In the long shot case that the Mayans aren't totally full of shit, I plan to spend the next 35-45 hours naked, drunk and aroused as much as possible. I know what you're thinking, "This sounds like a regular Thursday to Friday activity for her." but not necessarily. What I'm thinking is "how am I going to get through that 8:30am job interview bombed?". But that's neither here nor there.
Also, I have a black tie party tomorrow night and my bf has so nicely agreed to pretend it's New Year's Eve at midnight while doing a little private countdown and kiss just in case that's when it's supposed to all go down. If not, I'm slapping his face and stomping on his foot to somehow make him grateful to be alive. He'll laugh or get really pissed, but either way, I survived the Mayan mass death prediction, so I'm basically invincible and don't care.
In other relevant news: I'll be playing every version of this on repeat. Loudly.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VzsMB7rgisE
Dave has the right idea here. Because as my bf so eloquently put it with a straight face "That's how I'd like to die. I'd like to come and go. Get it?" Yes....I get it. And I like where you're going with that.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
It's The Little Things!
Here's a list of things I want for Christmas. Or any old time.
1. An envelope of cash. $600 or more. Anything less is unacceptable.
2. To be able to eat all the Edward's key lime pie I can fit in my gullet without getting a huge ass.
3. A full-time writing job that pays like a full-time drug dealing job.
4. For my boyfriend to start wearing a seat belt without me having to tell him. Even when we're going "just around the block" (which isn't true if we're on the freeway)
5. Summer to return. Whenever I choose.
6. Gainful employment. That doesn't make me want to scratch my eyes out.
7. For people to stop using senseless tragedies as a reason to post political drivel on facebook. That's what the elections were for.
8. All the blue cheese and apricots in the world.
9. One of my neighbors to get chickens and put me in charge of egg gathering because I'm obsessed with that chore at the Prairie.
10. A snow cone maker.
11. Shared custody of Winnie.
12. To pick one night a month where my nails get done, my body gets waxed, and my tattoo gets removed while I sleep. (Once the tattoo is gone, replace that with spray tanning)
13. Toned armpits.
14. Sex and the City to start over somehow. No, not The Carrie Diaries.
15. A close friendship with Michelle Obama. Like, where we watch Workaholics and eat Vito's together!
Only 7 more days if you want to get all these under my tree! If you get me all 15, Margarita cones for everyone!!!
1. An envelope of cash. $600 or more. Anything less is unacceptable.
2. To be able to eat all the Edward's key lime pie I can fit in my gullet without getting a huge ass.
3. A full-time writing job that pays like a full-time drug dealing job.
4. For my boyfriend to start wearing a seat belt without me having to tell him. Even when we're going "just around the block" (which isn't true if we're on the freeway)
5. Summer to return. Whenever I choose.
6. Gainful employment. That doesn't make me want to scratch my eyes out.
7. For people to stop using senseless tragedies as a reason to post political drivel on facebook. That's what the elections were for.
8. All the blue cheese and apricots in the world.
9. One of my neighbors to get chickens and put me in charge of egg gathering because I'm obsessed with that chore at the Prairie.
10. A snow cone maker.
11. Shared custody of Winnie.
12. To pick one night a month where my nails get done, my body gets waxed, and my tattoo gets removed while I sleep. (Once the tattoo is gone, replace that with spray tanning)
13. Toned armpits.
14. Sex and the City to start over somehow. No, not The Carrie Diaries.
15. A close friendship with Michelle Obama. Like, where we watch Workaholics and eat Vito's together!
Only 7 more days if you want to get all these under my tree! If you get me all 15, Margarita cones for everyone!!!
Saturday, December 8, 2012
I See London, I See Fance
So, yesterday. I get up and I'm fretting about running errands and making it to my lunch date and then up to see the boy in time and if I really need an oil change and what to pack and if I'm going to be getting a call about a job and when my new debit card will show up and what to eat and not be bloated and if Katie will get picked up from school on time all sorts of other bullshit when I stop to get gas.
