Because 2 posts in one day wasn't quite enough...

Saturday, June 30, 2007

I thought I'd also share with you that my ear is rotting off. It's not a very good picture, but the backside of my ear is so red it's mostly brown now. Apparently this is why you wear sunscreen.

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And yes, I'm slightly flipping you off, but isn't my ring** pretty?

**The ring isn't on my right hand, I swear. This was taken with my computer webcam because my camera is very dead and it takes a mirror image of the pictures. It's only ever been on my left hand, I promise.

We have the deposit sorted out, NO thanks to the people at WaMu. And by the way, the list of people that my WaMu anger includes has grown exponentially since this morning.

You see, first I called WaMu central headquarters and got no help, just the information that half the money would be released on Friday, which is one week after it was deposited. Then, at the recommendation of The Fiance, I called the guy who set up our account, who was not in. I did talk to someone at that branch who encouraged me to call back Monday (despite my explaining that we had to give the deposit Sunday...). Then The Fiance called WaMu central who directed them to the branch where my mom had deposited the money, because according to everyone, they're who had the hold. Well, everyone lies, because they don't have a hold. And the bank manager told The Fiance that just because someone tells us something doesn't mean it's true or that they have to follow it. Man, their customer service is just fan-freaking-tastic. I'm just so impressed. Way to wine-and-dine me.

Apparently the hold is because my mom deposited such a big amount at once, which is interesting since the guy who opened our account said it wouldn't matter. Everyone we talked to was happy to point out that they'd cleared 100 dollars of the deposit, and let's just say that those declarations weren't met with a whole lot of enthusiasm from us.

So after discovering that we couldn't wire the money without my mom calling and stopping the check, which would then earn me a 25 dollar fine (not for overdrawing my account, for depositing a stopped check, don't even get me started on how completely and totally stupid that rule is), we figured out a different method. I had to call and check with the wedding place, but everything's a go.

Speaking of going, The Fiance is back in New Orleans, which means I'm terribly lonely and jealous. He's out playing with friends and I'm staying at The Fiance's parent's house, with my Future Father-in-law (who is actually a very nice guy and who I just sat with for 2 hours flipping through wedding and baby albums). I feel like singing the Cheers themesong, I want to be where everybody knows my name, and they're all glad I came. I never thought when I moved to New Orleans that I'd be homesick for it while in California, but all I'd like right now is to be with my guy and my cat in my house near my (few) friends and familiar places.

Like I said, the original crisis has been averted, so now we're ready for all the new ones, not including the general melancholy which has returned to my life and the fact that I sunburned my whole backside, including my ass when I fell asleep by the pool today. Woe is me.

WaMu is made of freaking WaMorons

I'm sorry. I'm mad. Like really mad. I don't mean to be mean to WaMu, but they're being mean to me, so I'm going to be mean back briefly. If you work there, I'm sorry, this is not directed at you, only at the 2 morons I spoke to and the man who lied to me.

The Fiance and I opened a joint bank account on Thursday at Washington Mutual, who until this point, has had such a good reputation, and The Fiance has sucessfully banked there for like 8 years. So I asked the man opening the account how long it would take between when a check was deposited into the account (this is the wedding account and my parents are graciously depositing money into it) and when it would be available. I was very clear with this question because I need a specific amount of money to put down a deposit THIS WEEKEND and I knew my mom wouldn't be able to deposit it until Friday. The man said that because The Fiance was an existing customer that they wouldn't need to hold the money, it would go right in.

Lying liar.

I just spoke with 2 different people at WaMu and both of them told me that there's nothing that can be done, it's going to be held. And not just held, they're only going to release HALF of the deposit by NEXT FRIDAY. Granted we need less than half of it, but we can't hold our date any longer and neither of us have the money to take to the wedding place to put down the deposit. So I'm screwed. I was lied to and I may now lose my wedding date because of it. I want to scream and yell and just let loose on someone at WaMu, but the guy who told us the big lie? Not in today. Awfully convenient for him and his physical well-being.

I just want to sit here and cry. This is not fair. We did everything right, we asked the right questions, we did what we were supposed to do and now we have nothing to show for it. We can't get our wedding deposit put down and we can't save the date any longer.

And while I've given at least 3 big lectures about this phrase to the kids I work with this week, I'm going to say it anyway. This is not fair. It's just not. (and the first person to comment and tell me to be thankful for what I have and that life isn't fair is going to get the wrath I've been saving the for the WaMu guy. I'm not kidding. If this post bothers you, leave me alone, today is not the day. I understand that I am very fortuante, it doesn't mean I'm not allowed to be upset when things go wrong).

