I Got The Call

Just about 40 minutes ago I heard from our realtor. We finally got it. We closed on our house. Our House. And? And...maybe I was so happy I cried a little. At my desk. At work. I'm overjoyed and in shock, so forgive me for being a bit subdued.

I cannot believe this past year. The boy, the cat, the job, the house...it's all amazing. I feel like a real-live adult. An incredibly blessed and lucky real-live adult.

Happy New Year Internet, and may all your years be as wonderful as this one has been to me.

XO
citygirl

Word to the Wise...

Don't ever close on a house while you're on your period. If you do, know that every little annoyance will irritate your already delicate emotional state to the hilt; making you either want to curl up into the fetal position and cry, or stab random people in their eyeballs.

Oh yeah, we're closing on our house today. Wish me and the fiance' (pronounced FI-ance, if you're from my neck of the woods) luck.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYBODY!!!

The List, She Grows

1)Finish my review of Eragon and sent to my editor
2)Exercise asap when I get home
3)Go to Night at the Museum Wed
4)Write notes for review
5)Set up home owners insurance & switch car ins. to same company
6)Get mortgage papers and fill out with loan officer and the boy
7)Get some food in the house
8)Start packing small stuff I don't need
9)Get more boxes
10)Call mom & tell her we found a house, bid on it and got it
11)Finish filing all those pages I rip outta magazines & print off the internet
12)Finally read the last two Sandman volumes
13)Post some stuff to flickr
14)Set up a budget dammit
15)Work on screenplay again
16)See about working at Sundance, SXSW and CineVegas
17)Formulate more interesting blog posts
18)Join Film Independent by 12/15
19)Stop coughing and having a sore throat
20)Donate $ somewhere
21)See what's left to buy of Christmas gifts
22)Wrap stuff
23)Make tea cakes for Mrs Nichols
24)Make cookies for me, because I deserve them
25)Stop getting in the bed after midnight already
26)Fill out paperwork to take house closing day off work
27)Consider decorative options for the walls at new house
28)See if I can get $ back from FedEx
29)Get refund from Newport News
30)List more stuff on Half.com

Wow, I'm already thinking of ways to pretend I don't need to do 90% of this stuff.

Hmmmm, And Now...?

Ok, so I had this whole post planned out yesterday about how the boy and I put a bid on a house after he made one decision and then got all confused and frustrated again five minutes after I called our realtor and told her we were doing one thing and had to call her back and tell her another, right? Well that's not even news now, cause now? Now, internet? THE BOY AND I HAVE ACTUALLY REALLY BOUGHT A HOUSE.

I got so very little done today with all the talking to the realtor and faxing stuff to sign and signing and getting ahold of the boy to get his fax number and calling the mortgage man and having him call me back and learning FHA would kinda screw us so we needed to go conventional and finding out Ms. Realtor made an appointment for our inspection this weekend and it'll cost $358. That, and I'm gonna have to pony up my last two months rent (aka $900 I don't have) to get outta the lease.

I feel too rushed to be happy or excited right now. I need to cash in some vacation days to pay for my rent. I have to get our utilities switched over. We need to talk to his folks, who are holding onto an inheritance we're using to pay for some of this, about the cash for that damned expensive inspection. And there's like 50 million other things to do.

Did I mention I feel like I need to throw up? Or that I have the smell of fear about my person?

Holy shit, internet. Throw a few good vibes by me and the boy. We is so gonna need 'em.

Just A Letter

Dearest Person Who Used the Bathroom Before Me,

Thank you for reiterating several points I (and probably not you) learned as a wee babe:
1) Always look closely at the toilet prior to sitting down
2) Use toilet paper
3) Flush the damn toilet
4) Wash your hands...with soap & water as warm as you can stand
5) Never flush with your foot while wearing flip flops (because nobody wants to hop out of a boardwalk bathroom with one shoe)

As none of these issues seem to be on your mind, I trust you're having a fine and trouble free life before burning to crispy-fried goodness in hell.

Thank you. Goodnight.

Crunch Time

Unfortunately this post is not about all the sit-ups I've been doing. The boy and I are trying to buy a house.

He has been surprisingly animated about the whole thing. I'd been led to believe that guys wouldn't really get into the whole "this one looks good" thing. My boy, though, is all over this. So much so that left to his own devices he ran our realtor.com picks up to 45 houses. Honestly, that was just insane. True, he was picking cheap and well updated place. But they were HU-NORMOUS. I'm talking 6 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms, three floor housing extravaganzas. Internet, I had to reign him in.

Now, after two weekends of go-sees we've narrowed it to a nice field of 8 we're making appointments to see the inside of. We did most of our neighborhood house stalking in the dark because of that damned daylight savings time. One positive thing about that is we got to see how well lit these areas were, and if people seemed comfortable outside after dark.
Now that the boy is guided, he's picked sensible places. No mare than 2 bedrooms & bathrooms. I seriously don't know who the hell he thought was going to clean 5 toilets. We all know it wasn't going to be me, right?

We're trying to get our move on by the end of February when my lease is up. I realize that technically it wouldn't have made any sense to start looking earlier than this month, but I feel kinda rushed now. Is that normal? And what about all the fees and stuff? I have a feeling we're not planning for some financial burden with this house buying thing. I'd hate for us to commit ourselves and think we've got it all covered and then realize we're up the creek because we forgot about one little thing that costs a few grand to take care of before we can move in.

Any suggestions? Ideas? Advice?

Cat-tastrophy*

It's Sunday. Four o'clock in the morning, actually. All the boy and I wanted to do was wind down and prepare for our last day of the four day weekend. He gets in the bed and I head to the porch to check on our fiercely pawed feline. Oh crap, I can't see him! Oh super crap! I found him. Our Tux is ON THE ROOF (dammit!). I gasped in ultimate horror and must've looked about like this. Seriously, I am surprised I was able to refrain from screaming and fainting.

So now we (aka my half-naked fiance' in a ratty robe and clunky tennis shoes) have to try coaxing the kitty down before he falls to his death. It's dark and cold and we're on the third floor. Fuck.

This must be what parenthood is like. You want your progeny to explore, but you know they might overstep their bounds and get hurt at some point. That, and it scares the shit out of you.

Of course just asking Tux to come down and having him, I don't know...do it, would be too simple. The boy has one chair and the last time he had to stand on it to retrieve Sir Tuxenstiegel (damn cat) he almost died. That chair, it swivels. Not good for standing. So what does he drag out to the porch? An empty cooler. This did not instill me with any more confidence than the chair, but whattaya gonna do?

Tux is meowing mournfully now, he clearly knows he's out of his element. But will he just let the boy grab him? No. He has to start clawing and move away from the edge of the roof so we can't get to him. I'm behind the boy, spotting him and praying that neither of them falls off the building to the concrete-of-death below.

It probably only took 10 minutes to fish him down, but it felt like forever and almost killed me.

Damn that cat.

*God, I'm so clever.

It's Been One Of Those Weeks

Sunday

We go to a super early showing of The Prestige. Two tickets only cost $8 and we had to get to the theater at 11:11am. I'm not even playing. There were only 3 people at the show. We sneak in cheapo breakfast goodies by way of my huge-ass purse. It's like I'm a kid again. Oh yeah, everyone needs to see this movie. It. Is amazing.

At the end of a lazy weekend the boy decides we should play frisbee inside his tiny apartment. With the top from a Rubbermaid container. I catch and return; the top bounces off the wall and hits him in the nose, skinning a significant portion of said appendage. The boy spends most of the week with a huge scab on his cute, nobby nose. As you might imagine I feel horrible for this, but blame him for it anyway. I mean, hey, he started it.

The boy leaves his debit card in the ATM. Dammit!

Monday

I went to work. This would soon change.

Also, the boy has an unquenchable desire to watch the copy of last week's Battlestar Gallactica (geek) he got his grubby little hands on. I protest but give in, and we watch BG at 11pm before heading back to my place. I'm sleepy. The boy will pay for this.

Tuesday

I get antsy for Christmas decorations and make plans to clean and get my holiday on. I have visions of me and the boy decorating my place as cookies bake and Christmas music plays. I decide we'll get this done before the end of the week.

I make cookies for tomorrow's potluck at work and pack up 1/2 of each batch. I'm proud that I manage to go to bed with only 2 cookies in my belly.

Wednesday

We have our potluck. This takes up a good two hours of actual work time. I simply adore sanctioned time wastage!

The boy and I have a talk. He wants to go out, but can't access his cash at this late hour since he left behind his ATM card on Sunday and is waiting on a new one. He asks if I can spot us. I get pissy and tell him so. He literally had ALL DAY to go to the bank and take money out. Instead he did lots of sleeping and video game playing(ok, he did have a job interview, too). Why is this so difficult sometimes?

He actually finds a drive-up teller open after 5pm and we speed over. We spend the night with dinner at House of Wong, drinks and my pool learnin' at Nick's in Dogtown. We're out late and have a lot of fun. This day turned out real nice.

Thursday

Me and the boy walked to the park near my and played frisbee (for real this time) until well after dark. For some reason I got into it and worked my ass off. It's the one good workout I had all week.

Friday

The boy returns from another job interview (yay!) and drops the idea of another early movie. We see Stranger Than Fiction (get thee to a theater post haste, internet) with a purse full of Jack-n-the Box. Loverly afternoon.

I tell the boy I want us to decorate my apartment. I begin to clean and he dutifully LAYS DOWN ON THE COUCH AND GOES TO SLEEP. TOTALLY ON PURPOSE. Can you imagine, internet, that this gets on my nerves? I did not decorate. Instead I played Christmas music, straightened my place and made pizza (cheese, tomato, onion, lots of spices...*drool*).

Saturday

We did our civic duty and recycled a ton of glass, paper, cans, etc. As usual, our reward for this is eating out. This time we went to Joe's Crab Shack and I did indeed spot us to the tune of $36. See why this is so difficult? It didn't even occur to me to care this time. And I didn't even realize the boy was going to return the favor for this one until we sat down. Maybe this is horrible, but only then did I decide to buy that appetizer.