I'm done pumping and I'm screwing on my gas cap when something moves and catches the corner of my. It's a man going into the Speedway to pay. His body is just half of a torso, arms and his head and he's on a sort of skateboard. As I'm walking to the door he just entered, thoughts start to flood my head like "How is he living? Where are his vital organs, how do they all have room in that space? Does he still need to eat?" and other logistics based nonsense. When I open the door and go in to pay, he's having a discussion with the girl at the counter about how gas prices shot up 20 cents. And instantly, there were no more science-based questions, I just wanted to discuss that too because what the fuck, gas prices, why did you go up? I found it interesting that in one second, my brain went from pity and curiosity over the most obvious subject at hand to empathy and frustration over a shared subject. (Also, I told him gas was always cheapest in Maumee and he said its too inconvenient to drive over the bridge to save 6 cents and I agreed, but that's neither here nor there)
We talked for a second about the area and where he always sees gas prices and on what days and then he headed on out to his big black truck to pump his 60 bucks of diesel. I paid as well and headed back to my car. When I drove away, I waved at him and I was instantly back to thinking about his situation again.
First of all, it gives you a great big ass perspective check on the shit you worry about daily. Even unemployment and searching for the right job seems insignificant compared to having no body below your rib cage. I also wondered if every day he gets up and worries about the looks he'll get or the questions he'll be asked. How inconvenient it is when it rains or snows. But then I started to think to myself "That guy does not seem like the kind of person who goes around each day pissed about what he doesn't have, that's for damn sure". I really started to consider all the things he gets to know with his hands that the rest of us rarely do if at all.
What's it like to touch pavement on a sunny day and feel that warmth straight out of your air conditioning. What spring grass feels like in your hands in the morning with dew still on it. The crunchiness of gravel. The cool smooth of ceramic tile. The temperature of a summer mud puddle. The crumple of fall leaves when they get to that papery stage on the ground. The seem on a curb where the concrete is molded together. The graininess of different threads of carpeting. The powdery, fluffy, wonderful feeling of light snow on top of biting cold black ice.
I no longer wanted to meet him again to ask him where his stomach is located. I wanted to inquire about all of those things. Things that I now want to randomly touch when I get the chance because my curiosity is peaked in an envious way rather than a pity party or logical way.
And maybe how often he sneaks a peek up skirts or smirks about men who refuse to take the time to match their socks, but then again, that's neither here nor there. :)
I'm done pumping and I'm screwing on my gas cap when something moves and catches the corner of my. It's a man going into the Speedway to pay. His body is just half of a torso, arms and his head and he's on a sort of skateboard. As I'm walking to the door he just entered, thoughts start to flood my head like "How is he living? Where are his vital organs, how do they all have room in that space? Does he still need to eat?" and other logistics based nonsense. When I open the door and go in to pay, he's having a discussion with the girl at the counter about how gas prices shot up 20 cents. And instantly, there were no more science-based questions, I just wanted to discuss that too because what the fuck, gas prices, why did you go up? I found it interesting that in one second, my brain went from pity and curiosity over the most obvious subject at hand to empathy and frustration over a shared subject. (Also, I told him gas was always cheapest in Maumee and he said its too inconvenient to drive over the bridge to save 6 cents and I agreed, but that's neither here nor there)
We talked for a second about the area and where he always sees gas prices and on what days and then he headed on out to his big black truck to pump his 60 bucks of diesel. I paid as well and headed back to my car. When I drove away, I waved at him and I was instantly back to thinking about his situation again.
First of all, it gives you a great big ass perspective check on the shit you worry about daily. Even unemployment and searching for the right job seems insignificant compared to having no body below your rib cage. I also wondered if every day he gets up and worries about the looks he'll get or the questions he'll be asked. How inconvenient it is when it rains or snows. But then I started to think to myself "That guy does not seem like the kind of person who goes around each day pissed about what he doesn't have, that's for damn sure". I really started to consider all the things he gets to know with his hands that the rest of us rarely do if at all.
What's it like to touch pavement on a sunny day and feel that warmth straight out of your air conditioning. What spring grass feels like in your hands in the morning with dew still on it. The crunchiness of gravel. The cool smooth of ceramic tile. The temperature of a summer mud puddle. The crumple of fall leaves when they get to that papery stage on the ground. The seem on a curb where the concrete is molded together. The graininess of different threads of carpeting. The powdery, fluffy, wonderful feeling of light snow on top of biting cold black ice.
I no longer wanted to meet him again to ask him where his stomach is located. I wanted to inquire about all of those things. Things that I now want to randomly touch when I get the chance because my curiosity is peaked in an envious way rather than a pity party or logical way.
And maybe how often he sneaks a peek up skirts or smirks about men who refuse to take the time to match their socks, but then again, that's neither here nor there. :)
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Nobody Likes An Over-Sugared Infant
It's been a real week!