An open note to the residents/visitors of "The Valley"

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Dear "Valley" dwellers,

There must be something in the water today because general incompetence was abundant in your area. You may question my state of mind and assume that I was grumpy before I encountered you, but I assure you, I was not. I had a lovely meeting with a florist about wedding flowers and I opened a joint checking account with The Fiance. Today was a good day, only slightly marred by the ridiculous people who insist upon forcing themselves into my life. So let me offer a few gentle suggestions.

1. There are rules of etiquette in bowling. Yes, it is a fun relaxed environment, but I cannot bowl when you stop to make out with your girlfriend IN MY BOWLING LANE. And yes, it was cute that you thought you could teach your girlfriend to bowl, but truly (and for the record, I'm not a good bowler, I don't pretend to be), my pinky toe would be a better teacher. Bowling is not meant to be a race to the line with an awkwardly thrown ball at the end. And I actually didn't want to see your ass sagging out if your pants, just in case you wondered.

2. If your child is throwing a fit every time he misses the pins in bowling, the answer is not to feed him more sugar. Your child is probably in severe diabetic shock by now and perhaps that, among a few other reasons, is why your 10 year old can't keep it together through a frame of bowling. I'm going to hazard a guess that bowling with a jawbreaker in one's mouth is also probably not ranked high on the safe-decisions list.

3. It does not matter if you are 18 years old or 80, driving 15 miles per hour in a 35 mile per hour zone is not acceptable. It's just not. And the same goes for driving slowly in the carpool lane. It just isn't done. I know you're used to traffic, but you need not cause it.

4. Putting your emergency flashing lights on doesn't make it okay for you to park in the right lane of traffic on Ventura Blvd. That's what parking lots and meters were made for, stop being lazy.

So in closing, valley dwellers (I suppose I shouldn't group you all together like this, I'm sure many of you are competent, kind, and perhaps normal people, so I'm speaking specifically to the moron who bowled next to me and the 14 different cars I almost ran into on my drive home), you really need to get it together. Figure out where you placed your manners and work on this new concept of a speed limit, not a speed inhibitor.




Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Today I drove on the... (in order of appearance)

90 (actually a DIFFERENT 90 than the morning)
and back on the 405

And that doesn't include the hundreds of other freeways we passed on this drive. I think the total amount of car time today was probably about 3 1/2 hours. Which is interesting since we didn't really go anywhere and we worked a full day somewhere in there too.

I heart Los Angeles.

Alert the Media.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

Houston, we have a date. And a location.


I finally made a decision between the 2 places we narrowed our wedding search down to and I realized that I really preferred one and that it didn't make any sense to continue discussing it because, hey, this is my wedding and I get to pick what I want, not what my family thinks is more convenient, or what might be a few hundred dollars cheaper. So assuming they still have our date open, we have a date and a location. I'm super excited and feeling just so unbelievably happy right now.

In other news, I got the wonderful experience of peeing in a cup at an Urgent Care facility this morning. It's like looking at my tea colored urine was my pennance for letting this UTI go for 4 days before doing anything, and now my urinary tract has gone on strike. I'm now on a huge dosage of Cipro, so if you (especially you Anonymous Hate-Commenter) would like to send some Anthrax my way, now's the time.

And work starts tomorrow. Big things happening all the time, someone should alert the media.

Eek, another clarification

Thursday, June 21, 2007

I wanted to address the comment from the dog post below because sometimes I'm not very clear and I know that intentions are not always known. I would be lying if I said I wasn't temporarily tempted to make fun of the owners of the dog on wheels because there are many jokes that could be made, and then I had the epiphany that if that happened to Karma (my cat) you can bet your ass she'd have a set of wheels. But they'd be pink for sure.

I totally respect the decision to care for pets and extend their lives, but actually seeing a dog on wheels was an odd experience for me and I cannot stop imagining the dog going up or down hills, I'm trying, but I can't. But no bashing, I swear.

Hugs, not bashing.

Turn turn turn...

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

We looked at wedding location number 3 today and let me tell you, it's going to be a tough decision. We're seeing the 4th and final location tomorrow and then we need to crunch numbers. And learn how to be decisive. It'll be interesting, that's for sure.

But on the way back from the wedding place we were stuck in traffic (yea, I know, news flash, traffic in Los Angeles) when I saw perhaps the greatest spectacle ever. First, you should know that on Sunday I saw a woman pushing a small dog in a stroller and I was pretty amused by that. It's not like she had a kid with her and just stuck the dog in the stroller, it was like she was going for a walk and the dog was along for the ride. That's a special kind of laziness on the dog's part.

But today, today I saw a dog with it's own set of wheels. Yes, like all the movies that you think are highly ridiculous and improbable, this dog had a built in set of WHEELS instead of hindlegs. Like, it walked on it's front two legs, but had it's butt attached to a cart and it just rolled. It was a small brown weiner dog. On wheels. And all I could think of when I watched it was what would happen when it got going down hill and started going ass-over-end.

