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.

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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.

Where's My Rooster?

I woke up late today. Not that that's unusual. I wake up late pretty much every day, and have for years now. When I graduated from college I moved back in with my mom for almost a year. I got up when she did, 6:30 each weekday morning and 9 on the weekends. I suppose I was used to getting up early for classes still, so it wasn't painful at all, even though I spent three months not going anywhere.

So what happens when I get my ass out of bed late and traffic is guaranteed to be shitty and I'm starving? Well, something has to go. So I don't wash my face. I freshen up the acne meds, slap on sunscreen, arrange my eyebrows into an alert arch and pray that I'll have time between home and work to add blush so I don't resemble the undead. To be honest here, on really fucked up mornings where I wake up at like, 7:50 and have a whole 30 minutes to get ready get to work get in my chair and start answering those phones, I don't brush my teeth either. Damn, don't look at me like that! I know it's skanky, ok? But I'm going to get to work and start in on the drinking of water and probably have one of the convenient snacks I've placed in my desk, so the breath isn't going to matter anyhow. Nah, it's all about the corner cutting, yo!

I try to get a move on earlier, I really do. I'd love to have time for an actual morning routine. As opposed to running around in various states of undress hoping I don't forget, oh, I don't know...PANTIES. When me and my boy sleep at my place I set the clock for 7 am. I've made that happen three times in 6 months, people. There simply is no hope.

Back to my routine. I'd love to have a lazy, relaxing morning. Me time, you know? Maybe do a little light stretching or some toning exercises. Drink a cup of hot green tea, read a magazine. Carefully pick a cool outfit, accessories included. I love makeup. All the colors, textures, scents, powders, creams, mousses. I'd so enjoy having time to lay my products out, play a bit and make myself look stunning. I've got all the brushes, sponges and puffs any woman could ever need. With my fashion mag addiction in full swing lately, I'd have no shortage of ideas. (I keep a file. Quit laughing, you'll choke.)

Ah, it'd be like a lovely dream, people...Then the alarm BLARES THAT FUCKING NOISE. I'm up and running, 15 minutes to get into the car and on the highway so I won't be late. Thank God I bathe at night.

Holy Kitty Cats, Batman!

I had a realization yesterday that I am actually starting to like animals. This freaks me out. I've been strongly animal phobic most of my life. Not liking the smell, mess, cost, general destruction, ecetera, blah blah. Now with my boy's kitty around all the time, well, he's grown on me. Apparently so are all animals, because I've started doing things like looking at cat pictures online. Yesterday I even touched a puppy! Her nose was wet (I hear this is a good thing) so I wiped my finger off on her head fur. This is a big deal, people!

My new feelings are facilitated by the fact that little Tux does such cute stuff. He sits in the open windows. He plays with twist ties like a madman. He curls into a ball to sleep, often using his tail as a face shield. He sits on his hind legs, front ones ramrod straight, with his little kitty paws curled up. He lays in dry sinks, attacking anyone who comes too close to his curling-place. He only drinks water from faucets. Hey, on that note, Sunday night Tux did some crazy shit. He has the habit of following everyone into the bathroom to get a drink from the faucet as you do your bid'ness. My boy had to pee. Tux followed him in. My sink being right next to the toilet, Tux was able to watch closely as the water flowed freely. Until he PUT HIS PAW INTO MY BOYFRIEND'S PEE STREAM. I heard screaming and wild laughter. I went to the door and received a giggle filled plea from my boy to remove Tux from his presence. That boy laughed so long and hard it took him 10 minutes to finish peeing.

Needless to say, I put Tux's paws under warm running water. Just so he wouldn't get pee everywhere.

According to my boy, Tux does a lot of things he's never seen cats do before. His latest thing is to pull the drain plug out of the bathroom sink and walk off with it. That thing is disgusting, and now I've had to touch it twice. I'm considering trying to teach him how to put things back where he found them. Think I'll have any luck?