I don't even make time for this blog and I just started a new one for the magazine. It's time to get real and begin making my love of writing and all things creative and my love of gainful employment start sleeping in the same bed together. Right now, they have a sort of bunk bed situation going on and that's just not good enough. I'm thinking of sticking them in a nice queen size... maybe I'll toss them a few beers first... light a sultry-scented candle. Before you know it, their feet will touch, then perhaps their hands. Someone dares the other to spoon them and that's all she wrote! Well, figuratively. Literally, it should be the beginning of some writing, but now we're just splitting hairs.
One day, I hope they make a sexy decision, get it on, and the baby they produce is a paycheck for doing something I really enjoy and feel good about at the same time. But not too good, I'd like there to be an element of naughtiness. Like I'm slowly, nonchalantly walking away with a baby's candy or something, you know?
That baby has already had too much sugar anyway. Plus, I haven't had lunch.
I don't even make time for this blog and I just started a new one for the magazine. It's time to get real and begin making my love of writing and all things creative and my love of gainful employment start sleeping in the same bed together. Right now, they have a sort of bunk bed situation going on and that's just not good enough. I'm thinking of sticking them in a nice queen size... maybe I'll toss them a few beers first... light a sultry-scented candle. Before you know it, their feet will touch, then perhaps their hands. Someone dares the other to spoon them and that's all she wrote! Well, figuratively. Literally, it should be the beginning of some writing, but now we're just splitting hairs.
One day, I hope they make a sexy decision, get it on, and the baby they produce is a paycheck for doing something I really enjoy and feel good about at the same time. But not too good, I'd like there to be an element of naughtiness. Like I'm slowly, nonchalantly walking away with a baby's candy or something, you know?
That baby has already had too much sugar anyway. Plus, I haven't had lunch.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Election Shmellelection
I know I should be blogging about being a Democrat and women's and gay rights and all things good in the world and how the country will burn down in flames if Mitt wins and all that legit jazz, but three things are fact right now.
1. I'm lazy. I should also be looking for jobs. And I can't even bother to really type a body to this blog; it's a copy/paste hack job that's all over the place! I'll try to mix some politics in if I can.
2. I have been writing for The Loop for days straight now so I wanted some nonsense time with these itchy fingertips.
3. I don't feel the angst I should about the world because I'm happily dating.
On the other hand, I feel quite a bit of emo angst about that because I have been trying to teach myself not to count my chickens before they hatch regarding boys and happiness. (or before the pound dog eats them. Sorry, inside joke) But you know what? Fuck those chickens. I'm going to count every last one of them over and over and will them into existence for a little while. I'm going to sing to them and shine a light on them and if they hatch, great! Hey guys, look at all these chickens! If they don't, God makes more chickens. Unlike glaciers, when the Republicans ignore the environment and they melt and the oceans flood and shit, there will definitely be more chickens. (see what I did there?)
The only way to get rid of chicken loss (and terrible foreign policy) fear is to be inspired. And the only way for me to get inspired sometimes is through song. I was leaning toward Sara Evans "As If" regarding my little chickens (who are unfortunately Conservative, yet understanding that I'm liberal), but nobody screams hope (and forward-moving America and health care reform) like... Taylor Swift. Plus, the second I heard the line start "on a Wednesday, in a cafe" I teared up. Because that's exactly the day it happened. (also the day we'll learn who won the election, so that's convenient)
Also, I hope if Obama is reelected, he makes the same surprised face that Taylor Swift makes when she wins awards, but that's neither here nor there. Just enjoy these lyrics that make me smile and please send your good vibes to my chickens. (and go vote tomorrow. Unless you're a Republican. In that case just stay home and eat pancakes.)
1. I'm lazy. I should also be looking for jobs. And I can't even bother to really type a body to this blog; it's a copy/paste hack job that's all over the place! I'll try to mix some politics in if I can.
2. I have been writing for The Loop for days straight now so I wanted some nonsense time with these itchy fingertips.
3. I don't feel the angst I should about the world because I'm happily dating.
On the other hand, I feel quite a bit of emo angst about that because I have been trying to teach myself not to count my chickens before they hatch regarding boys and happiness. (or before the pound dog eats them. Sorry, inside joke) But you know what? Fuck those chickens. I'm going to count every last one of them over and over and will them into existence for a little while. I'm going to sing to them and shine a light on them and if they hatch, great! Hey guys, look at all these chickens! If they don't, God makes more chickens. Unlike glaciers, when the Republicans ignore the environment and they melt and the oceans flood and shit, there will definitely be more chickens. (see what I did there?)
