinking today. (I'll pause for a moment while you collect yourself from the shock)

I sent this email to Rose this morning.

"Good morning!

What have you been up to? Anything thrilling? Nothing much going on here. The point of the email is to tell you two things: ( I know you are a busy woman so I broke this down into numbered paragraphs just in case you have to read this in shifts)

1) ( possibly most important) I would like to include you in a routine that you, me , and Alicia started. Soak in Hot tub followed by swimming. Yesterday I went to Alicia's and true to our routine (est. Last weekend) we drank your Wild Vines (sorry, I'll totally give you a buck fifty) and we got in the hot tub and then swam 18 laps in the pool. Sure we nearly drowned and there were a couple of creepy by standers (I'm sure wondering how their Easter Ham learned to swim). But it was a good work out. And I thought you would like to come and join the festivities. We will be going again tonight.

and

2) (possibly the lamest thing ever....no maybe the second lamest thing ever, the first being my love life) John sent me an email today. He invited me to a kegger that he is having at his house while his parents are gone. Seriously, he is 25. He still lives at home AND he is hosting house parties, that I'd bet dollars to doughnuts involve keg stands. So lame. The lameness is just unfathomable. I was almost rendered speechless by the level of lame. Just to be clear.... He. Is. Lame.

::sigh:: better get back to work.

Licks,
Em"


After hitting "send" I paused and thought for a second.

First I thought about how I got to the point where I am now so buoyant in water that drowning is close to impossible. Yes that would be an advantage if I'm ever on a sinking cruise ship. But not so helpful when trying on jeans. My ass and the broad side of a barn are virtually indistinguishable if you squint your eyes.

The second thing I thought was....at what point does living with your parents change from an economical choice to being an immature momma's boy? If I had to venture a guess I would say 24 and a half years old. For no particular reason other than it just feels like the level of loser increases on the 25th birthday. John and I dated when he was 21 and I was 23 he had just moved from the East Coast. But that (like most of my relationships) crashed and burned in big, dramatic, expletive slinging public scenes. Although every once in a while he sends me an unexpected email or calls out of the blue. I think its his way of reminding me why we never married and had children...or you know, went on a third date.

That is all, carry on.

Memorial Day Weekend: A cautionary tale.

This is how I spent my three day weekend:

Friday night: I really have no recollection of what I did on Friday night. And not for the reasons you may think. I am fairly positive that I did not consume a single glass of wine. But who knows. Maybe I drank an entire box. Mmmmm Franzia. But seriously I really do not remember what activities that evening consisted of. So if anyone out there was privy to my whereabouts or actions please fill me in.

EDIT: My current theory is that I took out a terrorist cell with my bare hands and some well aimed ninja stars. My previous theory is that I did laundry and fed the cat, but there is no way that I am that lame.

Saturday I do remember. (I know shocking right?) I sort of lounged around the house watching Carnivale on HBO. Until it was time to get dressed to attend a wedding. Whose wedding you ask? Well it was no one I knew. My friend Rose asked me to be her date to her childhood friend's wedding. The colors were purple and yellow ::shudder:: and the reception's theme was rubber duckys. Oh! And the bride and groom met in Bible College in Minnesota. So it goes without saying that the happy couple had saved themselves for the big night (at least other people thought it went without saying....I on the other hand asked (not the bride and groom, I do have a little more class than that, but just a little))

With all of this potential blog material I was primed and ready to go. The only thing that I did not bargain on was the lack of booze. There was not a beer in sight. The champagne toast was done with Martinelli's. But I guess when the groom is 20 that is sort of expected (to most normal people, I on the other hand protested loudly). Between the young bride and groom, the color pallet, the REALLY ugly bridesmaid dresses, and rubber duckys you would think that I could find one really funny story involving one of those subjects. But by far the tackiest story did not involve me or my keen ability to offend at the drop f a hat.

