Less Douchebaggery, More Assgrabbery.

Help Toby Keep Crunkin'

2012-01-15T20:46:00.000-08:00

Help Toby Keep Crunkin': On Thursday, January 12th, the miniature love of my life Toby got unexpectedly ill. He hasn't been able to eat or walk since, and has been sadly just laying by the heater

Occupy This

2011-12-01T12:09:00.000-08:00

I will be the first to shamelessly admit for the first two weeks that the Occupy movement started, that I had no idea what it was.

I saw jokes surfacing on the old Facebook and thought it must be some new hot funny thing that people who have the time for tumblrs, and feeds, and avid blog readers were privy to that I just didn't have time for.

I was too busy, you know, working, going to school, trying to dig myself out of the never ending bill hell that I have somehow managed to burrow myself into.

When I finally asked someone, they were like, "Uh, really, do you not read the news?" No. Not really, sorry. In between bouts of doing things that make me loathe my life, I like to take a load off and get drunk or watch a shitty 80s comedy so that I can unwind and not think of everything that is going to further my pissiness in this world that I feel I have no control over.

I am selfish in some aspect, but in the least selfish way possible. I have created this bubble in which I exist that extends out to those I care about most. Because I only have so much brain left and so much empathy to give, I choose who I dole all that out to.

Sure when a disaster hits, I am aware of it, and if I have the money to kick down to the cause, I will. But for the most part, if I were to have 6 different news television programs going at once that were blasting all of the injustice that is going on, I would eventually go mad with helplessness.

So, that being said, I never did come to a direct conclusion as to whether or not that I agreed with this Occupy movement. It's always good to see people standing up for what they feel has wronged them, but what exactly had we been wronged by?

I know by a series of unfortunate events that I have now given some bank exec's kid a really fucking sweet Christmas based on the amount of overdraft fees and them not being sympathetic to my plight. I hope Junior likes that deluxe whateverthefuckitis kids play with these days this year.

But standing outside of places where people who are professionals and have worked their way to the top telling them it is time to pay the poor piper did have me slightly baffled.

I am of the opinion that we need to burn down all banks or at least wrangle in and new world order their asses. They are running around like the wild west, fucking over whomever they please with no consequences. Same with insurance companies, medical and vehicle and home related. They have no restrictions on whose pockets they reach into, and it seems the less money you make, the more they want to keep taking from you.

But, I am not going to stand outside of Johnny Lawyer's house and scream at him because he went through law school, has a sweet Hugo Boss suit, and drives a BMW and goddamnit, I want a BMW too.

Anyway, that is probably all here and there, but my cousin posted a link from Adam Corolla's show that I laughed really hard at calling a lot of the Occupy people self-entitled monsters and my new favorite term, doucheasses. To a degree, he is spot on with a lot of what he says, but like I said, I am still standing in the middle of this whole mess that is going on, because we are in a generation where so many arguments can be made about this whole debacle that in the end, nobody is going to be right. There are far too many variables to nail down a who is right.

Everything has gotten so lost in translation that arguing Occupy is like arguing abortion and religion at this point. My cure for our economy right now is everyone stop paying their house payments at once and play musical houses. There is no way the banks could take all our houses away from us, and if we all played house swap, it would be a mess trying to sort out all the work. At least we would all have a comfortable place to reside in for awhile.

It is true though, the envy syndrome has kicked into high gear. And people are acting like spoiled little shits going, "Meh, I want that car why does he get it and I don't?" Well dear friends, we don't know his story and what he had to do to get that car and unfortunately this is not a fucking Communist society where we all get to share and unfortunately not everyone is going to want to share with you.

Life can be random. You can bust your ass all of it and get nothing in return. You can bust your ass and build a great empire and stare down from floor 134244 at all of your little scuffling ants that you boss around all day in pride at what you have accomplished. You can be a complete and utter bumbling idiot, yet somehow manage to make bajillions dollars. You can meet that same kind of idiot and he is just hanging around bars being that same kind of idiot.

The thing is though, is that nobody should ever expect anything to be fair or handed to them. The whole point I have learned in my vast 32 years of life is the golden do unto others rule. Except I have decided to change it up a bit due to the times a changin. Do unto others as you would like for them to do unto you. If they don't do unto you the way you would like them to back, then fuck em and move on.

Oh and by the way? I have a solution for all this Occupy business that should make everyone happy:

Let the people who worked hard and built their empires be, let them have the respect they deserve and their nice things. But, force anything that ends with a Kardashian or starts with a Snookie that have waaaay more than I do merely by televising their drunken whoriness and stupidity with pride start kicking down penances to the less fortunate as punishment for forcing us to endure their shameless idiocracy.

That, my friends, is what we call a win/win.

Anti-Travisty

2011-09-28T19:55:00.001-07:00

I have been all of the mope lately but not really outwardly, thank all the gods, nobody wants to be around me outwardly mopey, it is just a bunch of disjointed thoughts sputtering out of my mouth that make none of the sense. But I put on some Twee Pop. What is Twee Pop? Urban Dictionary who can NEVER be disputed with describes it as:

A type of indie pop that is known for simple, sweet melodies and lyrics, often combined with jangling guitars; twee is also British slang for something almost sickenly sweet. I concur!

Which then made me decide that instead of complaining today, I am going to give praise to friendship. Because today, friendship made me feel on top of Mars. If Mars was an awesome place to be that is. Speaking of, it has been decided that everything is cooler in outerspace. Well, decided by myself. Though it did take some convincing to this friend that it was.

When I was explaining to him how someone sure looks pretty cool playing a guitar, but wouldn't they look cool doing it.....IN OUTERSPACE???? He thought it sounded like a pain in the space suited ass. Until I explained, NO, I mean you don't need a space suit!! Then he said, AHHH I get it! So I can shred guitar in my people clothes to the tune of AC/DC while flames lick up around me and everyone cheers and we don't even need the proper breathing apparatus? Everything IS cooler in SPACE!!!!!

How did I meet Travis? At a bar of course! Until recently, he was in my phone as Travis Twilight Bone. Because I was drunk when I met him and I was at the Twilight bar. I was outside being harassed by a panoply of overly annoyingly drunk patrons that were out like a gang of cockroaches that night. The first couple had to let me know I looked like Kirsten Dunst as Mary Jane Spiderman (NEVER HEARD THAT BEFORE RIGHT?) and normally I say, oh yeah I get that a lot, but this one could not let it go. She kept yelling MARY JAAAAAANE! MARY JAAAANE! Then some other dude came out and wouldn't let up with the annoying things that humans do.

Travis came out for a cigarette, I told him I was pretty sure I had met him before, and then he immediately jumped in with the let's make fun of drunk annoying strangers and see if they notice it banter. It was amazing. And enjoyable to find someone who didn't think I was an asshole for not having the patience to put up with blatantly annoying and ignorant drunks. We exchanged numbers, and then became buddies after.

He is not only a very talented poster maker, go look at his site! He makes posters for prolific artists, and some that are not so prolific but they are good men, they pay hiz billz. http://furturtle.com/

So I just got distracted there, but he is not only a very talented ARTISTE, he is one of my favorite people that I have ever met in my lifetime. He doesn't get offended by my crass humor, he actually joins in, instigates, or starts it. He may not know this, but when I was beyond sick and beyond poor (please see that I am still beyond poor) he would call me up and take me out to lunch. He literally kept me fed.

Sometimes we both get busy. Or caught up in life. But he always texts me out of the blue and says, "Let's not fight anymore. I miss you. Let's go eat." "Why are we texting right now? I want to text with mouths" Or, "We are terrible people, aren't we? Why are we not hanging out?"

When he got me to go to South By Southwest in Austin last March, it was such a fun trip that I never ever ever otherwise would have done had I not known him. I remember waking up the day before we were to go home in the throes of the WORST hangover I had ever experienced in my life, covered in bruises, full of a pounding in my head, wobbly, on two hours of sleep and still covered in makeup the night before, lying on the hotel couch trying not to throw up the nothing that was left in my stomach, and he was walking around singing Southern Man and playing guitar in an overly exaggerated Neil Youngesque voice. And I was laughing my ASS off as I drifted in and out of sleep. I haven't laughed so hard with that bad of a hangover ever.

He is also the only friend that has laughed so hard that we were BAWLING in a hotel room bed staring at a photo of a monkey wearing people that was vomiting while a man patted it on the back and someone in the background took a picture. We laughed about it for hours and hours later. He GETS my humor. I love it.

Today we went out to lunch at the Busy Bee which is a garlic burger place/bar and had some burgers and beer. He looked at the picture of the Busy Bee on the wall and said, "I am scared of that bee. I am pretty sure it is going to rape me. Look how menacing it is with that Bud Light in its hand and its grin. I spat in laughter. We were trying to figure out if it was a pack of bees, a hive of bees, a gaggle of bees or what if they were to gang up on you and R you. We then coined the term Stangbang. We are terrible. But funny. Look at the bee though!!!

We decided that we were going to start a relationship advice column. Two of our ideas today were:

Trying to get over your ex-girlfriend? There's hope. Go out and get yourself a sweet looking little puppy to keep you company. Name it after your ex-girlfriend. Then proceed to stab it to death.

Need to feel a bit vindicated after getting your heart broken? This is a surefire trick that works every time to help you not only feel closer to her after the breakup, but also works wonders for your hurt feelings. Go to your ex-girlfriend's house, have a nice talk with her. Stab her to death, cut her face off, wear it as a mask, and then kill her whole family wearing said mask.

Then we concluded that may not be a good idea due to people maybe actually taking our advice.

After burgers we left to get some bubble tea. A guilty wonderful pleasure for both of us. As he got his and took a sip, he said, "Goddamn this is made out of the jizz of angels."

The Barista working frowned the WHOLE time while we had this conversation casually as though maybe this is really something to be considered when I said, well what kind of Angel jizz is it? Is it masturbation jizz, sex jizz, or wet dream jizz?

He retorted with, "Pssh angels don't need to have wet dreams, are you kidding me they get laid SO much up in heaven. I was like you don't choose wet dreams, they just happen, maybe they don't need to masturbate though."

As I attempted to pay for lunch earlier, he would not let me. He tried to pay for tea and threw his card down, and with all of my cat-like reflexes I do not possess, I swiped it and put it in my back pocket. He said "NO that was not fair give it back!!!!"

I said, "You can't get it back because it is in my back pocket, the Barista has my cash, and if you try to get card out of my pocket that is sexual harassment and I am suing." He sat there helpless, and the Barista continued her permanent scowl as she took my money.

I could tell more tales praising Travis, but this was literally an hour or two of our day, and I am still leaving out all of the other things we talked about, had fun about, chortled over, and it would take me a book to include the other amazing lunches we have been on, best ofs of my trip with him, and all of the porch time we have had while drinking beer.

So I am just going to include a video of Southern Man at the bottom here, and be grateful from the bottom of my mopey little heart that I have such a wonderful friend in my life that brings in some twisted sunshine into my days.

The Good the Bad & The Mildly Unnatractive

2011-08-14T01:36:00.000-07:00

So I had that talk where I try to maintain a positive attitude. And things really did get on the up and uppish?

I applied for, and received a job in a mere 1.5 day's time. I was very excited for this.

I went out that same night with a friend that was in town visiting and we had a lot of fun.

We went to a bar that made me feel olde. See, I can go to places like da club and I can drink loads of jagerbombs and dance my unadulterated overadulterated ass off. But When I enter an overly crowded bar that is playing Katy Perry to be ironic as two pool tables stuff themselves into overly crowded said bar that is swimming with a sea of hipsters, I start to feel a little out of the loop.

Because at least at da club they aren't being pretentious. That's what you are there for. These kind of places are almost designed to make you feel uncomfortable once you set foot in there if your shade of plaid is not up to Urban Outfitters par with the rest of the population.

It was still fine, screaming over Lady Gaga. I can honestly as stated above,make the best of all situations.

We had an ending of the night drink and then I went home. And foolishly checked my email. One thing you should never do when awaiting news on something is check your email at 3:00 a.m.

Your brain is not functioning correctly, and you are at a heightened sense of odd emotion that only kicks into high gear past the hour of midnight. My unemployment had been denied, and while I had this new up and coming part-time job, I have also had creditors and a car payment due.

And might I mention AGAIN, that I got fired due to being too ill to come to work?

Well, we did what is to be expected of me and let some fat rain fall from my eyes. Wiped that rain off with toilet paper windshield wipers, and asked it to please stop.

But there had been a tsunami brewing in my brain, and the storm was angry. And my eyes kept leaking. And piece after piece of t.p. could not dam up the floodgates. And I probably repeated the phrase, "I am so fucked" at least 599787415 times.

And I felt helpless. I have felt helpless a lot lately, but this was that overwhelming sense of I have no more shit to sell, I am afraid things are going to start getting taken from me, I am so tired, but my brain is now telling my body to eat shit and figure this out fast, but my fix it instincts were scrambled since all prior options has officially been exhausted.

Before I knew it, it was 6:45 am and I had officially been weeping for over three hours. And I was beyond loopy.

And even though I am almost a grown 32 years in age, sometimes we all just need our mommy.

I texted my mommy (thanks technology for not being 1995 and making me page her with a 911 at the end of it.)

She almost immediately called me and I was a snotty hiccuping mess of nonsensical and not in the cute rhyming Dr. Seuss way.

She stopped me mid-sentence and said, "Let me get your dad on the phone."

I froze.

Sorry, but my dad is not the person I melt on. I was wondering what he could even possibly do at this point to even begin to comprehend the inane ramblings of a female on the verge of Sylvia Plathing herself.

He got on the phone and I hiccuped so many of the things I just did to my mother.

My dad is a very intense and serious sounding person. We never have had a heart to heart. As a matter of fact, we didn't speak for almost ten years.

And in the interim of us speaking over these past few years it has been light funny conversation. Or when I am being an irrational idiot, he says things that says he cares, but also tell me I am being an idiot.

I was being an idiot this time. I was feeling sorry for myself and crying why me. He stopped me in his calm voice and said:

"When we had to move you kids out here from Iowa, it is because my law partner was a drunk and a criminal. He was my best friend. He embezzled all my money. We had to file bankruptcy, and we had to siphon money from your college funds so we could even barely get standing on our feet again.

It was horrible. I had to mop floors as a janitor and your mom had to work in the Frito Lay factory, and we had you five kids to support. That was the lowest point in my life. I had this wife I was supposed to support, and here she was working in a Frito Lay factory while I mopped floors, after going to law school mind you."

I thought to myself, "Well that sucks. I hate that I was such an asshole kid during this period of time, and hearing other people's stories like this sucks too. How does this help me?" Selfish, not selfish. It just made me feel bad.

He said to me to elaborate. "You need to realize that you are going to reach the lowest of your low. You are going to be so down and you are going to be so out. And all these people that you feel are screwing you over, you can't take it personally. This is greed. These are businesses and corporations. They don't hate you persay, they are just greedy people that only care about themselves at the end of the day, and while you may feel powerless, the only way you will be powerless is if you lay down like a beaten dog and take it. You just keep standing up and you keep plowing through this.

You have opportunity. You are smart, you are going to school, you are so close to done, and you just have to get right back up again and not let people that mean as little to you as you do to them bring you down to the ground. You earn things in this world, and that makes them that much sweeter. If you actually have to work for something and not have it handed to you, you are going to appreciate it that much more. That being said, what me and your mother love most about you kids is that you have always been so independent and you guys are smart, so smart and intelligent, but at times life is going to hand you things you can't quite understand and be able to handle. I know you are self-sufficient, and I know how much you hate asking for help.

But it's not your fault you got sick. You can't control your body. And your mom and I are where we are now because we worked hard for it and we fought for it. And we love you guys so much, we will do whatever it takes to see you succeed. And you need to not feel guilty for taking our help during these times. You need to stop seeing yourself as a burden when we help you and you need to take it and stop blaming yourself for all of these things happening to you. We love you, that is why we are here and we are happy to help you and make sure you are able to get out of this.

Then my father said to me words I will never, ever, ever in my lifetime forget.

And maybe this will sound like the lamest thing ever, but I don't care. The next thing he said, trumps any lyric of any song I have ever heard, it surpasses any deep and thought provoking sentence I have read in a novel. Namely because he meant it, and also because he gave me faith that the beauty of the human spirit is still alive and kicking and it made me not want to drown myself in the bathtub.

"You know. Your mother has a lot of health problems. And she is so kind. She is so sweet and selfless. She is so happy through it all. And she reminds me so much of you in that aspect. And at this stage in her life, she requires help for a lot of the problems she goes through. And she is just like you in the way that she doesn't want to burden anyone or put anyone out by having to receive help for anything. And when I help your mother with things, just as I feel about helping you out with things, I don't look at it as a burden. Because of who you both are, I look at it as a privilege."

I say this with all honesty, I think going through everything that I have, with all of the frustrations and financial difficulties and trying to get myself back on the up and up again, I would do it all again 1,000 times over just to hear someone utter that paragraph again.

Roadarrhagia

2011-08-11T17:40:00.000-07:00

I have this condition that is actually not very abnormal if you add up all of the instances you have encountered with the majority of the driving hoi polloi.

Medically, I believe the term is called Roadarrhagia. If you look up the suffix rrhagia, it means an abnormal or excessive flow or discharge. And while I am generally a very shy and soft spoken person (sober) in public, Roadarrhagia is what happens with my mouth once I get behind the wheel of a car and am forced to endure more than five minutes of completely and utterly imbecilic drivers.

I think riding with me operating a vehicle can go either way. It may be one of the most amusing or one of the most stressful experiences for a passenger. Because once something happens that triggers the Roadarrhagia,there is not much that can stop the flow of expletives and hand gestures coming from me, the volcano has erupted and what's been done cannot be undone.

It's like the Exorcist, sans all the vomiting and green skin. Sometimes I just cease to make sense, which can make this humorous; other times I start baiting other drivers, falling into the whole trap of being almost as equally senseless due to my Hulkmones taking over.

When I say Utah drivers are the worst, some people think I may be exaggerating. Granted, I haven't driven everywhere in the Universe, but I have been in traffic jams in Los Angeles that flow more smoothly than a freeway ride on a semi-desolate Utah freeway. People know that they have to work with each other in order to keep the traffic moving in L.A. Here, everyone looks at you as though you are the enemy and if you put your blinker on to get over, that means they need to get in your blind spot and sit there until you miss your exit.

One of my hugest pet peeves is a person who cannot for the life of me stay off my ass ie the tailgater. They just love to hump my car no matter how fast I may be going, or if GOD FORBID, I am going the speed limit. I do not know how anyone can comfortably drive behind someone that way without fear that they will start braking every minute. Or their mind may break.

Which, if they don't get off my ass I do. And then I go under the speed limit. Which then results in them trying to pass me, so I speed up with my middle finger out as they look at me. All the while I am yelling "How is my ass? Does my ass look good today is that why you are riding it??? Oh going to keep doing it huh? What happens if I brake? That's right I'm braking asshole, oh wait you want to pass me now? NOT GOING TO HAPPEN because whoops my foot just found the gas again!"

Sanity has no place in my driver's seat apparently. I have once even spouted the words, "You know, this is why I don't own a gun. Because I get why people jump out of their cars and shoot people on the road." It's pretty awful that I have once empathized with the above uttered sentiment.

I have cogitated over what pisses me off so much that I want to get out of my car at the red light me and the guy behind me honking at me and tailing me for the past five miles and throw my hot overpriced Latte in his face, trust me I hate wasting good coffee, and the conclusion was actually quite simple:

There are two things that really effect me in this world, and they are two of the least regulated things that I can think of.

It goes like this; someone can tell me where I can and cannot smoke cigarettes, how old I have to be when I start drinking, and I am forced to pay taxes every year and get raped by insurance companies (auto and health alike) yet when it comes to the matters where the most obtuse and reckless people manage to excel at, it is virtually not really regulated tightly.

That would be breeding and driving. Yeah if you get caught without your license, or you can get a ticket, or you get in an accident without insurance, or child services blah blah blah, but that never stops these people from doing things.

With transportation,suddenly my life, which I surprisingly enjoy having at this point in time, is in the hands of that fucktard on his cellphone, that texting child, that 956 year old whose grandkids aren't kind enough to take him to his doctor's appointment, and that Bro whose truck is waaaaay bigger than what he is trying to compensate for. And if one of those bozos, leading their life of bozoey existence, not a care in the world for anyone else's welfare ends up mowing me down on the way to get tampons, and I die in a fiery inferno getting tampons, probably listening to crunk, I am going to be fucking pissed.

I can picture my car upside down on the freeway with women's personal care health products scattered all around me lighting themselves off of the blaze like sparklers on the Fourth of July one by one while something like a J-Lo/Pitbull collaboration blasts out of the only working part left in my car, the speakers. I probably wouldn't be wearing cute underwear that day either. Of course not, I was on my way to get tampons, so that faded pair of Hello Kittys that I got 6 years ago would be stretching out of my skinny jeans as I lay splayed across the pavement.

And I am going to haunt the living hell out of whoever did that to me.

Of course we have the dude that can't use his blinker. That's my standard: "Only in America are people's fingers too fat and lazy to turn on a blinker!"

The dude who cuts me off. The start seeing motorcycles guy in flip flops, shorts, no helmet and a tank top who just can't seem to stop cutting through lanes, the Escalade driving soccer mom who has to do her makeup while driving so the coach thinks she is hot when she gets to the game, and the texting carful of teenagers listening to.....probably what I'm listening to.

The other day I yelled, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING DICK & BALLS???" To someone who would not get out of my way. After screaming that, I said, "That's right, dick and balls you're the whole package buddy!"

The term "suck my egg sac" was invented when I realized how ludicrous I sounded yelling suck my dick since I don't have one.

Sometimes it is just a string of incoherent swear words mixed in with some made up new vocabulary. A sailor would be embarrassed to ride with me.

Not too long ago, I literally almost got into a fight coming home from the mall with another driver. Not one of my proudest moments, I will admit. But she really just managed to push all of the wrong buttons that day.

I was starving and completely hot and dehydrated when I was taking a route home from the mall. I looked in my rearview and some crazy bitch had pulled up behind me severely tailing me. She was so close I could see her screaming and shaking her fist while honking her horn.

She whipped into the hospital adjacent to me, and that is when I let go of my anger for a second. I assumed maybe it was an emergency.

Well it must have been an emergency all right. Someone must have informed her that all the McDonalds were closing down in ten minutes, because she was in a hurry to get somewhere. She had pulled into the hospital in order to cut me off.

I did not do this on purpose, but I happened to pass by right when she was trying to pull out which infuriated this woman beast even further and she started driving more erratically, and I started getting even more irritated by the moment.

We were in residential neighborhood land, and she attempted to pass me. That is when I put my middle finger up behind me, and proceeded to speed up, denying her efforts. I just held my finger there, and slowed down to a nice safe speed of 15 miles an hour.

I didn't make a new friend doing this. I went to turn right, and turns out she needed to as well, I sat there a good while, not turning even though there were plenty of gaps, and I turned around, looked her in the eyes and mouthed the word "Cunt." Then turned right.

Okay at this point I had made a murderer. She pulled up so close behind me, got up next to me honking and screaming and then cut me off, literally coming within an inch of hitting my car.

At got into the next lane, and what do you know? All that hurrying had put us at the same red light together. I supposed I should have just let it go at this point. I was so mad though. And shaking from hunger probably crazy from dehydration. So I unrolled my window, pointed and laughed and said, "Oh look who's at the same red light with me now????"

She drove off and pulled into a parking lot, and for a brief flash of insanity, I almost considered pulling in as well and confronting her. Somehow my need for food and beverage trumped my need to get into my first ever fight with someone who apparently had no regard whether or not she or I died that day, and I took off.

Probably lesson learned, but I doubt it.

Today driving, my iPod was kind enough to know what I wanted to hear while it shuffled, and while I had it blasting on the freeway singing out of the top of my lungs to the following:

The Beatles
Roxy Music
The Jam
The Kinks
Pete Townsend
The Pixies
Bust out your white sports jackets STEELY DAN!!!!

I actually had to stop and laugh at myself because I was singing, "Lovely Rita, meter maid, may I inquire discreetly, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING GET OFF MY ASS YOU FUCKING FUCKWAD GOD I HATE YOU GET THE FUCKING FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!!!!"

and then segue happily back into, "Rita! do do do do do do." This happened throughout all of these songs.

