I'm Over It

Better get this one fast because my libations are painfully wearing off. And so come the gloves.

I'm embarrassed that the first thing I wanted to do was call you. Something I didn't have the courage to do sober. But all that did was make me sadder. I should have learned my lesson the last time.

You probably doesn't care about me. Frankly, you probably don't even think about me. And guess what? That fucking hurts. Don't get me wrong. I'm embarrassed that I think about you. I hate it. I hate it and I hate you. I don't care what anyone says about closure and moving on and not giving someone your time or emotion. As of now, I just about hate you. And it took numerous amounts of drink to allow me to admit it, but I really do hate you for what you did and how you made me feel. I hate that I'm hot, sleepy, half-drunk, sad, and alone. It doesn't make me weak or any less of a woman to say that I miss you and hate you at the same time. Because I do.

I have no faith in men. None at all. Any of them. Except for a choice few, most of whom are related to me.

Again, tomorrow if I come to my senses, I might take this post down. If you missed it, you didn't need to know.

Haunted House?

Finally. I'm back to blogging. Even though this post isn't probably quite up to snuff because I want to hurry up and get to sleep. I'm even going to skip ironing tomorrow's shirt. Just dreadful.

I'm going to skip talking about how I mastered the Southern City freeways and scary, dark, winding, country roads that are all named the same, my futile sightings of not only the Succulent Sex Machine from the other day but many, many others, and even how nervous I am about my workload this semester. I skip them because there are more pressing matters at hand. New Roommate is one of them grown-up things which means that she has a real job. A job which requires her to travel and leave her poor, green roommate at the house by herself. Huh? You may ask. A 19-year-old (hot) girl with a house to herself for awhile? Why are you not off prancing around playing loud music and stuffing your face full of Cheez-Its? Well, for one thing, I did that earlier. But the real answer to your question might be this:

BECAUSE I AM TOO BUSY BEING TERRIFIED.

It's like the place knows I'm here alone. My iTunes is mighty loud as I type this because the hum of this house is freaking me out. For a minute I had to sing "The Way You Make Me Feel" at the top of my lungs because the silence was so deafening. And don't get me started about taking a shower. If there was ever a time for me to need a boyfriend it wouldn't be when I'm sad and surrounded by couples but in trying times like these when I am home alone. And not even so we could turn the empty house into a lovers' lair or anything. Fuck that (for now). At this point I just want to make it to morning in one piece and live to blog another day.

*Whimpers and looks around* The stupid printer or fax or whatever this stupid thing is keeps jarring to life at random moments and scaring the bejeezus out of me. God. At this rate I won't have any bejeezuses left by the time New Roommate gets back. I just know it.

180 Degrees

And I'm not trying to be philosophical with that title. That's how FUCKING HOT it is here in Southern City. I'm here at Brother School dying, and I had to walk outside through campus for the guys to, ahem, blatantly ogle. Now I'm here at my Paper Meeting trying to figure out how to cross my legs in shorts without them looking fat. And some joker is in here filming the meeting, no doubt for some student project. And some girl is staring at me in a not quite friendly manner. I'm older than you, more higher up, and suffocating grossly in the heat. And trying to type surreptitiously. Girl, get out of here.

In Hot Pursuit..well, in Pursuit of Hotness

Crikey. We're here in search of a rare specimen here in the dangerous marshlands of Brother School cafeteria: a Succulent Sex Machine. I caught a glimpse of him earlier, outdoors in the wild, and now I think he's somewhere in our midst, hunting for food. Would love to find and capture him and bring him back to my lair. For research purposes, mind.

Seriously. Where the hell did his fine ass go? Even though every time I see him I know I have a dopey, shit-eating grin on my face because I am twelve years old and turn to mush in front of that staggering degree of hotness.

Just a Pit Stop on the Way to Insanity

Have been moving into My New Digs for the past few days..and have subsequently contemplated setting up a box on the street because the process has been so stressful. Fun, but stress-inducing.

Tidbit: Even though they drove me bonkers, I totally almost cried when my family finally left.

Anyway, just wanted to check in 'cause I can't quite figure out the internet in my room. Which means that I'm writing this post on my mighty Blackberry. In my queen-sized bed whilst watching One Tree Hill. But, I can't quite say that this method of mobile posting is exactly easy on my wrists, so I must bid yall adieu for a few days until I can beg, borrow, or steal private time on a computer to post properly. So go on without me. You heard me, save yerselves, mates! And vaya con Dios!

