Just for fun

Happy New Year!

This has definatly been a tough one, with a lot of events and changes. Things happened that made me take a long hard look at myself and make choices regarding what I want in the future. I'm still not sure what exactly it is that I am trying to achieve, but I am thankful that I am in a position to try and figure it out in my own time. I am truely blessed, and am thankful for so many things in my life. I usually hate to make a list of resolutions, because we are constantly changing throughout the year. But what the hell, why not?

Resolutions for 2010...the year of AMEN

AMEN...when I go to the gym at 5 in the morning again.
AMEN...when I quit swearing like a sailor.
AMEN...when I become slightly more organized.
AMEN...when I help the BFF get MARRIED this year.
AMEN...when I learn when to give up, when I recognize when I can't win.

I hope that the New Year's brings all the things that people are waiting for.

Love and Marrige...what's taking so freaking long guys?

There's been a lot of wedding talk in my world lately. The BFF is on the verge of being the E word...but we won't say that word because if it doesn't happen soon then she just might snap and stab her boyfriend in the jugular. Let's all hope he does it soon to avoid any bloodshed.

BFF's "E" situation has got me thinking, and the other night my friend and I started to discuss the whole length of relationships and whatnot.

Our conclusion was that we feel people just wait too darn long to get engaged/married. The other day I was at work and I asked this guy coworker if he was planning on marrying his girlfriend in the near future. I know that I shouldn't have asked, but I was being nosey, I mean curious...but do you know what this little boy did after I asked him? He looked at me, cocked his head to the side and with a confussed look on his face as if someone had told him that the world had suddenly put a ban on all video games gave me his answer, "Eh, I don't know. I'm not really sure about her."

Excuse me? You're not sure about her? Hmmmm, that's odd, I would have thought that maybe you might have thought about it a little harder in the last three years that you've been living with her. Silly me.

The cold part about this particular situation? He's 23, so yes, he's still super young. He has a right to still want to see what's out there before he settles down with a ball and chain, except for the fact that his potential ball and chain is 28 years old. The definition of 28 being two years until the age of 30.

I told Mr. 23 that he should know by now if he wanted to be with Ms. Almost 30, and that if he wasn't sure at this point in the game then he was wasting her time. I'm not going to lie that I'm a little nervous that he might break-up with her, because if he does then Ms. "Almost 30" might become Ms. "I'm going to kick you're meddling ass for sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

But...Mr. 23 is my perfect example of what I'm talking about. It just takes too damn long for men to make an honest woman out of any of us anymore.

My friend that I was discussing this subject with the other night agreed with me. We feel that when you meet someone you should know within a month if you would want to marry someone. After that you should take a year to make sure that your feelings are geniune, and not lust driven. After a year you officially spit on the girl to make her yours by putting a ring on her finger. Depending on whether or not there is a bun in the oven/deportation issues take another good eight months to plan the wedding. Those extra eight months are there for you to get the name of a good attorney if you decide you're having second thoughts, because once you send out those save the dates you better be ready to walk down that asile whether you like it or not. You can get that thing annulled later, better that than having the embarressment of calling it off.

I feel like men and women are waiting around for this unicorn of a perfect mate. I hate to burst everyone's bubble, but unicorns never existed. Move on, find someone you enjoy spending time with that makes you feel good. Once you do that, get married. The worse case senerio is you made a mistake, but that's what divorce is for. And if you're looking for advice on that subject I urge you to read Elizabeth Taylor's autobiography.

What's that saying? Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. That's it. This should be tattooed across my forehead when it comes to boys.

It's not that I'm a stupid girl. I don't make dumb decisions on a daily basis. I'm not out on the street corner smoking crack out of a broken lightbulb. So why is it that I can't seem to tell the difference between a guy and a complete douche bag? Wait, that's not even the problem, because I am aware that they are douche bags about thirty seconds into meeting them. The problem is I still continue to get sucked down the rabbit hole into their world of ridiculousness.

I am going to be completly honest. Part of me likes the whole ordeal. I like being treated like shit, because on those rare occassions that he actually is decent it makes it all the more sweet. I use these times, which are few and far between to justify that this guy actually does care for me, he just doesn't know how to express his emotions. Plus I'm a sucker for guys lying to me. In the real world I can spot a liar a mile away, but throw in a few pheromones and a guy could tell me he invented twitter and I would believe him. I'm slightly embarressed by my inability to filter out douche bags. In fact I'm the complete opposite. It's as if I am a magnet that attracks all sorts of losers. I could be in a room filled with 50 available guys. 49 of these guys could be nice, funny genuienly decent human beings, and I will sure enough ignore all of them to spend time with the one asshole in the room.

I look back at the last ten years of my life and all the guys are the same, just with different faces and names. I have played this game so many times that by now I just expect it to not work out in the end.

That's not to say that it still doesn't hurt when it does fall through. That's the part that most people don't get. I think they just see the positive in the fact I'm not wasting time with a loser anymore. But what they don't see is that I was emotionally invested in that person. Loser or not, I cared, and I don't have a switch that can automatically turn off those emotions.

So as I was sitting in pilates tonight, thinking all of this, it just hit me like a ton of bricks. The thought of going through this again was too much for me. I all of a sudden missed him, and I didn't know that I cared that much for him until the moment I knew that it was over. And I knew that it was. There was nothing said, nothing done, I just knew. I wished then and there that I could be enough, that we could work out. I wished that he could actually mean all the things he has said to me. I wished that I could keep him forever. I didn't want to be another face in a sea of girls to him, I wanted him to think of me differently. I wanted him to care, I wanted him to know that I cared.

But it doesn't matter what I want.

What's done is done.

Friends....how many of us have them?

GRRRRR....

You know what erks my nerves more than democrats? People who are ridiculous.

Let me be more specific...

I dislike people who use the term "friend" loosely.

Don't get me wrong, I think it's great to be friends with as many people as you want, the world needs more friends, but I think somewhere down the road people forgot what the the defenition of a friend is.

For those of you who need reminding of the definition of a friend, I went to my trusty Wikipedia to give a perfect description:

Friendship is the cooperative and supportive relationship between two or more people. In this sense, the term connotes a relationship which involves mutual knowledge, esteem, affection, and respect along with a degree of rendering service to friends in times of need or crisis. Friends will welcome each other's company and exhibit loyalty towards each other, often to the point of altruism. Their tastes will usually be similar and may converge, and they will share enjoyable activities. They will also engage in mutually helping behavior, such as the exchange of advice and the sharing of hardship. A friend is someone who may often demonstrate reciprocating and reflective behaviors.

To me this is the PERFECT definition, actually the ONLY definition of what a friend is. Everything else is bullshit.

BFF, I'm going to use us as an example...I know you're excited Boo!

The BFF and I have been friends forever. I'm talking over ten years. Yes, we've had our spats, and yes, we are always bickering, but I love her. She is always there for me. I try to always be there for her. She can annoy me like nails on a chalkboard sometimes, and sometimes I look at her and think, "Jesus Christ, you've got to be kidding me." She and I don't always see things the same way. She loves children, and she'll probably ruin her vagina by popping out enough kids to name each one a different day of the week. Me, not so much. I plan on keeping my vagina child free for at least the next ten years. After that, maybe I'll hire a surrogate to carry my bundle of joy/hellraiser. She also is more, hmmm... how should I put this, softer than me. And by that I mean soft hearted. She genuially cares for others more than I do, and therefore cares what others think more than I do. Sometimes I have to say, this gets a little aggrivating. It's like she can't say no sometimes, even though she really wants to. I will say, she has no problem saying no to me though, I wonder what that means....We differ in other areas as well, but we also have a lot in common. That's why we're friends I guess. I'm pretty sure the only way we would stop being friends is if one of us stole the other's boyfriend. Since I'm perpetually single and she is near getting engaged I'm highly doubtful that will occur.

I think people are forgetting that not everyone has to be friends. In fact, I could bet money that most people who consider another person as their friend is wrong. That person is probably just an acquaintance.

So how do you know if someone is your friend or just your acquaintance? Look no further! I have the answers to this mystery.

If you go to lunch how do you pay the bill?
a- you split it 50/50
b- you pay or they pay this time, but the next time you make sure to switch off so you are even.
c- it doesn't matter who pays, because you will eventually both pay for enough of the others meals at one point to make it even.

When something exciting happens in your life like an engagement, promotion, or pregnancy do you...
a- text the person the good news.
b- call the person to tell them the good news
c- the person already knows that the good news might or might not happen so all you need to do is call to confirm either or.

When you look through photographs
a- you have some nice pictures with each other from birthday parties and other events
b- the person is in 80% or more of the pictures.
c- the person is in 80% or more of the pictures and you have too many "self taken" shots with one another.

When you drink too much does this person
a- hear about it sometime in the next week.
b- was with you when you got drunk.
c- held your hair and cleaned up after you when you puked.

When it comes to personnal information do you
a- keep that to yourself
b- tell them if you need advice
c- this person pretty much knows the good, the bad and the ugly.

When it comes to this person's family
a- you know the person's siblings/parents names.
b- you have met the person's siblings/parents and know them by name.
c- you could hang out with the person's siblings/parents without the person there because you know them that well.

If the person broke up with their significant other and the ex tried to hit on you
a- you might flirt back, but wouldn't think of dating them.
b- you would tell the person that their ex is a jerk and tried to hit on you unsuccessfully.
c- the minute the ex hit on you you hit them back, in the mouth.