On days when I'm feeling down I crave lots of things but I only miss four: my boy's sense of humor and cool skin, Tux's big eyes looking at me in darkened room and his cute little kittycat head that fits into the palm of my hand.

Uggghhhh (Or, Where I Beg The Internet For Assistance)

I'm having a terribly fat day. I appear to still be gaining weight even though I'm in my 5th week of the "Body by Glamour" program. Those bitches haven't helped me. My pants just barely fit today. And to top it off I've got my monthly bloat. Hip hip hooray.

What can I do? I've stopped eating after 10pm. I try to make better choices at restaurants. I eat less fast food. I know I need to exercise more. Other than that I'm at a loss. I don't want to end up as one of those people who can hardly move, and when they do it's painful to watch. With all the huffing, puffing, sweating and groaning.

I remember college. I started wearing a size 18, and when I left I wore a size 12. I could tuck my shirts in! I could wear tight pants that showed off my booty! I felt comfortable in knits! That was a long, difficult process made easier by the fact that I had no social life and lots of free time. I could go to the gym at midnight if I needed to. And I often did. Along with getting up as early as 3:30 in the morning to exercise before class. That was serious dedication. I worked out every day. Ate three meals and two snacks. Only had sweets on special occasions. Do I have to go back to being that strict?

My greatest fear here is that I've hit my weight-loss-will-be-HELL period, which of course only gets worse from here. I mean, I'm 31 now. Why couldn't I have hit this time when I was 160 instead of 219?

Any ideas folks? What have you done to lose weight that didn't involve medications bought off infomercials or crazy diets that only let you eat one type of food?

I Ate My Face Off

Have you ever eaten so much you thought you'd never eat again? It feels kinda good in the moment, but when the stuffing-face portion of the meal is over a sort of discomfort sets in. I had one of those weekends. How about you?

It started with Cinco de Mayo (of course). A giant $13 fishbowl strawberry margarita that I shared with my boy came first. We had to wait for a whole HOUR outside Arcelia's to get seated. Damn the drunken revelers trying to get their feed on! I'm pretty sure I saw a girl I went to high school with there. You know how it is, you think you've spotted someone you recognize so you eye them periodically. Then they get the sense that somebody's staring at them and you end up locking stares a few times. I didn't bother speaking to her. I have a policy: until I get my career/life together I don't converse with snooty bitches I used to know. I suppose you can guess we weren't friends during the way back, huh? I can say she looked significantly better than she did in school. This particular girl was popular, but oddly...mannish looking for a popular girl. But on this evening, 13 (OH MY DAMN!!!) years later she actually looked pretty. See how generous I am to the bitches?

After a mighty big load of recycling on Saturday my boy treated us to Burger King for a good deed done. We got Whopper Jr's which are just the perfect size I think. Have you tried their new fries? I really love the seasoning, but come on BK. Do you really have to make us work for our seasoned fries? No one else does. Did you figure the novelty would lead everyone to shake away madly to get that new taste sensation? Seriously, I do not go to the BK to prepare my own food. The only work I wanna do is getting ketchup (And why don't you have pumps/cups for that? Who hands out ketchup PACKETS to folks that eat in-house anymore? Guuuhhhhrrr.) and taking care of my drink. 'Kay?

We then took a brief trip to the mall. My boy was looking for a particular baseball cap and I convinced him to wander with me a bit. He didn't find his hat but was able to get two shirts off the Gap sell rack for a total of $16. I also struck gold with two summery tunics for the low, low price of $24. Woo HOOO! I love cheap clothes from moderately expensive places!!!

For dinner my boy wanted Chinese buffet. I didn't know of any good places for sure, so I lead him to a little spot not far from my house. We have the unfortunate tendency to both get bitchy, irritable and plain old mean when we're hungry. Seeing as my boy was starving and I was getting close, this was not a fun trip. He didn't like the looks of the place I led him to. Now I ask you, internet, what little neighborhood Chinese place EVER looks good, inside or out? He voiced his opinion, which seemed ridiculous to me, and suddenly turned toward my place. I said if he wanted to go back to the place across from the mall we could. 'Cept he'd turned in the wrong direction. I'd have to show him how to go ALLLLLLL THE WAY AROUND to get back. Wow, internet, I cannot describe in words just how much fucking fun THAT was. Jeez.