It all began at the reception (notably lacking any sort of social lubricant, as previously mentioned) when I was at our assigned table with Rose, her parents, Rose's other childhood friend and fiancé (Sarah and Rob), Sarah's parents were the last to join the table. Well half way through dinner (which was good) when Sarah's mother leaves the table and comes back laughing. She informs the entire table and and the table behind us that she is laughing because the Bride got up from the head table and went into the kitchen because she needed to take her birth control pill. She thought it was funny that the Bride was so militant about taking it at exactly the same time everyday even on her wedding day. To which Sarah responds with "Oh, I take mine between 1 and 3 everyday" her father then replies with something. What exactly he said I have no clue as I blocked it from memory because OMG EWWWWW!

This conversation disturbed me for three reasons:

1) I don't know the Bride at all but knowing the she met her husband at Bible College and the she has waited for marriage to lose her virginity (which yes, I know is a weird detail for a stranger to know, but its not like I announced it) she would probably be mortified that this was a topic of conversation at her reception.

2) Why does a father know about his adult daughter's birth control methods? I sense a weird Papa Joe Simpson relationship there. Yuck. Personally I would rather gouge my eyes out with a spoon than discuss birth control in the presence of my father. For two reasons :

::Mom, stop reading here, you can rejoin the story in a sentence or two::

a) My father would then know that I have reason to need birth control.
b) okay well I guess "a" pretty much covers it. There is just no need for your father to know that about you. None.

::Mom, resume reading here::

3) How can those people be that tacky? I am the queen of sticking my foot in my mouth. But generally I know a split second after a sentence has left my mouth if it was well received. But these people continued the discussion for several minutes while Rose, her parents and myself sat there in stunned silence.

On Sunday I had a really nice day:

Rose and I made plans to go thrift store shopping: She had to stop by her work before we got our day started. She is an Executive Assistant at a country club. For me our little stop at her place of employment meant free breakfast. While she ran around directing life guards I ate a cheese and bacon omelet lovingly prepared by the kitchen staff.

The rest of the morning and afternoon consisted of a blur of thrift stores. I did find some neat stuff. I ::heart:: vintage jewelry and was able to find some really great necklaces for cheap. I also have an unhealthy fascination with commemorative state plates. Like the ones that tourists pick out. There are always a couple of them sitting all lonely in the aisle with the dish sets. They are little cast aside memories of past family vacations in the RV. As a natural born pack rat I pick these up and look at them wondering whose house they were in and why they were deemed unworthy to keep. This weekend I'm not sure if I was PMSing or what but I purchased two. One from Colorado that is trimmed in gold with scalloped edges. And the second was from North Dakota for the states Centennial in 1989. This one is blue and also trimmed in gold. I was about two seconds away from buying a plate from Epcot Center but Rose stepped in and put her foot down.

On Monday Alicia and I went to IKEA. I have been there so much since the Grand Opening of the one in West Sacramento that I no longer bother with the upstairs. I only shop downstairs where my standard purchase always includes a three pack of scissors. Scissors have this uncanny knack for disappearing in my house. The only remotely interesting thing I purchased is an ice tray that makes your ice shaped like little wine bottles. I've decide that this is appropriate as I am one of those people who put ice in my red wine. Scoff if you must but its true.

So that brings me to Tuesday morning. Three day weekend behind me and looking forward to the coming weekend. I'm not really sure what my plans are but rest assured that it will probably involve doing dishes or something equally thrilling.

Lady Godiva, I am not.

Last weekend my friend Alicia and I drove about 5 hours south of Sacramento to haul her horse back up to Lincoln a little less than an hour north of Sacramento. All told it was a lot of driving. Progress was made a lot slower when hauling a horse and trailer. But the horse made it and is happy in his new digs.