Communication is key to a friendship, you and this person
a- communicate through texting and phone calls.
b- communicate through texting, phone calls and face to face interaction.
c- communicate through texting, phone calls, face to face interaction and a strange type of telepathy that allows you to know what the other person is thinking based on the way they look and/or speaking.

If you answered mostly a's then I'm sorry to say, you and the person taking my quiz are only acquaintances. Do not be upset, this type of realtionship has the potential for growth into a real friendship, but for now the two of you are not as close as two actual friends.

If you answered mostly b's then congratulations! You and the person taking my quiz are indeed friends. You share common intrests and have a strong bond. Good for you!

If you answered mostly c's then you and the person taking my quiz are BFF's. You do not need to flaunt your friendship to know that it's real, you simply have a person that will stand by you through thick or thin...well, unless you sleep with their significant other. Then all bets are off.

I would like to leave you with the idea that not everyone is meant to be friends. Some personnalities are just not meant to be around one another. This is okay! I'm not saying that if you don't like someone based on their personnality you should be rude to them, I'm just saying that you are better off as acquaintances. So please, let's not smut up the word friend with a bunch of fake friendships. Save that definition for the real deal.

Confessions of an HCB

I just got home from getting my hair sewn in. Yes, I just said sewn in. My hair is about five inches longer than it was three hours ago. I'm not alone in this. I have a handful of my friends that also sit in a chair while someone literally takes a needle and thread and adds more hair to their head. It isn't cheap either, the hair costs between $500-$1000, and it costs over $100 to have it sewn in, which needs to be done every six weeks. Lucky for me, my hairstylist is a personnal friend (and by Saturday will be my new roomate!!) so I get hooked up.

But the truth is, us women- well at least us high maintenance ones- spend a crap load of money to look the way we do. Let's review what the average HCB (high class broad) spends on trying to get perfection.

I already mentioned the hair. I'll explain it a little more. Basically, your hair is parted in sections and your stylist braids two cornrows horizontally across your head and then sews in the row(s) of hair depending on how much thickness you need. But lets be honest, if you are someone that has extensions, you probably have your hair colored as well. Let's use me as an example. If I paid for all my services, I would be looking at around at least $200 a month.

Moving along, we can't have our nails looking like we're peasants working the fields. I do not have acrylic nails, but if you do, and you want a good job it's about $35 for a fill. You usually get them filled twice a month. I have short nails, but I get a manicure twice a week, and in between that I touch them up myself. 90% of the time I have red nail polish on, so long nails are not an option for me, unless I want to look like a stripper from Daytona. My manicure is $15, but why stop there? You might as well get a pedicure as well. That will set you back another $35. I get that done about twice a month as well. On a side note; I just had the WORST pedicure Saturday. I went with the BFF, and we both sat down at the same time, but she was getting hers done and I was sitting around with my feet in water waiting. While I was waiting one of the jet filters fell off and the lady that was doing BFF's servcie started to try and fix it. I guess she didn't want to try too hard, because she instead left it alone making a horrible sucking noise, and told me to keep my foot away from it. I of course am scared that I'm going to forget about it and let my foot wander over to the vortex and get it sucked in and chopped to pieces. Finally my lady came and fixed it, and started, as BFF was getting finished. SUCKED.

Our next subject is the hair we get removed. Yes, us HCBs are a little crazy. We pay money to have hair added certain places, and money to have hair removed other places. I only get my brows done, because fortunatly having my esthetician license helps in my self waxing. So I'm only looking at $20 every two weeks, but if we added in what I do at home myself we'd be in the hundreds of dollars catagory. A lot of girls do the whole brazilian thing, including myself. If you go to a salon it's about $65, and you usually want to go every six weeks. If you're wondering if it hurts, yes it does. Try doing it on yourself. I'll paint you a picture- me, a vicodin, and a bottle of Jameson is how I get through it. If you really want to get rid of unwanted hair, you could always go the laser hair removal way, which starts at about $150 a session, and it usually takes about five sessions to kill the hair. You do the math.

Exhibit D: our products. I'm talking makeup, hair, lotion and all the yummy smelling stuff in between. My product for my face is $35 a bottle, and I need three different things to complete the process. So that's about $100 every two months, maybe a little longer if I'm lucky. As for HCB's makeup selections? We're talking more Dior than drugstore on that matter. HCB's feel that if you're putting it on your face it better be high quality. We have at least 30 different MAC eye shadows...and not only do we own these shadows, we KNOW the names of all of them. If I was on the phone with another HCB and asked her what colors she was wearing she would tell me something along the lines of, "trax with mythology and rice paper." And being an HCB myself, I would know exactly what colors she was wearing. Impressed? I know...
We also always like to smell good. Not just good, but expensive. I'm talking Burberry, Chanel, Vera Wang, Gucci, Dior, Mark Jacobs...the list goes on. I have an HCB friend who came over after a trip to the mall and showed me her two perfumes she had purchased. She flipped her hair and told me, "I couldn't decide so I got them both."
Our hair products are crucial as well. We have more than one type of hairspray. We have products to make our hair staright. We have products to make our hair curly. We have products to make our hair stay up, and products to keep it down. We have pins and bands and brushes. And the combs! We have combs coming out of our ears. We ALWAYS have a rat comb with us. Our hair can be big our small, the possiblities are endless. We have shampoo and more than one type of conditioner. Again, thank the Lord for my license allowing me to buy products at the beauty supply store.

We tan, and we use special lotion for the tanning booth. I am personnaly thankful that most HCBs and myself usually take the winter off from tanning. I mean, lets be real, how high maintance can we get?!? Please don't answer that question, it was meant to be rhetorical. If we must be tan for an event in the colder months we usually opt for the spray tan, which lasts about a week. Another $40 please and thank you.

We accessorize. I think HCBs like accessorizing more than buying clothes. Some of us have our staple accessories, like me and my coke can hoop earings. (meaning my hoops are as big as a coke can is round) 9 chances out of 10 I am wearing them, But other than that we have rings and bracelets and scarves and pins and shoes...oh the SHOES!!! I probably own five pairs of black pumps, but I will always buy another pair. It's like I can never have too many. Plus all of my other shoes. Some girls have babies, I have shoes.

I'm guilty as charged with being an HCB. With the hair, the products, the nails, tanning, the yummy colorful stuff and the accessories we're looking at a lot of money. All to look my best. So why is it that I feel the best when I'm plain faced and hair in a ponytail smelling like soap and wearing my ugg boots?

My Movie Adventure

I checked off something I've been meaning to do on my list of things to do- I went to the movies by myself.

I'm sure half of you think this is sad and pathetic, and the other half of you are rolling your eyes wondering why I even had this on a list of things to do.

Well, I have been saying for the last year that I wanted to go see a movie by myself. It seemed silly that I had to have someone to go with. It's a movie, it's not like you need someone sitting next to you to either enjoy it or think it sucked. For this reason I don't understand why people go to the movies on a first date, it seems so unproductive. Aren't you supposed to try and get to know someone on a first date? If you take them to the movies then you are probably getting more intimite with your popcorn and candy than you are with your date.

Since I do not have a better half I usually go to the movies with a friend, but scheduling conflicts sometimes make it hard to actually go see the movie, so most of the time I wait until the movie is on Netflix and don't even try to attempt the theater.

Yesterday was different. I had a long day and by the time I got home around 3:30 I went straight to bed, only to wake up around 9pm. Everyone I knew was in the city, I was all by myself. The boat had sailed for me to do anything, I would have to put on my face and do my hair, which I hadn't even brushed yet. No, I didn't want to spend two hours to go out. Plus I was still feeling tired and getting over being sick. So I went to my handy dandy fandango app on my Iphone to see what movies were playing. I had seen previews for the movie The Box, and the last show was playing in fifteen minutes. I got in my car, unbrushed hair and in yoga pants and drove to the theater. I bought my ticket, got a good seat and waited for the movie to start. By the time the previews were rolling I thought to myself, "I can't believe I'm here by myself! What if people think I'm a loser for being here all alone, they probably are all thinking, 'that poor girl, can't even get someone to take her out on a Saturday night' Who cares what they think? I don't. They can think I'm pathetic all they want. Maybe someone will feel so bad for me they'll buy me some popcorn. Mmmm, popcorn sounds good, but I don't want to miss the previews..."

Once the movie began I stopped worrying so much. And to give my fellow movie viewers credit, none of them must have thought me too pathetic, because I did not get any popcorn from any of them. Note to reader; if you ever see a girl in the movie theater by herself around 5'5 with brown unbrushed hair she would not be offended by you offering her some pity popcorn. In fact, make it with extra butter.

*****SPOILER ALERT!!!! I AM ABOUT TO TELL THE ENTIRE PLOT TO THE MOVIE I SAW, SO IF YOU ARE PLANNING ON SEEING THIS MOVIE PLEASE STOP READING NOW! DON'T WORRY, I'LL WAIT.....*****



The movie itself was pretty good. It was about a family in 1976 that has a mysterious package delivered to them one morning. It is a button. A man with half his face burned off comes later in the day to explain to the wife that if they decide to push the button that they would receive 1 million dollars, and someone that they do not know will die. Long story short, she pushes the button, and then all this weird stuff happens that I still don't really understand. Then the couples son is kidnapped by the same man with his face burned off. He then tells the couple that their son is now blind and deaf. They have two options at this point, they can keep their million dollars and live the rest of their lives with their deaf/blind son and try to make the best of it. Or, the husband can shoot his wife, and the minute she dies the son will then get his sight or hearing back. At this same time another husband and wife are shown with the box with the button on it, trying to decide if they want to push it. The wife tells the husband to shoot her, which after they profess their love to one another he does, just as the new couple push the button. The son is back to normal, and the husband is taken away to some unknown place. It was sort of unclear on a lot of things. I liked it, but still don't really understand who made the box and why are they sending it to all these families. What is the end result supposed to be? It's after seeing films like this that I use my usual, "it's just a movie" answer.

