Nickel and Dimed

Get ready, I'm about to let loose.

Basically, I was promised the master bedroom way back in April and Roommate is giving it to someone else. And I'll have to--horror of horrors--share a bathroom. Roommate will be gone, and I will be "property manager" since I was there last year. Oh, gee, thanks, I get the none of the benefits but all of the work.

I'm definitely moving out. It's unfair, especially because we didn't need an additional roommate in the first place, Roommate just wanted one for "lowered rent." And I guess the girl preferred the Master and was unwilling to give it up. Even though by the time Roommate contacted her the master was already taken--BY ME. WHAT THE FUCK?? I can't share a bathroom. I just cannot. And besides that, it's the principle of the whole situation. I'm throwing shade at this new girl. Who the FUCK does she think she is?? Which is precisely what I will be asking her on this conference call this weekend. Best believe I'm calling Roommate first to get some fucking answers.

fndk;ashfi;aerghi;adhgi;dfhgis;dlhgoad;ghos;hgoad;hga'gha'hg'oaaaskij

Yeah, that about sums it up.

I Need a Financial Bailout

I often joke around when the words aren't flowing like I need them to, saying things like "Who hired me?" "Why did I choose to be a writer?" in jest, of course.

This WNBA internship affords me lots of opportunities to write stories, one thing I thought I was good at--well, people have told me I'm good at, some [ok many] days I think I suck and words just appear out of my ass and apparently people like them. Or did they?

Maybe it's a college-to-professional growing pains thing. I know the ins and outs of editing and journalism and critiquing but let me be a baby for a second: WAAAHHH MY "EDITOR" KEEPS CHANGING MY STORIES TOTALLY AROUND AND I'M STARTING TO THINK I SUCK FOR REAL FOR REALS. *pouts*

End rant. I'm going to be mature about this and ask that instead of me turning in a story and reading something completely different (I get that my writing needs work...or do I? See above) I could work more closely with him as he edits, time permitting of course. Is that a good idea? I hope it is. I might chicken out though--which I doubt because my "editor" is cool. I put "editor" in quotes because he's probably not even thirty yet and he reminds me of Seth Cohen. Totally not intimidating. Anyway, I'm going to learn from this internship if it kills me: this is just what I need, someone totally unbiased to edit, rearrange, prune, Botox, chop, screw, sautee, and iron out my wrinkly articles until they are silky smooth with perfection. But I want my stories to sound different from his, you know? He's a really good writer (I'm jealous/admiring) but he's not me, and if I've learned anything it's that you (I) need your own writing voice, which I'm working on, by the way.

Whew. I'm glad I got that off my chest. Oh and I'm scared I'll get kicked out of my place back in Southern State because we (my parents) never pay the rent on time. Without getting too deep into it, I've always been weird about asking for money from my parents, because a) I'm cheap 2) we haven't always had it and I couldn't stand the thought of being a burden. Even though it's important (so I won't be homeless duh), I can't fathom bitching about it to parents who have to put two more kids through college soon (Middle Sister class of 2013, go Bison! awww I'm so proud) amidst this little thing called The Greatest Recession Since the Greatest Depression which hit our city and our family hard. Like rock through a windshield hard.

So it's like yeah I know my family's situation but at the same time I understand my roommate needs the money so she's getting an attitude with ME because I'm around even though I'm like bish it's not coming out of my pocket no matter how many times you psuedo-lecture me about the rent being My Responsibility and It's How You Build Credit, You Know (true story). If you're Person A and Person C has your money, I wouldn't keep going through Person B. That's just how I look at it; maybe I'm bang out of order. I don't know what to do. If someone does, don't be stingy, share the knowledge so my hair doesn't fall out with stress and I end up weeping silently into my iced tea.

Internship Update

Sports journalism is the ultimate fan experience. There have been sports reporters who hate sports and can be objective, and yes, you do get burned out sometimes, but for the most part, the access granted is unbelievable.