Sunday

I told myself that this weekend at the boy's place would be about working on my screenplay, creating a budget and other really useful things. Instead I'm watching football and writing my blog. Well, fuck. The day ain't over yet.

Splenda Packets I've Stolen

It's all the boy's fault. I was perfectly happy using real sugar for everything: cereal, coffee, tea...But he's all crazy about the Splenda. If something's got that crap in it, he's gonna buy it. The fiance' even got a big ol' box a that stuff for his house, but he never uses it. Who does? Me. Why? Because I'm addicted now and I blame him. I'm still screctly convinced it'll kill us all one day, but I can't think about that now dammit. I'm trying to lose weight! What really sucks is that it's about twice as expensive as sugar.
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In other news, me and the ladies from my new department had lunch with recent quitter J on Friday. She's finally engaged to BigTallD, her boy of over three years. What's even better is she asked me to be her wedding photographer next year! They're hiring someone for the ceremony, but want me to do all the fun pre and post shots. I'm actually looking forward to this. I shot one wedding about seven years ago and swore I'd never do it again, but I can already feel that this'll be a good time.
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Tux the emperor cat has been all about bundling up lately. I can't sit on the couch with a blanket without him getting all up under my cover. He lays at my feet, by my side, on my legs, and most strangely - between my legs right in my crotch. As cute as it all is I cannot emphasize enough how odd it is to feel his furry kitty body BETWEEN MY THIGHS. As if I've given birth to his fuzzy, Tuxy self. I suppose I should just get used to it because we've got at least 4 months of the cold stuff left.
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How's the new job? Good, really good. Thanks for asking. There seems to be just one thing. I'm kinda getting bored already. It's only been a month, so...dammit, I don't know what to do about that. I haven't even had a chance to decorate my cubby yet and already I'm giving thought to how long I can stand this.
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I exercised on Saturday! This may not sound like a big deal to any of you, but trust me, when you go a whole week without doing anything it's easy to say fuck it and give up on the weekends and pretend it'll be easier to start over the following week. Now I've kinda got my groove back.
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The boy has a 2nd interview for a job that would be really cool today. Wish him luck!

Wishing Won't Make It So

Wow, did I ever suffer from wishful thinking here or what? If you read it, I bet you can guess what I screwed up. That's right. I have never in my adult life weighed as little as 132 pounds. You know which number needs to change...? You got it, amigos. It should be 232. Fuck. It hurts all over again.

I haven't exercised once this week. I had plenty of time Monday, since I called in sick on our dreary, cold, rainy day, but spent most of my time reading for my class. With my butt firmly planted on the couch. I tried to put on one of my favorite skirts (my only winter item for my lower half that's not pants)Tuesday and it basically fit. But when I looked in the mirror and saw how much stomach was poofed over the top it pissed me off, made me sad and depressed me all at once. I opted for pants.

I've got a lot to do: a ton of homework, three film reviews to write, another film to see, quick trip to WalMart...There's got to be something I'm forgetting. Oh yeah, trying not to stuff my face with food from the sadness. That's it.

Sorts

I'm foggy today. I can't concentrate on anything for very long. My brain feels heavy. I spent 10 minutes trying to figure out how to turn a cardboard ring into a bangle bracelet. I am obviously not quite right. The endless round of stuffy, runny, sneezy, blowy nose crap is getting to me. I had to get up at 4:30 this morning to pee and stayed up until five taking allergy meds, drinking hot tea and blowing my nose but having nothing come out. All I want? To curl up in bed and sleep.

On a really, seriously good note though, I got two more film review assignments today. One tonight and one for Saturday morning. Thank God. I though I'd burned that bridge. Why? Well it's a long story that I'll make simple: I missed a screening. That's right, I had to tell my editor that I couldn't write one of the reviews he assigned me because I wasn't able to see the damn movie. What happened? It's my fault and the boy's fault and there was irritation and anger and disappointment and it's all three weeks over now. The point is that I don't have to have a talk with my editor asking if he's avoiding me because of the incident. I don't care if I only get to review the crap movies for a bit, I'm working my way back into his good graces.

Where The Hell Have I Been?

-Sneezing*. You remember how I've had allergies all summer? Well today a new phenomenom started: blowing my nose now causes me to fart. And not little, cute *pop* *ptttthhhppp* farts but big, hard *BOOM* *CRACK* *DAMN* farts. Also? The odor, she is bad. Shit. Stop it gastrointestinal tract! I hate you now.

-Being speckled. Apparently I'm allergic to something I've used on my face recently. How do I know this? Because for the past week I've looked like someone attacked me with gravel...and it stuck to my face. The skin thing was bad enough, but then I woke up Friday morning with puffy, puss lips. Fuck. What's wrong with you skin? I had to see my mom for her birthday like this -- the next day. I was really afraid she'd notice, pull me aside and ask "What the hell did that boy give you? What the shit did he do to your face!!?" Luckily it was kinda dark in her house and she can't really see anyway. Thank you Sweet Baby Jesus for mid-life sight loss.

-Under paying my credit card bill. Did you know that if you paid your bill on time but accidentally forgot to pay enough to cover the minimum that you'd get hit with a late fee? Did you know that this "late" fee cost me $39 this month? No? Yeah, well, it did. Dammit Chase bank! Why can't a sista get ahead!? I owed them $139 this month which just about ate up my raise. Thusly, I have $12 to keep me until Friday, when the pay/pity cycle starts all over again.

-Working. So I've got this new job, right? I love the new freedom. I just kinda miss the old freedom a teensy bit, too. Jeez, I'm greedy.

-Not answering the phone. I don't have to listen to a ringing phone all day anymore so I don't. And. It. Is. AWESOME. My phone is on "do not disturb" so any calls go directly to my voice mail. If people leave an email address I get in touch that way instead of calling. BECAUSE I CAN. Loverly.

-Addressing the issue that is my flab. Turns out I weigh a whole ton more than I thought I did. I stepped on a scale last week and it's amazing that I didn't start crying on the spot. Unbelievable that I didn't become hysterical and then fall into a coma from the stress that is...SEEING EVIDENCE THAT I WEIGH 132 POUNDS. Fan-fucking-tastic folks. I now weigh around what my mom did at this ripe old age of 31. I've been doing well not eating late. I can even watch the boy eat Taco Bell, Jack'n the Box, McDonald's, chocolate covered peanuts, Snickers, etc. at midnight and not join in. Exercise? I'm still shooting for 30 minutes a day but haven't made it yet. Doesn't mean it's not still my goal. Cause it is. You hear that flab? I'm comin for ya!

-Wondering how I can finally have an orgasm. Shit. Do I need to take a siminar, or what?

-Watching tv. Also known as watching LOST, Studio 60, Gilmore Girls, Veronica Mars, Girlfriends (maybe past its peak), Desperate Housewives (will never be as good as the first season again), The Office, My Name is Earl, Supernatural, Smallville, Grey's Anatomy, Family Guy and American Dad. See? I'm busy.

-Not getting any film review assignments. I can't help but believe that this is directly related to an incident two weeks ago. Dammit, I'll tell you about it later.

-Comforting the boy after Eddie Van Halen scared the crap outta him.

*Do any of you ever feel that blowing your nose makes it bigger? Fine. You can lie to me, but not yourselves...liers.

These Are My Thighs

I made the mistake of going to my beloved Gap outlet store this weekend. Why was it a mistake? Because I knew what was going to happen. I'd find pants in my size (18 to 20...yeah, I know) try them on and be disappointed. I wish I could just blame the Gap. Say that they've started making things like crap, but it ain't true.

So I found a ton of cheap pants to try on. I took about 12 pairs into the fitting room, and NONE of them fit me. Not even the size 20s. The only thing that stopped me from crying is that the boy was there. When I got done he was sitting in front of the fitting room waiting for me. He sounded shocked when I said that not-a-one of those pants (oh, except for the sweats, which were a XXL)fit my ass.

"You mean they didn't fit the way you like them to, or they didn't fit?"

"They didn't fit."

"So, they just..."

"I couldn't even get some of them on."

"Ok. Even the 20s?"

"Even those."

I could tell he was horrified. Not just because he realized his fiancee was a giant, but because he saw I was upset by the same realization.

"Do you think that maybe it was just those pants? The way they're made?"

Bless his country heart for trying to make this all the Gap's fault. I fessed up, I've gained a lot of weight. I didn't give him the exact number, but revealed that pants I wore in the spring don't fit now. Last time I went to the doctor I was 220 lbs. I'm kinda tall, so I'm capable of carrying it without looking like an oompa loompa, but still. I'm way too heavy. I told myself I wouldn't get past a size 20 and I seem to have done it anyway.

"This'll be ok," he says. "We need to exercise more. If we just stick to walking and playing frisbee every day, it'll take awhile but we'll get in shape. I can stand to lose about 10 pounds. And, I'd never suggest you lose weight 'cause I think you look great, but if you're worried about it this will help you too."

Theoretically this is easy. Stop eating so much junk so often and get off your ass. But I love sitting on my ass! When I sit on my ass I can watch movies and tv and read books and magazines. I'd love, really to get back to 180lbs. Going up the boy's two flights of stairs would be so much easier. Everything would be easier.

How did I let myself get so lazy?

And The Hits Just Keep A'Comin

Wouldn't you know it? I'm not free yet. My Panamanian replacement had some difficulties and was promptly fired on Tuesday afternoon. I got called into the boss' office and told "We've got a problem..." I was not happy, but here's the deal: I work the front from open until my lunch, then after lunch whoever they can pull from the rest of the office will take over. I still get my new salary, and my permanent replacement starts in 1 week. I agreed to do it, hoping that it'll buy me some points with my boss.

Still, though, I'm outrageously happy about the new job. And I've hardly ever had to get on the phone. That? Is. Amazing.

Ok, So, I Feel Silly

About an hour after I got all hot over my boss's poor hiring decision, I was told that they indeed would be getting a temp until someone could be hired full time. Well, look at that. For once I got all worked up over nothing at work. Still? It took me about two hours after hearing the news to calm the hell down. The fierce anger literally made me physically HOT. Lord, internet. It's just a damn shame how I let that get the best of me.