My boy is from a small town and has lived in small towns all his life until about a year and a half ago. Traffic drives him insane. Not just being in bad traffic, but more than, say, four other cars on the road, and he loses his shit. Never fails. Road work also gives him the low rages. So since we were out on a Saturday night in a good sized city in a high traffic part of town where the road was all tore up...guess what? THAT BOY O' MINE WAS NOT HAPPY. I was so glad when we finally got there and found a place to park and sat down and got some tasty food. Good Lord.

Sunday was interesting. Since the boy had paid for all our weekend meals so far I got our lunch at Red Robin. OMG internet! That shit was sooooo goooood! I needed to have the onion ring tower and the apple crisp for dessert, so I only ate half of my meal. I was quite proud of myself for that. Well, wouldn't you know it, I still ate so much that for the rest of the day I didn't need or want anymore food. I got a mild chocolate craving around 9 pm, but every time I thought about eating I felt kinda sick. And then right before bed around 1 am I got heartburn or indigestion or something related to the fact that I had eaten enough to feed a smallish nation ten hours prior. Peppermints saved the day.

I'd like to promise God and myself that I will never eat that much again. But you know me better than that, don't you internet?

Getting Old Sucks Ass

I know I should be all hopeful and shit. But my gradmother's health has deteriorated so much in the past six years that it's really hard to do. It's difficult to see her, my mom, aunts and uncles get older and go through crazy health issues. It's even more difficult to recognize the same oddities beginning to creep up on me.

Even though I realize that this is just how life goes sometimes, it seems like the ultimate in crap. To spend the last few years of your life in and out of hospitals, taking more meds then you even knew existed and relying on others to do basic things for you. We, mostly, appear to regress once we hit a certain stage. We become children physically but still have memories of glorious adulthood and independence. I cannot tell you how many times I've tried to stop my mom from hushing and rocking my grandmother obsessively when she was scared and in pain. For an 80-year-old a little bit of that is soothing, but once you cross the line you are going to piss her off by making her feel even more incapacitated than she really is.

Mom never listened. Grandmother always had to snap at her.

This time of sickness has also shown me how selfish I am. My mom has been so consumed with caring for my grandmother that she rarely does anything for herself. She's depressed, tired, angry, sad, too thin, exhausted, and often sick. Getting mom to go to the doctor is like pulling teeth (oh yeah, she complains about how bad her teeth are but I haven't been able to get her to a dentist yet). I've offered many times to stay with my grandmother. Usually when she takes me up on it it's just to go to the grocery store. My mom has high blood pressure. The only reason she knows this is because she had to rush to the hospital 4 years ago with nausea and a massive headache. She literally almost died from her self-neglect.

I know I'm selfish because no matter how much I offer to help and actually do I usually don't want to. I know I'm selfish because sometimes I think I'll be a bit relieved when my grandmother dies. Until I remember how guilty my mom will feel when she does. I know I'm selfish because every time mom mentions another ailment she has all I can think is, "If she doesn't start taking care of herself, I'll end up living solely to care for her in twenty years. Just like she does for my grandmother now."

I don't want to take care of my mother. I will if I have to, but I will not like it. I want her to be healthy and happy until the end. Not just for her, but for me too. So we can both live the lives we want without the restrictions of health and immobility. So we won't have arguments about whether or not she feels like taking the medicine that will keep her alive. So mom won't feel like I'm berating her every time I ask her to do something she doesn't want to. So I won't have to consider, and then reject, putting her in a home when I know I can't care for her myself anymore. Because, you know, "We don't give up on our people." So I won't secretly wish she would just die already so I could have some peace.

It's all too hard. I fear I'm too frail to handle it well.

A Lifetime Of Updates

The phone will not stop ringing at work and I feel like I'm going insane. Don't they realize I'm trying to think here!?