Responsible Citizenry 101

I am in a bit of a pickle. A pickle that is a direct result of my own procrastination but that I really do need help in figuring out. It has to do with VOTING so you know it is serious and not just a garden-variety Lucky shenanigan. Although if you are hungering for one, I am slightly freaking out because of a diabolical hair-streaking mishap. But that is a story for another time.

Anyway, here is the situation. Don't be mad at me, but I have not yet registered to vote. Partly because of my own laziness and partly because the voting process confuses me. See, I want to register in Home State. But, during the election, I will be in Southern State. Why, you may ask, can't I just use an absentee ballot? That is a good question and I am glad that you are thinking ahead, but if I understand the law correctly (and there's a good chance I may not, so someone please correct me if necessary), it states that your first time voting must be done in the precinct in which you are registered.

It also doesn't help that I am leaving for Southern State in the wee hours of the morning so there isn't terribly much I can do in person unless my mom takes the reigns in my absence. So what do I do? Do I just bite the bullet and register in Southern State, even though I will only reside there for two more years? Register in Home State, defy the system and vote in Southern State with my absentee ballot when time comes? Register in Home State, show up in earnest, and use a provisional ballot? Anyone? Anyone at all? Please, some grownup who is smarter than me, give me a game plan.

Before this, I used to look down upon people who weren't registered to vote. My tender, naive sensibilities thought that only lazy, uninformed drones couldn't bother themselves to change the world, make a difference, and let their voices be heard! No more. I am still an idealistic hippie which is why I'm still trying to figure this out, but this shit is confusing. I guess I can understand why a lesser being would throw in the towel. It's not right, but it's okay.

Despite that, I think everyone who possibly can should try their best and register, especially us young and able-bodied folks. Because not only is this a historical election and I probably be rendered unworthy of a Black card if I don't vote, but also I because I really, really want to wear an "Obama is my Homeboy" t-shirt without feeling like a total sham and phony.

D&G versus The Nuddy-Pants

The Young Lady just posted about the ironclad principle of looking positively and satisfyingly FLAWLESS upon the first time seeing that omnipresent Ex Who Did You Dirty. I myself have walked down this road many a time, with mixed results. I once ran into Tex wearing sweaty gym clothes. Before I went into the gym, mind. So I didn't even have the pleasure of looking flushed and radiant, but instead, um, bloated. But on the other side of things, the infamous night when the Runner should have, by all accounts, been trying to put the moves on me but didn't, due to what can only be attributed to him being a pansy**, I decided to raise the stakes by wearing my troublemaking outfit-complete with black leather boots and a lingerie-style top. Yes, his eyes appropriately popped out of their sockets, but for some reason he remained annoyingly chivalrous. The fucker.

**This situation aside, though, he really is a nice boy. Well, when he wants to be.

Anyway, I have yet to completely master the art of looking jaw-droppingly sexy in order to exact revenge. My clothes can demand attention, or at least an appreciative once-over, when I put my mind to it. The first time I hung out with Homeboy I wore a miniskirt that had obviously ulterior motives. Motown Lover saw it and said, "Well-played. Good job," because, well, I have great legs. Let's not be churlish, here. So yes, when I remember to, I can play the game. But most of my clothes are casual; 95% of the time, I'm wearing jeans. At least 50% of my wardrobe is of the denim persuasion. Most of the time I rely on sleeveless tops, tousled hair, and shameless flirting to get the job done, because mission will probably not be accomplished with a t-shirt, torn jeans and flip-flops alone.

I have a point somewhere...oh yes. Because I've been flirted with and ignored by guys** while wearing both sweats and cute sundresses, I've come to the conclusion that clothes can only do so much when it comes to dating-related situations. I should know. I used to be the girl who went clubbing in plain cotton t-shirts and jeans (looking back, though, I don't quite know what the hell I was thinking) and still had a fun-ass time. It's that knowledge that lets me be just as comfortable in shorts and a tank top as I am in a dress and heels. If I were to ever actually wear a dress with heels to something other than a fancy event or special occasion, that is.

**Now that I think about it, the first time I met Tex I had beastly allergies, my inaugural meeting with Science Guy had me wearing totally unsexy, cold-weather gear, and the last time I ran into the Runner, I had on, you guessed it, sweatpants. Universe, if you're listening, that's a little unfair.