It's so weird that I can't quite explain my first day, maybe because nothing's really happened yet? My first day was Media Day, where the team does all their promos and goes over PR stuff, which was fun. The younger players were pretty nice, and some of the old heads were distant--typical veteran stuff, I guess. Everything was very open, it wasn't like a fan event, but everyone knew they had a job to. But it was also quite laid-back because everyone in their was supposed to be, you know? It's still weird having access to players and whatnot, because I'm still young and very much a fan, so guess it's good that I started off with a WNBA team or teams/sports that I don't really follow like that. If my first gig would be to interview, say, the Cavaliers or the Mavericks or, dear Jesus, the Pistons, I would straight-up faint. So it's all good. My job/internship is at the actual arena, so I could potentially see players/coaches/OMG HALL OF FAMERS THAT I'VE SEEN ON TV. Whew.

There were hardly any black folks, and no other interns from what I saw, which may be kinda lonely :( but we'll see. Also, there was no viable eye candy (double boo and hiss!) but the arena is a big place, there has got to be man-meat lurking around somewhere. And boy, oh boy, if some of the NBA players come back around preseason time and I'm still here, I may just flatline. I'm gonna say it here and now: it's my goal to meet/be in the vicinity of an NBA player (from the home team) before I go back to school. *shiver*

Also, I interviewed for another internship with a PR firm yesterday, and she offered me the position on the spot. Since I want to go into media relations, this gig will be great for me, and I don't want to sound like I'm complaining. But. Both of these internships are unpaid. In this recession, I get it, but...I am free labor. Yes, these gigs will help me in the long run, but right now we are in the short run. The short, unpaid run. Le sigh. We'll see what both of these gigs hold. Whenever I first start a job/internship I find myself overwhelmed with the responsibility. Like, the excitement is overshadowed by the fear I'll fuck up. But hopefully I won't. Right? Right? Guys?

For serious, sometimes I still feel like a little kid playing with the grownups, even though they all take me seriously, it's like I still can't take myself seriously, you know? I still can't believe that people think I do good enough work to offer me these gigs. It's weird when your dreams start to come true.

Sidenote: I'm watching Maxim's Hot 100 List for the zillionth time and Marisa Miller is just... average to me. I mean she's pretty but not the hottest Victoria's Secret Angel by far. Just sayin'.

Hoop Dreams Deferred

Working with men is exhausting. You have to stroke their egos, display the right amount of power and docility, easygoing-ness and firmness to get anything accomplished. Try as I might, I never get that formula right.

The Paper gets free tickets to NBA games through the Ad Guy. There are no rules or entitlement, if you want them, you ask for them. I was originally going to see the team take on the mighty (?) Pistons, but we left for spring break that day so I had to forfeit them. 'Twas sad. I decided to get the team vs. the San Antonio Spurs, so I texted Ad Guy, asking him to bring the tickets to our weekly meeting. I get no answer from him. I miss the game.

Next week he says that those tickets were unavailable anyway. Wondering why he couldn't have relayed this in a responding text, I say, "oh, okay, well, I'll take this weekend's tickets against the Orlando Magic." These tickets are also the last of the package. He agrees to bring them to me. I even told him that I had planned to take a date** to the game, which meant, thus and such, my love life depended on him bringing the tickets to me on Thursday (yesterday) because I don't come to campus on Fridays. He concedes, stoically (seriously, would it kill this guy to crack a smile?).

**Not technically a lie, since I was going with Ms. Politics. She has been my date on many a weekend.

Thursday comes, I text Ad Guy. No answer. I call him (well, I have Artist Friend call him from my phone--I think I annoy him with my generally upbeat nature). His phone goes straight to voicemail. He is not known to [show consideration/human emotion] return my texts or calls. It is early Friday morning. The game is on Saturday. The game to which I have no tickets. The game, it is probably safe to say, I will not be attending. No Al Horford sighting for me.

What fresh hell is with guys ruining my Saturday night plans?!

As far as Ad Guy knows, my hot date is now ruined. And on top of that, both of these times, I've taken off work to attend these basketball games. So not only is Ad Guy messing up my (ahem, still very fictional) love life, but he is costing me money!

And we can't have that. Not in this recession, baby.

Not to throw a pity party, but THIS IS TOTALLY UNFAIR. The other two sports editors got to go to games, why do I always get the short end of life's stick?