I did start thinking about what I would do if some half-faced man came to my house to offer me a million dollars if I push a button and someone dies. I have been asking this question since I knew the concept of the movie and have been discussing it with people. I said I would not push the button, I had some people ask if they could push the button more than once for more money, and I was suprised that the end answer was sort of split down the middle. Some did not care that someone would die, and some- like me- felt that they could not feel responsible for another person's death, no matter what the outcome may be.

But what if pushing the button didn't involve death? What if you pushed the button and you would never gain another pound again, no matter how much food you ate, but in exchange you could only wear polyester blend fabric? What if you never aged if you pushed the button, but you smelled funny the rest of your life? What if you pushed the button and you got a gazillion dollars, and could buy whatever you wanted, do whatever you wanted but still had to go to a soup kitchen to eat all your meals. What would you do?

It would be like me being able to push a button that made the rest of our country's presidents republicans, and the Red Sox would always win the World Series. Yes, that sounds awesome, but who really wants a guarantee on anything in life? That's where it gets fun, not really knowing what might happen. So no, if a man with half his face burned off by lightning came to my house with a box with a button I would not push it. No matter what his offer consisted of...because having to wear polyester for the rest of my life is a scary thought to me.

My fourth quarter

Maybe it's the vicodin, but I am in such a good mood I can't help it. The part that makes me want to simultaneously pull my hair out and scream for joy at the same time is that I have had such a crappy year.

It's true, the weight I wanted to lose that I didn't, the money I wanted to make that still hasn't made it to my bank account, getting my heart broken, these are not things that most would measure a successful year by. I sure as hell was chopping this one up to a failure.

Then, I was at work today, and this guy I was working with said his birthday was tomorrow. He mentioned how he was going to be turning 24 which made me comment how I rememebered 24 being a good year for me. Then we got into the I'm old/you're NOT old arguement. He asked me when my birthday was and I told him in about 3 months. Then he laughed and said I have a whole quarter left. I laughed and made a comment about how much worse could it get this year and that I couldn't wait for next year, that 26 had not been my best year. He responded with the best answer I've ever heard.

"Well, maybe your fourth quarter will be your best quarter of the year."

I didn't really think about it much when he said it, but after I left work I couldn't stop thinking about his comment. Maybe my fourth quarter is going to be the best of this year. I mean why wouldn't it be? Yes, it could be worse than the rest of my year, but when I think of what my "horrible year" consisted of I'm slightly embarrassed. People have it way worse out there than I do. I am blessed to have a fantastic family, to have beautiful friends, and so many experiences and memories.

I am aware that my life is in a transition at the moment, and that it's a little scary- and I don't know what is going to happen- but I can't help but feel excited to find out what the future holds for me. As of this moment the world is my oyster. I can stay here, I could move to Seattle (since apparently I experienced a miracle with that lady telling me the Holy Ghost was prompting me to move there) I could find a great guy, or I could get a million cats, either way I am still going to be me, and I'm pretty pleased with who I am. My cukkoo psychic lady told me that I have a few more years to play before I settle down, and I've decided that I'm going to enjoy them before I have the whole ball and chain thing. I don't want to make the impression that I am jealous or looking down on people in committed relationships, because that is simply not true. I am always happy for my friends when they find love, shit I love matchmaking anyone. So it's not that I'm looking down on being in a relationship, it's just that once you find "The One" you give up on that chase. You never have another first date, another first kiss, another "first" anything. And while- if this person is truely "The One"- you are too busy making new memories and sharing your lives together to notice that you are never going to have that "first" thrill again, I think it is important to also enjoy your mistakes that you make before you get it right.

So for now I'm over it. It's just a few pounds, it's just money, it's just a job, he's just a boy...that's all it is. Here's to my fourth quarter being a success...

Diary of a Sick Woman

Yesterday I woke up at 2am with a sore throat and my entire body aching. It was like I had ran a marathon but someone forgot to tell me, and the only way I knew was by the excruciating pain in all of my muscles. I got out of bed and took a look at my throat. Way back behind my uvula was my tonsils, all red and swollen with little white puss thingys on them. Great. I went to the kitchen and made some tea, and watched two episodes of South Park. Side note: if you haven't seen the episode when Butters becomes a kissing pimp, please check it out. You know what I am saying?
When I woke up the next morning I could barely move and my throat was worse than before. I called the doctor to make an appointment. All I could think of was that I had gotten H1N1. I had been so insistant on not getting a flu shot that God was punishing me by not only giving me the flu, but the SWINE flu at that.
I got to Kaiser early and the lady that checks you in told me I needed to wear a mask. Side note #2: the lady at the reception desk for my doctor is a B-I-T-C-H. She's one of those ladies who I would bet money was a groupie for Gun's n Roses back in the day. She's never been one of my favorite people. When she told me I needed to wear a mask I looked around the reception room. There were around 10 people and none of them were wearing a mask.
"Why do I have to wear a mask if no one else is?" I casually asked.
"Because they aren't sick" she answered with a smirk.
I glared at her as I grabbed a mask, but I refused to actually put it on. I highly doubt that all those people in the waiting room were as healthy as a horse. If they didn't want to get sick, then they could put a mask on for all I cared.
The nurse called me back pretty quick, I don't know if the front desk lady stopped daydreaming about Axel Rose before botox long enough to notice my maskless face and nark on me, but all I know is that I wasn't in that waiting room long.
By the grace of God the nurse did not weigh me. That was the last thing I needed to see right now. I'm already fighting a slight depression as it is, no need to add to it by showing me that I haven't lost any weight.
So now I'm in the exam room. I have ten minutes until my actual appointment time. My doctor is on maternity leave, so I am seeing someone I have never met. 10 minutes go by, no doctor. 10 more minutes, still no doctor. Finally, 30 minutes after my scheduled appointment time has come and gone I open the door to see what the deal is. I ask the first nurse I see if maybe, the doctor forgot about me. The nurse looked at me like I had a third eye and said, "No one has forgotten you, the doctor just had an emergency patient is all."
Oh...an emergancy patient. Isn't there a place where people go in case of an emergency and they don't have a scheduled visit with their regular doctor? What's that place called? That's right, the EMERGENCY ROOM, which lucky for this Kasier just finished being built this last year and was up and running as I was standing in that exam room. Jesus, I was irritated at this point.
So I finally see the doctor. She was very nice. She said it seemed as if I had strep throat, that no I did not have H1N1. She stuck that huge q-tip thing down my throat, made me take it to the lab and told me to call back to see if I indeed had strep throat. When the test came back positive I went to the pharmacy to pick up my antibiotics.  The girl at the pharmacy took my information and then looked me in the eye and said, "What is it we're giving you today?"
You've got to be kidding me! I felt like saying, "Yes, I'll be picking up cocaine today." What the hell? Instead I looked her in the eye and said, "I don't know, what does it say on your screen right there?"
I got my amoxicillin and went to my mom's house, where she took care of me. The vicodin I made the doctor give me helped too. I felt better when I got home, and fell asleep at 6:30 in the evening while watching season 1 of Charles in Charge from Netflix.
The next day I got up, had no voice still, but got ready for work anyway. The minute I got there they sent me home. Apparently no one likes to work with a girl with strep throat. Hmmmm. I came home, got into bed and watched movies all day. Around 4pm Batman called me to see how I was doing. I whispered I was fine, and he told me that he felt bad and would go pick up stuff to make me feel better, but he lived too far. Coming from him, that was very thoughtful. Trust me.
I feel like I haven't seen the real world in months, and it's only been two days...aaaaahhhhhh, I'm starting to get cabin fever. Plus, I'm hungry. All I've had in two days is soup and tea. I want something yummy.
I miss my voice, I didn't know how much I liked it until it went away. I promise when it comes back I will respect it more, I will only use it to say nice things, and I won't talk about liberals in such a mean way anymore. Well, at least for a little while I won't. I should look at the bright side, at least I don't have the swine flu, right?

Is Harry right?

Every night, before I get into bed I pop in When Harry Met Sally, and that my friends is how I fall asleep. I have done this for six years now. It's my nightly routine. I pretty much have that movie memorized somewhere in my subconscious, since I always fall asleep around the time they met again at the airport.

For those of you unfamiliar with the story of the movie, it is mostly built around the question of whether or not men and women can be friends. The two meet when they are both leaving the University of Chicago for New York City. Sally is friends wirth the girl Harry is dating so they share the drive out there. Harry tells Sally on that ride that they cannot be friends...

Harry: You realize of course that we could never be friends.


Sally: Why not?

Harry: What I'm saying is — and this is not a come-on in any way, shape or form — is that men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way.

Sally: That's not true. I have a number of men friends and there is no sex involved.

Harry: No you don't.

Sally: Yes I do.

Harry: No you don't.

