Shit, God Dammit, Shit And Fuck

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

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

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

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

Enough Already!

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

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

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

I Am Way More Excited Than You Right Now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yup."

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

"What would my ring look like?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why didn't you ask me then?"

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

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

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

So, can anyone top my week?

Tuesday Was Just Another Day

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

Development

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Notes For The Cat

Dear High Kitty Emperor Tuximillion Howard G.J.

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

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

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

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

Thank You

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

Happy Friday!

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

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

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

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

And he wears Cosby Sweaters.

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

Speaking of Weird...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Movie Night

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

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

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

I pick something, and then...

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

"I have NEVER wanted to see that movie."

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

"What about this?"

"Didn't we just see that?"

"You didn't see it with me."

"Oh..."

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

"Fine! Okay!"

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

Boys...Are...Weird

This Is What I Do (Sometimes)

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

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

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

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

Tuesday Is The New Monday

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

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

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

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

I Am Awesome; Word To Ya Mutha

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Will You Pay Me For It?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hi! How Are You!

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

$88.48

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

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

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

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

I Am The Prettiest Girl In The World

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

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

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

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

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

Summer Makes Me Angry

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not pretty. Shit.

It's Only Tuesday...

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

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

Thanks for that massage, boy.

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

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

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

Heifers.

I Wish I May, I Wish I Might

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

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

I'll start. It's only fair.

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

See how easy that was?

Busted

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alias: Fear

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

I'm afraid of getting pregnant.

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

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

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

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

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

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