I finally picked up the screenplay again on Saturday. I had to ease myself into it, so:

I've sat down to write my script but felt this was the best way to start working again: a journal entry. Most of Saturday is gone. I woke up at 1:30pm, watched 2 movies with my boy and went back to sleep. I got up again an hour ago, 8:30pm. I'm a lazy-ass & terrorfied I'll never be able to finish this story. And if I never finish this story I fear I'll never be able to finish any other. That I'll never realize my full potential or accomplish anything. I've actually put pen to paper. Leaving the laptop at home feels less stressful. It's just me, two pens and a notebook. Here I go

I've now written everyday Monday through today, Thursday. I've been writing at work during the day. My boss would be pissed if he were here to see me. Ha! By the by, I'm really fucking proud of myself at this juncture.

I've decided to start a script consulting service. I'm not sure how much I'll charge or how I'll get the word out or if I'll set myself up legally as a real company. But this is something I need to do. I'm good at analyzing scripts and movies, and I am convinced this would be a good foot-in-the-door type job that I can have without leaving regular employment behind. Keep your fingers crossed!

I've been exercising and watching what I eat more. This means that everything hurts. Even my sternum. I knew I had gained weight, but to go to the doctor last week and hear my actual number was scary. Until now I was my heaviest in high school, but, you know, not anymore. This changes ASAP. No more Taco Bell runs at midnight because my boy suddenly got hungry. In fact, unless it's fruit or the occasional bowl of cereal, no eating after 10pm. That's my new rule. Well, one of many. 180 is my goal weight, I know that sounds huge to most people, but I'm kinda tall and naturally thick, so that should look pretty good on me. At least I won't outweigh my boyfriend anymore!

Does anyone know where to go for good deals on flights? I can't find anything under $350 for my trip to Vegas in June.

I really, really, REALLY want to go shopping. This is due to the fact that a) I'm running out of funds from my last paycheck, b) I need to have my breaks fixed, and c) I'm about to get paid again tomorrow. Lord, help me.

I'm Supposed To Be Writing

I've got a screenplay to work on. I made a rough outline while taking my first screenwriting class in 2003. Once I started writing the story of my parents' divorce, I got into it. I liked writing and I liked what I was writing. The way it flowed, and even looked, on the page. My instructor gave me positive reinforcement. I thought, briefly, that I was onto something.

Then, my class ended. I had the best intentions of continuing and finishing my script. I made a schedule to be sure to fit in time to write and reflect. But, naturally, I went back to what I do best. Slacking. Dreaming of great heights I have yet to achieve. Watching tv and movies and pretending to soak everything in so I could call it 'research'. I made many promises to myself to start up again, but I kept pushing the dates and letting them pass by.

In three years time I had taken more classes on script development, the entertainment industry and film history. That story, though...MY story. It was still in the back of my mind. Quietly filed away along with several other ideas that hadn't ever been written down. I wanted to go back to it, but I just couldn't.

Then I started dating my boy. He comes from a well educated, history-loving, artistic, literary family. Everyone writes. Poetry, fiction, blogs...they've done it all. There was a local screenplay contest coming up. He was very encouraging and inquisitive, as were his parents. In January I made a feverish bid to finish at least a first draft for the contest. I'd finally be able to say I'd completed a script. I'd finally have some solid evidence that this film obsession wasn't full of shit. You know I didn't make the February 15 deadline, right? And to think, those three were so looking forward to me making it.

This is why I've never told my mom about the screenplay. She would care. Mom would want to know how it was going. Just like my boy and his folks. As it stands I feel bad enough not having updates for his parents. I can't stand the idea of letting my mom down too.

Since the deadline passing I've written twice, getting to a solid page 50. Around page 30 I headed into un-outlined territory. It felt like a good place so I went with it, then came to a natural stopping point. I didn't know where to go next. Back to the outline? Revise the entire second half? So I decided to take a break and think through it. We know what this means, right? I've completely ignored my script, for over a month now, like a red-headed stepchild.