Sally: Yes I do.

Harry: You only think you do.

Sally: You say I'm having sex with these men without my knowledge?

Harry: No, what I'm saying is they all want to have sex with you.

Sally: They do not.

Harry: Do too.

Sally: They do not.

Harry: Do too.

Sally: How do you know?

Harry: Because no man can be friends with a woman that he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her.

Sally: So you're saying that a man can be friends with a woman he finds unattractive?

Harry: No, you pretty much want to nail 'em too.

Sally: What if they don't want to have sex with you?

Harry: Doesn't matter because the sex thing is already out there so the friendship is ultimately doomed and that is the end of the story.

Sally: Well, I guess we're not going to be friends then.

Harry: Guess not.

Sally: That's too bad. You were the only person that I knew in New York.


The rest of the movie deals with their relationship and friendship. It's a really good movie, it's in my top 5, so if you haven't seen it I suggest you put it on your Netflix list.

The reason I bring this up, is because I want to know if Harry is correct in his idea that men and women cannot be friends, does the sex always get in the way? And if he is right, then do all men really think about sex that much?

I would like to argue that Harry is incorrect, that men and women can be friends. That we've evolved into a better society and that I am not living in the same world that my grandmother did when men called her by "Honey" or "Darling" more than they did her first name. I would like to think that men think about more than getting in a girls pants.

But then I have to take a look at my own life and experiences and that makes me think that Harry might be onto something. Take me and Batman. We are friends. We talk to each other about stuff. We hang out, but are we really friends? Because I know for a fact that he wants in my pants, even if it is just for the fact that he can't, not because he actually wants to. And everyone knows that I like him, but am smart enough to know that I shouldn't and that he would never be what I need. So are we friends, or are we just faux friends?

I had a guy friend for a while that made me think that Harry was wrong. We were really close, we talked about everything, but it was totally platonic. No feelings on either end, just purely friendship. I would compare the feelings I had for him to something I would think a sister would feel for her brother. I don't have a brother so I can't say for sure, but I'm willing to bet money it's around the same thing. We aren't friends anymore though, but I can assure you the reasons we are not has nothing to do with sex.

Another thing about men and women and the whole subject is the hug/kiss on the cheek greeting. Mr. Perfect said that it was inappropriate for me to hug my guy friends and kiss them on the cheek when I said hello or goodbye. I thought he was being immature, and dumb. I asked him what he felt was an acceptable way of saying hello, he told me a handshake. A fucking handshake! Are you kidding me? Who are you meeting, the president? Give me a break. I highly doubt that the guys I hug or kiss on the cheek are getting off on it. Most of them are married anyway, or have long term girlfriends, so I didn't see the problem. Maybe Mr. Perfect thinks like Harry, and doesn't want to give anyone the wrong idea. I don't know. I can understand if I'm slipping people the tongue here, but we're talking about a peck. I don't think that I need to add that on to the list of why I'm going to Hell. There are pleanty of other issues on it that take presidence over cheek pecking.

While I'm on the subject of love and friendship I want to know how people break up and stay friends with each other. I don't believe in that. Maybe it's the competitve bitch in me, but I don't want to stay in touch after things go sour. "Oh yeah, I thought I might maybe marry you one day, but now that we've established that you'd rather eat broken glass than spend the rest of your life with me can we still keep in touch? Can you be sure to update me on how you're doing so much better without me, and make sure to send me pictures of your next girlfriend, so I can compare myself to her until I drive myself to eating an entire package of oreo's" I don't think so. Even if I'm the one that did the rejecting I don't want to be friends, because the minute you move on and get a new girl I want you. It's sick, I know. But I can't help it. Are all women like this, or just crazy me? I know that most would like to claim that they are not as petty, but I am willing to bet money that deep down in their hearts they are just like me. I just have the balls to admit it out loud.
I have an ex that took me forever to get over. A couple years ago I was at the mall with the BFF. We were shopping for a bra for me for my birthday party. I wanted a specific color and type, so we went to Macy's and Victoria Secrets and even Fredricks. We were in Macy's when I decided I was going to go with the one in Victoria Secrets. BFF was now in the middle of her own shopping so I told her I would run down there get the bra and meet her back in Macys. As I'm standing in line I start to focus on who is in front of me in this line. From the back the guy looked exactly like my ex, the way he was dressed, his height, the way he was standing, everything. He had a stroller with him, and my ex had just had a baby with some girl. This guy also was with some girl, I'm assuming the mother of the baby in the stroller. For an entire year I said, "I'm so over him, if I ran into him I would just act like I don't even know him. It would be no big deal!" That all went out the window the minute I thought he was standing in front of me in that line. Lucky for me the guy turned around and it was not my ex, but for about 15 seconds I had a mini panic attack and almost threw that bra on the ground and walked straight out of the store. Yeah, that's me being "so over him." Pathetic, huh?

I can say now that I am over him, but only because I am not over someone else. It makes me sad to think that the only way I can get over a man is with another man. I might need to take a women's empowerment camp, but then my mom might think I'm turning into a lesbian, so I maybe I should put that idea on the back burner for now. No need to crush any hope that she has about becoming a grandmother eventually. Not that I'm ready to have kids now, but will I ever be 100% ready? By the time I am my ovaries will be as dried up as a raisin and I'll have to pay some 21 year old  thousands of dollars to carry my child. All so I can have a noisey, messy, annoying little bundle of joy. And then if I have a boy I'll have to worry about whether he's thinking about getting into all of his friend's pants that are girls when he is older, because men and women cannot be friends, since the sex always gets in the way...

The End of an Era

After four years with my roomates I've decided it's time for a change. I will be moving into my friend's condo by the end of November.

I love my roomates, they are like family to me, so this was a hard decision for me to come to. The truth of the matter is, that living with them is like being with family. I am content with them. Yes we sometimes get on one another's nerves, but that doesn't change the fact that I truely care for each of them. It's just that even though they feel like family, the reality is that they are not mine. I need to be a little bit more of a "single girl" so I can find the person that I want to start my own family with.

When I told the roomies that I was leaving I burst into tears. The cold part is that I did it seperately, so I bawled twice. I told Mr. Roomie first, and then I told Roomie. Both were very supportive and told me that I am doing the right thing for myself. I know that I am, but it is like the end of an era.

I am also not one to take well to change. I really hate it. So now, I have this huge change in my life, and as I am preparing for it I constantly feel like I am about to have a panic attack. I feel as if I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Not only am I moving, I also feel insecure in my job right now, and the bills still have to get paid. I swear, if I wasn't afraid of prison I would become a drug dealer. I would. It sounds terrible, but my shit would be the best out there. When Gilda was first born and the Roomie was at home all day I tried to get her to start cooking meth. I mean really...who's going to ever suspect that we have a meth lab in the neighborhood that we're in? We live on a golf course for goodness sake! She might have gone along with me, but she didn't want to blow up her house. Jeez Roomie...why do you have to be a dream smasher?

Even though she stomped on my dreams of being the druglord of this town I have to say that I've loved living with her. She stopped drinking after she had Gilda, so she would never go out, but she would always attend my birthday festivities. She would be my DD. The next morning I would wake up and she would start telling stories that I had no recolection of. This year went a little like this:
Roomie- "Do you remember talking to those Mexican guys outside the bar?"
Me- "What Mexican guys? I don't remember any Mexican guys."
Roomie- "The ones outside the bar, before we left you were talking to them. You took pictures with them."
Me- "I did?!?"
Roomie tells Mr. Roomie to get her camera where she then proceeds to show me pictures of me and two Mexican dudes. I'm clearly out of it by the crack head look on my face, the mardi gras beads around my neck and the Boston Red Sox hat on my head. (which then reminded me that I had stolen some guys Red Sox hat, and I still have it to this day. Whole other story though...)
Me- "I do not remember this at all."

The birthday the year before she told me on the way home I told her how much I loved her, and that she was one of the best friends I had. I get really emotional and nice when I'm drunk. My friend J tells me that people's true colors come out when they drink, and since I'm so nice when I'm drunk I'm actually faking being a bitch when I'm sober. Bless her heart.
After my display of friendship she told me we walked into the house and I layed down on the couch while Mr. Roomie and her ate some pizza that we had brought home. She then told me that I suddenly got up. Roomie asked me if I was ok, if I need any help. My response was, "I'm okay, I'm just drunk!" It wasn't what I said, it was more how I said it. Sort of like, "Of course I'm okay, why wouldn't I be?" After I stated this I then started to walk to my room. On my way from the couch to my destination I ran staright into the TV, then I manuvered and ran staright into the desk, then the refridgerator, then the wall, and finally got to my bed.

Mr. Roomie has also been very helpful to me in my drunken adventures. The next day, if I'm super hungover, he would do a Taco Bell run for me. Anyone who's ever been super ridiculous hungover knows how you don't want to even move in that condition, you just want to lay on the couch until your blood alcohol level has returned to normal. For Mr. Roomie doing that for me I am eternally gratful.

I will also miss Gilda. For a person who doesn't hold babies until they develop their neck, I really have grown attached to this little girl. She's the bomb diggity, that's all I have to say about her. She's changed my life. I will always remember the night we played the Move It Move It music video from Madagascar on On Demand for her. It ended and she told us she wanted to watch it again. Then it ended a second time and she threw a fit to see it one more time. I swear we watched that thing 30 times in a row that night. We all were walking around for a week singing lines from that song. Same thing with Backyardigans. I will not miss Calliou. For those of you unfamiliar with Calliou, it's a cartoon about a creepy little boy who's bald. He's the only character who is bald. Does he have cancer? Does he suffer form alopecia? What's wrong with him? Why does literally everyone else in that stupid show have hair but him? It drives me nuts.