Again with the rambling. I do love the idea of looking drop-dead gorgeous in the face of adversity or ex-boyfriends, it's just a formula that I haven't figured out yet. If you want to get technical with it, I hold much more store in things like perfume, soft skin, or delightfully mussed hair. I have a theory (again, for dating-type situations, not necessarily in everyday life): you wear hot clothes to get attention to meet somebody and eventually get naked with them. So why not instead spend money and effort looking good NAKED? Or nearly naked! Clothes are just the wrapping paper, it's the gift INSIDE that counts, people!

LOL. Is everyone still present and accounted for? Good. Let us battle on.

My brilliant hypothesis aside, I have to say that recently I have paid more attention to what I wear; despite my theory, I can't just walk around starkers, you know. Plus I had the internship and job and had to portray some semblance of sophisticosity. And with that, I must admit that if I ever had to confront an ne'er-do-well ex, I wouldn't mind doing it in something like this:



I LOVE the simplicity of a stunning little black dress.



I couldn't find the designer of J-Hud's dress anywhere, but Halle's and Mandy's is Dolce and Gabbana. I refused to use a picture of a model wearing this dress, 'cause I couldn't find one with enough curves to rock the dress the way it was meant to be rocked. And damn that Halle Berry: she was pregnant when this picture was taken! If I had the means, motive, and opportunity (not to mention the guts) to do so, I'd wear this dress everywhere. I'd be "the girl in the glasses who wears that little black D&G to, like, the dentist."

Note: you may be wondering why I'm still awake, blathering on about life's minutiae. Firstly, if you've been paying attention AT ALL you know that I stay up too late for my own good. Also because when I took a break from packing I never started up again, and as a result I can't quite locate my bed. So here we are.

Perplexity

For the life of me I cannot figure out whether or not I am pretty or not. Is that weird? I've been poring over pictures of myself for an inordinately long time trying to get a reasonable answer but I am getting nowhere. In some pictures I think, "well, I look ok but my eyebrows look weird" or "in this one my hair looks funny but I guess it's an all-around nice picture." So I really can't decide. I mean, I've been called "pretty" before but I've also been called "ugly," too (well, by Middle Sister when we were kids), so is it even or what? File this under "deep intellectual thoughts."

Urgh I'm also trying to pack to go back to school and although I've made a sizable dent, I still have a hefty mountain to climb and it is hot in here and I am tired. Plus my arse hurts from sitting on the floor amidst scarves and clothes and half-packed suitcases.

Notable shenanigan: last time I worked at VS, I had to work with the miserable cow who works in the ubiquitous back room.** She was rude to me and I was rude to her. As in, she let a door slam in my face and I accidentally-on-purpose brushed by her forcefully. I would have been meaner but a) I can't be outwardly mean, and, more importantly, 2) the week before, I'd put some bras in the wrong place, hoping she would have to re-organize them, and doing more might have been too much. After all, my Creator does not like ugly.

**She probably works in the back because she IS, in fact, a miserable cow. One with no interpersonal skills who must therefore remain hidden away from us NORMAL people.

On Facebook I think I really pissed this guy off. First he friended me, then messaged me, asking if I recognized him. I didn't, and he kept having me go through his pictures to no avail. Eventually I asked him if he recognized me, and his answer was so unsatisfactorily vague I just said, well, sorry man, take care! I mean, it sucks if someone doesn't remember you, but if you don't remember them either, what's the point in all the charades? Unless he had some weird ulterior motive, to which I say, tut tut, sir, you could have had a better delivery than "do you recognize me?"

Damn. Where did all this (admittedly gorgeous) extra jewelry come from and where the fuck am I going to put it all? I'll figure that out later. I wonder if the clearance DVDs at Blockbuster are all gone. The best thing about having a fondness for bad movies is that they usually go on sale pretty quickly, providing tons of wallet-friendly entertainment for you in the long run. I hate when moms give that annoying "don't waste your money on that! Save it!" spiel, and then while you're contemplating whether or not you really need that Previously Viewed $9.99 copy of Hairspray she goes, "well, it's your money. Spend it however you want," leaving you nice and confused. Oh, sod it. I know I leave really soon but this room is simply too much for one woman to handle. Especially one who gets distracted by her bootleg copy of Monster-in-Law.