And so tonight while I struggle through sociology, which by the way is the bastard child of history and psychology, and is only half as interesting as either, I'm going to be constantly amused and distracted at the thought of a small brown weiner dog trying to steady itself as it literally takes flight down a hill. I wonder if it has hand brakes?

A note to anonymous

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

I got my first hate comment and I wanted to address it head-on, because, who doesn't like to stir the pot a little? (by the way, if you'd like to see what I'm responding to, head down to my post about the email and check out the comment).

First, lovely anonymous, you must not know me well. Or if you do, you just don't pay attention. I am a teacher, I have a degree from a VERY good college (I even received high honors on my thesis) and for the record, I worked my ass off for it. So your tip about school being hard work? Totally unnecessary. In fact, I could probably teach you a thing or two about hard work. Second, you seriously need to re-examine your sense of humor, or better yet, see if you can pull it out of your ass, along with whatever pole/stick/object you have lodged in it. Because if you knew me, you'd realize that I study like crazy, so calling people "dorks" is, how do you say that again? Oh yes, a JOKE.

You were correct about one thing, I am calling this professor's rules worthless and stupid, and do you know why? BECAUSE THEY ARE. You're right that I don't get passing grades, but that may have had something to do with the fact that I didn't get to finish my quiz, because, and I'm guessing you're also not a professor of math, if I had answered those 2 questions correctly, which I'm going to smugly assume I would, I would've passed the quiz. Pretty ironic that if the professor that allowed me to finish the quiz, that I did not break any rules taking (FOR THE RECORD), I would've passed. Hmmmm. Now, perhaps we should re-examine your claim. I didn't pass because I didn't like the rules? Weird. It seems like I didn't pass because I didn't get to finish it. Iiiiiiinteresting.

Yes, I disagree with my professor's policies, but I follow them. I did not cheat, I did not break her rules, I just disagreed with them, and I sent her an email regarding that (and it was a rather polite email). Every change that has been made in history is the result of someone challenging a rule that they feel to be unjust. I'm not going to pretend like I'm some great knight fighting for a supremely important cause, but you know what? I am allowed to disagree with someone. And you're allowed to disagree with me, which is why I'm not taking your comment down.

That said, I think it's a little cheap to write a comment like that and not leave a name. I said a few posts ago that anonymous comments were okay, what I meant was that you didn't need a blogger account, you could just sign your name at the bottom of the comment. But then again, when you write something unnecessarily mean to someone you don't even know, I'm guessing that you don't so much want to sign it, huh?

And for the record, the correct grammatical structure is 2 spaces after a period, regardless of whether you're using a typewriter or the most amazing computer in the universe. That's something I learned at school. Where I studied. If your word processor double spaces for you, fantastic, but that doesn't mean you aren't supposed to double space when typing in a program that doesn't do it for you. It just means you're lazy.

And P.S. to your P.S. If you feel a need to come to someone's private blog, leave an unsigned comment, maybe YOU're the one who needs to work on communication. Because to me, you're just a big, fat chicken. If you'd like to continue this elsewhere, my email address is: and I'd love to talk it over with you somewhere else. Don't trash my blog.

And a note to all readers. If you disagree with me, or don't like me, or better yet, just want to be unkind, how's about you just stop reading? I'd love you to be here, I really would but if you disagree with me so much that you need to be nasty to me, I'm pretty sure that this isn't the place for you and I'm pretty sure I don't want to waste my time dealing with you. I don't like to be mean, but I will not stand aside while you belittle me. I am not a child, I am not an idiot and no one is forcing you to read. Please stay if you're happy reading, please leave me alone if you're not.

Price of being an adult...

Estimate for horrible squealing/shrieking noise coming from car.....$50

Normal brake replacement cost....$150 (per online info)

Replacing MY old brake pads, etc....$276

The feeling of knowing you're driving a car with functional brakes....TWO-HUNDRED AND SEVENTY SIX FREAKING DOLLARS.

This is one of those times that I wish I wasn't an adult. And a time I'm really thankful that I have a credit card.

An excerpt from the ongoing summer school email battle

Monday, June 18, 2007

I'm so flabbergasted by the professor's response that I have to share it. Anything in parentheses is my addendum to the email because some of it is just plain ridiculous and requires commenting.

Dear Ms. (my last name),

In a 25 items True or False/Multiple choice quiz such as Quiz #1, students are normally given only 20 minutes in my regular class to complete the test. For those who prepared (dorks), the amount of time allowed is more than enough--in fact, most students completed it less than this time frame (because they probably study). If you read the directions and my announcements, then you should've known that "you're not allowed to open books, notes, or anything other than the test." (first, I'd like you to find that for me, because it's not in the syllabus NOR is it posted online, I think you wrote it down in the rules to your fantasy onine game, second, I'd like you to take a poll so that you realize that NO ONE taking this online course is taking this quiz without notes. Or at least no one with any common sense whatsoever). You're given the same test with the same guidelines as the rest of the class. Nobody punished you or anybody for that matter. What you submitted is what determined the outcome of your perfomance on the quiz (except for that whole, didn't get to do the last two questions part).