The real adventure happened in the few hours between driving when we had a chance to do a little riding before heading back home. Personally I know very little about horses. But I have decent balance and assuming the horse does not make any sudden movements I can stay centered in a saddle. Alicia rode her horse (Mister) and I rode her father's horse (Boogie). Boogie was a hand full from the get go. I would yank on the reins, and pull and lean...but the little bastard would not listen. I would pull left and he would go right, headed straight for a clump of shrubbery. He would walk and rub up against the bushes. And I would curse and pull more. Eventually he would go left, but only because there was a fence over there. So as he is moving at a steady pace towards the fence I pull right to avoid the head on collision that I am positive is about to occur. Boogie turns and again rubs his flanks up against the fence. The only thing I can do is yell "WHOA" a lot and lift up my leg so that it is not crushed between the fence and the horse. I'm sure at this point Alicia was wondering why she let her dumb ass friend climb on the back of her Father's horse. But I look over at her and she is laughing hysterically watching me frantically try an avoid broken bones. I plead with her for some direction. Her exact words are "Kick him, he's trying to knock you off! But he is just too lazy to buck." My response was "Why in the hell would he do that?". I got my answer when Alicia showed me this picture. If I had something that looked that pretty on my back I would try like hell to knock it the fuck off. And maybe trample it a little.


Here is a little randomness for the day. This is the website (courtesy of TheBunny) of a British artist that uses the UK as his canvas. I am not an Artsy person so I can't argue the merits of his work, but I know when I like something.

" I swear its normal, Ellen DeGeneres feels the same way I do"

Hi, my name is Emily, and I am scared of balloons. They freak me the hell out with all their floaty-ness. The sound they make when they bump together sends chills down my spine. So when I see a website like this it almost causes complete mental melt down. I am fairly positive that I should seek professional help.


In other news: I have some pictures of me riding a horse over the weekend......however I think I will have to get drunk to post them. I'm not sure the internet could handle the hotness that is me on horseback. Al Gore may have to reboot the internet after posting those photos.

This is why it sucks to be an adult

Okay...serious topic. Money.

I'm 26 years old and I have never lived on a budget. I'm not an heiress and I was not given Daddy's credit card when I was 15. I worked an after school job at the age of 16. Yet somehow the lesson on the value of the almighty dollar has eluded me for upwards of ten years. When the gravy train that was my parents came to an end at the ripe old age of 23 I was officially on my own. Fear of homelessness was a powerful motivator in the paying your rent on time game. I learned quickly that you have about 60 days after the due date on the electricity bill to pay up before power is shut off. I learned how to co-exist in a shit hole studio apartment with a group of crack addict neighbors living on the right side of me and a registered sex offender on the left. It was a tricky balance but I managed for 12 long months. While I have never been evicted and I've only had my power turned off once I have always hovered on the brink of broke.


My motto on money circa two months ago:

" I don't make enough of it to live the life I have grown accustomed. So fuck it. Have fun, make memories, and wear cute shoes doing it."


A wake up call:

"Wait, I'm how far over drawn? Why is my car making that funny noise? How long has the check engine light been on?"


Confirmation that I was indeed "up a creek without a paddle" :

Me: My car is going to cost $815 to fix.

Mom: Humph.

Me: Mom! EIGHT HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN!

Mom: Would you like me to email you the bus schedule?


Fast forward to now:

My car has not been fixed but it is still running, I'm broke but I have a budget in place. Every single penny that I spend is planned out. So much so that it takes me 20 minutes to decide if I want a candy bar at the Circle K. I will not walk to a register unless my items have mathematically proven that their price tag will not throw me over the edge into a pit of financial ruin. Before you ask, yes this is tiring and I know its starting to wear on my friends nerves. But I can't help it. I would rather walk past the cutest pair of BCBG shoes and be able to buy groceries than have the hottest shoes known to human existence and be forced to eat Top Ramen. For those of you who know me personally, know that it is serious when I pass on shoes. I never pass on shoes. I tend to hoard shoes like they are going to stop making them. Like all production lines and sweat shops will come to a grinding halt.

I guess my point to the whole long rant is that I've changed how I look at money. I feel empowered. I feel like for the first time that I can make long term goals for myself. My paychecks are no longer my "Party Fund". I will never be able to give up my love for the Nordstrom's shoe department but I will be able to control my urge to dance naked around the displays crying tears of joy when their "Half Yearly Sale" is if full swing.