Sometimes I thank God for music in the car, as it is the only saving grace I have. Except for that once hiccup, albeit and enjoyable one, I know had that semi crashed into me today, it would have been during a SuperMash Brothers song.

Immunity

2011-08-09T18:09:00.000-07:00

Note to all of your bodies: Never ever, ever, get an auto-immune thingie.

After spending all of those months ill as all of your sicknesses combined, I didn't even get a lousy t-shirt. Instead I am left with creditors calling me more than my friends, a negative bank account, and I am sitting here with mashed up lemon peels on each side of my temples in an attempt to alleviate this headache that is pounding itself into my head like a Nickeback song on repeat. I can only take Tylenol as all of the other pain guys hurt my stomach, and I hear Tylenol is bad on a sad liver, and I had some of the booze last night so since I GUESS I love my liver, I am reduced to trying natural remedies. (not working)

I went on an eBay marathon listing things like crazy last night, so I didn't crawl into slumberland til past 5:00 a.m., so while I was tired today, I was still doing pretty all right considering. I was ready to be the most productive person on the planet since Donald Trump, when out of nowhere I got a phone call from the unemployment office.

Why have I filed for unemployment? Because I was not well enough to return to work and I got canned from my fun job. Why didn't I just continue with my short-term disability? Well, because I have NO idea how lazy rednecks stay on disability forever, because it is actually harder to stay on than actually getting up and going to work. They basically bullied my Doctor into not wanting to send in any more paperwork. Thank GOD I am feeling physically on the up and up, and I will be your fat little friend again in no time, as I am stacking on a few pounds. But, since he would not send in the papers saying I was not well enough to return to work, next comes canned and then comes the unemployment filing, and then comes unemployment asking my Doctor to sign a release stating that I am well enough to work again.

Which in true Dominique's life form he did not. So now I am in Catch 22 land. Only in my world could I get fired for not having papers saying I am too sick only to not be able to file for unemployment and go through job services due to not having papers saying I am well enough to work again.

You know how angry I got right? You know how well I operate when I am angry right? I SHOWED THEM BY CRYING ON THE PHONE AND FOR THE NEXT TWO HOURS! Why do my eyes decide to rain on all the hos when I am pissed? If I can solve this mystery and make that not happen anymore, I would probably rule the universe, so there is probably a reason why this doesn't happen; the universe likes being safe and happy right now. This fault of mine has always led me to hiccup through a pile of snot and reddened eyes, "I'm not sad I'm MAD damnit!!!"

I am now left with my residual bawlbaby headache. But not all is lost. Back to the Future is on, and this movie brings back many fond memories. Namely learning all my first cuss words from it and getting my mouth washed out with soap due to said cuss words.

When I have days like this, I always say, "It's cool tomorrow will probably be totally awesome to make up for today." And then when tomorrow isn't, I just repeat that all over again pretending I didn't say it the day before. And there is always beer. And puppy cuddles. And a sweet truck I saw outside that somehow managed to trump my neighbors giant red truck that has the sticker on the back that says "Pimp Inside."

Hipster=MeAsQuare

2011-08-08T21:28:00.000-07:00

Now that I think about my general aura that I exude to others (my dogs mainly I'm sure) I have come to the conclusion that I could have accidentally molded myself into a hipster without necessarily attempting to. I have compiled some of the evidence and will list it for you below.

1. Skinny jeans. The tighter they are, the better. I spent a good portion of whenever these things came into style making fun of them once I heard the term, "jeggings." Now if it comes with a zipper on it, I don't want it. This is due to the fact that I have a tendency *by tendency, see ALWAYS, to forget to zip my fly up. It's a good thing I don't have a dick, I would have been arrested at least 5,685 times by now for flashing people at local shopperies. In addition, all that junk I had up in my trunk, went on vacation. I don't know if it is old age, or losing all that sick weight, but I have no officially become your local plumber crack. So I had to get really tight pants that would not sag off my new lackluster of a bottom. I'm short. Not 2Short, I wish, he is awesome, but all jeans are seem to be made for this femmebot that has gotten off of planet tall, skinny, and hot, and they really don't fit this little hobbit body of mine. Jeggings tend to run short. My only beef with them is, why are they too fucking lazy to put front pockets on them??? I don't like jamming change or a lighter into my back pocket. You sit down and damn near accidentally get raped by inanimate objects.

2. PBR. Look. I don't want to pull the whole, "I WAS BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BEFORE THEY WERE" card. But I have to. I was drinking PBR BEFORE THEY WERE DAMNIT!!! I was drinking it, because i liked cheap shitty beer. Because I was poor. Because I always drank Bud Light and PBR because I wanted my beer to taste like carbonated water and my hangover to feel like a trailer park and my mouth to taste like the inside of one of Bret Michael's bandanas after a concert. After "they" started drinking it, the prices slowly crept upward, and suddenly PBR was no longer a viable drinking option for me. I have since rebelled & did a 180 and started to enjoy dark beer out of nowhere that is probably going to throw me into bankruptcy. Still, I cannot resist the sweet siren song of a PBR floating my way, and if I see one, you but I am going to lovingly cup that can and whisper, "Baby, I drink you dry because I love you."

3. Ripped clothing, stains on clothing, dirty hair, smeared makeup. Yup. My jeans get holes and stains in them. So do my shirts. And I keep wearing them after that, because it is always my favorite rock shirt or most beloved pair of jeans that gets that hole in the knee. How does this happen? you may be asking yourself. Did you take scissors and cut the whole in the knee of those jeans? Did you spill beer on that rock t-shirt at your favorite Indie rock concert? Nope. I am a klutz and a slob. I should just combine the words and we will say that I am a Klob. Jeans have been ripped by running drunkenly and getting caught on rosebushes, shirts are stained because I am a magnet for people dumping beer on me at shows, and because at some point in my life I was never taught where my mouth was when it came time to eat. Today, I found ranch underneath the armpit part of my shirt. I was eating french fries, and dipping them in ranch. I FOUND RANCH UNDERNEATH THE ARMPIT PART OF MY SHIRT. How does my food make it to these places? I have found food in my hair, down the front of my shirts, so many times on my crotch that I have started a list of "Things you shouldn't spill on your crotch lest someone mistake it for something completely and utterly different" that I am starting to wonder if I need a big and a high chair when I eat. I cannot even list the amount of times I have eagerly gone to take a nice hearty swallow of a beverage, and I somehow end up drooling it down my shirt like my mouth just had a stroke.

Well my hair, say whatever the hell you want. I can't afford a haircut, it gets thick, and I hate washing it all of the time. Besides, it's not healthy to wash your hurrr every day so technically mine probably stays healthier than yours. It may not look better, but underneath all this dirt and grime and grease is shining Sleeping Beauty hair, there has to be! I grew it out long again too so what does that mean? Oh ponytail, thank you for taking over my life.

4. Giant sunglasses: I wear giant sunglasses at night or during the day, due to the fact that I feel as though I have a very giantly disproportionate head. I can't look all cool in tiny RayBans like the rest of you populated awesome people out there, and well, I just don't look good in sunglasses generally unless they are filling out the rest if this jack o lantern that we call a face.

5. Tattoos: Fuck you, I got tattoos. And got most of them when I was a youngster. And really wasn't thinking about all of you douchebags when I got that free you can practice on me konji on my neck.

6. Greasy as all get out food. It's really all I can afford.

7. I cut myself: It's true. I do. I cut myself with knives. I cut myself with razors. I even cut myself with bottle openers. Not even those surface wussy I am just going to do it to see what happens cut. But deep within the realm I am going to leave unattractive scars all over your body kind of cuts. But this is not to see if I can still Trent Reznor feel pain. This was more along the lines of I cannot cut fruit, open a beer, or even shave my legs correctly. Proof in picture earlier tonight as I bathed and sliced a fresh new chunk off my leg and yelled OH FUCK OUCH WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK??? And then had to place 4 Toy Story Bandaids atop it. As I am fully aware than I can still feel pain, yet apparently I am not old enough to operate a razor.

So basically what it boils down to, is that I have all of the amazing attributes to be a full-blooded hipster, but I am far to spazzy to fit into this population that would most definitely not accept me if I explained all of the above to them.

Insane in the Mundane

2011-07-29T01:02:00.000-07:00

I am trying to think of which day it was when I hit it. Normally when you "hit" something you have done three of the following:

1. Finally gotten laid by that person you've been making out with and then whoops! Home base was scored for both parties.
2. You physically assaulted that one human being that has been annoying you for an eternity and a day after having 500 fantasies of doing so. And though you may be sitting in jail, calling anyone but your mother to bail you out, you have a complete sense of smug satisfaction.
3. You have had a long time coming goal. You have been struggling to reach it as far back as you can remember, when all of the sudden out of nowhere it is accomplished and you feel like He-man.

Well. None of those apply to me at this point. Boo.

I suppose i would say boo if that is technically what I was feeling at this point. And by the way I have hit something completely and utterly different. It's the one where you were losing mad weight and you are on the cusp of looking hot but that extra 1.5 lbs just won't shake itself from your everloving gut no matter how hard you try. It's called.....a....PLATEAU.

Yes. Stagnant. Not fresh. Not rotting. Simply just existing waiting for one or the other to happen yet neither does. For some reason there is no expiry date on the container so you are left with a mystery that you cannot afford Sherlock Holmes to solve.

I don't know if I made mention of this specifically I tend to blather on a lot, but someone recently asked me the question: What is making your life so mundane?

I guess if we want to get into the shallow specifics of it all is that trying to break down what is making it so mundane has become mundane in and of itself.

I think the older I get in age years the less I understand that the human psyche is so seamlessly able to be able to accept the mundane as a perfectly rational way to exist.

But then again, I think about that fact that that makes me sound like some sort of cocky asshole and have to start rationalizing that I may have the problem of not being able to accept that updating a Facebook status with, "Just wakin' up!" may be a great method of being able to let others into your life.

What may be considered my hell could be another's heaven. Maybe the devioust in me and the atheist in me refuses to take this life lying down. With that white picket fence smothered in 39494 shitty diapers while working eight jobs and posting infant vomit updates. But then again, there are obviously enough people out there that love Creed's music enough to make them wealthy, so perhaps my taste in life is a little like someone's taste in music. We are bound to enjoy and be fulfilled by completely and utterly different things.

Aside from that fact, just waking up person with said bajillion children does appear to be happy. Whereas, I sit here floundering trying to figure out what really is going to make my bubble swell.

So this post ends with....no resolution. Do not consider myself a resolutionary. Yet.

Counterpartductive

2011-07-24T02:59:00.000-07:00

Wow.

I have not been on here in a bit. I almost forgot how to log in. Let's just say I have been thoroughly distracted. But something (gin) whispered into my ear that it was time to make a new post. (boredom and gin)

So my 30 Songs in 30 Days is most definitely going to be 30 Songs in 30 Years.

My health has improved significantly. My ability to pay bills with no paychecks....not so much. It's a long story that has a lot of me saying blah blah blah in it, but we will just say that as of Friday I was officially Fed Ex Overnight terminated from my less than understanding place of employment that I had worked at for 6 arduous years.

Said place in which I sell many an item to supplement my income has started holding funds on every item I sell "just because" is the most coherent answer I can get after many a phone conversation. But honestly, I am not bitter. This. Is all TBE. (to be expected)

If at least 34839743 stupid things don't happen to me a month, then I am am not meeting my metric of retardicity. I did get a diagnosis which was awesome after 12 years of not knowing, but also saddening, as I do not know what to do with this broken little body now.

I suppose that doesn't matter because everyone else seems to know what would be the best method for me so maybe I should just continue drinking those brain cells into the black abyss from whence they came!

But that is neither here nor there. Part-time work, which was once so easy to find, has not become an impossible feat to overcome. I am still pushing for it though, as I feel like I have been a drain on all of those nearest and the very most dearest to me. For the love of God, I was telling my mother of the tale about my dog that enjoyed hunting down and eating all of my underwear and how I planned on being commando until I could go buy more today. I intended this to be a humorous tale, as my sweatpants with commando action fell down in my backyard, and I was praying that none of my neighbor friends had witnessed this horrifying event. But instead, she got very sadfaced and tried to shove $20 bill in my hand to go purchase new unmentionables.

When your mother is trying to hand you money for underwear, that means it is time to find work.

All of that said, I love, love, love the people that invented me.

All of that being said, let's get to our song. This is dedicated to my male counterpart that lives across the many seas out with the hobbits, and stuff and things. We phone speak on occasion via Skype and our timezones never mesh, so it has made for some fun times. Probably one of the more funnier people I have encountered in my life, and when it is time for me to leave for homework, this song gets sung in my ears.

I then proceed to laugh my everloving brains out as it is great, and as I wake up with it in my head for the next week and a half or so, and as I love this song's face off.

There is more dreamy hair in this video than you can shake a brush at.

Nuances Can be Nuisances

2011-05-04T02:32:00.000-07:00

I am going through a very strange period in my life indeed. I'm not sure if it is the insomnia, the sickness, or self-reflection catching up with me.

I could quite possibly have short-circuited finally, and maybe I have become one with the 40 oz. of crazy that I should have dealt with a long time ago.

But I don't really deal with things. Not in the manner that I guess they should technically be dealt with. I like laughing and having fun and being witty and making sardonic comments so that I don't have to feel that sense of doom that is always hanging over my head like a big fat gray raincloud.

My actions have always been impetuous, ever since I was a child. Yet I have always been prideful of the fact that I don't over-analyze things and I am quick to let any feelings of panic by way of my actions go with but a brush of the hand.

I cleaned out my garage on Sunday. It was a hellhole. It was also fucking unreasonably cold out for May weather. With my iPod hooked to me on full blast and a hoodie on, I got my hands dirty as I pored through the past that I have been dragging around with me since the age of 15. Soon the hoodie came off, as I was sweating, and soon I was drowning in a sea of memories.

I used to have quite a prowess for documenting every last second of my life. I have over 10 journals as proof. I found them. I started on the ones where I was 14 and falling in love, but got bored of what an idiot I was and moved over to the later years.

As I started reading, I realized there were far to many nuances from my past of over 10 years ago that were mirroring my current state. It's slightly disturbing. How can one person continue to bitch about something yet think they are making changes only to look back and realize that they are still standing in that same pile of quicksand that they had been previously stuck in? How did I manage to trick myself into thinking that I had gotten out? I don't know.

It's odd. I don't like when people throw quotes in my face. Because they are taking advantage of a profound thing that another person said and trying to switch it up so that the quote applies to the situation at hand. I think that's cocky. That's reading something into words that a person said and then assuming that they meant something by it according to the current state of affairs that you are trying to apply them to. Feels dirty.

But what if you quote yourself?

I found this entry tonight dated 03/27/01: GOD I AM OLD. No that was not the entry.

It was:

It's moments like these that make me step back and look at my life as a whole and appreciate it through and through. I wish I could remember those moments with a distinct sense of clarity while taking into account that I just need to appreciate them for what they are. They are just moments. I don't need to cling to them. I don't need to crave them and lust for them. I need to remember to enjoy the ride and stop flashing back on them wishing that I were there right now rather than at work, sitting in front of the t.v., napping on the couch.

Yup. I officially realized tonight that I am an over-analyzer. More so in the sense of nostalgia though.

And to top it off. I haven't changed. I suppose that should be slightly depressing, but in all honesty, it's more embarrassing than anything.

Anyway, 30 Songs in 30 Days.

* Day 07 – A song that reminds you of a certain event----Huey Lewis

My friend summed it up best when she said that when she was little she had herself convinced that Huey Lewis was her cool uncle. It's true. He's been there for me through the bad haircuts, the happy moments, the breakups, hanging out at breakfast, making up dance moves to his album Sports, reappearing for American Psycho, and not too long ago on a warm spring day, I didn't even care if this was the dorkiest thing ever, I BLASTED Sports while I drove around with my windows down. I will always have a special place in my heart for Uncle Huey.

He reminds me of damn near every event in my life. He's my little musical family member. My cool uncle who gave me noogies and a hug.

Mope Than This

2011-04-24T00:55:00.000-07:00

Oh Hay. I. Had. Whiskey. I haven't been drinking much since I have been down with the sickness. But I am a miserable fuck to begin with, so every once in awhile, you have to have your medicine to be able to tolerate the abundance of suck that this world is in.

Yes.

I am in a positive mood tonight.

No.

Really I am. It started out with my BFF (we should just get BFF necklaces already, oh wait we already did) coming to visit me. And that was awesome. We had amazing conversation.

I swear to God. Sometimes I wish I could be more attracted to the female persuasion. Because her and I would totally be dating right now. She gets me in every way. She doesn't judge me. I share errything with her. Everyone needs at least one person in their life at one point that is like this.

She needed to go home. Which is fine. I GET IT. Hahaha, kidding, but she left. And I was left to my own devices. Beer, whiskey, and my songs. Generally I have a hot playlist going on in the background when I drink of pure unadulterated stupidity.

But I let it roll on random tonight.

Tonights 30 Songs in 30 Days consists of:

* Day 06 – A song that reminds you of somewhere

I already gave my warning of how subjective this is.

But tonight I picked a song that was...well...ubiquitous. Meaning, it am thinking of a song that reminds me of somewhere, but it is everywhere in my life.

The first time that I heard this song as an adult...my heart hurt and thudded. I can't really explain it. It was as though I had heard it 5,000 times before and it invoked 5,000 of the first feelings that I had ever experienced all at the same time. Again, there was no explanation for it. It's like when you have relived a beautiful moment over and over again, but there is no way to be able to put it into words.

Which of course is a feeling that you can't explain to anyone unless you were Foreigner singing "Feels Like the First Time" or Madonna (that scary spidery looking bitch) singing "Like a Virgin"

This song is all of the best things happening to me in a lifetime comprised with every single horrible and hurtful thing that has happened to me. I feel torn when I hear it. I want to get laid when it comes on or I want to ball up into a corner and cry when I hear it. How do you explain that to any
one? I was just trying to, but again, it's inexplicable.

It's inexplicably nostaligic.

The reason I say that is because, I never made out with anyone to it. I have, and never will, give birth to it, I wasn't in a breakup when I hear this song, it wasn't the first time that I fell in love with a person that I heard this particular song, I wasn't down and out, I wasn't up and high, I just.....was.

So it covers every aspect of my life. Happy, sad, lonely, covered in an orgy of too many people, it's a mixed bag of emotions.

Now.

Gaze into the hypnotic eyes of Mr. Ferry.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kOnde5c7OG8

Cool Dude. Dude Cool.

2011-04-20T23:13:00.000-07:00

I have an admission. A confession. A cadmission? When I was little and living in the flat grassy country lands of BF Tinytown Iowa, my four brothers and I had nothing but time on our hands and not enough bills to pay yet. We would play all day, creating forts out of the farmer's haystack next door, and ride the horses that belonged to someone else to the field adjacent to us. When it got hot out, my brothers would tear off their shirts and run around. I followed suit.

One day, my mom told me I couldn't do that any longer. I was so confused. Why not? My brothers got to. And so born was my longing to be dude cool. Luckily I got this sweet John Cougar shirt in the mail today to keep me clothed and off of any Girls Gone Wild videos.

I was always a tomboy. I can't tell you why. It may have been all the brothers being my main source of company for the first vital parts of my years. Maybe it was because when I was playing with my friend and tromping through mud puddles and when I eagerly asked her to join in, she looked disgusted and shook her head no, saying she would get in trouble by her mom if she came home dirty. I never got in trouble for being dirty. My parents encouraged me to play sports. (I suck at all sports but track for the record.)

I remember coming home complaining to my dad about a boy that used to pick on me all the time, and he said "Well punch him!" That's because if you were a girl, you could get away with punching a boy. If they punched you back, then they punched a girl. If you punched them, then they were a sissy for getting beat up by a girl.

I matured really slowly when it came to liking boys. I wanted to play GI Joe with them. I wanted to pinch them, and punch them and call them the names they called each other. I was never on level with the girls who couldn't write all over themselves with pen and who wanted to quietly play Barbie whips up Ken a sweet meal. (Ken's gay, Barbie.)

So many times in childhood and in adult life even, the way I act has gotten all misconstrued too. When buddying up with a buddy, buddies or buddy's friends assume that I have a crush on him. Sometimes it's met with a friend saying, "Not true, she's just nice like that, or whatever. Or when I was in the 4th grade and someone asked me if I had a crush on the boy that sat in front of me because I was always poking him and giggling about things, I got overly defensive on stating my wish to just go catch frogs with him.

The first time I even kissed a boy, it was because I was surrounded by people egging it on. Wow, that was romantic.

When I really learned to kiss though, I definitely couldn't stop. But that's where things even got more turned around and my Dude Cool longing kicked into high gear. I learned the hard way that you couldn't just make out with a guy and then turn around the next week and make out with another person. Okay, I never officially learned my lesson on that one, I just had more questions.

Why could guys do that but if girls did, suddenly they were called all these names and labeled as something terrible? Why couldn't I kiss someone and then contact them the next day just to hang out with no expectations?

Trust me, I have had plenty of cad guy friends, and to be honest with you, I don't care. It's endearing.

Yes, I was one of those idiots who always tried to stay friends with my ex, or a hookup because come on I still want your high-fives and stories about the time you shit your pants!

And I know chicks can be crazy when it comes to situations with guys. Trust me. But it's still not fair, and it still gets blown out of proportion. I swear 99.9% of the time that I have done something so-called "crazy" it has to be the male's fault because their perception on my actions is completely skewed. That's the thing, I am fine with just the old hangout afterward. I hate awkwardness and butthurtedness. So if I come off as overbearing, it's because damnit let's be friends!

As I got into the pubescent years, it became even more apparent that the female persuasion was just not for me. Women elevator eye you. If you are a girl, you know what I am talking about. The ol' sizing you up from feet to head. They think you don't notice it, but you do. Plus I have had girlfriends freak out on me for the STUPIDEST things. Guys never had periods or jealousy to blame anything on. If you got in a fight, it was about food or because I pinched you too hard, and then all was forgiven without even having to say a word.

I like to belch really loud, because if I have to, I have to. I like talking about poop, because I poop. I love a good dirty joke, and I have the mouth of a sailor. My dad said I am a version of him out to sea. It's so true. I kind of think like a man. Every single time I have written anything fiction, the main character is a man. I can't get into the brain of a female to write a full story or book about her. I mean look at all the shit Hunter S. Thompson did. Could a female have done that without being labeled just some crazy bitch? Odds are probably not.

When I look at the dynamic of men with each other, it's like the world is their locker room and I wanted to badly to be in that locker room with them. If I talked to a girl the way men talk to each other, it was met with horror. I have been hated by oh so many girlfriends of guy friends because they assumed we were flirting, when in all actuality, no, him telling me he was going to shove that ketchup bottle up my ass if I didn't knock it off was not a form of foreplay, that was me having a taste of being dude cool.

So I thought I found my niche. But you never really do in these kinds of situations. It seemed like whenever I was with the guys it's like my vagina was hanging out or something. I couldn't just start mooning everyone without being treated differently.

Plus, I reached a point of where I had to admit that I am still female. I wanted someone to talk about my makeup and clothes with. Someone to let me be just a little but of a crazy bitch when I needed to be, and someone who could empathize with fluctuating hormones. Someone to explain to me why a male was making me crazy because they were thinking it was crazy that I just honestly like making and keeping my guy friends and that I must have some crazy ulterior motive up my sleeve.

So in my older years, I have been very picky about the females I surround myself with, and the ones I do surround myself with are the ones that are just like me. We are the little female outcasts that have the luxury of peeing outside when we get drunk, burping in each others faces, and calling each other names and LAUGHING about it. We compliment each other and don't act like a bunch of jealous whores around each other.

Even as an adult, I GUESS I can get it at times, when I meet an awesome person and I want their number, or if I get drunk and start chest bumping them or leg humping them or hugging them, I can see where the confusion may set in.

And I don't want that confusion, but part of me still wants to pretend there is a banana in my pants. (Just kidding I don't want a penis)

I would like to hang out with guys that are legitimately my friends and if they happen to be in a band not to be ribbed by strangers about being a groupie, I want to wear tight as hell black pants with shiny shoes and not be given shit if I didn't shower that day, I want to shove someone with my elbow playfully without them thinking I am flirting. I want to be in a room full of guys and have one of them not pause and look at me suspiciously when they start to tell a tale of hooking up with a girl like I am going to go all Sex in the City on them and divulge all about their secret life of debauchery. I don't want to take my shirt off and run around in the backyard anymore though.

