It's that time of year. Time to drink away the painful memories of being with our families over the holiday season. This is why the placed Christmas so close to New Year's you know, to give us an excuse to drink after all that family bonding and everything that went down while the Christmas tree was still up. I only hope you didn't have to hear about your family's sexcapades like this gal did. Ungh.
Now, before you go polishing off the fifths of vodka sitting around or emptying the fridge of beer in order to ring in the New Year as loudly and obnoxious as possible, I have to ask if you've got any New Year's resolutions. Especially creative ones. Creative ones are the most fun because, let's face it, nine out of ten people have "to lose weight" at the top of their list. Which is totally cool, and that's one of my resolutions too (only I'm phrasing it as "to become more healthy" so that I won't feel like a total heifer when I go to polish off those oatmeal cookies my grandma made me for Christmas the day after New Years), but I refuse to be an adult about my New Years' resolutions.
And, I know you didn't ask and that you probably don't care, but I'm sharing some of my resolutions with you anyway.
Resolution 1: To give up red meat.
Because, obviously, I'm insane and like an impossible task. I mean, I only live in Kentucky. Cows and chicken. That's what we eat here. My mother lives on a farm, for Pete's sake. And I have devoured many of the cows on that farm in the form of cheeseburgers and steaks over the years. I'm not saying that they weren't delicious, but, I don't know. I just end up feeling gross and greasy after eating burgers. I ate a Bacon Deluxe from Wendy's tonight for dinner. And while it was yummy, I don't think I'm going to miss it. I may slowly give up all meat and become a vegetarian. Except for chicken and turkey. Hey, it's not my fault that they're so damn tasty.
Resolution 2: To live out all of Taylor Swift's songs.
Just try and tell me that won't be fun. And I've already lived out all those unrequited love songs so, really, I'm halfway done. "Love Song" shouldn't be too difficult since, you know, I was an English major and can at least get my Shakespeare plays and Hawthorne stories straight, dammit.
Resolution 3: To get healthy.
The 30 Day Shred... which might end up killing me. Shit. 30 Day Shred+no red meat+cereal and fruit for lunch at work (which I will have no problem with because I LOVE cereal)=healthy. It's not much of a game plan, but when it comes to stuff like this, too much of a game plan will end up with me lying on the floor eating Cheetos at 3 in the morning and incoherently mumbling things about peppermint ice cream.
Mmm... Cheetos. I would probably give up a first born for some Cheetos right now. The puffy ones...with the artificial cheese bits that stick to the tips of your fingers. Why do I find those things so yummy? It sounds fucking disgusting.
Resolution 4: To see Hanson four more times in concert.
10 concerts by 2010. I've seen them 6 times live since October 12, 2000. And I'm so excited about how easily "10 in 2010" rolls off the tongue that I can't help but want to make this dream come true.
Resolution 5: To finish writing at least one more novel in 2010.
I've got 3 started. Surely to God I can finish one of those. Preferably "Always on the Run" since the first in the series, "Always the Last to Know", will be on e-bookshelves within a couple weeks. And, don't worry, I'll let you know when it's available to purchase. Trust me, you will know a million times and again. You will know so many times that other things that you know will fall out of your head and the only thing you will know is that your main goal in life is to buy my book.
Did I mention that I'm a shameless-plug whore? No?
Resolution 6: To try and save some friggin' money.
This one is almost laughable. I am the worst person with money. Ever. But I'm planning a trip to Europe in 2011 and I need to lose several, SEVERAL pounds to donate eggs so, really, being a frugal bitch is the only way I'm going to be able to finance that trip.
Yes, I really did look into donating eggs. You can make between $2,500 and $5000 for that. That would finance a trip to Europe. Hell, that's a fourth of my student loan bill, you guys. And there could be worse things than a Mini-Me running around the Earth and constantly bumping her head or stubbing her toes on things. But, alas, you have to be in a "healthy weight range" to donate eggs, which I am not. Largely in part to the aforementioned Cheetos. Oh, and because I'm really fucking lazy.
All right, it's your guys' turns. What are you resolutions?
Oh, and Happy New Year beautifuls!
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
liquid bar.
Needing a fancy night out, Amber and I went to a fairly new club here in the BG called Fluid. Yes, Fluid because, you know, one word club names are oh-so-hip. This place though? I... I'm still having trouble trying to process it all. I think the best way is to share a text conversation I had with Jenn, whose roommate wants to go there. I strongly advise that they seek alternate plans because that place was just ridic.
Yes, it was so absurd, that I don't even give it the full spelling of ridiculous. I save full spellings for places that don't make me think that I'm tripping balls.
Me: My mouth is completely agape. No way can a place exist that is this ridic.
Jenn: Is it the classy females?
Me: First off, I am the tallest person here. Secondly, "Single Ladies" just started and 95% of the bar just cheered. I feel like I'm at a gay prom.
...
Me: I don't think anyone is going to believe me about this place. It is very real. Unfortunately.
Jenn: God sent you there for a reason tonight. You must tell your story. There will be many non-believers. But you must tell your story!
Me: I don't think God has anything to do with this place.
It's true about the tall thing. There were several instances when I looked around and was the tallest person there. Let the records show that I am only 5'6. That just isn't right. There was also a gentleman by the name of Creepy McCreeperson (although that's probably not what is on his birth certificate), a girl lacking underwear (she got low during "Low" and I saw more than I bargained for... also, she and her boyfriend were pretty much going at it at one point), and a group of guys from Colorado that had their spokesman come over to ask us if it was a gay bar. In his defense, the people there seemed very excited when a Lady Gaga song came on.
But, the height thing. Being in a room full of dudes where I'm the tallest one is my nightmare. Not that it matters since I'm like Mia before the makeover in The Princess Diaries.
"Somebody sat on me again"
- Mia, The Princess Diaries
Oh! And I saw a guido! Not being Italian-American or on Jersey Shore probably means I shouldn't use that term but I was just so damn giddy.
Yes, it was so absurd, that I don't even give it the full spelling of ridiculous. I save full spellings for places that don't make me think that I'm tripping balls.
Me: My mouth is completely agape. No way can a place exist that is this ridic.
Jenn: Is it the classy females?
Me: First off, I am the tallest person here. Secondly, "Single Ladies" just started and 95% of the bar just cheered. I feel like I'm at a gay prom.
...
Me: I don't think anyone is going to believe me about this place. It is very real. Unfortunately.
Jenn: God sent you there for a reason tonight. You must tell your story. There will be many non-believers. But you must tell your story!
Me: I don't think God has anything to do with this place.
It's true about the tall thing. There were several instances when I looked around and was the tallest person there. Let the records show that I am only 5'6. That just isn't right. There was also a gentleman by the name of Creepy McCreeperson (although that's probably not what is on his birth certificate), a girl lacking underwear (she got low during "Low" and I saw more than I bargained for... also, she and her boyfriend were pretty much going at it at one point), and a group of guys from Colorado that had their spokesman come over to ask us if it was a gay bar. In his defense, the people there seemed very excited when a Lady Gaga song came on.
But, the height thing. Being in a room full of dudes where I'm the tallest one is my nightmare. Not that it matters since I'm like Mia before the makeover in The Princess Diaries.
"Somebody sat on me again"- Mia, The Princess Diaries
Oh! And I saw a guido! Not being Italian-American or on Jersey Shore probably means I shouldn't use that term but I was just so damn giddy.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
heart songs.
I talked about the Weezer song "Heart Songs" and applied it to my movies ages ago in a blog entry that is right here. I said that someday, oh someday, I was going to post an entry of my actual heart songs. Since I can't think of a damn thing to write about, I'm going with that. Plus, Meagan and I were discussing our favorite songs at the bar the other night (I almost put "the other day" but decided against it since "day" makes me sound like an alcoholic. And I'm not an alcoholic, even if I'm getting through this week just because I know Friday is going to be a boozy good time.)
So, yeah. Heart songs. Here are mine:
1 - "Ain't No Sunshine", Bill Withers
This is in my top five favorite songs list, as well as in my heart songs list because you can have favorite songs and then you can have songs that speak to you and I swear that made sense when I was drinking over the weekend.
Anyway, "Ain't No Sunshine" is just an amazing song. A guy I had crushed on hardcore in high school (and middle school and elementary school.... hey, don't call me a quitter) used to sing this song. I remember clearly hearing him sing it one day as he was standing behind me in the ala carte line in the lunchroom. I didn't know the song, and his voice was far less than superb, but I liked it okay. Then I forgot about it. Until I heard a professional cover of the song by my boys. And it all clicked and, if it had been around then, I would have totally went "OMG!"
While I love my boys singing this song (as well as The Watson Twins... they done a beautiful cover of this song when I saw them opening for Ben Kweller in Nashville. If you haven't heard The Watson Twins, then your ears are missing out), Bill Withers' original version of the song will always be the one I hold the most dear.
2 - "Runaway Run", Hanson
This is what I was talking about earlier. I love this song, I think it's a fantastic song, but it's not in my top five favorites, but this song just makes me feel. And I know that sounds real hippy-dippy like (yeah, hippy-dippy), but I don't know how else to say it. It's not Hanson's best song (all those snickering and mumbling things about MMMBop, you can just shut your dirty mouth), but it's just one that I connect with. Connect with so much, that I considered getting various lyrics and/or sheet music from the song tattooed on me somewhere. In case my mother ever reads this: No Mom, I do not have Hanson lyrics tattooed anywhere on my person. My real love for this song just exploded all over the place after hearing a live acoustic version of the song.