I will probably cry about a gazillion more times between now and the time I leave. It's going ot be a long three weeks, but it's been a wonderful four years. As Gilda would say, "Peace Out"

Accomplishing the dream, or becoming the Cat Lady...

Most people understand that I'm a little different. I'm a little stuck in the middle. The "middle" being my religion, and my desire to live life and have many experiences. For those of you unaware of my religion, being a latter-day saint is not just a Sunday thing like some other religions, it's a lifestyle. Basically everyday is Sunday for us.

There is no break.

This puts a certain amount of pressure on us members. The main thing we are told to accomplish is to have a temple marriage, without this we are basically screwed. This puts a certain amount of pressure on us.

The men have it easy. All they have to do is go on that damn mission and they can come home and pretty much, as a return missionary they have a pick between at the least 2 or 3 girls that they can marry and start a family with, therefore completing the ultimate task at hand for us. It doesn't matter what they look like either. They could be short or tall, fat or skinny, handsome or ugly. It's sort of like the movie Field of Dreams when the voice tells Kevin Costner, "if you build it, they will come" It's the same thing. IF YOU COMPLETE YOUR MISSION, YOU WILL GET MARRIED. If you come home and are not married after 5 years, I would bet money that you are actually homosexual, which I would prefer, it would make church a lot more interesting since I love the gays. But that is niether here nor there, my point is that the men have it easy. Just round up $10,000, take a two year break from the world where you have a gazillion people praying for you every day, and share the teachings of the gospel with strangeres. Then, come home, pick a girl and give her a crappy diamond and your set. Scudoosh, you're done.

The women on the other hand...oh the women. Where do I even start? I'm entering into the latter years of my twenties, and I have been an old maid since I was 25. At least to the Mormon standards I am. In fact, the theme for my 25th birthday party was my becoming an old maid. I even wore a kiss me, I'm a Mormon t-shirt to the bar. Remember, I'm stuck in the middle, bars are included in the middle. When I state the fact that I am an old maid people look at me like I'm nuts. It doesn't help that I still look like I'm 20 years old. But they're right, it's crazy that I feel that way! Just because the fact of the matter is that most female members get married between the ages of 19-22 does not justify that I am destined to a life filled with cats and eating frosting straight out of the can.

The women have to hope that a return missionary will come back and look at them and say, "I want you to be my eternal partner" and then 3 months later they are getting married in the temple. It is a rare occasion where a non-member makes the dreams come true of a girl that was raised with the hopes of being married in the temple. I did see it happen once, and I have to give props to my girl for making that happen. (She knows who she is.) But for the most part, a return missionary is what a young lady is looking for.

I was never looking for that. I fell in love in high school, he was a real catch. Handsome, kind and a loving boyfriend, if all that is the definition of a douche bag. Because that is exactly what he was, a douche bag. I don't like to get into too many details of the ups and downs of our relationship, but he basically broke me. I had to make the decision between him and my faith, and I picked him. I gave up everything for him. I ended up empty handed when it was over. He also set the stage for the rest of the men I would pick to have relationships with, all another version of him, meaning all were non-members and all were douche bags.

It was partially my fault. When people would ask me if I wanted to marry another Mormon I would tell them I wasn't sure. I wasn't lying. I always laughed, and told people that the reason I never dated a Mormon guy was because they never asked me out. This is also a fact. I'm like reverse kitty litter to Mormon guys. They pretty much just stay away from me. This was fine to me, I never was your cookie cutter Mormon girl, I have this edge to me, and a sense of humor that a lot of members don't get. I'm loud, and opinionated, and my mother isn't friends with any Mormon mother's of single men, so they don't ask me on dates out of obligation either. It is what it is.

Until Mr. Perfect I had never dated a member. And so when he came around I fell down the rabbit hole. I was sucked into the whole thing.

I need to back up, let me explain something. I'm not a big traditional person. Yes, I want to get married, but to someone as independent as myself. In describing the perfect guy I would always say, "I want to marry someone who WANTS me around, not someone who NEEDS me around." I also did not have a strong desire to push children through my vagina. I don't really like kids. They have dirty fingers and I wear a lot of dry clean only. This is where I was in my life when Mr. Perfect entered it.

It's as if bizarro me came out and took my place. He wanted six kids, he said he knew he would have six children. I said I wanted four. What? I haven't wanted four kids since I was 10 years old, where did that come from? We would have discussions about the number of our potential offspring until he finally wore me down to agreeing to have six children. I didn't want to change my last name, again, I found myself telling him that of course I would take his last name, nevermind that my last name has done just fine for 20-plus years. There is more, but I won't bore you. I was turning into that cookie cutter girl. I was finding myself changing opinions that I have held strong to for years, all for the dream. Part of me was in shock. I couldn't believe that I had snagged a great catch. He had everything a SMF (single Mormon female) was looking for. I couldn't wait to marry him so I could sort of throw it in all those people's faces. Sort of like, "SUCKER!!! I totally screwed around for ten years and did whatever I wanted, and I still got married to a return missionary, what now?!?" I almost had it in the bag too, I was willing to accept a crappy ring, move out of state and leave everything, including my last name and my childless vagina all for the dream that I have been programed to dream since I was a little girl.

I fell a little short though, we didn't work out, as you all know by previous posts.

So here I am, still an old maid, going back to my old ways. But this time I have that taste of the dream in my mouth. I don't know if I can go back. I don't know if when I get married it will be in the temple. I don't even know if I will ever get married. I guess like Tom Petty says, "the waiting is the hardest part..."

But to all those girls out there still dreaming the dream, if you want six kids, then I know of at least ONE single return missionary out there that is still single. Well, it's been like four months, so he actually might be married by now...

I love the Red Sox, even thought they suck this year

Because I am a crazy gypsy I sometimes do things that might seem a little odd to the average non-gypsy. One of those things being my red nail polish during the playoffs. Basically I paint my nails red at the beginning of the MLB playoffs and I do not remove that particular coat of paint until the Red Sox have either; A- won the World Series or B- let someone else have a shot at it (translation being they loose)

I prefer the former to the latter to happen.

So this year the Red Sox won the wild card. Playoffs began and I got my red polish manicure.

Today, I got to take it off.

What the hell? I am HELLA mad right now. The Angel's totally shut us out. This is the second year in a row that I am left disappointed. Last year, during game seven once I realized we weren't going to beat Tampa Bay I literally left my house to drive around until the game was over. When I came home and everyone confirmed that, yes Boston had lost, I sat on the ground and cried. That's how much I love the Red Sox.

All I want is two in a row. Two World Series championships back to back. It's not that hard, I know we can do it, and we get soooooo close is what upsets me.

To some of you I might sound a little greedy, since many Red Sox fans, including my dad had to wait a really, really, really REALLY long time just to have them win ONE World Series. 86 years to be exact.

My love for the BoSox started when I was a little girl. My dad took me to Baskin and Robbins. It was when you could get your scoop of icecream in a bowl the shape of your favorite baseball team's hat. I remember my dad made me get the Red Sox. I think I wanted the A's or something, but he simply looked at the cashier and said, "She'll have the Red Sox cup."  Damn you dad, you sucked me in.

The year that the Red Sox finally won the World Series was 2004. My mom, who is also a gypsy, but could care less about baseball, said that they would win it because the last time they had made it to the World Series was 1986, and it had been 86 years since they won a world series. It was a sign in our gypsy language, and I had high hopes for my team. So when we were 3 games down against the Yankees I felt a little down. But then game four, we won. And then we won game five, and six. The series was tied, it all came down to game 7, and we won that too. The poor Cardinal's didn't have a chance, the momentum was too strong. We shut them out. It was the best. I remember sitting there, watching the game with all of my friends, and I pointed at the TV and said, "I'M WATCHING THEM WIN THE WORLD SERIES!!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!!!" It was awesome.

The next time the Red Sox won was 2007. This was a special year because this year represented when my gypsy powers became stronger than my mothers.
I called that they would win in February. 2007 was the year of the boar in the chinese new year. Not only was it the year of the boar, it was the year of the Golden Boar. This only happens every 600 years, and it is a lucky year for anyone born in the year of the boar. Well, I'm born in the year of the boar, so 2007 was my year, and since the BoSox are my team they were for sure going to win. Hands down.
Then later in the year I was at work and someone pointed out that I had blood on my ankle. I had cut my ankle and was bleeding and I didn't even know it. I was walking around with a bloody ankle. A bloody ankle! Someone else had a bloody ankle when he helped win the World Series in '04. It was the ultimate gypsy sign, and at that point I was convinced that the Red Sox would win that year.
 My mother decided that the Rockies would beat us since they had come back to win like 21 games or something to make it to the end. I looked at her when she said that and told her that she must be getting old, and that she wasn't allowed to even glance at the TV during the games.
I of course was correct, and that's when I got wrapped around the idea that I really want 2 in a row. But when we didn't win last year we had to start all over. It's very stressful on me, and I get a little emotional. I taught Gilda how to cheer properly for the BoSox this year. It is adorable. She sings, "let's go Red Sox" and does the little clap. She is so born into it.