It's all ebb and flow though. I will get those few precious moments when it happens, and when it does it feels wonderful. And when I am with my other dude cool female friends, it's even that much better.

Oh yeah. This is also 30 Songs in 30 Days:

* Day 06 – A song that reminds you of somewhere

Strange Currencies by REM. What a gorgeous song. Lyrically and musically. It's so wistful when I hear it now. It reminds me of somewhere in my mind. And that's youth, longing, loving, wanting to be loved back and just wanting someone to just fucking open up and say it already to you rather than be so ambivalent about it all. Before Katy Perry and her stupid Hot and Cold song, this my friends, is the OG Hot and Cold.

http://listen.grooveshark.com/s/Strange+Currencies/xjPeZ?src=5

Who's the Boss?

2011-04-19T23:09:00.000-07:00

This rock t-shirt summer is going to be pregnant with epicness. I got a trigger finger that cannot be stopped. When that car payment can't be made, or the house gets repossessed, I will just make me a giant quilted tent out of all the Rock Ts I have purchased and I shall live in that.

I have officially cut myself off until I am actually bringing in decent income (until I pretend that I am and start mindlessly bidding on shit at 2 a.m. is what that that means) but it did end on a high note.

Everyone needs something Bruce Springsteen in their lives. Whether it be a pin, or shirt, or some albums with pins and shirts attached to them, he is pretty much a rock-n-roll icon. He's rugged and dreamy. He had Courtney Cox in one of his videos! Ben Stiller did many parodies on him when he had The Ben Stiller show in the 90s!!! Remember the 90s?!?!

The guy wrote Born in the USA, and the best part is all these dipshit people in political office want to use it as an anthem of sorts, when the song isn't about that. It's about the effects of the Vietnam war on Vets.

Reminds me of the time that Palin/McCain wanted to use Pink Houses for their campaign my Mellencamp. Yeah, Cougar contacted them and was like, "Uh what?" Rawr.

But that's my rock-n-roll T of the day, and my song of the day for 30 Songs in 30 Days is:

* Day 05 – A song that reminds you of someone

It's so hard to pick one song for these things. So I just kind of go with the first thing that pops in my head.

Kings of Leon have been kind of a long running joke when I find someone that likes them. It goes like this: "Oh sweet, they have two fans now.

Because even though they seem to be able to successfully sell concert tickets for 40+dollars and we've seen their Sex on Fire plastered all over MTV more times than we actually would want to count, (that one kind of does sound like a VD commercial jingle) I consistently run into others that, not dislike, but LOATHE them. They basically Creed hate them. You know what I mean by that.

I had a really talented friend that opened for them one time when they played here, and though I thought the show was pretty awesome aside from all the popped collars there (OH MY GOD JOCKS LOVE THEM THAT'S WHY I KNOW NOBODY THAT LOVES THEM) and maybe it was the half bottle of rum I had ingested, but when I met up with friend at the end of the show, he told me that they were a bunch of pompous assholes who used like 500 cans of hairspray in the dressing room and then got far too drunk to even play a proper show.

I really try to separate myself from bands when I hear stories like that. I tell myself it's all right, because I'm not really there to befriend them, I just want to enjoy my music and go home. I don't condone other bands being assholes to friends opening for them of course, I just again, try to separate myself from the assholery that musicians are so prone to possessing.

Now that we've established it's Kings of Leon.

I lost my Grandma, this is terrible I don't know the exact amount of years ago, but it was September 15th, I believe five years ago. She played a really important albeit strange role in my life.

Growing up in Iowa, a lot of our summers were spent coming out to Utah to visit Grandma and cousins. Grandma came out to visit us once or twice on our little farm/notfarm. She was VERY and I mean VERY proper. I was helping her do dishes one time and I remember I put the dishtowel between my legs to grab something really quick and she told me that ladies don't do that. That paired with having 4 brothers growing up, no wonder I turned out to be such a filthy little girl who thinks she's a boy.

One of my most shocking memories of Grandma was while she was visiting in Iowa was her getting really angry about something and I heard her curse. "WHAT IN SAM HELL!!!??" She said. Amazing how we can never quite remember why someone got mad, but we can remember their reaction when angry. (Dad, I was listening to Back in Black by AC/DC when you threw my door open and kicked my CD player across the room what were you mad about again?)

Anyway, I was beyond shocked. MY GRANDMA SWORE? Never! She was still living in the 1800s, did people even swear in the 1800s unless they lived in the land of Deadwood? I finally gutted up and told (tattled) to my mom about it, and my mom informed me that she was using and old expression "What in Sam Hill"

I also found out that my shopping problem and love of all things clothing is not my fault. Turns out I am genetically predisposed to want all these sweet unique and beautiful pieces of clothing in which I want to adorn myself with out there. My grandma was a snazzy dresser.She was classy about it and had great taste in the items she picked out.

When I got uprooted from Iowa and moved out here to Utah, and my parents were super pissed at me because I was 15 and all I wanted to do was drink, smoke, and swear, my grandma still took me school shopping. I even have a sweet photo of the shirt I picked out for my first day of school in Utah. I was in complete and utter 1995 with it.

There are pages and pages and stories stacked on top of stories that I could fill you with about my grandma, her house, her weeping willow tree, summers in Utah, Cottonwood Mall, the clothes she made me,the cookies she baked, the smell of Tide wafting from the laundry room, but I am sure you don't have all night, and well, I do probably because I feel like shit and will be awake for another 3-4 hours.

Toward mid-adulthood, my grandma didn't care for me that much. I was shacking up with dudes while not being married, dying my hair pink and purple, working in bars where they served ALCOHOL, and sin of all sins, I worked at eBay. I remember now with so much fondness her telling me how stupid that company was, and who would want to sit around all day buying a bunch of other people's junk?

I said "Grandma, when I was unemployed, I made a ton of money selling on eBay, it got me through my unemployment."

She yelled, "A TON of money? You made a TON of money? I highly doubt that!!!"

She really thought the Internet was the devil, and for that, I love love her.

Toward the end there, she just got old. It was hard for my parents. They spent a lot of time taking care of her. She got a little bit nutty. She got a lot of panic attacks. She couldn't do stuff on her own, and for a very independent woman, that was difficult for her to come to terms with. At times, she was difficult to deal with. She would, out of frustration, confusion, and getting to the end of her life, be pretty cranky. She would yell at my parents and they would get sad because they were spending so much of their time with her and doing everything they could.

Eventually she did need to get placed in a home when it was getting pretty apparent that people couldn't be there for her 24/7. She was livid. I took it upon myself to start paying her frequent visits. She took it upon herself to start only liking me. What a strange ironic gift. She was never fond of my hair or my lifestyle.

One day while visiting her, some people from her church came over, and she kind of brushed aside some gifts they brought for her, and complained of everyone around her, and then said, "This is my granddaughter. Isn't she just the most beautiful thing you have ever seen? Don't you just love her hair?" as she ran her hands through my hair. I was glad that crazy Grandma decided she loved me, even if sane one wasn't too fond of me at times.

I was out of town when she passed away. I took it hard. I got back and got ready for the funeral, and I HATE funerals. I hate them so much. I mean I don't know anyone that loves them, but I am ultra-sensitive when it comes to death.

I still try to trot around in this fantasy world that we don't die.

But we do. And it happened. And I was driving down the road to go to her funeral when King of the Rodeo by Kings of Leon came on. And Kings of Leon reminds me of my best friend Victoria too. We both listened to this album so much, and she is that 2nd fan of theirs. It makes me think of all the fun but crazy weirdness that we were experiencing at the time as single people.

So that song was such an upbeat number for me. And I started to giggle at the irony while in my car, and then I burst into a blubbering pile of I wonder if I am going to crash my car from crying so hard. I was singing to it while bawling and simultaneously laughing at the situation.

Because this was the only thing that made me not completely lose it; thinking about all the good times with my best friend while listening to this song. I can't even tell you to this day what that song is about. As a matter of fact, I can't understand what the hell he's saying half the time.

But now when I hear it, I think about both life and death.

Believe it or not, this is my first time seeing the video!

Feelin' Fine...Be That Way

2011-04-18T21:56:00.000-07:00

Today's 30 Songs in 30 Days is brought to you by sheer exhaustion. I have been up until about 3:00 a.m. or later for about the past month, and I think it finally hit me like a ton of bricks. Good news is, I will probably be in bed by midnight tonight, but the bad news is, my body is going to flip me off about an hour into that, and I will be wandering the house like a peevish ghost in no time. You will hear my haunted swears in your dreams.

Day 04 – A song that makes you sad

I talked about sad songs that make me happy in a way. If I am depressed, I might throw on some John Cale and hear his deep melodic voice sing songs of woe, but it doesn't make me cry. It comforts me.It validates my feelings. It tells me that I'm going to be in a great mood tomorrow, and if not tomorrow, maybe the day after.

It's like getting one of those hugs from a person that doesn't quite know how to hug you which makes it all the more endearing, as opposed to the person who will hug you if they see you scowling. That just means I wasn't wearing my glasses and was trying to read something of a wall, hands off Handsy McHandserson!

But there are songs out there that reach into your heart and start poking at it with a needle. You may have been hanging outside on a sunny day just moments before, soaking in how wonderful life is, only to go inside and put your music on shuffle when out of the depths of your playlist comes out a song that sags your shoulders and makes a few small fat tears start to drip from your face. After the song ends, you throw on a little Huey Lewis for a pickmeup, because what the hell? Where the hell did this come from? There are a few songs that do that to me. Some because they are just damn sad, and because there was a difficult period on my life when I heard them and they remind me of being down with the sadness.

This one is a culmination of the above. I was going through a breakup, (Okay who hasn't) when I started listening to Beck's Sea Change. Holy depressing. This album is about his own going through a breakup, and he spared all of us the grueling duty of writing a bunch of shitty poetry about ours by writing a naked and heartfelt album chock full of gorgeously articulated grief.

Whether you are a Beck fan or not, or whether you memorized all the words to Loser like my friend and I did in Junior High, this album is worth giving a good hard listen to. It's so raw, his voice is so full of broken beat down emotion. It cracks with pain that is so authentic, that there is no way he could have been feigning it when he recorded these songs.

So when I hear Guess I'm Doing Fine a number of factors come into play. It's like having a friend show up on your doorstep sobbing and you just happen to be able to feel every single thing that they are feeling at that time without going through it yourself at that exact moment. Or being at a funeral of someone you don't really know, but seeing all of the people around you, the look of loss on their face and despair, and suddenly you are right there with them. Or, if you were going through that breakup yourself and this little ditty popped on, it feels like he wrote the song JUST for you at that moment.

The lyrics aren't as such that come off as whiny woe is me. They are a genuine feeling of loss and pain when everything is fresh off the suck press. You wake up one day and everything looks and feels so gray. Songs don't sound the same to your ears, it's just a record that the needle is scratching in an ugly manner over and over and over again. You are so exhausted from the blue snuggie of depression that has enveloped you that you can barely bring yourself to get out of bed to get a glass of water.

When Beck gets to the chorus, that's the real kicker for me:

It's only lies that I'm living
It's only tears that I'm crying
It's only you that I'm losing
Guess I'm doing fine

Right there where he says "Guess I'm doing fine" that's it. I mean it's such a sarcastic bald-faced and obvious lie. But what else can you tell yourself when you have hit this point? It's that or yes, drown yourself in the toilet. He gets to the end of the song and sings the chorus one last time, and his voice gets so overwhelmingly emotional, he is wailing so hard that it really does bring on a wave of boo-hoo.

I have to commend you Beck, for successfully being able to bum me out every single time that this song comes on.

Full lyrics are:

There's a blue bird at my window
I can't hear the songs he sings
All the jewels in heaven
They don't look the same to me

I just wade the tides that turned
Till I learn to leave the past behind

It's only lies that I'm living
It's only tears that I'm crying
It's only you that I'm losing
Guess I'm doing fine

All the battlements are empty
And the moon is laying low
Yellow roses in the graveyard
Have no time to watch them grow

Now I bade a friend farewell
I can do whatever pleases me

It's only lies that I'm living
It's only tears that I'm crying
It's only you that I'm losing
Guess I'm doing fine

Press my face up to the window
To see how warm it is inside
See the things that I've been missing
Missing all this time

It's only lies that I'm living
It's only tears that I'm crying
It's only you that I'm losing
Guess I'm doing fine (x2)

And here, go cry yourself to sleep on your huge pillow!

Concentrated Happiness

2011-04-16T15:26:00.000-07:00

Who's your little slacker? I am, I am! 30 songs in 30 days will probably end up being more like 30 songs in 3659678674 days for me, but I am not good at keeping up on everything like I should be. It's called Attention Deficit Disorder for a reason.

Plus I have physically been feeling like downright shit. (No pun intended)

Today's topic for 30 Songs in 30 Days is:

A song that makes you happy.

So many songs make me happy. If I am in da club and I hear a song that I love, I squeal with happiness and start dancing. If I am bummed, and I hear a morose song, it makes me feel sad yet strangely comforted. If I am in the car and stuck in traffic and I hear a good upbeat song, I get happy. And on and on.

I want to verbally vomit on happiness for a minute right now before I post my song that I am choosing for today that makes me happy.

I went to the doctor for a follow-up appointment on Friday. I had this huge thing written out for laundry list of "am I dyings" questions that I wanted to bring up. My legs and toes and hands tingle, I get panic attacks, I Hulk out into uber-bitch at the drop of a hat, I start bawling for no reason, I get headaches, I am exhausted out of nowhere, I can't eat. My damn mouth hurts! (Probably because I talk too much) The list is too big and whiny for this post.

He asked if I was depressed. I started to say yes. Because I do get depressed, and I was really depressed that day. But I am not your standard I HAVE DEPRESSION! person. I have always learned to laugh things off, make a joke out of it, or find something funny that makes me feel better.

So I changed my answer to basically this:

Last time I was sick like this, I had just gone through a terrible breakup. I had been dating around a bit as well, but I was newly and freshly single, and a lot of my friends just were either out doing their own thing or maybe they just got stick of calling me to do things and hearing me say, "I can't." It's hard to explain that you can't really leave the house much when you feel like this. Sometimes people ask if I am contagious hahahahahahaha. No. I am not. I will kiss you with tongue, ALL OF YOU to prove it.

I refer to my precious few hours that I get to leave the house every few days or so as "DOMINIQUE'S BIG DAY OUT."

I got really lonely last time. I slept a lot, read books, remained confused because doctors kept telling me to stop being all periody and womany and stressy because that's what was causing this. I probably got the most down I had ever been in my whole life. Toward the end of my illness something happened that I will probably only talk about to maybe two people, but it as so humiliating and horrifying and downright just the last straw that I told myself I was done with life and if I wasn't well soon that was that. It's weird reflecting on that, because I have never felt that way before and never have again.

Of course I talk about drowning myself in the toilet, crashing my car into the freeway wall, running into traffic, hanging myself in the bathroom, but we all know I am kidding.

Anyway, I got better that last time and came back to Earth.

This time, I started to get a bit blue, but suddenly out of nowhere, I had friends coming by to visit. My friend Andy brought me this Lil Wayne/John Wayne shirt which made my life and my t-shirt collection's life.

Victoria told a co-worker, whom I have yet to meet (IRL tee-hee) that I wasn't feeling well. He sent her over with Noni Juice and supplements for me. More than once. (thank you Randy!!!)

Conor asked if I was seeing people, and I told him I almost locked Andy and Victoria in my basement when they came over that one day. Ever since, Conor has been taking me out on little errands and popping by for visits.

Terrence is being so nice to me, even when I am being a raging whore about all this.

My dogs are driving me insane.

My mom still answers the phone when I call and she lets me ramble like a lonely crazy cat lady. Sans the cats.

Ian brought me a AN AWESOME tank top.

I keep wanting to namedrop erryone here, but anyway, I have been flooded with hugs, emails, phone calls, text messages, little pick me up gifts, and even thinking about that right now makes me tear up (AND I DON'T cry) because I feel so loved that it's overwhelming. I have so much gratitude for knowing that such sweet selfless people exist in this world and that THEY ARE MY FRIENDS.

It probably doesn't hurt that I have threatened many of them that if they aren't nice to me I will haunt them from the grave if I die.

For the record, I am pretty sure I am not going to die, it just feels that way. The speculation is Crohn's right now. To which I said, "Shit." To which I also said, "At least my disease will sound like an intelligent professor.

To which my beautiful friend Jenny Poplar said, "Sorry to hear this, Dom. It is a well documented fact that people with Crohn's disease are often of above average intelligence. Seriously, look it up. If it is Crohn's at least you have a smart person's disease.."

I am not even going to look it up, I am going to take her word for it that I am the smartiest.

So all that is not a song, but it makes me beyond happy. You know that whole bosom swelling with happiness feeling. Well, I wish my bosoms would swell, aggressive sick weight loss took those away pretty fast!

Enough about my boobs and me boobing and happiness in life.

The song that makes me undeniably happy; the song that if I was in a coma in the hospital and it came on I would wake up and dance to it; the song that I listen to 325879 times a week, is by a little band called Orange Juice.

They're a Scottish post-punk band that came about in 1979. They never made it huge but they are huge in my heart. The song contains all my favorite elements; saxophone, clapping, campy vocals, COWBELL, and a beat sent to you from the blue clouds of heaven.

As I write this oddly enough, that song JUST started on a shuffle playlist I have going. BRB have to DANCE!!!

Whew. Back.

Favorite verse:

Nothing worth finding
Is easily found
Try as we might
That was supposed to sound
Very profound
It probably sounds dry

Now you dance!!!!

http://listen.grooveshark.com/s/I+Can+t+Help+Myself/2Ts6L5?src=5

Emphasis on the BLOW

2011-04-13T10:25:00.000-07:00

All right! Song number two for 30 Songs in 30 Days!

This one is going to be convenient for my current state of negativity. I think my immune system ruptured a pipe a day or so ago, so now on top of impending doom, I have current doom of some sort of other sickness. Blah. Or as Dracula would say, "Blehhh!"

Day 02 – Your least favorite song

Well there are a lot of songs I loathe out there. Just turn on the radio and I can pick out probably every single one playing right now. I chose this song though because of the fact that it's one of those double-edged swords.

I will be mindlessly wandering the aisles of TJ Maxx like some sort of bargain zombie when it comes on and the song sucks so bad, the artist is atrocious, yet it brings back a treasured gawky youth memory. So that in turn makes me think, "Awesome, the one thing that brings back a treasured overly hormonal pleasant memory is this bag full of pure yuck."

Just my luck right?

When I was 15 I got a huge crush. Sound familiar? I mean I turned into a bumbling fidgety melty mouthed dolt around this person. It was the olden days before your Internets and your cellular phones and your sexting that all you kids are into these days, and it was in Iowa circa 1995 small town style. That was the grunge explosion. Try being into that when everyone else just wants a good pair of Girbauds and to see how high they can get their bangs to look so that they'll match their collared polo shirts.

I loved Radiohead. Yeah, before their Ok Computers and weird electronic bleeps and blips. It was their Pablo Honey straight out of the 90s grunge rock, honeys.

I remember I purchased a ginormous Pablo Honey shirt only to be questioned by my peers, "What's a Radiohead?" and giving them my best, "You just wouldn't get it." Gen-X face.

But then as I was walking down the hallway, this person pointed to it and said, "I like your shirt." I looked up at him and I am pretty sure made some braying donkey noises and that is where my crush began.

He of course was older than me by three years, and when you are 15, that may as well be three million years. Once you reach your late 20s we are all basically the same age.

But anyhow. He was the Jordan Catalano to my Angela Chase. A series of awkward events were surely to follow, such as not feeling well and sneaking off to smoke behind the library one day during school and him being back there.

"Do you want to hear what I wrote on my guitar?" he asked.

This was also back when hell yes I wanted to hear what you wrote on your guitar because playing guitar is the cooolest! Now Anyone Can Play Guitar, and I don't give a shit when they tell me that unless they aren't a total boner.

So he plays this really pretty song, I don't remember what it was. I was beautiful in my head so that's all that matters, and all the while, I am a bit nauseous from not feeling well earlier that day and as he winds up the song, I look him in the eyes, and I say the most romantic thing a girl could ever say to a boy she thinks she is in love with:

"I think I'm going to puke."

We got married and had 7 kids after that. No we didn't.

I was never big into dances. Or anything school related for that matter. That's not something Kurt Cobain would have done. But my friends and I decided to attend some spring dance. I don't know why. I don't even remember really any specific details on it, this seems like eons ago.

All I remember was Hootie & The Blowfish, "Hold My Hand" coming on and my CRUSH coming up to ask me if I wanted to dance to it. I am sure my heart beat out of my chest the whole time I awkwardly stood there trying to figure out how one dances.

Trust me I am still trying to figure out how one dances.

So that was the peak of my Jr. High life. And I have Hootie & The Blowfish to thank for it. A band that seriously has one of the most poorly named titles ever and their music is just as cheesy and lyrically devoid of any human life. Every time their music comes on in these stores I am shopping at I am filled with I need to punch something from how bad they suck anger, to wistful thinking of my youthful days when everything was so new and exciting and full of prospect.

Do you see how that can confuse one's mind?

So here's it is my friends. I think I'm going to puke:

30 Dongs...Er Songs in 30 Days

2011-04-12T10:54:00.000-07:00

I have decided to do the 30 Songs in 30 Days post that I have seen floating around. Some of them seem a bit redundant, and some seem a bit subjective for the period of my life that I was in when being axed the question, so this could change on a day to day basis, what the hell. WHAT THE HELL?

Day 1. My favorite song.

I have had many favorite songs in lifetime. But I am going to pick one of my favorite songs and hand over two versions of it.

I choose you Do Ya, by ELO. ELO has been one of my all time favorite bands as far back as I can remember. Nobody, and I mean nobody has walked this earth that can compete with them in my opinion. Everything was done with such orchestrated perfection and Jeff Lynne has sweet hair.

I curse the fact that I am too young (still olde though I promise) to have never seen them play. I even set up ELO Play One More Show! On Facebook. Well, it didn't take off, but I still have hope.

Nuff said. I am usually not "that guy" but I kind of have a tendency to judge whether or not I want to be friends with someone based on how they feel about ELO.

Do Ya is probably one of the most beautiful love/lust songs I have ever heard. It doesn't say, "Do ya do ya wanna hump," or "Do ya do ya want to bone." It's Lynne listing off all of the things that he has seen and heard in his lifetime thus far in this world; things beautiful and things sad that have touched his heart in a certain way and stirred him emotionally. As he goes through his checklist, he ends it each time with, "But I've never seen/heard nothing like you.

Be still my aching loins if someone were to say that to me!

When he says, "Do ya do ya want my love...WOMAN" They way that he says woman is so pronounced, manly and forcible, like the question needs to be answered know. After that spiel, drag me by my hair into your cave buddy!

Let us not forget that the song just plain fucking rocks balls.

Without further aDoya:

For those of you who don't know this, Jeff Lynne was in a band called The Move prELO. This song was originally done by The Move, and it's kind of like the whole tomato-tomahto thing, but I am a bit more partial to the Move's version due to the fact that who the hell can resist cowbell all up in your face?? If you can then you are deaf to the siren song of rock.

Here's the OG version:

I spent years looking for the perfect vintage ELO T-Shirt. People kept either outbidding me or it just wasn't the style and fit for me. A week ago, fate and destiny collided with my body after I won an ELO shirt that knew one day it would need to meet and marry me.

I think I wore it four days in row before I came to terms with the fact that it was not going to meld itself to my body. Regardless, the fit, material, print, was the closest I will ever get to touching the hand of God.

Next Holy Grail purchase? A vintage Hall & Oates shirt.

The Heart of Plimsouls Still Beatin'

2011-04-11T09:00:00.001-07:00

No shit. I went to bed last night at 3:30 a.m., and as I lay there drifting off, I had a very vivid dream that I got knuckle tattoos that said: |H|U|E|Y| |L|E|W|I|S| Needless to say, I was a very sad panda (or human being I guess) when I awoke to look at my knuckles only to see that they were still untouched by holy words. We will talk more about my affinity for Huey one day. That may take awhile though.

Lately since I've been on my death bed, only get to sit in front of the computer sick, I have had time to rediscover music in ways that I haven't since the olden days of horse drawn buggies and Napster.