Now if you're going to continue to have difficulty following instructions and if you cannot abide by the (STUPID) course policy and (WORTHLESS) procedures, I strongly suggest that you drop the course and find the one in which the instructor would allow you to dictate assessment techniques and course policies to him/her (um, speechlessly offended). You may want to consider a regular class without the constraints imposed by online course.

Best wishes,

Dr. Asshole who doesn't put two spaces between periods and the next sentence.


Now is it me, or does the salutation of "Best Wishes" just seem like she's taunting me? I really wanted to sign my reply "Shove it up your ass" or something of that nature, but I think I went with sincerely. Hard to remember consider how livid I was at the time.

Summer school is awesome. I think that there's probably no chance that she isn't going to lower my grade on account of the fact that she's the wicked witch of New Orleans and I killed her sister with emails.

Summer School is so not cool

Saturday, June 16, 2007

I got a D on the quiz. A DEE. First of all, she wouldn't let me do those last 2 problems after my computer froze, despite the fact that I had time left. Pretty considerate, right? And then, she turned off the "backtrack" freature, so if you realized, in hindsight that you'd chosen the wrong answer, there was nothing you could do about it. Now think back to when you took tests and quizzes, did your professors prevent you from checking your work????

And she won't let us see the quizzes, so I have no idea (besides those last 2) which ones I got wrong. It's so easy to learn when you have no idea what mistakes you've made. Note that a scathing email has already been sent her way. Nothing says I'm going to be a fun cooperative student like a nasty email one week into the class.

Sigh. Summer school is most definitely uncool.

The Internet Hates Me, Take 2

Friday, June 15, 2007

Remember the big test debacle in May, when my computer timed out of the testing program and I couldn't finish it?

Well this morning, on the same testing program (blackboard, I hope you rot in hell), I was on question 24 of 25, with 5 minutes left on the quiz when my computer FROZE. I have a Mac, THEY DON'T FREEZE. That's why I bought one. And here I am again, waiting a professor to return my email to let me see if she's going to let me do the last 2 questions I didn't get to do because my computer is an asshat.

I'm dropping out of school, it's definitely not worth this kind of stress and clearly my copmuter doesn't want me to do it anymore.

I'm about to take a sociology quiz, then I'm going to go quick shopping, then I'm getting a massage, then lunch, then a shower, then staff training for my job, then a party with friends I haven't seen in 3 years. I think I'm going to get to bed a little later than I'd planned tonight, eh?

That said, I heart Los Angeles. And The Fiance. My head still hurts, but the world feels a little more right here.

In the nick of time...

Thursday, June 14, 2007

So it's going to be 100 degrees here tomorrow. I can't say enough how happy I am to be getting out while I can. Woohoo. I have about 10 billion little errands to run before I leave, but I'm still so freaking excited to get out of here, see The Fiance and enjoy some vacation time (and even a little work time) I can't possibly explain it.

Now, if I could will my head to stop hurting and get my stomach to follow suit, we'd be in business. My body hates me, but I hate it more.

Taking a step back...

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Diana, I wanted to make sure you know this- I think the pink kitchenaid tools are both cool and cute, especially the fact that they donate money to breast cancer research. If I had a stitch of pink in my kitchen, I'd buy them (perhaps not the entire line of products, but the cups). It was merely the color combination I was gawking at.

Each item on it's own is completely fine, but putting them in one kitchen? Um, no.

After you read this, you'll know my family doesn't yet have the address...

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Okay, I tried to stay quiet about this, I did, really, and trust me, this post will disappear the moment a family member finds out the blog (well, they know about it, I guess as soon as I give them the address), but seriously, I can't not say something. One of my (4) step-sisters is getting married in a month. I don't want to pass many judgements on her personally, but let me just say, she and her fiance are made for each other. She nice enough (well, she's nice to a lot of people, I'm not really one of them), she's just not terribly stable.

So anyway, we held a wedding shower for her this weekend and beforehand, my mom and I went shopping for something off her registry. First we looked at her plates, she'd already received all that she'd registered for, but we wanted to see what the kitchen was going to look like (because we're curious like that). And let me just say, (and I'm NOT saying anything bad about these dishes as a general set of dishes they're actually kind of cool), wow. Because this kitchen is...well, just keep reading.

These are her everyday plates...

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And here are her kitchen appliances/utensils, no I'm not joking, she registered and got all of these, plus the scissors, the potato peeler, the collander, the ice cream scoop and several other things I can't think of anymore, and already has the kitchen aid mixer in the same color.