This is it, people. This weekend I start the really hard and painful work. I have to sit with it, past text and blank pages right in my face. I'll have to face the fear of failure and the fear of possible success. I'll need to stew over it and sweat over it. I may have to blind write. I fucking hate that. Just writing with no real idea of where it's going. Getting all the crap out on paper so you can get to the good stuff that's buried beneath your fears and insecurities. Yeah, that's what I'll need to do.

I can feel it. Wish me luck.

Where I Give the Internet Too Much Information

You know internet, I'm glad we're friends. So much so that I'm going to test the limits of said friendship by relaying some personal stuff you might not even want to hear. Just so I can tell it to somebody and get it off my chest.

I used to have a well trained body. Monday through Friday, between 5:30 and 6:30pm do you know what would happen, internet? I'd go to the bathroom. I was regular internet, and it was amazing! I don't even know how I did it. One day while noticing some coworkers potty habits I realized I had somehow trained myself to (delicately, now) drop a deuce only during those specific times of the work week.

This was a fascinating moment. I always had deuce difficulties growing up. Overflowing toilets one day, rampant constipation the next. Between the two extremes I used more old towels and Fletcher's Castoria than any other child EVER. Don't ask how I know. Just trust me.

Well, to be an adult and have all that craziness settled? Absolutely the best gift of working adulthood given to anyone EVER. This fact is close to verification from Guinness record people. Do not distrust its veracity.

My issue now is so radically different. Ever since my first vacation of the year (we love Austin!) about a month ago, I've been all out of wack. Sad, internet. So very, very sad.

At first I assumed it was just a holdover from my trip. I never doody out of town. EVER. I don't know why this is, just that it's a fact of my life. Maybe my subconscious is afraid of stopping up some innocent, unassuming hotel toilet and so it locks me up for the duration of my travels. Who knows? Anyway, I had two days back without going to work. When I returned to the job I had a scare. I had to go, and bad...and at 11:30 in the morning.

What!? What the hell is this?!?! The trend has continued. 10am, 1pm, 7am (before my clock even goes off!), 4pm, and on and on. Will this madness never end? I miss the old days so much, internet. I could count on never worrying about overflowage away from my home potty. I never needed to sit and stew with my thoughts for long periods of time because I lacked bathroom reading. On the other hand, I have become well acquainted with our friendly work accessible toilet. In the days of yore, before I needed the private time, it frightened me. There are windows, mottled glass with a leaf pattern to protect privacy. A corner is broken out and reveals a cobweb. This bathroom is completely separate from our regular ladies loo. In its own single toilet/sink room. Because it's not a stall, the door is waaaaaaaaaay over there when you sit down. Therefore, it's IMPERATIVE to make sure you've locked yourself in prior to doing your bidding. There are also strange green stains under the commode I'd rather not think about.

This place has become my refuge. I see no turning back, internet. Maybe I should bring magazines for next time.

Let's Get Drunk, WOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Wow. There is nothing like a work sponsored happy hour with a three hour all-you-can-eat/drink special to bring out the best (worst) in co-workers. NOTHING!

Me and my boy set out late on Thursday so only had an hour and a half to get our $25 worth outta the deal. Not being much of a drinker myself, I ate my way out of another pair of pants. Meanwhile, my boy had 5 (totally different) martinis, 1 margarita and a beer. Can you imagine how stone cold drunk my boy was? Maybe you don't know enough about him yet. Let me relay an excerpt of our conversation as an example.

Me: "Oh my God. You are really drunk!"
My boy (whispering/slobbering in my ear): "I would like to make sweet loving fuck to you."
Me: "Unh hunh..."

