Let's see..year started off with promise...it really did. I was excited about maybe, just maybe, getting a new job, being with friends, celebrating turning thirty....a new year always seem to hold some sort of promise for me for some weird reason. A clean slate--who could ask for more than that?
And then--as usual--I had to go and mess things up. Sigh.
Because I'm an idiot. A total, giant, fucking idiot. Some things..I'm pretty slow to learn, what can I say?
But it seems like I blinked and we fast forwarded from February to ...December?
December? Seriously?
And what have I accomplished?
Ahh....let's see...
Not that much.
Everyone said "Thirty will be the best year ever!"
And they were all dirty liars. Thirty? You know what I think of you? I think you can suck my ass.
I don't feel more empowered, in charge, or in control. In fact, I feel the opposite of these things. Especially since it seems like I just repeat the same pathetic cycles over and over and over again--professionally and personally.
But..there is a month left of the year...and a few months left of me being thirty. So who knows...things could completely 180--which would actually be awesome...
Now, let me get back to Tosh.O.
Because my ten year old boy sense of humor? Totally something that doesn't need improved upon. If only that were true for the rest of me...
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
Snuggie Fun!
Okay.
I am willing to make a fool of myself for a good cause now and again.
This past Friday? Oh yea. There was foolishness. But, it helps sick kids and their families--so it's totally worth it.
Even if it doesn't excuse it.
What am I talking about? I'm talking about wearing a Snuggie in public, while drinking, scavenger hunting, and winning prizes. And having my photo taken with the tallest freaking girl in the world (who, coincidentally had on the same snuggie as yours truly). Sadly, I do not have this photo. I would like this photo. She's a giant. So giant, in fact, that when they insisted we take our photos together, she hoisted me up and squealed "Oh My God! I love you..you're so tiny!" (Let me just say..I'm not that tiny. But, compared to someone who is easily over six and half feet tall? Yea..I'm pretty short. Short--not tiny. Trust me, there is a huge difference!) I realized in that moment "This is how midgets must feel...all the time." It's not that fun of a feeling...being lorded over by much bigger people. Especially when a largish horde of people are pointing at you and laughing. See for yourself. Hardly mini..even if I did have to roll the damn sleeves up three times just to be able to see my hands.
Other than that, things went pretty smoothly. Started off chill enough. Thank goodness the above photo was taken early. I think there might be nacho stains on the dawg's face now. At least these things are washable, eh?
Amy was smart..and borrowed her Snuggie. She even took it a step further decking it out in a full costume. Sort of Phyllis Diller meets Cruella DeVille:
Needless to say..we had tons of fun, I'm hoping lots of money was raised..because after this next pic was taken of me and Todd (Karen's delightful husband)..it was definitely time for me to be at home. However, before I made it that direction, we hopped across the street into Qdoba. (What is it about bars that are so magical? You feel fantastic inside but as soon as you hit a well lit establishment? Whoa...why is the room spinning?! Who did this? Stop it!!) I ended up falling face first on Amy's couch..and that is where I stayed until morning time..with enough time to spare to meet the handyman--on time! As for the photo; please note I have stolen Karen's cat ears, raided Amy's purse for cash (why? I don't know..I had more than enough moolah of my own) and Todd and I are planning on ways we could keep it and she would never know. Except for Shawn took this picture. And I'm posting it on my blog. Needless to say, drunk people do not have very clear thought processes. This is why so many of us end up in jail. Or sleeping with ugly people. Thank god neither of those things happened Friday..or I might not find the night, or the two day long hangover, so amusing.
Who's a happy girl? The girl with the brown liquor and limes..that's who! This was a ton of fun....but lesson learned. I should NOT have skipped the McDonald's stop on the way home. A world of hurt could have been prevented with a Filet O'Fish and a large Coke. I'll make a note for next time...because trust me. There will be a next time.
I am willing to make a fool of myself for a good cause now and again.
This past Friday? Oh yea. There was foolishness. But, it helps sick kids and their families--so it's totally worth it.
Even if it doesn't excuse it.
