Previously, I posted about a list I was making. I'm making a list of 101 things to do in 1001 days. The official start date (as suggested by Jade) is February 14, 2012. As Jade put it, Valentine's Day is the perfect start date, because this is the perfect date to show love to yourself. Well put, lady!
Categories can run the gamut, so I've got things like "finish design of kitchen & baths" and "travel out of the country." I've got savings goals, dating goals, and charitable goals. And yet, I still need a ton of time to create my list! I am running out of things to add...I don't want to make a long travel list, because I want to make the list realistic. And in real life, I can't travel to 50 different places in just under 3 years. Same thing for money goals -- you can only do so much with what money you have. So while maybe I'd like to save a million dollars in 1001 days, I won't be making a million dollars in that time.
So what else is there? Or, more specifically, what else do I need to do in the next 2.75 years? I'm totally open to suggestions!
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Sowwy...
The past couple weeks, I have been disappointed/irritated/angered by guys. Usually they’ve apologized, and haven’t repeated whatever mistake they made. And yet, I find that after the apology, I was still dissatisfied. I wanted flowers or a mixtape or chocolates or a nice dinner or SOMETHING! What ever happened to the holy art of making it up to a woman? (Because let's face it, the concept was invented by men who were put in the dog house by women scorned).
Brother once told me that he didn't like to take flowers home when he was in trouble, because he didn't want to create that expectation. You know what I say to that? Fine, then what DO you do? Sometimes, an apology is enough. But sometimes, you want the other person to feel the same pain you did when they pissed you off. (Yeah, I said it). Fellas, word of advice? I suggest you buy something for your lady or do something for her if you mess up. I mean, how hard is it to bring her favorite dinner if you didn't notice that she chopped 5 inches off of her hair? Or, how about buying flowers after an argument about whether you could watch the game and skip her sister's baby shower?*
And speaking of flowers. Flowers are making me insane. What's the expression? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results is the definition of insanity. Well, I continue to see fellas and expect that they are buying flowers. Turns out? Not the case. If I were a dude, I'd have women falling all over themselves for me, because I would be buying flowers on the regular. And fellas? I haven't forgotten you. Women aren't cooking anymore, are they? Y'all have totally gotten the shaft on that one. So, let's make a Mars and Venus deal. The boys start bringing flowers to put on the table next to the home-cooked meal made by the girls. Ok? Deal? Deal! Just call me the Great Negotiator.
*Clearly a hypothetical. Of COURSE you skip the baby shower.
Brother once told me that he didn't like to take flowers home when he was in trouble, because he didn't want to create that expectation. You know what I say to that? Fine, then what DO you do? Sometimes, an apology is enough. But sometimes, you want the other person to feel the same pain you did when they pissed you off. (Yeah, I said it). Fellas, word of advice? I suggest you buy something for your lady or do something for her if you mess up. I mean, how hard is it to bring her favorite dinner if you didn't notice that she chopped 5 inches off of her hair? Or, how about buying flowers after an argument about whether you could watch the game and skip her sister's baby shower?*
And speaking of flowers. Flowers are making me insane. What's the expression? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results is the definition of insanity. Well, I continue to see fellas and expect that they are buying flowers. Turns out? Not the case. If I were a dude, I'd have women falling all over themselves for me, because I would be buying flowers on the regular. And fellas? I haven't forgotten you. Women aren't cooking anymore, are they? Y'all have totally gotten the shaft on that one. So, let's make a Mars and Venus deal. The boys start bringing flowers to put on the table next to the home-cooked meal made by the girls. Ok? Deal? Deal! Just call me the Great Negotiator.
*Clearly a hypothetical. Of COURSE you skip the baby shower.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
1001 days
My co-worker gave me a great idea and I'm totally stealing it from her. She was seeking suggestions for her list of 101 things to do within 1001 days. A little googling led me to this website explaining the project.. I love list-making and I love goal-setting, so this just seemed like a nifty journey to embark upon.
The parameters on this website are bit stringent for me. I don't think everything on the list needs to be a "stretch." Sometimes, it's just about getting something done -- or doing something I've always wanted to do. And so, I am now taking suggestions on what to do!
I also wonder what date I should use. If I end it on Dec 31, 2014 (which seemed like an easy date to pick), I don't have to start until April 4. But then, I thought April 4 was so far away that I would lose interest. So then I thought ending it on my birthday of 2014, but I realized that a.) it was too late for 1001 days until that date, and b.) I don't celebrate my birthday anymore. So then, I thought maybe my half birthday would be a good day (November 22, 2014), because I typically begin to clean house and look back over my life around that time. But, it's kind of a lame day to end something. Then, I looked at Christmas Day, 2014. And, that too seemed silly. Maybe I'll start on Chinese New Year of this year...which is January 23, 2012. I'm concerned that might be too soon to come up with a list.
Basically, I'm officially taking suggestions on the list AND on the start (or end) date. I think my backup start date will be Feb 29, 2012, which has me ending on the day before Thanksgiving, 2014. Hm...that could be a good day too.
I'm already excited to start this new journey. Who's with me?!!?
The parameters on this website are bit stringent for me. I don't think everything on the list needs to be a "stretch." Sometimes, it's just about getting something done -- or doing something I've always wanted to do. And so, I am now taking suggestions on what to do!
I also wonder what date I should use. If I end it on Dec 31, 2014 (which seemed like an easy date to pick), I don't have to start until April 4. But then, I thought April 4 was so far away that I would lose interest. So then I thought ending it on my birthday of 2014, but I realized that a.) it was too late for 1001 days until that date, and b.) I don't celebrate my birthday anymore. So then, I thought maybe my half birthday would be a good day (November 22, 2014), because I typically begin to clean house and look back over my life around that time. But, it's kind of a lame day to end something. Then, I looked at Christmas Day, 2014. And, that too seemed silly. Maybe I'll start on Chinese New Year of this year...which is January 23, 2012. I'm concerned that might be too soon to come up with a list.
Basically, I'm officially taking suggestions on the list AND on the start (or end) date. I think my backup start date will be Feb 29, 2012, which has me ending on the day before Thanksgiving, 2014. Hm...that could be a good day too.
I'm already excited to start this new journey. Who's with me?!!?
Tuesday, January 03, 2012
Eff 2011. Bring on 2012!
2011 had its ups and downs for me. There were some great but sporadic highs, but also some very low and dark lows. As far as I’m concerned, the second half of the year was more or less a lost year. Which is fine – every year can’t be amazing. As one blogger put it, 2011 blew goat’s balls. That said, things were beginning to get rosier near the end of the year…that is, until December 31, 2011. That’s when 2011 really decided to act a fool.
I’d just completed the first of a four day weekend, and I’d enjoyed myself tremendously. That Friday, December 30, I began my day with some serious sleeping in. Then, I moved on from there to the loafing on my couch portion of the evening. I got in some high quality bad television watching (I’m looking at you Steve Wilkos, Judge Judy, and Dr. Phil). Basically, I spent a day off work the way God intended. The next day, I woke up (after another excellent sleeping-in session) and decided to run some errands and generally get my life together since I figured I’d be too hungover on New Year’s Day to do anything resembling productivity.
First, I proceeded to Target to purchase some holiday storage solutions and an over-the-door hook for my new peacock-feather wreath. After Target, the plan was to go to the grocery store to get various food and sundries for the week, then to Starbucks to get my fix, and then on to Home Goods and the local wine store. After completing my rather productive circuit, I’d head home and get ready for the evening’s pseudo-festivities.
The first stop went well; I was pretty impressed with myself for remembering to take my coupon. Afterwards, I headed over to the grocery store and did some more coupon-saving damage.* Following a bankrupting shopping excursion o’foodstuffs, I then headed over to ‘bux to get a decaf soy latte with honey.**
Finally, it was time to head to Home Goods. It had been over a week and I was worried that the discounted home décor store was starting to miss me. And, I was going for a cookie sheet since I’d mistakenly destroyed mine last month. Upon pulling into the always crowded parking lot, I realized that for the 3rd shopping trip in a row, I’d forgotten the over-the-door hanger for the blasted wreath. S#!&!!! As I sat in the parking lot cursing the fah-reaking peacock wreath that I just HAD to have but so-help-me-was-going-back-to-the-store if I didn’t get a hanger soon, I took a nice long swig of my cooling ‘bux and felt better. Damn peacock wreath was really starting to work my nerves. ANGRYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!
When I got myself into Home Goods and over to the cookie sheet section, I found that they still had an abundance of the brand I wanted. (Rachel Ray’s Oven-Lovin’ Sheet, for those keeping track…). I set my still twee-bit-hot-to-drink beverage on the glass shelf above the cookie sheet, and pulled out GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And there’s my Starbucks, all over the floor. #$&@(#&$@(#@(%*(%_)!&%. [INSERT EXPLETIVES HERE].
I proceeded to the register after informing a nice young man that I’d spilled my basically full cup of coffee all over the floor. When I got to the register, I found out that the cookie sheet was $5 more than I thought – and scratched – but given that I had to hold it flat because it had drippings of coffee on it, I was too embarrassed to ask them to give me a different one. How sad is that?
Since my coffee was gone, after the wine store I went to Chipotle to buy myself a completely unauthorized meal to make myself feel better. (Well that, and because the only calories I’d consumed at this point was 2 sips of my long-lost beverage and a TLC granola bar purchased at Target – when I SHOULD have been purchasing a damn over-the-door hanger). I got myself a nice little burrito bowl, and headed home.
I carry 4 bags of not-very-well packed groceries, my holiday storage solution, and my Chipotle up three flights of stairs. Groceries put away, I reached for the Chipotle bag, which was all wet. Why? Because it had tilted on the way up the stairs and I hadn’t noticed. I lost some of my delicious salsa to the paper bag. ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHH!!! That right there? Was the last damn straw that broke the hobbled camel’s back. DAMN YOU 2011!!!! Disgusted, I put the burrito bowl in a non-leaking stoneware bowl, heated it, and demolished the entire thing with a glass of wine.
Take THAT 2011. Just when I thought I’d given you a bad rap, and maybe you weren’t so bad, turns out, you kick me in the teeth on the last day. So screw you 2011! I’m totally leaving you for 2012, and I don’t feel bad about it!
*Including a $5 coupon for razorblades, since I figured it was time to de-fuzz my legs for the first time since the local temperature was above 70 degrees. What? Like you were looking at my tights- or pants-covered legs. Pfft. Don’t judge me.
**AKA a Boston Latte and my newest obsession, thanks to former Masshole kd.
I’d just completed the first of a four day weekend, and I’d enjoyed myself tremendously. That Friday, December 30, I began my day with some serious sleeping in. Then, I moved on from there to the loafing on my couch portion of the evening. I got in some high quality bad television watching (I’m looking at you Steve Wilkos, Judge Judy, and Dr. Phil). Basically, I spent a day off work the way God intended. The next day, I woke up (after another excellent sleeping-in session) and decided to run some errands and generally get my life together since I figured I’d be too hungover on New Year’s Day to do anything resembling productivity.
First, I proceeded to Target to purchase some holiday storage solutions and an over-the-door hook for my new peacock-feather wreath. After Target, the plan was to go to the grocery store to get various food and sundries for the week, then to Starbucks to get my fix, and then on to Home Goods and the local wine store. After completing my rather productive circuit, I’d head home and get ready for the evening’s pseudo-festivities.
The first stop went well; I was pretty impressed with myself for remembering to take my coupon. Afterwards, I headed over to the grocery store and did some more coupon-saving damage.* Following a bankrupting shopping excursion o’foodstuffs, I then headed over to ‘bux to get a decaf soy latte with honey.**
Finally, it was time to head to Home Goods. It had been over a week and I was worried that the discounted home décor store was starting to miss me. And, I was going for a cookie sheet since I’d mistakenly destroyed mine last month. Upon pulling into the always crowded parking lot, I realized that for the 3rd shopping trip in a row, I’d forgotten the over-the-door hanger for the blasted wreath. S#!&!!! As I sat in the parking lot cursing the fah-reaking peacock wreath that I just HAD to have but so-help-me-was-going-back-to-the-store if I didn’t get a hanger soon, I took a nice long swig of my cooling ‘bux and felt better. Damn peacock wreath was really starting to work my nerves. ANGRYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!
When I got myself into Home Goods and over to the cookie sheet section, I found that they still had an abundance of the brand I wanted. (Rachel Ray’s Oven-Lovin’ Sheet, for those keeping track…). I set my still twee-bit-hot-to-drink beverage on the glass shelf above the cookie sheet, and pulled out GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And there’s my Starbucks, all over the floor. #$&@(#&$@(#@(%*(%_)!&%. [INSERT EXPLETIVES HERE].
I proceeded to the register after informing a nice young man that I’d spilled my basically full cup of coffee all over the floor. When I got to the register, I found out that the cookie sheet was $5 more than I thought – and scratched – but given that I had to hold it flat because it had drippings of coffee on it, I was too embarrassed to ask them to give me a different one. How sad is that?
Since my coffee was gone, after the wine store I went to Chipotle to buy myself a completely unauthorized meal to make myself feel better. (Well that, and because the only calories I’d consumed at this point was 2 sips of my long-lost beverage and a TLC granola bar purchased at Target – when I SHOULD have been purchasing a damn over-the-door hanger). I got myself a nice little burrito bowl, and headed home.