So Sad.

Today I must add one more store to my list of stores I can no longer patronize because of Martha Stewart. That brings the list to TWO stores. Count em! 2.

1. K-Mart
2. Michael's

Something snaps deep in my psyche that prompts me to throw my body across displays of products that wear the Martha Stewart name yelling "Mine! Back off WHORE! I'll kick your children!" One can be forcibly thrown from K-Mart only a couple of times before starting to take it personally.

The woman has a strange power over me. I was watching her talk show yesterday and found myself suppressing an urge to make a succulent wreath. Why? I have NO CLUE! But she did it, and by definition that makes it neat-o and I. Must. Be. Like. Martha. I took a few deep breaths until the urge was manageable. I did not jump through the sun roof on my car (cause who could be bothered to open a door when there are succulents waiting to be planted. WAITING!) in a effort to shave a few seconds from the driving time to the closest Home Depot.

I made it through the commercial break and was ready for the next segment when she dropped a bombshell. Michael's is now carrying her line of craft supplies. The information barely escaped her lips when I was downstairs sliding across the hood of my Beetle reminiscent of Beau Duke (no small feat, which was weird considering its a very small car). Once in my car the race was on. I was weaving in and out of traffic, running red lights (okay not running red lights, I'm totally paranoid of the cameras that mail you traffic tickets(and yes I know the cameras do not actually MAIL you the ticket) (its the ticket fairy that lives in the camera who gets all giddy when people speed through yellow lights))).

I made it to Michael's. I skid through the automatic doors and did a face plant directly in front of the Martha Stewart display. Mothers and children scattered in all directions, and that left me gloriously alone to browse and touch every single thing on the wall-o-Martha crafts. One hour and fifteen minutes later I left the store weighed down by hole punches, stickers, paper, and glue. I walk out of the store bursting with creative ideas on how to use her $6 a roll wrapping paper for something other than gifts. The entire drive home I was debating the millions of uses for a one inch circle hole punch and how I had survived almost three decades without it. I skipped up to my apartment walked through the door and noticed that America's Next Top Model had started without me. Then of course LOST was on. Long story short. The hole punch. paper, stickers, and glue remain in a bag on my kitchen table.

Vacations and Jesus

Being friends with someone means that you accept them for who they are, you take the weird with the normal, the obsessive with the aloof, and the bizarre with the oh my fucking God you are one crazy bitch. After years of developing a relationship and nurturing a friendship you eventually begin to take on the other persons idiosyncrasies and they morph with your own creating an interesting and wonderfully dynamic quirk in your own character. Something that would not be there if you had not decided to pledge the same sorority back in 2002.

Let the normal begin:

Aimee: I took a bunch of time off this month – I’m going to be off work from May 24 – June 3.
I don’t know if I’ll want to come back after that much time off!


Me: lol...I know I wouldn't. Why are you taking all the time, just cause you can? Speaking of time off I need to request for my sisters graduation....thanks for reminding me!


Introducing the segue:

Aimee:I took time off for LA – then Mark took the week off afterward so we could hang out – so I did too.
I don’t know. Probably just because I can. I like the sound of that. LOL

Me:That sounds cool. What are you guys going to do that week? I was going to take a mental health day but feel weird requesting time off for no other reason besides sleeping in...lol I need to get over that.


Slight change in subject:

Aimee: Sometimes you just need a day of rest. Lol
Ask Jesus.

No clue what we’re planning. I’m thinking that I might get the garage totally cleaned out that week. Get organized and all that good stuff. GIANT SPRING CLEANING week. ::sad::
lol

Acceptance:

Me: lol...I ask Jesus many many things. Like, why he is drunk in my back seat? Or if he would stop it already with the water into wine thing. It was cool the first time but seriously its just getting old.

I would love a week of cleaning! We are getting old.