The only way to get rid of chicken loss (and terrible foreign policy) fear is to be inspired. And the only way for me to get inspired sometimes is through song. I was leaning toward Sara Evans "As If" regarding my little chickens (who are unfortunately Conservative, yet understanding that I'm liberal), but nobody screams hope (and forward-moving America and health care reform) like... Taylor Swift. Plus, the second I heard the line start "on a Wednesday, in a cafe" I teared up. Because that's exactly the day it happened. (also the day we'll learn who won the election, so that's convenient)
Also, I hope if Obama is reelected, he makes the same surprised face that Taylor Swift makes when she wins awards, but that's neither here nor there. Just enjoy these lyrics that make me smile and please send your good vibes to my chickens. (and go vote tomorrow. Unless you're a Republican. In that case just stay home and eat pancakes.)
Took a deep breath in the mirror
He didn't like it when I wore high heels
But I do
Turned the lock and put my headphones on
He always said he didn't get this song
But I do, I do
Walked in expecting you'd be late
But you got here early and you stand and wave
I walk to you
You pull my chair out and help me in
And you don't know how nice that is
But I do
And you throw your head back laughing like a little kid
I think it's strange that you think I'm funny cause he never did
I've been spending the last 8 months
Thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end
But on a Wednesday in a cafe, I watched it begin again
He said he never met one girl
Who had as many James Taylor records as you
But I do
We tell stories and you don't know why
I'm coming off a little shy
But I do
But you throw your head back laughing like a little kid
I think it's strange that you think I'm funny cause he never did
I've been spending the last 8 months
Thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end
But on a Wednesday in a cafe, I watched it begin again
And we walked down the block to my car and I almost brought him up
But you start to talk about the movies that your family watches
Every single Christmas and I won't talk about that
And for the first time, what's past is past
Cause you throw your head back laughing like a little kid
I think it's strange that you think I'm funny cause he never did
I've been spending the last 8 months
Thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end
But on a Wednesday in a cafe, I watched it begin again
But on a Wednesday in a cafe, I watched it begin again
He didn't like it when I wore high heels
But I do
Turned the lock and put my headphones on
He always said he didn't get this song
But I do, I do
Walked in expecting you'd be late
But you got here early and you stand and wave
I walk to you
You pull my chair out and help me in
And you don't know how nice that is
But I do
And you throw your head back laughing like a little kid
I think it's strange that you think I'm funny cause he never did
I've been spending the last 8 months
Thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end
But on a Wednesday in a cafe, I watched it begin again
He said he never met one girl
Who had as many James Taylor records as you
But I do
We tell stories and you don't know why
I'm coming off a little shy
But I do
But you throw your head back laughing like a little kid
I think it's strange that you think I'm funny cause he never did
I've been spending the last 8 months
Thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end
But on a Wednesday in a cafe, I watched it begin again
And we walked down the block to my car and I almost brought him up
But you start to talk about the movies that your family watches
Every single Christmas and I won't talk about that
And for the first time, what's past is past
Cause you throw your head back laughing like a little kid
I think it's strange that you think I'm funny cause he never did
I've been spending the last 8 months
Thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end
But on a Wednesday in a cafe, I watched it begin again
But on a Wednesday in a cafe, I watched it begin again
Monday, October 22, 2012
I know
I'm just blogging to say I know I should be blogging more. But I'm riding a wave of hardcore happiness right now that doesn't leave a lot of time time for writing. And I actually have a job writing. Yay, happiness!! Fucking up all the other shit and making us not care!
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Just A Thought
The saying goes a little something like "If you love someone, let them go. If they come back to you, they're yours forever".
But, perhaps it should go "If someone fucks up bigtime and sucks, tell them to get lost and disappear. If they come back, they're probably just temporarily bored and want to see if you'll pay attention to them again".
It's like I'm Oprah. If Oprah made spectacularly idiotic life choices and loved Busch Light.
But, perhaps it should go "If someone fucks up bigtime and sucks, tell them to get lost and disappear. If they come back, they're probably just temporarily bored and want to see if you'll pay attention to them again".
It's like I'm Oprah. If Oprah made spectacularly idiotic life choices and loved Busch Light.
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