3 - "Wild World", Cat Stevens
I guess this is where my hippy-dippyness (or is it dippiness? or something less stupid?) really comes into play because, really, Cat Stevens? It's kind of like "Runaway Run" and somehow manages to make whatever is going on make sense.
4 - "Have a Little Faith in Me", John Hiatt
This song tears at me and I have no real idea why. Every time I hear it, I just want to cry. And I know that makes no sense and I never have cried while listening to it (because I was raised believing that crying is a sign of weakness, which is total bull, but whatever, it takes a lot to make me cry... unless I'm menstrual, and then just thinking about that scene in The Notebook where Old Allie is looking out over the lake and says "I've never seen anything so beautiful", then Old Noah, who is looking at Old Allie, replies, "Neither have I." It kills me every time... which has only been, like, five times because, even though I own that movie, I never watch it because it makes me cry like a newborn with diaper rash), but the song hits me. Every.Single.Time. And I just want to bawl.
By the way, I hate that I referenced babies in my blog.
5 - Jump in the Line, Harry Belafonte
A song doesn't have to make you think or cause you to soul-search. It can just make you happy as hell and want to dance like you're drunk. And "Jump in the Line" does that. I just pray that no one ever sees me dancing to this song. It's real embarrassing. Like, "Someone-could-videotape-it-send-it-in-to-America's-Funniest-Home-videos-and-win-$10,000" embarrassing. But I think it's important to have a song that makes you turn loose like a wild goose. (If anyone knows what song that's from off the top of their head, I'll give you an invisible gold star for the day.)
That's it for today, but I want to throw in a few other noteworthy heart songs that are just as important as the ones above, but I didn't think of before I got too lazy.
Fernado, ABBA
Don't judge me. My inner gay man LOVES this song.
Thirteen, Big Star
This song is just fabulous and, unless you persuade me with your superior wit or humanitarianism, I judge you for not liking the song.
Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Barry White
It makes me happy. Simple enough.
Dust on the Bottle, David Lee Murphy
The songs takes me back to my roots. And the days of going to Brew Co and hearing Brent and Anthony play it.
Islands in the Stream, Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers
Only because it's my dream Karaoke duet. And your dream Karaoke duet is a default heart song.
So, yeah. Heart songs. Here are mine:
1 - "Ain't No Sunshine", Bill Withers
This is in my top five favorite songs list, as well as in my heart songs list because you can have favorite songs and then you can have songs that speak to you and I swear that made sense when I was drinking over the weekend.
Anyway, "Ain't No Sunshine" is just an amazing song. A guy I had crushed on hardcore in high school (and middle school and elementary school.... hey, don't call me a quitter) used to sing this song. I remember clearly hearing him sing it one day as he was standing behind me in the ala carte line in the lunchroom. I didn't know the song, and his voice was far less than superb, but I liked it okay. Then I forgot about it. Until I heard a professional cover of the song by my boys. And it all clicked and, if it had been around then, I would have totally went "OMG!"
While I love my boys singing this song (as well as The Watson Twins... they done a beautiful cover of this song when I saw them opening for Ben Kweller in Nashville. If you haven't heard The Watson Twins, then your ears are missing out), Bill Withers' original version of the song will always be the one I hold the most dear.
2 - "Runaway Run", Hanson
This is what I was talking about earlier. I love this song, I think it's a fantastic song, but it's not in my top five favorites, but this song just makes me feel. And I know that sounds real hippy-dippy like (yeah, hippy-dippy), but I don't know how else to say it. It's not Hanson's best song (all those snickering and mumbling things about MMMBop, you can just shut your dirty mouth), but it's just one that I connect with. Connect with so much, that I considered getting various lyrics and/or sheet music from the song tattooed on me somewhere. In case my mother ever reads this: No Mom, I do not have Hanson lyrics tattooed anywhere on my person. My real love for this song just exploded all over the place after hearing a live acoustic version of the song.
3 - "Wild World", Cat Stevens
I guess this is where my hippy-dippyness (or is it dippiness? or something less stupid?) really comes into play because, really, Cat Stevens? It's kind of like "Runaway Run" and somehow manages to make whatever is going on make sense.
4 - "Have a Little Faith in Me", John Hiatt
This song tears at me and I have no real idea why. Every time I hear it, I just want to cry. And I know that makes no sense and I never have cried while listening to it (because I was raised believing that crying is a sign of weakness, which is total bull, but whatever, it takes a lot to make me cry... unless I'm menstrual, and then just thinking about that scene in The Notebook where Old Allie is looking out over the lake and says "I've never seen anything so beautiful", then Old Noah, who is looking at Old Allie, replies, "Neither have I." It kills me every time... which has only been, like, five times because, even though I own that movie, I never watch it because it makes me cry like a newborn with diaper rash), but the song hits me. Every.Single.Time. And I just want to bawl.
By the way, I hate that I referenced babies in my blog.
5 - Jump in the Line, Harry Belafonte
A song doesn't have to make you think or cause you to soul-search. It can just make you happy as hell and want to dance like you're drunk. And "Jump in the Line" does that. I just pray that no one ever sees me dancing to this song. It's real embarrassing. Like, "Someone-could-videotape-it-send-it-in-to-America's-Funniest-Home-videos-and-win-$10,000" embarrassing. But I think it's important to have a song that makes you turn loose like a wild goose. (If anyone knows what song that's from off the top of their head, I'll give you an invisible gold star for the day.)
That's it for today, but I want to throw in a few other noteworthy heart songs that are just as important as the ones above, but I didn't think of before I got too lazy.
Fernado, ABBA
Don't judge me. My inner gay man LOVES this song.
Thirteen, Big Star
This song is just fabulous and, unless you persuade me with your superior wit or humanitarianism, I judge you for not liking the song.
Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Barry White
It makes me happy. Simple enough.
Dust on the Bottle, David Lee Murphy
The songs takes me back to my roots. And the days of going to Brew Co and hearing Brent and Anthony play it.
Islands in the Stream, Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers
Only because it's my dream Karaoke duet. And your dream Karaoke duet is a default heart song.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
happy holidays... buy me something shiny!
Sorry for the serious hiatus. NaNoWriMo was vicious this year. And I barely finished the bloody thing, only to discover today that Meg Cabot's NaNoWriMo project (which is her next novel release) is super duper similar to my NaNo idea. I had a mini-fit since, you know, she's already published and everything, and I really thought that my NaNo idea might be my key. Granted, it needs a ton of work. Like, a complete rewriting and, you know, an actual plot. I'm annoyed that Meg Cabot and I had a very similar story, but kind of excited that our brains were working that much in sync since, you know, she's my author crush and everything.
But, I'm back now, and with a blog idea that I've been waiting to write since early November. Here it goes...
First off, I love Christmas. Don't get me wrong, Halloween is totally my favorite holiday, but I love the Christmas spirit that everyone gets into, even Sam Elliot as the apple farming father in Prancer. By the way, my mom has a total thing for Sam Elliot. I don't understand it. She says it's his voice. Ditto Kevin Costner. I've stopped asking questions at this point. I just don't understand. But, who I am to say anything? I'm an old perv who can't stop staring at Taylor Lautner's naked torso every time I see a New Moon commercial.
Right, back on track. Christmas is wonderful. There's hope and joy in the air, people want to help the less fortunate, chestnuts roasting on open fires (Smoky the Bear has some problems with this), and there's an endless amount of Christmas movies on the old boob-tube. Right now, for example, I'm watching National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation which is, by far, the best Christmas movie of all time. Snuggled into the commercial break of all these holly-jolly movies are jewelry ads. Every kiss begins with Kay...A diamond is forever...Buy her love this holiday season...Render her speechless this Christmas with this jeweled necklace with a five-digit price tag...
It's ridiculous. I don't know, maybe it isn't so crazy. I'm not one of those jewelry kind of gals. Save for my Tiffany&Co ring (which is a souvenir from New York and, hello, it's fucking Tiffany&Co... it's part of American pop culture; I HAD to get a piece of jewelry from there). Hell, I'm barely one of those brand name girls. With the exception of Steve Madden shoes but, honestly, how can I not be expected to love Steve Madden shoes when they look delicious as this?
Seriously, I just want to gobble them up.
I just don't get it. Are the bulk of the American women really like the ones in the jewelry commercials? They get all giggly and... stupid. I get that some of the rings in the commercials could be engagement rings and those reactions are acceptable. But the rest of them? No way. Those gifts aren't thought out. That's (expensive) shit you buy the day before Christmas that require just the minimum amount of thought, not even checking to make sure that the diamonds are blood-free.
But maybe I'm just a cynic. I'd rather have a cheap or handmade gift that means something to me instead of a generic necklace that costs a few thousand dollars. And I get that some guys aren't creative or whatever but, for Heaven's sakes boys, try. Unless you're with a girl who does like jewelry. Which I guess all those girls in commercials do. But still. Those commercials are setting the wrong examples and I do not approve.
At the same time, I don't know why I'm bitching about what couples give one another since I'm single.
...
Glad to be back blogging.
But, I'm back now, and with a blog idea that I've been waiting to write since early November. Here it goes...
First off, I love Christmas. Don't get me wrong, Halloween is totally my favorite holiday, but I love the Christmas spirit that everyone gets into, even Sam Elliot as the apple farming father in Prancer. By the way, my mom has a total thing for Sam Elliot. I don't understand it. She says it's his voice. Ditto Kevin Costner. I've stopped asking questions at this point. I just don't understand. But, who I am to say anything? I'm an old perv who can't stop staring at Taylor Lautner's naked torso every time I see a New Moon commercial.