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And for good measure, how about a tea pot? I mean, this color coordinating thing is completely overrated.

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The girl has RED dishes and PINK kitchen stuff and a random-ass BLUE teapot. Not to mention the most God-awful flatware I've ever seen in my whole life. Ever. (I couldn't find a picture that appropriately displayed how bad they are. They have little bug looking creatures engraved in them...) Seriously, it's like she went registering with a blindfold on. Like she just took the scan gun and spun in circles hitting everything in a 10 foot radius. My favorite part of all of the different registries (there are three)? She registered for one, just one, ten dollar gift card at Target. Really? Need some gum or batteries or something?

It was hiliarious to watch people at the shower. One turned to me after she opened the dishes and said, "those can't really be what she registered for?" And then when she opened all the pink stuff the same person got laughing so hard she had to go inside. It's really that bad. Her kitchen is going to be like a train wreck. A rainbow splattered train wreck. Jackson Pollack couldn't invision this kitchen.

This will be the first and only installment of how NOT to decorate your house. Also known as, how to make your family laugh at you behind your back. I'm a horrible person, I know. But I'll get over it, and she'll be stuck with those dishes for years.

Overheard at a Family Dinner...

Monday, June 11, 2007

My 3 year old cousin:
"The ants go marching 8 by 8, hurrah hurrah.
The ants go marching 8 by 8, hurrah hurrah.
The ants go marching 8 by 8 the little one stops to (she pauses while to examine the picture of the ant on the roller skate) ride on his scooter,
And they all go marching down, to the ground, to get out, of the rain, boom boom boom."

Rhyming, not a 3 year old skill and roller skates? Way out of style.


The dress shopping did not happen. The place we went for lunch took a lifetime to make our turkey sandwiches (no I'm not even kidding) and then we didn't have time. Boo on that.

And while my head is marginally better, I have a wicked sore throat and my right ear feels like it's on fire. Boo on that too.

I'm all different kinds of tired and cranky today. I know what you're thinking, and yes, I do need a drink.

sTiR cRaZy

Sunday, June 10, 2007

I'm seriously going crazy here. CRAZY. I love my family, I really do, and I even tolerate my step-dad's family okay, which is who I spent the vast majority of the day with, but seriously, I need me some space. Actually that's not true, I don't need space, I need space FROM my family. Other people I can tolerate just fine right now, I need space from anyone I'm related to (blood or marriage). I felt crappy all day, but I got dressed up (in a dress that, if I had to describe it would say looks a lot like wrapping paper), I did my hair/makeup, pretended to care and did what I had to do. But I did not care. Not one bit. And you can't make me.

Tomorrow is lunch with my mom (where we're actually going to browse wedding dresses, so that's pretty fun, I have to admit) then I think I'm spending the evening with my Dad. Ironically being home for a week now I have not consumed a single home-cooked meal. When you have as many competing families as I do, you go out to eat a lot. What I wouldn't give for, I don't know, chicken? Something that's not made by a restaurant or a fast food joint would be so nice. I'd even cook it if it means I'd get to eat it.

Oh, and the highlight of the day? Someone introduced me to EVERYONE at the wedding shower we had today (not for me, for my step-sister) as my (Perfect) Sister (in all fairness to her, our names start with the same sound). So for like half of the shower, everyone thought I was my sister. Nevermind that we don't look at all alike and I've seen these people tons of times, just call me whatever jumps into your head first. Yes, that's all fine. Don't worry about these complexes, they'll resolve on their own. Much like the 6 day headache.


Saturday, June 9, 2007

The anonymous comment thing has been fixed. Perhaps I should do some research before I just say something completely untrue, like it's okay to leave anonymous comments?

Thanks for the heads up Pam.


#33- curtosey of Anna- WHEN IS THE WEDDING? Well, that's kinda the question of the hour right now. We have appointments at 4 different places in the Southern California area and hopefully after meeting with them and doing some number crunching, we'll be able to pick a place we like and subsequently a date. We don't have a specific date in mind, just a time frame (the date of our original anniversary, which would be cute to get married on, is like a Wednesday I think). Trust me, once I know when the wedding is, there'll surely be an obnoxious countdown to follow.

#33- curtosey of Kim- WHY DON'T PEOPLE SIGN THE COMMENT SECTION? Well, I know several of you have emailed me regarding this, and often will leave comments there, and it's because you don't have a blogger account, which is fine, I appreciate the emails too, though you should know that you can totally do the anonymous thing here and then just sign your name at the end. Or not, being completely anonymous is cool too.

#33- curtosey of me- WHY WON'T MY HEAD STOP HURTING? Because then I might be able to think/act/sleep/speak/function clearly. I said might.