The goodness now is that I've officially started my new job. Monday. I trained our Panamanian temp for half the day then moved my crap to my new desk in a cube(YAY!) and started working. I'm a bit slow with the new system I had to learn but I've gotten the hang of it. I don't even need my notes most of the time anymore. You know why? Cause I'm super special and shit.

So there.

Shit, God Dammit, Shit And Fuck

The woman who was supposed to takeover my receptionist job next Monday called today and decided to change her mind. Ass. This means I'm stuck here, answering the God Dammed phones and greeting fucking delivery men and answering inane questions and sitting sitting sitting on my ass through an ad going in the paper, resumes coming in, at least one round of interviews, someone getting hired and giving their two weeks notice at their old job. Fuck. This could take another month. I would have had my new salary in my account starting at the end of this month. In just two weeks, internet.

Being professional, working hard and caring right now? Not fucking easy. In fact. Fuck it.

This is what they get for hiring an INTERIOR DESIGNER WHO JUST WANTED A JOB WITH BENEFITS. That's right. She specializes in colors and patterns and fabrics and...lamps and shit. They had to know this was, at the very least, not going to last long. And here we go. Why do I have to get screwed over for their mistake? I should lobby to start my new job anyway, they should get a temp. Hell, a tree frog could do this job. Anybody got any tree frogs out there? How about a gecko? I hear geckos are smart.

I'm hot and I feel like crying. I think I'll go home for lunch. The one good thing about the fiance being laid off? He can comfort me at home from 1-2 pm.

Enough Already!

I get it. Seriously, I really do. She's young and pretty. She can dance and sing and go on stage in next to nothing and still look fucking good. Her weave is fabulous and her makeup is always exquisite. Sometimes she wears kooky clothes, but she's theatrical; a full-service entertaining diva, so it works on her. Plus, she's got a new cd coming out, so yeah, there's lots of publicity to be done. Honestly, internet. I totally understand the fascination. But? But this, this and this is getting ridiculous. And this? Bullshit. Her boyfriend gave her a $1 million dollar car for her birthday. The least she could do is have the humility to only celebrate being born once. Not here, here and here. I have reached my saturation point.

God dammit, I'm cute too. I have scads of talent, and just because it's not of the singing/dancing/flouncing variety doesn't mean that I and my similarly gifted sisters should be ignored. And a skill she hasn't yet proven? Hat wearin'. I am all over the hat wearin'! Not to mention that I can get dressed without anybody helping me and come out looking just fine, I'll have you know.

Playa hater? Possibly. Happy now? Abso-freakin-lutely.

I Am Way More Excited Than You Right Now

You know how sometimes everything happens at once? Usually it's the bad stuff that goes like that, but last week I had three really good things happen to me.

The first two were on Tuesday. I let my supervisor and boss know months ago that when a certain employee in our development department left in August I'd be interested in taking over her job. It's just finally, really way past time to stop being a receptionist. I got to talk to our new VP of Development last week. I was terrified, this was essentially an interview. He'd already talked to two other possibles, from outside our organization, about the position and I didn't want to blow my edge by saying or doing something stupid in front of the man. Luckily he made me feel comfortable and I just talked a bit about myself. I suppose he liked what he heard because HE HIRED ME ON THE SPOT! I got so excited that I started to cry. I'm such a nutcase! It wasn't a boo-hoo-sobbing-tears-streaming kind of cry, but I did have to pretend I had something in my eye.

Do you, internet, have any idea how amazing this is for me? I'll still be answering phones, but for a specific department. It looks like my new title may be Administrative Assistant for Cause Related Marketing. And, SWEET BLESSED JESUS, I will actually be able to come and go from my desk as I please. No more begging someone to take the phones so I can pee, or scrambling to find somebody to grab my seat if I'm running late in the morning. Holy Fuckcats, Batman! THIS IS GONNA BE AWESOME!!

Also on Tuesday? We found out that our hours have been shortened to 8:30am-4:30pm PERMANENTLY. Oh yes. Thank you Lord.
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On to Saturday. Let's see, what happened on Saturday...Oh, right. THE BOY AND I GOT ENGAGED. Alright, before you get uber-amped, it's gonna be a loooong time before we make an official announcement. Let me explain.

I was trying to get my emissions test done on my car. Driving, with the boy, to the testing place with our Quick Trip drinks and Taco Bell late lunch. We're heading over a bridge, a pretty bridge with fleur de leis and big gas light style lampposts lining each side. I mention to the boyfriend that he's made references to us being married twice in just a few minutes. He gets all quiet and shy and hemming and hawing. The boy says:

"Well, ok, I'd feel kinda bad asking you to marry me right now since I've gotten laid-off. I mean, financially, I don't know what's coming. You know?

"So, if you were still working, you'd be asking me right about now."

"Yeah. That's our bridge now, you know that right?"

"Because we talked about marrying stuff while driving over it?"

"Yup."

We get to the emissions place and it's closed. We missed it by about 20 minutes. I pulled into an empty parking lot so we could eat our Taco Bell.

"What would my ring look like?"

"Um...I hadn't really thought of it. Anything you want it to look like. Especially since you know about it now."

"I've always thought it was crappy that men don't wear engagement rings, but women do. It's like some old patriarchal 'men can do whatever they want but women are owned' thing."

"Yeah, I've wondered why that is too. I'll wear a ring, though."

We're eating. It's a severely pleasant summer evening. Lots of lovely, apropos songs are playing on the radio, none of which I can remember now. I dig earnestly into my baja chicken chalupa and start crying.

"Dammit! You're making me cry. Shit!" I hit him playfully in the chest for making me tear up over Taco Bell. He laughs at me and the preposterousness of the proposal.

"In my heart," the boy says,"we've been engaged since the middle of January. That's why I've kept the ring you loaned me on New Year's Eve."

That was it for me. Big, giant boo hoo tears. But I'm still eating.

"Why didn't you ask me then?"

"It was too soon. I've been burned too many times."

"Yeah, it was too soon." SILENCE..."Ok, let's just say we're engaged now."

He agreed. The boy switched my ring (which I chose for him because of its unisex nature) from his right to left hand, and in one second went from being my boyfriend to my fiance. I thought we should keep this non-official official proposal between us and of course he was willing to comply. Unfortunately I couldn't keep my mouth shut, so I've told three friends at work and the internet and will tell at least one more person. I'll let him know what I did, but don't think he'll mind. Parental announcements and wide open proclamations are TOTALLY OUT, however. There's so much to think about with something that doesn't seem real yet.

So, can anyone top my week?

Tuesday Was Just Another Day

7:25 am Wake up just in time to get ready for work
7:55 am Drive as fast as possible, only to be continually waylaid by slow-ass bitches who refuse to drive like they have someplace to go
8:29 am Make it into my seat just as 8:30 am hits
8:34 am Wish my boyfriend didn't live so far away from my job
1:00 pm Have a weird combo of leftovers for lunch that equal so much crap
2:15 pm Begin the post lunch "wish I were leaving now" meditation
4:30 pm Get through the day with relative ease
5:00 pm Head back to the boy's place only to arrive completely starving
5:15 pm Demand boy cook for me as I nibble anything that doesn't move (too hungry - got no time for killin')
5:59 pm Try not to scarf pasta as boy and I watch The Simpsons, but do so anyway
6:00 pm Feel out of sorts from normal monthly...frustration
6:30 pm Watch as Tux tries to jump onto the window sill and instead hits his head on the closed window
6:33 pm Laugh and enjoy being kinda mean
6:45 pm Drive boy and myself to movie theater for a review assignment
6:49 pm Become irritated with driver who denies his/her ability to merge already and scream shrilly and loudly at them
6:50 pm Scare the boy in his passenger's seat and make him get reeeeeeeeal quiet so I don't take anger out on him
7:00 pm Giggle hysterically at myself as boy tries to change the subject
7:10 pm Find our press seats in theater and listen as boy boisterously extols the virtues of Pamprin and Midol to me
7:10 pm Fight urge to throw boy from press seats into movie screen
7:20 pm Smile at Asian lady who hears my boy say "I don't want you to do this for me, I want you to do this for your period. I can't stand seeing your period make you like this anymore. I mean, if those lady period medicines can help relieve the stress from your period then you should get some. To help. With your period."
7:30 pm Watch the movie
9:10 pm Leave the movie and go the wrong way as driving home
9:45 pm Arrive home and have boy feed me headache meds and make me pink lemonade
10:05 pm Relax with a magazine
11:12 pm Watch as Tux captures a baby wasp
11:15 pm Look on in horror as Tux eats the baby wasp
1:00 am Lay down to sleep
1:30 am Get up when it becomes obvious I can't sleep even though I'm fucked up tired
2:55 am Finally sleep

Development

A divorce can follow you for a long time. My dad left my mom 12 years ago and just when you think all the crap is over something else happens.

About a month ago my mom's alimony check suddenly dwindled to almost nothing. She was given a nice portion of his wages and pension for life in the final settlement. (I realize that may sound harsh to a lot of people, but when he decided to leave he did it in such backhanded way that pretty much anyone would want, at least, to get money out of him.) Anyway, she had to call her lawyer and go to court. Of course he showed up without his attorney, so everything had to be rescheduled.

Mom went back to court last Monday. Turns out my dad retired. Because he had to. Because he has cancer. In his leg.

I don't know what to say about this. Mom told me because she promised me all those years ago when this crap was just starting that she'd never keep any of this from me. Since I told her I'd want to know. Well, ok, but here's the thing. I haven't spoken to my dad since December 1994. I haven't seen him (on purpose) in that same amount of time. He and his family treated my mom horribly when he left, even though he was the one doing all the dirt. I decided I couldn't deal with someone who'd treat my mother so shittily, so I cut him & his out.

He sent me a letter, by way of mom, in August of 2004. I read it. I kept it. But I never contacted him. I had no interest in it.