Next week, if I must say anything to Ad Guy, it will be in a "dignity at all times" sort of way. Maybe even in a "my date still put out SO THERE" sort of way. I honestly keep forgetting that I didn't have an actual date in the first place.

Semantics, really. It's the principle that counts.

An Eventful Saturday

Today we saw "Madea Goes to Jail." I liked it. Derek Luke pronounces his "d's" at the end of his words very oddly--a lisp, of sorts. Words like "decided" or "decision" or "didn't," forget it. There was this scene where he was crying his eyes out in a pure display of raw emotion and I could not understand a word he said.

Kind of dampened the effect a smidge.

But the total best part was when the heroine was on the couch crying and he got behind her and wrapped his big, brown muscley arms around her and I think it was raining and...just...oo-er.

It was so sweet I wanted to drop dead in the middle of the theater. Or theatre as our French friends would say.

I leaned over to Cali Girl and whisper/talked, "if I'm lonely when we get home tonight let's cuddle, ok?" She threw popcorn at me.

Now that I think about it, seeing him all brawny and Antwon Fisher-y put a slight logistical and aesthetic damper in my plans to trap That Boy because he is tall and kind of skinny and I am tall with the remnants of donuts past on my bones. So together we would look like the number 18 and I don't know how to feel about that.

I am sure Kristen Davis is a lovely woman but I'll be damned if I do not HATE CHARLOTTE YORK. WITH A PASSION.

That scene in SATC: The Movie where the girls are helping the jilted and be-turbaned Carrie back into the limo while shooting death glares at Big would have been sooo much better if Samantha would have flipped him off. Men are surprisingly touchy about that.

Which, of course, I had to learn the hard way.

I love fun, sunny Saturdays. But one caveat: I'm supposed to get my paychecks via direct deposit, right? I signed up for it especially so I wouldn't have to truck out to the bank, which I would undoubtedly forget to do. Instead, in theory, every two weeks the Money Fairy pops in and make it all better.

Um, I need to find that lazy bitch and tell her what's what. My account says "it's all good" on payday, so I do a TEENY bit of shopping, and check my balance on Saturday and it says "no ma'am." I DON'T GET IT. Managing Money 101, I need thee. When does my check clear for real?? Clear as in no strings, no gotta wait for it to post, CLEAR?!?! The only reason I signed up for direct deposit was so that every other Friday at 3pm, BOOM, a few more dollars to my name. A couple extra pennies, chile. No muss, no fuss. But no.

Alas, "simple," "money," and "my life" just do not go well together. Oh, well. Least I got some. It's a recession.

Floating On By

I feel restless.

It's the time of year. I remember feeling like this around the same time last year, and probably the year before that. Like I'm floating by on autopilot with nothing really exciting and shiny new to catch my eye. You know how they always say not to wear jewelry in the water because it attracts sharks to the glimmer? Either I'm not a shark or nobody is wearing anything pretty, because Lucky is bored. Along with being stressed, tired, and busy: these things are not mutually exclusive. Work is fun, I guess, but I need a shake up! I changed my hair...thinking that would count. Um, no, it did not.

Usually around this time a boy would peak my interest. Remember last year when I got hella drunk*at Top Chef's house, where the Smoker made his first onscreen cameo? I left for break two days later. And thus it all began. So in some ways I'm right on schedule. I guess. In the olden days I would have already sent The Boy a Facebook message, but something about this time feels different, like that would be a waste of time. Plus I am scared now of making the first move (we are assuming that FB messaging is a Move) being futile because, after all, if he was interested he would have reached out first, right? Do you see why I yam what I yam?

*Maybe liquor is the answer.

Spring break is coming up, one bright spot. The gang's going to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Fun and sun should be fun! I made a rhyme. Anyway. I have the money (thank you, Big Sports Network!) and a bathing suit, what else do you really need on vacation? Oh, now I'm having happy thoughts--who doesn't need a vacation? I get paid on Friday, maybe I'll do some pre-pre Spring break shopping. Or I could do the responsible thing and save it for the trip.

*crickets*

Exercise is yet another option so that we look good in said bathing suit.

*more crickets*

I'll do what I can. Myrtle Beach in 18 days!