I tapped into a genre well that I have never quite played around in before, and that would be Mod/Pop/Punk mainly from the 70s and early 80s, and music started to spray all over me. It's been an overwhelming yet delightful experience, regardless, I don't even know how to start jumping for joy. For when I find one HOLY SHIT THIS IS AMAZING BAND! all of a sudden, another one crops up. It's like I have lice, but the doctor assured me that it's just a lot of bands thank God.

Say what?? There is more out there than just The Ramones and The Sex Pistols? Don't get me wrong, those bands are great too and they were a definite staple of the punk scene, but telling people you like them is like telling people that Jay-Z is your favorite when you claim that rap music is your bag.

Generally most things that I have been drawn to have been out of the UK, Scotland, Australia, etc. But I recently came upon the Plimsouls, and Lord knows, I have listened to this song 3,000 times. I am pretty sure my house's ears are bleeding right now. But it's so solid. It's so tight. It's so rockin', It's just a little over two minutes. You know those songs. They leave you longing for more. You rinse, lather, and repeat. Over and over. It's called The Zero Hour.

The Plimsouls were formed by Peter Case who had been in the Nerves prior, another band I have been drooling all over. The Nerves by the way were the OG writers of the now infamous Blondie song, "Hanging On The Telephone." Again, more on that later. These guys ar also, bless their I love their little souls, from L.A.!

Enough! Put some socks on and prepare to have them rocked off and listen to this bitch already! I have three times thus this morning.

Rock T Diaries

2011-04-10T23:07:00.000-07:00

No, not rock tit. However that does have a tendency to happen if you don't wear a bra and walk down the refrigerated aisle at your local grocery store.

Or if it's a hot summer day, you are wearing a halter top that doesn't support bras, and your bring your chihuahua into Petsmart to get his nails trimmed and he misbehaves so badly that one of the ladies asks you to hold him while she attempts to trim his nails and you do and he gets that "going to his rape place" look in his eyes, and starts pawing at your halter until you flash all five people working behind the counter. True story.

But I digress. Rock T Summer started last year when I started the hunt for the latest and greatest t-shirts that I could acquire sporting a favorite band. I am big into the vintage originals, so it can be quite the hunt. At times in the past, I haven't pulled the trigger for years until the perfect one manifests itself before my very eyes.

So here I shall start posting all of my favorite finds.

We begin with Eazy-E. Straight Out of Compton was one of my favorite N.W.A. albums to listen to when I was in high school. Well, skipping classes in high school that is. Yet, I could never find a girl shirt that had my man Eazy on it.

One day while at my local mall, I found a screen printing kiosk, and asked them if I went to get a tank top, if they would print him on there for me. They went for it, I went to Mervyn's (now defunct right) came back and had this beauty made. It was about 10 years ago, but I have held tight to it ever since. It has since cracked and faded, but I guess now we can consider it vintage right?

PedNONONOphilia

2010-11-11T18:14:00.001-08:00

So today a huge debate sprayed out over freedom of speech all over Amazon’s face. I know what freedom of speech is. In my opinion, (FREEDOM OF SPEECH I GET MY OPINION!!) freedom of speech is more times than not some loud idiot who thinks they know everything yelling about a bunch of crap that doesn’t make any sense and then when people are like, “Dude don’t yell that crap, it’s completely uncalled for,” they yell back in what I picture a Larry The Cable Guy voice, “FREEDOM OF SPEECH!” while standing behind and American flag and waving a gun in each hand with two angry pitbulls barking by their side.

Okay so I exaggerate. Freedom of speech is great in many ways. I don’t think we should be limited to what we want to see or say to an extent, but I don’t think it is something that should be taken advantage of either, and then backing yourself up by yelling the phrase the second someone says back off. I am also aware of things called courtesy, respect, ethics, blah blah blah. Of course we can’t walk around whispering, afraid that we are going to offend someone at any given moment, but we do have the ability not to act like loons too.

What I’m referring to here was the book "The Pedophile's Guide to Love and Pleasure: A Child-Lover's Code of Conduct,” being placed on Amazon.com today. Now of course everyone got really riled up, a Facebook page was created, 10,000 people joined in hours, I didn’t because I hate getting unnecessary updates on things, especially months after the fact. Amazon really didn’t have a whole lot to say about it initially. I think their PR rep may or may not have been hungover, but it was along the lines of, “We aren’t pulling this e-book , freedom of speech, words words words.”

And then it hit the news. The author, Phillip R. Greaves II, happily took on interviews of course. The scary thing is, because of all the media coverage, all the pedos out there are probably clamoring to buy this book now. He claims to be a non-practicing pedo. My ass. If you are writing a guide on how to violate children, you can’t tell me you haven’t tried something before or studied it. The book talks about how fondling and kissing children is okay, but penetration is not. The description of the book reads, “"my attempt to make pedophile situations safer for those juveniles that find themselves involved in them, by establishing certian [sic] rules for these adults to follow.”

Okay, well first of all, this guy is stoked because his book is getting exposure. Second of all, he put his stupid face out there continuing to defend and promote this. I can tell you one thing, dude is probably going to end up murdered.

Sooo, I guess since it was totally cool and nice of him to make this book, when we have kids, instead of giving them copies of “Everybody Poops,” let’s give them this “How to Get Violated by an Adult and Like It” book instead. Now listen Johnny, at some point in your life, a creepy man may offer you candy to get in his van. You should probably take that candy and let him do certain things to you, but this book outlines what he can’t do to you. Have a nice not messed up life!

But then again, I’m a person who thinks that nobody should even be allowed to exclusively date until they are 25 because even then we are still bumbling around with our still forming brains sloshing around in our too big heads trying to figure everything out. So call me weird if I think it's pretty atrocious that this dude wants to let the world know that dating children is perfectly acceptable. There is no such thing as a willing child when it comes to pedophilia.

Again, freedom of speech. I know. We can argue that until we are both blue in the face and fall over and wake up from our lack of oxygen nap and keep arguing it again. And then people start saying, “If you pull that then are you going to pull (insert hypothetical scenario here) too? I don’t want to get into hypotheticals today because the bottom line is:

NOBODY LIKES PEDOPHILES. Nobody! I bet not even pedophiles like pedophiles! I have never once heard a person say, “Well you know pedophilia, yeah, it’s wrong, but I can see where he’s coming from.” People that savagely murder people, people that beat women to pulps, people that rob banks, all of them serving time in prison feeling no remorse whatsoever for what they did, don’t like pedophiles.

So Amazon pulled the book finally. And then put it back on. And then pulled it again. Like I said, the PR person was hung over. I think, no matter what, that this is one of those instances where there is an exception to the rule, and this is where freedom of speech should not be taken into consideration. As a matter of fact can we make a “Pedophile Clause” where it doesn’t count when it comes to freedom of speech?

Work: My Eternal Purgatory

2010-08-23T16:26:00.001-07:00

This one time, I walked out on a job. I felt like raising my fist in the air like the rebel at the very end of The Breakfast Club while "Don't You, Forget About Me" played. It's five years later. I work at eBay now. I still don't make as much as I did at that previous job, but honestly, I won't complain. Leaving that previous job was probably the best decision I ever made.

Per my previous post, I was REALLY sick at this point in my life. I don't know what officially happened to me but the final conclusion was a strong dose of antibiotics that finally fixed me. I was on FMLA at my old job and lots of people would question as to whether or not I was making it up. Basically that led to me standing up and yelling, "Guys I'll be right back! I have to take a shit!" To which my old boss finally took me aside and quietly told me that I didn't need to explain to everyone what I was doing when I stood up. I told him that everyone thought I was feigning an illness that was ruining my life, so I figured they may as well know if they were so curious. By the way, it's illegal to speculate as to why people are on FMLA, the gossip girls did just that all of the time. We even had a meeting with HR explaining this to them numerous times. They just couldn't stop though.

Also, the supervisor that wouldn't piss on me to put it out if I caught on fire? He got shitcanned from Harland awhile after I started at eBay. Why? He was playing World of Warcraft instead of doing his job. Suck it Martin! You looked like Peter from Family Guy! Your ex-girlfriend who skinned your Alf doll in High School and stuffed him in his locker knew what she was doing!

Read below:

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

So sometimes the question arises in everyone's life: Did I do something wrong in a past life? Was I a serial killer, rapist, bank robber or Dr. Laura?

I have often questioned that in the course of my years working at my job in sunny Harland. The place started off as a haven for call center holocaust survivors.

Then about two years into it we got a new director. I swear he thought we were his boot camp recruits. All respect for employees went down the toilet and just didn't quite flush.

We were treated as money making tools, our department never got acknowledged and you just got smoke blown up your ass all of the time.

So four years into it, yesterday I think I finally just snapped.

Victoria had recently just quit, my friend Aubrey had left to have her baby, I had just gotten back from vacation, and I was left with nobody to back me up in my department.

I have often dreamed of walking out on break to have a cigarette, only to get in my car and never come back. I've never been quite brazen enough to do that and I would trudge back into work with a small shudder.

Yesterday I got into work a bit late. The day had already gone to shit. Our department is generally very slow 20-30 calls a day. But somehow all the calls from other departments started routing into mine. They told us to just deal with it and to take the phone calls even though we had either not taken these calls in over a year or had not been trained in the ones coming through. All day we were 30 in cue with a 30 minute hold time, only to get a pissed off customer who would get even more pissed off when they found out we had absolutely no prowess in taking their calls.

At 4:30, everyone but me is left in my department. I am there from 4:30-6 alone.

My competent boss, note sarcasm here, didn't bother checking in to see if I was ok before he left at 3:30. One of the girls on my team called downstairs to see what we were going to do once they all left and I would be alone to contend with this mess.

They said that I should just "deal with it." Deal with it. They couldn't have suggested me routing the calls to the correct department, or sent someone up to help me out. I just had to deal with it.

So I decided maybe they should just deal with it. I packed up my shit, waited until my 4:30 co-workers left, and took off, with nobody there to take the calls.

In a moment of empowerment, I walked out of a job that paid me $12.72 an hour because finally bending over for that wasn't just much fun anymore.

My boss was PISSED today. He was so mad at me because he thought it was all about him. He spoke of never helping me out or actually I believe the correct term he used that if I was on fire he wouldn't piss on me to put it out.

Because to him, it wasn't about me. It wasn't about respect and treating your employees like they were human beings and having an ounce of sympathy for situations we are in or the daily stress we go through to get our jobs done so that we can make their damn company some more money.

I am now faced with the reality that I do not have a real job, I have a very part time night job. I have a car payment, cell phone bill, insurance and groceries to buy. I am faced with the fear of the unknown and the definite possibility of a pay cut in my next job whatever it may be.

But I don't regret a minute of it!

The Ocean Absconded With My Sea Legs

2010-08-22T15:07:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

My trip to Vegas/California was definitely something I needed to get out of a slump. Plus I always need a nice long drive to remind me that buying plane tickets can be a good thing.

So much happened, and I don't feel like writing a book on it, but I am going to put the highlights of this trip down.

My cousin Nicole and I left at 2:00 on Friday. It was pretty non-eventful, with great conversation that made the ride go much faster and smoother. Midway into the trip we drove into a gorgeous rest stop and downed two beers each to balance out all of the energy drinks we had been guzzling.

Got into Vegas around 8:30 to stop at my cousin Kurt's house. I hadn't seen him in years. He has the cutest wife named Elizabeth and an equally cute little boy named Austin. Other cousins Suzanne and Michele were there as well. We had a good dinner and sat down for reminiscent times.

After that we followed Michele and Suzanne to their place. Michele took Nicole and I out to a casino sans strip. You will soon find that people who live in Vegas never want to go to the strip, it has become old and tedious. We had some of the best margaritas and bloody marys I have had in my life. I got drunk really fast, and we left around midnight.

Michele got more beer. Her, Nicole, and I sat on her back balcony having some of the best conversation in the world. These girls are related to me but I feel almost like they are these intelligent strong deities. I feel like I should be paying for their company. Four o'clock was bedtime.

Wake up at ten on Saturday hungover. Vegas will do that to you. You don't even have to be on the strip to want to be drunk or in some sort of party mode.

Suzanne agreed to drive us to California which was very nice of her considering Nicole and I would have been taking baseball bats to cars by the end of this trip if we had to drive them anymore.

We got into Redondo Beach at 5:00 and right over to my cousin Charise's house. Her boys Cody and Colton are eight now, I swear every time I see them they have gotten bigger and smarter. I all of the sudden feel like the old crazy cousin that wants to pinch their cheeks and kiss them all over. If I did that I am sure I would get a nice shin kicking!

Charise took us to see this view of the ocean that was indescribable. I guess anyone's first view of the ocean is just that though. It is so infinite.

Then we went to Joe's Crab Shack. Travel weary, I couldn't believe there were so many damn birthdays in one day and Joe's likes to let you know it with dancing, singing and strobe lights that were seconds away from giving me a seizure. At least the food and company made it worth it.

Sunday, Nicole and I decided to hit up the beach. It was Labor Day Weekend so there was a market going on. Everyone in California seems pretty casual, walking around in their bathing suits, no need for makeup. I thought it would be Silicone Valley of the Scary Barbie Dolls, but even people with cellulite let it all hang out.

It was 72 and a bit overcast and I took a big step in my life and gasp!!! I wore a bikini top and laid in the sun. It was euphoric. I could see now why people get suckered down there.

We walked out to the ocean and I tentatively put my feet in and stood there for a few moments before we left the beach.

Remember when I said people in Cali were laid back? Well I was wrong in a way. Nicole and I stood by a building having a cigarette, minding our own business when this woman shouted "Excuse me! Excuse me!" Instinct told me she wanted a cigarette to because that is what always happens in Utah, so as I was acknowledging her and getting ready to reach into my purse, I see this blonde the weight just melted off after I had the baby woman with her husband and child.

"Can you two please not smoke?" she said. "I have my child out here." She was literally 25 feet away from us. Talk about ownership of the air. Californians think they do. We kindly obliged and went to stand by the dumpsters like the trash we were. Muttering about how her baby was just going to get cancer anyway because of all the smog.

After showering at Charise's and having a nice dinner she cooked for us we hit up tourist trap Hollywood. It is amazing, the history of that place. But it is so dirty and sketchy out there, that you couldn't pay me to live there.

I went to Sephora and dropped $70 just like that. It was getting dark and we decided to head home. All the crazies come skittering out of the woodwork about then. We walked by a gang of guys yelling at a person with his girlfriend in front of us saying "What you lookin' at Motherfucker? Huh? Huh? Look again I bust a cap in you." Sure enough the dumbass kept looking as one of the men lifted his shirt to reveal a gun. The guy ducked into the Ripley's Believe It Or Not Museum only to be followed by them. Wow, if I ever go down, I don't want it to be because I looked at someone.

After Hollywood, we got back to Redondo and had a nice sit down at Bucca De Beppo. I am amazed at what one glass of wine can do to a person.

Nicole, Suzanne, and I headed to our hotel room we were staying in that night, but first stopped off at the Drugstore to get more drinks. Hey, if one glass of wine can make me feel that good what can half a bottle do for me?

As Suzanne headed down for a slumber, Nicole and I sat outside finishing the wine. In our drunken excitement at two in the morning we decided to walk down to the beach.

We passed a bar that was having last call. I always forget about the free pouring that goes on out of state so our drinks were all man. I think I would have been a lot different had I just stuck to the wine.

Bar closed, we walked to the ocean, first thing we do? Run in. The water was warm. The moon was out and the waves were crashing down like mad. After we got our clothes soaked, I decided to put my pants and shirt with my purse on the beach. We laid in the ocean for what had to be more than an hour. It was unlike any experience I have ever really had.

After a while we stumbled out to make our arduous journey home. I could not, for the life of me, find my pants. The ocean must have eaten them. Luckily I had a long sweater, but somehow managed to also lose my tank top in the process. So I am walking down the street at four in the morning with no shirt or pants with a long sweater.

Some guy stopped Nicole and I and shouted "Hey! Do you know how to get to this or that place or the other?" We told him we weren't from there and he almost acted offended that we couldn't help. He said he was from Arizona and his buddies ditched him and he was lost. I said "Look on the bright side, it could always be worse. YOU COULD BE MISSING YOUR PANTS!!!!"

We of course got lost and had to call Anthony, Charise's husband at four in the morning to come get us. He later told Charise that we looked like a bunch of hobos.

Nicole and I stumbled into bed talking pirate talk and how the ocean stole my sea legs with an occasional drunken yarrr yarrr coming out of our mouths.

Waking up the next day reminded me why I never drink wine. I was covered head to toe to crevice to orifice to crack in sand. I cannot believe I slept like that. I think I had swallowed way too much sea water the night before.

In a desperate attempt to stave off any impending doom, I drank some Immodium and had some breakfast with Suzanne, Charise and Nicole.

After getting the hell beat out of me, it was time to leave California. Suzanne, Nic and I packed up and took off.

We reached Vegas around four, hit with the reality that we still had a seven hour drive ahead of us.

We got a nice dinner of burger and fries and made our way out around 5:30. This was exhausting.

Mid way through getting home the saltwater, and all the bad food I had eaten began its course of revenge on me. Poor Nicole was stopping at every other rest stop for me which I am sure delayed our trip home by a good hour. No amount of Immodium was going to stop my stomach's protest at this point.

I took over the driving and lasted maybe an hour before I started to hallucinate and things started blurring together. Some guy had also pulled so close behind me that it was unnerving because I was going about 90 and that just wasn't good enough for him so had to start flashing his brights at me. Bit of advice for you angry drivers, don't flash your brights at a night blind person it makes it worse. I was quickly gaining on a semi too that was going far slower. The asshole passed me and pulled up in front of me. Surprise, he was behind the semi that was going slower than I and he happened to be boxed in. Nicole and I decided it was time to be funny, so I pulled up behind that guy as close as I could and started to flash my brights at him repeatedly. He couldn't do anything or go anywhere, so we had a good tired laugh over that.

After violating every bathroom from Vegas on up to Utah, we were finally home.

I ran inside put my stuff away and passed out.

I had to work the next day at 9:30 but that is a whole other story.

Wax On Wax Not Off

2010-08-21T14:14:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

In this modern day of technological advancements and scientific marvels, I would figure there would be better methods for hair removal. I, for one, hate the whole process.

So why do you continue to torment yourself while doing it? You might say. Well, since I don't hug trees or participate in enough protests, it is just something that I feel more comfortable without on my body.

Over the years, I have experimented with several methods to no successful avail. Having sensitive skin, not a lot of things take to right to it without attacking.

I remember buying Nair, really excited about the fact that as my hair dissolved down to the roots that I would have shiny tan legs like those women who wore short shorts on the commercials. I ended up instead with a giant flesh eating rash on each of my legs, which then resulted in a lot of tears streaming down my face.

Razors. They are another shaving foe to contend with. The effect that you get from a razor doesn't last long enough at all. If I catch even the slightest cool of a breeze, hair starts prickling back out of my body. There is also no way to describe the feeling that you get when you are in the tub running a razor up your shin and out of nowhere a big chunk of flesh comes up with it. You stare down at your leg, which now resembles a potato that is being peeled. A very bloody, screaming potato.

Electrolysis is next. Since I work at a call center who gives me raises that are, say, twenty two cents a year, I cannot afford the luxury of this permanent hair removal. I suppose I could stop paying my rent for a few months, but I don't think my landlord cares whether or not I have hair on my body. So until the day my sugar daddy comes running up to me, insisting to pay for this, electrolysis is out of the question.

Finally, there is waxing. A great concept. Rips the hair out, you are baby smooth for a good six weeks or so. This is something you can pay someone to do, or you can go to a store, buy your own, and do it yourself. Well since I dread going to the doctor once a year to pull down my pants and spread my legs, it is pretty much out of the question that I am going to someone I don't know at all to rip hair out of my crotch region. So I buy my own wax.

It is never as perfect and easy as it seems though. Wax is so messy. You have to heat it and mix it up until it reaches the perfect consistency. One time, I went to pull it out of the microwave and two runny droplets fell onto my unsuspecting fingers. It was so hot that when I went to pull the wax off of my skin, the flesh came right off with it. Then I had to go the next few weeks explaining to everyone how this happened.

So, a week ago, I made my way to the beauty supply store and dropped twenty dollars on a wax kit. Yes, that is how much you have to pay to get everything for the most part. Don't forget razors, shaving gel, after shave lotion, all this crap that you have to buy for hair upkeep, of all things.

Usually with the wax I buy, you heat up, put it on your skin, wait for it to dry, yank, and it comes right off.

I pulled out my new kit to inspect what a potentially great new product I may have in my hands. I didn't notice this before but this was honey wax. You put it on your skin, take a cloth, push it down, and yank. This new stuff was also very very sticky.

I microwaved it, did a test strip on the back of my wrist to make sure it wasn't too hot. Satisfied that I wasn't going to burn the hell out of myself, I got out a dollop and tried it on my upper thigh.

I pushed the cloth strip down and proceeded to pull it off my skin. Half of the wax came off of that area. I had to try and get the rest to come off ,so three tries later I had finally succeeded.

Oh, and yes, this was extremely painful. Just in case everyone isn't aware, you are not supposed to wax the same area twice. It pulls the blood vessels up to the surface of your skin and creates bruises. So great, my upper thigh was throbbing in pain, and bruised.

The cloth strips were shedding into little lint pieces as well and embedding themselves into the wax.

I got another applicator and a gob of wax fell straight onto my bathroom rug. I promptly stepped right into it. Anything that was on my bathroom floor starts to adhere to my foot. Dirt, hair, an old wrapper.

I was also trying to get all of this done before the wax cooled. Another gob fell off and onto my favorite towel.

I felt completely sticky and disgusting, attempted a few more spots before giving up in defeat.

Oh and that test patch I did on the back of my wrist? It is now a giant red mark from when I had to try and get all of it off by scrubbing and picking at it.

Maybe I am just not quite getting it. I mean the pros that do this for people all the time don't seem to have a problem. Maybe that girl in the beauty salon could do a better job. Is it worth it though?

That, I am not sure as of yet. Maybe I should just start hugging trees.

Now: August 21, 2010

All I can say is thank you Jesus for advances in technology that were a few years away. I totally financed laser hair removal like the American consumer I am, and I slapped $1000 on a credit card to get laser hair removal. I later went on and paid another $300 to get my underarms done, that's how much I loved it.

The laser hair removal process is embarrassing, funny, and painful all at the same time, there's another blog that will explain that years on down the road. I rationalized this by figuring in the cost and time that I spent with all this wax, not to mention impending possible emergency room visits given the chance that I sealed my vagina shut with honey wax.

Saving Face

2010-08-19T15:49:00.000-07:00

Another oldie. Oldy? Moldy.

Monday, August 15, 2005

Saving Face

So I have had a love of makeup for as long as I can recall. I think my earliest memory would be stealing my mother's blue mascara from her and learning how to apply it in the second grade. That is when it began. I have been wearing some form of makeup since about the second grade.

I don't wear it because I think I look ugly without makeup, or to make men think that I look better. I do think makeup definitely has enhancing qualities to the face and it can bring out features on somebody with it on. But I don't NEED it, I just enjoy the ritual of putting it on, seeing what I can do different with my face that day, trying to make my eyes look more blue or gray, pronouncing my cheeks or putting on some bright red lipstick to make my lips stand out, matching my eyeshadow to my clothing. It is almost like art for me. Anybody that knows me, knows I wear a lot of makeup. Some days I do it up just right, some days it is borderline ridiculous. Other times it is hardly any at all.

So, in with loving makeup, which may seem materialistic or vain, but if you read the above paragraphs it really isn't, I have to purchase it. I buy all sorts of makeup. I buy the cheap stuff, the medium price, the overpriced, and the overly super inflated ridiculously priced. When you go to Wal-Mart to buy one dollar eyeliner, you really don't put a lot of thought into it, you put it in the basket, hope it looks good, if not, oh well you are out a dollar. Sometimes after working at the bar I will stop off at Wal-Greens to pick up something I need and get sucked into the makeup aisles. I will be there for a half hour picking one or two new eyeshadows out or a foundation I have been wanting to try.

For the most part, I don't need to go to the makeup counters, you can find things that are comparable at the cheaper places. But every once in awhile, flipping through a magazine some new shiny promising product will catch my impressionable eye and I have to have it, got to try it out, need it now I don't care if it is just sparkly mascara & and it is $30 I am getting it right after work!