Successful Saturday

You'd better not let me down, Barack Hussein.

I'm watching some religious show that both Barack and Old Man McCain are on (not together) and he just said that he believes that his definition of marriage is one between a man and a woman but he also believes in civil unions. And the people in the audience clapped. Oh whatever. Let whoever wants to get married get married, I say. You're still my main man, though, B. And he just got back on my good side by saying that he wouldn't have elected Clarence Thomas to the Supreme Court. High-five.

This Saturday is shaping up nicely even though have been plagued with nasty bout of grumpy sickness for the past 48 hours. I say so for a few reasons:

a) I entered a contest at the lovely Makeup and Beauty Blog, which I won! My prize came today: Essie's Fall 2008 Collection of (swoon) NAIL POLISH. Yay to me, muchas gracias--I'm sticking to the language I know, okay?!--to Karen from MBB!

2) I--finally!--found the third song from VS that I couldn't find. It took awhile, but thanks to my quick and surreptitious typing on my Blackberry, I was able to jot down some lyrics and Google 'em. Thus, I present you with Kate Nash's "We Get On."



This song is plucky and British. The last three artists I added have been Brit soul singers (Duffy, Adele, and now Kate). I like to think they are Amy Winehouse-inspired. Blimey, crikey, cheerio, and aluminium, lads! Well, lassies. Oh, wait, that's Scottish. Never mind. We know how I am with languages and such.

Ambien Never Looked So Good

Raise your hand if you are currently:

-Perusing through old blog entries instead of sleeping properly even though you have to go to work tomorrow morning. Double points if you are not looking forward to said work.

-Wondering why your dog is snoring, of all things. (Hello? One of the steadfast consolations of not having a man to occupy your bed has always been, "at least there's no snoring to be dealt with." And now this.)

-Having semi-dirty, completely shameful thoughts about the Runner

-Slightly freaking out because you have nothing to wear to work

-Being a total Singleton: watching Bridget Jones' Diary while wearing a green face mask and sweatpants

-Looking around your room thinking, "Fuck. I have so much cleaning to do before I move back to Southern State in holyshizfivefuckingdays!"

-Now really mad at yourself for blatant irresponsibility that has resulted in aforementioned messy room, insomnia, and empty bed

Will the court please note that my hands are, indeed, waving wildly in the air.

Merlin's Beard!

Yes, friends, another Harry Potter post is upon us. But, the news is bad this time around. According to the Daily Prophet (or, ok, New York Magazine), Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince will be pushed back from this Thanksgiving until July. As in 2009! That news was worthy of an Unforgivable Curse, and not "Avada Kedavra!" as much as "What the fuck!?" It's nothing pertaining to the actual movie, which is in post-production, but about the bottom line and Warner Brothers' need for a summer box-office smash. So, as big corporations are wont to do, they are using HP as a lifesaver. Boo. I totally couldn't wait for the movie, I was probably going to see it on Turkey Day, and now, nothing. Just hit me with a Stunning Spell, why dontcha?! (For S & G's, extra points to the fellow nerd who can leave the Stunning incantation in their comment).

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I bring forth good tidings to ye. You are now reading the writings of [Huge Sports TV Network's] newest fall intern! That enormously scary thing I had to do was a phone interview, and they offered me a position right on the spot, which I accepted right on said spot. It's funny, last year, I actually interviewed for the same position with a rather bored and snooty lady who subsequently turned me down. And now, with a scholarship and a personal recommendation from the director of the company under my belt, all I have to do is fill my name out correctly on the application *smirks*. This has been a good, no, fantabulous summer. Wowza.

Bonne chance to me!

Wish me luck.

In a little while I'm about to do something that has generally had mixed results, and this one is important so I need to be on my A game. Hopefully it goes well and I can not just squeak by with a win, but instead prevail gloriously.

*Whimpers* I'm nervous.

If all goes well, I will indulge details later. If not, expect an obviously off-topic anecdote instead.

PS-Bonne chance means "good luck" in French, for the slightly less cultured among us!

PPS-At first, I relied a little too heavily on my sixth-grade French class and put "bonne suit" instead, which I now remember means "good night." Looks like I myself am in that less-cultured minority, seeing as saying "good night" is a little silly as I just got out of bed. Le sigh. What a world.