So my nails won't look like a hot mess the entire month, I guess that's the silver lining in the situation. Until next year, here's to anyone but the Yankees winning it all! Nothing but love for my husband, Jason Varitek, my boyfriend Jonathan Papelbon, and my honey bunnhy bear Jacoby Ellsbury.

That pink ribbon affects us all in some way

Everyone loves my mom. My mother is nice and pretty and always pleasent to people. She can bake yummy delicious treats and always loves to give people gifts. She's also funny and can keep a secret. Everyone loves her, and wonders how she got stuck with a daughter like me.

The truth is, in my defense, my mother is a nag. If she's not yelling at me about one thing it's another. My favorite line to throw in her face when she is bitching at me about why I do this and that is, "I do it so you have something to nag at me about!" I say this because I honestly think that if she didn't have something to nag about she would die.

When I was younger, between the ages of 13-20 I couldn't stand my mom. I didn't like talking to her, listening to her, anything she said or did was retarded to me. I was your typical teenager that hated her mother. I felt like I had nothing in common with her, she knew NOTHING about my life and how I felt or what I was going through. My mom grew up a military brat and was constantly moving. She never went to the same school two years in a row, she went to 4 different high schools in 3 different states. My mom never had the time to make real friendships with anyone The moment she really started to bond with someone, her family moved away. She never had a real best friend. This made her very independent, and a little bit of an introvert. She doesn't really like social situations and having to mingle with large groups.
She also is very private. I know very little about her life before she married my dad. I don't know of any previous boyfriends, or what she did for fun, nothing. It isn't like I haven't asked her, I have...she simply tells me it's none of my concern. All I know is that she fell in love with my dad and they have been married for almost 30 years now.
My mother gives me everything, but the one thing she couldn't give me was being a member of my church. She has taken the discussions over a dozen times, but she just does not believe. She told me when I was younger that she would join if I wanted her to, but I knew she did not believe. I always stood by her with this decision. I agreed that for her to be a part of something she had no belief in would be disrespectful. I am only now starting to understand that I might have taken a different path had I might of had my mother sitting with me in church all those years....

I say these things in preface to the real story I want to tell.

October is breast cancer awarness month, and I was sitting watching an episode of LA Ink that was really focused around breat cancer, and survivors getting tattoos...yada, yada, yada.
As I was watching and listening to all the stories of people finding out they have cancer, or loved ones dying of cancer I thought, "gosh, I don't relate to these people at all..."
But then I really thought about it. Cancer has been in my life a few times. My grandfather died of lung cancer 10 years ago. It was horrible, but it was only a matter of a month from the time we found out to the time he died. One of my mom's closest friends passed away from breast cancer after battling it for years. I know a handful of my friends that have had a cancer scare as well.

And then I remembered my mother's experience.

When I was ten years old my mother had to have a lumpectomy on one of her breasts. It ended up being nothing, and I was young so I didn't understand.

But now that I am an adult the memory disturbed me.

I remembered the day she went to the doctor and they told her she had to have the lumpectomy. She was wearing a white blouse and a blue and white checkered skirt. It was a sunny day and I remember my dad took me somewhere while she was at her appointment. I remember her standing on the sidewalk as we walked up to her. I don't remember what she said to me, but I remember being happy to see her. After that the only memory I have is her being in bed after the lumpectomy and seeing her bandages, and that's it. That was all there was to it. Because the lump ended up being benign, nothing was ever said about it again. I don't even think they really said anything to me about it at all.

I can't stop thinking about what would have happened had the lump been something? What if my mom did have cancer all those years ago? What if she had died? Who would have nagged me for all these years? Who would have been here as a constant reminder that I could be so much better if I was only like my mother?

Life might have been different for me had my mother joined the church along with my dad. I might be married and have a minivan full of snotty nosed children by now. I might not be in this no man's land of wondering where I belong or questioning every decision I make when it comes to certain aspects of my life.

But then I think of how life would be without my mom, and I am thankful to my Heavenly Father for reminding me of how blessed I really am to have her as my mother. I wouldn't trade her for anything. I know that I am lucky, and the older I get the more I try to be just like her. I know some girls would hate to hear, "you sound just like your mom" but I don't, because if someone thinks that I sound like my mom then I must sound like a really great person. I love my mom, she is the classiest, prettiest, funniest person I know.

I know that some people say that their mother's are their best friends, but mine isn't. She's so much more than that to me, she's my mom...nagging and all.

Now that you've read my story, if you're lucky enough to be able to, go tell your own mom how much you love her.

Mr. Roomie

Sometimes in life we take for granted the people we care about. Why do we do this? Isn't it odd that we treat complete strangers better than we sometimes treat the ones that really matter in our lives?

I have to give a shout out to Mr. Roomie today. Mr. Roomie, you're the bomb diggity.

Why you ask is Mr. Roomie the bomb diggity?

Answer-Any man who can live with 3 women and a little girl and not go crazy and stab us all in our sleep at night is a strong person.

Mr. Roomie is not perfect, he is loud and obnoxious at times. He always interupts when I am trying to watch something on TV. He always asks a question instead of just watching when they tell you the answer 5 seconds later. I've finally trained him to be silent during Big Love and Mad Men. He knows all questions are saved until the end of the program.
Mr. Roomie also throws things away. A lot. He is a uber clutter freak. I say clutter because he isn't so much a clean freak, he just doesn't like clutter. So we have one cupboard in the kitchen that is jam packed with anything he feels should not be left in eye sight. This cupboard is like the burmuda triangle of mail and paperwork, pens and anything else you can think of. He also throws away food. One morning I woke up and knew I had one bagel left, and was super excited to eat it. I open the fridge to see that he had pretty much thrown everything out. Including my cream cheese. Ugh.
Mr. Roomie also likes to think that he knows everything, and he doesn't. He listens to his co-workers and their retarded theories about the economy and politics and then spits that stuff out to us here. We always end up shutting him down.
I used to enjoy most sports, until Mr. Roomie and his crazy obsessivness with all sports. Take for example football season, we have to watch all day Sunday and Monday night. Why? Why can't you just watch your team and then tune into ESPN for the highlights from the other games? It drives me bonkers.

This hasn't been much of a shout out yet...but I'm glad you stuck through to the end to hear it.

Mr. Roomie is a good dad. He loves his daughter, even though she has him wrapped around her little finger and doesn't like to discipline her, he is still a great father.

He loves his wife. He works hard to be the man that she deserves to be with.

He is a wonderful friend. He would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it, no questions asked.

He is forgiving. He believes the past is the past and all we can do is move forward.

He puts up with all the women in this house giving him crap, which like I said previously would usually drive a man crazy, becuase us women, we can be mean.

All in all I wouldn't trade Mr. Roomie in for anyone else. So here's to you Mr Roomie, I'm glad that you're around.

If you liked it than you should have put a ring on it...or at least asked them out...

***sigh***

Why is it that I only get hit on by gay men and gentlemen over the age of 65?
Why can't I get asked out by a guy my own age?

***heavy sigh***

It's really depressing. I mean let's look at the facts here.

For starters I smell good. I use really nice laundry detergent, so my clothes are always nice and fresh smelling. I use liquid tide, not the cheap powder kind. I also always have some sort of delicious perfume on. Not just any perfume, I'm talking about Chanel. I smell expensive for goodness sake.

Secondly, I have really great hair. It's shiny and silky and long. I use yummy smelling products too (add it to the previous list of me smelling good)

C: I dress well. I buy pieces that can go the distance. I have a very classic style. Most of my clothes are 90% dry clean only, so that's telling you something. I am really good at accessorizing. I like to go by the "less is more" rule. I also wear at least 4inch heels everyday.

Which brings me to exhibit 2-B: I'm the perfect height. I'm 5'5 which makes me absolutely average. I'm right in the middle, not a dwarf and not so freakishly tall that I look like I belong in the Amazon. I can wear those 4inches and still be shorter than a lot of guys.

In closing I'm also smart, and keep up to date with current events. I know how to cook, even though I don't ever do it. I do bake, and am pretty good at that too. I also am funny and I can take a joke. If I trip or do something retarded I'm the first person to laugh at myself. I come from a nice family, and I have pleasent friends.

So what the funk? What's up? Why am I on the verge of the big 3-0 and I'm no where close to being married, let alone landing a date.

I get asked why I'm still single at least once a day. I'm running out of answers. I don't know.

People have started to feel pitty for me and are "breaking it down" for me and letting me know what's up.

So what's the big mystery?

Apparently I'm intimidating.

What the hell kind of answer is that?

Because I dress well, smell good, have nice hair, am smart and funny, and have a ton of great people around me this is the reason I am single. This is why guys don't ask me out.

***another heavy sigh***

Why are men so stupid. Do you know how many great girls are out there just waiting to be a good girlfriend to some stupid douche bag that doesn't even deserve her? Too many for me to even try and keep track of.
Why do I always see a pretty good looking dude with some really unattractive girl? I always wonder why she can get a guy and I can't. It makes me feel pretty pathetic. Don't judge me, you know you've all done it at least once in your life.

I did get asked out a few weeks back by some guy who is 22. First strike. I went to lunch the same day with the BFF and when she asked me what he was like I described him as the type that looks like he shoots rifles when he gets drunk with his buddies. Super redneck. Definatly not my type. Strike two, and I'm not eben giving him the chance to strike out. I also had an acquaintance today tell me that I should try a "party-line" What the hell? Do I look like the type to call a party line? hmmmm? I don't think so. Especially since she met her boyfriend there and he just got out of rehab. Again, not my type.