Then comes the dilemma of actually hitting up a, shudder, counter. I am not being paranoid or making any of this up. Dealing with the bitch at the counter. Countless times I have been to makeup counters without getting any help whatsoever, I have been completely brushed off. Once again, anybody who knows me will tell you that on a given day I am one to drop $100 on an eyeshadow,some lipstick and some blush. These girls are making commission, I assume, so I guess it makes me feel even worse when they don't pounce on me and sink their talons right in.

Granted I don't look like I am loaded by any means. Actually I am not loaded by any means. But I am horrible with money and when I get extra money there are about three things I am more than likely to spend it on even over groceries. Music, makeup, & clothing. I once went to Vegas with my friends with no intent to gamble. I knew there was a Sephora and it had every kind of makeup imaginable all wrapped into one big giant store. I went to Vegas to blow money in that one store. I believe the first day in there I spent $160. I went back the second day and spent $50.

So comes the cliche term, don't judge a book by its cover.

I made my way down to Cottonwood Mall on Friday to return a skirt I had bought that was too big (suprise!) and a shirt I had purchased months before that I never wore. I had the receipt for the skirt but not for the shirt. I returned the skirt and got money back. For the shirt, I got about $30 in store credit. I couldn't find any clothing so I figured I hadn't bought any nice makeup in awhile and I would make my way down to the counters.

I browsed around for awhile, not seeing anything that quite caught my eye. I usually don't buy from the Clinique counter but they have an overpriced $12 mascara that I love but haven't been able to afford in awhile. Also they had some new blush and eyeliners out that I was quite taken to. I stood there for a good five minutes browsing waiting for the lady that was so obviously behind the counter to help me.

She looked like she was in her 50's, blonde dyed hair, botoxed a bit that was probably in need of a touchup soon, smart looking suit on. Completely ignoring me. I tried a few times to make eye contact with her at no avail.

Bored, I decided maybe I would go browse a couple more counters. Nothing that I really wanted.

I ambled back to the Clinique counter wondering if maybe my BRIGHT FUCKING PINK HAIR hadn't quite caught her attention the first time. Well apparantly it hadn't the second time as well.

I stood there not looking at anything, kind of like when you set down your menu at a restaurant to let the waitress let you know that you are ready? Nothing.

A couple in their 30's walked up with a small child that looked maybe three. They were literally standing there for about one minute when the woman rushed over to them and asked if she could help them. They weren't quite sure of exactly what they wanted, so she coached them through what each item was, what it did, how much it cost.

Great. Well, maybe they were going to spend more money then myself. I should have just up and left by this time, but it was almost to where I wanted to make this woman help me at this point.

The couple made their purchase which came to $30, the same amount I was about to spend.

After they left, it took a good two or three minutes of me giving her a dirty look to come help me.

"Can I help you?" she asked wanely. "Yes, I would like some of this new blush you have here." "Sorry, we are sold out of that." "Ok," I said "I would like some of the High Impact Mascara in black please." She went and grabbed it and didn't politely ask if there was anything else she could help me with. Instead, she said "What else do you want?" "Well, I would like to know if you have anything comparable to that blush you are sold out of, you know something light and shimmery?" "All of our colors are on the makeup wall, you can go look at those if you want." Wow! what sales skills!!! What a great tactic! Go do it yourself if you want to find it. Nevermind. "Ok?" I said "Can I actually just get this new eyeliner you have?" She came back after a minute of rooting around and said "Sorry, sold out." Then she just stared at me. "Alright,can I get it in black?" I queried. She went and grabbed it in black.

At this point I was really unsure of what to do. Should I make her ring it up and then I pay for it? Then wait about five minutes, come back and say "You know what? You are a bitch and I don't want you to get commission for any of this, could you please just return all of this? Thanks!"

As she coldly rang up my purchases, which came to, guess what? $30, the same that couple just spent. I had my gift card in my hand, that I got for store credit and she looked at me and said "Swipe your card." I said "I can't swipe my card, it is a gift card." So she takes it, finishes with my purchases and mumbles a thank you.

What did I do? Nothing. I took my shit, and her shit and got out of there. What does one do in a situation like that?

At least I got my free gift.

Now. August 19, 2010

Now that I am all old (30 gasp) My skin has gone through second puberty. It sucks. So now I feel like I need to wear some form of makeup every day. It sucks even more balls that I have to do that.

But now that I am all old, wrinkles and weird things happen to my skin. I wake up in the morning and look in the mirror, and I wonder who the hell is looking back at me. I am in school, so I don't sleep. So here comes the giant bags. I work under fluorescent lighting all day at work. That gave me a complex so terrible that I was convinced I needed Botox forever. I will hold off another five years when I have earned my cougar merit badge.

I still spend shitloads of money on the stuff though. I still flip through the magazines and I think, "If I own this one thing, it is going to change my life" It hasn't so far, but I haven't learned so far either.

We have a Sephora in Utah now. I am embarrassed to say that I waited in line on opening day for 1.5 HOURS to get in and peruse. I am not embarrassed to say that I wasn't aware that it was opening day but I felt since I had made my way down there I felt some sort of obligation to stand in line. Plus, I was hoping for free shit. I got a free tote for waiting all that time. Shit indeed.

I'm no longer afraid of makeup counters. Of all places to thank, I have the Chanel makeup counter. This wonderful woman there did my friend's makeup for her wedding and mine as well. She was quirky, older, sweet. She loved us. She loved that we were different than the usual people she got, and that she got to have fun with our makeup. Her name was Taylor and she was so very New York. As she applied my makeup, she would tell me how she goes to other Chanel stores to see how the employees treat her. She said no matter what you look like, they should never judge and always be willing to help. She has suckered me into spending $45 on blushes, $35 on lipsticks, $30 on eyeliners. Granted Chanel is decadently splurgalicious, but every penny is worth it when you get someone like that.

I have toned down my makeup over the years. Big time. No more glitter eyeliner, no more clown cheeks, and green eyeshadows. I look like I'm trying too hard now when I do that, and I like to look unnaturally natural now. Gone is the pink hair, and the juniors clothing that I liked to purchase at Hot Topic. My skirts now ALMOST hit my knees.

Though I may look about 10% classier, I haven't started acting it.

Funstalgic

2010-08-18T17:24:00.000-07:00

Well I haven't deleted my stupid Myspace account because I like being spammed. Okay, maybe it is because I have 330-some odd blogs just hanging out on there being all ignored by me and I have this whole journalistic teenage notion that I can't erase them lest I forget. The next probably 300-some odd blogs on this page are going to be just those so I can close my "I'm Tom and I am billionaire for running what is now all spam" site account.Plus I just don't blog anymore. I think school is stealing my thoughts. Here we go.

I'm Waiting To Be Impressed- July 20th 2005

First of all let me preface this the way somebody would before they get ready to tell a joke that is dead baby or racist:

I am not perfect in any way shape or form, these are merely opinions and things that I could probably stand to work on a little more every day in my life. I am not telling anyone what to do or how to act according to my novice observations.

I always was very paranoid what people thought about me. Scared that they wouldn't like me, that I would or that I did say something completely and utterly idiotic out of nervousness or social retardation. It was a deep panic I would feel when I would meet somebody, my heart would palpitate and I would stutter over my words and try to say all the right things and laugh at the right times. If these people that I wanted to impress would say things that were rude or judgmental, I would go along with it as well for fear that I would not be accepted. I also did it because I felt like I had no self worth unless I could think of people in terms of beneath me. In the back of my head I always knew a lot of these people that I would consider friends were saying the same things about me that we would talk about to smear other people's characters. The difference between me then and me now: I was ages 13-15 when I did all of this.

Not that I have ever quite gotten rid of my social anxiety or the need to feel accepted by everyone around me, but it is not a hunger or intense paranoia that I feel about it. Not everyone is going to like me. Same as I with people in general. It is human nature. Plain. Simple.

I am still now fascinated by the sociological interaction that human beings will have when they are all put together and decide to gang up on a person or people. A witch hunt or wolf mentality, I would say. I would like to say that I love and accept everyone and be sincere about it but a part of me will always have a love/hate relationship with humanity. I am not the type of person who will give into phony behavior and try to say the right things at the right times, try to run someone's name into the ground just because I merely dislike them. It is too much energy that gets wasted on hate when it could be used toward more productive tasks such as making someone else's life better. I know it is much easier to judge someone, to be petulant, to hate something all because you don't understand it than it is to take the time and effort out of your life to try and look at someone as an extension of yourself and not a thing that you are competing with to gain a false sense of gratification.

What have you done today to assist humanity? What can you do to assist humanity? Really it isn't that difficult of a concept to grasp. If you could do things effortlessly and selflessly for others and expect nothing in return. Learn not to be disappointed, or angry when someone "fucks you over" I think we as a hoi polloi could go along our days as much more self assured, happier, secure group.

I try to look at my intent behind wanting to or saying something about somebody behind their backs. Is it true? Would I say it to their face? Do I really mean or believe that? Am I just saying this to make myself look or feel better?

I have never wanted to be classified as a phony or someone that tries to dupe people into thinking I am something that I am not, which in turn, could make me an unlikable person or even come off as strange.

I am at the point in my life where I can take accountability for my actions. I could make an itemized list of every choice that I have made that has led me up where I am right now accounting for the very second that I am writing this. It is choice theory, and the way you choose to live, treat others and react to situations is all solely based on you. Not others.

So in an ideal world I want people to stop whining and boobing about how fucking miserable their life is because of what a person did to them or their shitty upbringing and take some accountability to realize you are who you are based on yourself. These are all things that have happened because you chose to react to them the way you did and you are accountable for your coping abilities in that should not be someone else's fault.

I used to blame a lot of my failures and discontent on other people. I was angry at my parents,friends,enemies,strangers who cut me off, someone who talked behind my back for a long time because I thought it was their fault I ended up the way I was. I have a lot to thank them for. They gave me the capacity to love, to read, write, be passionate about learning, empathy, grace, not being selfish. And it isn't because they looked at me and said "LOVE, READ WRITE, LEARN." It all is based on the way I look back situations in my life and think about what I learned off all that I considered a bad time or even a good time for that matter.

So in all this incoherent babbling, what I am really trying to say is I am waiting to be impressed. I am waiting to find people that aren't so fucking petty and fake in their daily life that they have to meddle in other people's affairs just to give themselves a temporary lift. I want to see grownups acting like grownups without being smug or pompous about it.

Don't get me wrong I have a small handful of people in my life and I love them so much for all their good qualities. These will be people whom I plan on keeping with me forever. As for those of you that don't enhance my life, or want to be nice to my face but turn around and whisper about something I did twenty years or minutes ago that bothered you, go fuck yourselves. You are merely illusions of human beings and I don't have time to waste my time on what I don't even consider real.

Today: August 16. 2010

As I read back on that, I think not much has changed. I am still socially awkward. I have to have at least three drinks in me before the thought of being in a public setting doesn't set me on edge. The comfort of talking to strangers is probably never something I will possess, yet when approached, I would like to think that I am open, honest, likable. I would like to think now though, that I may say or do things that I consider embarrassing, I have overcome being gripped with a paralysis of paranoia. I am able to shake it off and laugh now, and I love that. I do what I can to try and make this world a happier place. Even in my negativity, I try to make everything funny. That's how I cope with being a generally awkward human being, and it has gotten me by thus far.

You know what though, I have talked mad shit. I can't help it. I am fascinated by people and the things they say and do. When I make fun though, it is never out of malice. And now if I ever get busted I am willing to own up to it. Confrontation was never my forte, but now I have to say that it is. Sure I get shaky and trip over my words when I am getting yelled at. But it's a far cry from just running away like I used to. I have become a more genuinely forgiving person too. I think I am just too alzheimered out to stay mad at anyone or anything for longer than one day. Thank you goldfish brain, you are serving me well. I feel anymore lately, I don't have time for agonizing over what the world thinks about me, but there is still that tiny little piece of me that wants to be liked by everyone. Thanks nature, or nacha!

'Merica: Where Ignorance Still Reigns Supreme

2010-06-09T11:36:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I like to peruse our "news" so that I can see what is really not happening in the world, and today I came across an article where both sides couldn't have been any more dense or wrong to me.

Meet who should be immediately fired from CNN before the next article that leaks is that human beings have not evolved at all. This is merely the first paragraph of the article, something that is supposed to be considered front page "news""

Full article can be found here:
http://www.cnn.com/2010/POLITICS/06/08/rage.obama/index.html?hpt=C1

Snippet here:

Here's proof that President Obama has indeed ushered in a new era in race relations.

Who would have ever expected some white Americans to demand that an African-American man show more rage?

If you've followed the Gulf of Mexico oil disaster, you've heard the complaints that Obama isn't showing enough emotion.

But scholars say Obama's critics ignore a lesson from American history: Many white Americans don't like angry black men.

Call me silly, but I think Obama's race rage is something that should not have even been fathomed by people. We get it. He is an African-American, and our first African-American President at that. I understand how this is huge, and I love and respect that we are able to live in an era where I got to see this happen. But with two steps forward always comes that 500 steps back. Back to the future back.

There is the fact that people are making a feebled attempt to defend him by saying he he can't get pissed because he may come down with a case of ABMS (Angry Black Man Syndrome) Comparing him to what we need is a Sam Jackson blowup. And then what happens after that?

Does he get large and green? Do his clothes rip off?

The fact that people can attach Angry Black Man as a stigma onto our President kills me. No, no, no, people he hasn't gotten mad because once he gets ABMS all the whites are going to quiver with fear and he will probably singlehandedly mug, rape, and stab us all!!

This is the most veiled racist thing I have read in a long time from a supposedly reputable site.

What did George Bush do when he was President? I didn't hear people getting antsy pantsy about him not getting mad. As a matter of fact did he spring up from that chair when her heard about the September 11 attacks or did he go back to pretending to know how to read in front of kids?

That man was like a slug that had just been salted, and every word that came out of his mouth was like Skelator with a weak chin sniveling off ninnied nonsense until someone higher up explained to him the words he had to say.

So why the attack on this current President not being angry enough? Who are these people to equate yelling about someting as comparable to, I don't know, coming up with an action plan? Were they abused as children? Daddy yells because he cares.

And the people that came up with the rebuttal of angry black man is scary, and angry African Americans are freaky to us whites. We did a survey and found out that 4 out of 5 white people don't like it when black people yell, it makes them cry. What part of the white suburbs did they come crawling out of?

And I have a novel concept. How about we go back to focusing at the issues at hand and not focus on our non-screaming President and the color of his skin which is why he doesn't yell apparently, and regardless of how you feel about him, pay attention to his actions.

No wonder this man smokes. He is surrounded by idiots.

The Accidental Bulimic

2010-05-18T15:29:00.001-07:00

So last week, I went out of town, and Sunday morning I woke up with a sweet bout of chest pain. How many people die of a heart attack at 30? I found myself asking. I passed it off as indigestion, (which is probably why I will end up dying of a heart attack) and figured I would eat a little bit lighter that day.

Monday, said chest pain was still there. It was uncomfortable, and on my way to the airport, I felt a little barfy. I hate flying, so needless to say I always feel a bit barfy when entering an airport and being on a plane, gripping that pack of cigarettes telling myself every time a patch of turbulence hits that I will be damned if I don't at least smoke once on a plane if we die. Probably how I will end up getting arrested on a plane.

Tuesday, I had the day off, and I didn't really eat all day. I went to my mom's and eat a smorgasbord of chips and popcorn all within my lazy arm's reach. Considering that wast he first thing I had eaten that day, it felt weird how full I was. On the way into my house I started slowly throwing it up. This is the kind of vomit, for the sake of making me sound adorable when I puke, that I will call kitty pukes. It only comes up a few tablespoons at a time and I don't make that horrible retching sound. It's like...."Bleh! Oh pardon me!" as I wipe my face.

Wednesday and Thursday it continued. I felt so full every time food would touch my lips and the chest pain was just chillin' there. Well, I wasn't dead yet, so it must not be my heart attack time. Friday I woke up telling myself if I felt the same way, I would go to Instacare. I felt the same way. But I wanted to go shopppping!!!! On my way out to go shopping, rationale kicked in and I went to the stupid Doctor.

"What are we seeing you for today?" the nice lady at the counter asked. "Well, since last Sunday, my chest has been hurting and I have been vomiting up all my food" I said politely and smiling.

She didn't even bother taking any of my stuff. Instead she screamed to a nurse, "WE HAVE SOMEONE HERE WITH CHEST PAIN! GET HER IN THE BACK NOWW!!" I was petrified. Note to self: If I ever want to get into Instacare without waiting again, I will just say chest pain. And then ask them to check on my ear infection/cold/flu whatever secondly. All my blood pressures came out fine. They made me do an EKG and an X-Ray of my chest while I was in there. Well, had I known I was going to be splayed out topless on a sterile metal table with lights and stickers all over me that day, I may have done some crunches. I felt like I was in the middle of an alien abduction.

As I figured, that stuff all came out fine. The doctor came in and told me I was experiencing esophageal spasms. Beautiful. Just beautiful. My weird shoddy genes kick in again. She explained to me that I needed an endoscopy sooner than later so that they could stretch out my esophagus so that I may start enjoying life again. She told me to go on an all liquid diet. I shook my head yes and smiled.

I am not going on an all liquid diet. The only way you could get me to do that is if you broke my jaw.

My mom asked if bourbon or scotch counted. I want to thank her for thinking I am that classy when I drink.

So going on day 9 now, I am still doing kitty pukes every time I eat. It's been a wonderful experience, having a conversation with someone and my mouth fills up. I have to hold my finger up as in "hold please!" turn around and spit into a garbage can, toilet, or on the ground. The other day at work was a crowning achievement when I quietly tried to not call attention to myself by vomiting pure coffee into a napkin. It all came spraying out the sides.

On the upside, this whole time, I thought I was this withery going to die at any moment girl, because for the past few years, I have been having heart palpitations. At times they are stronger than others, and I have just accepting my doom as I have been to doctors, and they merely told me to do yoga, relax and not stress so much. After looking into esophageal spasms, turns out it was not the old ticker after all! It was my esophagus, spasming out, there to remind me how much it loves me. Also if I eat the right kind of food, ie cake or candy, at least it comes out tasting the same?

I am making a doctor's appointment tomorrow by the way, I just keep forgetting to bring the papers with me. But for now, you can just whisper quietly to your friends when we hang out and I have to run away for a second, "That's my friend Dominique, she's an accidental bulimic."

Smokelore

2010-04-15T07:35:00.001-07:00

With more cigarette taxes coming into full effect next week and my ever lying mouth talking about how I plan on quitting all of the time, the extra money that I could be spending on beer may be the thing that will have me stop putting my nicotine where my mouth is.

I have had some weak success in the past of going a few months without smoking here and there, generally it is replaced by a sucker and running addiction, but paired together, those can't be all that bad right? Unless I trip and fall while running with the sucker in my mouth, that may not be too pretty.

I purchased an e-cigarette awhile back, convinced that it would be the perfect replacement partner for my life, but much to my disappointment, it compares to someone getting dumped and replacing their past partner with a blow-up doll.

For those of you not up to par with your vice technology, e-cigarettes are not some little avatar that you watch smoke online, they are little electronic cigarettes that you screw a nicotine cartridge into and inhale your precious, precious nicotine that way. The unfortunate downside of this method is that even though I am expelling a non-harmful to those of you who pride yourselves on your lung capacity when I expel my vapor into the air, I would never dare hang out at my desk at work and puff away on one. I fear the looks that that electronic red fake burning tip and vapor smoke would draw over to my very private desk corner. The less people that know I exist here, the better, trust me.

So you are forced out with the other smokers on break who then start eyeing you as though you are the Terminator coming in to warn them of real cigarette destruction. Then comes the slew of questions that follow about it, and before you know it you are an unintentional spokesmam for the e-cigarette, which let me tell you is much less cool looking than being the Marlboro Man. I am pretty sure I saw the real Marlboro Man in a cowboy hat and boots at the gas station yesterday purchasing a 24 pack of Bud and a carton of Marlboros. He drove away in his white pickup truck and I thought, “Damnit I want to hang out with him, I bet he won’t ever smoke e-cigarettes.”

See, way cooler than the E-cigarette Man, who is probably sporting a small track jacket faux-hawk and too tight jeans with Converse on who only wants to talk politics to me and about what shitty taste I have in music, all while smelling perfectly cologned without a trace of the nostalgic smell of burnt tobacco on him.

I think I will give that cursed e-thing another whirl though before I have to start paying exorbitant amounts of money on 20 measly cigarettes that I will more than likely finish in a day and a half, and on and on and more than likely finish the whole pack once I am a few shots of whiskey and beers down in just mere hours over the weekend.

Huffing and puffing on that contraption in my room I call an elliptical machine has been a silent shame that I've been harboring over the last month. I bet if I took my wheezing ass to the gym to show the public what I have become, I may humiliate myself into stopping right then and there. The more likely end to that scenario is the usual one though; me lighting up right outside the gym doors after a rousing and heart pounding workout. Nothing tastes better than a cigarette burning in your mouth after some calories have been burned in your body.

The things I can justify not missing from smoking are few and far between because come on, I am a junkie for it, and I have to rationalize as much as I can when I think about all the benefits I reap from this life consuming habit.

I think back to all the social aspects of it, the wonderful people I have been able to drunkenly interact with while sitting outside having a cigarette, and of course in my younger years all the dreamy boys that I have laid eyes upon all while sitting outside smoking.

Well, I am hitched now, so there is no need for the "maybe if I light up outside that hot coffee cart dude will come out" hopeful moments, and I am not 17 so I don't have the vigor and energy that my once supple lungs supported, and I suppose I could stand outside the bar drunkenly meeting new friends while irritatingly explaining to them what my e-cigarette is and then drunkenly asking them for one of their cigarettes because I want a real one and don't want to spend the $7 on a pack, therefore bankrupting a nation of drunk smoking people over the next 15 years.

Or I could just keep talking about how I am going to finally quit and probably never do it, as per always, I mean why not? Talking about stuff is fun.

Let's Talk About Sex (& The City)

2010-04-04T10:34:00.001-07:00

I know that I am probably going to catch about ten piles of hell for this, but I can no longer be consumed with this secret that I have been harboring for ten long years inside of me: I hate Sex & The City.

I know there are a lot of women out there and maybe even a man or two that are diehard fans, but I do not fall into that demographic. Many times I have sat quietly as I do when listening to men talk about sports, while female friends and acquaintances discussed episodes and their passion for it. I never said anything because one: I was outnumbered and didn't want to risk the sharp point of a stiletto meeting my eye when bringing up my feelings on this subject matter, and two: if they were my friends and they liked this show so much, I still wanted to keep them as my friends and I was too frightened of losing them over not enjoying all of the same things.

I am still scared of strangers, and I am pretty sure that my friends still like me the way I am, even if I can't sit down for an hour in front of Carrie typing away at her computer trite stories of falling in love with the least attractive people in New York City while wearing questionable outfits that probably would cost 6 months of my paychecks.

Admittedly when I would work a lot of overtime at home, while flipping through channels I would catch and episode here and there, but it was more background noise than anything. I found myself detesting the ever so breathlessly speaking Samantha (get an inhaler already) talk about all the younger dudes she was banging and was just happy to be that way. She should have just called it quits after Mannequin and Big Trouble In Little China, because that is the way that I wish to remember her.

Okay, and I draw a blank on the rest of their names. I promise. And I am too lazy to look them up. I think the uptight prudy one is Charlotte, and all she cares about is being a Stepford wife, and her friends find that very endearing, while I find it very appalling.

The red-headed one with the freakishly tiny head that perches atop a freakishly long neck disturbs me in all her cold rationale and unwillingness to forgive. I would imagine that would be one of those marriages that you get suckered into because you knocked her up and now you are stuck sucking on ice for the rest of your life. Which is what happened in the show.

And then there is our beloved SJP, who smokes cigarettes in her apartment longing for a man named Big, who is this hoity toity rich executive type but they can never quite seem to get it together to work. Did I mention all the dudes on this show are ugly? If we are going this far with the self-indulgent materialistic attitude of glamming up New York City, at least give me something to fantasize after.