Gold Digger's Lament

I'm starting to think that money really does make the world go 'round. Was it supposed to be love? No, I'm pretty sure it's money.

There's just never enough of it. I'm not quite struggling by any means (I don't think), but sometimes it just seems like I'm supposed to have more money that I do. A lot of it has to do with my environment. For me, there's a lot attached to money and asking for it. I'm not going to get into it, but money problems have affected me way more that I let on. And the problem with that secrecy is that I can't keep up. I can't just ask my parents for money. What's more, I don't want to. That's the part people don't realize. I very well could just keep asking for Mom to put more money in my account, but again, for reasons I will skip over at this moment, I choose not to, unless I really, really need to. Contrary to popular belief, going out to dinner or a movie does not qualify as a "need."

What I'm inarticulately saying is, I'm not cheap by choice. I am, but I'm not. Things like guilt, memories, responsibility play a large part in the decisions I make when it comes to money. I just wish I could tell people that without telling them.

I guess I just did, huh?

World: A Lot; Lucky: A Small but Mighty Few

Ha! World, you thought you'd succeeded, huh?

Thought you'd trip me up by placing him squarely in my path on a day where I was in no mood to fake niceties with anyone, let alone his ass?

He had a cigarette in his mouth-a cigarette! Is there no greater evil?-therefore rendering him powerless and icky. And having him call me "sweetheart"? World, you must know he forfeited all privileges to call me any term of endearment other than Queen Lucky, governor of Sexy Town (D-Mich.) and Ruler of All That is Totally Awesome.

It was you who made sure I heard my roommate and her boyfriend making out, wasn't it? Actually, having it happen twice was a little rude of you, Universe, but hey, I understand you have a job to do. Whatever keeps the lights on, hon.

And anyway I took one of her delicious breakfast bars the next morning as compensation for pain and suffering and emotional anguish (I can be paid in food, natch).

Hoped to throw a wrench in my plans by causing horrendous traffic on the freeway to work?

I was still 10 minutes EARLY for work/internship (to be used interchangeably to fool myself into thinking I have a paying job). And having me get lost in the huge campus? Please, how tritely Dickensonian of you.

Attempted to throw me for a loop by having the Runner and Science Guy wave to me at the same time, from the same car?

Let me school you on why they both could be appeased with a few air kisses and a wave: at the end of the day, neither of them tickle my fancy. Not even poke it a little in a fun way. Plus, I have no phone so any awkward "let's hang out" texts are avoided without me having to duck-and-cover. So boo-yah.

By Jove, you even tried to take my hair from me with that almost (I said ALMOST) mullet-esque haircut with blondey bits! Well, you almost succeeded there. But how's this for a newsflash: everyone likes it.

Keep your chin up, you fought a good fight.

PS-Roommate is back now, so could you tell Satan's printer to stop turning on and off randomly? I'd hate to be forced to throw the freaky thing out of the window.

Bear with Me, My Mind is a Jungle

Yummy. Pretzels are good. I've been around the world (not) and the best pretzies ever still come in the blue bag at the titian shopping emporium that is CVS.

Left TV Station early, to, apparently, my own detriment. As soon as my ride arrived is when there was actually semblance of an assignment. But I wasn't about to waste all that gas, so I departed. But tomorrow (well, the next time I go back, Wednesday), is a new day. Funny-ish: today a woman was named the new GM of the station and on her tour of the station, she came up behind me while I was on Gawker.com. Oops. Hopefully my non-work wasn't too evident, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was. Because such is my life.

Got into nice, petty little squabbles with various family members almost back-to-back; contemplated over and over the joys of living alone. Had to hide in the basement with a movie and my laptop for solace, along with my beloved pretzels, que claro.

While on the quest for those deliciously salty snacky-snacks, I narrowly avoided a collision in the CVS parking lot. For once a near-accident wasn't my fault! I had to honk my horn, which, even against the rudest of drivers, I never do. It was that serious, y'all.

Question: does Lord Voldemort ever have to go to the bathroom? I can't imagine him thumbing through Entertainment Weekly while, you know, peeing. Oh, wait, boys stand up, don't they? But what about...well, never mind. Also, how come there's never any mention of showering or daily ablutions in the HP septology (pretty sure I made that term up)? Hmm. Golly I love that Ron Weasley.