Friendly advice:

Aimee: I know! Isn’t it sad?!
And uh, you’re totally missing a money making opportunity with this water/wine thing.
I mean if I had my very own water/wine converting Jesus, well, I’d definitely be adding to my Sunglass fund.

Resolution:

Me: Good point. I should start peddling my Jesus wine on a freeway off ramp

Aimee: That is it’s own special brand of crazy. lol



That ladies and gentlemen, was my Tuesday morning.

::EDIT:: Did anyone else notice the abundance of "lols"? I did. Either Aimee and I really do Laugh Out Loud a lot or its a cutting edge form of punctuation. Sort of like that new fangled exclamation point everyone has been talking about! <-- See there it is!<-- There is is again!<-- And again!<-- Allright, allright I guess you get the point? <-- Ha, get it "point", arrow, bahahah. Yeah, okay, I'm done now.

TA-DA!

For lack of something interesting to say here is a meme. I would like to tag…..Aimee, Nicole, and, oh hell everyone who reads this…you have exactly 3.2 seconds to fill this out and repost it under the subject “Wouldn’t you like to know”. If you ignore this you will be doomed to 75 years of bad luck.

EDIT: This is totally true you guys. I know a girl who is second cousins twice removed who goes to school with a girl who didn’t fill this out and she got a parking ticket at the mall.

(I’ll send the first person who points out that this is not Myspace a cookie, really, I will, point it out, see what happens)

1.ARE YOU SHY?
nope. I’m the life of the party, every party.

2. ARE YOU A LOVER OR A FIGHTER?
Fighter. Don’t piss off a Virgo. We don’t just get mad, we get revenge. Revenge, in a detailed oriented, type A, sort of way.

3. WHAT'S YOUR WORST FEAR?
Making another Virgo angry.

4. AS A KID, WERE YOU A LEGO MANIAC?
No….there was this thing called outside when I was little. Backyards and Legos did not mix. My sister and I would loose them in the grass. My father would run them over with the lawn mower and send them flying like brightly colored rectangular bebes.

5. DO YOU CHEW ON YOUR STRAWS?
No, I chew on other people’s straws.

6. WHAT COLOR IS YOUR KEYBOARD?
Pink with glitter…..prove me wrong….see, you can’t and do you know why? Cause who cares…..why is this a question? Ask me what color my underwear is, or what color I wish my underwear was. In which case purple and red. See how that was more entertaining.

7. HAVE YOU EVER BUNGEE JUMPED?
no, but I have swallowed glass. That sounds like just as much fun, right?

8. ANY SECRET TALENTS?
I am completely talentless secret or otherwise.

9. WHAT'S YOUR IDEAL VACATION SPOT?
Anywhere that serves cheap drinks. 10. BAD HABITS? I twirl my hair. I constantly get my finger tangled in a knot then I have to cut myself free. Bet you don’t know many people who can get stuck in their own hair. Does that count as a secret talent?

11. CAN YOU SWIM?
like a rock.

12. HAVE YOU SEEN THE MOVIE DONNIE DARKO?
Yep….I will never look at rabbits the same way again.

13. DO YOU GIVE A DANG ABOUT THE OZONE?
Nope. I plan to deplete that and any other natural resource I can. I don’t recycle either. I figure it gives the homeless guys who fish thru my apartment’s dumpster something to do.

14. CAN YOU MACARENA?
Yes, I can also “Do my little turn on the catwalk, yeah , on the cat walk.” Please feel free to insert any other reference to a dance made famous by a crappy song (for instance…. the Bump and Grind, the Tootsie Roll, or the Local Motion)

15. ARE YOU AN ONLY CHILD?
I’m the favorite…..does that count?

16. WHAT'S YOUR STAND ON HUNTING?
Hunting for what? Like hunting for the perfect little black dress, or a pair of jeans that don’t make my ass look like the side of a barn. That is the kind of hunting that I enjoy. Hunting animals. I could care less about. Shoot em, eat em, skin, em, mount em on your wall. Whatever, as long as I am not expected to hang out in a deer blind.