Right, back on track. Christmas is wonderful. There's hope and joy in the air, people want to help the less fortunate, chestnuts roasting on open fires (Smoky the Bear has some problems with this), and there's an endless amount of Christmas movies on the old boob-tube. Right now, for example, I'm watching National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation which is, by far, the best Christmas movie of all time. Snuggled into the commercial break of all these holly-jolly movies are jewelry ads. Every kiss begins with Kay...A diamond is forever...Buy her love this holiday season...Render her speechless this Christmas with this jeweled necklace with a five-digit price tag...
It's ridiculous. I don't know, maybe it isn't so crazy. I'm not one of those jewelry kind of gals. Save for my Tiffany&Co ring (which is a souvenir from New York and, hello, it's fucking Tiffany&Co... it's part of American pop culture; I HAD to get a piece of jewelry from there). Hell, I'm barely one of those brand name girls. With the exception of Steve Madden shoes but, honestly, how can I not be expected to love Steve Madden shoes when they look delicious as this?
Seriously, I just want to gobble them up.I just don't get it. Are the bulk of the American women really like the ones in the jewelry commercials? They get all giggly and... stupid. I get that some of the rings in the commercials could be engagement rings and those reactions are acceptable. But the rest of them? No way. Those gifts aren't thought out. That's (expensive) shit you buy the day before Christmas that require just the minimum amount of thought, not even checking to make sure that the diamonds are blood-free.
But maybe I'm just a cynic. I'd rather have a cheap or handmade gift that means something to me instead of a generic necklace that costs a few thousand dollars. And I get that some guys aren't creative or whatever but, for Heaven's sakes boys, try. Unless you're with a girl who does like jewelry. Which I guess all those girls in commercials do. But still. Those commercials are setting the wrong examples and I do not approve.
At the same time, I don't know why I'm bitching about what couples give one another since I'm single.
...
Glad to be back blogging.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
you drunk spelunk.
Due to a massive outcry from the public, it is imperative that I update this blog.
(Okay, it was my roommate making a comment that I haven't updated this thing because of NaNoWriMo, not a massive outcry from the public. But this is my blog and I can exaggerate, or flat out lie, whenever I want over whatever I want so... put that in your back pocket.)
The NaNoWriMo is totally sucking. I mean, it's twelve days in and I still don't have a plot. I have an idea of whereabouts the real climatic scene will take place, but wasn't entirely sure it existed and asked about it via my Facebook status. This is where today's blog entry topic will come from.
Yeah, I have an actual topic. Feel free to be impressed.
For those who don't know, Kentucky has tons of caves. Mammoth Cave, for example, is the largest cave system in the world (or the country... or I could be making that up entirely; I've graduated college; doing research isn't important to me anymore) and it's all in Kentucky. I vaguely remembered a lady telling my class ghost stories in the fourth grade about a cave that ran beneath Bardstown and had an entry in the basement of the old courthouse, and I wanted to find out if this was true.
Enter a Facebook status asking for the help of my fellow Bardstownians to verify the existence of this cave.
I received a few answers. The most interesting reply was one that said that people from middle school would go there and drink.
Middle school? Really? Hell, I didn't realize that people drank in high school until my freshman year of college. I was initially outraged and saddened by the thought of middle schoolers out late at night drinking in a dark cave. Then, the more I thought about it, the more it cracked me up. A bunch of twelve-year-olds standing in a cave, drinking warm beer they stole out of the parents' fridge, and jumping at every little noise... Little drunk cavemen in Stone Cold Steve Austin shirts (because he was cool - not really - when I was in middle school) drinking Bud Lights by a pitiful little fire, being kept lit with copies of their older sister's Tiger Beat magazines and dreams. It's precious, really.
But, seriously. Drinking at such a young age is no laughing matter. Unless it's happening in a cave in Kentucky... because that's just way too ridiculous not to laugh at.
(Okay, it was my roommate making a comment that I haven't updated this thing because of NaNoWriMo, not a massive outcry from the public. But this is my blog and I can exaggerate, or flat out lie, whenever I want over whatever I want so... put that in your back pocket.)
The NaNoWriMo is totally sucking. I mean, it's twelve days in and I still don't have a plot. I have an idea of whereabouts the real climatic scene will take place, but wasn't entirely sure it existed and asked about it via my Facebook status. This is where today's blog entry topic will come from.
Yeah, I have an actual topic. Feel free to be impressed.
For those who don't know, Kentucky has tons of caves. Mammoth Cave, for example, is the largest cave system in the world (or the country... or I could be making that up entirely; I've graduated college; doing research isn't important to me anymore) and it's all in Kentucky. I vaguely remembered a lady telling my class ghost stories in the fourth grade about a cave that ran beneath Bardstown and had an entry in the basement of the old courthouse, and I wanted to find out if this was true.
Enter a Facebook status asking for the help of my fellow Bardstownians to verify the existence of this cave.
I received a few answers. The most interesting reply was one that said that people from middle school would go there and drink.
Middle school? Really? Hell, I didn't realize that people drank in high school until my freshman year of college. I was initially outraged and saddened by the thought of middle schoolers out late at night drinking in a dark cave. Then, the more I thought about it, the more it cracked me up. A bunch of twelve-year-olds standing in a cave, drinking warm beer they stole out of the parents' fridge, and jumping at every little noise... Little drunk cavemen in Stone Cold Steve Austin shirts (because he was cool - not really - when I was in middle school) drinking Bud Lights by a pitiful little fire, being kept lit with copies of their older sister's Tiger Beat magazines and dreams. It's precious, really.
But, seriously. Drinking at such a young age is no laughing matter. Unless it's happening in a cave in Kentucky... because that's just way too ridiculous not to laugh at.
Tom: This never leaves the cave.
- Without a Paddle, 2004 (by the way, I love Matthew Lillard and I'm not ashamed to admit it)
- Without a Paddle, 2004 (by the way, I love Matthew Lillard and I'm not ashamed to admit it)
Sunday, November 8, 2009
weekend favorite
Sorry for a serious lack of rambling around these parts. Between NaNoWriMo (which I'm only 6000 words behind on) and me being a lazy son of a bitch, I haven't had much time to write in this thing. But, look at me mixing things up right now.
All right, I got this new idea for Sunday posts. I'm going to post what my favorite part of the weekend was. Look at me being all positive and shit.
This weekend was especially good. I got to hang out with my good friend Trista who I haven't seen in over a year. But that wasn't my favorite part of the weekend. If you're reading this, sorry Trista, I still heart you though.
No, my favorite part of the weekend was yesterday when I was walking through the TJ Maxx parking lot. There was this man in overalls (and I have nothing against overalls, but it definitely adds an element to the story) getting into his old Dodge truck. He takes a glance at the car parked next to him, which is a Cube and I will say that they are one of the weirdest looking vehicles on the planet (sorry, PT Cruiser, you've just been one-upped) , gets out of his own truck and, with his thumbs in his overalls, walks to the back of the Cube to investigate what the hell kind of car it is, looks at the car for a few moments, shakes his head and gets back in his truck.
I know this doesn't seem like much, but it made me chuckle. Even now, I shake my head and smile when I think about it.
Okay, back to NaNoWriMo. I wonder if I can bust out 6000 words today.
I'll be needing some caffeine, stat.
All right, I got this new idea for Sunday posts. I'm going to post what my favorite part of the weekend was. Look at me being all positive and shit.
This weekend was especially good. I got to hang out with my good friend Trista who I haven't seen in over a year. But that wasn't my favorite part of the weekend. If you're reading this, sorry Trista, I still heart you though.
No, my favorite part of the weekend was yesterday when I was walking through the TJ Maxx parking lot. There was this man in overalls (and I have nothing against overalls, but it definitely adds an element to the story) getting into his old Dodge truck. He takes a glance at the car parked next to him, which is a Cube and I will say that they are one of the weirdest looking vehicles on the planet (sorry, PT Cruiser, you've just been one-upped) , gets out of his own truck and, with his thumbs in his overalls, walks to the back of the Cube to investigate what the hell kind of car it is, looks at the car for a few moments, shakes his head and gets back in his truck.
I know this doesn't seem like much, but it made me chuckle. Even now, I shake my head and smile when I think about it.
Okay, back to NaNoWriMo. I wonder if I can bust out 6000 words today.
I'll be needing some caffeine, stat.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
my brain on nanowrimo.
Remember those anti-drug commercials from back in the day with the egg being thrown against the wall to represent your brain on drugs.
That same commercial could work for NaNoWriMo participants.
My brain is yolk running out my ears right now. And it's only Day One.
So, since I can't think to write properly, here's my Halloween costume. Ignore the double chin. Also, because I look like a major fatty in my costume, you're only seeing a headshot. Oh, and a picture of my neck because the blood looked AWESOME. And, actually, I'm really proud of all my makeup, even if it did end up all cakey.
Okay, enough writing. I was a decapitated Marie Antoinette. Later on. By the way, expect my posts from the rest of the month to be like this.
I for real didn't halfass it this Halloween season.
That same commercial could work for NaNoWriMo participants.
My brain is yolk running out my ears right now. And it's only Day One.
So, since I can't think to write properly, here's my Halloween costume. Ignore the double chin. Also, because I look like a major fatty in my costume, you're only seeing a headshot. Oh, and a picture of my neck because the blood looked AWESOME. And, actually, I'm really proud of all my makeup, even if it did end up all cakey.