I carry 4 bags of not-very-well packed groceries, my holiday storage solution, and my Chipotle up three flights of stairs. Groceries put away, I reached for the Chipotle bag, which was all wet. Why? Because it had tilted on the way up the stairs and I hadn’t noticed. I lost some of my delicious salsa to the paper bag. ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHH!!! That right there? Was the last damn straw that broke the hobbled camel’s back. DAMN YOU 2011!!!! Disgusted, I put the burrito bowl in a non-leaking stoneware bowl, heated it, and demolished the entire thing with a glass of wine.
Take THAT 2011. Just when I thought I’d given you a bad rap, and maybe you weren’t so bad, turns out, you kick me in the teeth on the last day. So screw you 2011! I’m totally leaving you for 2012, and I don’t feel bad about it!
*Including a $5 coupon for razorblades, since I figured it was time to de-fuzz my legs for the first time since the local temperature was above 70 degrees. What? Like you were looking at my tights- or pants-covered legs. Pfft. Don’t judge me.
**AKA a Boston Latte and my newest obsession, thanks to former Masshole kd.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Not an Inspiration for the Dixie Chicks
There was a hit country song that came out when I was in college by the Dixie Chicks called "Wide Open Spaces." Let me tell you something. That song? Was not a song about me. Hi, my name is pheebee. And I'm an agoraphobic.
Earlier this week, I was invited by a friend from high school to her house to hang out with her, her husband, 2.5 kids and their white picket fence. She was throwing a little shindig for her really good friend (and incidentally, my very first non-elementary-school boyfriend*), his wife, their 2.5 kids, and their family SUV. As I was preparing (dreading) going, I had all kinds of thoughts going through my head, which mainly consisted of "What in the devil am I going to do at a 'family-friendly' party?!". But alas, I overcame my apprehension and decided to go. Why? Because I hadn't seen these people in forever, and in high school they were kind of cool. And, if I was lucky, the kids would be sleeping by the time I got there. ;).
So, I checked the address and realized that girlfriend had moved from the old 'hood to BFE. And I told her I thought as much as I was messaging her about my drive. I'd always heard of BFE, but I'd never actually attempted to go there. Far as I was concerned, if it wasn't in the city or an adjacent county, then it'd better be on the way to the city I lived in. In order to get there and not get lost, I jumped on Google Maps and requested some solid directions. Google estimated my trip to take about 40-45 minutes. Knowing that Google always assumes that you're driving a Maserati that's invisible to speed traps, I also knew that this estimate was exceptionally low. I allotted for just under an hour of drive time -- not including the stop I had to make at a liquor store.**
Here's the thing. I have 2 random phobias, ok? One of them, is not really relevant here, and I refuse to admit that I have it. The other is agoraphobia. I get all kinds of panicky and anxious when I'm far enough out of the city that the highways and byways no longer have street lights. And this is precisely where I was headed. Gah! Anyway, I got there safe, had a good time catching up and talking trash.
But, here's where the story becomes worth posting about. As I was leaving, my Ma asked me if I wanted to take some money to fill up her gas tank. And the reason she asked was not because there wasn't any gas in the car, but because I was going so far out of the city and "you don't really know where you're going." Petulant teenager that I become where my Ma is involved, I said I didn't need any stinkin' gas, and it wasn't that far to BFE, for heaven's sake. It's not like I was trying to get to the Capitol! I had just over a 1/4th of a tank and I'd gone farther with less before!! Seriously!
Well, as I was headed back to my parents' house, I realized that what was just over a 1/4th of a tank when I left, was rapidly becoming an 1/8th of a tank. But the gas was actually more expensive in BFE than it was in the city (yeah, I was that far out. They probably have to pay an import/export fee out there or something, since it's so far away). I was really going to push it til I got home. And then...(dum dummm DUMMMM!!!!!!) the check engine light came on. CRAP! I'm driving merrily along, and I'm internally panicking because I have a check engine light, there are no street lights around, and OMG WHERE AM I?!!?! I convince myself that the engine light is really code for low fuel so I decide to care of that small matter ASAP.
I pull off the freeway at the first exit with a blue sign for fuel. And, I'm thinking to myself that I would 1. never admit to my Ma that she was right and I should've gotten gas before I left; 2. that my face will freeze off while I'm pumping, which is really a shame; 3. that I would never EVER in a million years stop at a gas station in the middle of the night if I was in the city or back in Iowa but...what are the odds anyone else will be there to rape and pillage me?
Funny story, when I finally got to the gas station, all the lights were off and I was convinced I wouldn't be able to get anything. Because hey, it's the country and they close everything down, and they don't have automated systems because it's (all together now...) BFE. But they did have a pay outside option, and the pumps were still on (station was closed though. Wouldn't be satisfying my beef jerky quota any time soon). And, there was no one around...until I heard vrooooooommmmmmm! At this point, I'm thinking about how most crimes are crimes of opportunity, and I surely just gave some fool an excellent opportunity to perpetrate a crime against me...and here I was without my pepper spray, in BFE where no one would hear me scream.
The car that squealed it's way into the gas station was a silver Infinity sports coupe. Immediately I figured it was a drug dealer***. When the car got to the pump that was the farthest away from mine, the driver got out. And...wait for it...it was Doogie freakin' Howser meets Duckie meets DJ Conner. He was skinny as a beanpole with dark hair and glasses. At first I wondered why he wasn't in bed sleeping because it was so clearly past his bedtime. Then I dared him (in my head) to just try something because I was pretty sure that I outweighed him by 20 lbs. So much for his crime of opportunity. Guess that kid would just have to stick with living a straight-laced life as a etymologist somewhere.
I gassed up and got back on the road. And, wouldn't you know the check engine light STILL didn't go off? The next day I found out it was actually that the coolant levels were low. So, all that trouble for what? Being scared half to death by a child that was joyriding his daddy's car to the gas station.
And that right there? Is why we stick to the city and adjacent counties. Anything else will lead to stopping for gas at 12:30 in the morning...and no good can come of that. ;)
*And by boyfriend, I mean guy I asked to Turnabout in 10th Grade. Exciting, I know.
**PS. When going to someone's house, act like you have some home training. Take a hostess' gift and if it's a bottle of wine or liquor that doesn't get opened (or finished), it's tacky to take it back with you. You leave it there. (Yeah, I'm looking at you, Titan).
***Because Infinity sports coupes are big in the drug dealer industry? Clearly. Why else would I think it...not like I'd make something like that up. Riiiiiight.
Earlier this week, I was invited by a friend from high school to her house to hang out with her, her husband, 2.5 kids and their white picket fence. She was throwing a little shindig for her really good friend (and incidentally, my very first non-elementary-school boyfriend*), his wife, their 2.5 kids, and their family SUV. As I was preparing (dreading) going, I had all kinds of thoughts going through my head, which mainly consisted of "What in the devil am I going to do at a 'family-friendly' party?!". But alas, I overcame my apprehension and decided to go. Why? Because I hadn't seen these people in forever, and in high school they were kind of cool. And, if I was lucky, the kids would be sleeping by the time I got there. ;).
So, I checked the address and realized that girlfriend had moved from the old 'hood to BFE. And I told her I thought as much as I was messaging her about my drive. I'd always heard of BFE, but I'd never actually attempted to go there. Far as I was concerned, if it wasn't in the city or an adjacent county, then it'd better be on the way to the city I lived in. In order to get there and not get lost, I jumped on Google Maps and requested some solid directions. Google estimated my trip to take about 40-45 minutes. Knowing that Google always assumes that you're driving a Maserati that's invisible to speed traps, I also knew that this estimate was exceptionally low. I allotted for just under an hour of drive time -- not including the stop I had to make at a liquor store.**
Here's the thing. I have 2 random phobias, ok? One of them, is not really relevant here, and I refuse to admit that I have it. The other is agoraphobia. I get all kinds of panicky and anxious when I'm far enough out of the city that the highways and byways no longer have street lights. And this is precisely where I was headed. Gah! Anyway, I got there safe, had a good time catching up and talking trash.
But, here's where the story becomes worth posting about. As I was leaving, my Ma asked me if I wanted to take some money to fill up her gas tank. And the reason she asked was not because there wasn't any gas in the car, but because I was going so far out of the city and "you don't really know where you're going." Petulant teenager that I become where my Ma is involved, I said I didn't need any stinkin' gas, and it wasn't that far to BFE, for heaven's sake. It's not like I was trying to get to the Capitol! I had just over a 1/4th of a tank and I'd gone farther with less before!! Seriously!
Well, as I was headed back to my parents' house, I realized that what was just over a 1/4th of a tank when I left, was rapidly becoming an 1/8th of a tank. But the gas was actually more expensive in BFE than it was in the city (yeah, I was that far out. They probably have to pay an import/export fee out there or something, since it's so far away). I was really going to push it til I got home. And then...(dum dummm DUMMMM!!!!!!) the check engine light came on. CRAP! I'm driving merrily along, and I'm internally panicking because I have a check engine light, there are no street lights around, and OMG WHERE AM I?!!?! I convince myself that the engine light is really code for low fuel so I decide to care of that small matter ASAP.
I pull off the freeway at the first exit with a blue sign for fuel. And, I'm thinking to myself that I would 1. never admit to my Ma that she was right and I should've gotten gas before I left; 2. that my face will freeze off while I'm pumping, which is really a shame; 3. that I would never EVER in a million years stop at a gas station in the middle of the night if I was in the city or back in Iowa but...what are the odds anyone else will be there to rape and pillage me?
Funny story, when I finally got to the gas station, all the lights were off and I was convinced I wouldn't be able to get anything. Because hey, it's the country and they close everything down, and they don't have automated systems because it's (all together now...) BFE. But they did have a pay outside option, and the pumps were still on (station was closed though. Wouldn't be satisfying my beef jerky quota any time soon). And, there was no one around...until I heard vrooooooommmmmmm! At this point, I'm thinking about how most crimes are crimes of opportunity, and I surely just gave some fool an excellent opportunity to perpetrate a crime against me...and here I was without my pepper spray, in BFE where no one would hear me scream.
The car that squealed it's way into the gas station was a silver Infinity sports coupe. Immediately I figured it was a drug dealer***. When the car got to the pump that was the farthest away from mine, the driver got out. And...wait for it...it was Doogie freakin' Howser meets Duckie meets DJ Conner. He was skinny as a beanpole with dark hair and glasses. At first I wondered why he wasn't in bed sleeping because it was so clearly past his bedtime. Then I dared him (in my head) to just try something because I was pretty sure that I outweighed him by 20 lbs. So much for his crime of opportunity. Guess that kid would just have to stick with living a straight-laced life as a etymologist somewhere.
I gassed up and got back on the road. And, wouldn't you know the check engine light STILL didn't go off? The next day I found out it was actually that the coolant levels were low. So, all that trouble for what? Being scared half to death by a child that was joyriding his daddy's car to the gas station.
And that right there? Is why we stick to the city and adjacent counties. Anything else will lead to stopping for gas at 12:30 in the morning...and no good can come of that. ;)
*And by boyfriend, I mean guy I asked to Turnabout in 10th Grade. Exciting, I know.
**PS. When going to someone's house, act like you have some home training. Take a hostess' gift and if it's a bottle of wine or liquor that doesn't get opened (or finished), it's tacky to take it back with you. You leave it there. (Yeah, I'm looking at you, Titan).
***Because Infinity sports coupes are big in the drug dealer industry? Clearly. Why else would I think it...not like I'd make something like that up. Riiiiiight.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Propaganda?
Sometimes I wonder about what's going through my head. I'm truly wondering if I'm a twee bit nut-so.
So, here's the deal. The other day, I was sitting around and I started to think about Disney. You know what I don't understand? Why is Disney out and out promoting straight-up propaganda? They've taken an entire segment of society that has been rightfully cast out to the gutters of society, and are constantly promoting them and trying to get all of us to accept them. You know what I think that is? BOGUS.
Who am I talking about? Mice. I mean, for real. Did ol' Walt have a secret fetish that no one ever knew about? First, there is Mickey. And Mickey is kinda cute, with his little squeaky voice and his cute little coordinating outfits. There was also duckies, doggies, et al. But then, along came Minnie. So, are we trying to procreate? But ok, I get it. All the animals go on the ark two by two. Fair enough, everyone needs a buddy. Cool. Besides, Minnie was likely the one running the show.
But...then there are all the mice of Cinderella. All of them are squeaking and talking and wearing little outfits. Moving through cinematic history, mice keep showing up in Disney movies, etc etc. Then, we end up in one of the more recent movies, Ratatouille...which featured an ENTIRE DAMN KITCHEN of mice. And, the restaurant critic meets the mice and he doesn't freak out. He has an entire conversation and shakes the hand of the little rodent. Ewwwwww!!!!!!!!!
I don't understand what is happening. On the rare occasion that they do show a mouse in the light that they're supposed to be; they are always rats, with creepy red eyes. EWWWWW AGAIN!!!!! Why is Disney trying to get us to embrace mice? What's up with that? Is there something we don't know?
A few weeks ago, my downstairs neighbor told me a story about a clogged drain. Evidently, one of the bathroom drains was plugged up, and nothing was working...not Drano or using a plunger, nada. So he decided to do a little manual investigating. Lo and behold he found the clog...and he's pretty sure it was a tiny little baby mouse. Excuse me, a DEAD baby mouse that had tried to climb up the drain and snack on all the non-poisonous food in the house. Let me tell you something. If there is ever a time where there's some little rodent running around my house -- or if I find one that died somewhere in my house -- EVERYBODY will know about it. It'll be clear after you hear the blood-curdling screams coming from my unit. Followed by the immediate packing of all my worldly possessions and the "For Sale" sign that will be posted on the front of the building, immediately.