Anyhoodle. My work buddies were there. AM came without her fiance' because he was an ass the night before and she didn't want to see his face while she was trying to have fun. My supervisor NM came, staked out a bar stool and didn't move all night. BFF AR and SW organized the shindig to raise money for us and brought a huge crowd of friends. Unfortunately they both found themselves getting bitched out by a bartender when a patron lost his dinner all over the floor, and went right back to drinking without hesitation. Oh, and that patron? The father of my good friend J, who had already mortified the poor girl when he changed pants in the middle of the room for all to see. Yay, drunk people are so much fun! Luckily, our NM heard some of the bitch-out and put Mr. Mean Bartender in his place. We all love our NM, she kicks ass without even trying!!

This particular bartender was a total asshat tiddyfuck. Yes. I said it. We all paid $25 to suck down as much food and drink as we could, right? Well, this assjack got pissed because people were taking too much food, according to him. Why was he paying attention? More importantly, who cares? If they paid their presidents they should be able to take as much food at a time as they want. The bar's job is simply to refill the food table. M'kay? And about not letting folks take more than one drink at a time? That, if nothing else, elects ken-doll bartender dude to the post of Supreme Bungholery. Yeah, that's it. Also, fuckface, next time the all-you-can-drink portion is 5 minutes next to done and people rush the bar to get their last orders in...DO NOT IGNORE THEM FOR THAT FULL FIVE MINUTES JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE APPARENTLY A LAZY SCHLONGHEAD. Are we clear, blondie? We should never do another event there.

In other news, Tux attacked me several times on Saturday night and then took to clawing/biting our feet as we tried to sleep. WTF!?!?! I guess the fact that we feed and house and play with that little fucker isn't enough for him. Any cat educated people out there know why a 7 month old kitten would do such a nasty, beastly thing? Even better, know how we can stop it?

One Of Those Days

I'm thinking about all the crap I'm severly behind on
I feel fat but know it's my bloat talking
I just got paid and want to blow a wad of cash
I'm craving lots of junk food
I'm ready to plan my June trip to Vegas
I should plan to get my brakes done so I don't go careening off the road as a means of stopping
I want to dance
I miss the new fun I had last year
I don't want to call my mom but know I should
I'd like to leave work now, but can't
I should walk at lunch; too bad I don't want to
I'm wondering why it has to be a hot-ass 88 degrees today; it's only spring, fuckers
I hope I can implement a legal plan to make more money this year
I'm disappointed that I grew out of a pair of jeans
I want to know why the rash on my neck won't go away
I wonder when I can stop living check to check
I'm trying not to hate my body
I wish I didn't care if people read this blog or not, but I do
I want my boy and I to do more than watch movies and eat and fuck
I need to learn how to feel sexy, womanly

Side note:
Why does everything smell like cat food or maxi pads?!?!

Lord Chazbot and the Jingle Tags of Death

I am now officially 12 cats and one scary house away from being the crazy cat lady at the end of the block. I say this because Tux has been living at my place for 3 days and, well...it's kinda fun. Fuck.

My boy brought him over on Monday since he'd be spending most of the week at my place and we couldn't just leave little Tuxy alone all that time. Even though he jumps on the kitchen counter, the stove, and in the bathroom sink I like him. We've discovered Tux has 'Magic Hour' about twice a day. And aren't we lucky that it's right when we wake up and right when we want to go to sleep? This means he runs around like a demon spawn, jumps maniacally at our legs, tries to bum rush us and gnaws on our hands when we attempt to pet him. My boy thinks Magic Hour is oh so cute. I find it to be the most terrifying thing ever. Imagine a tiny little beast with claws and fangs and glowy eyes coming after you suddenly. All you hear is a slight 'jingle, jingle' and then...DEATH!

Just last night Tux did the most insane thing ever. We all know that cats hate being wet, right? I mean hate from the very depths of their kitty-crazed souls the being wet. So I'm in the shower. Minding my own, as it were, and listening for the death jingle. I heard nothing but the sound of running water. Drip. Drip. Dri...AAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHH! That little sum'bitch jumped into the tub! My howler monkey-like wail scared him away and I stood stunned under the spray. I yelled at my boy to "keep that damn cat outta the bathroom!"

