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?
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
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
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
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
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.
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, August 08, 2006
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?
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?
Thursday, August 03, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
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.
$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.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
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?
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?
Friday, June 30, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, June 19, 2006
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!
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!
Friday, June 09, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, June 05, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, June 02, 2006
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.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
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.
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.
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