So now he's sick, and I still don't want anything to do with him. Am I terrible? Wouldn't it be worse to force a conversation with him just because he's got cancer? That would be disingenuous. Like lying. I simply don't have time for it. But I wonder all the same, does this make me a cold, evil bitch?

I found out about this on Sunday and have been able to go about my business without thinking about it until the writing of this entry. I'm so used to not thinking about that man that having to think about him at all is off-putting. I hate giving mental space to him just for this 10 minute span of time. Really? I'm not sure why I'm asking these questions. I have no intention of calling/writing/seeing him just because someone random believes I should. Even if mom, when I asked her the same thing, had said "Yes, you are cold, sick, devilish and horrid my darling daughter", I would not have contacted him just for that. It would not have been an honest response to the situation. Why is it that I seem to care what you think? When I don't?

Notes For The Cat

Dear High Kitty Emperor Tuximillion Howard G.J.

We love having you around and realize that you officially run our respective homes depending on where you are staying at the moment. However, we respectfully request that you halt some of your more troubling activities. Such as:

1) Biting our feet
2) Biting our ankles
3) Hanging from our arms by your fangs
4) Jumping at our defenseless faces
5) Clawing my hair
6) Shitting on the floor (yes, this only happened once...BUT STILL)
7) Fur turding on the carpet (linoleum only, please)
8) Slapping me (I do appreciate that there was only one occurrence here, also)
9) Pawing my boyfriend's pee stream (I never want to have to hold your paws under warm running water again)
10) Pawing my boyfriend's Hello-And-How-Are-You? (I promise that his balls are not at all like the jingly balls we buy you)

Also, we regret to inform you of this most disturbing new development that came to our attention this morning in the wee hours:

11) Don't ever, Ever, EVEREVEREVER jump onto the boyfriend's goodies as he's trying to sleep or AT ANY OTHER TIME. You could have killed him. And we most assuredly will need those later. Or right now. To soothe our frayed cat-attacked nerves.

Thank You

Sincerely,
citygirl and the boy *currently wearing a cup around the cat*

Happy Friday!

How's it going, internet? Doing anything fun this weekend? I've got no plans other than working on the script, cleaning house and writing a review for my new job. Damn! Are we glad it's Friday, or what?

So, what's new? That film reviewer job I just told you about has hit a bit of a snag. They still need contributors but have ceased physical publication. It's now strictly a web based magazine. Most of my reviews were going to end up online anyway, so from my perspective it really doesn't matter. But, it's sad to see a locally based national publication give up the print ghost. At least we'll always have you, internet.

My day job is still crappy. Even more so now that a good friend of mine has left for greener pastures. She found out about the offer on Tuesday morning. Unfortunately, the gig starts next MONDAY. Nice of them to give her enough time to leave on good terms with two weeks notice. But she had to take it, since she's moving from business to a new career in teaching and this job will have her as a TA at her old grade school.

Here's the thing, since our boss rode her ass everyday about things real, imagined, big and small anyway...this was especially not good news. He became so angry that he actually turned PURPLE. In general, I understand disliking the fact that she didn't give more notice, but the situation was explained to him. It's not really her fault. He's still all pissed that she "was selfish and put herself ahead of the organization." Fuck, man! Who the hell else is going to look out for her future if she doesn't? He even sent an email around the day after she left (she was planning to finish the week here but he told her to get her shit and go by the end of business Wednesday) blasting her publicly for leaving when everyone already knew what happened. He just needed to get that last word in. ASS JACKAL.

And he wears Cosby Sweaters.

All in all, though? It makes for an excellently interesting, maddening, exciting work environment. Drama, thy name is THE WORKPLACE.

Speaking of Weird...

You know how the boyfriend is currently pre-employed? Well he was finally forced into telling his parents about the situation last week. I understood him being reluctant to give up such depressing info, but when you go from talking about work A LOT to never saying a peep about it, well, the ma and the pa are going to notice.

He had a long, frustrating conversation with them on Wednesday night. We were in Quick Trip, actually, and he elected to continue talking in the store, which trapped us there for about a half hour as he fumed silently while my black cherry slush got melty. His issues? The parents think they have to know all the details of his life even though he's out of their house and 35-years-old, they have made him feel guilty about career missteps in the past, they seem to not quite trust him to handle his life (especially where money and naughty pre-marital sex are concerned), they lob woulda-shoulda-coulda at him when he needs support, and he hates lying but feels bad enough already without their needling so he muddies his conscience to keep it at bay.

Oh yeah. Those issues? Not really with the whole parental unit. They are just with his mom. Oy vey, y'all.

The result of that talk was him agreeing to us having dinner with them the next evening. Which was fine and all, except how was he going to keep their work questions at bay FACE TO FACE? It was impossible enough over the phone. Long story short, he didn't have to. I came in the next day while a tense conversation with the ma was going on. Turns out she called him and got right to the point, asking if he wasn't working anymore. He couldn't take all the lying so he gave it up (after three valiant efforts to retain the secrecy).

I have to say, THANK FUCKING GOD. Do you have any idea, internet, how difficult it was to try to bolster him all alone? How deeply hard it was to keep my mouth shut about his pre-employed status to everyone? How sad, angry and depressed I've seen him? I mean, I love him, and I'm helping him as much as I can, but I can only do so much. It's going to be so much easier for him now that his parents know and ma's not freaking out. Again, I really get that he wanted to just bring up the whole mess after getting another good gig, but it's been over a month. It was becoming obvious to me that they were going to figure things out. And THANK YOU, THANK YOU JESUS that they didn't lay any guilt trips on him or supply him with solutions he's thought of and tried a hundred times over already. HE WOULD HAVE EXPLODED. Right there at dinner. In the Steak-n-Shake. Messy, messy, messy.

And the weird part? His mom proposed to me. I guess she was so impressed with my stick-to-itiveness in regards to his pre-employment that she felt the need to bring up marriage. I said yes. It would have been rude to ignore her, right?

Movie Night

We...Are movie people. We rent them. We buy them. We go out to see them.

The boy and I even have similar tastes. All your sci-fi, thriller, dramatic stuff gets us lined up quickly. There's only one genre where we sometimes differ. Comedy. When it comes time to hit the old dvd collection for mindless entertainment we always have the same issue.

"There must be something you want to see. Pick anything."

I pick something, and then...

"Well, I just saw that not too long ago. What about XYZ?

"I have NEVER wanted to see that movie."

"Oh, come on. It's fun."

"What about this?"

"Didn't we just see that?"

"You didn't see it with me."

"Oh..."

This is where I cross my eyes and make the boy promise that if at any moment I feel myself actually getting angry because the movie's so unfunny, we will stop watching immediately. He always agrees. I always regret saying:

"Fine! Okay!"

Our pattern has led to me being subjected to Dumb and Dumber, Charlie's Angels, Fun With Dick and Jane, Cabin Boy and attempts to trap me inside with the Ace Venturas. I cannot believe anyone anywhere liked that crap. I laughed a total of one time during Dumb and Dumber while the boy guffawed until he cried.

Boys...Are...Weird

This Is What I Do (Sometimes)

So you want to know about the script, huh? I started it in early 2004 when I took a screenwriting class. The focus of the class was to teach us to write by using a story from our own lives as the basis for our scripts. I picked when my parents broke up, which I found out about on the last day of my freshman year of college. Part of the reason I think I'm having difficulty finishing (aside from my obvious procrastination and fear of success/failure)is that it's still such a vivid memory. I'm trying to fictionalize the events some too, which means screwing with my reality and it's kinda fucking with me a little. Though I can't describe exactly how.

I seem to be getting bolder with my soon-to-be superstar efforts. About a month ago I entered a screenwriting contest and just last Friday I BARELY made the deadline for a tv pitch competition I'd only heard about the day before. It really pays to have a few ideas just sitting around in your brain, I tell you what. The good thing in all this is that I've stopped letting so many little things get in my way. Normally? If I had found out about a contest like that the day before I'd have said, "Oh well, maybe next year." But this time I made every attempt to get an idea on camera and sent in.

I hope the fact that I was bloated and hadn't had my hair fixed won't sink my entry. Really, internet. I looked like shit. The boy did some trial shoots so I could work on the pitch, and OH MY DEAR LORD IN HEAVEN. If someone showed you the video and said I was permanently fused to my sofa because I'd gotten so fat I literally COULD NOT MOVE, you'd have no trouble believing it. I made the boy cut the shot off at my shoulders so my HUGE PENDULOUS BOOBS and MAGNIFICENTLY BLOATED BELLY could not be discerned.

Also, a wonderful thing has happened today: I've written my first film review for my new freelance job. I took the boy to the screening last night. We felt all privaledged to sit in the press seats allllllll the waaaaaaaay in the back of the theater. Though I know the boy probably would have preferred the 6th row. If he goes blind it'll be in a movie theater. A note to all those who like to use the last row as a transfer aisle to get to the other side of the theater: DON'T. You are not the first person to think of this and we are tired of moving our feet for you. We will be tempted to trip you one day and won't be capable of stopping ourselves. And also? Stop having such a huge ass. Do you like it when strange ass is in your face? Oh. Ok...Well, we are not impressed, so keep your monsterbooty to yourself. Yeah, thanks hun.

Tuesday Is The New Monday

I was sick yesterday. Well, not really, but on Sunday night I realized I wasn't in the mood for Monday morning, so I used my long standing allergy ridden summer to get myself a mental health day. I got a good bit accomplished: contacting my former career counselor to get recommendations on headhunters for the boyfriend, shower and hair washing, laundry and, most importantly, a good 10 pages of my script.

The upside to my fakery is that I got a three day weekend. The downside is that now I seem to be sick for real. All congested and sneezy and snotty and runny. But woefully back at work and trying desperately not to fall asleep at my desk. Or let the glare from the grease on my late-waking-unwashed-face-having ass blow out anyone's eyeballs. Fuckidees.