17. WHAT ARE YOU TO ANYTHING?
Well I am “that bitch” to several people on the freeway……

18. IS ELVIS STILL ALIVE?
Probably. He had to stage his death to get away from his batshit crazy wife and daughter.

19. HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR EGGS?
unfertilized.

20. ARE BLONDES DUMB? Uh….no. Everyone knows that your intelligence is not based on your hair color. It is dependent on your bra size….duh.

21. IS MCDONALD'S DISGUSTING?
If by “disgusting” you mean magically delicious, then yes.

22. ARE YOU AFRAID OF THE DARK?
YES! Especially when a closet door is open…..something could emerge from there!

23. WHAT ARE YOU ADDICTED TO?
black tar heroin….or Starbucks…..whatever, same difference.

24. HAVE YOU EVER RIDDEN IN AN AMBULANCE?
I’ve been ridden in an Ambulance. J/K I would never…..really I am kidding and not just because I know my mom reads this.

25. WHAT COLOR ARE YOUR EYES?
Green.

26. ARE YOU PSYCHIC?
I knew you were going to ask that question.

27. HAVE YOU READ "CATCHER IN THE RYE"?
yes, and I wish Holden would have saved us two hundred and something pages and just jumped off a bridge. I HATED it. Why do people what to read about a guy with undiagnosed depression? And then argue that it is this life altering great American novel. That is why we have therapy and lots and lots of prescription meds (for Holden not the idiots that liked the book ( and if you fall into that idiot category all emails can be sent to kiss_my_ass_sucker@yahoo.com)).

28. DO YOU PLAY ANY INSTRUMENTS?
Finger castanets are my forte. I can also play the tambourine in a pinch.

29. HAVE YOU EVER STOLEN FOOD?
This was not one of my prouder moments….but I was broke as hell and the office bought us pizza for lunch one afternoon. So I stayed late that night and went to the break room and took enough of the leftovers to eat on for the following couple of days. ::before anyone can say it…Yes I know that it would not hurt me to skip a few meals::

30. CAN YOU SNOWBOARD?
Snow is not my friend. Spend nine hours stuck on Donor Summit, after a spin out, late for a sorority meeting, after 72 hours of drunken antics, and see if you ever want to look at snow again.

31. YOU BELIEVE IN DIVORCE?
Yes, but only in certain situations. I think that if you have your spouses name tattooed on your body then you should stick t out through thick and thin. A tattoo is a level of commitment greater than being in a church in front of God and all your friends and family. Just ask Pam and Tommy….no wait…..how about Billy Bob and Angelina…okay no…..damn it. So I guess my answer is no.

Who else was hoping OJ was the father?

Yeah I'm tacky.

Sorry for my lack of update, but my allergies have been playing havoc on every aspect of my life. I can barely make it up my stairs without passing out from lack of oxygen. At first I thought it was due to the air being so thin on the second floor. I was positive I was getting altitude sickness just like all those people who climb Mt. Everest. The only difference being that I was never assigned a sherpa to haul my groceries from the car. But someone kindly pointed out that Sacramento is in a Valley and that I'm really dramatic (the nerve).

The only remotely interesting thing that has happened in the last few days is that I think my boyfriend tried to kill me Monday evening. I was two seconds away form calling the cops and filing attempted murder charges. But at the last second I opted against it. Mostly I deserved it. I should have listened.

Here is how it all started:

Late last week I stepped on a scale and feinted from shock. Something had to be done! Starting on Monday (I knew that I would want a hamburger at the Elephant Bar on Friday).

The first sign of trouble:

Steve had the brilliant idea that we go for a walk on the river. I was down with that, its pretty outdoors and the weather was nice.

This is where it all went to crap:

His definition of "walk" turned out to be much different than mine. While I stand by the Webster's version "intransitive verb to move or travel on legs and feet, alternately putting one foot a comfortable distance in front of, or sometimes behind, the other and usually proceeding at a moderate pace. " Steve on the other hand thinks that walking means that you must move like your hair is on fire.