Okay, enough writing. I was a decapitated Marie Antoinette. Later on. By the way, expect my posts from the rest of the month to be like this.
I for real didn't halfass it this Halloween season.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
happy birthday.
When I was 11 years old, I committed four dates to memory:
March 14
May 6
October 22
November 17
There are a select number of people who will know what these dates are. If they're like me, they have found it impossible to un-learn what these dates are.
March 14 - Taylor Hanson's birthday
May 6 - Hanson Day (in Tulsa, Oklahoma... a mere 3 days after my birthday, mind you)
October 22 - Zac Hanson's birthday
November 17 - Isaac Hanson's birthday
I know. This is way embarrassing to admit. What's even more sad is that I don't even know my own dad's birthday. I mean, I know it's in July and somewhere between the 23 and 25, but as far as knowing the actual date? Forget about it. But you can bet your sweet potato that, upon seeing today's date, a little light bulb went off in my head and I said (to myself), "Zac Hanson is 24 today... why do I remember this, and how in the fuck did I get to be almost 24?" ... because I track my own age by celebrities, obviously.
Even though I've always loved my Hanson boys, I'm still shocked to see that little Zac went from this:
To this:
See what happens when you stick with something? You get results... tall, pretty results that pump out good songs and put on one hell of a good concert. And they try to do good things. I am embarrassed to know so many random, stupid, pointless facts about these guys, but I don't regret it one little bit. Because they keep my inner eleven-year-old alive. Even though I'm almost 24, I can listen to Middle of Nowhere and be as giddy as a kid.
So, Happy Birthday Zac Hanson. Thanks for keeping me young.
March 14
May 6
October 22
November 17
There are a select number of people who will know what these dates are. If they're like me, they have found it impossible to un-learn what these dates are.
March 14 - Taylor Hanson's birthday
May 6 - Hanson Day (in Tulsa, Oklahoma... a mere 3 days after my birthday, mind you)
October 22 - Zac Hanson's birthday
November 17 - Isaac Hanson's birthday
I know. This is way embarrassing to admit. What's even more sad is that I don't even know my own dad's birthday. I mean, I know it's in July and somewhere between the 23 and 25, but as far as knowing the actual date? Forget about it. But you can bet your sweet potato that, upon seeing today's date, a little light bulb went off in my head and I said (to myself), "Zac Hanson is 24 today... why do I remember this, and how in the fuck did I get to be almost 24?" ... because I track my own age by celebrities, obviously.
Even though I've always loved my Hanson boys, I'm still shocked to see that little Zac went from this:
To this:
See what happens when you stick with something? You get results... tall, pretty results that pump out good songs and put on one hell of a good concert. And they try to do good things. I am embarrassed to know so many random, stupid, pointless facts about these guys, but I don't regret it one little bit. Because they keep my inner eleven-year-old alive. Even though I'm almost 24, I can listen to Middle of Nowhere and be as giddy as a kid.
So, Happy Birthday Zac Hanson. Thanks for keeping me young.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
21 things.
The other day, and this could have been any day for this happens a lot, Amber and I were complaining about our love lives because this is what girls do. Sorry guys, no sweaty pillow fights in skimpy pajamas. No, we bitch about things and then eat something greasy and/or deep-fried. This is the way of the Woman, and I am sorry to squash any dreams you might have ever had about us.
We have both realized that we have officially reached the age where things like previous marriages and kids can come into play when talking about guys in our age group. And that's terrifying. I then told her about this Alanis Morissette song (and I will someday be able to spell Alanis' last name right, with the proper amount of r's and t's without looking it up, so help me God) called "21 Things I Want in a Lover". I'm not a huge fan of this song but I've always liked the idea behind it. The gist of the song is that she has a list of, you guessed it, 21 things she wants in a lover.
I remember stealing this list and making my own a few years ago. And it was full of silly things that I'm too embarrassed to even discuss now. In my defense, I was young and foolish, okay? I was naive and gullible and just didn't play know better. These days though, that 21 things list has been narrowed down to just a few criticals...
1 - No kids. I cannot handle any baby-momma drama. Plus, I don't do well with kids. They don't get sarcasm and therefore we have no use for each other.
2 - No previous marriage... the verdict is still out on drunken Vegas weddings because, like Phoebe on Friends says, getting married in Vegas doesn't mean that you're married everywhere, just in Vegas.
3 - No drugs. I'm not against people doing drugs, but I just don't want to date someone who does. I know this makes me a hypocrite. And all I have to say to that is, duh. Yeah, duh. I just went 1994 on your ass. Tomorrow, I travel to 1991 when I make a comment about being gagged with a spoon.
4 - No smoking. It kinda grosses me out to kiss a guy who smokes. Plus there's that constant cigarette smell and I just can't handle it, okay?
Then there's the basics about how he can't be a smug arrogant bastard who is mean and kicks puppies. But, seriously, the things like him like Wedding Crashers as much as me and willing to let me win at a game of H.O.R.S.E. every now and then (not to mention to have a love for UK basketball but, come on, I live in Kentucky... most boys bleed blue here and I would never be so foolish as to like a UofL fan in the first place) have kind of been put on the back burner just because I really can't handle the thought of dating a guy who has a kid.
This growing up business sucks.
We have both realized that we have officially reached the age where things like previous marriages and kids can come into play when talking about guys in our age group. And that's terrifying. I then told her about this Alanis Morissette song (and I will someday be able to spell Alanis' last name right, with the proper amount of r's and t's without looking it up, so help me God) called "21 Things I Want in a Lover". I'm not a huge fan of this song but I've always liked the idea behind it. The gist of the song is that she has a list of, you guessed it, 21 things she wants in a lover.
I remember stealing this list and making my own a few years ago. And it was full of silly things that I'm too embarrassed to even discuss now. In my defense, I was young and foolish, okay? I was naive and gullible and just didn't play know better. These days though, that 21 things list has been narrowed down to just a few criticals...
1 - No kids. I cannot handle any baby-momma drama. Plus, I don't do well with kids. They don't get sarcasm and therefore we have no use for each other.
2 - No previous marriage... the verdict is still out on drunken Vegas weddings because, like Phoebe on Friends says, getting married in Vegas doesn't mean that you're married everywhere, just in Vegas.
3 - No drugs. I'm not against people doing drugs, but I just don't want to date someone who does. I know this makes me a hypocrite. And all I have to say to that is, duh. Yeah, duh. I just went 1994 on your ass. Tomorrow, I travel to 1991 when I make a comment about being gagged with a spoon.
4 - No smoking. It kinda grosses me out to kiss a guy who smokes. Plus there's that constant cigarette smell and I just can't handle it, okay?
Then there's the basics about how he can't be a smug arrogant bastard who is mean and kicks puppies. But, seriously, the things like him like Wedding Crashers as much as me and willing to let me win at a game of H.O.R.S.E. every now and then (not to mention to have a love for UK basketball but, come on, I live in Kentucky... most boys bleed blue here and I would never be so foolish as to like a UofL fan in the first place) have kind of been put on the back burner just because I really can't handle the thought of dating a guy who has a kid.
This growing up business sucks.
Robbie: I remember this one time we were flying to the Grand Canyon and I had never been there before and Linda had, so you would think that she would give me the window seat, but she didn't... and not that that's a big deal, you know. It's just that there were a lot of little things like that. I know that sounds stupid...
Julia: Not at all. I think it's the little things that count.
- The Wedding Singer, 1998
- The Wedding Singer, 1998
Monday, October 19, 2009
the cutest shoes in the world.
I need a more interesting life. If not for myself, then for my blog.
Talk about a new low.
Seriously though, my life in the past few weeks has centered primarily around work and piecing together my Halloween costume. Oh, and trying to lose weight so that I don't look like a total heifer in my costume. Which, let me just share a little tale with y'all about Halloween costume sizing.
I got this cute little number at WalMart for my real Halloween costume (Marie Antoinette):
I got this at Goodwill for my work Halloween costume (Lucy):
They are (allegedly) the same size: 20.
Now, maybe I'm a little loco, but I think it's ridiculous that the Goodwill dress swallows me whole while I can barely breathe in the outfit from WalMart. Actually, when I do breathe in the one from WalMart the strings holding together the "corset" back rip a little. I'm still trying to figure out a way to prevent that from becoming a problem on Halloween after I've consumed a drink or seven. I solved the problem of the see-through too-short skirt by tracking down a slip and turning a pair of white leggings into faux-pantaloons.
I just want to know what in the hell type of measuring system the Halloween costume designers were using when sizing these costumes. I feel as if the dress from Goodwill is the correct size. At least, it's a lot damn closer than the costume from WalMart.
Oh, by the way, please ignore the avalanche of clothes in those pictures. I haven't done a respectable amount of laundry for a length of time that I'd rather not discuss. Also, let's not talk about how much time/money/energy I have exhausted in WalMart this Halloween season; it is, in the tradition of All Hallow's Eve, truly terrifying.
One thing WalMart didn't help me create (well, okay, I got the spray from there, and the bows came from the ugly tights in my Marie Antoinette costume, but the shoes are Kenneth Cole and the idea was all mine so, suck it, Walton) are my Marie Antoinette shoes that I want to wear everyday. Seriously, I want to wear them all the time. They are *that* cute. And, if you don't think so, then, in the words of Owen Wilson in Wedding Crashers, kindly leave.
Talk about a new low.
Seriously though, my life in the past few weeks has centered primarily around work and piecing together my Halloween costume. Oh, and trying to lose weight so that I don't look like a total heifer in my costume. Which, let me just share a little tale with y'all about Halloween costume sizing.