Another thing? My lunch sucked donkey dicks. It was this Campbell's don't-add-water soup. Cheese, potatoes, chicken and I think...vomit. Yeah. That was it. I should have known, right? I ended up eating 26 oyster crackers and 5 potato chunks and 1 chicken chunk. And that chicken? I thought it was a carrot. Yup. It was RAW PINK and nasty as all hell. And to top it off it's made me kinda gassy. Be glad I sit alone, officemates. Be so very, very glad. I couldn't even stomach the idea of taking the left over soup home for the garbage disposal...I mean, boyfriend, to finish. It just looked to hideous. Waste not, want not.

Ideas please. What should I eat for dinner to quell the gnawing hunger in my gut?

I Am Awesome; Word To Ya Mutha

I have to admit, y'all, I'm feeling pretty cool today. On Monday I got word that I'll be writing film reviews for a smallish locally based national entertainment magazine. You're jealous, I know. The deep, dark green of envy is seeping through the internet at me. Don't deny it.

Payment is not an option right now, as I am trying to prove myself to them. Also, I'll be reviewing the crap-no-one-else-wants. But this is A-OK, internet. Because I HAVE AN OFFICIAL FILM RELATED JOB!

What else is happening. Oh yeah, we here in the Midwest had some horrible storms two weeks ago, right when it became unbearably hot. This of course knocked out power to about (I kid you not) 500,000 people. Including EVERYONE in my family. Auntie's Ro, Bev and Bonnie. Uncle's Jerry and James. And the capper, the best of all...my less-than-healthy grandmother who lives with my heat averse mom. They were without power for NINE DAYS, internet! The boy and I went over last Wednesday with McDonald's, batteries, an extra flashlight and a new store of ice. Holy fuck, folks. It was so hot in there that my hair melted right off my head. I had to gather the hair puddle and put it in a cooler. And, yeah, they were living off ONE battery powered fan. That was roughly 3 inches round. I do not understand how my mom, who often becomes angry at tepid MALL temperatures, did not take to the streets and kill random people. The entire time I was there I felt like I'd died and gone straight to the blue blazes of HELL.

While I'm thinking about it. Why aren't there more battery powered fans? My power went out for eight hours with the storm, so the boy and I trekked to WalMart looking for relief. Do you know they only had 3 suitable fans left? All the same brand. Only one company sees fit to make fans that can be used during a massive black out in the middle of Hades? What the shit is that about?! I'm of the firm belief now that ALL FANS should have the OPTION of battery operation. I'm considering petitioning congress to make it, like, Fan Law #1 or something. We did not get any of those cool, relief bringing fans by the by. Some sweaty fat guys did. And you know I wanted to knife them, right?

Our only respite from the hothotheat? Two dink-ass hand held fans. The last ones in the camping department. Lest you think this was exceedingly helpful, know this: they could not stand up, they could not lay down, they resisted being braced between two objects and hung over a table top, they weren't happy about being held either. In short, we had to rig one (that's right: just. one) to the chain that starts the ceiling fan which hangs over my bed. Of course it wouldn't stay in place. It spun round and round like the devil. Effectively cooling...nothing.

Oh well, onward and upward, my peeps. At least I'll be getting lots of nice bylines for staying in cool, dark theaters. Yippy ki yay, fuckers.

But Will You Pay Me For It?

I'm finally doing it. I'm selling myself. As someone who's had a "pay the bills dammit" job for almost eight years, I need Need NEED another option. I love movies and want to write and produce them some day (soon?), so I decided to peddle myself to every local magazine with an entertainment section and some without. I've gotten two possibles out of four, but it's obvious I'll need to solicit a lot more before being able to blow my current joint.

This is hard. I've spent so long in this comfortable hatred of my nowhere, brainless job that the idea of actually doing something I might possibly enjoy is quite terrifying. How will I handle real deadlines? Can I cope without playing on the internet all day? Will I get burned out on actual work? Is there any chance that journalism at a small Midwestern paper/magazine will pay a 31-year-old with no current experience the way said 31-year-old now needs to be paid? I have no idea what I'm doing. Staying still is so cozy. And takes no effort at all.

Now, though, I'm stepping to the edge and trying to jump into something new. I craft the perfect cover letter, rework the resume, put a photographic portfolio online, research local media and then send my shit out. 2 outta 4 ain't bad for the first round and I cannot stop now. I vow to send out four more this week.

Ideally I'd get paid to: sit, sleep, watch movies, listen to music, write, read, watch tv, eat, read fashion magazines, read scripts, photograph stuff, make collages or dowhateverthehelliwant wheneverthehelliwant.

So, for the universe, here's what I believe I need to be happy in a job, in no special order:

1) Flexible hours (If my shit is done can I please just go home?)
2) Creative freedom (I have to have my voice, plain ol' who-what-why-when-where-how just doesn't do it for me.)
3) Self-governance (Just let me work, people.)
4) Loose dress code (What do you mean I have to wear pantyhose in the summer?!)
5) Relaxed atmosphere (I know there's some pressure involved, does this really mean we can't laugh?)
6) Money (Don't look at me like that, I'm not talking about a LOT, just more than I get now. I don't think an extra $2,000 per year is too much.)

Ok, UNIVERSE. I'm doing my part. Set me up someplace nice.

Hi! How Are You!

I'm ready to leave work, like, forever. But only if someone will declare me independently wealthy so that I can enter into pursuits without worrying about, you know...What's it called? Oh. Yeah. MONEY. And like, PAYING FOR STUFF and shit. I know. I keep saying I'm going to fly right, but dammit people! I HAVE WANTS. Not to mention a nice chunk of credit card debt. And bills. You all remember those, right? They're irritating but basically mean you have a roof over your head and food to eat.

$88.48

That's what I have until payday, which is next fucking Tuesday. I'm an idiot, so the only reason I even have that is because I transferred cash from my limited savings account. If it weren't for my luxurious 401k I'd have about $300 total dollars to my name anywhere ever.

My boy is similarly spendy in his ways. Though I must say, for someone who only spends his money on food, video games and carabiners, the amount he manages to rid himself of is astounding. Anyway, together right now we are worth about six hundred dollars. Wait. That's only if we sell ALL OUR EARTHLY POSSESSIONS. Including ourselves.

We had a discussion last night. He's getting a severance check for being laid off from his dream job (poor boy) almost three weeks ago. I wanted to make sure he'd try to hold onto to it. Our biggest expenditure is eating out, something I rarely did before dating him. I tried convincing him that going back to his idea of only eating out a couple times a week and at mainly cheap places was for the best. He seemed kind of offended. Maybe even pissy that I would suggest he wasn't good at taking care of money. Even though he admitted he's not so great in that area, you know how it is. You never want to hear it from someone because then it feels like criticism. But we agreed on three meals out a week, with cooking and leftovers filling everything else.

I just don't want to end up still paying for an apartment at 40 because I couldn't get my shit together enough to afford a house.

I Am The Prettiest Girl In The World

Just when I was about to let everyone know about how this, this and this changed my face, making it better forever, I end up with a giant cyclops-making zit in the middle of my forehead. Anyway...I'm living off samples from Sephora and the Olay website, but I must say, these creams are fantastic. My complexion overall is so much better. Add to that the fact that I hardly ever breakout now, AND when I do I can pop my zits without turning into Spot Girl. I love all three of these, but with Olay being the cheapest I'll probably give in and actually buy that one. If you decide to give any of these a try and you're like me, slathering upwards of 3 things on your face every morning, then use your new goodies at night in place of regular lotion. The Olay line even has an eye cream I need to consider...

Speaking of eye cream. I've tried plenty of passable ones. But I want a cheap miracle. You know, instead of going to sleep at a decent hour. Let's face it, buying a miracle cream is just way more fun. I'm seriously tempted by the current supposed god of eye treatments, Hylexin, but who wants to spend 95 bucks to end up disappointed? Right now I'm working on a Dove variety that has little illuminizers in it to brighten the eye area. It works well in conjunction with my True Match concealer.

My hair is a total bitch. What were once Saturday's smooth fluffy curls are now Wednesday's crack-ho snarls. I honestly believe that if I could just get my hair to do what I want at all times I'd be infinently prettier, calm, successful and approachable. I'd really love to try some expensive products. Like the Ojon stuff I've been salivating over for about two years now. Lucky magazine was first on the scene with this one, but once they talked about it in Essence I knew I'd never be able to get it out of my head! The cheapest product in the line is $18, so I'll need to forgo some accessories to hook myself up with these goodies. Another option would be the products from celebrity stylist Ellin LaVar. At least her collection starts at a more do-able $10.

Since my hair won't obey me, the only thing I can really control is what I put on my face. I'm faithful to my cleanser (I get the small one, it lasts forever) and sunscreen. Lip gloss is an absolute necessity. I'm in love with L'Oreal Color Juice and recently decided to try the Lip Shine Box from e.l.f. It was only $5, there was no way an addict like me could pass that up! Blush is a close second for me, and I alternate between Cover Girl and my Nars splurge, Taos. Yes, $25 is A LOT for blush, but it's really smooth and I need so little of it that I'll probably have it until I'm 50-years-old.

Eye shadow usually gets reserved for special occasions (like when I wake up early...so, you know, NEVER). I own mascara and eye liner but I find putting them on/taking them off annoying, so I rarely ever even consider using them. But they sure do look pretty in my makeup caddy.

Summer Makes Me Angry

Some people happen to love hot weather, and you know what? I just don't get it. I can never NOT sweat in the summer time. And I sweat everywhere: in my head (bye, bye $50 hairstyle), under my boobitas, in the crook of my arm, behind the knees, in between my toes, above my lip, behind my ears...It never fucking ends.

Not to mention that everything, EVERYTHING smells bad when it's hot. We know why this is, right? Because PEOPLE STINK WHEN THEY SWEAT. So you can't even take a walk into an air-conditioned building without getting hit with random funky B.O. Anyone who's been flailing about outside will have crop-dusted their sweat stank ALL OVER various hallways, offices, restrooms and restaurants. Let's not forget how horrifying it is to get stuck in a funkified elevator...especially when the offender is in there with you. Dammit.