Over the weekend, I discovered that I suck at all things financial. After buying a (really cute) top and undies from Forever 21, I mentally calculated my expenditures and nearly fell out. I tried to prioritize my purchases, but, um, epic fail. It was supposed to go (in order of importance):

-Clothes
-...shit, I forgot the order already. I guess that's my problem. Well, I know food was at the bottom of the list and makeup, nail polish, and underwear was somewhere in between. But I am weak in the face of pretzels, the shirt was in a truly majestic leopard print, and the undies were on sale for 99 CENTS. What would YOU have done?

You Jump, I Jump

So, yes, last night was the big birthday do.

Notable: my beef chow mein was delicious, my dad got my mom this ridiculously huge diamond (an update of her engagement ring I think), and my uncle, who moved to Kansas City and hasn't been back for six years, showed up and surprised everyone (well, me at least). That part was really nice. The best party guest goes to my mom's dreadlocked, Afro-centric, self-titled "renegade" teacher friend. She quit her teaching job and is working on her dissertation about the use of "Black language" (aka ebonics) and is seriously awesome. She and Top Chef would have a field day together--I told her she needs to come and teach at My College. Actually, I think she would have a better time at Brother College, but either way she'd turn the campus on its ear.

When it rains, it pours: at first, today's VS shift was turned into an on-call, for which they didn't need me. Not that I wasn't glad to get back to sleep, but, um, I need the money. Wait a minute. What if I get laid off?! It's not like I'm not expendable; I suck at the organizational part of putting the store back together (I had to give this one rude-ass bitch the side-eye last time because she snapped at me like I was incompetent when I was really just confused and a tiny bit EXHAUSTED), and I've only opened one store credit card. IF I GET FIRED FROM THIS JOB I WILL DIE OF MORTIFICATION. Not to mention destitution. Let's change the subject and hope for the best.

All day, since I didn't have to work (insert nervous whimper), I made an ass-shaped groove in the couch in front of the TV because there were all these specials about Diana, Princess of Wales on Oxygen. Quite fascinating stuff, actually, and just not because I like reading about her. A little while later I watched a documentary about the Titanic. Maybe I am a total nerd...

Speaking of the Ship Formerly Known as Unsinkable, I can only watch my Three Disc Special Collector's Edition DVD of Titanic every few years because I bawl every time I do. I can't help it. I'm totally fine up until the part at the end where Rose climbs up the stairs to meet Jack under that "Make it count" clock and everyone applauds as they kiss. That's when I lose it. I even tear up at the opening bars of "My Heart Will Go On." Oh, God, I'm getting sappy just posting that link. This is just pitiful. And yet, I'm considering unearthing my DVD as we speak. Do not disturb.

Yes, I am Complaining...but it's My Blog

It seems as if everything is bugging me/driving me up the wall. Everything is a pet-peeve. I can't stop thinking about things that trouble me or make me upset. Lately, even things like race relations, gay rights, self-reflection, and the environment have been on my mind.

Usually I counter these thoughts with singing (loudly) and favorite movie scenes and the like, but it's tiring. I really think it's a result of stress. Not even that I'm stressed I'm just tired. I almost flat-out refused to go to TV Station today. I want to sleep in. I want to read trashy novels and drink cherry Slurpees by the gallon (make that a Passion Fruit Bubble Tea) and go swimming and watch marathons and expand my DVD collection. You know, things you're supposed to do in the summertime. I mean, yes, the money and experience will be worth it and I really am grateful for these opportunities, and I enjoy myself usually and if the situations were reversed I'd wish I had a job and two internships, but I need a breather. And what's the point of making money if you're so stingy with your off-hours that you won't consider leaving the house if you don't have to?

Consider this: I have not been on Dlisted ALL DAY. That just should not happen.

I know, I know, it's called being an adult. Call me a spoiled freeloader. But I have the rest of my life to be an adult, and consequently, the window of being able to be a spoiled freeloader is getting smaller and smaller as I get older. I promise I will become a responsible, productive, tax-paying contributor to society when I "have" to. For now, though, if it's okay, I'd really just like to go swimming.