Anyone interested in a free trip to HELL IN AN HAND BASKET ?(I have no clue what that phrase actually means, I just like saying it):

I was meandering down our dirt path observing flowers, and being one with nature, while he was wildly tromping through bushes and moving at a pace that I would not hesitate to call a full on sprint. Steve would run/walk up the trail and turn around and run/walk back my direction only to find me tying my shoes or stretching my calves. All the while telling me that I am doing a good job and to just try to run/walk to that sign post up there. "Look its not the far. You can do it. Come on." (The bastard! How dare he encourage me at a time like that.)

The saga continues:

So, I would run/walk for a bit to make him happy. Only that was not enough. He would push me to run more and then a little more. I was huffing and puffing like crazy. At the same time I was quietly in my most polite way telling him that I was ever so slightly uncomfortable(by quiet and polite I mean yelling and throwing myself on the ground)(and by slightly uncomfortable I mean my legs were about to fall off and my heart was about to shoot through my rib cage).

A break in the torture:

Just when I thought I could handle no more, I saw Aimee coming up the trail. She was like an apparition rimmed in light from the heavens. I thought to myself "Sweet Jesus, I can stop. I'll have a moment of rest. Maybe my heart will stop, oh how I welcome the peace and quite of death." Much to Steve's dismay my heart continued pumping and after our short visit with Aimee where I know I tried to signal for help. (Who could not recognize an SOS tapped out by blinking my eyes? Apparently Aimee is a little rusty on her mores code. And asking what is wrong with my eyes did not help the situation.)

I see the light:

Somehow I manage to make it back to my car. I have no recollection of anything after my chat with Aimee, but the next thing I know I come to and I'm driving the car home. Weird.

All I can say is that was probably the worst 15 minutes of my life. Even worse than the time I thought I forgot to record LOST.

Good Friday

I get to leave at noon today! Woot! So thrilled. My mom and sisters (Ellen and Elaine) are coming to Sacramento for a day of shopping.

I was forced to go to bed early last night due to the fact that my allergies were AWFUL. I could not even watch television because of the incessant sneezing. It was that bad. I scared the crap out of the cat. She hid under the bed all evening. I guess the site of your mother's head about to explode is a bit unsettling to her. ::shrug::

In an effort to impress my family with my newly adopted cat (they have not had the pleasure to make her acquaintance), I made her a bandanna to wear for when they arrive.(pictures to follow on Monday) The bandanna is a compromise we reached since she is being stubborn about wearing the shirt I bought her (more pictures to follow if she does not claw my eyes out). She is a patient cat but I guess she draws the line at me treating her like a purse dog.

This morning I woke up early so that could straighten my house. I had a limited time span to get my house in shape for visitors and get ready for work so I took a diet pill for energy. One of my old school diet pills with Ephedra. You know the legal form of CRACK! It had been months, maybe years since I had popped one of those puppies. I tell you, I am wired for sound. 20 minutes after ingesting the little red pill the chemical high rolled over me like a Mack Truck. I was a total of blur wielding a broom and Febreeze. This too scared the cat (I believe she thinks I am CrAzY and is plotting her escape). I will most likely go into cardiac arrest if my heart rate does not return to normal soon, but hey at least if I die my place is spic and span, and I am wearing clean underwear. Lets all cross our fingers that the paramedics are cute. What? I know I have a boyfriend but come on, if you have to get mouth to mouth you know you would want it to be from the hot guy in an EMT shirt.....don't lie.

EDIT: I want Steve and only Steve to be the one to perform mouth to mouth and I will wear one of those medical alert bracelets stating that fact. I am a selfish inconsiderate woman who needs to come out of my crack induced haze before posting blogs.