I believe I may have mentioned this before, but I am not a fan of the sun. Sure, it looks pretty illuminating flowers and stuff; and it makes food grow, blah blah blah, but it hurts. It hurts me anyway. In fact, if it's not somewhere around 30 degrees or less outside I have quite a violent reaction to being placed in the sun: I BURST INTO FLAMES. Then I'm forced to drive/walk while wishing I weren't on fire. If only sweat could put out the flames of my discontent, I'd be so much happier so much of the time.

Then there's THE BITCH FACTOR. This is the effect that takes place when I am exposed to summer heat and/or sun for longer than five minutes. I TURN INTO A SUPERNATURAL BEING OF INCOMPREHENSIBLE AND UNDENIABLE EVIL. You (meaning my poor boyfriend) can tell when TBF has taken hold whenever I begin to yell random obscenities at those I believe to be slowing my progress toward cool-down known as SITTING-ON-MY-ASS-IN-A-DARK-AIR-CONDITIONED-ROOM-WITH-ALL-MY-CLOTHES-OFF. These people will usually be those of the should NOT be DRIVING variety: old people, slow people, young people, middle-aged people, people with children, people with animals, people who enjoy the summer and drive like there is nowhere to be, and my personal love to hate - people who do not know where they're going. I often want to ram their cars just to teach them a lesson about driving fast like the Good Lord intended. Pedestrians also get to me during this sensitive time of year, and I can freely admit here under the cloak of anonymity that I usually want to run them over. I have never taken either of these actions mostly because I'm almost always carrying a passenger (also known as my poor boyfriend). All slowbies in my path should now bow down and thank the gods for my passenger.

Sweating isn't just an irritant for my hair. You ever tried to look cool and cutely dressed on a hot, humid day? It lasts for all of 10 minutes during the summer. I don't care how good I look when I leave home, when I get to my destination I will be soaked through in many unfortunate places. And that's WITH the cool breeze of freon in my car. I still have to walk to the car and to my arrival place, you understand.

Speaking of hair, you may be wondering why I still get $50 hairdo's when I have such summer issues. Well, friends, it's called A RELAXER, and if you start getting one you have to keep getting one every 6-8 weeks or see all your hair fall out. Or cut your hair. Or deal with having 1/3 Afro and 1/3 faux sleekness. None of those options is readily appealing to me, so I deal with the 'do.

I'm dealing with another heat related conundrum right now. MY OFFICE IS FUCKING COLD. Not just cold, really. There's a wind in here and it can't be warmer than 40 degrees. I am totally for air conditioning, obviously, but this makes no sense. Extreme heat to extreme cold. You know what this leads to? Sniffles. IN THE FUCKING MIDDLE OF SUMMER. I've been sneezy, drippy, snorty and stuffy for about a month now. I have a fit before bed and for about an hour after I wake up. Does anyone understand how difficult it is to answer phones while sneezing? Have any of you ever clogged up the receiver with snot before?

Not pretty. Shit.

It's Only Tuesday...

And I'm already exhausted. Ok, so that has a lot to do with the fact that I went to bed at 2:30 this morning and then woke up at 7:51 and barely had time to make myself presentable or come alive totally before running out the door to try getting to work by 8:30, which I did by the way. But nonetheless, isn't the week dragging on?

In other news, I'm completely not pregnant. I have never been more happy to see my period, and of course it took it's sweet time coming. I had to wait three days after removing my ring to see it. I even bought a pregnancy test just in case I didn't start. I was going to return it, but figured we might as well keep it around. So now, since I see that my double birth control method works, the boy and I have had condomless sex twice this week. Including 1 am this morning. Hence the severe sleepiness.

Thanks for that massage, boy.

Well, I've been making progress on the resume/get work front. I've got my cv all updated and sent out several requests to write for websites last week. Only one has gotten in touch so far to let me know that my story idea wasn't for them. Fuckers...I mean, that's ok. They know what they're doing, maybe I'll just write my little gossip fiction piece for my blog. That way only the special people will read it.

My biggest stumbling block is the whole cover letter thing. I remember when I first graduated and was looking for work. I wrote the most common, boring cover letters possible. I really want this thing to catch people's eye; be conversational but still professional. I like what I came up with so far but my boy thinks it's not spiffy enough. He is also looking for work now; he got laid off last Friday. Poor boy. He's not worried though, so I'm confident he'll find something soon.

Adding to my drowsiness this morning: sniffles and major congestion. What I really want right now is to take a nap and stop talking to people. But they keep calling and making me answer the damn phone.

Heifers.

I Wish I May, I Wish I Might

Hello internet! You look smashing today, dahling! Ok, you can see right through the bullshit, can't you? Look, I feel I need to connect with you a bit more. Seriously now, I feel like you know so much about me while you are still so much of a mystery. I'm not knocking the allure of elusiveness, but can't you give me a little more?

Let's make it easy. Answer a simple question for me and I'll post the most interesting/heartfelt/honest sounding replies here in the next week. Ready? Question: Whether it be personally or globally, what do you wish for?

I'll start. It's only fair.

1. Courage
2. A budget I can stick to
3. A healthy living plan I can stick to
4. Justice
5. The ability to style my hair with aplomb
6. A sure-fire way to rid myself of stretch marks
7. Wisdom
8. Orgasams for everyone!
9. Hope
10. No spring and early summer dry spells at the movies where everything that comes out is C.R.A.P!

See how easy that was?

Busted

Last week, in the midst of trying to come down off all kinds of vacation tiredness, I got a call at work from my landlady. As I spent the previous night at my boy's place, my toilet exploded. Flooding my bathroom and soaking the roof of the woman who lives below me.

This, of course, led to my landlady going into my apartment.

That led to her finding out about Mr. Cat and his belongings.

Which led to her sounding all disappointed because I hadn't paid the $250 pet deposit yet.

My boy and I had an agreement: he would hang on to that cash until we absolutely had to pay it. Since I adopted little Tux under my name and address so my boy could have him (after finding out his apartment had a $350 deposit on top of monthly pet fees). But now, well, my boy blew most of that in Vegas. I was not happy to hear this, especially since WE ONLY GAMBLED $3! Do you understand what this means internet? He spent our kitty money on food. Food. FOOD.

I was going to give the cat to the boyfriend full time, and make him pay the $95 carpet cleaning fee. But then I decided I didn't want our kitty buddy to NEVER be able to come back to my place. So, the boy will pay $100 and I'll pay $150. This will be the first time since we dove into this cat thing that I've spent any money on the furry little beast. And I assure you, unless the cat's life is hanging by a thread, it will be the last.

Alias: Fear

There are lots of things that freak me out. Clowns, large animals, small yappy animals, birds, things with wings, change, flying, spiders, public speaking, dating, the old people smell. I've managed to deal with most of these things by attacking them head on. Learning to love a cat, killing spiders, flying anyway, staying away from the elderly. Now though, I've come to think that something else scares me so much I may not be able to get over it and live normally.

I'm afraid of getting pregnant.

This, in turn, has made me afraid of sex.

That's it. I've put it out for the universe and internet and all to see. I AM AFRAID OF SEX.

Don't misunderstand, I have sex. But best believe it freaks me out a bit each time. I'm in a loving, monogamous relationship and I'm so afraid of getting pregnant that I've only been able to have condom-free (but birth control & spermicide aided) sex twice since we found out my boy is totally disease free. I feel bad about it. I want to be a wanton sex goddess around my boy. But I can't do it.

In Vegas I got teary over it. It was our second full day and I was totally exhausted and couldn't think of why, since we hadn't gotten up early, stayed up late or done all that much that day. Back in the hotel I lied down and my boy tried to cheer my obviously sour mood. Tears filled my closed eyes. I didn't want him to see me crying. Then I said it. "I'm afraid I'm so tired because we had sex without a condom and now I'm pregnant." Mind you, that was three days prior. Does anyone even get signs of pregnancy that early? Anyway, he worked to comfort me and reassure me that, even if that was the case, he'd be there. Because...we're a WE. A UNIT. Together forever, Amen. The boy even offered to return to glove love until I felt comfortable.

Then I decided to make myself feel better by having sex. Without a condom (!!!). And so I've spent the past week and a half praying to God that I get my period as planned this weekend.

Ladies of the internet, not even when I was in 6th grade and all the other girls had their monthlies did I wish for mine. Talk about a sea change.

So This Is What He Does In His Spare Time!?

Last Thursday was interesting. I didn't realize how interesting, though, until Sunday.

We had just, just returned from his parents house. We celebrated his mom's birthday and it was getting close to our aspired bed time of midnight. Almost as soon as we walk in, he starts a conversation he probably wishes he hadn't:

"So, you wanna see my new porn?"

"We just saw your family and this is what you feel the need to do?"

"Well, you looked and some with me before. I thought that was cool, you know? And I just downloaded this new stuff on Thursday and thought you might want to see it."

"Thursday? So while I thought you were fixing your car and waiting for you to come to my place that's what you were really doing?"

"No, well...some of the time. Yeah. I mean I really did have to fix my car, but..."

"So, I was sitting at home, putting pictures of OUR vacation in Vegas online. Hoping you could fix your damn car so I could see you and maybe EAT DINNER FINALLY before excruciatingly late and you were...JACKING OFF?!"

I was kidding, but there was a long pause here, internet. His eyes shifted quickly back and forth, beads of sweat formed on his brow, his lips parted and he covered them with his hands. He looked, suddenly, like a naughty 12-year-old.

"Oh my God! You didn't just pick up some porn while you were waiting for your air filter to dry. YOU REALLY WERE JACKING OFF!"

"Wait! No! I mean...Not the whole time!"

"I cannot believe this is what you do while I wait for you to come over. This is why we hardly have sex!"

"Hey now, wait a minute! I never come home with that in mind. It just happens. When you're not here...or taking a nap."

Ok, now he's making jokes. I have to admit that it is funny in an odd sort of way. I'm not angry, even. Just...mystified, confused, befuddled. And maybe wishing he weren't so damn honest all the time about everything always.

"I can't believe you jacked off on Thursday."

"Honey, one thing just led to another...I love youuuuuuu."

"You jacked off on Thursday and then came to see me. After hours of waiting. I'm not mad, I just don't get it."

"Honey, baby..."