Oh and Diana? You did not ruin my blog, not one bit. And I probably could go and fix it, but I'm just that kind of lazy. :)

In honor of the 2,000th visitor

Thursday, June 7, 2007

a healthy dose of autobiographical sarcasm.

Enjoy (by the way, this was stolen from Marriage-101 which is a new favorite blog of mine)

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Yes, my mom's favorite student. She's something extraordinarily important now. Them some big shoes I'm standing in.
2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? Sometime in Texas. I know that's not a time, but I was in Texas for so long I lost track of the time.
3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? If I put my mind to it and write slowly, yes, but I've always been too quick and sloppy. My first grade of B in my whole life was the 1st quarter of second grade, and it was in handwriting. I've been traumatized since then.
5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS? Negative. I have a Fiance, they too require food and attention.
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Maybe not at first, but I think I'd grow on myself.
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? No, and if I leave this world without doing anything important, hopefully I will have convinced a few people to keep their tonsils; because it was the most unpleasant, painful experience in my life and I've broken, oh, like 9 bones, so I'm oddly familiar with pain. If you're over the age of 10, keep your tonsils. I'd rather have tonsilitis for the rest of my life than go through that pain again. Go, spread my wisdom.
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Nope. Don't like heights. Oddly, I want to jump out of nervousness, so I avoid them as much as possible.
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? For breakfast- honey-nut cheerios. For snacking- cinnamon toast crunch. Neither of them with milk. Milk is the nectar of the devil.
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? I almost never wear shoes with laces, but yes, I usually do untie them.
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? No, not really in any way, shape or form.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM? Ben and Jerry's Phish Food or however it's spelled.
14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? Eyes. I'm a sucker for pretty eyes.
15. RED OR PINK? Red. No pink. No red. Definitely red.
16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? My ability to injure myself anytime, anywhere. Usually wherever is least convenient.
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? My Grandma. There are a lot of things I'd like to say to her and tell her all about. I wish she had been at my graduation, or my sister's wedding, or my future wedding. Or that she'd met her great-grandkids. I miss her for all the things she didn't get to see and do.
18. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Jean shorts and no shoes. I almost never wear shoes.
19. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE? French Fries (yea, that wedding diet is going really well. Really.)
21. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Periwinkle. I like to stand out in a quiet way.
22. FAVORITE SMELLS? French Fries.
24. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? It wasn't sent to me, but I like the blog I found it on.
25. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH? Football. It's almost impossible not to root for the Saints.
26. HAIR COLOR? Dark brown
27. EYE COLOR? Green, with brown in the middle.
28. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Yep. Since I was 12.
29. FAVORITE FOOD? French Fries.
30. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? I don't watch scary movies, but I also don't need mush. As long as it's not an old movie, or a creepy one, I'm good.
31. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? Because I Said So. I bought it and watched it last night. I'm finding that I may be the only person who really liked the movie.
32. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Gray, with purple letters (TCU- yea Diana!)
34. HUGS OR KISSES? Neither? I'm not touchy feely, but if I have to choose one, it'd be hugs.
35. FAVORITE DESSERT? French fries. I mean cake. White cake with white frosting. From the store.
36. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? Jodi Picoult's "Second Glance" and then I have 6 more lined up to read when I finally finish this one. Though first I have to pass my 2 summer school classes.
37. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? My fingers. It's a laptop, no mouse pad. Do people still have mouse pads?
38. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT? I don't remember what I watched. It was just background noise.
39. FAVORITE SOUND? French Fries. And I like rain, as long as it's not accompanied by lightning and thunder.
42. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? I can do the splits, but only with my left leg forward, not right.
43. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Memorial Hospital, Bakersfield, California.

Now, the real question (if you read this far) did you notice that there's no number 33? If so, pick a question you want answered, and leave it in the comment section. They've been a little light lately and I know Kim and Pam aren't the only ones reading, so ask away.

I need to know Victoria's Secret

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

I went bra shopping today with my 100 dollar birthday giftcard, which is an experience I look forward to almost as much as the yearly trip to the gynecologist, but I really need new bras. You see, at one point in my life, I had boobs. Not substantial knockers that forced men's heads to spin around or made jaws drops, but they were there, at least somewhat visible. And then I lost some weight and they disappeared. I gained that weight back (see the previous entry for the whole sordid tale), but my boobs? they stayed the same. Small and unnoticeable. You won't get me to admit this again, but they so miniature that I often brush bronzer onto my sternum when wearing low-cut shirts so it looks like I have some semblance of cleavage. It's just sad.