I took a crack at drying off in peace. Tux was sitting straight ahead and staring at me from across two rooms and a hallway. He was planning something. I could feel it. I look away for a moment to tend to my tootsies...AAACCCCCCCCKKKKKKKK!! Tux morphed into Speed Racer and flung himself at my legs at the speed of light. I screamed so loud and fierce that my boy thought I was actually hurt. Let us note here that this did not make the man GET UP OFF THE BED to see if I was ok, though. Whatever. Much cursing ensued as I called the beastie every name I could think of and my boy laughed at my fear of a five pound pussy.

Having been through all this I only know one thing. Tonight, when my boy and I are far away at his place and Tux is alone in mine, I will miss him. Not much, but just enough.

Adventures in Cat Hair

That shit is everywhere! Half hour in the car, and it's all over the place. I'm surprised that little beast has any fur left on his body. Thank God he's going to spend most of his time at my boy's apartment. Not that it matters, though. I'm sure I've got Tux hair on me right now. I think cat hair may be capable of reproducing on its own.

He won't sit still if you want him to. If you need Tux to move, he won't. Try going to the bathroom. He'll sit outside and wait for you to finish. He likes to jump on the stove(we've tried to break him of this but I'm sure he'll have to learn the hard way). Tux also likes to lounge on the kitchen counter and drink from the sink. There goes any hope I had left of being able to eat hairless food. Seriously.

He'll ignore Taco Bell, but if you make a cheap pizza he will NOT stay off the table. Ditto if you try to eat an orange. You ever had kitty paws on your plate before? What about kitty tongue? I made my boy eat those pieces.

We had to put Tux in the laundry room while we ate. Then there was the meowing. Incessant, pitiful meowing. As badly as I wanted to eat in peace that was hard to listen to. I heard a thud. I think Tux threw his body against the door to try freeing himself. It didn't work. Poor thing.

This is going to be an interesting interlude for this non-animal loving gal. Even so, I'm already sorta liking the little kitty monster. I mean, you know, he purred on me.

House Puma

So, yeah. I don't know if you know this, but I'm not an animal person. My mom, bless her heart, is scared of all beasts. Domesticated or not. Especially those of the feline variety. In fact, cats sort of disgust her. As you can probably imagine she transferred much of that feeling to me.

Anyway, my boy loves animals. Most of all cats and dogs. Or as he would say, kitty cats and shnuggers. Often when he would come to visit me he'd come across one of the many stray kitties that populate my apartment complex and stop to, uh...talk to them. 'Cause that's how my boy rolls. Well, one night it took him forever to get to my place. When he finally arrives I find out he was busy following strays into the creek near my apartment. I believed that behavior a bit extreme, even for my aminal(I know what I said) lovin' man, so I decided to try to break him of his habit.

A few days later my plan backfired. The Saturday after his creek adventure I took him to our local humane society. I figured he could get this animal thing out of his system. That sounds logical, right? Who am I kidding!? In the back of my mind I knew it was possible he'd find someone he liked. And so, of course, he did. I also knew it would be possible that he'd be so overcome with love and joy and a savior complex that my boy'd be near death if he couldn't go home with that cat.

One week and a long story involving landlord trickery later, I own a kitten named Tux who likes to walk on my stomach when I lie down.

Jeez...

...But, I'm a Grown-Ass Woman...

I'm 31 and feel like I'm beyond milestones. I'm at the age where society tends to expect me to have reached certain markers of "true" adulthood. The marriage, house, real career, kids ideal that most people have of a capitol 'A' adult. I haven't hit any of those. Some because I don't want them. Some because I procrastinate. Others because I spent all of my 20s making very little money and saving none of it.

I never gave any thought to what I'd be like as an adult when I was a kid. Mostly I just wanted to get away from the little nuts I went to grade school with. Then, since most of them followed me to high school, I just wanted to graduate. When I was in college all I could think about was getting out of school once and for all. I gave no honest thought to post-collegiate plans. Not where I would live, who I would date, or how I would dress. Not even where I would work. I wanted to move on, but had no idea to what.