He came in close, still looking guilty, to give me a hug. I had to repeat "you jacked off on Thursday" over and over again to make it not seem so weird. I expect him to look at nudie pics and pull the pork, internet. I really do. He's a man and they cannot keep their hands off of themselves. But, knowing he does that and then comes to me? Somehow really not right. Now, unless he's in front of me, I am always going to think he's choking his chicken. I can picture him calling me on his way toward climax already: "I'm...Gonna...BE...LATE!"

"Show me that porn."

"Iiiiiiiiiiii, don't think so. You obviously don't like this, so..."

"SHOW ME THAT DAMN PORN, BOY!!!"

Yeah. I think this is the last I'll hear of this particular type of tale.

Dear Las Vegas,

Gee, My boy and I sure had fun in your city last week. Thanks ever so for being the crazy night owl that you are and hosting these Missourians right. But, I have some questions:

Why are your streets so wide? I mean, yea for exercise, but the walk from the front of the Gold Coast to the front of the Palms was about two miles. And don't ask me how I know, LV, I clocked it.

Why do your wide streets not allow for less traffic congestion? We rented a car for Thursday through Saturday LV, and your traffic was hideous. I did all the driving and wanted to get out of the car and kill random motorists for 3 days straight. I scared my boy several times by cursing, screaming and attempting a u-turn (in full traffic with a truck coming at us) that made him pee a little.

Why do all your non-casino buildings have ONE entrance? This, LV, is the dumbest thing ever. I missed our turn for the In-N-Out Burger on Tropicana and had to go ALLLLLLLLLLLLL the way around the strip to get back to said fast food joint. This sort of idiocy happened every time I wasn't prepared for our exit to come up. I suppose you think hapless visitors will get tired of driving around in circles and just give up and go into the nearest casino and blow all their cash on booze and baccarat. No. What actually happens is that we want to murder everyone we see to clear a path for ourselves. I am honestly surprised that you don't have more road rage related deaths from this LV.

What's with making us walk a country mile to get to the monorail? I love that you have such an easy and basically cheap way to get around the strip, but how about being honest with those signs that say the damn shit is coming up. We walked into a Bally's door that said it was the MONORAIL ENTRANCE. We took a people mover, then another one, then went down an escalator, then walked ALLLLLLLLL the way across the casino, following monorail signs the whole time. Then the signs stopped and we gave up and walked to Paris since it was right there and we could actually see the damn thing. I asked an info desk lady how to get to the almighty monorail and found out we needed to go DOWNSTAIRS in Bally's near the pool. We headed back across the Bally's casino, downstairs, found a ticket machine and thought we were home free, but then had to go ALLLLLL the way across the lower level (Dammit! My feet hurt, fuckers!!), out the monorail doors, across the monorail lot, up the stairs to the station. SHIT LV! That's just not even close to being necessary. Really. No, seriously. Fuckwads.

Hey Gold Coast, what makes you think a dinner buffet is worth $12.95? I'm really not trying to be picky here, GC, but some of your buffets are really cheap (breakfast: $6.95) while others are OMGWTF!!! I know there was an asswad load of food on that buffet, but $13 is a bit much when there is no steak or lobster or actual pig on a spit in front of us. And let's be real, don't you get most of your money from gamblers and drinkers and bowlers in your SEVENTY LANE ALLEY? Knock off a couple of bucks, already, so that next time I won't have to stuff my purse with cookies and apples to make us feel we got our money's worth.

Speaking of getting what we paid for; how do you not offer free wireless access GC? You're supposed to be a classy 3-star establishment, but want us to pay $11 for wireless. Not for the duration of our stay, but for TWENTY FOUR HOURS?!?! Thank God we found someone with an unsecured wireless connection most of the time and never used your gangsta internet service. This is why we took towels, toiletries and your very nice room glasses. We would have taken more but couldn't fit it in the suitcases.

Why do you not let people know where that "Welcome to Las Vegas" sign is, LV? Are you ashamed of it being your most recognizable landmark that isn't a casino? I didn't find it until Friday afternoon and wasn't ready with my camera. I missed it and didn't have time to go back to it before we left on Saturday. For real, though. Put that bastard's address in your brochures. Shit. Do I have to think of EVERYTHING for you, LV?

What's going on with not being able to get pizza delivered to the strip? LV? GET REAL. Not everyone wants to eat your hellaciously priced dinner buffets or hit the local Mickey D's. All my boy and I wanted was a pizza on a Friday night. We were tired and had been cranky off and on (heat) since Sunday. We had to call about 8 fucking places before finally asking Mr. Bell Desk what pizza joint would bring our worn-out asses some food. Now, I don't know where the glitch is, nor do I care. Next time I hit Vegas I want to call no more than two restaurants to find one to cater to my every whim. You got that LV? DO NOT CONTINUE TO PISS OFF A CHEAP AND HUNGRY BLACK WOMAN.

I keep hearing that prostitution is illegal in LV proper, so why all the ho ads and trading cards littering the streets? I'm no prude, whatever consenting adults want to do with their own, personal goof juice is up to them. But let's not pretend that those ads of naked women piled on top of each other are for actual "librarians", "secretaries" or "adult care companions". A ho, is a ho, is a ho, ho, whore LV.

By the way, can you really get a hot and bothered busty co-ed to my room in 10 minutes? Cause that's quicker than a pizza!

Well, Yeah

Internet, you'd be so proud of me. I can totally touch the kitty cat without running to immediately wash up afterwards. Even though the Tux admittedly cleans himself with his own saliva he at least does it often. I used to pet him quickly then head to the bathroom and scrub up like I was preparing for surgery. Well, no more!

I'm like, all used to his PRESENCE and stuff. Mostly. Sometimes I still get freaked by our little Tuxy. Like when I'm minding my own business alone and then I turn around and suddenly there's a cat all in my kool-aid like, "What's happenin mama, yo?" and usually I respond like "AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHAAAAHAHHAHAHAHAAAA!!" all screaming and shit, cause that's how I do.

Sometimes Mr. Fluffy Face gets bitey and scratchy and one time, even though no one saw, he totally embarassed me. I was sleeping, right? I needed to turn over but Mr. Cat was right under my butt, so I moved him. He stood there for a bit while I sat arranging covers. Then our kitty buddy walked behind me, stood and put both paws on my right shoulder, then took the outside paw, reached around...AND SLAPPED ME. IN. THE. FACE. Never again will I deign to wake and move the kitty cat. NEVER AGAIN.

Ah Ha

So the boy and I went to Tarjay last week. He agreed to buy me a swimming suit since the whole citygirl-should-get-in-a-pool-this-summer thing is his idea. You will simply never guess what happened. We went in, looked around the scant swimming section, I picked 3 full piece suits and 3 separates. I went into the dressing room and found my suit on the third try-on.

This, internet, was amazing.

I didn't cry. I did not get depressed. I didn't even feel like hiding under a blanket of cookies and cheese when I saw my thighs in all their globby glory. I found a black one-piece that hides my second stomach and covers my back fat. AND...IT DOES NOT LOOK AT ALL MATRONLY. When not half covered by water I will wrap a black shawl (circa my 1993 prom, heh) around my lower half beauty issues.

This, internet, may actually work.

Most shocking about the trip was that while I found a suit in about 1/2 an hour, my boy took two hours to find 3 pairs of pants and 1 pair of swim trunks. As he was debating, I went into the fitting room FOUR separate times with SIX totally different items each time. Amazing.

I love the Tarjay. I also bought a dress I'd eyed about two months ago on sale for $10 and in a size smaller than I usually wear (yay!), and one of those new-fangled '80s-like bubble skirts. Now, let me say that I have always hated a bubble skirt. If you were blessed (cursed) with full hips/butt/thighs you DO NOT need anything adding volume to that area. But, this skirt isn't puffy at all. It has a very gentle circle skirt type of flouncery that I found absolutely adorable on me. It's a weird putty color, but it was only $11 so who gives a shit. I'll call it neutral and wear it with everything anyway.

Catch A Feller By His Toe

The boy and I settled into secure oneness long ago. Way back in December we made a pact and have stuck to it, going so far as to see each other mostly everyday and sleep together mostly every night. We're a we. A couple. A monogamous romantic unit. And a lot alike, but different enough to make it all interesting/confusing/worthwhile.

We first had sex in January. Does that seem like a long time to wait after 6 weeks of dating? Well, there were extenuating circumstances. I needed to fit myself with birth control, buy my first ever box of condoms and a nifty third barrier to babydom. He...ah, I remember it well. On our first date, back at my place, fooling around, he gave me the first sign that he was truly a good guy. Revealing very carefully the details of an accidental condom slip, my boy said (as I laid on top of him in my bed) that he needed one more test to be totally cleared of HIV. Just hearing those three letters made my heart stop, drop and roll into my stomach. I didn't show it, though. He was tall and cute and funny and smart and touching me and being honest with me. He had a safety ring imprinted on the back of his wallet, but wanted to know if I took the pill. I said no, so that was it. We knew we weren't having sex that night. No pressure of any kind. That was my second sign.

Last Wednesday, he found out he's completely clean. He'd like us to take more chances now. No condoms, just roll over in the middle of the night and fuck like mad then go back to sleep. I'm nervous. I don't want babies. He claims he doesn't either, but I can tell he really does. I've told him this and suppose I'll have to tell him again.

He wants my mouth to take him in. I don't know. I'm not as averse to the idea as I used to be. I love all of him. Penis, manhood, cock, johnson, hooha, meat, whatchamacallit included. Do I want him inside me there? This is so performance oriented that it's more intimidating than sex. Which I already have adequacy issues with. Do I do enough? Honey, he answers, you're wonderful. You do just what you need to. Which is what, really? Lay there? I'm glad it appears to be enough for him, but I don't want anybody getting bored.

Let's not forget reciprocation. I have a major issue that I, we, try not to dwell on in bed or elsewhere. I cannot come. The one time I was absolutely close to heaven I was alone and aided with a battery powered device, a month or so before we'd even met. I think I need more; more kissing, touching, hugging, talking, rubbing, sucking, whatever. I need more time. I need his hands to wander south...no, farther south. He doesn't like his hands in there, he told me so. However, he's willing to let his lips venture forth. Yes, I'd feel bad if he gave to me and all I did was take from him.