To the Front Lines I Go

Turns out I have to work the entire weekend. The one weekend, of course, that Florida Godmother and Atlanta Godfather and his family are coming to town. When I told FG that I had to work even today, she scoffed, "Pssh! Girl, you've got your whole life to work!"

But, as I told her, I need money like, now. And since it will be awhile before my rich husband comes to sweep me off my feet, I need a Plan B in the form of the closing shift at VS. It's not even my real shift; I agreed to fill in for a co-worker who was in a bind. Sigh. I mean, it's Friday and everything, but it's not like I can really see the light at the end of the tunnel because, like I said, I have to work Saturday and Sunday. But I refuse to let The Man bring me down (and for once, The Man is not a nickname for a ne'er do well ex, hah!). As they say, "make that money, don't let it make you!"

Crud. I still have to get dressed and throw some makeup on. Maaaaaan that couch and that DVD player are so calling my name right now. Come on, girl. Get thee to the bathroom, stat. Half-priced lingerie waits for no woman...

I'm rolling my eyes, but when I return I shall be in a better mood for which to entertain y'all, my dears.

It's Kind of Hot, Isn't It?

Lordy but today was positively sweltering. But ice cream on a hot Saturday is the best remedy (thanks, Auntie! [Little Cousin's mom]). Still, instead of holing up to watch Grey's for hours (well, after a few episodes), I went to Target to buy a Father's Day present for Dad. He's just like me to shop for: on our birthdays or whatever, both of us ask for what we actually need. Like socks or undershirts or sports bras (well, that's me, obviously). And it's totally a genetic thing: Granddad, my dad's dad, asked for long johns last Christmas. I really am my father's daughter. Like yesterday, for example. You know the scene in that Amanda Bynes movie "What a Girl Wants" where she and her dad don't notice that they're mirroring each other's movements perfectly? Well that's how we were...it was pretty funny. He really is the best dad ever (to go along with the best mom ever, of course).

At Target there was this tall, Black, handsome grandpa walking with his wife and wearing black Converse All-Stars. I know I smiled like a huge dork when I passed him 'cause seeing him in those shoes just made me happy.

Little Cousin and I watched "Terminator" yesterday, his favorite movie du jour. I never realized how misogynistic that movie is. That or the horrendous hair and clothing. I guess I kept articulating it while we watched, and I guess LC picked up on it. When he watched it later with Middle Sister, he was like, "Her hair is so 80s!" Impressionable, much?

The rudeness! I'm watching "Hairspray" and Michelle Pfifer's character just asked if the musical sounds of [my city] were "the cries of people being mugged?" It's not right, but it's okay! That's why our motto is "We Don't Like You Either." Bitch.

Amanda Bynes is so cute, ever since "Ask Ashley" and "The Amanda Show."

You know what is sad? I was aimlessly wheeling my shopping cart down the aisles at Target for a minute, daydreaming. The first thought that popped into my head when I snapped out of it was, "Let me stop wheeling around, I'm wasting gas." LOL, right? There's a reason why money issues are one of the main causes of divorce: it's on everybody's mind because prices of things are just ridiculous! I went to the movies last night (by myself, I needed to get away) and the ticket was $10! I almost snatched my money back, thinking, where in Republican-caused inflation hell did the $8 tickets go?! And when I went to 7-11 for some M&M's, they were $1 instead of 60 cents! That was the final straw of life. This has got to stop...times is hard, yo!

PS, Laundry Watch ain't over.

Ordinarily I am diametrically opposed to no-talent celebrities getting press and/or public attention, but I have to admit: today I watched a little of "Living Lohan," that show about Lindsay Lohan's mom trying to propel her other daughter (next meal ticket) into stardom. Most of the time I just shook my head like, "Lord, have mercy." But it wasn't totally vomitous. There was one scene where she went to this performing arts workshop and was hella uncomfortable because she was in the midst of people her age with REAL TALENT. The show had glimpses of actual reality (a sad rarity): Dina Lohan (White Oprah) is the quintessential embarrassing mom, and Ali Lohan is a typical bratty teenager. Even though I don't believe in pseudo-celebrities, I had to give that scene of"LL" a begrudging Well-Played. But when I saw a commercial of "True Hollywood Story: The Kardashians," it was another stab to my shriveled black heart.