And I don't give a rat's-behind what Disney or anyone else has to say about it.
So, here's the deal. The other day, I was sitting around and I started to think about Disney. You know what I don't understand? Why is Disney out and out promoting straight-up propaganda? They've taken an entire segment of society that has been rightfully cast out to the gutters of society, and are constantly promoting them and trying to get all of us to accept them. You know what I think that is? BOGUS.
Who am I talking about? Mice. I mean, for real. Did ol' Walt have a secret fetish that no one ever knew about? First, there is Mickey. And Mickey is kinda cute, with his little squeaky voice and his cute little coordinating outfits. There was also duckies, doggies, et al. But then, along came Minnie. So, are we trying to procreate? But ok, I get it. All the animals go on the ark two by two. Fair enough, everyone needs a buddy. Cool. Besides, Minnie was likely the one running the show.
But...then there are all the mice of Cinderella. All of them are squeaking and talking and wearing little outfits. Moving through cinematic history, mice keep showing up in Disney movies, etc etc. Then, we end up in one of the more recent movies, Ratatouille...which featured an ENTIRE DAMN KITCHEN of mice. And, the restaurant critic meets the mice and he doesn't freak out. He has an entire conversation and shakes the hand of the little rodent. Ewwwwww!!!!!!!!!
I don't understand what is happening. On the rare occasion that they do show a mouse in the light that they're supposed to be; they are always rats, with creepy red eyes. EWWWWW AGAIN!!!!! Why is Disney trying to get us to embrace mice? What's up with that? Is there something we don't know?
A few weeks ago, my downstairs neighbor told me a story about a clogged drain. Evidently, one of the bathroom drains was plugged up, and nothing was working...not Drano or using a plunger, nada. So he decided to do a little manual investigating. Lo and behold he found the clog...and he's pretty sure it was a tiny little baby mouse. Excuse me, a DEAD baby mouse that had tried to climb up the drain and snack on all the non-poisonous food in the house. Let me tell you something. If there is ever a time where there's some little rodent running around my house -- or if I find one that died somewhere in my house -- EVERYBODY will know about it. It'll be clear after you hear the blood-curdling screams coming from my unit. Followed by the immediate packing of all my worldly possessions and the "For Sale" sign that will be posted on the front of the building, immediately.
And I don't give a rat's-behind what Disney or anyone else has to say about it.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Deep Waters
Jade and I often talk about our tastes in the opposite gender. Turns out, we are both into the hot boys. This is not news. Problem is, we are both forever destined to be branded as shallow. If you ask me, that's just patently unfair. Behold, I shall defend those who want a handsome fella or pretty gal on their arm just as much as they want a smart man or woman.
First of all, no one is saying that what an individual finds attractive is going to be the same as everyone else's. No where is this more evident than the recent crowning of Jennifer Aniston as the The Hottest Woman of All Time or some such thing. (Leading legions of people to say "what the hell?!!?!"*) The point is that everyone has a threshold of attractiveness. And if you're honest with yourself, you know you have certain attributes that you like.
Secondly, I once read somewhere that couples who are in love and married for a long time never update their images of their spouses. Whatever the spouse looked like when they were young is what you'll be picturing in 15 years. Isn't that an image you'd like to look at? Yeah, I thought so.
Finally, I've said it once, and I'll say it again. No matter what the personality is, eventually you'll have to want to see the person naked. I'm not saying you have to jump into the sack on the first date.** But for real, how enjoyable is the horizontal mambo going to be if you can't stand to look at the person? I mean seriously, a paper bag is only effective for the face. And is bound to get in the way of kissing.
Call me shallow if you like -- but I intend to enjoy looking at my significant other (with or without clothes). And I suspect you plan to do the same. You just don't want to admit it. So fine then...I'll be the shallow one. You be the liar. :-*
*Or maybe that was just me. Who vote on this anyway? Jennifer Aniston -- really?!!
**In fact, no you may not on the first date, tramp. Keep your pants up. :-P
First of all, no one is saying that what an individual finds attractive is going to be the same as everyone else's. No where is this more evident than the recent crowning of Jennifer Aniston as the The Hottest Woman of All Time or some such thing. (Leading legions of people to say "what the hell?!!?!"*) The point is that everyone has a threshold of attractiveness. And if you're honest with yourself, you know you have certain attributes that you like.
Secondly, I once read somewhere that couples who are in love and married for a long time never update their images of their spouses. Whatever the spouse looked like when they were young is what you'll be picturing in 15 years. Isn't that an image you'd like to look at? Yeah, I thought so.
Finally, I've said it once, and I'll say it again. No matter what the personality is, eventually you'll have to want to see the person naked. I'm not saying you have to jump into the sack on the first date.** But for real, how enjoyable is the horizontal mambo going to be if you can't stand to look at the person? I mean seriously, a paper bag is only effective for the face. And is bound to get in the way of kissing.
Call me shallow if you like -- but I intend to enjoy looking at my significant other (with or without clothes). And I suspect you plan to do the same. You just don't want to admit it. So fine then...I'll be the shallow one. You be the liar. :-*
*Or maybe that was just me. Who vote on this anyway? Jennifer Aniston -- really?!!
**In fact, no you may not on the first date, tramp. Keep your pants up. :-P
Tuesday, December 06, 2011
Growing Up or Getting Over It?
Not too long ago, I was talking to my uncle. We were discussing maturing, and how it seems like some people never seem to stop doing the things they did in high school. The subject turned to going out. Now, my uncle is 30 years older than me, right? But he said that he had to stop going to the clubs because he was tired of seeing the same people there every night. He said they never seemed to want something different. It's a natural reaction of a young buck to protest "yeah, but things are different now!!!" But, before I could even get it out, my uncle pointed out that 30 years ago, the men were tryin' to get the drawers, and the women were wearing skirts that just barely covered their cheeks. (My words, but pretty darn close to his). That shut me up pretty quickly. Why? Because that's basically what's happening in the clubs today.
That conversation made me feel a little bit better. When I was in my late 20s and at the peak of awesomeness, I remember dreading the idea of turning 30, and becoming lame...saying things like "I'd rather stay in my house and drink" or "I don't want to go to a club to kick it with my friends" or "I don't like clubs, they're too loud. I'd rather hang out at a bar with my friends, where we can talk and kick it." These were all phrases that I associated with being old and lame. (Frankly, I still associate them with being old and lame). 2 things that are truly terrifying for me.
Then, shortly after turning 29, I moved to BFE...land of the hipster and stroller. There were families everywhere, and hipsters. The "scene" in my new 'hood was dive bars and coffee shops. All things that make me pull back in horror. And, I was far enough away from the real scene that I needed to drive or plan my night financially. I was sure to wither away and die in my pure lack of awesomeness.
Turns out, I was right about a couple things. First, there is nothing to do after 7pm in my new 'hood (except hit the gym). It's sort of like living in the suburbs, without the status or the space. I don't go to the clubs as much anymore (or at all, really). And I would rather go to a bar to hang out (sort of). But none of these things are because I'm old and can't handle the good nightlife anymore. I officially stand corrected!
The reasons going out to the club is less than appealing is because it's expensive! Dude, a cab roundtrip plus drinks plus cover (on the rare occasion that I'd pay it) is not something to be taken lightly. Alternatively, I can just have friends over and we can blow through a couple bottles of wine or liquor for a total of $10 a piece. AND, I don't have to concern myself with stumbling home. Now, let's not forget Sunday Fundays. When it go right, you get to go out (drive and park at the bar, if necessary!!), have a coupla cocktails, watch some football, yell at the TV, talk trash and then head home in time to sober up and not have a hangover. Finally, my uncle was right -- you really do see the same people over and over and over at the club. And really? How many times can you turn the same guy down? And the little soror-a-ho's that started working my nerves in law school are just as annoying now.
All that to say, it's nice to know that the reasons I started being lame are not necessarily related to being old. I kinda wish someone who'd already gotten there had explained this years ago...maybe I wouldn't have had such a phobia about turning 30.
So...who wants to come over to have a dance party?!!?
That conversation made me feel a little bit better. When I was in my late 20s and at the peak of awesomeness, I remember dreading the idea of turning 30, and becoming lame...saying things like "I'd rather stay in my house and drink" or "I don't want to go to a club to kick it with my friends" or "I don't like clubs, they're too loud. I'd rather hang out at a bar with my friends, where we can talk and kick it." These were all phrases that I associated with being old and lame. (Frankly, I still associate them with being old and lame). 2 things that are truly terrifying for me.
Then, shortly after turning 29, I moved to BFE...land of the hipster and stroller. There were families everywhere, and hipsters. The "scene" in my new 'hood was dive bars and coffee shops. All things that make me pull back in horror. And, I was far enough away from the real scene that I needed to drive or plan my night financially. I was sure to wither away and die in my pure lack of awesomeness.
Turns out, I was right about a couple things. First, there is nothing to do after 7pm in my new 'hood (except hit the gym). It's sort of like living in the suburbs, without the status or the space. I don't go to the clubs as much anymore (or at all, really). And I would rather go to a bar to hang out (sort of). But none of these things are because I'm old and can't handle the good nightlife anymore. I officially stand corrected!
The reasons going out to the club is less than appealing is because it's expensive! Dude, a cab roundtrip plus drinks plus cover (on the rare occasion that I'd pay it) is not something to be taken lightly. Alternatively, I can just have friends over and we can blow through a couple bottles of wine or liquor for a total of $10 a piece. AND, I don't have to concern myself with stumbling home. Now, let's not forget Sunday Fundays. When it go right, you get to go out (drive and park at the bar, if necessary!!), have a coupla cocktails, watch some football, yell at the TV, talk trash and then head home in time to sober up and not have a hangover. Finally, my uncle was right -- you really do see the same people over and over and over at the club. And really? How many times can you turn the same guy down? And the little soror-a-ho's that started working my nerves in law school are just as annoying now.
All that to say, it's nice to know that the reasons I started being lame are not necessarily related to being old. I kinda wish someone who'd already gotten there had explained this years ago...maybe I wouldn't have had such a phobia about turning 30.
So...who wants to come over to have a dance party?!!?
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Torn or Multi-faceted?
I forget where I found the quote, but I loved it so I'm totally plagiarizing it...the as-yet-to-be-determined woman said she felt: torn between being a feminist and a stripper. High-five sister!
Ladies, let's be real, shall we? There is something rather awesome about feeling like the hottest woman in the room. A feeling that is usually preceded by teetering a pair of stupidly high stilettos such as these:
You know the type. The kind of shoes that hurt your feet like the dickens but the shapliness of your legs make the fire shooting up your shins completely worth it.
On the flipside there are times when it feels good to be a feminist. For instance, when you're proved right 90% of the time when having an argument with your husband/boyfriend/guy friend/brother. Or when someone underestimated you in the boardroom (or the courtroom) and you totally get your way. That feeling of total intellectual dominance is amazing.
Given my rather obvious obsession with football...I'll spare you any feminist references to watching football. But suffice it to say that if being a feminist means watching football, than sign me up!
What I don't understand? Why must a woman choose one or the other? Who said a woman can't be a stripper and a feminist? And for that matter, who says stripping isn't a form of feminism? Don't get me wrong, I totally get the objectifying a woman can be degrading and blah blah blah. But, if men are just that easily distracted by a coupla tassles and shiny sparkly platforms, what could possibly have more of a feminist flair than using said sparkly-ness to get what you want? (Favorable outcome in negotiations, really big house, nice car...). Isn't the whole point to use ALL of your *ahem* assets to get what you want?
Ladies, let's be real, shall we? There is something rather awesome about feeling like the hottest woman in the room. A feeling that is usually preceded by teetering a pair of stupidly high stilettos such as these:
You know the type. The kind of shoes that hurt your feet like the dickens but the shapliness of your legs make the fire shooting up your shins completely worth it.
On the flipside there are times when it feels good to be a feminist. For instance, when you're proved right 90% of the time when having an argument with your husband/boyfriend/guy friend/brother. Or when someone underestimated you in the boardroom (or the courtroom) and you totally get your way. That feeling of total intellectual dominance is amazing.
Given my rather obvious obsession with football...I'll spare you any feminist references to watching football. But suffice it to say that if being a feminist means watching football, than sign me up!
What I don't understand? Why must a woman choose one or the other? Who said a woman can't be a stripper and a feminist? And for that matter, who says stripping isn't a form of feminism? Don't get me wrong, I totally get the objectifying a woman can be degrading and blah blah blah. But, if men are just that easily distracted by a coupla tassles and shiny sparkly platforms, what could possibly have more of a feminist flair than using said sparkly-ness to get what you want? (Favorable outcome in negotiations, really big house, nice car...). Isn't the whole point to use ALL of your *ahem* assets to get what you want?
Friday, November 18, 2011
pheebee's mom
So, my mom read this post and decided to give me some sage advice as a result:
Ma: I read your blog today, and I thought it was funny.
Me: Oh yeah?
Ma: Yeah. And you know, I thought that you should make a new year's resolution for next year. Next year, you should do things differently. You need to get in the right circles, just like that Anna girl that got killed in the islands.
Me: *Confused look pointed at my phone.* Who? What? What are you even talking about right now?