Adventure. That's what we need. I'll read the book I bought, we'll try something new. Maybe, if we have any more sexual luck, some hotel seduction in Vegas in one week will help.

Promises

As of this Sunday it will be one week until I leave for Vegas. My favorite jeans, the only ones that have ever fit right, are tight and have been for two weeks. Since the last time I washed them. Dammit. I know I can't lose much weight in that time but I'm using it to springboard a new beginning...Again. Exercise for a 1/2 hour a day everyday, eat when I'm hungry and stop when I'm full. That's it. Why am I letting this be so hard? Just do three things differently, girl. And STOP thinking that it's too late. That you'll never get back on track. STOP and DO THE WORK YOU NEED TO.

Bombshell

So, our Vegaspalooza is booked. I'm busy trying to decide what outfits to take, which cheap jewelry to pack and how to fit it all in one checked bag. Me and the boy will be staying at the Gold Coast for 7 days and it's a THREE STAR HOTEL. Neither of us has laid our heads in such vacation luxury before. Even better, it's across the street from the Palms which is where we'll be spending most of our time at CineVegas.

We were on our way to see his folks for the holiday; he's driving, I'm reading a trashy mag. He felt the need to interrupt.

"You know, both of our pools should be open now."
"Um, hmmm."
"I really think you should at least consider swimming this summer."
"Uh..."
"I'd love to see you in a swimming suit."
"You can see me naked. What difference does it make if you see me in a swimming suit or not?"
"I just think you're missing out, honey. I mean, I really want to go swimming this year, but it's no fun alone."
"Ok, well, I'll go to the pool with you. Maybe hang under an umbrella while you splash around."
"Oh sweetie...It's just not the same. Don't you want to cool off when it gets hot?"
"If I want to cool off I go inside where there's AC."
"Ghuuuuugggggghhhhhhh..."
"Seriously, I don't get it. And I'd basically be wandering around in my underwear."
"But it's fun. I bet if you went to one of those special swim shops they could help you pick a perfect suit, if you're worried about that. I've seen some with little skirts or cover things if you get kinda modest."
"Swim suits are expensive. Especially the kinds in those specialty shops. I don't know if I want to spend money on something I'll use a couple times a year."
"But if you get a good one it will last forever, Sugar Booms. I swear."

At this point the idea of me walking around in swim attire caused me to giggle furiously. He kept trying to convince me and I kept on laughing.

You have no idea, internet. I promised to give it a try but it's absolutely horrifying. During the summer when I was about 8 to 10 years old I took swimming lessons and went to community pools quite often. My mom was worried about my hair falling out, so I had to wear one of those God-awful thick, white plastic caps on my little brown head. That cap had to go OVER a heavy layer of, wait for it....SARAN WRAP. Oh yeah, did I mention that I was the MOST POPULAR CHUBBY GIRL AT THE YMCA? Blah.

Then, in preparation for my soon-to-be last year at the Y, I had to have a new suit. This duty was somehow entrusted to my father and the JC Penney catalog. Remember how I said I was chubby? I was so puffy that year that I couldn't fit any of the girl's suits. So what does my dimwitted daddy do? Instead of taking me somewhere to find something suitable? He buys a grown woman's swimming suit. That was red, white and blue. Also, internet? It had DD BRA CUPS IN IT. NOT. EVEN. JOKING. I was mortified with a capital MORT. This monstrosity was hideous off and hideouser on. But I had no choice, internet, I was trapped.

I went swimming in the evil, ugly suit. On what turned out to be my last day in a pool ever, I had class. My instructor was showing me the backstroke, standing behind me and gently holding me up. Back...stroke...back...stroke...back...wait. What's that? I looked behind me. I had a handful of that poor woman's right titty in my grasp. How? Fuck if I know! But there it was, and there I was. Combined with what I was wearing and what was on my head that was it. I have not been in a pool, or purposely near one, since.

If my boy agrees to buy, it is entirely possible that I'll end up owning my first swimming suit since 1985. MY ONE CONDITION: (listen very closely, boy) IF AT ANY POINT DURING THE SHOPPING PROCESS I FEEL LIKE CRYING, ALL BETS ARE OFF. NO SWIMMING. NO SUIT. END OF DEAL.

Experiments

The boy and I are trying something new. Earlier this year we talked about moving in together, but I thought it was too soon since we'd only been together 2 months. This new thing is my idea. We'll share one living space for two weeks; one week at his smallish studio and one at my mediumish 1 bedroom. I figure it's worth a try. If we get along without killing each other (pretty much assured-we alternate evenings now and spent a total of 30 hours trapped in a car together during our road trip to & from Austin) maybe we can start doing the weekly thing on a regular basis. It'll give us time to look around for a permanent move-in place next year. A house maybe? I have no money for a down payment but I'm seriously trying to save. I can't believe I'm ready for all this, but it feels right just thinking about it so I know I'm on the right track.

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I read a story the other day about how a guy lost 50 pounds by simply eating when he was hungry and stopping when he was full. Doesn't it sound like a trick? Or some kind of evil, simplistic joke? Of course I'm trying it. I started two days ago, and when I was too full for dessert - didn't eat it. Until 11pm. But it was only fruit with dip, which I thought was outrageously fatted and caloried but turns out not to be. Yay! That stuff could make tree bark edible.

-------------------------------------------

This is what I'm going to do: start telling people I'm a script consultant and writer. If they ask what I've worked on, I'll explain I'm fairly new to it but am working on my first two scripts and have just started my consulting business. I'll offer up the reception gig only if they ask about my day job. Fake it 'til you make it. I'm even gonna have cards made.

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Is anybody out there hot-natured like me? You know who you are. You get hot easily. You prefer winter and spring to summer. In fact, the thought that summer is coming makes you angry every year. And going outside during the heat of the day (not noon-1 pm as commonly stated, but an hour post-sunrise to an hour pre-sunset) for extended periods is not an option. You can constantly be found fanning or turning the pillow over and shifting in bed to find the cool spot. Well, I found this nifty little thing that I've been dreaming of for years-a Chillow. Oh my God! Why haven't we had one of these all along. I cannot wait for this purchase. I may even go crazy and line my entire side of the bed with Chillows. I'll never sleep hot again! I might be able to save on my summer cooling bill like this. The ways in which a self-cooling pillow can save a hot person's life are innumerable. FUCKIN' A Y'ALL!!!!!

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I could use a better vacuum. I've got one of those hand vacs that you can add attachments to and make into a regular cleaner. The problem is that I vacuum so infrequently that by the time I use it, the filter gets full on about 1/5 of one room. Then I'm constantly heading to the trash can to empty the damn thing out. I get more exercise this way, but, fuck-me-all-over is it ever irritating! Hey, I should ask the boy to bring it by when he does his week at my place.

My White Boyfriend...

Had to climb a tree in a dark Taco Bell parking lot on Saturday night because he threw a frisbee into it. Why were we playing frisbee on a dark Saturday night? What a silly question.

To Do

1 write cover letters to all companies in area I'd want to work at
2 study spanish again
3 flesh out next screenplay idea
4 balance checkbook
5 shred pile of junk mail
6 shred old bills
7 set up budget
8 set calendar reminders for bill payment
9 read lectures for new class
10 post 'about me' stuff on new class message board
11 make shopping list for walmart
12 research script consulting idea (amount to charge, what to offer...)
13 install new fonts
14 type cafepress slogans in appropriate fonts
15 set items for sell
16 pick shots for photo book idea
17 recycle old magazines and catalogs
18 work on current script
19 update savings plan
20 dust
21 vaccuum
22 look into easy meat recipes for mom/mony
23 sign up for mystery shopping
24 send color photo to casting agency by next Wednesday
25 vist mom w/goods from Austin
26 call mom tonight
27 talk to boy about free film festival tomorrow and Rib America next weekend
28 try scheduling times for art, writing, exercise again
29 buy omega 3 pills
30 get 1700mah battery for lg vx6100
31 figure out less embarrassing cover story for not going to Vegas than turning out to not have the money for it
32 paint toenails
33 write to Lorna, Andrea, Karimah
34 find June, SaBarbara, Emily
35 update notepad folders

Scripting

I'm up to page 65 in my screenplay. I can really see the end in sight, people! This is exciting, but I'm starting to think I should be actively fleshing out other ideas so I can be ready to work on my next project. As much as I dislike my 9 to 5, it really kicks ass to be able to work on my script during the day. Not that they know this. They see typing and intense screen stares, and assume I'm doing their bidding. Mwaaaahhhhahahahahahaha!

I haven't written for a week now. I felt I deserved a break, which is just ridiculous. Now I can't think of what to do next, and I'm in the middle of a scene! Why didn't I type some quick notes before stopping suddenly? What the Hell is wrong with me? You know that maddening feeling when something is on the tip of your tongue? That's what the rest of this scene is doing to me. I stare at the last line...Can't remember. I reread the scene...Can't remember. Damn! How long am I going to have to stare at this?

Another problem arose the last time I actively worked on my screenplay. The writing was flowing well, and the ideas felt good, but I remember feeling vaguely...bored. With the whole process. How bad is this news? Does it mean that the stuff I think is so clever is actually drool/snore inducing? I'm considering having some old instructors look at it to see what they think, since I'm half-way through it. Even though the end is staring me in the face, I still kinda feel like it will never really be DONE done. Do you know what I mean? So complete that, at the very least, myself and those I trust will consider it a finished/polished work.

I've got a lot of loose ends to tie up. Update the resume, put together clips of my script reviews from past classes, post books to this site for sell, figure out my script service business, buy a ticket to Las Vegas for next month, scan polaroids and old photos and post to my photo site, figure out my shop thing (finally), look for more interesting work...The list just never ends.

Speaking of never ending, I ate lunch an hour early today and now the afternoon is DRAGGING FUCKING ON AND ON. Shit.