Now serving up a big ol' slap in the face followed by a swift kick to the shins

For the record I wanted to post this yesterday. I have to post at work because I don't have a computer at home. I know that I am a really sucky employee who should pay my boss for the privilege of walking through the front door every morning. But I digress....I did really plan to post this yesterday but my computer went down. I'm talking like Johnny Cash, Ring of Fire, went down (I think there was even some smoke). I call the IT guy who quickly radioed for back up and the next thing you know nerdy guys were descending from grappling hooks and charging towards my desk. But then I woke up, scratched the sleep from my eyes and waited for the IT guy to finish at the bank and swing by Blockbuster before making his way to me. I was not able to get back online until 10 minutes before I was supposed to leave. So I logged out and left 5 minutes early.

Now for the blogging........

Like I said in my "about me" section I recently adopted a cat from the SPCA. She is a pretty little tabby that I named Ginger. I was thrown into a full blown panic attack when she stopped peeing (I noticed this over a period of about two days, it took that long because apparently there is not a light that comes on or a buzzer that goes off telling me to monitor your cat's urination habits (it would have been nice if some one at the animal shelter explained that to me prior to the adoption, I mean my car has a check engine light (does anyone else think that when the SPCA microchips animals that it should come equipped with a "service needed" notification of some sort? It wouldn't have to make noise or flash but it could generate an email or something)). I darted through my house looking for any "accidents". 3 minutes later having found no evidence of cat pee anywhere. I was convinced that Ginger was sick. She was so ill she could not urinate. I found my yellow pages and was dialing the emergency vet when Ginger pooped. I cocked my head to the side and thought to myself....."Emily, this cat is messing with you. She can pee. She just won't. Did I anger her in some way? She has to be protesting something." So I busied myself combing her and cuddling her. Thinking that maybe if I was nice enough she would pee. Two more days and nothing. I don't care how mad you are. Holding pee for that long has to wear on a soul. So I call the vet on Monday and they fit me in later that afternoon. I trudge into the vet's door holding the carrier with a yowling cat trapped inside and patiently wait Ginger's turn. Ginger on the other hand did not wait patiently. She yowled and flopped around and wheezed and spit. It was very lady like. The counter people where totally giving me the stink eye. The Vet comes in and was very friendly. She rubbed Ginger down and stated " Well her balder is empty, she is pissing in your house. Now please give me $150". That is not exactly what she said but that is how I heard it. At that point I packed Ginger back into her carrier (after much more wheezing, spitting, and clawing) and took her home. Upon entering the apartment I released Ginger. She ran into my bedroom and hid. I sat down and flipped on the television to see what my DVR had recorded for me when Ginger emerges and slinks along the wall to my dining room and PEES right there in front of me.
Slap in the face = Cat pee in my carpet
Swift Kick to the Shins = paying $150 to find that out

EDIT: I have since moved her litter box to her selected location and she is using it like crazy. I can hardly scoop fast enough.

Email Philosophy

Aimee and I had a conversation this morning (via email of course). Regarding dieting and weight. Namely Weight Watchers(WW). Aimee and I started WW together. We went to our first meeting in the beginning of January. I would like to say that it was not a New Years resolution and it was just bad timing, but the truth is that I am lame like that and thought that I should start 2007 off fat and end it skinny. At first I was ready and rearing to go. I was counting points left and right. Drinking so much water I feared my kidneys would shut down. But about three weeks and negative 6 pounds into it I dropped out. Aimee on the other hand has stuck with it and is doing wonderfully (negative 25 pounds and counting). She fell off the wagon this weekend and sent me this email:

"Yeah. I was pretty bad this weekend. ::sigh::
I don’t understand why I don’t just do it. I mean, it works when I do it – so why not follow it? Grrr."

My response was this:

"Because food is so yummy. That is why. I get so tired of always thinking about food and analyzing and keeping track that something snaps and I eat an entire can of frosting."

My response struck a cord, I wrote that meaning to sound sarcastic. But it sparked one of those moments of clarity where the clouds part and the birds sing. That frame of mind is exactly why I have gained 50 pounds over the last 3 years.

I don't want to get deep into my metal well being or lack there of. If I were to write down my thoughts of aforementioned weight gain the seemingly endless rants would leave you (my one reader, Aimee) researching the benefits of snorting Zoloft.