Last time I went to Victoria's Secret I asked to be sized because I've always sort of guessed my bra size and adjusted as needed for increases or decreases (read: only decreases) in size. They did it over my clothes and the woman decided I was a 36C, which I literally laughed aloud about. I could fit both my boobs into a C cup and still have room to spare. The bra I had on when she sized me was a 36A, and she didn't believe me until I showed her the tag and proved both the size and that I bought it from that very store. There's nothing at all embarrassing about having a woman call you a liar in public and make you prove that your boobs are *that* small in front of everyone. It definitely made me want to buy something- good customer service for sure.

So I went today (to the very same store, I'm stubborn) and tried on about 30 different bras and am somewhat dumbfounded by how they're sized. Why does a 34A fit in one style, but is hugely big in other styles? And shouldn't they have to have a few bras in AA size? I know it's pathetic, but even us less well endowed women need to wear something nice too. I don't want to shop in the children's section at Target.

I did end up with 3 new bras (the exact same one in different colors), though I'd be lying if I said they weren't a little bit large. It's just not fair. I think that Perfect Sister got all the boob genes, because she has more than enough for both of us. Maybe she'll consent to a transplant if I ask nicely. And more importantly, perhaps that's Victoria's big secret- they're fake.

Short Circuit

Tuesday, June 5, 2007

Throughout most of my childhood, I was a chubby kid. I could post a bunch of pictures to prove this, but I need not embarrass myself this early in the day. I certainly didn't have good eating habits (I had a love of Skor bars and since I stayed home alone afterschool, I used to make great things like "lemon sludge" while no one was watching. The recipe: Take one lemon, squeeze the juice into a bowl, then pour as much sugar as you can until it resembles a nice bowl of sugar sludge. Eat with spoon. Save up for cavity care later), though I did a host of sports that kept me pretty active. I was always bigger than my Perfect Sister, who, was, well, perfect at everything. For some reason I chose to do every activity she did, which I think was a masochistic ritual that allowed me get my ass handed to me readily and frequently.

Then I went away to college, and in my horribly unpleasant freshman year, I adopted a new diet, generally referred to as not eating. I battled anorexia for a good year and a half, and though I got down to a fairly dangerous weight, when I managed to right myself, I bounced back to the chubby adult that I had been beforehand (don't get me started on what a crock of crap I was handed at the nutritionist's office. "Eat what you want, your body will even itself out." "No, you won't end up overweight again." Lying liars). After a few years back in normalcy, my senior year of college rolled around, and through a horrible case of anxiety, I managed to stop eating again and dropped a lot of weight. It was never intended to be a weight loss program (it was not, I repeat, not, a relapse of the anorexia, I wanted to eat, I really genuinely did, but was paralyzed by a series of horribly irrational fears), but I was not in control of my emotions or feelings or anything, and subsequently lost about 45 pounds, which oddly put me at pretty much the ideally healthy weight.

I've managed to maintain that weight for the past 3 years with virtually no exercising whatsoever. Once upon a time I used to run daily and work out, and back then, I had, what are they called again? oh yes, muscles. It seems that my metabolism has finally made up for all those years of laughing and pointing while every calorie I consumed stuck to my thighs. I can eat mostly whatever I want (though I am portion size conscious because when I over-eat, I pay for it in spades with horrible nausea) and stay within a 5 pound range of where I usually am. Don't hate me, I had 21 years of watching every thing I ate and this surely won't last now that I've written it down.

But see, now there's a wedding. There will be pictures. There will probably be a strapless dress. There will be copious amounts of arm flab. And I know what you're thinking, but really, there's not a muscle to speak of in the whole area, it's just a bunch of various tissues, hanging there. And, my stomach. I realize that no one is going to see anything beneath my dress at my wedding (I'm leaving a very obvious joke option open here), but I am going on a honeymoon and I do eventually want to wear a bathing suit but I have perhaps one of the least attractive stomachs ever. I have what is lovingly referred to as the belly button cavern. There are many jokes about how it has it's own gravity pull and one of my favorite ways to freak people out is to store a manner of disgustingly big items in it, it's really that big and that unattractive. I'd capture it on film too, but there's not a computer screen large enough to handle it.

Now here's the problem, my brain is stupid. I finally got myself out of bed this morning and got onto my mom's fancy new elliptical machine and I made it precisely 20 minutes before I had to lie down to prevent my head from exploding. I don't talk much about my stupid brain, but because my brain hangs down into my spinal canal, there are a host of irritating issues that I deal with. One of which is that when I exercise and my heart rate goes up, my blood pressure goes up and then my intercranial pressure goes up (or so I understand it), and thus my head HURTS. Not like, a headache, like a head bomb. I do not know how to deal with this, and neither does anyone else, so I'm trying a new form of exercise. It's like circuit training. I do a few minutes of exercise, and then I lie down. I do a few more minutes, lie back down. I may finish this workout sometime this evening if I'm lucky.

So if you don't hear from me for a few days, it's because I'm lying on the floor, willing my brain to be contained. Either that or this God-forsaken wireless internet is down again.