What am I talking about? I'm talking about wearing a Snuggie in public, while drinking, scavenger hunting, and winning prizes. And having my photo taken with the tallest freaking girl in the world (who, coincidentally had on the same snuggie as yours truly). Sadly, I do not have this photo. I would like this photo. She's a giant. So giant, in fact, that when they insisted we take our photos together, she hoisted me up and squealed "Oh My God! I love you..you're so tiny!" (Let me just say..I'm not that tiny. But, compared to someone who is easily over six and half feet tall? Yea..I'm pretty short. Short--not tiny. Trust me, there is a huge difference!) I realized in that moment "This is how midgets must feel...all the time." It's not that fun of a feeling...being lorded over by much bigger people. Especially when a largish horde of people are pointing at you and laughing. See for yourself. Hardly mini..even if I did have to roll the damn sleeves up three times just to be able to see my hands.
Other than that, things went pretty smoothly. Started off chill enough. Thank goodness the above photo was taken early. I think there might be nacho stains on the dawg's face now. At least these things are washable, eh?
Amy was smart..and borrowed her Snuggie. She even took it a step further decking it out in a full costume. Sort of Phyllis Diller meets Cruella DeVille:
Friday, November 12, 2010
Pitter patter does NOT go my heart....
I have amazing friends.
Awesome friends. A real extension of my family. People I can count on to:
Bail me out of jail
Help me dispose of a body (no questions asked!!)
Pick a hair cut
Tell me I shouldn't have picked that hair cut
Let me cry on (sadly this means copious amounts of snot--pretty crier I am most certainly not)
Tell me with out hesitation "Do NOT by that! It makes your ass look ginormous!"
Put up with me in general
Travel with (This is a true definition of friendship. If you come back from a trip that lasts more than three days and you are not only still speaking, but still want to hang out? Wow--it's impressive. Oh! And if one of you had the courtesy to bring matches? This will be a bond that cannot be broken.)
That said, I would trust none of these people to procure me a life partner. The only person I might trust less is my mother who forgets to mention things like crazy soon-to-be ex wives or ten kids. (It's not her fault...working in the hospital in her fancy pants position, she is exposed daily to the most prized of future son-in-law bait: Doctors. This makes her more than a bit nuts, actually.)
This past Tuesday was no exception. How did it start? The way so many of the comedies of my life have started: "He's a really nice guy!! I really think you'll like him!!"
If I had a dime for every time those words were uttered....
I wouldn't be killing myself working three jobs, that's for damn sure.
But back to Tuesday.
Let me start by saying Mr. X was, indeed a really nice guy. However, when you meet an adult man with a job, his own house, decent ride--your first impression should NOT be "Hey--who let the homeless guy in the bar?" (the only exception I can think of for this rule is maybe Zack Galifianakis). And no, I'm not being a snob here--this dude looked, well, homeless. His hair--oye--was all over the place crazy. There was no rhyme or reason. Fingernails? Filthy. He had on cordovans, track type pants, and a full zip hoodie. With NO shirt on underneath it. And as the night progressed? That zipper just kept creeping further and further down. I also thought he was higher than Everest until he announced he hadn't had any sleep in three, maybe four days.
Ahhh.....this explains it.
But unfortunately--you know what they say about first impressions? So true. I can handle assholes (prefer them, actually) and I certainly don't think a man needs to spend a ton to put well put together--but looking like you haven't bathed in a week or so? No so much.
And he was, actually, pretty cool. I would totally hang out with him again--but there was just NO spark on my end. Nada, zilch, zero. Sadly, I have a type--and he just wasn't it. If you know me, you know what said type is and I will not embarrass myself by putting it down to be shared with the world.
So, my friends, if you have a guy lined up for me--please, please, please refrain yourselves.
That said, they do say you need to suffer for your art..so maybe that's not such a good idea.
But for now--restraint is probably best.
Awesome friends. A real extension of my family. People I can count on to:
Bail me out of jail
Help me dispose of a body (no questions asked!!)
Pick a hair cut
Tell me I shouldn't have picked that hair cut
Let me cry on (sadly this means copious amounts of snot--pretty crier I am most certainly not)
Tell me with out hesitation "Do NOT by that! It makes your ass look ginormous!"
Put up with me in general
Travel with (This is a true definition of friendship. If you come back from a trip that lasts more than three days and you are not only still speaking, but still want to hang out? Wow--it's impressive. Oh! And if one of you had the courtesy to bring matches? This will be a bond that cannot be broken.)
That said, I would trust none of these people to procure me a life partner. The only person I might trust less is my mother who forgets to mention things like crazy soon-to-be ex wives or ten kids. (It's not her fault...working in the hospital in her fancy pants position, she is exposed daily to the most prized of future son-in-law bait: Doctors. This makes her more than a bit nuts, actually.)
This past Tuesday was no exception. How did it start? The way so many of the comedies of my life have started: "He's a really nice guy!! I really think you'll like him!!"