Ma: You know. Anna something. She was so in love with the lawyer. Or he was in love with her. And she left the little girl behind. She had a son, he was in his 20s and he got killed...er...drowned or something first. Anyway, she worked the right circles and got in with the right people.
Me: Say huh?
Ma: Well, you always say you don't have any money and you don't meet people. You need to join the right clubs down there. Anna Nicole something. That's it. She was a poor white woman.
Me: Anna Nicole Smith? Mother! She was a Playboy Playmate!!!
Ma: Well that's how she met all the right people and climbed her way to the top!! *emphatically*
Me: So....are you saying you want me to be a Playboy bunny?
Ma: If you can get in Playboy, I want you in there.
Me: ... *mystified silence*... Have you been drinking?
Ma: I'm just saying. So anyway, what are you doing tonight?
Me: Watching TV. *and drinking wine...but I don't mention that part. Or that the reason I'm staying in is because a Sunday Funday is scheduled for this weekend and I need to save up :)*
Ma: See. We need to get you out from in front of the TV.
Me: sigh.
Unbelievably, this is the 2nd time my mother's suggested I be a Playmate. Coincidentally, it's not the first time she's cited Anna Nicole Smith as a role model. And, on top of all these things, she's also the one who's scarred me for life for dating an older man. So, what we've learned is:
1. I should be a Playboy Playmate
2. My particular brand of crazy is hereditary.
Yup. That really happened. I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming -- and then I checked the bottle of wine I was drinking. I'd only had one glass at that point; and the glass was more than half full. Definitely didn't hallucinate it. HAHA.
Ma: I read your blog today, and I thought it was funny.
Me: Oh yeah?
Ma: Yeah. And you know, I thought that you should make a new year's resolution for next year. Next year, you should do things differently. You need to get in the right circles, just like that Anna girl that got killed in the islands.
Me: *Confused look pointed at my phone.* Who? What? What are you even talking about right now?
Ma: You know. Anna something. She was so in love with the lawyer. Or he was in love with her. And she left the little girl behind. She had a son, he was in his 20s and he got killed...er...drowned or something first. Anyway, she worked the right circles and got in with the right people.
Me: Say huh?
Ma: Well, you always say you don't have any money and you don't meet people. You need to join the right clubs down there. Anna Nicole something. That's it. She was a poor white woman.
Me: Anna Nicole Smith? Mother! She was a Playboy Playmate!!!
Ma: Well that's how she met all the right people and climbed her way to the top!! *emphatically*
Me: So....are you saying you want me to be a Playboy bunny?
Ma: If you can get in Playboy, I want you in there.
Me: ... *mystified silence*... Have you been drinking?
Ma: I'm just saying. So anyway, what are you doing tonight?
Me: Watching TV. *and drinking wine...but I don't mention that part. Or that the reason I'm staying in is because a Sunday Funday is scheduled for this weekend and I need to save up :)*
Ma: See. We need to get you out from in front of the TV.
Me: sigh.
Unbelievably, this is the 2nd time my mother's suggested I be a Playmate. Coincidentally, it's not the first time she's cited Anna Nicole Smith as a role model. And, on top of all these things, she's also the one who's scarred me for life for dating an older man. So, what we've learned is:
1. I should be a Playboy Playmate
2. My particular brand of crazy is hereditary.
Yup. That really happened. I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming -- and then I checked the bottle of wine I was drinking. I'd only had one glass at that point; and the glass was more than half full. Definitely didn't hallucinate it. HAHA.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Would you rather...?
So, this morning I got to thinking...dating is basically a series of "Would you rather...?" scenarios. "Would you rather" is basically a question of 2 undesirable or worst case scenarios that are given to you, and then you have to pick one. There is no opt out, no escape hatch, nada. You must pick one. So, for example: would you rather spend an hour in a dark cave, with no light, and several creepy crawly critters, or would you rather swim in the Chicago River for 10 minutes.
If you ask me, dating is just one big game of "would you rather?" So, would you rather have mind-blowing sex once a week with a super hot guy who is clearly dating other women...OR date a mediocre looking guy with mind-numbingly boring sex who adores you?
Would you rather date a guy who has a decent job, but may never make it big...OR date an entrepreneur who might hit it really REALLY big someday, but may never have a steady income?
Would you rather date a guy who is super hot but has bad breath...OR date a guy who has truly awful fashion choices and refuses to change?
Would you rather date a man who is recently separated with two kids who is a really good dad (and therefore may cancel for things like taking his kid to a birthday party)...OR a man who lives in a different state than his kid and sees the kid sporadically?
Would you rather date a pothead exclusively...OR a guy who doesn't have a vice at all, and is so straight-laced his backbone could double as Marie Antoinette's corset?
Would you rather date a guy who is 5 years younger than you (but really mature) who isn't affectionate...OR a guy who is really affectionate and 2 years older than you (but refuses to grow up)?
Would you rather be a football widow once a week, or would you rather date a man who asks for a hall pass to go to Rio once a year?
And so it goes. (Of course the same applies for men, but given I have a lot less experience dating women, I'm going to have to leave it to the fellas to figure your own worst case scenarios out...)
The problem with the would-you-rather game, is that it's difficult to see the other side. If you ask me, a lot of singletons out there are stuck in the game, and are choosing the "or" instead of whoever they're with. My guess is, no one really thinks single is an option -- at least not at first. So, you go merrily along, hoping to find out what's on the other side of the "or" and hoping that you like it. At the end of the day, you just keep jumping from one worst case scenario to the next. The dating scene is a constant stream of blindly picking the other side, hoping that you made the right choice.
Truth be told, you can see all of the worst case scenarios out there, but you can't see yourself as the worst case scenario. So, would you rather date a pretty girl with ridiculous body image issues or an average girl that won't sleep with you or a complete idiot, or an egotistical girl who thinks her poo don't stank, or a *ahem* physical girl, or a nerd or a materialistic girl or a shallow girl or or OR.* Most people who are still searching for their "or" probably find it difficult to believe that they aren't the total package for someone. Wake up and smell the latte, my friend. Everyone is on the wrong side of somebody's "or." The key is to find who trips your trigger so much that you don't care what's on the other side, because you've got everything you need in him (or her).
Until you find that one, though, keep trying. First of all, the best way to get over a man is to get under a new one. Second of all, you can't find your match if you don't keep looking. And third -- you know what I always say...it's ALWAYS worth it for the story. :}
*having been called all of these, I'm not trying to offend anyone. With the exception of idiot or shallow. I've never been called either of those -- which is surprising, given the ratio of vapid to intelligent moments I have. (Roughly 10:1).
If you ask me, dating is just one big game of "would you rather?" So, would you rather have mind-blowing sex once a week with a super hot guy who is clearly dating other women...OR date a mediocre looking guy with mind-numbingly boring sex who adores you?
Would you rather date a guy who has a decent job, but may never make it big...OR date an entrepreneur who might hit it really REALLY big someday, but may never have a steady income?
Would you rather date a guy who is super hot but has bad breath...OR date a guy who has truly awful fashion choices and refuses to change?
Would you rather date a man who is recently separated with two kids who is a really good dad (and therefore may cancel for things like taking his kid to a birthday party)...OR a man who lives in a different state than his kid and sees the kid sporadically?
Would you rather date a pothead exclusively...OR a guy who doesn't have a vice at all, and is so straight-laced his backbone could double as Marie Antoinette's corset?
Would you rather date a guy who is 5 years younger than you (but really mature) who isn't affectionate...OR a guy who is really affectionate and 2 years older than you (but refuses to grow up)?
Would you rather be a football widow once a week, or would you rather date a man who asks for a hall pass to go to Rio once a year?
And so it goes. (Of course the same applies for men, but given I have a lot less experience dating women, I'm going to have to leave it to the fellas to figure your own worst case scenarios out...)
The problem with the would-you-rather game, is that it's difficult to see the other side. If you ask me, a lot of singletons out there are stuck in the game, and are choosing the "or" instead of whoever they're with. My guess is, no one really thinks single is an option -- at least not at first. So, you go merrily along, hoping to find out what's on the other side of the "or" and hoping that you like it. At the end of the day, you just keep jumping from one worst case scenario to the next. The dating scene is a constant stream of blindly picking the other side, hoping that you made the right choice.
Truth be told, you can see all of the worst case scenarios out there, but you can't see yourself as the worst case scenario. So, would you rather date a pretty girl with ridiculous body image issues or an average girl that won't sleep with you or a complete idiot, or an egotistical girl who thinks her poo don't stank, or a *ahem* physical girl, or a nerd or a materialistic girl or a shallow girl or or OR.* Most people who are still searching for their "or" probably find it difficult to believe that they aren't the total package for someone. Wake up and smell the latte, my friend. Everyone is on the wrong side of somebody's "or." The key is to find who trips your trigger so much that you don't care what's on the other side, because you've got everything you need in him (or her).
Until you find that one, though, keep trying. First of all, the best way to get over a man is to get under a new one. Second of all, you can't find your match if you don't keep looking. And third -- you know what I always say...it's ALWAYS worth it for the story. :}
*having been called all of these, I'm not trying to offend anyone. With the exception of idiot or shallow. I've never been called either of those -- which is surprising, given the ratio of vapid to intelligent moments I have. (Roughly 10:1).
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Evidently, I'm psychic...
You know what expression I've grown to hate? "Self-fulfilling prophecy." Do people say this to you? For example:
Me: Damn, my birthday sucked, hard. Top 5 of my worst days of all time.
Them: Well, you were expecting it to be difficult, so maybe it was just a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Internal monologue: Or. It sucked because I spent it alone in my apartment in my rubber duckie pjs.
Me: Whenever I wear this shirt, I always end up with makeup on the collar.
Them: Well, you're expecting to rub makeup off on it, so maybe it was just a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Internal monologue: Or. It has a really tight v-neck and a standing collar without much room to maneuver. Inevitably, whenever I wear it, I forget this fact until after I put it on...also known as too late because I've already slid it down my makeup enhanced natural look.
Me: I've moved to Siberia, and as a result, my social life blows.
Them: Well, you kept saying how far away Siberia was, and how your social life was going to go downhill. Maybe it was just a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Internal monologue: Or. My social life blows because I do not go out as often, because the social scene in Siberia is filled to the brim with hipsters and Siberians...neither of which interest me. And, because the places there are to visit are dive bars. Have you ever seen pheebee in a dive bar, guzzling a beer? No. Because skinny jeans and Kate Spade just don't belong in a dive bar. Neither does bougie. And I? Am all of those things.
Me: Today was just one of those days. People were trying my patience ALL. DAY. LONG.
Them: Well, you always say the people you work with get on your nerves. Maybe today was just a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Internal monologue: Or. People are ace-holes.
Me: That date was terrible. I was so not into him.
Them: Well, you weren't really willing to give that guy a chance, so maybe it was just a self-fulfilling prophecy that the date was bad.
Internal monologue: Or. He was the opposite of my type who asked me to split the check on the first date -- after I wouldn't agree to go to his house to "watch a movie."
Get the idea? This crap makes me want to put on my crazy pants, bunny slippers, and flannel robe, looking all wild-eyed with my hair standing on end, go outside and scream: "No, dammit! It wasn't a self-fulfilling prophecy. I am not psychic!!!!!!!! Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, I was accurately predicting the outcome of the situation, based on past experience?!?!?!!?"
*Ahem*....I get that if you spend your life looking for things that are wrong, you will find them. If you are seeking out flaws and negative energy, it will come to you. A positive outlook does, in fact, change the way you see things. But it doesn't actually change facts. Fact is, if I look at things through a positive lens, I'm less likely to react in a bad way. If a dude is doing the electric slide on my last nerve, then with a positive outlook, I may just brush him off politely. With a negative outlook, I may cuss him out so hard his grandchildren are born half deaf from the ringing in their ears. Either way, he was tap dancing on my last nerve.
I feel like this "self-fulfilling prophecy" junk is just a way for people to put the onus on you to ignore bad situations. Ignoring them don't make them go away. Life isn't always a beach. Sometimes, life's a bitch -- your outlook determines how you deal with either scene. Sure, it's better to put on the rose colored glasses and pat life on the head like a cute little puppy. But sometimes, you need to take life by the collar and call it out for what it is. Sucky. Acknowledge it, and move on. It's not the observation of suckiness that's the problem -- it's what you do to move around the suck.
But hey, if people keep telling me my observations are self-fulfilling prophecy, then let me go ahead and say this. I will be one chick with happiness abound. I will be making good money, created out of a moguldom of things that I love to do. I will be surrounded by amazing friends that are ride or die, and have a hot and doting husband. I speak that into being...now what? Dare somebody to tell me THAT isn't a self-fulfilling prophecy.*
*Has anyone else ever noticed that only the negative things are self-fulfilling prophesies? NO one ever says that positive things are self-fulfilling. Then all of a sudden you're lucky or in the right place at the right time. You know what? Bite me. If I'm stuck with all these bad things that I made happen, then I want credit for the good ones too.
Me: Damn, my birthday sucked, hard. Top 5 of my worst days of all time.
Them: Well, you were expecting it to be difficult, so maybe it was just a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Internal monologue: Or. It sucked because I spent it alone in my apartment in my rubber duckie pjs.
Me: Whenever I wear this shirt, I always end up with makeup on the collar.
Them: Well, you're expecting to rub makeup off on it, so maybe it was just a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Internal monologue: Or. It has a really tight v-neck and a standing collar without much room to maneuver. Inevitably, whenever I wear it, I forget this fact until after I put it on...also known as too late because I've already slid it down my makeup enhanced natural look.