PPPS-Update: my dear Molly says that bonne nuit is "good night," therefore making the phrase "bonne suit" a figment of my overactive imagination. I'll stick to Spanish after all!

You Sent Me Flying

MEME Rules:
1. Put Your itunes/ music player on Shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER WHAT
After you’ve answered all of the questions, tag 5 other people and then let them know they’ve been tagged to do the meme themselves!

IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY” YOU SAY?
"Streetwalker" by Michael Jackson

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
"Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year" by Fall Out Boy

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
"Umbrella (remix)" by Rihanna feat. Chris Brown

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
"SOS" by Rihanna

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
"Leave Me Alone" by Michael Jackson (!!!)

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
"Poppin' Bottles" by Birdman feat. Lil' Wayne

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
"Letterbomb" by Green Day

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
"Summer Love/Set the Mood" by Justin Timberlake

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
"Me, Myself, and I" by Beyonce (cryptic, but very telling!)

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
"The Carpal Tunnel of Love" by Fall Out Boy

WHAT IS 2+2?
"Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow" by Amy Winehouse (to be fair, what's with this question?)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
"69" by T-Pain (LMFAO...I get it, though, don't ask!)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
"Last Request" by Paolo Nutini (I may have pressed "shuffle" on this one...the first time I got "Flashing Lights" and I was curious, ok?)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
"I Will" by MoZella (eh, makes sense, sort of)

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
"Lesson Learned" by Alicia Keys feat. John Mayer

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
"Like You'll Never See Me Again" by Alicia Keys

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
"Burn" by Usher (I hope not!)

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
"Ex-Factor" by Lauryn Hill (WHAT!?!)

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
"This Love" by Maroon 5

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
"It's the Falling in Love" by Michael Jackson (so true!)

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
"In Repair" by John Mayer (this is FREAKY!)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
"Gimme Whatcha Got" by Chris Brown feat. Lil' Wayne (um, ok)

WHAT SHOULD YOU POST THIS AS?
"You Sent Me Flying" by Amy Winehouse

Trying to Tell Me Something?

Flirting Faux Pas Women Make in Bars

You Act like a Crazy Person
To avoid coming across like that woman who thinks she's being charismatic when she's merely speaking way too loud and annoying everyone around her, when in doubt, keep your little "eccentricities" in check. (Ivillage.com)

I think this might be for me.

My Turn

Since Bobby2010 posted this, it's my turn:

10 Random Things About Me:

1. I think Harry Potter is excellent literature
2. When I'm nervous, I can't sit still.
3. I put my hand on my throat and bite my nails if I get confused while driving.
4. My first TV crush was Uncle Jesse from Full House...then AC Slater from Saved by the Bell.
5. It is my PET PEEVE when I can hear someone's music through their Ipod headphones
6. Christmas is my absolute favorite time of year.
7. When I leave the room, I have to turn the lights/all electronics off or I feel wasteful and twitchy.
8. I hate the song "Santa Baby" more than any other song in the world.
9. I've taken Spanish classes for seven years and I'm afraid I still suck at it.
10. I can wrap presents and fold laundry really, really well.

9 Things to Win My Heart

1. Be funny...but not at my expense (all the time, anyway)
2. Care deeply about something...anything.
3. Be a sports fan/committed to at least one team.
4. Be considerate.
5. Be charming without being smarmy or overly arrogant.
6. Have a laid-back nature.
7. Be decently athletic.
8. Figure out something in me that I haven't seen in myself/be observant.
9. Be well-informed without being snobbishly smart.
10. Be confident...no shy guys with chips on their shoulders!

8 Things I Wanna Do Before I Die

1. Get published.
2. Be a guest on Oprah.
3. Be on Maxim's Hot 100 List.
4. Get married/have kids.
5. Travel abroad.
6. Throw a ridiculously lavish party...possibly in my own honor :)
7. Be the recipient of a piggy-back ride.
8. Buy something extravagant for my parents...and be able to afford it!

7 Ways to Annoy Me

1. Be closed-minded
2. Use the word "faggot"
3. Be selfish/inconsiderate
4. Make (too much) fun of me.
5. Wear sunglasses inside. (for non-gay men only)
6. Be judgmental.
7. Be overly flashy and/or self-important.