I was seriously depressed and unmedicated through most of my pre-teen to early adult years. All I ever envisioned for my future was one where I was finally happy. I thought that if by some miracle I could sustain some joy in living that everything else would fall into place. So I made no plans, held out no hopes. Just in case happy never came.

My catch-22? I'm mostly happy now (thank you Effexor), but the plans I failed to make all those years ago are haunting me. I have $5,000 in credit card debit, no savings, a job I hate, interest in an industry that's hellishly hard to break into, a paycheck that barely covers my bills, an interest in buying a house next year without much real hope of making it happen and fear coming out of my ass like water.

Once you become a real live grown-up the only milestones left are the ones you create on your own timetable. That's one of the cool things about finally being one of "the big people". The crappy thing is that nobody is obligated to make decisions on your behalf. Primary equation: adulthood=it's all your fault.

Damn Dirty Birds!

A strange thing happened last Friday. It was late, probably after midnight. Me and my bald boy were watching a movie and stuffing our faces with hot, hot pizza. The drama was intense, the cheese was gooey, our fingers messy. A lull in the action facilitated our hearing something odd. Birds. Not just one kind either, but several. These strange species were singing, chirping and crowing at night.

What the hell. Every night since then, there they are. Listen...hear that? Where did these demon spawn aviary come from? What the shit kind of birds sing during the darkest hours of the night? What are they up to in those trees out there? More importantly, should I be worried? Are they planning a takeover? See, this is what happens to me when random strange things occur that I can't get away from. My mind takes odd detours from the realm of real possibility. I daydream, fantasize, create macabre situations that I honestly pray will never come to pass.

Please, if there is any justice in the universe, the crazy-birds will stop interrupting my late-night puttering with...what the hell ever they're doing. It's hard to concentrate on Conan, uh, I mean (something constructive like) writing my screenplay, when I'm thinking up ways to escape a terrorist bird attack.

Damn. I should probably just be going to sleep as soon as I get home to skip the whole thing. Including the screenplay avoidance.

Why Must Boys Play With Their Hair?

I'll admit it, I like it now, but two weeks ago it was terrorfying. Not to sound like too much of a girl, but it actually made me cry. It wasn't those child-like hiccup sobs that cut off oxygen, but I cried nonetheless. Damn him for not warning me!

I should have known, I suppose, that something was up. My boy told me he was going to shave and cut his hair (which I assumed meant trim). I occupied myself by playing with flickr, but noticed that it was taking a long, long, loooooong time. Much more so than usual. Then I heard him, all sweet-voiced and innocent-like, behind me, "Honey?" I turned and quickly regretted it, "Oh God!" I spun around in the chair and buried my face in my hands to hide the horror that was now his head.

"Hee hee hee! Woooo hah!"
"Oh God! God, oh God! Why God?"
"Honey, come on, now."
"Why, why, why would you do that? God!"
"Oh honey. I just got tired of it."
"But why?! What...why...but...there's nothing..."
"I kinda just wanted to see how you'd react. Yeah. Hee heeeeeeee!" (mischievous grin)
"Oh....God." (sad and whimpering)

I recovered enough to wander into the scene of the crime. His bathroom sink was covered with a towel that held all his hair in several thick tufts. My face fell. The evidence was real and could not be denied. My boy was bald. Symptomatic of my photographic addiction, I grabbed the camera from my purse and captured it as a way to try to adjust to the newness. It didn't work. I got sadder and sadder. After a few minutes I couldn't take looking at it anymore. I sat too close to the computer screen. I closed my eyes. I cried.

"One day you're not going to have any hair left and you'll be sorry you did this!"
"Oh, honey."

I screamed at him. He answered by drawing out the 'e' in honey to soothe me. This did not help.

"It's only hair. It'll grow back. In a couple months it'll be right back where it was."

I miss his chicken hair. Standing straight up on his cute little lightbulb shaped head. I could run my fingers through it. Shuffle it around. Muss it and mold it into odd formations. The stubble feels sorta like velvet, but that's a small consolation.

Prepare me next time!