Well. I did something bad, and I rented the movie from Netflix. Because I wanted to see what all the hype was about. I wanted to see if maybe my brushes with the T.V. show were just not enough, and that perhaps I would get some sort of better understanding out of this if I got it in a condensed version. Condensed was gratuitous 2 hours and 24 minutes by the way. The only time I want a movie that long and potentially crappy is if stuff is going to be blowing up A LOT. (See 2012)

Unfortunately within the first 20 minutes in of watching the movie, I came to the realization that nothing was going to blow up, but I was on my elliptical, and I still had another 30 minutes to kill. The movie starts out by catching you up on what all the ladies are doing now, which is pretty much nothing different except for being married, two have kids, and Samantha is still a whore but a Hollywood one now, because she probably wiped out a population in New York by infesting most of the males with STDs, and Carrie is now marrying Big, the man of her dreams.

There is a lot of extravagance going on, fancy parties, looking through old clothes as Carrie rushes to move out of her apartment and into the walk in closet as big as my house that Big has built for her, complete with a "girl power" music session that is as banal and predictable as any chick flick could offer. After 30 minutes, I came to the conclusion that I had never, ever, once in my life apologized to myself or anyone around me for a movie that I had rented from Netflix. That had just changed, and the amount shame I was feeling started to wash over me in great waves. Is there a way to erase the record of a movie being rented from Netflix?

These women were supposed to be 40+ years old, but the soundtrack to the movie was built for a 14 year-old girl. They characters were so materialistic and shallow, fraught with one-liners so cheesy and terrible that it made them completely unrelateable on any level. One scene depicts them all at lunch together with Charlotte's adopted three year-old daughter where they attempt to discuss sex, but need to use a different term so as not to scar the kid. They decide to ask each other how often they color with their significant others.

Carrie responds, "All I can say is when Big colors, he does it outside the lines." Followed by a series of high pitched ooooooohhhhhs! (must be the female equivalent of a high five in this movie)

And Samantha, dead set to get this ring at an auction with her money that she has earned in Hollywood, stops bidding at $40k. For a ring. That was her limit. I am supposed to be like "You go girl!!" To something like that? Don't worry, she gets home and is on the phone with her friend when her boy toy shows up, something large protruding from the crotch of his tight bathing suit when she breathlessly gasps into the phone, "I have to go....SOMETHING just came up!" Good one. He then pulls the ring out, which he paid 60k for because he wanted to get it for her. Before being happy and accepting one 1/3rd of what my house cost, she wants to make sure it is just a ring and not an engagement ring before she can show any sort of excitement for receiving it.

Once all of New York gets word of Carrie getting married, they are on it like flies and poo. They put her on Vogue magazine where she tries on dresses, and it leads to a 15 minute scene which could have been all together cut of her just namedropping off designer names that she loves. If I want to know who all the designers in this world are, I don't need a movie for that, please just keep giving me what little plot there is, I will go Wikipedia it somewhere.

She gets the dress of her dreams, she gets the wedding of her dreams, apparently price does not matter in this film, everyone is just dripping with money, I am sure at some point there is a scene where Samantha wipes her ass with $100 bills.

Now I am adding the spoiler alert, and I probably shouldn't even forewarn because the point of all of this is to deter you from watching the movie, but when Carrie gets to the place to get married, with an overly large peacock feather sticking out of her head that just looks uncomfortable and awkward, (I could be wrong it may have been an full peacock,) she is wondering where Big is. Well, Big has been trying to call her, but Charlotte's three year-old has placed Carrie's cell phone in her purse! And in a world where there are only two cell phones they have to make a third cell-phone so Carrie can call Big to find out where he was!

He tried calling her 20 times he said. She doesn't know where her phone is she says. He says he doesn't thing he can go through with this, and SLOOOOOW MOTION, you see the cell-phone drop to the floor as Carrie clutches her heart. Is she having a heart attack? She can't breathe! Oh wait, they ask if she is okay and she says, "He's...not....coming." as the girls start to surround her she screams "GET ME OUT OF HEEEERE!!!!!!" like she just found out she was standing barefoot on a pile of hot lava.

They drive away and Big in his car says, "What the hell am I doing? Turn around DRIVER" Driver says he "I can't, it's a one way street!" Big yells, "If we go around the whole block she will be gone by then!!!" Once again, where are all the cell phones in the world; are they being held up somewhere?

He turns the car around when who does he run into but Carrie's limo! He gets out apologizing, he tells her he is sorry, and that he wants to go through with it, but that is not enough! She walks up to him and starts beating him over the head with flowers.....in front of a crowd. He says "Wait!!" trying to explain his little brain fart, but in Sex & The City land they are too self-absorbed for a moment of rationale, and Charlotte, screaming at him with a red rimmed cold look of anger in her eyes, they type of look you would give someone had you just found out they murdered your beloved simply screams, "DON'T!!!" as Carrie melts into her friends who bring her back to the limo.

Seriously? A little dramatic right?

At this point Carrie is drunk and Samantha still wants to party so they decide to take Carrie's honeymoon to Mexico. Where I left off.

I make it a point to finish all bad books and movies that I start, even the crappy ones by Gus Van Sant, but I am not sure if I am going to be able to trudge through the next 1.5 hours of slop that I have left that is in this movie. I am not a hardcore feminist by the way, but this has reduced women to shopping, whoring freaks who can only find solace in thinking that the only thing worth living for in life is love, but being so broken inside that they cannot figure out why they are incapable of meeting and keeping men.

When I see movies like this based in New York it makes me never ever want to live there, and it makes me pray that these are indeed fictional characters and that nobody ever tries to model themselves after them. I understand that some people are into the show for the good fun times, but the fun I was watching in this seems to fall a little flat for me, barren of much creativity when coming to the silly quirks and trials and tribulations that these people are supposed to be going through.

Did I mention there is a sequel coming out?

Ugh.

Latte Dawdy Who Likes to Coffee

2010-04-01T10:06:00.001-07:00

Coffee has been a staple in my life since the age of 15. For those of you that remember angst ridden youth in 1995 and watched a lot of Singles and Reality Bites, you knew that if you were at a coffee shop, you were in the place where all the stuff happened. What stuff you ask? I don't know. Underage cigarette smoking indoors (for those of you that remember that too) acoustic guy with dreads on guitar, poetry guy that would be sitting in the corner rabidly scrawling down his feelings because we didn't have laptops yet, ready to get up and share those deep and intricate thoughts with all twenty people that were in there, and pointless fast hyper caffeinated conversational hours to waste away with friends.

I remember back then (in ye olde days) that in order to go to a coffee shop for me, it required sneaking out of the house. It wasn't approved of at all, so I always felt like I was doing something ultra cool when I made it out. I was hanging out with the older crowd, full of wit and conversation that I didn't quite have a grasp on, but so badly wanted to be a part of. When you are a kid, people that are a mere three years older than yourself seem to know a lot more about what's going on than you would ever imagine comprehending. But this was right on the cusp of adulthood, before jaded and jagged had set their little talons into your brain. Coffee just exacerbated that energy that was already flowing through my active and passionate about life and wonderment little soul that was still kicking around inside of me.

I never thought of caffeine as a necessity, maybe it was like Cocaine for wussies in those days, (for the record I have never tried cocaine) making it so that you could amplify those hormones.

Later in life, as the necessity to get up early and have a job, pay bills, learn to exist on no sleep, and getting old kicked in, it has become something that I cannot live without because it is what keeps me level. I don't go to coffee shops to hang out now. I go because I want to get in line, get that latte, and get the hell out as fast as possible. Gone are the days of the acoustic dude and the poetry writing guy, and here are the days of the people smoking their cigarette and stubbing it out before they get in the door, opening a laptop and placing it on a table in the Starbucks so that they can get some work done.

Over the years, I have become impervious to most things energy enhancing. I used to drink Red Bull because I liked the taste. It had no other job but to continue being delicious and I would consume it. Rock Stars were just a bigger version of that for me. I pick up Zing Tea Energy drinks every once in awhile and will sit on the couch watching a movie at 11:00 at night sipping away on one, and then heading to bed at 1:00 and slumbering away. I am at the fatigued point in my life that the only thing that coffees, teas, and energy drinks do for me is keep me that one step away from not falling into a coma. I just feel there, not more alert, not more tired. Just there.

I remember when Five Hour Energy Drink first came out, it was touted by many of my reputable friends (shady friends you know who you are) that it was the best thing ever. No caffeine shakes and just a natural sense of alertness. I went into the gas station and picked up my vial of potential savior and brought it home, cradling my little guy in my hand. At first I proceeded haltingly, taking down only half the bottle in case I couldn't handle the high charged happy rush that was bound to warm my body. I waited 20 minutes. Nothing. I downed the rest of the bottle thinking that maybe I just had to do it all in order to get the full effect. I went and sat on the couch. And proceeded to take a 2 hour nap.

So for the most part I gave up on the calorie laden energy drinks, and the calorie-less shots of hope and promise and stuck with my dear friend coffee and tea. Over the years I have gotten pickier with what I put in my body though, because when you are bound to a beverage for life, it is time to start researching everything you can about it in order to make sure you are getting the full benefit of your vice. I used to drink Folgers every day, but I bet if I had a cup now I would start crying while my unsatisfied taste buds rejected it. . I can only stomach breakfast blend coffee in any brand plain ol' black at this point, or a latte is my staple drink. I love Christmas time because I get the delicious egg nog/gingerbread concoction sugar in a cup mix.

Teas used to come in $3 a box green form, but now that I have discovered the wonderment of loose leaf all flavors under the rainbow stuff that in your bag and steep it type, I cannot get enough. I scour the tea shops and internets constantly looking for the next best rose or lavender or violet flavored teas. I have an affinity for consuming all sorts of plant life now.

I recall two weeks ago (I know it is amazing I can even think back that far anymore) going a week with only one cup of coffee and one cup of tea, and the narcolepsy that followed along with the pounding headachy feeling and weakly saying "Dim the lights!" every time I came near a fluorescent bulb, and began to wonder if this was an acceptable addiction that I was harboring.

I have come to the conclusion that as long as I still refuse to say things like "Caramelito Frappalatte Skinny Frozen Chickychita Blended With Cream on the Side and a dash of lemonita scabies Soy Milk Cicle" large please,” I am in the clear.

How About Some Blissful Ignorance?

2010-03-31T08:58:00.000-07:00

For the most part, I think it is perfectly acceptable to melt my brain on the extraordinarily shallow aspects of learning about the puddle part of culture when it comes to what is going on in the world.

I like to pick up a People Magazine on Sunday and see for the millionth time that Brad and Angelina are herding their quiver of children around France and buying them ice-cream, and realize that this is what is considered "big news" in the land of the luxuriously beautiful and hot tub full of money humans.

I enjoy flipping through the glossy pages of an US Weekly and see that section that is excitedly titled “STARS! They are just like us!!” And then being regaled with photos of them doing things captioned: They clip their nails! They wear flip-flops! They have eyes, ears, mouths and noses!

Look, I use a good 40 hours of brain on my job every week. I use another 40+ hours of brain cells on school a week. I use, if I am lucky, a good 35 hours on sleep, and then we will put the rest in for my weak bladder on peeing, which is probably another 35, dog watching, cooking, running errands, getting gas, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. By the way: drinking beer is the best part.

So when I have time to sit down and sigh, and crack open something that has pages of words nestled within it, I can't have it be too serious, because what happens is I get angry, and then I start ranting, and then I want to expend all that anger energy that was supposed to be relaxation time punching a hole in the wall. And then I would probably have to fix that wall, and suddenly there goes all my couch time. So if you have ever wondered why I am a bevy of worthless information, ie what is Kate Gosselin up to, (Dancing With the Stars) this is why.

I am not the most politically savvy person out there, and it is for good reason. I keep myself subconsciously aware of what is going on, but in the same token, I know a few things about myself. Very few, but one of them is that there is honestly not much that makes me ashamed of people or disappointed at people to such a degree that I want to punch holes in walls. But there is one thing that gets me every time without fail, and that is hateful ignorance. Yes, I am biased against ignorant people that promote hate.

So it is not necessarily the politics thing that gets to me, it is the hoi polloi that bow at their feet. I know not everyone out there is a gun totin', money hoarding, camo but not in the Military wearin', Bible thumpin' hick, but Palin has been the one that gets me every time. She is like that annoying person we have all had in our lives who gets some sort of sick joy out of trying to bait you and bait you, and you know you shouldn't take it, but you do every time and end up nothing but pissed while they walk away unaffected.

If I see an article with her dim-witted face on it, I am drawn to read it whether I want to or not. It's like "Oh hey I thought I quit you, but you came back didn't you. Let’s just catch up and see how things have been going, I am sure I can check in and be able to walk away mentally unscathed." Instead it is like hearing about a kitten being drowned. I think she just takes me out of a comfortable spot that I enjoy being in, and that place is called reason. I can't quite put my finger on why she is still around. Why people keep writing about her, and why she gets any sort publicity that is outside of a joke. When one of her favorite things to say is, "You betcha!" and when she has to write on her hand to remember to say profound things, and when she is riddled full of ridiculously ignorant and violent solutions to making 'Merica a better place (Let's just whack the Iranians before they get the bomb, what are you a female Tony Soprano?) I can't help but think how she managed to get a hoard of followers to begin with. It almost makes me want to start a cult if it is that easy.

Many people will use the argument that by saying things like, "How's that hopey-changey stuff workin' out for ya?" makes her relatable. She talks to us in a voice that we understand, i.e. school teacher trying to talk to four year olds. She is just a small town bumpkin and is like you and me. The thing is, when people use the term, "He's the kind of person I could sit down and have a beer with," I would prefer that they not be referring to people that are in charge of this damn country. I don't want to sit down and have a beer with my boss at work, I want to do shots and drink beer with my friends.

Is it wrong that I want the people running the show to be more intelligent than myself? That they are able to put endings on their punctuation when speaking to masses of people? To be people to be able pronounce the word "nuclear?" I don't think so. I don't want a frat boy operating on me if my appendix bursts, so why in the hell would I want someone who is consistently trying to cater to the lowest common denominator in 'Merica running this country or having some sort of political impact on the lower rungs?

I am not just talking right-wing vs. left-wing here, (well unless I am talking about Palin who has a bad case of verbal poo and will let any ol' thing spew out of that word hole she calls a mouth without thinking) I am just talking about people getting trapped into a tunnelistic realm of thinking without researching looking at all of the facts before nodding and agreeing. Not everything can be based on faith people. Regardless of whether your opinion differs from mine or not, recklessly giving information out such as global warming isn’t real, look at all the snow outside!” is not a responsible method of delivering information to people that would consider you a credible source of where they are going to base their beliefs from.

I mean call me weird, but I don't think there is anything wrong with having a classy, well-spoken, eloquent and highly educated person who seems to be a lot better than me in charge of things. My parents weren't my buddies growing up; they were people that taught me morals and the foundation of living a life in a selfless manner to ensure that everyone gets a piece of happiness. They weren't there to party; they were there to make sure I looked up to them and respected them, and whether or not I was pissed at them for doing a thing or two I didn’t agree with, in hindsight I can see why. It was necessary for change to occur and it was imperative to ensure that I would have something to grasp onto when caught in sticky situations as an adult.

And I think it should be the same for people that have the power to influence piles of others into doing what they want. To me, hearing some of the ignorant comments and selfish attitudes that have come out in light of change all in coming to an agreement with a person who is not a human being that deeply and truly cares about others or making effective change is a slap in the face. All I see right now is just a negligent person who is drunk on power. On tequila even, and they just want to share the worm with us when they are done with the bottle.

Now pardon me, I have a couple episodes of The Bad Girls Club to catch up on, some crunk to listen to, some whiskey to drink, and a couple of puppies to romp on the ground with.

My Fearbook. Experimentation With Social Network Altercations

2010-02-10T10:48:00.001-08:00

It's not really that often I sign up for contests, raffles, competitions, what have you. I have a mad streak of not ever winning anything, but every once in awhile I do it, and it's fun for a minute. So I signed up for this thingie to win money for a new kitchen if you whore yourself out the most and get the most votes and blah blah blah. I really want a new kitchen. Mine really is caveish...if that is a word, and it would be nice. Well somehow the MOST POPULAR people in the world have far superseded me thus far, and when checking how, (you can see where all their views are coming from) I saw something that was referred to as "Myyearbook.com" that a high scoring person and received tens of thousands of views from.

I figured I would sign up for said account and be swimming in views and votes in no time. Once I logged onto the site the first thing that I noticed was that it was like an aborted version of Myspace. It was like drunkenly walking through 40 casinos all that the same time. My eyes started to hurt as I struggled to come up with a user name and password. There were sparkles and colors, and battles and hot or nots and games and stickers and gifts and ways to "own" people's photos.

So I signed up and almost immediately I had a flurry of stranger friend requests. Drunk on the amount of votes I could get, I blindly started to approve everyone. I decided to stick with photos of me from when I was blonde so that God forbid should some of these people see me in real life, they would never know it was me. I will tell you why in a minute.

Apparently the history behind this site is that a young dude was flipping through his yearbook and he Eureka'd the idea to do basically a virtual yearbook type thing. Because God, we all miss high school right? I know I miss being teased, feeling awkward and having about 50,000 raging hormones surging through my flat chested body.

Well, this is like a virtual yearbook that yes, people can sign. And be your friend on etc. etc. Except in this case, t his would be like when you got your yearbook out at the end of school and ALL your friend's pervy uncles got to show up along with some 19 year olds that were never raised to talk to girls with the swanlike grace of a Romeo.

So. Sign in. Flurry of friend requests. I blindly accept them all in hopes to get more hits on my other account for the kitchen. Pattern erupts. All my new friends are mainly 50+ year old men with their shirts off in the photos next to their trucks. Now, I know I am 30, but is it so wrong that the only thing I could think was pedophile when I saw half of them? As soon as the friend requests were accepted, flurry of emails from said men! Flurry of "flirts",yes glittery sparkly saccharine comments you can post on someone's page. Oh it was getting a bit weird in here. I didn't respond to any of the emails, and I made some half assed attempts to be all "Heeeey vote for meeeee" on my wall, but after a week, I just was beyond wiggened out, and canceled the account.

I mean, I was in 3rd place with my contest. This was going to be cake! Then I got dumped down to 8th place. Then I grudgingly shuffled back over to myyearbook to create a new account again. Then the forum where "To Catch A Predator" probably catches most of its dudes happened to me at a mindblowingly higher scale this time I must be one of those commodities that you have to see twice before I am worth the time. But, like I said earlier, you can "buy" people's photos with your "lunch" money. Okay now picture a 50+ plus year old man without his shirt on getting into a bidding war with virtual lunch money over one of your photos. Suddenly Silence of the Lambs is all I can think of. Someone posted immediately on the photo "MINE" then they posted again, "MINE." then they posted one last time as they gave up their whooping $500,000 virtual dollars to win my profile picture, and the last comment boldly stated "MY PICTURE!"

I don't know how I feel about this. When someone is giving up their hard earned virtual bucks for a picture of me, I loathe to think of what they are doing to that photo. This site is dedicated to the degenerates, perverts, old men, slutty girls and emo kids that want to bitch 15 times a day that they are "done dating party girls" so that they can get a few other girls to send them sympathy boob shots.

Oh and I got a mini stalker out of this whole deal too. He is good at spelling too, and immediately won me over with the “I wont to get 2 know u better.” Again, I don't reply to any messages I get in there. But he thinks we are dating. I stated I was sick one day. He said "I'm sorry you're sick babe is there anything I can do for you?" A picture with hamburgers was met with how he likes "handbuggers" Then I got another message from him a few days later saying he would like to get to know me better once again. Aiesha, I want to get to know you better I am not, so I did not respond again. The last message I received was the catalyst to cancel this account once and for all before I end up having my name lit ablaze in my front yard. Sorry Ron, this one did not cut it:

"how was your day beautiful,how was school to day starting all of your new classes i wont to wish u good luck,i was hoping to hear from u i realy like to get to know u more thanks Ron"

Okay maybe it is all innocuous on his part, but dude, really, I haven't replied take a hint. Well it's much better than the message I received for an 18 year old kid who looks like he enjoys shooting up public places in his spare time, lovingly written in prose form by Stan:

shit..i would definatley tap you HARD

Whoah Stan. Back that tap up.

See the thing about yearbooks is that if someone I didn't like signed mine, none of them would say things like this, nor would they have the option of coming back and saying it again and again if I didn't have a funnnn summer and call them over it.

Lots of dudes calling me pet names that are reserved only for relationships like sweetie, beautiful, precious, honey....the filters are off and I am creeped on. I look at my friends list that I have built up in two weeks time of all 163 gentlemen, and I use that term loosely, and I realize that not one person on there is a female. It must be my charm, yes my charm that makes the fellow females scared to add me. The ones that I see posting pictures of them in a belly shirt that boasts a mountain of cleavage, with the caption that simply states, "I thought I lost this shirt, I am glad I found it!"

They are so glad that they had to show the rest of the internet and so that a hoard of men taking a cell phone picture of themselves in front of the bathroom mirror with their shirt off can proclaim "Glad u found it to baby!" “U look hawt in that shirt!”

I am actually very curious as to how many actual innocent kids get propositioned on this site as I gaze upon a photo of a man wearing a Budweiser shirt, baseball cap, Budweiser in one hand, gun in the other, with his caption stationg "I love beer!" and how heavily policed it is, as the privacy blockers on myyearbook seem pretty loose.

Maybe I have just become a social networking elitist, as I lean back on my office throne and cast judgment down upon the man who gave me his phone number in the first message he sent me, or the man who spelled you're "your" when he was attempting to say you are, or maybe I am just tired of being sent battle requests to battle it out with the person who wants to see who has the cutest pet, funniest pic, and nicest smile.

Most likely, I will never stop being baffled about how people actually come off on the Internet. The Internet. It is supposed to make you more attractive, more eloquently spoken, extra hilarious and a little cooler than you are in real life. When I see people that can't even pull off that feat, when the best photo that they have is one where they are holding their gun and they don't have the time to actually spell check things before posting them, let alone put together a legible sentence, what else can that tell me about that person? Because damn, I am much cooler online than I am in real life.

The Time of the Season For Laundry

2010-01-25T20:35:00.000-08:00

Terrence was singing that it was the time of the season for laundry, and he was correct, it definitely was. Since we bought our house in September, we have not had a washer and dryer hooked up here, and it has been an epic pain in the ass. You know when your dog pees on something, you wash up a really disgusting spill, or your want your sheets to be fresh? Normally you would run it down to the washer and dryer and poof, everything was clean again. Not for me as of late. That favorite pair of jeans would have to be worn at a later date. A date with the laundromat, and the other piles of awful would be tossed aside in a corner to fester and be ignored by me.

The first few times I went to the laundromat, I was on a straight up mission. Get in, get food, get back, dry, go home to do schoolwork, get back, fold, get out. Last night, after getting home from work and being preternaturally happy on only five hours of sleep the night prior, I was ready to get this washing party started rather than collapsing on the bed to take a nap first. We got to our regular haunt, and I started to stuff clothing into the washing machine that was ready to eat my $3 in quarters. The walls of this laundromat are epically amazing. It is a desert backdrop that has been painted by an artist, with many rock formations looming in the background. In the beautifully clear blue sky, there are two washers with wings flying across in a happy daze, eager to make it to their location.

This time I am looking around at everyone that is there, and I note that there is a homeless man washing all of his belongings. That saddens me a bit, the fact that the moment his socks come out of the dryer, he will be sitting down to put them on under some dirty work boots, not take them home to rest them in his drawer, or curse one when he can't find its partner. A confused looking lady comes up to me and asks how much it is to run the washers. I must look like a veteran now, and I am as I tell her the price. I observe the other patrons and get to wondering as to why each and every one of them doesn't have a washer and a dryer. I know why I don't. I bought an old house that needs about $700 worth of electrical work done on it so that it won't blow a fuse every time I turn on a hairdryer while someone is watching television. I also need outlets put in to house an electrical dryer.

I leave for Bajio to get a very filling dinner, and come back to get my clothing out of the washer and put them into the dryer. I am bored now, my iTouch is on lockdown from all the wifi that is requiring passwords, and I have tapped the Hangman well dry. One can only feel so smart by guessing the word "lime" so many times. I walk over to Alchemy coffee and get a latte. I ask for soy milk, and he foams it heavy at the top. Generally I am not a huge soy fan, but for some reason it makes that latte pop. I sit on one of the velvet couches that they have in there and sip my coffee, just enjoying the atmosphere. Generally coffee shops are offputting to me, so many young kids trying to write poetry where people can see them, or milling around talking about how hard life is at the ripe age of 18. This place is full of adults and crazy women talking about Persian conspiracies. After I few more sips and a need for a cigarette. I leave. Smoke. Walk to the laundromat.