6 Things I Believe In:

1. The healing power of music.
2. The inherently "good" nature of most human beings.
3. Having odd tastes in food.
4. the 5-Second Rule
5. the Golden Rule/karma
6. brightly-colored toenails

5 Things I'm Afraid Of:

1. Not ever being someone's "only"
2. Letting my parents down.
3. SNAKES.
4. Embarrassing myself in front of judgmental people.
5. Global warming.

4 of My Favorite Things:

1. The Detroit Pistons
2. Snacks: pretzels, Oreos, peanut butter, Cheez-Its, Teddy Grahams
3. Curling up with a good book while it's raining
4. Nail polish

3 Things I Do Everyday:

1. Sing
2. Brush my teeth
3. Laugh

2 Things I Want to Do Right Now:

1. Eat.
2. Exercise

1 Person I want to See Right Now

Little Cousin?

And You Can't be an Idiot...Can You?

Note: Parental Advisory. Explicit Content.

She Can’t be a Whore…. Can She?

Every guy wants his girlfriend to have a little experience in the bedroom, right fellas? But my question today is, how much experience is too much experience. Guys, have you ever been with a woman that you really liked and she did something while making love that made you look at her a little different? Or what about when it comes down to oral sex, you never want your girl to be a pro. I know that may have sounded a little crazy but trust and believe, when your with that special lady, and she decides to go down on you, for the first 30 seconds it is going to be the best time of your life until your mind starts to wonder, ”She’s a little TOO GOOD at this, Damn! How many times has she practiced?” Now you cant even concentrate cause your thinking your girlfriend is a WHORE!

Just a little food for thought.

Okay. I was innocently blog-surfing and watching License to Wed (bad but delightful, as is my preference) when I came across this post from Distinguished Gentlemen. Apparently, this guy gets suspicious upon receiving...oh, I'll just say it, head, that's "too good." I'm going to go out on a limb here and ask just what, as many call, the fuck? As simply and briefly as possible, together we're going to break this down.

"When it comes down to oral sex, you never want your girl to be a pro."

I am so sure. Having many college-age male friends as reference points, I feel confident in raising my imaginary gavel with a hearty, "Objection, Your Honor!" at this statement. Since when do guys not fully appreciate and hope for the best oral attention they've ever gotten? Does he mean "pro" as in, she used to be a prostitute? Okay, that I understand, even though, I mean, everyone deserves a second chance, and all. But still. A fully-functioning, hetero male doesn't want his girl to be really, really, really good at head? Something in the milk ain't clean.

"Your mind starts to wonder, 'She’s a little TOO GOOD at this, Damn! How many times has she practiced?'”

Color me naive, but I was under the impression that if a guy is receiving mind-blowing head, what on earth could he possibly be thinking except "I'm in love!" and not, as this blogger seems to think, an accusatory, "why is she so good at this?" Who the hell cares? She's good and she's being gracious enough to share her skills with you, and here you are complaining. Just plain ungrateful.

"Guys, have you ever been with a woman that you really liked and she did something while making love that made you look at her a little different?"

What ever happened to "to each his own"? If there is any place where this statement holds true, it is in the bedroom, people! What, her tastes are a little more kinky, imaginative, or, heaven forbid, a little different than yours, and suddenly she's some sort of nympho freak? Seems a little closed-minded to me. And frankly, a little misogynistic. This piece takes me back to the days where women were expected to accept and suffer through sex as opposed to being willing participants, or--heaven forbid!--have wide and varying tastes and experience levels.

Not to mention, no sane woman would EVER think, "Holy shiz. He's really good at 'lingus. I don't like where this is going."

Get the HELL out of here.

Rest In Peace, Uncle Bernie

Last night, Middle Sister and I were talking about how Bernie Mac was the only funny comedian in The Kings of Comedy. I'd planned to watch it this evening. When I woke up this morning and checked my email, I found this:

Hollywood woke up this morning to the news that actor-comedian Bernie Mac has passed away due to complications from pneumonia. He was 50. (E! Online)

How badly does this suck? Bernie Mac was my favorite comedian. I quote him at least once a day. Fuck. The tears might come. He was kind of immortal to me, always around; even though he said he was retired he would always have a funny-ass cameo in some random movie (Charlie's Angels 2, Pride, Transformers). I'd come to love those cameos. I still watch reruns of The Bernie Mac Show. Below is the funniest clip from Kings of Comedy. Rest in peace, Mac Man.

OMG...GMO

*GMO means "gross me out." Try and keep up.