If I had a dime for every time those words were uttered....
I wouldn't be killing myself working three jobs, that's for damn sure.
But back to Tuesday.
Let me start by saying Mr. X was, indeed a really nice guy. However, when you meet an adult man with a job, his own house, decent ride--your first impression should NOT be "Hey--who let the homeless guy in the bar?" (the only exception I can think of for this rule is maybe Zack Galifianakis). And no, I'm not being a snob here--this dude looked, well, homeless. His hair--oye--was all over the place crazy. There was no rhyme or reason. Fingernails? Filthy. He had on cordovans, track type pants, and a full zip hoodie. With NO shirt on underneath it. And as the night progressed? That zipper just kept creeping further and further down. I also thought he was higher than Everest until he announced he hadn't had any sleep in three, maybe four days.
Ahhh.....this explains it.
But unfortunately--you know what they say about first impressions? So true. I can handle assholes (prefer them, actually) and I certainly don't think a man needs to spend a ton to put well put together--but looking like you haven't bathed in a week or so? No so much.
And he was, actually, pretty cool. I would totally hang out with him again--but there was just NO spark on my end. Nada, zilch, zero. Sadly, I have a type--and he just wasn't it. If you know me, you know what said type is and I will not embarrass myself by putting it down to be shared with the world.
So, my friends, if you have a guy lined up for me--please, please, please refrain yourselves.
That said, they do say you need to suffer for your art..so maybe that's not such a good idea.
But for now--restraint is probably best.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Jesus Hair!!
Okay, so Sunday I'm standing in line waiting to check out at my least favorite grocery store in Speedtown (Yes--I mean you Kroger. Hey Marsh--bring back those gas points, will ya?), and I keep getting swatted in the face.
With hair.
Human hair.
That is approximately 4 feet long. And no--it wasn't Crystal Gayle in line in front of me. It was an annoyingly hyper 14 to 17 year old girl. It was hard to tell. Really..it could have been Cousin It under there, who knows?
Did I mention the freakishly long hair? Past her knees?
In my face?
Well--I couldn't let this child continue to assault me, and I figured she may not realize she was attacking me with her locks (You know--like how people who smell don't know they smell? Same concept.). So, I casually say
"You certainly don't see hair that long anymore...do you?"
Girl's mother (who has a big scary mound of hair wound around her head...and a floor length skirt. Which is odd considering child has on skin tight jeans--obviously two or three sizes to small--suede boots that come up past her knees, and is reading a copy of some tabloid) replies with the following:
"Well how else are people to know she's pure? And that she loves Jesus?"
Okay--this lady was totally not joking when the above was said.
And I SO wanted to say "Of course she's pure. No one's going near two feet of nasty old split ends!"
No matter how hard up someone may be, you will find even most men have hair standards.
But did I utter? No, but I started to say something benign, and that's when girl spins around to pay for her smutty tabloid magazine....(again--this does not fit in with any religion that forbids hair cutting that I'm aware of...maybe there's a new sect out there)
And I pretty much get a mouth full of Jesus hair.
And you just can't top that.
With hair.
Human hair.
That is approximately 4 feet long. And no--it wasn't Crystal Gayle in line in front of me. It was an annoyingly hyper 14 to 17 year old girl. It was hard to tell. Really..it could have been Cousin It under there, who knows?
Did I mention the freakishly long hair? Past her knees?
In my face?
Well--I couldn't let this child continue to assault me, and I figured she may not realize she was attacking me with her locks (You know--like how people who smell don't know they smell? Same concept.). So, I casually say
"You certainly don't see hair that long anymore...do you?"
Girl's mother (who has a big scary mound of hair wound around her head...and a floor length skirt. Which is odd considering child has on skin tight jeans--obviously two or three sizes to small--suede boots that come up past her knees, and is reading a copy of some tabloid) replies with the following:
"Well how else are people to know she's pure? And that she loves Jesus?"
Okay--this lady was totally not joking when the above was said.
And I SO wanted to say "Of course she's pure. No one's going near two feet of nasty old split ends!"
No matter how hard up someone may be, you will find even most men have hair standards.
But did I utter? No, but I started to say something benign, and that's when girl spins around to pay for her smutty tabloid magazine....(again--this does not fit in with any religion that forbids hair cutting that I'm aware of...maybe there's a new sect out there)
And I pretty much get a mouth full of Jesus hair.
And you just can't top that.
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