Me: I've moved to Siberia, and as a result, my social life blows.
Them: Well, you kept saying how far away Siberia was, and how your social life was going to go downhill. Maybe it was just a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Internal monologue: Or. My social life blows because I do not go out as often, because the social scene in Siberia is filled to the brim with hipsters and Siberians...neither of which interest me. And, because the places there are to visit are dive bars. Have you ever seen pheebee in a dive bar, guzzling a beer? No. Because skinny jeans and Kate Spade just don't belong in a dive bar. Neither does bougie. And I? Am all of those things.
Me: Today was just one of those days. People were trying my patience ALL. DAY. LONG.
Them: Well, you always say the people you work with get on your nerves. Maybe today was just a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Internal monologue: Or. People are ace-holes.
Me: That date was terrible. I was so not into him.
Them: Well, you weren't really willing to give that guy a chance, so maybe it was just a self-fulfilling prophecy that the date was bad.
Internal monologue: Or. He was the opposite of my type who asked me to split the check on the first date -- after I wouldn't agree to go to his house to "watch a movie."
Get the idea? This crap makes me want to put on my crazy pants, bunny slippers, and flannel robe, looking all wild-eyed with my hair standing on end, go outside and scream: "No, dammit! It wasn't a self-fulfilling prophecy. I am not psychic!!!!!!!! Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, I was accurately predicting the outcome of the situation, based on past experience?!?!?!!?"
*Ahem*....I get that if you spend your life looking for things that are wrong, you will find them. If you are seeking out flaws and negative energy, it will come to you. A positive outlook does, in fact, change the way you see things. But it doesn't actually change facts. Fact is, if I look at things through a positive lens, I'm less likely to react in a bad way. If a dude is doing the electric slide on my last nerve, then with a positive outlook, I may just brush him off politely. With a negative outlook, I may cuss him out so hard his grandchildren are born half deaf from the ringing in their ears. Either way, he was tap dancing on my last nerve.
I feel like this "self-fulfilling prophecy" junk is just a way for people to put the onus on you to ignore bad situations. Ignoring them don't make them go away. Life isn't always a beach. Sometimes, life's a bitch -- your outlook determines how you deal with either scene. Sure, it's better to put on the rose colored glasses and pat life on the head like a cute little puppy. But sometimes, you need to take life by the collar and call it out for what it is. Sucky. Acknowledge it, and move on. It's not the observation of suckiness that's the problem -- it's what you do to move around the suck.
But hey, if people keep telling me my observations are self-fulfilling prophecy, then let me go ahead and say this. I will be one chick with happiness abound. I will be making good money, created out of a moguldom of things that I love to do. I will be surrounded by amazing friends that are ride or die, and have a hot and doting husband. I speak that into being...now what? Dare somebody to tell me THAT isn't a self-fulfilling prophecy.*
*Has anyone else ever noticed that only the negative things are self-fulfilling prophesies? NO one ever says that positive things are self-fulfilling. Then all of a sudden you're lucky or in the right place at the right time. You know what? Bite me. If I'm stuck with all these bad things that I made happen, then I want credit for the good ones too.
Tuesday, November 08, 2011
She Get It From Her Momma
Astro once told me that after he saw my Ma, he knew that I had good genes. As a result, he'd want to *ahem* for at least 40-50 years. This week, Ma told me the greatest story ever, proving once again that my genes are just fine.
So, apparently my Ma headed over to church on Sunday, even though earlier that day she thought maybe she should praise from home since her rotator cuff injury was acting up. But, she went on anyway, and found herself a seat. Not long afterwards, a gentleman sat next to her. Now, I can't say for certain what he looked like, because Ma only gave me a single description: he was drunk. Ma is a good Christian woman from the South. She just isn't a huge fan of people who drink. (She calls me an alkie at least once a week.) The irony here, is that she married a man who was a liquor distributor when they met, and shortly after that, Daddy bought a bar. Hilarious.
Anyhoo. After he sat down, her new friend leaned over and said "God sent you to me." She turned to him, like "say what?" But ignored it and continued on enjoying church. So, he leaned over and said it again: "I know God sent you to me." Ma made another attempt at instituting the "sit still and maybe he won't be able to see you" method. Unfortunately, that didn't work. So when he leaned over again, she tried shushing him. Of course, this was to no avail.
This alone would have been cringeworthy and hilarious (for me). But Ma's new friend took it to a whole new level. He leaned over and said "just write your number down here." The "here" was the church bulletin.
< Pause for outburst. > PAH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
So, this guy was neither shutting up NOR getting the hint. So Ma decided to find herself another seat. When she got up, she heard behind her: "Hey! Where are you going?!"
< Pause for 2nd outburst. > PAH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Honestly, I'm not sure what Ma's reaction should have been. I mean, are you offended that the drunk guy was bothering you? Or, are you brushing that dirt off your shoulder because you still got it? In my opinion? Go with the latter. Moral of the story? In 30 years, I'll STILL be a pimp.
Get it from my Momma, indeed. Heh.
So, apparently my Ma headed over to church on Sunday, even though earlier that day she thought maybe she should praise from home since her rotator cuff injury was acting up. But, she went on anyway, and found herself a seat. Not long afterwards, a gentleman sat next to her. Now, I can't say for certain what he looked like, because Ma only gave me a single description: he was drunk. Ma is a good Christian woman from the South. She just isn't a huge fan of people who drink. (She calls me an alkie at least once a week.) The irony here, is that she married a man who was a liquor distributor when they met, and shortly after that, Daddy bought a bar. Hilarious.
Anyhoo. After he sat down, her new friend leaned over and said "God sent you to me." She turned to him, like "say what?" But ignored it and continued on enjoying church. So, he leaned over and said it again: "I know God sent you to me." Ma made another attempt at instituting the "sit still and maybe he won't be able to see you" method. Unfortunately, that didn't work. So when he leaned over again, she tried shushing him. Of course, this was to no avail.
This alone would have been cringeworthy and hilarious (for me). But Ma's new friend took it to a whole new level. He leaned over and said "just write your number down here." The "here" was the church bulletin.
< Pause for outburst. > PAH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
So, this guy was neither shutting up NOR getting the hint. So Ma decided to find herself another seat. When she got up, she heard behind her: "Hey! Where are you going?!"
< Pause for 2nd outburst. > PAH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Honestly, I'm not sure what Ma's reaction should have been. I mean, are you offended that the drunk guy was bothering you? Or, are you brushing that dirt off your shoulder because you still got it? In my opinion? Go with the latter. Moral of the story? In 30 years, I'll STILL be a pimp.
Get it from my Momma, indeed. Heh.
Lessons Learned in ATL, Part 2.
1. The bougie bar CAN be raised.
People that know me would likely point to a small bougie streak. OR, they might point to the 8 lane expressway that is my bougie streak. Either way, suffice it to say I like the finer things. I'm the girl that will order a glass of sparkling wine at the bar for no other reason than my existence is celebration enough to justify a champagne glass.* A friend of mine once accused me of being bougie because I carried my Kate while on an island vacation to do some exploring. What can I say? It's my go-to bag, darn it!
Anyway, we'd been invited by the basketball player to a fundraising event that was happening that Saturday. The fundraiser was -- wait for it -- a polo match! As in, Pretty Woman, Kentucky Derby, fancy-hat-and-cocktails-in-the-middle-of-the-day polo match. Jade and I generally follow the philosophy of "EFF it, WHY NOT?!" So naturally, we were IN. The only problem was that we legitimately needed to look the part. There was going to be a fancy hat contest, for heaven's sake! Also? We needed to get this done in about 45 minutes. Well, let me just say, we were phenomenal. After digging in to Jade's closet and my suitcase, throwing things together and going to 2 different stores, we were equestrian chic and hot to death. Simply put, we were amazing.
When we got there, we were pleased to discover that our wool floppy hats fit right in. Our bougie bar? Splendidly raised. Just when you thought our fabulous level had peaked. HA!
2. The scumbag elevator always goes down another floor.
The last and most important lesson I learned in ATL is that I will never be desensitized to the scumbag factor. Just when you think you've reached the bottom, there is someone swimming in the gutter below the surface.
While at the polo match, we met an attorney there. (Of course we did). This attorney was on par with Smiling Irish Eyes from the fundraiser. Except he was much MUCH older. He was 15 years older than me if he was a day. Much like that guy, he was definitely overweight. He encased his pudgy in pinstriped vest and matching pants. Atop his head he had a pinstriped fedora. To bring the fit-out (as opposed to an outfit) out, the attorney had on mirrored sunglasses -- a la Megatron. While the sunglasses were necessary at the beginning of the day while standing outside, the tables were all open air but covered. Sunglasses, totally unnecessary. (Sunglasses at Night was on constant loop in my head).
Anyway, he was totally inappropriate, but it was generally funny. Let's be honest, I'm not easily offended by words. For example, he said to me "how tall are you? You're like a pin-up doll." A what? Yeah, I asked that too. He says "Like, I'd pin you up against the wall, doll." WOW. Did you just say that out loud? I was stunned, but it was still hilarious. And hey, drinking may have been involved. So I'm willing to roll with the punches.
And then, we jumped on the scumbag elevator and hit a new low. At the end of the day, someone said something that was wildly inappropriate but generally hilarious. In pure pheebee fashion, I reacted (over)dramatically, pretending to be so floored that I lost my balance. While I was bent over and giggling, I felt the rather distinctive feeling of 2 smacks being placed squarely on my arse by a foreign and uninvited hand. You know those moments when time totally stops, and you can't hear anything going on around you and you're moving in slow motion? Yeah, that's what it was like. I was so pissed I saw nothing but red. I'm not really a violent person, so my first thought wasn't to kick or slap him (although, that would have been totally preferable). My initial reaction was to tell him EXACTLY what I thought about his old fat self.
I spun around, and through clenched teeth I asked him if he had, in fact, just smacked my ass. With a disgusting pervert grin on his face, he says "yeah I did. *giggle*. You're wearing a thong, aren't you?"
At this point, I was doing everything in my power not to cuss him out AND kick him in his old wrinkled nuts. Clearly seeing the look on my face, Jade attempted to run an interference. She was talking a mile a minute (all I heard was "please don't" and "ruin" and "for real, like seriously") and her hands were making gestures akin to a baseball manager standing in the dugout telling his player to steal 2nd. So, what I say to him is "WHY THE PHCK WOULD YOU DO THAT? WHAT WOULD POSSESS YOU TO THINK THAT WAS OK? ARE YOU OUTSIDE OF YOUR MIND?"
He appeared to be surprised by my reaction. And pretended to apologize profusely. "I'm sorry. My bad." "I phckd up." "I was flirting with you." I was only hearing snippets, because the choice words in my head were SO DAMN LOUD!!!! I'd like to think he was actually apologizing, and was just drunk-stupid. But, no one is that stupid. The next thing he said was "do you want to meet me in Vegas next week? I have to go for a conference, and..." I'm not sure what he said next, because I was busy responding to the first part of the sentence "WHY THE HELL WOULD I GO WITH YOU TO VEGAS?"
Oh, did I mention that he was married? And that his wife was AT THE POLO MATCH?
Now, at this point, people who know me might ask "why didn't you cuss him out in your own special way?" Well, I refer you to lesson number 1 for today. It was a day of bougie, and there was a certain façade that was necessary. Plus, we were invited guests of someone that neither of us knew all that well. And, that person was the client of Jade's friend. Business before ego. Friendships before business. I couldn't go HAM because there were too many important relationships at risk. This was an unfortunate circumstance, because I had a couple sleepless nights since it bothered me so much that I didn't have the opportunity to tell that vile bastard exactly what I thought of him. Ultimately, I just have to remind myself that karma is a bitch with a looooooooooooong memory.
Perhaps even more tragic is that after it happened, Jade and her accountant friend were somewhat underwhelmed. Not because they're heartless, but because this caliber of scumbag is commonplace in ATL. It's a small wonder that any quality woman isn't single for life or so deep in her madness that she must be sedated just to get through each day. Honestly? If this was commonplace, I'd constantly suffer from laryngitis. There's no way I could keep holding my tongue. Even more sad, even if I had the opportunity to say something, it would have done ZERO good -- it would have fallen on deaf ears. Well -- not zero. I would have felt immensely better.
*In fact, Jade and I met and bonded over a glass of Moscato d'Asti. We'd both been invited to a birthday party of a guy we didn't know. I ordered myself an Asti (again, because my existence is celebration enough), and Jade was intrigued. I offered her my glass so she could give it a shot. And boom! We bonded. See that? Alcohol brings people together.
People that know me would likely point to a small bougie streak. OR, they might point to the 8 lane expressway that is my bougie streak. Either way, suffice it to say I like the finer things. I'm the girl that will order a glass of sparkling wine at the bar for no other reason than my existence is celebration enough to justify a champagne glass.* A friend of mine once accused me of being bougie because I carried my Kate while on an island vacation to do some exploring. What can I say? It's my go-to bag, darn it!
Anyway, we'd been invited by the basketball player to a fundraising event that was happening that Saturday. The fundraiser was -- wait for it -- a polo match! As in, Pretty Woman, Kentucky Derby, fancy-hat-and-cocktails-in-the-middle-of-the-day polo match. Jade and I generally follow the philosophy of "EFF it, WHY NOT?!" So naturally, we were IN. The only problem was that we legitimately needed to look the part. There was going to be a fancy hat contest, for heaven's sake! Also? We needed to get this done in about 45 minutes. Well, let me just say, we were phenomenal. After digging in to Jade's closet and my suitcase, throwing things together and going to 2 different stores, we were equestrian chic and hot to death. Simply put, we were amazing.