I got this cute little number at WalMart for my real Halloween costume (Marie Antoinette):
I got this at Goodwill for my work Halloween costume (Lucy):
They are (allegedly) the same size: 20.
Now, maybe I'm a little loco, but I think it's ridiculous that the Goodwill dress swallows me whole while I can barely breathe in the outfit from WalMart. Actually, when I do breathe in the one from WalMart the strings holding together the "corset" back rip a little. I'm still trying to figure out a way to prevent that from becoming a problem on Halloween after I've consumed a drink or seven. I solved the problem of the see-through too-short skirt by tracking down a slip and turning a pair of white leggings into faux-pantaloons.
I just want to know what in the hell type of measuring system the Halloween costume designers were using when sizing these costumes. I feel as if the dress from Goodwill is the correct size. At least, it's a lot damn closer than the costume from WalMart.
Oh, by the way, please ignore the avalanche of clothes in those pictures. I haven't done a respectable amount of laundry for a length of time that I'd rather not discuss. Also, let's not talk about how much time/money/energy I have exhausted in WalMart this Halloween season; it is, in the tradition of All Hallow's Eve, truly terrifying.
One thing WalMart didn't help me create (well, okay, I got the spray from there, and the bows came from the ugly tights in my Marie Antoinette costume, but the shoes are Kenneth Cole and the idea was all mine so, suck it, Walton) are my Marie Antoinette shoes that I want to wear everyday. Seriously, I want to wear them all the time. They are *that* cute. And, if you don't think so, then, in the words of Owen Wilson in Wedding Crashers, kindly leave.
Monday, October 12, 2009
who? me? couldn't be.
I have writer's block. But just on stories. Oh never fear, I can ramble on about nothing in my blog forever. I know, what a relief, right? Since it is a Monday and since I never do anything shameful, I thought a "Not Me Monday" was in order.
As soon as I got to work this morning, I didn't go straight to my Thunderbird sent box to see if that email got sent to my department head. And I definitely didn't do a fist pump at my desk when I learned that it did get sent to my Hotmail account (why it never made it to that account remains a mystery). But, please? Dancing in office chair? Come on, I much too mature for that.
The day continued on and I didn't narc on anyone, eat a scrumptious cheesecake/crumb cake hybrid faster than Jon Gosselin embarrasses himself, or swoon over the blue-eyed boy at Moe's. And I most certainly did not check my receipt from Moe's once I got home to see if his name showed up on it, nor did I attempt to search the name on Facebook. I am not a creeper like that. I totally respect a person's privacy and didn't mumble profanities over all the flippin' private profiles.
...
You know, I think the "Not Me Mondays" were made to be cute. Leave it to me to turn them into a snarky monstrosity.
As soon as I got to work this morning, I didn't go straight to my Thunderbird sent box to see if that email got sent to my department head. And I definitely didn't do a fist pump at my desk when I learned that it did get sent to my Hotmail account (why it never made it to that account remains a mystery). But, please? Dancing in office chair? Come on, I much too mature for that.
The day continued on and I didn't narc on anyone, eat a scrumptious cheesecake/crumb cake hybrid faster than Jon Gosselin embarrasses himself, or swoon over the blue-eyed boy at Moe's. And I most certainly did not check my receipt from Moe's once I got home to see if his name showed up on it, nor did I attempt to search the name on Facebook. I am not a creeper like that. I totally respect a person's privacy and didn't mumble profanities over all the flippin' private profiles.
...
You know, I think the "Not Me Mondays" were made to be cute. Leave it to me to turn them into a snarky monstrosity.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
oops.
On Friday, I had an idea for a story while I was at work and wanted to go ahead and get it on a Word document before I forgot it. It was less than a page, but I still wanted to email it to myself so I could add on to it over the weekend.
All well and good, right?
Well, it would be, but I sent it as an attachment to my Hotmail account, which begins with the letter 'c' and is saved in my email contacts on Thunderbird.
I also have the department head's email saved in my contacts. Her email also begins with the letter 'c'.
Do you see where I'm going with this?
I went to my Hotmail account today to download the page I wrote.
It's not there.
Fuck.
I haven't heard from the department head about this so maybe it just got stuck somewhere in the internet. That happens, right? Please, for the love of God, tell me it does. I do NOT want to have a conversation with the department head about this on Monday.
The only thing that really gets my mind off of this is watching the following video with the speakers on.
All well and good, right?
Well, it would be, but I sent it as an attachment to my Hotmail account, which begins with the letter 'c' and is saved in my email contacts on Thunderbird.
I also have the department head's email saved in my contacts. Her email also begins with the letter 'c'.
Do you see where I'm going with this?
I went to my Hotmail account today to download the page I wrote.
It's not there.
Fuck.
I haven't heard from the department head about this so maybe it just got stuck somewhere in the internet. That happens, right? Please, for the love of God, tell me it does. I do NOT want to have a conversation with the department head about this on Monday.
The only thing that really gets my mind off of this is watching the following video with the speakers on.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
just call me a material girl.
It turns out that, when I'm the only person in my unit, I think that I'm invisible to the rest of the floor I work on. Because I done quite the chair dance to "Beast of Burden" by The Rolling Stones earlier.
We won't discuss the jig I did to "Party in the USA".
Also, let's not discuss the fact that I cannot get enough of that song. It's catchy, all right? I can't help that I want to throw my hands up and nod my head like yeah whenever I hear it. It's almost like a reflex. Or a twitch. It's definitely annoying like a twitch.
Since the floor's been quiet all day - it's fall break, students are gone, faculty is gone, and the staff was at a free brunch this morning for 2 hours; since I am not real staff, I was not invited so, fuck you DUC - I done what I do best when I've reached the point of not being able to go through one more subject search (which, by the way, I'm pretty sure we have more subjects about fish than education): I looked at shoes and vacation deals.
Just try to look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't give up your first born for these boots. If I wasn't so afraid of buying shoes off the internet (not because of the ick factor, but because I don't want to pay money for something that won't fit my Sasquatch foot), these would be getting delivered first class to my door.
Okay, fine, they would be standard shipped. But they would be on my feet so fast that the Lysol I sprayed in them wouldn't be dry yet. Then that would get into my bloodstream through my feet and I would die. But I would enjoy them every second leading up to my untimely death.
I feel that I should stress that I'm really not that materialistic. I just happen to like pretty things. And, when I have the money, I like to buy things. And, sure, sometimes I like to look at my belongings and just sigh over how much I enjoy having them around (Meagan and Amber can both attest to this since they've seen me go through my DVDs to make sure they're in proper alphabetical order and how I get that far-off look in my eyes when flipping through the complete series of Friends).
But, in all seriousness, I value the things that money can't buy more than anything else in the world. Like family and friends (though they can be heavily persuaded by money and gifts, which is why I try to buy my family and friends' love... seriously, buying people shit is my 'love language'... I took the quiz to confirm it) and my cat, who is easily won over with turkey. It's family and friends (and your cat) that keep you going, that keep you sane, and that help keep your feet on the ground.
And, since I just placed a bid on those boots, the ground will be thankful it has such stylish shoes gracing it.
We won't discuss the jig I did to "Party in the USA".
Also, let's not discuss the fact that I cannot get enough of that song. It's catchy, all right? I can't help that I want to throw my hands up and nod my head like yeah whenever I hear it. It's almost like a reflex. Or a twitch. It's definitely annoying like a twitch.
Since the floor's been quiet all day - it's fall break, students are gone, faculty is gone, and the staff was at a free brunch this morning for 2 hours; since I am not real staff, I was not invited so, fuck you DUC - I done what I do best when I've reached the point of not being able to go through one more subject search (which, by the way, I'm pretty sure we have more subjects about fish than education): I looked at shoes and vacation deals.
Just try to look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't give up your first born for these boots. If I wasn't so afraid of buying shoes off the internet (not because of the ick factor, but because I don't want to pay money for something that won't fit my Sasquatch foot), these would be getting delivered first class to my door.
Okay, fine, they would be standard shipped. But they would be on my feet so fast that the Lysol I sprayed in them wouldn't be dry yet. Then that would get into my bloodstream through my feet and I would die. But I would enjoy them every second leading up to my untimely death.
I feel that I should stress that I'm really not that materialistic. I just happen to like pretty things. And, when I have the money, I like to buy things. And, sure, sometimes I like to look at my belongings and just sigh over how much I enjoy having them around (Meagan and Amber can both attest to this since they've seen me go through my DVDs to make sure they're in proper alphabetical order and how I get that far-off look in my eyes when flipping through the complete series of Friends).
But, in all seriousness, I value the things that money can't buy more than anything else in the world. Like family and friends (though they can be heavily persuaded by money and gifts, which is why I try to buy my family and friends' love... seriously, buying people shit is my 'love language'... I took the quiz to confirm it) and my cat, who is easily won over with turkey. It's family and friends (and your cat) that keep you going, that keep you sane, and that help keep your feet on the ground.
And, since I just placed a bid on those boots, the ground will be thankful it has such stylish shoes gracing it.
"They're my "I-Don't-Need-a-Job, I-Don't-Need-My-Parents, I-Got-Great-Boots" boots!"
- Rachel, Friends, Season One, Episode One: "Pilot"
(Many thanks to http://www.jenaniston for allowing the option to right-click and save this image to use for my blog)
- Rachel, Friends, Season One, Episode One: "Pilot"
(Many thanks to http://www.jenaniston for allowing the option to right-click and save this image to use for my blog)
Monday, October 5, 2009
it's the great weight, charlie brown
You know what's sad? I rarely update this puppy. And what's odd is that I started putting together another blog that I will never update.