At VS, a Clacker looked up from the table of cotton panties she was folding and asked me, "Do you smoke?"

Blecch. Nothing but 19 years of home training kept me from making a disgusted face as I answered with a pithy "Er, ah, I do not."

She continued her conversation with a fellow smoking Clacker, during which I found out that more of my co-workers light up than I knew, including one who I really do not like. Finding out she smokes gives me more reason to dislike her, so I couldn't even be too appalled.

Now, before hearts get all atwitter, I think we can surmise that I am one of the least-judgmental people on God's green earth. You wanna move to a nudist commune? Get an abortion*? Have a man-2-man wedding with Little Richard singing "Tutti Frutti" a capella as you walk down the aisle in matching purple catsuits? Fine! Send my invite and let's party! I have my opinions about other things, of course (Z-list fame-whores, porn stars, sexploitation in general), but if there is one thing that revolts me to the point where my like for you instantly goes down two points, it is the pulling out and subsequent lighting of that hateful little orange-tipped deathstick.

*Oh yes. I went there.

Don't get me wrong, though. If one of my friends started a Marlboro habit tomorrow, that is not to say I would, like, not be their friend anymore (I won't, however, date smokers) or anything. I'd put in my two cents and say that I find smoking reprehensible, and that would be it. I'm not going to constantly reiterate the importance of healthy lungs. It's their life, their lungs, do with it what you will. You have every right to smoke, and I have every right to find it gross. Such is the way of the world.

In my next post I will lighten the mood with shopping, movies, and other daily mishaps. There is raw footage of my interview with TAT at Warped Tour which must be uploaded on Youtube. Not to mention, I want to think more about that purple-catsuited wedding...

Stuck

This just in: at this very moment, Middle Sister has an INSANELY HOT guy friend over. I only got a fleeting glimpse of him, but hot damn, he is gorgeous. In my house, currently, there is one of the hottest guys I've seen since Tex, and he's with my sister. My younger sister. Blimey. If that's not an unholy indication that life isn't fair, then, well, I just don't know what is. And I'll tell you this for free: if he becomes anything resembling her "official" boyfriend I will find it very, very, very hard to continue living.

But on the whole I am happy that at least someone in my family (besides my parents) has found true and everlasting love. Let it be known that I am not a jealous spinster sister-- just yet. I fear it may be a-coming.

Have things gone unchanged? Why am I just starting to write an article that's due tomorrow, being aided in the procrastination department by popcorn, Vitamin Water, and iTunes? While wearing sweatpants? And my hair is messy, to boot! Honestly all I need is my lucky hat and it's like I've gone back in time.

Earlier I was on Facebook and stumbled across someone's profile whose very face utterly pissed me off. And a dear friend of mine* was fraternizing with the enemy! I almost fell off of my chair; what the fuckity-fuck is THIS all about?! I can't.

*Please, no one take offense to or read too much into this. I am melodramatic more than I am scorned or possessive. I'm just joking around, using a touch of exaggerated flair, if you will, to give readers a chuckle at my good-natured expense. Don't take Lucky very seriously, it will only give you a headache!

Fuck. I really do have to do this article that I had all summer to work on. I've learned nothing from last year's bleary-eyed nights spent in front of this very laptop! But I feel quite un-creative at the moment, making it hard for me to write anything of use, and I'm also quite tired. Maybe I will just let the Devil take the hindmost and do this tomorrow, at TV Station. Eh, I feel disaster might befall that plan, so it looks I'm going to have to take it on the chin and produce. I need some inspiration and right now all I feel is bored. With precious little to show for myself except for a paragraph and a full stomach due to all those delicious snacky-snacks. I've still got my appetite, at the least.

Update: In need of tequila. Evening has turned into a facsimile sham of a fiasco; hate being nosy, nerdy spinster older sister. Want to simultaneously scream, vomit, and gouge eyes out. Must throw self wholeheartedly into work in hopes of becoming professional ice-queen to whom the petty dealings of others have no effect. Might resort to dark chocolate bar hidden upstairs.

Behind the Wheel of Life

Just another few minutes of peace, please. I know I should spend more time with the family since I'm going back to school soon, but if there were ever a time to sulk quietly, today would be it.

Quickly: I cannot wait for Gossip Girl to come back to me. September 1st, get with it.