When we got there, we were pleased to discover that our wool floppy hats fit right in. Our bougie bar? Splendidly raised. Just when you thought our fabulous level had peaked. HA!
2. The scumbag elevator always goes down another floor.
The last and most important lesson I learned in ATL is that I will never be desensitized to the scumbag factor. Just when you think you've reached the bottom, there is someone swimming in the gutter below the surface.
While at the polo match, we met an attorney there. (Of course we did). This attorney was on par with Smiling Irish Eyes from the fundraiser. Except he was much MUCH older. He was 15 years older than me if he was a day. Much like that guy, he was definitely overweight. He encased his pudgy in pinstriped vest and matching pants. Atop his head he had a pinstriped fedora. To bring the fit-out (as opposed to an outfit) out, the attorney had on mirrored sunglasses -- a la Megatron. While the sunglasses were necessary at the beginning of the day while standing outside, the tables were all open air but covered. Sunglasses, totally unnecessary. (Sunglasses at Night was on constant loop in my head).
Anyway, he was totally inappropriate, but it was generally funny. Let's be honest, I'm not easily offended by words. For example, he said to me "how tall are you? You're like a pin-up doll." A what? Yeah, I asked that too. He says "Like, I'd pin you up against the wall, doll." WOW. Did you just say that out loud? I was stunned, but it was still hilarious. And hey, drinking may have been involved. So I'm willing to roll with the punches.
And then, we jumped on the scumbag elevator and hit a new low. At the end of the day, someone said something that was wildly inappropriate but generally hilarious. In pure pheebee fashion, I reacted (over)dramatically, pretending to be so floored that I lost my balance. While I was bent over and giggling, I felt the rather distinctive feeling of 2 smacks being placed squarely on my arse by a foreign and uninvited hand. You know those moments when time totally stops, and you can't hear anything going on around you and you're moving in slow motion? Yeah, that's what it was like. I was so pissed I saw nothing but red. I'm not really a violent person, so my first thought wasn't to kick or slap him (although, that would have been totally preferable). My initial reaction was to tell him EXACTLY what I thought about his old fat self.
I spun around, and through clenched teeth I asked him if he had, in fact, just smacked my ass. With a disgusting pervert grin on his face, he says "yeah I did. *giggle*. You're wearing a thong, aren't you?"
At this point, I was doing everything in my power not to cuss him out AND kick him in his old wrinkled nuts. Clearly seeing the look on my face, Jade attempted to run an interference. She was talking a mile a minute (all I heard was "please don't" and "ruin" and "for real, like seriously") and her hands were making gestures akin to a baseball manager standing in the dugout telling his player to steal 2nd. So, what I say to him is "WHY THE PHCK WOULD YOU DO THAT? WHAT WOULD POSSESS YOU TO THINK THAT WAS OK? ARE YOU OUTSIDE OF YOUR MIND?"
He appeared to be surprised by my reaction. And pretended to apologize profusely. "I'm sorry. My bad." "I phckd up." "I was flirting with you." I was only hearing snippets, because the choice words in my head were SO DAMN LOUD!!!! I'd like to think he was actually apologizing, and was just drunk-stupid. But, no one is that stupid. The next thing he said was "do you want to meet me in Vegas next week? I have to go for a conference, and..." I'm not sure what he said next, because I was busy responding to the first part of the sentence "WHY THE HELL WOULD I GO WITH YOU TO VEGAS?"
Oh, did I mention that he was married? And that his wife was AT THE POLO MATCH?
Now, at this point, people who know me might ask "why didn't you cuss him out in your own special way?" Well, I refer you to lesson number 1 for today. It was a day of bougie, and there was a certain façade that was necessary. Plus, we were invited guests of someone that neither of us knew all that well. And, that person was the client of Jade's friend. Business before ego. Friendships before business. I couldn't go HAM because there were too many important relationships at risk. This was an unfortunate circumstance, because I had a couple sleepless nights since it bothered me so much that I didn't have the opportunity to tell that vile bastard exactly what I thought of him. Ultimately, I just have to remind myself that karma is a bitch with a looooooooooooong memory.
Perhaps even more tragic is that after it happened, Jade and her accountant friend were somewhat underwhelmed. Not because they're heartless, but because this caliber of scumbag is commonplace in ATL. It's a small wonder that any quality woman isn't single for life or so deep in her madness that she must be sedated just to get through each day. Honestly? If this was commonplace, I'd constantly suffer from laryngitis. There's no way I could keep holding my tongue. Even more sad, even if I had the opportunity to say something, it would have done ZERO good -- it would have fallen on deaf ears. Well -- not zero. I would have felt immensely better.
*In fact, Jade and I met and bonded over a glass of Moscato d'Asti. We'd both been invited to a birthday party of a guy we didn't know. I ordered myself an Asti (again, because my existence is celebration enough), and Jade was intrigued. I offered her my glass so she could give it a shot. And boom! We bonded. See that? Alcohol brings people together.
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
Lessons learned in ATL, Part 1.
So, I travelled to my least favorite city (to date) for a nice weekend jaunt with one of my favorite people of all time (to date).* While there, I learned all kinds of things. Allow me to share.
1. 5 Hour Energy Drinks really do work.
I worked a full day of work on Friday, so I was actually prepared to go out for a quick minute and then fall asleep. But, this was not an option because we were scheduled for some full time shenanigans. So, I drop a 5 hour energy drink in the carryon and roll out. Before I get on the plane, (and after packing the small bottled wonder), I stopped at Macy's to get a pair of eyelashes. When deciding which ones to get, I asked the lady for lashes that would fit in in the flossiest, flashiest, snootiest, most bougiest city in America. (That's Jade's description, not mine!!). Anyway, they were long, they were winged, and they were fabulous.** About 45 minutes before landing, I put in my contacts, touched up my makeup, and gave the guy next to me a nice little batting of the eyelashes just to make sure they were working. He promptly started fanning because his temperature raised at least 10 degrees -- they were working.*** After jumping off the plane, I dashed to the airport bathroom to change a la Superman with a bigger phone booth. Walking into the bathroom, I was a casual sorority chick visiting her long distance boyfriend. Walking out, I was a diva on her way to prove once and for all why northern women make southern belles look like chopped liver.
We headed out to the bar, where we met up with Jade's friend and his client. (Jade's friend being an accountant to the ATL elite). So, basically, I'd never heard of this dude before. But, I later found out that he was a retired basketball player. As in, in the NBA. That's right, I had cocktails with a retired NBA player. All I noticed was that he was really really tall and talked a lot of BS. But, he was nice and polite, and able to take all of the trash talking we did vis a vis the Falcons vs. the Packers. So, he was cool. *shrug* That's just how Jade and I roll...get on our level. ;)
2. Actually, you do need to put your bags back into your bag.
When I was going through security, I was hearing all kinds of wah wah wah over the speakers. I heard my gate mentioned, but I figured it was an announcement about a different flight. So I really didn't stress about it. When I finally got to the other side of the conveyer belt, I put my shoes on and hauled all my junk to the nearest bench in order to put my life together. I immediately checked for my phone, because I'm unnecessarily paranoid about losing my phone. It was there, so I zipped up my bag and got to moving. Just in time to hear them make the last boarding call for my flight. And THAT'S when I started to haul some serious booty. I ran, dragging my carryon behind me, coat flapping in the breeze. I made it -- and fortunately I wasn't the last person on the plane. I heard the guy at the gate say they were trying to get off the ground early. Yeah well, he was a total liar. The plane left maybe 3 minutes early. All that rushing I did? Totally unnecessary. No matter. I went to the bathroom before takeoff, and when I got back to my seat, I went to pull my 1 plastic baggie full of 3 oz liquids out to grab some lotion. And...it wasn't in my bag. I shrugged, figuring that I had stuffed it in my stowed luggage. Turns out? It wasn't stowed. I left the great folks of TSA a nice little present on the bench at Midway. Hope it didn't cause an incident. *shrug*. At first, I was totally calm about it -- I figured except for my foundation, it was full of all kinds of things I hijacked from hotel stays. And then I was pissed when I realized (2 days later) that my brand-freaking-new eyeshadow primer was in that bag. Some TSA agent is totally rocking longwear eyeshadow on my dime. #curses.
3. It actually is possible for Jade and I to get even MORE bougie.
Remember when I said that the NBA player was a nice guy? Well, on Friday night, he invited us to -- wait for it -- a polo match. A what? A POLO MATCH! It was a fundraiser, and included contests for best hat (a la, Derby hats), best place settings, and best cocktail. If that just doesn't beat all! So, in true eff-it-why-not form, Jade and I readily agreed. We managed to pull together "equestrian chic" outfits in 30 minutes or less.**** Part of that was getting humongous floppy hats. It was amazing. The entire time, I just kept thinking "am I for real at a polo match right now? Wow." It was a new experience, and it was wicked awesome that we did it.
While we were there, football was on. (Obviously). The Packers had a bye week, but my fantasy team was on and poppin'. Admittedly, I was concerned about it, because my opponent had some of the most awesome players ever (including Cam Newton, with his sexy sexy self). The boys were all checking their phones, and making all kinds of announcements about who was doing what to whom. I got into it right there with them. We were exchanging stats, comparing fantasy team members, and commiserating over Brees' horrible game against the Rams. At one point, we were talking about something really simple...like, the fact that Drew Brees' epic fail against the Rams was out of character for him. At that point, no joke, one guy turned to me and asked: "Are you a writer for ESPN?" Really dude? I didn't say anything remotely impressive just then. And I KNOW that you didn't hear me discussing the weaknesses in the Packers' secondary. So, are you truly that easily impressed?! (Man, southern women must really be out of the loop when it comes to sports. Score yet another one for northern gals!)
All in all, the trip was good. When I flew in on Monday morning, I was all around exhausted. Totally worth the sleep deprivation.
*Jade threw the friend card at me. Basically saying that if I didn't come to visit her, I couldn't be her friend anymore. So, I booked a flight out for a quick weekend turnaround.
**And, the Mac makeup artist also did some fabulous smokey eye flair to go with them. (She was amazing!)
***May or may not be a total exaggeration of what actually happened.
****I was totally unprepared for all of the activities we got into this weekend. I'm pretty impressed with what I managed to pull together with limited resources.
1. 5 Hour Energy Drinks really do work.
I worked a full day of work on Friday, so I was actually prepared to go out for a quick minute and then fall asleep. But, this was not an option because we were scheduled for some full time shenanigans. So, I drop a 5 hour energy drink in the carryon and roll out. Before I get on the plane, (and after packing the small bottled wonder), I stopped at Macy's to get a pair of eyelashes. When deciding which ones to get, I asked the lady for lashes that would fit in in the flossiest, flashiest, snootiest, most bougiest city in America. (That's Jade's description, not mine!!). Anyway, they were long, they were winged, and they were fabulous.** About 45 minutes before landing, I put in my contacts, touched up my makeup, and gave the guy next to me a nice little batting of the eyelashes just to make sure they were working. He promptly started fanning because his temperature raised at least 10 degrees -- they were working.*** After jumping off the plane, I dashed to the airport bathroom to change a la Superman with a bigger phone booth. Walking into the bathroom, I was a casual sorority chick visiting her long distance boyfriend. Walking out, I was a diva on her way to prove once and for all why northern women make southern belles look like chopped liver.
We headed out to the bar, where we met up with Jade's friend and his client. (Jade's friend being an accountant to the ATL elite). So, basically, I'd never heard of this dude before. But, I later found out that he was a retired basketball player. As in, in the NBA. That's right, I had cocktails with a retired NBA player. All I noticed was that he was really really tall and talked a lot of BS. But, he was nice and polite, and able to take all of the trash talking we did vis a vis the Falcons vs. the Packers. So, he was cool. *shrug* That's just how Jade and I roll...get on our level. ;)
2. Actually, you do need to put your bags back into your bag.
When I was going through security, I was hearing all kinds of wah wah wah over the speakers. I heard my gate mentioned, but I figured it was an announcement about a different flight. So I really didn't stress about it. When I finally got to the other side of the conveyer belt, I put my shoes on and hauled all my junk to the nearest bench in order to put my life together. I immediately checked for my phone, because I'm unnecessarily paranoid about losing my phone. It was there, so I zipped up my bag and got to moving. Just in time to hear them make the last boarding call for my flight. And THAT'S when I started to haul some serious booty. I ran, dragging my carryon behind me, coat flapping in the breeze. I made it -- and fortunately I wasn't the last person on the plane. I heard the guy at the gate say they were trying to get off the ground early. Yeah well, he was a total liar. The plane left maybe 3 minutes early. All that rushing I did? Totally unnecessary. No matter. I went to the bathroom before takeoff, and when I got back to my seat, I went to pull my 1 plastic baggie full of 3 oz liquids out to grab some lotion. And...it wasn't in my bag. I shrugged, figuring that I had stuffed it in my stowed luggage. Turns out? It wasn't stowed. I left the great folks of TSA a nice little present on the bench at Midway. Hope it didn't cause an incident. *shrug*. At first, I was totally calm about it -- I figured except for my foundation, it was full of all kinds of things I hijacked from hotel stays. And then I was pissed when I realized (2 days later) that my brand-freaking-new eyeshadow primer was in that bag. Some TSA agent is totally rocking longwear eyeshadow on my dime. #curses.