I might not even start it. Delete it before it gets out there because, like I told Amber, once I put it on the internet for God and everybody to see, then I actually have to stick with it. And my success rate with diets is not that stellar, which is quite obvious from my appearance. So, the weight loss blog? It's got a name and a profile, but that might be it.
Plus, I don't want you guys to know what I weigh. It's too depressing and, quite frankly, I haven't stepped on a scale in months because even I don't want to know what I weigh.
I've started eating healthier (okay, I started this on Friday and decided that Saturday and Sunday didn't really count because I was in Bardstown; things don't count in Bardstown) so, when my pants get loose, I'll step on a scale. Until then, forget it.
That's what my other blog was going to be about; my weight loss journey. But screw it. I can talk about that in here too. That way, I only have to put together one blog layout instead of two...
Not that I mind making layouts. I actually like having an excuse to dick around with PhotoPaint, even if the program is from 2000... I'm just now fully getting the hang of it.
In more fun (and major relief) news, I am 99% sure I am finished buying things for my Halloween costumes. Yes, I have two costumes since my real Halloween costume is not something I would be comfortable showing up to work in. Hell, it's not something I'm necessarily comfortable showing up anywhere in. Plus, it's itchy. So, a new costume was needed for the work party. And it's done. And my other costume is done. Now all I have to do is go get drunk.
...
Shit. NaNoWriMo starts the day after Halloween. Can I really be expected to crank out 1600+ words with a hangover?
I might not even start it. Delete it before it gets out there because, like I told Amber, once I put it on the internet for God and everybody to see, then I actually have to stick with it. And my success rate with diets is not that stellar, which is quite obvious from my appearance. So, the weight loss blog? It's got a name and a profile, but that might be it.
Plus, I don't want you guys to know what I weigh. It's too depressing and, quite frankly, I haven't stepped on a scale in months because even I don't want to know what I weigh.
I've started eating healthier (okay, I started this on Friday and decided that Saturday and Sunday didn't really count because I was in Bardstown; things don't count in Bardstown) so, when my pants get loose, I'll step on a scale. Until then, forget it.
That's what my other blog was going to be about; my weight loss journey. But screw it. I can talk about that in here too. That way, I only have to put together one blog layout instead of two...
Not that I mind making layouts. I actually like having an excuse to dick around with PhotoPaint, even if the program is from 2000... I'm just now fully getting the hang of it.
In more fun (and major relief) news, I am 99% sure I am finished buying things for my Halloween costumes. Yes, I have two costumes since my real Halloween costume is not something I would be comfortable showing up to work in. Hell, it's not something I'm necessarily comfortable showing up anywhere in. Plus, it's itchy. So, a new costume was needed for the work party. And it's done. And my other costume is done. Now all I have to do is go get drunk.
...
Shit. NaNoWriMo starts the day after Halloween. Can I really be expected to crank out 1600+ words with a hangover?
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
the difference between a book deal and a rejection letter? lipstick.
Most everyone knows about this already since I tend to broadcast every little event of my life out into the world via Facebook, Twitter (which I still haven't fully figured out the point of, by the way), or just from one of my outbursts, like the one I had today discovering the newest "author" to be published with Harper Collins:
"HARPER COLLINS IS PUBLISHING SARAH fucking PALIN'S BOOK WHILE AVON REJECTED ME?!?!?!"
The "fucking" is in lowercase since I was at work at didn't feel comfortable saying it loudly. Just consider it to come out sounding more like "fumcdging" since I also tried to muffle it and ended up sounding like Joe Pesci in Home Alone.
So, there's the news. I got my first rejection letter. Or, should I say, my first rejection email. I wasn't surprised or anything. I assumed Avon wouldn't want me since they're one of their most well-known publishers of romance fiction, but it still hurt.
I mean, would it have killed them to address the thing with "Dear Crystal" rather than "Dear Writer"? Of course, they apologized about the informality of the letter since they're so swapped with query letters.
Oh, I'm sorry, Avon. I hate that you're so busy killing authors' dreams that you can't bloody personalize a soul-crushing email.
Bastards.
Okay, they're probably not really bastards. But, I'm not sure since Avon falls under the Harper Collins umbrella, and Harper Collins is publishing Sexy Sarah's book. And I know that publishing companies take on the big names like Sarah Palin and Lauren Conrad (yes, I just grouped those two together and no, I don't think it's a far stretch... and that's not supposed to be complimentary for either person) for book deals partly because the money generated can be used to publish lesser known and new authors. I get that. I SO get that. However, I would be more likely to support it if they would publish this new author.
Or if they decided to publish someone other than Sarah Palin. Like, if they published Chelsea Handler's books, for example. Or if I became famous and they published my books... which would be fucking awesome. I choose that option.
"HARPER COLLINS IS PUBLISHING SARAH fucking PALIN'S BOOK WHILE AVON REJECTED ME?!?!?!"
The "fucking" is in lowercase since I was at work at didn't feel comfortable saying it loudly. Just consider it to come out sounding more like "fumcdging" since I also tried to muffle it and ended up sounding like Joe Pesci in Home Alone.
So, there's the news. I got my first rejection letter. Or, should I say, my first rejection email. I wasn't surprised or anything. I assumed Avon wouldn't want me since they're one of their most well-known publishers of romance fiction, but it still hurt.
I mean, would it have killed them to address the thing with "Dear Crystal" rather than "Dear Writer"? Of course, they apologized about the informality of the letter since they're so swapped with query letters.
Oh, I'm sorry, Avon. I hate that you're so busy killing authors' dreams that you can't bloody personalize a soul-crushing email.
Bastards.
Okay, they're probably not really bastards. But, I'm not sure since Avon falls under the Harper Collins umbrella, and Harper Collins is publishing Sexy Sarah's book. And I know that publishing companies take on the big names like Sarah Palin and Lauren Conrad (yes, I just grouped those two together and no, I don't think it's a far stretch... and that's not supposed to be complimentary for either person) for book deals partly because the money generated can be used to publish lesser known and new authors. I get that. I SO get that. However, I would be more likely to support it if they would publish this new author.
Or if they decided to publish someone other than Sarah Palin. Like, if they published Chelsea Handler's books, for example. Or if I became famous and they published my books... which would be fucking awesome. I choose that option.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
cover letters and the one size fits all thong.
I'm trying to write a cover letter for a job application. Well, I should say I was trying to write a cover letter for a job application. Turns out I don't have a very long attention span.
At least the resume is done. Well, mostly done. Sort of. And I still need two more references, and to ask the other reference if I can use her as a reference. Did I mention that this job application closes October 4? Eep.
Gah, this thing is miserable to write. It's so narcissistic and nothing but a page full of bragging. And I don't do that well! You who know me know that my self-esteem is in the garbage underneath rotten banana peels and leftover Chinese food. And, yes, I know how to do this job I'm applying for well, really well. But to go on and on and rave about how well I know it? That makes me hate myself a little inside. I mean, I'm going to write it. I have to.
But I'm not going to like it.
But I will say that I DO like involuntarily being on Victoria's Secret's mailing list to get on the sweet deals they offer. Seriously, if you're a girl, it's not a bad idea to get on Victoria's Secret's mailing list. Or if you're a dude who wants to buy his gal some skimpy undies. Or if you're a dude who just likes to wear skimpy undies (hey, who am I to judge?). In the past two months, I've received two coupons for free undies from Victoria's Secret with no purchase necessary, not to mention rebates and other discounts.
No purchase necessary. Come on, you guys. That means "free", which translates into "awesome".
The most recent free pair of undies are thongs. I'm not a fan of thongs in general, but you can bet that I am not about to turn down free anything. Especially not a free pair of panties that normally cost $16. That's just madness - both parts, the thought of rejecting them and them being sixteen bucks.
During yesterday's excursion to the mall (where I spent $60 total 0n a pair of Levi jeans, a jacket, two button-up shirts, and nine tank tops; feel free to be impressed), I went in to redeem the free thong. The over-courteous sales lady pointed me in the direction of a table full of thongs. I picked the color I wanted and went to look for my size but, and this totally threw me, they were all marked one-size-fits-all.
One size fits all. This is underwear, not a fucking scarf, Victoria's Secret.
I'm still completely baffled by this because, honestly, there's no way those things are truly "one size fits all". I trust you've seen their mannequins in shop windows - a pair of undies that fits those things that look like no actual human woman is not going to "fit all". I got my free pair anyway, just to see if they would really fit... and because they were free.
Well, they do fit. But, really, they're not "one size fits all". I mean, they're not going to fit everyone. And, I don't know, but I feel like some angry woman who has just had the last shred of her self-esteem tap-danced on by looking through a recent issue of Vogue with its stick-like models that have been airbrushed to pieces could roll up into Victoria's Secret, buy a pair of these so-called 'one size fits all' undies and go home to find that they don't fit. And, in a fit of rage, she could probably sue for false advertising... or kill people, but I like to think that no one out there would go on a killing spree over underwear. That would just be ridiculous. And can you imagine the headlines? Angry Woman Gets Her Panties in a Twist ... What's Up Her Butt? ... Woman Gets Cheeky with a Shotgun ... Boxers or Bullets? ...
Shit. Now I want someone to sue Victoria's Secret just so I can see these headlines come to life.
At least the resume is done. Well, mostly done. Sort of. And I still need two more references, and to ask the other reference if I can use her as a reference. Did I mention that this job application closes October 4? Eep.