Addicted to Love.

Sunday, June 3, 2007

After driving 900 miles today, I feel wiser. I had A LOT of time to contemplate a lot of things. And now, in Los Angeles, I'm a mere 120 miles from where I was raised, and yet I feel farther from home than ever. (I offer you a mush warning now, it's like cream-of-wheat from here on out...)

I feel completely ridiculous because it's been less than 3 full days since I left, and I miss The Fiance so very much. There were about 10 times today I wanted to spin the car around on the grassy median and drive back to New Orleans and just envelope myself in his arms. Part of it is because he's very stressed about a test and I can't fix it, despite my incredible overwhelming desire to do so. And part is because I treated him pretty horribly in the past 2 weeks. It's like I made leaving him easier by being the worst possible version of myself. I would have a thought in my head, nice and normal and then through some version of verbal diarrhea say something critical or mean or otherwise completely unnecessary. I could say that it was said with "good intentions" but I generally feel that that is an excuse for saying something that hurts someone else's feelings without owning up to it. I'm owning up to it, I was awful and he knows my levels of guilt and apologies, but it doesn't change what was said.

It occurs to me that it also has something to do with the fact that I'm possibly more in love than I've ever been. I know that seems somewhat counterintuitive, but I think my thoughts get clouded by my feelings and my feelings make me horribly inarticulate and basically just stupid.

Love between a man and a woman is not perfect. It's human-based. Love is the most unimaginable highs and some of the lowest lows. It's where seconds feeling like hours and hours feeling like seconds. It's being jealous, not out of a place of not being trusting, but out of a place of selfishness, because when you love someone THAT much, you don't want anyone else to have access to them. Love is feinging happiness for something that is good in the big picture, but feels sucky in the current timeframe. It's knowing that your head fits perfectly on his chest and knowing that your foot fits perfect in your mouth. Love is being able to complicate something as simple as a button-hole and also being able to tackle the meaning of life. It's being wrong and being right, it's never truly being alone. Love is all the things that make us happy, sad, crazy and special. It is worth every effort and every struggle. I wouldn't trade a moment of the past 3 years for the world.

Just in case I don't say it enough, you are IT. You are worth the effort, the pain, the struggles and everything else that's gotten us here. You are what keeps my world right-side up when everything else sets it spinning. You are what makes me tick when I'm too tired to keep going. You are my compass, my true North. And perhaps more than anything else right now, you are missed.


Saturday, June 2, 2007

Okay, I'm not going to delete anything, but I do want to set the record straight. Texas is not ugly. I apparently have only driven through here in the dead of summer or night and subsequently missed the 200 miles of beautiful greenness. So, Texas, please accept my most sincere apologies for insulting you.

And all that said, after 600+ miles of driving today, I'M STILL IN TEXAS. Envy me, I know you want to.

Road Trip Day 1...

Friday, June 1, 2007

So I'm in Houston, on schedule, paying 10 bucks to use the internet (technically I didn't mean to do it, but once I'd done it I figured I may as well use the 10 dollars well) and I'd like to run screaming for the hills.

I left about noon, turned up the radio and started driving. After a while I looked down and thought I was probably easily almost to Baton Rouge, if not farther than that. And then I saw a sign for LaPlace. And looked at my odometer and realized I'd gone 9.2 miles. I knew at that point it was going to be a long day.

Okay, and truthfully, I like Texans. The vast majority of them are nice people, but, (and apologies for the feelings I'm going to hurt), I *hate* this state. Everything works backwards. It's like a dog or cat that knows that you're not a dog or cat person and therefore bugs the shit out of you even more, helping you realize why you don't like them in the first place. Texas does that to me. Everytime I make peace with it, it bugs the shit out of me again. I literally, I'm not exaggerating, got one and one-half miles into the state when the traffic hit. They narrowed the road to one lane, which is fine, it happens. So we're not moving and suddenly the sky opens up and pours. No, maybe not pours, more like liquifies. It rained so much that there was easily an inch of standing water on the freeway and my windshield wipers couldn't wipe it all and I WASN'T EVEN MOVING AT THE TIME. And, as the icing on the texas crap cake, the lightning and thunder commenced moments after.

And then there's Houston. Again, nothing against the people here, but whoever planned this city and the freeway system, is stupid. I spent a lot of time on the beltway, which is a Texas word for a 2 lane highway with a speed limit of 60mph and a stoplight every 1/2 mile so that you get going quickly and then have to slam on the breaks to avoid causing a massive car accident. And it forces you off and on it like 4 times every 10 miles. Why can't you just connect these roads? Why must we merge on and off? Why?

And the best part? I still have 800 miles left to drive through. I can only imagine what tomorrow will bring- besides A LOT of Texas.

10pm update: Texas is much better after a Cosmopolitan. MUCH better.