Had one of those hellishly annoying days where it seems as if everyone's goal in life is to utterly piss you off. Got into argument with mother about choice of outfit ("Just take off that vest!"). Was feeling rather self-conscious about outfit, but no sooner than I had stepped out of the car did Miss Manners coo, "I love your outfit"? Interns Eazy E and Intern Special K (I can't remember if I've already given her a name and forgotten it but she is quickly becoming my favorite colleague) followed suit: "How cute do you look today?!" Ha. Fermez la bouche, mother! She thinks I dress the way I do just to spite her...pity, most of the time I don't think about her opinion about clothes. It would take too much work and before you know it I'd be dressed like one of those "stylish" middle-aged women. I don't have to dress like a "hip" 40-year-old. I'm a fucking awesome 19-year-old, thanks.

Ugh. If that wasn't enough, I just found out that I've been making illegal left turns for, oh, two weeks. Unfortunately, my lesson came at the honking horns of the other drivers, apparently trying to let me know that my turn was null and void. But sheesh! What if I knew the rule and decided to flout it? Isn't my prerogative to break the law, if I so choose? Drive on, I say!

Last night, Youngest Sister and I added to my canon of horrible films with the melodramatically violent and horrendous Never Back Down. A shitty movie-faceoff between it and Britney's Crossroads would be a draw, but because of the gratuitous amounts of well-muscled, sweaty man-flesh, Never Back Down prevails. Still, a contender for being the Best Worst Movie of Our Time.



You don't have to thank me.

In Another State of Panic

So I'm minding my own business on the couch, snacking on a plum and watching Crossroads--a severely underrated cinematic adventure in my opinion--when a many-legged creature scuttles across my basement floor.

Now I am not a wimp in most cases (excepting in bugs and such), so I planned to kill it with a well-placed SMACK! of a magazine, but by the time I finished screaming bloody murder (I put my hand over my mouth first; it is almost 3am), The Thing was gone from my line of sight. I don't know where it went and, frankly, LIKE HELL I'M MOVING FROM MY SAFE PLACE AND INTO THE WILD to hunt for and kill this thing.

Lucky of the Yukon I am not.

Varsity Un-Blues

Fashion Student's birthday party was today, a pool party that I coincidentally arrived late at so that I wouldn't have to actually get in said pool (I don't own a bathing suit and am not exactly itching to go buy one). I only planned to stay for a little while before returning back home to eat pizza, but ended up staying until 1am. Along with FS and Scoop was Blondie, and the four of us were the only senior varsity cheerleaders back in high school, and we got to strolling down Memory Lane. Scoop, as usual, did not disappoint with her knowledge of all the post-high school gossip, and we exchanged boy stories and memories and laughs and "no you didn'ts!" hours after everyone had left.

Oh, high school, how I sort of miss thee. God, I loved being a cheerleader. That was four years spent in the shortest skirt I will (probably) ever wear in my life without looking like a total hooker. Not to mention, my team was my family. I used to be a shy little thing before I became a cheerleader, and, well, by the time I graduated, I was affectionately known as "loud and crazy."

It's fun to go back and fill in the blanks so many years later. For instance, cheerleaders had "buddies" on the football team that we would make bags of food for and wear their jerseys sometimes on game days, and mine was the captain and quarterback of the team (yes, I was that girl. We didn't date though. I wasn't that girl). I did have a tiny crush on him that resulted in lots of victory hugs and high-fives and extra treats in his bag (sometimes I did this for all my buddies, to be fair), yet I figured that I'd still only be little more than "some cheerleader" to him. Well, fast-forward to tonight, when talking about old friends and his name came up, Scoop said to me, "Oh, yeah [Quarterback] really liked you." When I asked, "Really?" She responded, "Uh-huh, he like, loved you." Not in a crush-y way, obviously, but a "she's a sweet and cool girl" kind of way. Which, even years after I graduated, still provided me with a happy little glow of satisfaction. He was the high school quarterback and Prom King. I mean, come on.

On another bright note, I went to the dentist today, and despite my mom's constant clucking otherwise, my jovial dentist exclaimed, "You have beauuuuutiful teeth!" So ha. But don't you hate when your teeth are all...oooky after a trip to the dentist? I tried to right that wrong with pretzels and a club sandwich, but...no. Sometimes I am eternally six years old.

PS: this is yet another reason why I love John Mayer.