Basically my type is non-douche bag, but my problem is that I am surrounded by them.

Look, I'm not asking for much here. I just want a decent guy who can make me laugh and would be able to carry me out of a burning building if neccessary. Not drag me, but carry me out. If I'm going to make a wish list though I might as well go big or go home, right? Okay, I'm glad you agree!

My dream guy would be;
funny, smart, cute, and at least 5'10. I really would like to get married in the temple, so I would prefer a member, but only a really down to earth one like me. I'm not down for dating a crazy uber orthodox one again (I still miss you though Mr Perfect.) If he's not LDS I need him to be Jewish. I wouldn't even flinch at changing my last name to Goldstein or Rosenberg. Anything Jew-like and I'm good. I also really like guys with tatoos, I think that is super hot. I cannot be with a Yankees fan either. We bleed Boston in my family. I also need someone who has a good job. I know that sounds terrible, but I'm keeping it real. I'm a lot of things, but I am no sugar momma, and I never will be. My perfect guy would also love dogs, and allow me to name all dogs we bring into our home. He would also allow me to name all children that I push through my vagina as well. Basically all naming rights would belong to me.

This is pretty much all I'm asking for. It's not that much, I'm not that picky, so please guys don't be intimidated. Ask a pretty haired, yummy smelling average height girl out next time you see one. She might just be me...

Amazaholics

amaze vt.

amazed, amazing

1. to fill with great surprise or sudden wonder; astonish

2. to bewilder


Lately I've been hearing the word "amazing" being used loosly to describe a plethora of things.

Over and over I hear, "these eggs are amazing!"

"you're hair looks amazing!" etc. I started to question when everything so mundane became so suddenly, well, amazing.

Then I happened to watch the Rock of Love Charm School finale, and these two ridiculously trashy girls must have said amazing at least 10 times. Girl 1 described Girl 2's speech as "amazing." What? I'm sorry, I could barely stand to listen to Girl 2 ramble on as she tried to stutter out what she classified as an exceptable speech. (the girl with the best speech would win $100,000)

After watching that, and hearing it from people around me, I've decided that people over-using this word might not have the correct definition of amazing. Therefore, I have taken it upon myself to help those with this problem. I understand it might be difficult at first to purge yourself of misusing this word, but let's look at the silver lining, there are so many other descriptive words to use out there. You can say, "These eggs are delicious, scrumtious, appetizing, heavenly, tasty, or titillating." Or you can say, "You hair looks beautiful, dazzling, exqusite, foxy, classy, stunning, pretty, elegant, or supurb.


Amazing should be saved for something like, say I suddenly spit out fire, or my dog started talking in hebrew instead of barking, or Jennifer Aniston and Angelina Jolie became BFF. These type of things would be defined as amazing.


I urge all amazaholics to take baby steps in helping themsleves become less dependant on this word. Thank you. Good night, and good luck.

Double Dilema

Have you ever just wanted something so bad that you couldn't stop thinking about it? Well that's how I was last week regarding a double cheeseburger from McDonald's. For five days it was all I could think about. I would wake up wanting one, and fight myself all day long on getting it until I went to bed. I'm sure the people I was working with this week were ready to stab me in the juggular, because it's really all I talked about. I would ask my co-workers where they were going to lunch, and ask them if they would eat one for me, then tell me how good it was. They didn't do it. Bastards.
I bet it seems strange to you why I couldn't just go ahead and eat one. I'll tell you why. Because McDonald's is THE DEVIL. I swear they add some sort of crack to their food, because I love it, and if I eat it once, I want it again, which isn't possible at this time.
See, my dad developed diabetes about 7 years ago, and lately has been having trouble sticking to the diet he should be on, which doesn't include breads or pasta or sugar, or carbs. Basically he's screwed when it comes to food. I love my dad. Yes he's a cranky mo-fo, but he's the only dad I have, so I want him to be around and healthy for as long as I can help it. Which is why, even though I see him like once a week I have cut out all the things he can't eat from my diet as well (only to a certain extent...hey, no judging, I'm not the diabetic here!) But really, I have been for the most part pretty dedicated to it. My dad says that just knowing that I'm doing it makes him feel better about it. That's my reasons, so now you know, but back to the double cheeseburger...
I finally got to Friday, and I think I was going a little insane. I thought about it every 5 seconds. I wanted the damn burger, I could seriously taste it in my mouth. I was starting to become a snatch too. The BFF called me and I totally snapped at her, literally giving her the excuse, "I'm sorry! I just really want a double cheeseburger!" She told me to just get the damn burger. Way to be supportive BFF...
I was getting sweaty and all worked up over this cheeseburger. It was like a battle against good and evil going on in my brain, I couldn't even see straight. The darkside was pulling me in like a vaccum sucking up a bad penny. I got in my car to run a few errands, trying to get my mind off the burger by chain smoking. It didn't help, it just made me smell like smoke. I felt like an addict that was trying to get off the meth, "This is what's it's like for druggies" is all I could say. I now have a greater respect for all drug addicts and their come-downs from highs. Stay strong my brothers (fist pounding to the chest as I say that...)
Finally I couldn't take it anymore.
I found myself in the drive-though.
I made the exchange for the "stuff"
I brought the bag home.
The Roomie saw it. Her reaction? "Oh boy! You caved!"
I didn't give a f@*k, I was one happy girl.
I sat there with that double cheeseburger in my hand for a good five minutes, just cherishing the moment.
And then I took a bite...
mmmmmmmmmm yummy is all I have to say.

I know some of you are thinking I'm weak, but I couldn't stand it! I needed to get on with my life and I couldn't until I had that damn burger. So screw you Velda!

I'll see you in line at the drive though.

Frugalista, circa 2009

This recession is really bringing me down. I'm ready to be circa 2005 big baller status again.

I've been warned I shouldn't hold my breath.

You know those people who are happy for others when they are doing good? In this case I'm not one of them, so if you still are big baller status, then you suck. Seriously, you do. My parents included.

My problem is that it doesn't seem to matter what the numbers on my paycheck say, I still spend money. Granted, not AS MUCH as my big baller days, but still, enough. My BFF and I joke how we thought we were supposed to make more money as we got older, not less now that we are in the later part of our twenties. Example; my 22nd birthday, my best friend got me a necklace and earings from Tiffanys, AND rented a stretch hummer limo to take us out for my birthday. My last birthday, she bought me a shot.
Not that I am ungrateful, because I would rather have her as my best friend than have the entire content of the Tiffanys catalog. She's the bomb diggity.
My point is, that for a plethora of reasons, the economy, career changes, going to school, buying a house, getting married, pushing kids out of your vagina, blah blah blah, some of my friends and I are broke.

BUT WAIT!!! There is a light at the end of this dark and dreary tunnel. There is a way to still have adorable shoes and name brands galore. There is a God and his name is ROSS. As in "I got it at Ross!"

Yes, Ross, TJ Max, and Marshall's are my new meccas. I get adorable shoes for $15, and the other day I got a pair of Betsey Johnson earings. They were $24, marked down from the original price of $65. I know it's not as aesthetically pleasing as Nordstroms, but tough times call for tough measures.

I came home the other night and with much enthusiasm showed my roomates my latest shoe purchase from Ross. Mr. Roomie tried to bring me down by saying, "There's a reason those shoes are at Ross" with disgust in his voice. I then proceeded to break down the whole over-stock concept for him, which he had never even contemplated. Lis Sis, who works at a retail store chiped in that her store sends stuff out if they don't sell it in the allotted time frame. Mr. Roomie then joins me in the excitment but has one last question, "So what do you say when someone asks where you get your shoes, can people tell you got it at Ross?"

No Mr. Roomie, they cannot, so for those of you out there that aren't ready to stand up and shout, "I'M A FRUGALISTA AND PROUD OF IT!!!" that's okay, you'll find no judgement from me...

Just lie and say you got them at Macy's. But I'll know the truth.

Joy Behar, I hope you get laryngitis so you can no longer speak

So I'm off this week, and I am splitting my time between my parents house (aka Noah's Ark) and my own house (aka home sweet home.) So I came home this morning, and was sitting in the living room with my roommate, her daughter Gilda, and my roommate's sister. Yes, we all live together! Plus we have my roommate's husband, Mr Roomie. Don't judge, it takes a village....



So Roomie, Gilda, Lil Sis and I are all watching The View, which I can't stand. Every time I watch it it reminds me of going over to a friends house for dinner when you're a kid and the friend's parents start fighting in front of you. It's awkward, which is exactly what this show is.



If you are a fan of The View, please stop reading now. Don't worry, I'll wait...



Okay, are they gone? Good.



I think Joy is the most retarded woman alive today.



She drives me nuts. She just opens her mouth and word vomit comes out. Where did they get her from? The loony bin?



I started to wonder what made her so special that she gets to be a co-host of a well watched television show, AND just won a daytime Emmy as well for it. So I looked her up on Wikipedia. I actually look up a lot of people on Wikipedia, it gives a pretty good bio, and usually filters out all the B.S.



This was not the case with Joy Behar. Why you ask? Because the woman's life IS just a bunch of B.S. This just proves my point that she is the most retarded woman alive today.