As I go to my dryer, a shaky old man who has no teeth and tufts of gray hair is removing clothing from his dryer. He says, "These machines sure don't dry very well do they?" I use that voice. The one I hate. It always reserved for old people and children, paired with the high pitched nice tone I learned to use at phone jobs. It isn't intentional, I can't stop myself sometimes. I lean in and say "Oh did you put the heat on high?" He looks at me, that look of "I am old therefore not retarded" and says nicely, "Yes, I did, the machines...they don't dry that well." I said "Hm that's weird, as I pulled out my hot dry clothing. He told me to enjoy doing the rest of my laundry.

For some reason, I started to pull out my items to fold, and I realized I was standing right in front of a huge window in front of a shop.I can assure you, nothing sets off "my underwear isn't good enough" alarms like standing in front of a laundromat window and having to fold each and every pair in front of it. And there were so many pairs! It felt weird, soul baring, having to carefully extract each article of clothing from a basket in front of a room of strangers and carefully fold it into neat little piles. The old guy passed me again. He started to speak to a large woman. She was talking to him about his cancer. And how he looked great considering he had throat cancer. And that he still had his baby face and sparkling blue eyes. I looked out of the corner of my eye, and I saw him in a different light. I could see that the things she was telling him were true. It made me happy to hear him say that he didn't make it 70 years on this world for nothing, and that he was happy to have beat cancer.

I think last night, I found my new favorite people watching spot.

Vote Up!

2010-01-23T15:07:00.000-08:00

Help me get a new kitchen by voting for me! I have been harassing my assing off here to get everyone to hook it up, it is so easy, you can vote every day, and if I win I promise to make you cookies of your choice. I am in dire need of an awesome new kitchen.

Food For Awesome Thought

2010-01-20T08:02:00.000-08:00

I grew up with four brothers and a set of parents that were busily working full-time to help support us in the future. Needless to say, we were basically left to our own devices to concoct any sort of mad scientist meal from the ingredients that we had kicking around in the kitchen. While I mastered the many culinary skills of cracking an egg inside a bowl of ramen to cook, pouring cereal for lunch, or placing impeccably cut hotdog rounds and placing them lovingly atop a bed of macaroni and cheese to serve up to my hungry siblings, I never quite learned how to actually cook real food, and it haunted me well into my adult life.
My friends found it humorous that late into my 20s that I was eating like a 15 year old boy with no adult supervision, so I made a concentrated effort to learn to cook real foods. It started out haltingly. At first I would thumb through home magazines picking out quaint looking recipes that I could dream of gracing my kitchen table with. Many kitchens ended up filled with smoke, and many chickens sat sadly on the baking pan covered in ham and only cooked halfway through while I rushed out to get some Chinese takeout. But one day after many efforts it just clicked, and meals started coming together for me. Having been in such a large family, and it only being my husband and myself now, out of sheer instinct, I was soon cooking up curries, stews, taco bakes, and strudels for a slew of imaginary people that were not going to get fed.
As we trudged our way through the massive amount of leftovers, I realized that we should not just be enjoying all of this wonderful food for ourselves that I have been cooking. So I would invite a few friends over at a time for dinner. We would have wonderful conversation, they would pitch in on meals, and even the confident ones would dig in and help out with the cooking. Cooking for me now has become so much more than just placing a meal on the table and mindlessly chewing it down because of the mere fact that I am hungry. It has become a bonding experience, time for good conversation, and a way to be able to interact with people in a way that is so much different than just talking about work.
When you are cutting up vegetables and throwing them into a steamer, or when you are trying to learn how to cook a turkey for the first time, things get expressed and shared on a whole different level of interaction as opposed to say, just sitting down to a bag of fast food and tuning out to watch television. I live for being able to see the joy, or even sometimes false joy at times I’m sure, on people’s faces as they take that first bite of something I have prepared and knowing that we all took some part in creating that moment.
I get a sense of solace and calm whenever I bake some sweets for people that I know will appreciate them. There is also a feeling of accomplishment that comes from being able to whip something up from scratch and then see the look of surprise on my husband’s face when I bring some cookies into a room for him. I know most people would think that it’s just cooking, it can’t be that big of a deal, but I have been able to make it into so much more. In these busy times of being in school, working, and not being able to interact with my friends and loved ones as much as I would like to, we have made food into something that we can all fit into our hectic lifestyles, because hey, everyone could always use a nice home cooked meal, and it isn’t a guilty pleasure that you have to rationalize.

Food For Awesome Thought

2010-01-20T06:43:00.000-08:00

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Smarmy

2010-01-07T20:38:00.000-08:00

I know this is totally pretentious and assholey of me, so much that I just made up the word assholey, but I have been privy to some terrible blogs lately. It's not that I think I am this profound beacon of wisdom that spouts out wonderful things from the mountaintops. God knows the last time I was even in the mountains, hiking would actually be good for me, and the only thing I do that is good for me anymore is think about working out.

But these blogs. Oh my blog. I have noticed a pattern that follows along with them. It is a young girl that is blatantly beautiful, and she is spewing on and on about how terrible and complicated how life is, how her body isn't doing what she wants it to do any longer and how everything would just work itself out perfectly if she could just find that perfect combination of mustache and flannel to love her the way she needs to be loved.

Women can be idiots. Being one, I can testify to this without being called a misogynist. They get these ideas in their head that life is supposed to be a carbon copy of a romantic comedy, and this fellow that is slightly clumsy but attractive is supposed to chase after them like some sort of hungry puppy dog slobbering over their every move that they make. It such a contrived notion, that I would think if these women were indeed the intelligent and beautiful beings that they fancied themselves, they wouldn't be in this blogging pickle of sorrow and sadness, spouting terrible poetry, pining after something that they can never have. Have you ever seen the most BEAUTIFUL woman in the world and asked yourself, "Gee why is she single?" If you ask that and then proceed to pursue her, I might tell you to run for the fucking woods and never come out. Because my friend, she is crazy and wrought so much with crazy that you will find yourself in some sort of tangled up mindfuck craze and never be able to fully tear yourself out.

She will blog about you, I can guarantee it. And she will put in all these vaguely dark things about you along with your picture, every douchey thing you said to her when you happened to get off a bad day of work and anything that has been taken out of context. You will become her obsession, and her girl power minions will follow suit, holding up protest signs with your name attached to them, ready to burn you at the stake. Now, I am not saying that every beautiful woman is this way. I have many gorgeous and sane friends, but I think you know that type I am talking about. You can see the crazy popping in and out of their eyes. They are able to mask it for a moment, but once you catch the first inkling of it, heed my advice and go far far away.

These women, the think themselves as some sort of Jane Austins of the 20th century. Writing flowery poetry and speaking of how much they enjoy sex and being naked and walking through cemeteries and crying, they are always openly weeping and blogging about it while they do so. They create this persona of themselves as some sort of 50s housewife but independent and full of spitfire at the same time. Yet they are the most co-dependent people I have ever happened across. They thrive on the attention of another female's jealousy, get high off of a man pursuing them and the freak out when he doesn't fawn in the manner that she fantasized about he night before. They talk about what raging wine lushes they are and how they are proud of that and how amazing masturbation is. It is just bragging rights. It is just trying to impress the hoi-polloi with tales by hyping themselves up. It is the reason that blogging could get a bad rap. They coin the term "What are you going to blooog about it now?"

I'm not saying that I am this cold robot without thoughts and feelings, that I don't like to down the booze and pine at times. But when those moments strike, those true deep and dark moments, you will never find them publicly gracing the computer screen of a blog. Like my friend said the other day when I was sharing excerpts from these little ditties, "When the locks start coming off of journals?" I may be old fashioned spouting motherly advice, but damnit, there is a time and place for those things to come out, and you will never see me posting why I hurt inside or a fight that I got into with my husband unless it is in form of a hilarious anecdote.

In the meantime though, you can bet your ass I will keep wasting my precious time sifting through these people baring it all on the internet, because for me it has become like reality t.v. but in blog form.

Nationwide Is On Satan's Side

2009-10-14T07:34:00.001-07:00

So after all the toiling that goes into buying a house, having great helping in finding said awesome house, we are in. The final and end result that gets you into a house would be homeowners insurance. Ah, yes.

Not too hard to do if you have car insurance already right? You just call up an agent and get it hooked on with your car insurance and away you go? Not if your name is Ryan Bigg and you work for Nationwide. Ryan is special. Very helmeted special indeed. He started out by not keeping in touch with my financing officer in the beginning so that we could close on our house early.

Something tells me he took a few days off to stay home and play WoW, so he was a little more than busy and couldn't help us out as quickly as we needed it to be done. I understand, I mean all that Mountain Dew is not going to drink itself.

So we missed an early closing, and moved in a bit later. Ryan was sooo confused when I was mildly upset about this. I guess his mom never gets mad at him when he doesn't do his homework. Well, after much bumbling and fumbling on Ryan's behalf, and after he managed to ask many repetitive questions over and over and over again, he somehow managed to wizard wand me into getting homeowners insurance.

Maybe I wasn't grateful enough. Maybe I should have mailed him a gold star. "Yay Ryan you do job goodly!!" But, alas, I was too excited to be in my new home to be thinking about sending gold stars. But, Ryan, he likes to remind me that he misses me.

So he calls me last week while I am at work. He wants me to call him back to tell him about this visual inspection they have done and that my roof is in poor condition and that they saw a dog on my property that didn't look like a chihuahua! He would like to know if we did an inspection before we purchased the house, and if we can send it to him.

I assume Ryan just misses my voice, silly guy, he knows we did the inspection and sent him the report! It was one of their terms before they could insure us! To appease Ryan though, I call him back and let him know. Oh Ryan, he lost the report. I understand, keeping a customer's information on file isn't really important when you have SO MUCH sitting and staring blankly at your desk wall thinking about nothing to do.

So I have my Realtor send him another one. But Ryan just isn't ready to let me off the hook just yet. He is such a goofy friend, wants to get some more jabs in and says that they saw a dog on my property that wasn't a chihuahua. Well the funny thing, Ryan, I haven't even brought my dog over to live with me yet. So no, we don't have any dogs. Ryan starts goofing with me again, forcing me to list all of the neighborhood dogs that live within the perimeter of me. I think it is ridiculous and I don't like this game, but I play along.

I mean I have been with Nationwide 12 freaking years, what could they possibly do. Well, a week goes by. I come home yesterday on my birthday ready to die from tired. I have a letter from Nationwide informing me they are canceling my homeowners insurance due to my collapsing dilapidated roof, and my mystery ghost dog that wanders the premises and haunts the neighbors.

Okay, Ryan isn't being funny anymore so I call and speak with his supervisor. Weird, they are such pranksters at Nationwide because his supervisor bears the same mental semblance as Ryan. I list off the slew of problems I have had, the supervisor feigns interest and shock, and then says they will talk to the underwriter about us making the minor repairs that really don't need to quite be done on our roof just yet in the spring. They are from Iowa, but they must think we are from Antarctica over here, because they say they cannot wait until spring because our winters are so cold and horrifically cruel. Um...has anyone else been able to compare a Midwest winter to ours around here.

Yeah. Also supervisor informs me that even if they inspector said the roof has a good four years on it, Nationwide will not consider that, it has to be five years. "Awesome" I tell him. So great that they were willing to approve and put through insurance from me, only to pull it out saying they would have never considered in the first place. "How does this make sense?" I ask Ryan's dad...er supervisor. "The only thing that would make this make sense is if the person that insured me was totally incompetent, and that actually does make sense because that is the only thing that has happened that far that has been a consistent pattern." Supervisor fumbles saying that maybe there is a tiny possibility that Ryan missed that when processing the paperwork. Ryan and the underwriter that has to approve that right????

Oh man after hanging up the phone on the supervisor and a few curse words later, I bet Ryan gets at least 5% docked off of his QA score that they give him at work when they make sure employees are doing their jobs right! I bet he has to stay at work an extra ten minutes to talk to his boss about that too!
But just in case not, I decided to shoot Ryan a little email to thank him for all his help. Here you go!

Oh here is his email address too: biggr@nationwide.com

Ryan,

Just a quick note to thank you. For if they were to give out awards for incompetence in employees and for their lack of caring about other human beings, and for being completely incapable of doing their job in a studious manner, you would be the shining beacon of light that encompasses all of the above. For starters, you never stayed in contact with my financing person so that we could close on my house in an orderly and quick fashion, you managed to lose my inspection report twice, and to top it off you went above and beyond my expectations by insuring me with homeowners insurance when it was brought to my attention yesterday that Nationwide will not even consider insuring anyone with a roof that has four years left on it.

I do appreciate the phone call that you did not make to me to let me be aware of this as well. That was great. You must have known it was my birthday yesterday, because oh my God, that was exactly what I wanted for my 30th birthday. It was so good to come home after a long day of work, get ready for school after approximately five hours of sleep, and then to find an insurance cancellation notice in my mailbox. You must have read my mind on things that I wanted for my birthday. Scrambling to get insured again, not doing schoolwork, and missing dinner, that was definitely on the list. You are too kind. Really, thank you for keeping it a surprise, and not calling me up to inform me that this was coming, I don't know how you managed to keep that one under your hat.

Apparently now every dog, child, piece of trash that happens to wander in my yard now becomes my property as well. That is good to know. It seems as though I will not have to pay for things as much as I used to have to since according to Nationwide, once something touches my yard, it belongs to me. If I need a new car? I will be sure to push one onto my lawn, according to Nationwide law, it's mine! New dog? Let one wander onto my property, Nationwide says it's mine!

I would also like to give my most deepest and heartfelt thanks to the fact that even though I have been with this company for 12 years, you guys seemingly don't seem to bat an eye in considering helping out your customers when it comes to situations such as these. But then again, why would a big company care about someone who has measly old car insurance with them. I am sure you don't care either, you care about punching in and going home at night. Not actually how the fact that you don't know how to read an inspection report and compare it with your actual company policy when insuring someone can have an effect on them.

But in the end, Ryan, you have taught me one thing. Oh wait, you have taught me nothing. This situation is banal and predictable. Big company screws little people, employee doesn't care.

After all you have not done for me, I feel like I really should do something in return though. At the advice of my attorney, I will be filing a complaint on Nationwide for the fact that you insured me and then yanked it out from under us under the premise that your supervisor told me that maybe you just managed to miss the little part where it says that Nationwide does not insure people with four years left on their roof. I figure since you guys have done so little, it was the least I could do for you.

Have a great day Ryan, you are the anti-best.

Dominique

House of Pain

2009-07-31T19:08:00.000-07:00

One day I was in my apartment flipping through the latest issue of Better Homes & Gardens when it occurred to me that did not have a home nor did I have a garden. I had a steaming hot bedroom in the summer time no matter how high the air conditioning was on, and I had a small patch of grass outside that contained all my stray cigarette butts. This then moved me over to the train of thought that perhaps it was time to put on my grown up pants and purchase a house. Now I know this is not an easy process, and when I attempt to do something I take hard and times it by three because generally there is that the Dominique factor that plays into everything that God has put into place in order to drive me stark raving mad.

The best part in mission destroy my self-esteem is the initial part. Finding out how shitty your credit is, trying to explain to everyone that you are a good person now, and then having to talk to debtors that are probably the most vile of human beings on the planet in order to negotiate out a deal to make all good with the credit history dictators. Once that is all over and done with, you still have shitty credit, and you go through the re-talking everyone that you are good enough to own a house process and you promise that you do enjoy having a place to live and would do anything to get said place.

I remember at one point, I was pretty frustrated during this process and I lamented to my dad “You know how come all the people that are on COPS have houses? How the hell did they get a house, I see the cops busting into them all the time, wading through their possessions and catching them in the act of hitting their wife, crack pipe on the floor, yet it is taking me months to get approved?” Well, finally, an approval went through.

Now that above part is starting to sound like the easy part. I don't know if I am a weird shit magnet or what, but I can tell you if my life is a Choose Your Own Adventure book, I want to smack the 12 year old on the head that is reading it and to pick a new one for me!

Why do people put houses up on the market? To sell them correct? then why have I walked into countless amounts of dog piss smelling filthy houses that haven't been cleaned since they were built? My favorite is when the tenant that is renting is not notified that we are coming too. The first time this happened, a very hungover, very unhappy college kid answered the door and told us his roomates were sleeping so we couldn't look in some of the rooms. He then proceeded outside to scream at his landlord. That was comfortable! The second time, some guy came wandering out in his underwear looking sleepy and confused, but at least he was that kind of hungover that is sweet and told us to look everywhere. Still weird creeping around that though, I feel like a burgler! The third time, the poor people didn't speak English and we had them so confused. They had a cute dog I wanted to steal. One house I went into, the guy was cooking breakfast for himself and all 12 of his kids. I was tempted to ask if I could have some.

The next factor in fun is the craaaazy neighbor. Okay, I am kind of grateful about one thing on the crazy neighbor. They are pretty much the same. Hunched over like Golem on the back porch, smoking a cigarette, always having that twitchy look to them like they can't go five minutes without being in anybody's business. This one was no exception. He dove right into how he was keeping his stuff in the vacant house's garage because someone was trying to break into his car and he watches over the property. He then ended it up with "We sure throw a lot of parties around here, they can get out of control so I hope you don't mind." That had me walking out on a house that I was on the fence on to 1000% no way in hell. See why the crazy neighbor always being out back is a good thing? What if he were hiding and then I moved into that. I can't hack anymore crazy neighbors, not after the last batch I went through.

One place we found was nice, but I just couldn't get a feel for the neighborhood, and of course, go figure, the one people next to us had the trashed out house right? That and an unleashed pitbull that was not fenced wandering around. I am terrified of dogs. On second visit to the house it ran up to me to see if it could give me a heart attack and then happily started to lick my toes. I did that nervous giggle, I was happy it was nice, but I could picture it envisioning my toes as hotdogs. I have a chihuahua too, and I don't want him to be another animal's Dorito, so I had to bail on that house. The next one, I was all about, except for the fact that I have no depth perception whatsoever and had to have two people tell me that it was severely crooked. I totally thought you could just easily jack a house up too, I am such an optimist for the wrong things, but it turns out it is a risky procedure.

So at this point, I am about 6 months into looking, and I am beginning to wonder if there is something wrong with me, if there is nothing good on the market, if I need to learn the ways of Home Depot so I can turn partial poo into diamonds, or if, well God hates me. I am probably going to have to go with the God hates me part at this point, sweat away the pounds in my upstairs apartment room, and remember that I am actually agnostic so I will have to change that to the maybe someone might hate me if they exist above me. Until then, I have 12 more houses I am scheduled to look at soon and adventures ahoy hoy!

Wearing A Nicotine Patch Sippin' On Expensive Beer

2009-07-31T19:04:00.000-07:00

I totally got to see Snoop at Blazed & Confused.
It was totally awesome.
Totally read about it here.
Totally is the only word I know about now.

I still don't know how to make the link clickable so get some exercise by copying and pasting in your browser for golly's sakes!

http://www.slugmag.com/article.php?id=1791

Michael Dean Damron

2009-07-13T11:53:00.000-07:00

First review with Slug!

Read it and weep with joy.

http://www.slugmag.com/article.php?id=1785

Work It On OUt

2009-06-16T19:45:00.001-07:00

I had this brilliant idea that wearing exercise gear all day instead of getting dressed would make me motivated to actually exercise. Now I just look like I should be frequenting Wal-Mart. I am pretty sure my clothing is going to get in a fight. There is something about brands that label their clothing with animals that appeals to me. So if the fox on my jacket and the puma on my shorts can’t work things out that’s their problem. This is some sort of sick addiction that happens once you stop getting dressed, as though there is nothing quite like living in a pair of sweatpants and going out to get the mail at 4:30 p.m. only to give off the illusion that I had just woken up even though I have been working all day.

I keep going to the grocery store all slob like too, never learning my lesson that every time I go there, I run into at least fifty people I know. I just want to explain to everyone that I clean up pretty well, but I don’t want to call attention to the fact that yes, I look like shit. Plus if you dressed up to go to the grocery store? Come on now, I have seen the goth girl that goes there in her stilettos, white painted face, purple and black hairsprayed helmet head put into place perfectly. All to get a snack? No thanks.
The fact of the matter is, I did start getting into the whole exercise thing again this year, but my body is not into it. I did turn into a little sweaty pig who is left a panting pile of jelly after just 30 mere minutes of intense workout, but then my stomach starts to growl and before I know it, I have downed a bag of something or another. I even got a gym membership. I used it a few times. But I am hopelessly addicted to Netflix Instant watch workouts and On Demand workouts on cable.

I tried a few embarrassing ones. Sometimes I am just strapped for time on lunch and in a panic I hit the first thing I come across like Flirty Girl Fitness. Oh. My. God. I am so glad I don’t have a stalker. If they peered into my window while I did that workout, they would have posted a note to my door that said something like “I’m sorry, I used to find you very enigmatic until I saw you putting your fingers into your imaginary belt buckles and whipping your hair around in an attempt to burn calories. You just made me feel sane, and I am going to retreat back to my life and never stalk again.” I even tried the Playboy Bunny workouts. No, not sleep with Hugh Hefner and milk him for all he is worth while pretending to be attracted to a mummy for a few years, though I am sure the effort of that alone would make any girl thin. I would have to say topping the charts of stupidity for fitness On Demand was the Carmen Electra workout which required YOU TO BE ON YOUR BED WHILE YOU DID IT. I made it two minutes into it and disgracefully walked to my sink in an attempt to drown myself in shame.

I think since we live in a world saturated with every possible element of any way to make money, that I have forgotten my friend good ol’ running. Sure I may flop my hands around all stupid like while I am doing it and shriek like a wounded animal, but at least it looks tougher than the how to get the body of a slut workouts that are all over the place nowadays. So maybe it is just time for good ol’ back to basics training. Conor and I had the idea to chug beer while running, or to eat a full bag of Doritos right before a workout, that way we would never want to eat or drink these things again. I think that is going to be my workout video that I market. It will be called Vomitcise.

Oops I Did It For The First Time

2009-04-14T22:56:00.001-07:00

I was staring longing at my calendar, April 14th only a day away. See some sick, secret part of me wanted to see Britney Spears in concert, but I knew I hadn't the funds to see this. At this exact moment I received a phone call from the illustrious Peter, informing me that he had just scored four Britney tickets and they were mine all mine! And my friends too of course. I squealed with joy. I had been following my Britney concert moments starting with her exclaiming "My pussy is hanging out!" on stage and also her getting booed away in Canada. She claims she smelled marijuana smoke and so it was not safe for her and her dancers to be out there. I don't know what she would do if she smelled coke or Valium but ok!

I have heard a lot off of her new album "Circus" and just barely figured out why parents were horrified when they heard their children walking around singing "If U Seek Amy" I actually felt like an ignorant parent actually when my oh....OH! Kicked in. We surprised our sweet little Ashlee telling her that we had a present for her and when Trax dropped us off at the Energy Solutions Arena, her realization kicked in as to where we were going. Within five seconds of being there I was hit up for a cigarette by a homeless man and a girl with glitter eyelashes and a bright blue halter top. I was more frightened of the girl. I have an Ed Hardy lighter, it was purchased for me as a JOKE so when people kept asking to borrow it, I felt defensive like I should tell them I don't really like Ed Hardy. That was, until I saw 90% of the population wearing Ed Hardy gear in there. What was this an audition for Rock of Love?

As usual, we were late, that's what we do, so we missed the Pussycat Dolls opening up. I walked in questioning as to whether or not there was at least beer when I saw a man who looked like he did not belong there gripping his beer for dear life. I said "Look he has one!" his eyebrows raised as though he needed it and I said "He needs one!" he nodded his head up and down slowly in agreement without speaking a word. We later realized why he was at the show when he was surrounded by a heard of large breasted blonde girls all hugging onto him.

I got my overpriced reason to pee ($6.75! PLUS A $1 tip) and was scared that I was missing the concert, for people had started stampeding inside as though they were running terrified from a T-Rex on Jurassic Park. Not wanting to miss the action we quickly ran around looking for our seats. It was the usual hyping up they do for about 30 minutes and all. Look I appreciate Britney being able to help out the carnies in this tough economy but we wanted her to come on stage and show us her crazy ass.