Material Girl

Allow me to unleash my inner beauty blogger for a moment. Tonight, on the quest for super soft, silky skin, I ventured in the Holy Mecca of beauty booty: my mom's closet. And it did not disappoint. I found the tub of Lush's Karma Kream that we got her last Christmas. Lush is a line of bath and body stuff that uses natural ingredients and recycled packaging, so you know I love it. Some of their stuff is pretty cool, like their bath bombs and this moisturizer that looks like Jell-o. Fresh out of the shower, I applied some Karma Kream to my shoulders at first, and stuff works, y'all. It has a unique fragrance, and I can't stop rubbing my cheek against my shoulder 'cause it's so silky! I've liked Lush for awhile, but the price is a little rich for my blood. The Karma Kream cost about $25 bucks. But the body cream I want from Carol's Daughter, my other skincare love, is about $30. Once I get paid, though, the price will be quite justifiable to have touchable skin. And seeing as I don't spend that much money on clothes, I think it's a fair trade :)

Probably TMI: As much as I love skin stuff, however, nothing seems to be working for the fugly chicken bumps on my upper arms! The hell? Does anyone else get these in the summertime, 'cause they are ruining my sleeveless swag (even though I doubt they're noticeable to anyone but me).

Also, I finally went to the Girlprops website, and boy, am I glad I did. It's an accessories site, and their stuff is everywhere, and super cheap, thank God! I have a feeling that my girls would really like this site; we're all pretty much jewelry junkies. This site might even make me get over my paranoia about online shopping (I'm scared that I'll never get my order). But for this necklace (that's only $6.99, might I add), I totally would make an exception:




A horseshoe! Get it? Because I'm Lucky!

If you had to choose a charm to represent you, what would it be?

When it Rains, it Pours

Thank goodness. Actually did some work at the station today. I edited stories and they actually went on the station's website! Just like that. There's no byline, though, so I can't really use them in my portfolio. I also worked with the nicest intern I've met so far, hence her nickname, Miss Manners. She even let me follow her out of the parking lot onto the freeway so that I wouldn't get lost like I did on Monday (I asked passersby for help and got two different sets of directions). Before she got there, though, Top Chef and I texted all morning about our mutual boredom in the workplace.

Took Precious the Dog on a nice, long walk when I got home, squeezing in some endorphins and some exercise before a torrential downpour claimed the not-so-friendly skies. It's still going on now. Snow and rain are both so lovely to me. They give you a nice excuse to snuggle up inside. The only bad part about it was the humidity, the almost-rain in the air; it made my hair go poufy. Middle Sister sat me down with her polka-dotted flatiron, though, and all was resolved.

Still not reneging on my vow not to take up Off-Limits Boy, in case you were wondering. And even if I did, I'd have no way of contacting him. Not that I want to. Really.

Haha. I'm watching "Rush Hour" right now. Chris Tucker never ceases to crack me up. But one thing I've never been able to figure out: just which bad guy, exactly, is Juntao?! Unsolved mystery. But yippee, tomorrow's a day off, and Friday, I begin training at VS! I'm so excited (hello, discount! I've calculated that I will basically be working there for free). Things are good. In my head, I tried to finish off the statement, "In a perfect world, what would happen?" I was pleasantly surprised to realize that just about everything is in its place for now. Honestly. Except for the whole Pistons-being-eliminated thing and the no-disposable money-thing. But that's why I have a job, right? And, the Red Wings just won the Stanley Cup! So that's a nice little consolation.

Big Boobs and One Arm

Get it? Because it's my 100th post! And also because I can be childish :)

The century mark came quickly. Maybe it's because blogging doesn't feel like work or an obligation, but something I truly love to do. So, cheers (but make mine a virgin, please). And here's to a hundred more!