Gah, this thing is miserable to write. It's so narcissistic and nothing but a page full of bragging. And I don't do that well! You who know me know that my self-esteem is in the garbage underneath rotten banana peels and leftover Chinese food. And, yes, I know how to do this job I'm applying for well, really well. But to go on and on and rave about how well I know it? That makes me hate myself a little inside. I mean, I'm going to write it. I have to.
But I'm not going to like it.
But I will say that I DO like involuntarily being on Victoria's Secret's mailing list to get on the sweet deals they offer. Seriously, if you're a girl, it's not a bad idea to get on Victoria's Secret's mailing list. Or if you're a dude who wants to buy his gal some skimpy undies. Or if you're a dude who just likes to wear skimpy undies (hey, who am I to judge?). In the past two months, I've received two coupons for free undies from Victoria's Secret with no purchase necessary, not to mention rebates and other discounts.
No purchase necessary. Come on, you guys. That means "free", which translates into "awesome".
The most recent free pair of undies are thongs. I'm not a fan of thongs in general, but you can bet that I am not about to turn down free anything. Especially not a free pair of panties that normally cost $16. That's just madness - both parts, the thought of rejecting them and them being sixteen bucks.
During yesterday's excursion to the mall (where I spent $60 total 0n a pair of Levi jeans, a jacket, two button-up shirts, and nine tank tops; feel free to be impressed), I went in to redeem the free thong. The over-courteous sales lady pointed me in the direction of a table full of thongs. I picked the color I wanted and went to look for my size but, and this totally threw me, they were all marked one-size-fits-all.
One size fits all. This is underwear, not a fucking scarf, Victoria's Secret.
I'm still completely baffled by this because, honestly, there's no way those things are truly "one size fits all". I trust you've seen their mannequins in shop windows - a pair of undies that fits those things that look like no actual human woman is not going to "fit all". I got my free pair anyway, just to see if they would really fit... and because they were free.
Well, they do fit. But, really, they're not "one size fits all". I mean, they're not going to fit everyone. And, I don't know, but I feel like some angry woman who has just had the last shred of her self-esteem tap-danced on by looking through a recent issue of Vogue with its stick-like models that have been airbrushed to pieces could roll up into Victoria's Secret, buy a pair of these so-called 'one size fits all' undies and go home to find that they don't fit. And, in a fit of rage, she could probably sue for false advertising... or kill people, but I like to think that no one out there would go on a killing spree over underwear. That would just be ridiculous. And can you imagine the headlines? Angry Woman Gets Her Panties in a Twist ... What's Up Her Butt? ... Woman Gets Cheeky with a Shotgun ... Boxers or Bullets? ...
Shit. Now I want someone to sue Victoria's Secret just so I can see these headlines come to life.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
the great outdoors with the criminally insane
I still haven't heard anything from any of the publishers I sent query letters to. And, okay, I only sent off submission letters to three publishers because I honestly don't have the energy to pull out Jeff Herman's Guide and work on actually MAILING out letters to publishers. I prefer email submissions; they're easier, save trees, and won't get lost in the mail like my rent check from this month (thanks again, Bank, for charging me $19.75 to stop that lost check).
I also thought that I would get a faster reply through email submission. This has not been the case. My theory is that since the unemployment rate is so high, all those people that said they were going to write a book, have lost their jobs and now have the time to write and are sending off submission letters and manuscripts and such. And they're probably the ones getting published. Which is great for them. Seriously. I'm way happy when other people get published and have their dreams come true. And, yes, I'm writing that to hopefully work up some karma brownie points. Plus, I watched, like, three hours of America's Funniest Home Videos today (I have no idea why) and laughed at people getting hurt, so I feel like I've made a major withdraw from my karma deposit and need to work on getting some credit back.
But I really am truly happy for dreams coming true for people who truly deserve it. And, if you've spent the time and energy to write a novel, then you deserve to have it published, even if it does suck.
Oh my God, someone publish me before I go crazy.
Oh, and speaking of crazy, have you all seen about the "criminally insane" (CNN's words, not mine; Fox News probably said he was a crazed liberal.. have I mentioned that I hate Fox News? Yes? Okay then.) guy in Washington state that ran away during a field trip with a group from a psychiatric hospital there?
Yes, they let criminally insane people go out on poorly supervised field trips in the wilderness of Washington. Like that's a good idea, like they won't escape... just because they're criminally insane doesn't mean that they're not spry motherfuckers. And I don't really know if the field trip was in the "wilderness of Washington" but in my mind, all of Washington looks like trees, rain, and vampires roaming around saving clumsy girls (clearly, I should live in Washington since I manage to hurt myself in new ways every day). Plus, it sounds better than saying that the field trip was through a flannel shirt factory or something lame like that.
Right, back on track. The criminally insane guy, because he is a spry motherfucker, escapes from the group. They find him so many hours/days later (I was only sort of listening to the news, so sue me) with a FUCKING SICKLE in tow.
A sickle, you guys. Do you know what those things look like? Imagine Captain Hook's hook on steroids and attached to the hand of a criminally insane man in the Washington wilderness.
Yeah, fuck that.
Seriously, how is this not a horror movie? I don't really watch horror movies and even I know that this has all the classic elements of a horror movie...
Actually, it reminds me of the story that Dan Aykroyd told his twin daughters in the movie The Great Outdoors after the Uncle Chet (played by the fabulous John Candy) scares them with his tale of The Bald-Headed Killer Bear.
By God, I love this movie.
I also thought that I would get a faster reply through email submission. This has not been the case. My theory is that since the unemployment rate is so high, all those people that said they were going to write a book, have lost their jobs and now have the time to write and are sending off submission letters and manuscripts and such. And they're probably the ones getting published. Which is great for them. Seriously. I'm way happy when other people get published and have their dreams come true. And, yes, I'm writing that to hopefully work up some karma brownie points. Plus, I watched, like, three hours of America's Funniest Home Videos today (I have no idea why) and laughed at people getting hurt, so I feel like I've made a major withdraw from my karma deposit and need to work on getting some credit back.
But I really am truly happy for dreams coming true for people who truly deserve it. And, if you've spent the time and energy to write a novel, then you deserve to have it published, even if it does suck.
Oh my God, someone publish me before I go crazy.
Oh, and speaking of crazy, have you all seen about the "criminally insane" (CNN's words, not mine; Fox News probably said he was a crazed liberal.. have I mentioned that I hate Fox News? Yes? Okay then.) guy in Washington state that ran away during a field trip with a group from a psychiatric hospital there?
Yes, they let criminally insane people go out on poorly supervised field trips in the wilderness of Washington. Like that's a good idea, like they won't escape... just because they're criminally insane doesn't mean that they're not spry motherfuckers. And I don't really know if the field trip was in the "wilderness of Washington" but in my mind, all of Washington looks like trees, rain, and vampires roaming around saving clumsy girls (clearly, I should live in Washington since I manage to hurt myself in new ways every day). Plus, it sounds better than saying that the field trip was through a flannel shirt factory or something lame like that.
Right, back on track. The criminally insane guy, because he is a spry motherfucker, escapes from the group. They find him so many hours/days later (I was only sort of listening to the news, so sue me) with a FUCKING SICKLE in tow.
A sickle, you guys. Do you know what those things look like? Imagine Captain Hook's hook on steroids and attached to the hand of a criminally insane man in the Washington wilderness.
+
=
=
Yeah, fuck that.
Seriously, how is this not a horror movie? I don't really watch horror movies and even I know that this has all the classic elements of a horror movie...
Actually, it reminds me of the story that Dan Aykroyd told his twin daughters in the movie The Great Outdoors after the Uncle Chet (played by the fabulous John Candy) scares them with his tale of The Bald-Headed Killer Bear.
"I know that a terrifying story like that coming from the mouth of a recognized authority figure could be traumatizing to kids like yourselves. I know that because I had a similar situation with my Uncle Roy and a story he used to tell about a family who went into the woods and was attacked by a band of escaped Army psycho patients, who’d been subjected to violent, hellish torture behavior modification experiments. It seems they escaped from the metal boxes the Army kept them in, found this family in the woods, fell upon them, slaughtered them and ate them. Well now that story gave me nightmares not to be believed. So, no more thinking about bears, all right?"
- Roman, The Great Outdoors, 1988
- Roman, The Great Outdoors, 1988
By God, I love this movie.
Monday, September 14, 2009
not me monday
I tend to steal ideas from Shannon's blog, but I don't feel any shame in stealing the idea of "Not Me Monday" from here since she stole it from MckMama.
So, what didn't I do this fine Monday?
For one, the people who just rented the apartment above ours are unusually loud. They yell over their stupidly loud TV, they sing acapella when no one's around (after hearing what they sound like, I have also stopped singing in my own apartment when no one's around out of pure embarrassment), and, I'm not entirely sure about this, but I think they're practicing for the hurdle race in the Olympics. That, or the dropping stuff on the floor competition of the Olympics. If this is the case, then it sounds like I have some serious competition.
Anyway, last night around midnight, one of the tenants upstairs was having a phone conversation and I was able to hear every. single. word. He was also dropping something over and over again that sounded kind of like a baseball falling on hardwood floor that I happened to be buried under. Since I have to be at work early in the morning, I was trying to sleep. I definitely didn't wish that my pot smoking neighbors were still living up there. I would never approve of others doing illegal drugs just so I can get a little shut-eye.