3. It actually is possible for Jade and I to get even MORE bougie.
Remember when I said that the NBA player was a nice guy? Well, on Friday night, he invited us to -- wait for it -- a polo match. A what? A POLO MATCH! It was a fundraiser, and included contests for best hat (a la, Derby hats), best place settings, and best cocktail. If that just doesn't beat all! So, in true eff-it-why-not form, Jade and I readily agreed. We managed to pull together "equestrian chic" outfits in 30 minutes or less.**** Part of that was getting humongous floppy hats. It was amazing. The entire time, I just kept thinking "am I for real at a polo match right now? Wow." It was a new experience, and it was wicked awesome that we did it.
While we were there, football was on. (Obviously). The Packers had a bye week, but my fantasy team was on and poppin'. Admittedly, I was concerned about it, because my opponent had some of the most awesome players ever (including Cam Newton, with his sexy sexy self). The boys were all checking their phones, and making all kinds of announcements about who was doing what to whom. I got into it right there with them. We were exchanging stats, comparing fantasy team members, and commiserating over Brees' horrible game against the Rams. At one point, we were talking about something really simple...like, the fact that Drew Brees' epic fail against the Rams was out of character for him. At that point, no joke, one guy turned to me and asked: "Are you a writer for ESPN?" Really dude? I didn't say anything remotely impressive just then. And I KNOW that you didn't hear me discussing the weaknesses in the Packers' secondary. So, are you truly that easily impressed?! (Man, southern women must really be out of the loop when it comes to sports. Score yet another one for northern gals!)
All in all, the trip was good. When I flew in on Monday morning, I was all around exhausted. Totally worth the sleep deprivation.
*Jade threw the friend card at me. Basically saying that if I didn't come to visit her, I couldn't be her friend anymore. So, I booked a flight out for a quick weekend turnaround.
**And, the Mac makeup artist also did some fabulous smokey eye flair to go with them. (She was amazing!)
***May or may not be a total exaggeration of what actually happened.
****I was totally unprepared for all of the activities we got into this weekend. I'm pretty impressed with what I managed to pull together with limited resources.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Twos
The last two days have been filled with pairs. At first, I didn't even notice it. And then, it started to become a little more obvious. Allow me to explain:
Number of exes that have professed their desire to get back together: 2.
Number of exes that I believe are completely full of it when it comes to trying again: 2.
Number of times I've been approached about going on a date with someone from Facebook: 2.
Number of times I said I'd do it if for no other reason than for the story: 2.
Number of guys in or around my office who have a crush on me: 2.
And so, you see the theme.
I've always suspected that the Titan hangs around as an insurance policy. I think he's got me as a back up plan -- in the event he doesn't find something better, he knows that I'll make a good to decent wife (his words). Yesterday was the first time he finally admitted to wanting to try again. But, wait for it. Did he ask me out at that point? Nope. He said he wanted to try it again, and I quote: "down the line." To quote SiQ's sister, what in the fresh hell is that?! Is there no honor in dating anymore? Isn't that one of those things you keep inside your head? Perhaps it would have been more effective if he just said to me "hey, if we're both still single in 5 years, let's get married, k?" Ohhh wait, he has said that to me. Look man, you're really good at helping me with my fantasy team and all, but kick rocks. We are so not going to get back together.
Side note? He came out of left field, showing signs of intelligence again. I said to him: "hey, what would we talk about if we never talked about football?" And he says, "lots of things. Like, how about Obama withdrawing the troops out of the Middle East. What do you think about that? I think it's about time." Zwrrrrrrrr. Say what? Who are you?!
Anyway, when I was working at my first job, I learned a valuable lesson about going out with people who work places where you frequent. After a brief interaction with 'bux (this guy), I became intimately familiar with the awkwardness that happens when it doesn't work out. (Remember this?) The lesson is, if you go there often, do NOT go out on a date with these people, unless you're prepared to change your routine in its entirety if things go south. This rule is particularly important at your local Starbucks, the gym, your office, and anywhere else you're bound to be at least once a week. Sadly, the only two people on the planet who have a crush on me are stationed at my local Starbucks and my office building. The Starbucks guy has been professing his crush for almost as long as I've been at this job. Fortunately, he's bought the excuse that I've got a boyfriend for most of that time. (It helps that he was there when Astro went to get me a chai -- back when he was doing an effective job of courting me). This Starbucks guy also has a kid and is still in school. Furthermore, I'm just not interested in seeing him naked. Like, ever. So...pass on that. It would for sure end, it would be awkward, and then I'd have to re-route my 'bux habit. Nobody wants that.
The other guy, is the doorman in my office building. It took a minute for him to build up to actually expressing his crush. In fact, he hasn't actually claimed it, yet. But it's officially the worst kept secret. He gives me a hard time, which is fun. He always holds the elevator door open for me, and walks across the lobby with me to the backdoor. It's pretty endearing. But, it would be even more awkward when it didn't work out!* He works at the door of the building for heaven's sake. There is no getting around seeing him after a breakup. We'll just have to maintain our relationship at the lobby flirting level :).
Meanwhile, the date with Mr. Smiling Irish Eyes did not happen on Monday (much to the chagrin of friends everywhere). There is a possibility that it could happen tomorrow, because the plans which were made were tentative. We'll see. I promise an update if it happens!
Hmm, maybe all these twos have a lot to do with the weather. I always say, when it gets cold out, the snow bunnies start looking for someone to pair up with. All we need now is for one of these snow bunnies to be my kind of snow bunny.
*For the record, I'm making a lot of assumptions here. It's not that I think I'm hot stuff. By the way, my proof came today when he told me that since we were fighting, he thought we should kiss and make up. I giggled -- it was kinda funny.
Number of exes that have professed their desire to get back together: 2.
Number of exes that I believe are completely full of it when it comes to trying again: 2.
Number of times I've been approached about going on a date with someone from Facebook: 2.
Number of times I said I'd do it if for no other reason than for the story: 2.
Number of guys in or around my office who have a crush on me: 2.
And so, you see the theme.
I've always suspected that the Titan hangs around as an insurance policy. I think he's got me as a back up plan -- in the event he doesn't find something better, he knows that I'll make a good to decent wife (his words). Yesterday was the first time he finally admitted to wanting to try again. But, wait for it. Did he ask me out at that point? Nope. He said he wanted to try it again, and I quote: "down the line." To quote SiQ's sister, what in the fresh hell is that?! Is there no honor in dating anymore? Isn't that one of those things you keep inside your head? Perhaps it would have been more effective if he just said to me "hey, if we're both still single in 5 years, let's get married, k?" Ohhh wait, he has said that to me. Look man, you're really good at helping me with my fantasy team and all, but kick rocks. We are so not going to get back together.
Side note? He came out of left field, showing signs of intelligence again. I said to him: "hey, what would we talk about if we never talked about football?" And he says, "lots of things. Like, how about Obama withdrawing the troops out of the Middle East. What do you think about that? I think it's about time." Zwrrrrrrrr. Say what? Who are you?!
Anyway, when I was working at my first job, I learned a valuable lesson about going out with people who work places where you frequent. After a brief interaction with 'bux (this guy), I became intimately familiar with the awkwardness that happens when it doesn't work out. (Remember this?) The lesson is, if you go there often, do NOT go out on a date with these people, unless you're prepared to change your routine in its entirety if things go south. This rule is particularly important at your local Starbucks, the gym, your office, and anywhere else you're bound to be at least once a week. Sadly, the only two people on the planet who have a crush on me are stationed at my local Starbucks and my office building. The Starbucks guy has been professing his crush for almost as long as I've been at this job. Fortunately, he's bought the excuse that I've got a boyfriend for most of that time. (It helps that he was there when Astro went to get me a chai -- back when he was doing an effective job of courting me). This Starbucks guy also has a kid and is still in school. Furthermore, I'm just not interested in seeing him naked. Like, ever. So...pass on that. It would for sure end, it would be awkward, and then I'd have to re-route my 'bux habit. Nobody wants that.
The other guy, is the doorman in my office building. It took a minute for him to build up to actually expressing his crush. In fact, he hasn't actually claimed it, yet. But it's officially the worst kept secret. He gives me a hard time, which is fun. He always holds the elevator door open for me, and walks across the lobby with me to the backdoor. It's pretty endearing. But, it would be even more awkward when it didn't work out!* He works at the door of the building for heaven's sake. There is no getting around seeing him after a breakup. We'll just have to maintain our relationship at the lobby flirting level :).
Meanwhile, the date with Mr. Smiling Irish Eyes did not happen on Monday (much to the chagrin of friends everywhere). There is a possibility that it could happen tomorrow, because the plans which were made were tentative. We'll see. I promise an update if it happens!
Hmm, maybe all these twos have a lot to do with the weather. I always say, when it gets cold out, the snow bunnies start looking for someone to pair up with. All we need now is for one of these snow bunnies to be my kind of snow bunny.
*For the record, I'm making a lot of assumptions here. It's not that I think I'm hot stuff. By the way, my proof came today when he told me that since we were fighting, he thought we should kiss and make up. I giggled -- it was kinda funny.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
So worth it!
As we learned in the last post, a good story is always worth the hassle. Well, I tested this theory again earlier this week.
On Tuesday, Astro called me (out of the blue)* and asked me to go with him to a political fundraiser (aka networking event). Given my desire to raise my status as a super connector, I agreed to go.
When we got there, it quickly became apparent that I was going to have to make an adjustment to my strategy. Back when Astro was a "current" rather than an "ex" boyfriend, I'd often be more of a Jackie O rather than a Michelle O**. But, as an ex, I'm no longer obligated to fulfill that role. I'm not saying this is a bad thing, just a matter of course. So, we separate, and he goes off to meet his next investor, and I go off to meet my next sucker, er, client.
As I'm speaking to a woman, there is a guy who is standing a few yards away. He is oh, maybe just under 6 feet tall, has slicked back dark hair; a gray gimlet patterned suit, with a shiny blue tie; a shiny and obvious watch, and a tan. Basically, if someone were to play him in a movie, it'd be Robert De Niro (before he went gray). Oh, except Italian, he was Irish. (We'll get to how I know that in a minute.) So, I'm talking to this lady, and smiling Irish eyes says "wait a second...did she (meaning me) just say she's married?!" Ok. Entertaining, sure. I did like the boldness, that was cool. But, whatevs. The lady and I continue our conversation. Shortly thereafter, smiling Irish eyes says "hey Mrs. Irish Eyes, what would you like to drink?" (Ok, stop. Before you get all excited, we were at an event with an open bar.) The lady I'd been talking to was getting ready to leave, on her way out she says "this is the type of event where you could end up getting married. (sly smile)."
Well, Mr. smiling Irish eyes gets my white wine and hands it to me. I thank him for it, and he pulls me to the bar, and offers me a seat. He says "you're too beautiful to be standing." (Yes really, I'm so not making this up.) We chat for 3 minutes, he tells me he's Irish, and a friend of his walks over. The friend of SIE ask me who I came with and what he does. So I say I came with a friend who is a venture capitalist. Mr. SIE says "my friend and I are venture capitalists. We just put an in-flux of money into the economy whenever we go shopping. I always buy women's clothes and jewelry but I have nothing to do with it."***
Now, this guy is laying it on pretty thick, to the point of being comical. Except, he's being totally serious. Anyway, he goes on to say that if I want to get married, his friend is a rabbi so the friend can marry us upstairs.**** I politely decline the marriage proposal. So, it's time for them to go. Mr. SIE asks for my card, which I hand over. (Like I said, there may be a legit business prospect there, but I can't remember what he said he did. Mainly because I wasn't listening closely enough to retain anything he said). He then reaches in his pocket to hand me his card. And....it's his Amex Platinum. Yes, dear readers. He actually hands me his Amex. Now, we've just taken the evening to a whole new level. I don't even know what the appropriate reaction is at this point.
So, I'm telling this story to my co-workers, and they're all equally horrified. And so I say, well I'll let you know how the date goes. One of the girls says, "wait, what? You're actually going out with this guy?!" So, I look at her dead in the eye: "hell yeah! Either way, I get paid...either a nice dinner OR actual business because the dude has money. Either way it works out for me. And anyway, when a chance like this comes, you always ALWAYS go all in just for the story!"
So, here's hoping the sequel is just as good as the first story. Oh smiling Irish eyes, what else could you possibly bring?
*Side note? You know what really puts a bee in my bonnet? People who don't return messages -- voice OR texts! And, frankly, I'm tired of hearing that he's "busy." As near as I can tell, he just dix around all day on the computer and goes to "meetings" (most assuredly those meetings are with his dealer. If you ask me). Anyway, I don't care how damn busy a person is, unless your last name is preceded by "President of the United States" you are NOT THAT DAMN BUSY. PICK UP YOUR PHONE!!!! Ok, side bar over.
**In other words, a Jackie O is a pretty girl that is seen and not heard (and likely running ish in the background). A Michelle O is ahead of her game, and doin' her own thang (and STILL running ish in the background).
***Yes, really. I'm not making this up!
****Nearly forgot the best part. The event was held at the set of the recently cancelled "Playboy Club." Yup. Just adds a layer of shenanigans, doesn't it?
On Tuesday, Astro called me (out of the blue)* and asked me to go with him to a political fundraiser (aka networking event). Given my desire to raise my status as a super connector, I agreed to go.