Finally, an elaborate introduction started up on a big screen that was housed on a circus looking stage and it was a very eerie Perez Hilton dressed up like a Ringmaster giving the introduction super-pepped up and grainy looking. I just thanked the lord I didn't take mushrooms for this show. Brit came out with "Circus" and I will have to admit, she did get that banging body back (no thanks to a court order I am sure) and the production was ridiculously elaborate. I mean it was full on acrobatics, midgets, flexible and talented dancers and lots of lip-syncing. Ok maybe her pussy wasn't hanging out (she said it not me) but her boob did fall out at one point. If she exclaimed it, the mic man was smart enough to have it off this time.

In between clothing changes people would come out and do some more acts, and seriously at one point, I wanted to cover a poor child's eyes when this film came on that had Britney, masked men, and all of the making of an Eyes Wide Shut film while "Sweet Dreams Are Made of These" bellowed out by Marilyn Manson. Seriously if the 8 year old in front of me ends up being a fetishist serial killer when he gets older, I can pinpoint the exact moment that it happened. She sang her old hits "Look at Me" all the kids got up and sang to "If U Seek Amy" as well. Oh I bet that boy in front of me had lots of questions for him mom when he got home, I mean I saw a lot of orgasmic dancing and even couch humping going on. I thought this only happened in my living room while I was drunk.

I stepped out for a smoke and met a boy asking if I had seen the Youtube footage of all her concerts as many times as he had. He was pumped. He was outside because he knew the order the concert was going to be in and Britney was his favorite. I say this with utmost sincerity, there is nothing more that makes me happy in this world than a man in love with Britney Spears.

Pre-encore Britney sang "Hit Me Baby One More Time" but the innocence of her first hit was definitely lost at this point, weird huh? Not wanting to get caught up in the crowd, we left right as she was singing the highly anticipated "Womanizer" Hey this concert was right up my curiosity alley, but at some point I started getting all Mother Teresa and could not stop thinking of the children there! It was still awesome though.

Vehicular Suicide

2009-03-18T23:50:00.000-07:00

Ah yes, we have all heard of vehicular homicide. But have any of you stopped to think about vehicular suicide?

Many a time I have scoffed and psshawed when people don't own a car. But how do you get out to West Valley to check out the Ross on that side of town when you don't have a car? I am scared of riding a bike too, something about the horror of some SUV'd out mother texting her kid on her cell phone not paying attention to me until I hit the hood of her car freaks me out. Plus, I honestly don't know if I have bike legs anymore, I haven't ridden one in so freaking long. So I do envy you careless lean legged bikers, and your need to not fill up at the gas station.

I should own up to the fact now that I did not have a license until I was 18. My parents wouldn't sign off on it until my grades were good enough, hence me having to be an adult and doing it my damn self. For the record, my grades are plenty fine now. But I don't get pizza dinners and a license out of it, just more debt.

I have never paid off a car save for one time when my friend sold me the Chevy Celebrity for about $200.00. That beauty had a passenger side door that would not open and every time I wanted to start it, I had to pop the hood and jiggle the battery. One day the battery died. I pushed it onto the street and placed a cardboard sign on it that said "For Sale $50" attached with my phone number. A nice Hispanic gentleman showed up with his mechanic and they took it off my hands. I used the money to buy a plane ticket to Iowa. This was pre-911 pre-recession and plane tickets were dirt cheap.

The next vehicle I purchased was brand spanking new. It was a Ford Escort in a pure virgin white color. I actually did not want a white car, but I am a car salesman's wet dream. Put me on the lot and chances are I will walk with what you show me first, I don't have the patience to dilly dally around. My mom even tried to get me go to back for a new color but I stuck to my guns. That car was not but a year old when the whole transmission went out.

I brought it to the dealership and they told me that it would be $500 to get it up and running again and that it could be another $1000 to fully fix it. I said "Really, I have $500 now can we trade this bitch in and I can use that $500 for a down payment?" They happily and greedily obliged. Thus started my transition to not paying off cars due to transmissions.

True to my word, I bought the first car I test drove, a secret that I had been keeping to myself for oh so long. Something I pined for at night before I would lay my head on my pillow. A red Ford Mustang. The second my foot fell onto the gas pedal I didn't care about the cost of the car, I left with it and with a big sports car smile on my face.

The Mustang was great! I drove it everywhere. Then one day it rained. And my car started skidding wildly left and right. And this foreign term was spouted to me: rear wheel drive? What? Hence began the journey of terror that was winter. I reached a period where I couldn't even move the car from small snow banks and every day I would pray to God to not let me die due to the fact that my chic little car had a bounty on my head. Years did go by of me owning this car, loving it in the summer, loathing it any time the ground got wet or the winter.

Then out of nowhere, parked on the street some jerk hit and ran it. Messed up that rear wheel drive. I put hundreds into fixing it, but alas no matter what it would shake like a seizure every time I hit the brakes. I was not giving up on my little dream yet, I kept trying to get it fixed. Until one night, about two weeks later I was backing up and did not realize my friend's door was not shut and tore about 75% of the door off. Ugh.

That car got left for dead at the dealership and I got my Nissan Sentra ie "The series of unfortunate tire events car" It never really gave my too much grief until I got four flats in the span of a year. This car is now starting to become the Damien of cars. I am noticing that every time I have money, my car puts a sensor on that and something happens to it that is super expensive to fix. I had to spend $600 on brake problems last year.

I have been really good at saving my money this year and planned on taking a little trip to reward myself. Until Damien, let's call it Domien, it least that has my name in it, started to squeal like a stuck pig every time I turned it on. I took it to the car fixing guy place (oh by the way this is about a month after the full bumper ripped off due to an unfortunate contact meeting with a mailbox) and the mechanic said the thingamajig was leaking onto the whatseywhosit and that it should not cost too much to repair.

He must have thought I was wearing diamonds on my neck because when he gave me the quote my heart palpitated and I smiled hard. $350. About the amount my vacation I WAS GOING TO TAKE would have cost me. Well, I have no choice now but to fix it. And while I was angering over this on my freeway ride to my mom's house to pick up her mini-van to borrow for the week the inevitable happened. Something that has never happened in all 11 years of driving my cars. A rock hit my windshield and chipped it.

My cars hate me and want to commit suicide.

MC Hammered and Vanilla Iceless

2009-03-05T08:04:00.000-08:00

So the question is, how did I wake up with skinned knees, pounding head, a vague recollection of last night’s incessant laughter still ringing through my ears, a bag of Baconators being ordered from Wendy’s and only photos to remind me what had happened? Well, I will give you the recipe, but I don’t suggest you cook it. It is a night in Orem, built up anticipation followed by complete boredom, a bottle of Jameson, and the right kind of friend with you to participate in aforementioned things. The moon had aligned perfectly with the stars for this kind of night.

See, I was always that kid who was about three years behind on trends. Living in Iowa,that set me back to at least six years behind. I never did get the Girbauds while they were hot of the jeans press or the slap bracelets that threatened to come out of their protective casing and cut your wrist until they were settled into the DI. For that reason, I never went to concerts or watched Beverly Hills 90210 when it first came out. I knew and loved MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice, and true to form, twenty years after the fact I was ready to see them in concert.

The mere idea that they were coming to Orem Utah on February 27th and only Orem Utah alone, no other tours, just this, blew my mind. Since I don’t get out of the house much, I had actually never been to Orem and had to prepare for this trip. This concert in my mind was going to be epically epic. Well before we made that drive Conor and I sat in the liquor store debating which kind of whiskey could be downed wihtout choking hazards.

We then made the one hour drive up there and arrived shortly before 8:00. I feared we were actually going to be late since the bill stated that the show started at 8:00. As I sat in the parking lot I started to fill a Coke bottle with Jameson. Then Conor and I were faced with the task of how we were to fill the flask. See they have these tiny holes and no funnel! Easy, the funnel was made out of the directions to get there.

We finished our Coke and exited the vehicle. I was greeted by a massive sea of people standing in a massive sea of lines all excited to get inside. Some were dressed up straight out of the 80’s, hardcore fans had steps shaved in their heads, and others appeared to be the curious onlookers of the night.

Just a few sips of liquid courage later, you know to get me warmed up while I waited in the cold, and I was ready to go inside and nail this concert. Well, the line proved to be longer and colder than anticipated. I sent Conor back to the car to retrieve the other Coke bottle. We were destined to smell like hobos for the night. He came back and warned me this was a strong batch, he also called out my manliness so I had to drink right along with him as he had left about 1/100 Coke and the rest whiskey in this one.

So a few sips became a few gulp, guzzles, pounds.

We finally found our way inside and explored the many tunnels of the McKay Events center. Hoards of people were gathered around waiting for the show to start, and it was set up much like a Junior High pep rally with dancers on stage and our favorite hits from back in the day blasting through the speakers.

We found the press room where we were excited to meet our men of the 80's, and I decided to pose by the beautiful backrop that was glistening with washed up success reunited for just one night

I wandered upstairs and was beckoned by some men with a Playstation video game console up and running. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly, I haven’t played video games since the first Nintendo came out.” They convinced me to do so though and I picked your typical character for a girl, Wonderwoman, and proceeded to kick my video game loving friend’s ass. I was just that perfect amount of buzzed, you know the kind where you can bowl a great score? Oh I got a free t-shirt out of the deal, and that to me was as good as gold. I danced around a lot and said things like "SUCK IT!"

So then it sounded like something big was about to happen since it was about 9:30 and we ran downstairs to see if our Hammer or Ice was coming out. After a few minutes of just more amping up the crowd happened, and more opening acts, and more breakdancers, we confirmed it was not happening yet and went wandering (drinking) some more. This is where you are about to have that second game of bowling and you suck because you drank a lot more because that is supposed to make you double awesome.

In the process of going outside to have a cigarette, I put my coveted shirt in the door to keep it open. Security snaked up behind me and snatched it out the door and ran off with it! Luckily for cell phones Conor came and got me back in and we told my tearful story to the Playstation men who happily supplied me with another t-shirt. 10:30 rolls around. We have been here for hours, and no sign of the main acts. More people dancing around, Vanilla Ice’s dancers went up to Conor and asked when he was going to go on. He lied and said next. I think it was more wishful thinking than lying. Even Vanilla’s dancers didn’t know when the actual show was starting!

Yet more wandering commenced which led us into the media room. Alone. With a copy machine. Bored. Things that shouldn’t get copied got copied. There is still a photo copy of my boobs sitting in Conor's car. I kept giggling and saying the 3-year-old phrase "Don't look don't look!!"

Finally, all the excitement, buildup, happiness about this whole event started to wane down. I had about as much fun as one can have in a media room and Conor even had to stop me from tearing down the tapestry to take home (with a lighter) and instead we decided on a chain that weighed about 150 pounds. I was also in dire need of water. This much need.

We had been in Orem for hours upon hours, we were out of things to do, and quite honestly I am surprised the gigantic crowd outside wasn’t rioting. We remained patient and loyal for as long as we could, and even adult beverages make me more patient that Mother Theresa. So the executive decision was made after over four hours of waiting for the hype to stop and the actual event to happen.

Sometimes awesome things are better kept a mystery, and the buildup in your head is far better than the actual event that unfolds before you. This decision was made as we walked out those doors and missed our epically epic event. Though somehow, it still turned out to be one of the best concerts I had even been to this year.

Afterwards some Iranian men bought me some much not needed shots which pretty much put me over the edge. I think I convinced myself that I was a hobbit and that this endearing fella was Gandolf the Gray because I wanted my picture with him and was dumbfounded that I was so short in comparison with his tallness. I don't remember this photo being taken.

Along the way BACONATORS! was screamed. Conor thought it was a good idea too. I don't remember that either. Nor do I remember falling flat on the floor the second me feet walked inside, but there is proof in photos of course.

A Date With The Ups

2009-03-04T19:08:00.000-08:00

I have no particular subject to talk about so this will just be a randomized list of successes, failures, and okay, nothing really in particular.

1. I am taking three classes this semester and they suck so much harder than taking two classes. Right now as I am writing this, all I can think about is how much homework I have to do and how I should be doing that and not this. I wish I were graduated now but I still have a good year or so to go but it will be worth it if I can just get my ass in gear. Currently: Ass not in gear.

2. I don't know what happened but over the last few months I have abandoned all hope ye bras who try to enter my shirt. It started out innocently enough, I would not wear bras in the summer because I figured that nobody would notice anyway due to my lack of boobage, but then it continued on from there. They feel like tight boa constrictors trying to suffocate my boobs to death. Out of nowhere I will be at the bar and realize that whoops I forgot to add some padding and underwire to my chestal region. I keep trying to tell myself I am not a hippie and that this better be socially acceptable. We'll see.

3. I went to MC Hammered and Vanilla Iceless (thanks Andrea) last weekend and I think that I am scared of whiskey. It is a bully that threatens to make me look stupid in front of others and do things that I don't remember. There will be a story and you have seen the pictures.

4. Out of nowhere, tired, sick and in pain, I decided to rearrange my room today. I threw my back out (how!??!?!?) and almost started crying when my dvd rack melted and I was sitting atop a pile of dvds, clothing and dresser drawers. This now results in me needing to purchase multiple items at Ikea this weekend. Something tells me that my subconscious forced me to rearrange my room so said events would happen so that I could buy new shit. I love buying new shit.

5. I am going to tour the Draper Temple with my mom on Friday. So if you don't see me after Friday it is because I was struck by lightning.

Gettin' A Chubby

2009-02-24T22:00:00.000-08:00

Yes, it is that time of the year where I start complaining about my expanding waistline. At least I have a different pitch each time I do it right? I make excuses like it is winter and I am one of those bears that is not allowed to hibernate. So I keep stocking up on food to hope it lasts me, but I don’t really fall asleep. I had some knee issues, so I was told to stay off of it. Well, goodbye cardio.

Let’s just get this part out of the way. God hates me in the fact that I cannot maintain a small figure unless I do intense cardio and diet. I can’t just do one or the other or the pounds just melt onto me. And they go into the most ridiculous places! I for one would not mind if I got huge knockers out of the deal. But those stay tiny, my gut expands, my hips join in the parade and my already round butt gets rounder. What do my legs do? Oh they do the most attractive thing possible, they stay skinny. So here I am with beer gut and bird legs.

For all you natural skinny people out there? I don’t hate you. I don’t, as a matter of fact while you wolf down a Big Mac with me and the most you have to do is go home and take a nap to burn off those calories while I madly make a dash for the treadmill, I envy you. I envy the living hell out of you. I will never say “You’re tooooo skinnnny!” Or “I hate that you can eat so much and stay that way!” I will sit there and look at you with green green skin.

So when I said farewell to cardio I convinced myself that I could get my ohm on along with some pilates and still maintain a hot figure. I was convinced at first. It was a slow weight loss, but I think for a minute I started to just appreciate the relaxation of it and not really worry about what my body looked like. It literally worked. I was gut struttin’ around thinking that if I was doing these things I could manage my self-esteem in the process. It only worked for a minute though as I caught a flash of belly and butt poking out in all directions.

My biggest issue is the love of food. I love all food. I love candy, burger, the guacamole chips and salsa I know I should not be eating at 11:00 at night, ice cream, french fries, soda, nachos and cookies. I know I could enjoy these things in moderation and I have done it before in my life, but something is just not clicking right now. I want them all and I want them all in my face right now. I do great during the day with food and night hits and I want so bad it’s driving me mad.

I am tweaking a few rules this year though. No fat pants. I threw them all out, and I refuse to buy another pair, I just need to lose a few pounds and then I can fit back in the other pairs I own. Hm, that could be why I have been living in my sweats for the past two days. That or I am just supremely lazy.
Summer is coming up soon though and I will fall back into my health cycle where I just want to run around everywhere I can and eat fruit and more fruit, and go to the Farmers Market and lecture you about all the naughty things you are putting in your mouth.

Until then, feel free to squeeze my chipmunk cheeks when you see me, you may find some nuts hiding in there.

But There Aren't!

2009-02-23T09:04:00.000-08:00

I keep getting this quote thrown in my direction:

"Don’t say you don’t have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michaelanglo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein."
~H. Jackson Brown

But the pessimistic jerky side of me kicks in when I read it. I try to picture Albert Einstein having a couple of jobs, doing laundry, putting aside time to exercise, eating correctly, driving around to run errands, sitting down paying his bills, going to school full-time, maintaining a clean house, doing loads of homework, grocery shopping, and somehow it just doesn't fit into my little time puzzle sometimes.

Hasn't technology given us a bit more responsibility? I am sure that because of all of the above people we can thank them for advancing technology and putting us where we are today, so that is one thing, but in turn that has made us busier people who are starting to lose more hours in our days. Sure Mother Teresa didn't have to slam down Red Bulls in order to scurry around and finish her tasks, but I am just saying when you are just so obviously focused on one thing and one task and don't have million distractions keeping you from being brilliant, you know like putting gas in your car, you do have more time to sit around and be a genius.

For those of you who are able to keep busier than myself and still be able to go above and beyond I give you major props. I know there are people out there that have a much more hectic schedule to myself and I commend your energy, but for me, I think I could handle some time off so I can figure out the mathmatical formula to inserting about two extra hours into a day.

TGIT'R Dun

2009-02-19T18:29:00.001-08:00

Ok TGIT is because Thursday is literally my Friday. I hate saying that because it sounds so officey but I love saying it because it means I don't have to work on Friday, R Dun, had to do with a special day at the office, as when I go in there about once every few months for reasons unknown Conor and I try to come up with as many dragon jokes as possible and they all contain the world lair in them.

What is a Redneck Dragon's Favorite TV Show?
A: Lairy The Cable Guy

What is a dragon's favorite kind of horror flick to watch?
A: Lairy Movie 1,2 & 3.

Where do female dragons gather once a year in flannel?
A: Lilith Lair

What did the female dragon say when she showed up to work with a black eye?
A: She fell down the lairs.

And this list literally goes on enough to fill up a book.

I literally have no idea who else could thing this is as funny as we do save some others that probably know what it is like being in an office all day staring at a huge cartoon dragon on the wall, which I do twice a month.

Today was no exception of specialness. I normally get no work done, desk moves were happening meaning that I had tons of pointless conversation and noise going on behind me, and I always happen to catch a very harrowing tale of some sort, usually by the smoke shack outside.

As I went out for my cigarette about four girls were standing there discussing something to do with a landlord. I missed the beginning of the story but one of them said that it was utter bullshit.

The one that had the landlord said "I know! I can't move again though, I just uprooted my son and I can't do this again! What was I supposed to do? I was just nervous so I just brushed it off and laughed!"

Girl 2: "What you should have done is said "Listen motherfucker you fucking do that fucking shit again and I will rip your fucking dick off with my bare hands you piece of shit"

Yowza, my ears.

Girl 3: "You should file a police report"

Harrassed Girl: "I can't just go file a police report, I have filed three in the past three months what if they think I am some crazy girl filing police reports left and right and they don't believe me? Besides, I am afraid if I report him he will kill me so I won't talk!"

Woman: "While most people aren't serial killers in this situation you may want to watch out just in case.

Girl 3: "You know statistics show that most rapists don't even use a weapon though! Their intent is not to harm you"

Yes she literally said that. I suppose if you are being raped a penis is not a weapon, but I digress.

As Harassed Girl was telling her story and obviously very distressed, she did do one thing that had me at......

"Oh my God cute hair!" she said to me and smiled.

And then they went back to their conversation.

Billy May I

2009-02-16T22:16:00.000-08:00

Today while I was being so productive at work that I could barely think, my Billy Mays replacement Vince came on television pimping out his Shamwow, you know the uber absorbent towel that could clean up all that blood from stabbing someone repeatedly. You can wash and reuse too! This man is totally ridiculous and he even wears a headset while doing a commercial on televison. Bets have been that it is either totally a prop or he really wears it all day and takes Shamwow orders even while showering.

This is Vince, you really need to see this to get the full picture:

I haven't heard from Billy Mays in a while and I wonder what he has been up to. I miss him yelling at me from the television set, and I'll be damned if I didn't buy Kaboom after he advertised it. I am a chronic infomercial junkie by the way. I get this special high watching all of these wonderous products promising to make my infinitely difficult life much more simple. Ten minute workouts, cleaning products, and makeup top the list of ones that I will stare at the television watching, waiting, biting my nails in anticipation.

I love how they take their sweet time telling me all of the things that these items will do, watching the excited faces on people who are not paid actors endorse it, but that is not the part that baits me the most. It is the BUT WAIT.....part that kills me. What am I waiting for is what? Possibly them to knock off a payment? A free penlight? A double order if I purchase now? It gets me all tingly and excited to see what they are going to do for me.

This led to another one of my very normal Skype conversations that I have daily with Conor. I started to ponder whether or not these infomercial guys fight for parts in the infomercial the way that actual actors fight for a role.

I picture them sitting in a dirty waiting room, reading the script, nervously sizing up the competition. Calling their infomercial agent to tell them they didn't get the part because they totally flubbed their lines. Practicing at home on their own products that they have lying around, turning to the cat to ask if it sounded ok.

Here is the most proof I can find that there is that competition out there.

Who writes the scripts for infomercials too? Can I aspire to do that one day? Could I be an excited extra on one? Why don't I know anything about this unchartered television territory?

Whenever I start to miss Billy though, I watch the below video and it makes me wish that he would make an Billy Mays alarm clock to soothe me awake each morning

Mo' Music

2009-02-11T15:08:00.000-08:00

Go check out all of our little besty blurbs that we worked hard on for Musicstravaganza that is going on right now! DO IT.

http://cityweekly.net/index.cfm?do=article.details&id=663A6575-14D1-1357-9CD16FBBD68E5BAD&page=3

To Not Pinch & To Grow An Inch

2009-02-09T18:53:00.000-08:00

It is amazing when you go to the doctor what useful information you can take home with you for the mere price of a $15.00 co-pay. That is less than a psychic, and the information they give you is almost as reliable.

I almost with I could go to my doctor once a week, what with my hypochondria and all, and have them give me all sorts of new information about my body.

For instance, in the throes of a major head/jawache, I started to rub my jaw. While rummaging around down there, I found that one side felt funnier than the other. As in one side had a lumpity bump and the other did not.

Immediately and most logically it was either a blood clot that was going to shoot straight into my brain, or a tumor that would leave me with only one top of my jaw left. Once I managed to calm myself down, I figured my mother would be my further Valium in life, so I called her and casually mentioned it in passing like "Oh hey, I woke up today like I do every day."

She instead reignited the paranoia and told me that I must go to the doctor right away. I must have disobeyed her too much in my youth, because now I do every single thing my mom tells me to do without question. I must inherently be making up for all that rebellion by turning into a yes ma'am kind of girl.

Once I went in for my appointment, I was dreading getting on that scale. Winter has taken its cold dreary hold on me and fast food has been the way to go. I was pretty much convinced that the scale was going to tip over once I stepped on it, but the nurse rattled off a tolerable weight that only put me 4 lbs above what I was in the summer time. Sure it all when to my ass, hips, and new double chin, but I will take a four pound gain over a ten pound one.

She then went to measure my height and I'll be damned if I didn't think I was five feet four inches for about 13 years now. I am actually five feet five inches! It's like I have some new taller perspective to look forward to now. I shall now look down upon all of you five foot four inchers and rule the kingdom of giants from here on out!

Other than that, the doctor said something about swollen lymph node or cyst just chilling on my jaw and if it gets any bigger to come back. I figure I will show him when I come back and some sort of hair and teeth tumor has attached itself to the side of my face and I am faced with the challenge of coming up with a name for my new friend.

Provocative

2009-02-08T20:44:00.000-08:00

I went to Provo on an adventure with Andrea. We came back wet, buzzed, and feeling old. In the process we did hear some awesome music!

Go read what we did and what everyone else has been doing during what I consider my Christmas, all my favorite bands packed into all the bars over the course of two nights, The City Weekly Music Awards!

http://cityweeklymusic.blogspot.com/?nav=CWMA%20BLOG

Take Two

2009-02-08T20:41:00.000-08:00

Since the Myspace seems to be going down the toilet, I am going to start slowly shifting my pickled thoughts over to this site.

I am going to make a very concentrated effort to better figure out this menacing thing, as in the past I ended up confused, and, well, I don't like feeling confused. So here goes.....