I'm going to give you guys the cliff notes version, even though the bio is already slim, hey, she's not that well-rounded.



It basically says, she's Italian-American, (then why do you seem so Jewish??? You give the Jews a bad name and you're a gentile? That must piss off a lot of Rabbis') and she grew up in Brooklyn. She got married, she got divorced. She's currently been living in sin with her boyfriend for the past 20 something years. Which never makes sense to me. Why just live with someone? Shit, if you're going to put up with someone and their bad habits you might as well make it so you can get alimony if they decide to peace out on you later on. But that is a topic for later. It doesn't really talk about her career, she's just a comedian, and it says she a member of the view. My favorite part is where it talks about how her and Star Jones hated each other. It even quoted part of their feud. It also says that the conservatives don't like her, the catholics don't like her, and even some civil rights people don't like her. I'm getting the feeling Joy probably wasn't voted most popular in high school....



BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE!



Joy actually has a master's degree in English Education. What the funk? If you're educated why do you say stupid things?



I bet you all are wondering what Joy said to piss me off this morning. Lucky for you, I like to share!



The hosts where talking about Mr. Obama and how he is going around giving speeches about the importants of education to the children, and that the GOP are irritated and giving him crap for it.

Joy spat out that "white people are afraid because they are eventually going to be the minority."

First of all Joy, you're white, so shut your face. Secondly, the GOP doesn't like Obama, and it doesn't matter what he does, we are going to find some way to complain about it. Get over it. If it bothers you so much please take the time to vote for someone who actually can get the job done in 2012, but if you would like 4 more years of us complaining, then just re-elect the man. But please, please, do not say stupid retarded things like white people are just afraid. That is just dumb, and racist.



And last but not least Joy, I don't like your hair.

Thank you for not smoking

Boys and Girls, today I would like to talk about a subject that I've had years of personal experience with.





That's right, our topic today is smoking.


I am such a statistic because when I smoked my first cigarette 13 years ago the only reason I brought that puffy little treat to my lips was pure peer pressure. I knew that smoking was super bad for you, that only bad things could come from it, but I didn't care. I was a rebel, or just didn't want to look stupid in front of my friends. I like the rebel idea better, it sounds cooler, so let's just say that was the case. Hey, everyone has selective memory now and again.

I didn't get hooked right away, but I did smoke in high school. It was senior year that I started smoking publicly, my parents hated it, but what could they really do? Somewhere between then and now I have tried to quit a gazillion times.

The last attempt actually might have stuck, it had been 7 months without slipping up even once. It was like Marlboro's-0, Me-20.

And then I got dumped.

And then I went out and bought a pack and smoked the whole thing in about an hour.

And it was delicious.

And it made me feel better.

And I told myself it was just this one pack.

And I am still smoking to this day.

Yeah.....those doctors aren't lying when they say that nicotine is addictive. I will testify for them to congress if necessary, but I highly doubt they need me to. Whew, dodged that bullet!

You know what really irks me though? Is that I really, really, really like smoking! I know it's gross, but don't lie to yourself, you know it's cool. No, I know it's not cool, but I wish it was. I wish I lived in the 60's where it was okay to smoke, when you weren't treated like a leper if you wanted to light one up. I am friends with Natalie, who is in her 70's and she tells me how when she was my age everyone smoked, and not only did they smoke, they smoked ALL THE TIME. Indoors, outdoors, at work, while pregnant, while pumping flammable gasoline, didn't matter what you were doing, you were probably doing it with a cigarette in your hand. Sounds fun, huh? No? Oh, well we agree to disagree then.

It is funny though, because I am old enough to remember being a little girl and it still wasn't super bad to smoke. I remember Camel advertisements on the television and I remember that when I would go to a restaurant with my parents the hostess would always ask my dad if we prefered smoking or non-smoking.

So what I say now I say with a heavy heart.

I'm going to attempt to quit again. Please, can we have a moment of silence in remembrance for my fallen friend....

Okay, so here it goes. If you think you hear a collective groan around the state of California, it's probably just my friends all saying, "yeah right, we've heard this a million times."

Well, give me a break. My roomie likes to say as long as I continue to try and quit then I haven't failed yet. She sure is a smart one...

p.s. the picture I included is an actual cigarette ad from the 50's.

The title of this blog is, "When I think of him I shake my head in disgust"

I feel like I need to get a few things off of my chest. Hooray for you, you get to listen!!! Yay....

First let me start out by saying that this might sound very much like a crazy lunatic rambling on and on, but do not worry, I am not insane, I just have a lot I need to get off my chest, and some of it has been pent up for years.

These last few months have been very strenuous on me. It's not because I'm busy doing important things, but I have been having constant debates in my head. So we all know I was seeing this guy, and I thought he was amazing, and blah blah blah, and I'm super into him, more than anyone I've ever known, and he's into me, and then **POOF!!!** One day he decides he doesn't like me as much as he thought he did. Now, I was told a few reasons why, but nothing actually made too much sense to me. Not the point though. At this point his reason could be that he can't stand Hello Kitty, and my love for her was too much for him to handle. He didn't want to share me with Kitty. So, the thing that I really just can't wrap my brain around is how he just stopped caring so quickly. One day I'm the best thing since sliced bread, and the next day you're doing the Atkins diet. That is driving me bonkers! Like, I think about it and it pisses me off. I've had a few "theories" presented to me on how this can occur, but they have yet to make sense to me either. Probably because they came from men. They never make sense.

Continuing on this topic, for those of you who don't know, the real "reason" for the dumping, it was that I am not "Mormon enough." Because of this reason, from now on I will reference the gentleman I am referring to as "Mr. Perfect." (wow, I just quoted like crazy there!) What I want to know is where does Mr. Perfect get off with this? Of course I'm not Mormon enough! Have you met me? It's not like I kept any secrets from him about anything. Jeez...

Look, I know that I am not perfect, I know that I do things a little differently, but that doesn't change my belief in my faith. I have my own road to follow to get where I need to be. I'll get there, I'm just slow.

With that being said, I don't understand how anyone can decide that someone else does not have enough love or devotion to something they believe in. If Mr. Perfect and I read from the same book, then we both believe in the same thing. The difference in my eyes is this; I've been down the other road, and I still chose to say that this is the truth, this is what I need to follow. He has not. He has done everything he was ever told he needed to do. So how does he really know that his is what he wants? If I told you that chocolate ice cream is the best flavor in the world and nothing else compares, you could eat that the rest of your life and not even bother with the other flavors. But how do you really know for yourself? Everyone has their own personal bumps that strengthen them in the end. I know that I have things I need to work on, but I do it, one day at a time, and I don't beat myself up for it. If I mess up today, there is always tomorrow.

So, no I'm never going to be the Bishop's wife, but who cares? I just want to get to the point where I attend church every week, is that so much to hope for?

I still have more I could go on about, but I won't. For now...

Bull riding and dance ettiquitte

UGH....I'm warning everyone now, I have a delayed hangover. It sucks.

Last night we had a birthday party for a friend of mine, and we decided to go to a place that has a mechanical bull. We've been there before, and even though it's a little out of our way (and when I say out of our way I mean far enough for us to have to get a room) it's always totally worth it. We have the greatest time when we go there. I was super pumped up and ready to go. I was even contemplating getting on the bull again. I haven't rode it since my 24th birthday. People always ask me why I don't like to ride the bull. Let me take a minute to explain. Yes, I do think riding the bull is super-duper fun. It is, it's like a little roller coaster ride that you're taking solo. Here's my problem that I didn't realize until AFTER my one and only bull ride...you must sign a waiver to ride it. Let me repeat myself, you must sign a waiver, something that clears the establishment of any responsibility in bodily injury, including death. You could DIE from riding the damn bull. What the funk? I'm not down to die for some little 3 minute thrill. Yes, I did survive when I rode it, but walking away from it I remember I felt like I had conquered a real bull. Yes, in my head I was as legitimate as a PBR 10 year veteran. I had rode the bull and walked away without a scratch. I was the man, and I was never, EVER going to get on that thing again.

Until last night...

And the son bitch was out of order.

Oh well, I just decided to drink a lot instead. Which I did. I even did the shot thing where you sit in a barber's chair and they lay you back and pour the shots in your mouth and then sit you up really quick. I was pretty smashed. I danced with my friends, and I danced with the man in his 80's who goes around and asks anyone under the age of 30 to dance. He has a couple of smooth moves, so it was nice. I will say that dancing has become so icky. This is a subject in which my opinion helps prove my theory that I was born in the wrong generation. Let me go on...
People cannot dance. Boys think that smashing against a girl's butt with their penis is dancing. No, that is dry-humping. What happened to moving your feet? What happened to men leading? It is so refreshing when a guy asks me to dance and knows what he's doing. See, I'm not the best dancer, but if a guy is a strong lead then he can make any girl be a better dancer. I had a guy last night that was a great lead, so he spun me around and dipped me and everything. I damn near changed my name to Ginger. So boys, do us girls a favor and stop trying to hump us on the dance floor. We don't like it.

The night was a success. Our friend turned 30, no one died riding the bull, (because they couldn't even get on it!) Shots were taken and no one up-chucked, and I got to dance properly. Can't wait to see what the next trip there brings us.

Here I am line dancing with the 80 year old man who we see EVERYTIME we go there. He's there everytime, it's gotten to the point where I look for him when we get there. If I don't see him right away I have a small panic attack that he's died.