When we got there, it quickly became apparent that I was going to have to make an adjustment to my strategy. Back when Astro was a "current" rather than an "ex" boyfriend, I'd often be more of a Jackie O rather than a Michelle O**. But, as an ex, I'm no longer obligated to fulfill that role. I'm not saying this is a bad thing, just a matter of course. So, we separate, and he goes off to meet his next investor, and I go off to meet my next sucker, er, client.
As I'm speaking to a woman, there is a guy who is standing a few yards away. He is oh, maybe just under 6 feet tall, has slicked back dark hair; a gray gimlet patterned suit, with a shiny blue tie; a shiny and obvious watch, and a tan. Basically, if someone were to play him in a movie, it'd be Robert De Niro (before he went gray). Oh, except Italian, he was Irish. (We'll get to how I know that in a minute.) So, I'm talking to this lady, and smiling Irish eyes says "wait a second...did she (meaning me) just say she's married?!" Ok. Entertaining, sure. I did like the boldness, that was cool. But, whatevs. The lady and I continue our conversation. Shortly thereafter, smiling Irish eyes says "hey Mrs. Irish Eyes, what would you like to drink?" (Ok, stop. Before you get all excited, we were at an event with an open bar.) The lady I'd been talking to was getting ready to leave, on her way out she says "this is the type of event where you could end up getting married. (sly smile)."
Well, Mr. smiling Irish eyes gets my white wine and hands it to me. I thank him for it, and he pulls me to the bar, and offers me a seat. He says "you're too beautiful to be standing." (Yes really, I'm so not making this up.) We chat for 3 minutes, he tells me he's Irish, and a friend of his walks over. The friend of SIE ask me who I came with and what he does. So I say I came with a friend who is a venture capitalist. Mr. SIE says "my friend and I are venture capitalists. We just put an in-flux of money into the economy whenever we go shopping. I always buy women's clothes and jewelry but I have nothing to do with it."***
Now, this guy is laying it on pretty thick, to the point of being comical. Except, he's being totally serious. Anyway, he goes on to say that if I want to get married, his friend is a rabbi so the friend can marry us upstairs.**** I politely decline the marriage proposal. So, it's time for them to go. Mr. SIE asks for my card, which I hand over. (Like I said, there may be a legit business prospect there, but I can't remember what he said he did. Mainly because I wasn't listening closely enough to retain anything he said). He then reaches in his pocket to hand me his card. And....it's his Amex Platinum. Yes, dear readers. He actually hands me his Amex. Now, we've just taken the evening to a whole new level. I don't even know what the appropriate reaction is at this point.
So, I'm telling this story to my co-workers, and they're all equally horrified. And so I say, well I'll let you know how the date goes. One of the girls says, "wait, what? You're actually going out with this guy?!" So, I look at her dead in the eye: "hell yeah! Either way, I get paid...either a nice dinner OR actual business because the dude has money. Either way it works out for me. And anyway, when a chance like this comes, you always ALWAYS go all in just for the story!"
So, here's hoping the sequel is just as good as the first story. Oh smiling Irish eyes, what else could you possibly bring?
*Side note? You know what really puts a bee in my bonnet? People who don't return messages -- voice OR texts! And, frankly, I'm tired of hearing that he's "busy." As near as I can tell, he just dix around all day on the computer and goes to "meetings" (most assuredly those meetings are with his dealer. If you ask me). Anyway, I don't care how damn busy a person is, unless your last name is preceded by "President of the United States" you are NOT THAT DAMN BUSY. PICK UP YOUR PHONE!!!! Ok, side bar over.
**In other words, a Jackie O is a pretty girl that is seen and not heard (and likely running ish in the background). A Michelle O is ahead of her game, and doin' her own thang (and STILL running ish in the background).
***Yes, really. I'm not making this up!
****Nearly forgot the best part. The event was held at the set of the recently cancelled "Playboy Club." Yup. Just adds a layer of shenanigans, doesn't it?
Monday, October 17, 2011
The Story that Almost Was
This weekend I travelled to Seattle to lay some smack down on Conference First Timers. The flight out west is sooooo far. (It's halfway to London for heaven's sake!!)
Anyway, I managed to get myself a window seat on the plane, and in a row where the middle seat was empty. Score! So, after making polite small talk, the guy on the aisle fell silent...leaving me the opportunity to engage in a power nap. Well, when I woke up a short while later (deep, satisfying sleep turned out to be elusive), I discovered that the once vacant middle seat had been occupied. Boo Hiss Boo!! The guy that sat there was a guy who apparently was a comedian. He was travelling to Seattle for a show, but he wasn't famous (seriously -- the guy in the aisle actually asked him that!).
Turns out, he moved to our section because he was going to go crazy. He'd been sitting next to a guy that apparently believed showering was optional. And, behind him, the kid that had been disturbing all of us with his cries of "no! No! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" had also been kicking the back of his seat. He said it was so bad that he gave up the window seat to move into a middle seat. He feared that if he hadn't, he would've been the subject of every passenger's conversation: "OMG! Did you see that black guy who....". And so, I ended up with a new seatmate.
For the first hour of the 4 hour tour, he and I didn't really chat. It wasn't until snack time came around that we really started chatting. The comedian was living in NYC, but originally from Philly. He graduated with a degree in engineering, but decided to try pursuing comedy instead. He would be in Seattle for 2 days, and performing 2 shows. We discussed everything from television to seafood. We even stuck together for the walk from the airplane to the baggage claim. He asked for my card, and promised to get in touch later.
Now, I know you're all dying to know. Did I find him attractive? Could I see myself moving to NYC for him? Would I DO him?!!?! The answer is no. He just wasn't necessarily my type. (And by not necessarily, I mean not at all). But, I was really amped up about the whole scene because I have NEVER been hit on while I was on a plane. I'm just not the type of girl that gets looked at twice on a plane. Nor do I have the type of luck that involves a man giving me a second look when alcohol is not involved.* So, I was extra excited about having airplane comedian get in contact with me. (And for the record, I was exercising my right not to wear makeup that day).
Turns out, he did shoot me an email. And, we made tentative plans. I was totally in it, just for the story. Why? Because I love you, dear readers. I was going to endure what could turn out to be a disaster date just for y'all. Well, I met him at the comedy club where he was doing his show...and DL Hugley showed up! After that, he was free to head out, so he did a quick change and took me out for cocktails and dessert. Believe it or not, he had flowers waiting backstage for me! They were gorgeous!! (Admittedly, my first thought was: "how the eff am I going to get these back home on the plane?"). He took me to a great little bistro that....just kidding. None of that ever happened. Sadly, it never happened. Our schedules just didn't match up. But, just knowing that I almost got a date with a guy from the plane is bound to make a girl feel good!
*Or, when he isn't a homeless guy on the street. Or, a guy that just wants a hug. (eyeroll).
Anyway, I managed to get myself a window seat on the plane, and in a row where the middle seat was empty. Score! So, after making polite small talk, the guy on the aisle fell silent...leaving me the opportunity to engage in a power nap. Well, when I woke up a short while later (deep, satisfying sleep turned out to be elusive), I discovered that the once vacant middle seat had been occupied. Boo Hiss Boo!! The guy that sat there was a guy who apparently was a comedian. He was travelling to Seattle for a show, but he wasn't famous (seriously -- the guy in the aisle actually asked him that!).
Turns out, he moved to our section because he was going to go crazy. He'd been sitting next to a guy that apparently believed showering was optional. And, behind him, the kid that had been disturbing all of us with his cries of "no! No! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" had also been kicking the back of his seat. He said it was so bad that he gave up the window seat to move into a middle seat. He feared that if he hadn't, he would've been the subject of every passenger's conversation: "OMG! Did you see that black guy who....". And so, I ended up with a new seatmate.
For the first hour of the 4 hour tour, he and I didn't really chat. It wasn't until snack time came around that we really started chatting. The comedian was living in NYC, but originally from Philly. He graduated with a degree in engineering, but decided to try pursuing comedy instead. He would be in Seattle for 2 days, and performing 2 shows. We discussed everything from television to seafood. We even stuck together for the walk from the airplane to the baggage claim. He asked for my card, and promised to get in touch later.
Now, I know you're all dying to know. Did I find him attractive? Could I see myself moving to NYC for him? Would I DO him?!!?! The answer is no. He just wasn't necessarily my type. (And by not necessarily, I mean not at all). But, I was really amped up about the whole scene because I have NEVER been hit on while I was on a plane. I'm just not the type of girl that gets looked at twice on a plane. Nor do I have the type of luck that involves a man giving me a second look when alcohol is not involved.* So, I was extra excited about having airplane comedian get in contact with me. (And for the record, I was exercising my right not to wear makeup that day).
Turns out, he did shoot me an email. And, we made tentative plans. I was totally in it, just for the story. Why? Because I love you, dear readers. I was going to endure what could turn out to be a disaster date just for y'all. Well, I met him at the comedy club where he was doing his show...and DL Hugley showed up! After that, he was free to head out, so he did a quick change and took me out for cocktails and dessert. Believe it or not, he had flowers waiting backstage for me! They were gorgeous!! (Admittedly, my first thought was: "how the eff am I going to get these back home on the plane?"). He took me to a great little bistro that....just kidding. None of that ever happened. Sadly, it never happened. Our schedules just didn't match up. But, just knowing that I almost got a date with a guy from the plane is bound to make a girl feel good!
*Or, when he isn't a homeless guy on the street. Or, a guy that just wants a hug. (eyeroll).
Monday, October 10, 2011
What would you do?
I'm reading a great book called The $64 Dollar Tomato. It's a memoir of one man's quest for the perfect garden. Naturally, hilarity ensues. There is a moment where the author begins to wonder whether the gardening has lost it's magic, and it's no longer worth the effort. He quotes a great philosopher (I'm too lazy to get up and find the quote, but I think it's Sartre), asking "if you had to live the same life over and over again, would you pick the one you have now?
I think I can answer that question without much thought. My response? Is HELLLLLL NAWWWWW. But to know that you don't want to repeat your life as is isn't really going far enough. You have to figure out what you want. In a moment of introspection, I've been trying to figure that out. And you know what I've figured out? I want to be a Real Housewife of OC.
As I've contemplated my options, I can't say that when I'm fantasizing about the perfect life I'm picturing anything that involves going to work everyday. And I can say without hesitation that I don't dream of owning my own business. You know what I dream about? I dream about going to the gym for a couple hours a day, putting together fabulous meals, and throwing lavish parties. And let us not forget the hours spent in a huge closet (and shopping to fill that closet). The moments I do have miniature fantasies about work, they tend to center around big board meetings, in which everyone in the room is scared of ticking me off. (AKA being on the Board of a charitable organization).
Although the shopping and the lavish decorations are part of the fantasy, the part I usually concentrate on is spending time with my significant other and good friends. I think about owning a house with a great big porch or patio or some kickass outdoor area. Sometimes I dream of having a pretty flower garden. (Oddly, I never picture myself gardening). Oh, and I also dream about getting it on with my significant other on a very regular basis...just sayin'.
All this introspection leads me to believe that I truly do aspire to be an OC housewife! I wonder if that means I'm destined to be a reality TV star too? Hmm...methinks a career change is in order. I'm ready for my contract, BravoTV. ;)
I think I can answer that question without much thought. My response? Is HELLLLLL NAWWWWW. But to know that you don't want to repeat your life as is isn't really going far enough. You have to figure out what you want. In a moment of introspection, I've been trying to figure that out. And you know what I've figured out? I want to be a Real Housewife of OC.
As I've contemplated my options, I can't say that when I'm fantasizing about the perfect life I'm picturing anything that involves going to work everyday. And I can say without hesitation that I don't dream of owning my own business. You know what I dream about? I dream about going to the gym for a couple hours a day, putting together fabulous meals, and throwing lavish parties. And let us not forget the hours spent in a huge closet (and shopping to fill that closet). The moments I do have miniature fantasies about work, they tend to center around big board meetings, in which everyone in the room is scared of ticking me off. (AKA being on the Board of a charitable organization).
Although the shopping and the lavish decorations are part of the fantasy, the part I usually concentrate on is spending time with my significant other and good friends. I think about owning a house with a great big porch or patio or some kickass outdoor area. Sometimes I dream of having a pretty flower garden. (Oddly, I never picture myself gardening). Oh, and I also dream about getting it on with my significant other on a very regular basis...just sayin'.
All this introspection leads me to believe that I truly do aspire to be an OC housewife! I wonder if that means I'm destined to be a reality TV star too? Hmm...methinks a career change is in order. I'm ready for my contract, BravoTV. ;)
Thursday, October 06, 2011
What the...?!?!
So, I started writing a post that was all kinds of introspective. But the St. Christopher gerwertztraminer kinda snuck up on me. So, instead, I am posting a reader submission. (One should never drink and blog.) Please see below.
My cousin sent this to me as a submission for the hot daggone mess portion chapter of the book. Can I just say, I'm traumatized? Possibly for life. Bad fashion is one thing. But this goes beyond bad fashion to straight out assault and battery on my eyes. To quote a recent commenter...what in the sam damn hell?! *shudder*
My cousin sent this to me as a submission for the hot daggone mess portion chapter of the book. Can I just say, I'm traumatized? Possibly for life. Bad fashion is one thing. But this goes beyond bad fashion to straight out assault and battery on my eyes. To quote a recent commenter...what in the sam damn hell?! *shudder*
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