On account of it being Memorial Day, we decided to boost the American economy by spending the day at this outdoor mall my mom found. 'Twas a hot Midwestern day, but we had fun, the whole family did. Dad sat down and listened to the live band while we did our dirty work, though. We didn't really buy much (well, I didn't), but it was a successful endeavor nonetheless. Since the mall was outside, people brought their dogs on leashes to walk around with. How many cute doggies we saw! It made me think of Charley, Dash, and Precious, of course. On our way out, a dog on a leash nuzzled our legs, and his owner, a cute guy with a European accent, was super-nice to us and asked us if we had a dog and whatnot. I didn't get to ask him what country he was from, but you could totally tell he wasn't from these parts. He was too nice.

I've been extremely materialistic lately in the fact that I can't stop browsing for stuff to buy online. Clothes-makeup-shoe-jewelry lust is slowly taking me over! But I figure it's harmless because I have no money to spend on these things...Lordy, that barbecue sure smells good. Scratch what I said about not enjoying being home!

I finally talked to BFF, yesterday and today, which is like, a record for us! We're already making plans for her to come visit me next year, I absolutely cannot wait. I haven't seen her since our high school graduation, which feels so long ago! Anyway, she told me about her relationship biz and I told her about mine. She had some good, albeit vague, advice for a problem (and a recurring, unsettling dream) that I've been having. She said, "Get over it." Short and sweet. But we know how I am about even the best advice...I'm optimistic, though. It's going to be a long, good summer.

A List That Might Never be Complete

Things I Need to Do:

1. Clean room. It is an unholy mess.
2. Walk to CVS and buy a magazine. Preferably Glamour or Cosmo.
3. Do yoga. Must do at least 3 times a week and have only done it twice.
4. Flatiron hair. Edges are looking a little crispy.
5. Watch season finale of Grey's Anatomy and season opener of Kimora:LiFL. Missed former due to basketball game (Piston victory, so well worth the sacrifice).
6. Call BFF. Have not spoken to said BFF since coming home.
7. Schedule lunch with various hometown friends. Keep forgetting due to tiredness, being busy, and/or general life obligations, and am starting to feel slightly guilty as a result.
8. Drop off numerous job applications. Still in need of money.

One thing that's been crossed off is "find internship." Because now I have one! Yours truly is now an unpaid intern at an independent/underground record label. One of their groups has sold multi-platinum albums, and other artists are placing high on both the Heatseekers and Billboard charts. So that's cool. And I've got free swag already. Like I may have already mentioned, the genre of music is totally not my scene, but it's experience nonetheless. Before I wanted to be a sportswriter, I toyed with the idea of being a music manager. Maybe this internship will make me give it more serious thought. The Head PR Guy (nickname pending) was really chill, too, and everyone was wearing sweatshirts and jeans. I definitely was overdressed in my nice jeans, heels, blazer, and, Lord help me, silky leopard-print top. But better to be overdressed than under-dressed, right?

Check me out, I actually have an internship. Huh. Go me.

This evening we embarked on one of my favorite summer family traditions. After I got back from the internship and Middle Sister came back from practicing driving (help us, oh Lord), we piled in the car and went to the drive-thru A&W, where they bring the food to you to be eaten in your car. It's always the same, the three of us, jammed in the backseat, laughing and bickering, my parents up front, chatting and listening to the radio. While we eat, we come up with some dorky "conversation starter" games. This time, it was random trivia: "What Shakespeare play is 'The Lion King' based on?" or "What college did Oprah go to?" or "Who was the first black person to serve on the Supreme Court?" (my dad's question. Y'all know how old-school black people are!) We had a good time. My mother surprised me; when I asked, "What is Snoop Dogg's real name?" she answered, without hesitation, "Calvin Broadus," and popped a fry in her mouth like it was nothin'!

The best summers, to me, are those filled with drive-in movies, trips to Dairy Queen, family barbecues, good music, bathing suits, and cloudless sunny days that fade into lazy, purple-skied evenings. The best summers make you honestly and truly glad to be alive.

Summertime,
And the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high

Your daddy's rich
And your momma's good lookin'
So hush little baby
Don't you cry

One of these mornings
You're going to rise up singing
Then you'll spread your wings
And you'll take to the sky

But till that morning
There's a'nothing can harm you
With daddy and momma standing by

Summertime,
And the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high

Your daddy's rich
And your momma's good lookin'
So hush little baby
Don't you cry

"Summertime" by George Gershwin, from the musical Porgy and Bess