The Bourbon Festival is coming up this weekend. For those of you not aware, the Bourbon Festival is a chance for Bardstownians to celebrate the lives created because of drunk one-night stands and to remember the lives ruined by alcoholism. Okay, that's not true... Well, it's mostly not true. Bardstown is known for its bourbon distilleries (Barton, Jim Beam, Heaven Hill, Four Roses, Maker's Mark, and so on and son on) and every September, the people of Bardstown gather behind St. Joseph Church, show off crafts, listen to the Kentucky Headhunters play (or, if you're like me, bitch about the Kentucky Headhunters playing because, really, they've played there for nearly the past ten years and why can't Bardstown get someone new? The Kentucky Headhunters bring out all the rednecks and I can't handle that), and drink in the Beer Garden. Yes, the Beer Garden is a hop and a skip away from St. Joseph's Church, the first Catholic cathedral built west of the Allegheny Mountains.
Have I mentioned that being Catholic rocks?
I definitely didn't entertain the idea of going to the Bourbon Festival and getting "drunk as shit"... and that isn't a direct quote because I would never ever even suggest the idea of drinking, especially not in mass quantities that would be termed as "binging" in college surveys.
At work today, two guys from the IT Department stopped by to install a computer for the new faculty member on our floor. Seeing as how guys my age are scarce on my floor, I definitely didn't ogle the hell out of the guys over the top of my computer screen like a creeper. Please. I have more taste and self control than that. And I didn't even think about trying to find out the guys' names by snooping around on IT's website. I'm definitely not that desperate, especially when it came to the guy with the gauged ears.
And, even more about how I'm not a creeper. Today, when I sat down to lunch and realized that I was facing my roommate's boyfriend's look-a-like (if her boyfriend had a Jew-fro, that is) I didn't even dream of the idea of taking a picture on my cell phone of him. I would never use technology to drive my point home.
Also, I am not watching Pride and Prejudice on Oxygen. I've seen it a million times and don't see any point in watching once again. I'm also not saying the lines in time with the movie. And I'm certainly not quoting the movie with a fake British accent.
Lastly, my roommate just asked if I would want to make a Steak n Shake run at 9:49 at night. I would never eat fattening foods like a strawberry shake and fries at this time of night. :)
Elizabeth: Did I just agree to dance with Mr. Darcy?
Charlotte: I dare say you will find him amiable.
Elizabeth: It would be most inconvenient since I have sworn to loathe him for all eternity.
- Pride and Prejudice, 2005
So, what didn't I do this fine Monday?
For one, the people who just rented the apartment above ours are unusually loud. They yell over their stupidly loud TV, they sing acapella when no one's around (after hearing what they sound like, I have also stopped singing in my own apartment when no one's around out of pure embarrassment), and, I'm not entirely sure about this, but I think they're practicing for the hurdle race in the Olympics. That, or the dropping stuff on the floor competition of the Olympics. If this is the case, then it sounds like I have some serious competition.
Anyway, last night around midnight, one of the tenants upstairs was having a phone conversation and I was able to hear every. single. word. He was also dropping something over and over again that sounded kind of like a baseball falling on hardwood floor that I happened to be buried under. Since I have to be at work early in the morning, I was trying to sleep. I definitely didn't wish that my pot smoking neighbors were still living up there. I would never approve of others doing illegal drugs just so I can get a little shut-eye.
The Bourbon Festival is coming up this weekend. For those of you not aware, the Bourbon Festival is a chance for Bardstownians to celebrate the lives created because of drunk one-night stands and to remember the lives ruined by alcoholism. Okay, that's not true... Well, it's mostly not true. Bardstown is known for its bourbon distilleries (Barton, Jim Beam, Heaven Hill, Four Roses, Maker's Mark, and so on and son on) and every September, the people of Bardstown gather behind St. Joseph Church, show off crafts, listen to the Kentucky Headhunters play (or, if you're like me, bitch about the Kentucky Headhunters playing because, really, they've played there for nearly the past ten years and why can't Bardstown get someone new? The Kentucky Headhunters bring out all the rednecks and I can't handle that), and drink in the Beer Garden. Yes, the Beer Garden is a hop and a skip away from St. Joseph's Church, the first Catholic cathedral built west of the Allegheny Mountains.
Have I mentioned that being Catholic rocks?
I definitely didn't entertain the idea of going to the Bourbon Festival and getting "drunk as shit"... and that isn't a direct quote because I would never ever even suggest the idea of drinking, especially not in mass quantities that would be termed as "binging" in college surveys.
At work today, two guys from the IT Department stopped by to install a computer for the new faculty member on our floor. Seeing as how guys my age are scarce on my floor, I definitely didn't ogle the hell out of the guys over the top of my computer screen like a creeper. Please. I have more taste and self control than that. And I didn't even think about trying to find out the guys' names by snooping around on IT's website. I'm definitely not that desperate, especially when it came to the guy with the gauged ears.
And, even more about how I'm not a creeper. Today, when I sat down to lunch and realized that I was facing my roommate's boyfriend's look-a-like (if her boyfriend had a Jew-fro, that is) I didn't even dream of the idea of taking a picture on my cell phone of him. I would never use technology to drive my point home.
Also, I am not watching Pride and Prejudice on Oxygen. I've seen it a million times and don't see any point in watching once again. I'm also not saying the lines in time with the movie. And I'm certainly not quoting the movie with a fake British accent.
Lastly, my roommate just asked if I would want to make a Steak n Shake run at 9:49 at night. I would never eat fattening foods like a strawberry shake and fries at this time of night. :)
Elizabeth: Did I just agree to dance with Mr. Darcy?Charlotte: I dare say you will find him amiable.
Elizabeth: It would be most inconvenient since I have sworn to loathe him for all eternity.
- Pride and Prejudice, 2005
Sunday, September 13, 2009
moral dilemmas
I have decided what my moral dilemma of the year is.
Actually, I should say I've decided who my moral dilemma of the year is.
I present to you my Moral Dilemma of 2009: Mr. Taylor Lautner. He's 17. Seventeen, people. I am a gross old lady... but won't be come February 2010 when he becomes legal. I'll still feel like a gross old lady, but it will be legal for me to be a gross old lady.
Another moral dilemma, though not as bad as wanting to jump a minor's bones, is my new like of Diet Coke. I have never been a Diet Coke fan. It's always been Diet Pepsi or bust for this girl. But I'm sitting here, sipping a Diet Coke and watching Family Guy and, you know, it's not so bad. It's actually kind of fucking delicious.
The Diet Coke, not Family Guy. Family Guy is crude and hilarious, as always.
Over the past year or so, I've become sick of Diet Pepsi. You know how some people drink coffee to get them going on their work day? Well, I do that too. But with Diet Pepsi, because WKU refuses to sell Dr. Pepper on the campus, save for the overpriced convenient store. Yes, they suck. And now my taste buds are sick of Diet Pepsi, a beverage I once was sure my blood was made of.
I haven't totally sold out yet though. Diet Dr Pepper is still my number one love, but Diet Coke is tasting pretty good these days. And I hate myself for that.
But not as much as I hate myself for my third moral dilemma...
I've decided on my Halloween costume and decided that I needed to do something about my hair. I absolutely hate the cheap Halloween wigs. They smell bad, they feel weird, they're hot, and when you take them off, you have this red line across your forehead. I discovered some cheap hair extensions at Sally's and decided to try it out, just for my Halloween costume.
Oh my God. I love having hair extensions. The color is much too dark for my hair, which is intentional for my Halloween costume, but I really might invest in some good quality (read: stupidly expensive and marketed by Jessica Simpson) clip-in hair extensions.
Please don't judge me. I judge myself enough for this decision than anyone of you ever could. I just want long hair again. And anyone who knows me knows that my patience level is nonexistent. This is just a temporary solution until my hair gets the length I want it. Is that so wrong?
...
You're right. It's totally wrong. But I might just do it anyway.
Actually, I should say I've decided who my moral dilemma of the year is.
I present to you my Moral Dilemma of 2009: Mr. Taylor Lautner. He's 17. Seventeen, people. I am a gross old lady... but won't be come February 2010 when he becomes legal. I'll still feel like a gross old lady, but it will be legal for me to be a gross old lady.Another moral dilemma, though not as bad as wanting to jump a minor's bones, is my new like of Diet Coke. I have never been a Diet Coke fan. It's always been Diet Pepsi or bust for this girl. But I'm sitting here, sipping a Diet Coke and watching Family Guy and, you know, it's not so bad. It's actually kind of fucking delicious.
The Diet Coke, not Family Guy. Family Guy is crude and hilarious, as always.
Over the past year or so, I've become sick of Diet Pepsi. You know how some people drink coffee to get them going on their work day? Well, I do that too. But with Diet Pepsi, because WKU refuses to sell Dr. Pepper on the campus, save for the overpriced convenient store. Yes, they suck. And now my taste buds are sick of Diet Pepsi, a beverage I once was sure my blood was made of.
I haven't totally sold out yet though. Diet Dr Pepper is still my number one love, but Diet Coke is tasting pretty good these days. And I hate myself for that.
But not as much as I hate myself for my third moral dilemma...
I've decided on my Halloween costume and decided that I needed to do something about my hair. I absolutely hate the cheap Halloween wigs. They smell bad, they feel weird, they're hot, and when you take them off, you have this red line across your forehead. I discovered some cheap hair extensions at Sally's and decided to try it out, just for my Halloween costume.
Oh my God. I love having hair extensions. The color is much too dark for my hair, which is intentional for my Halloween costume, but I really might invest in some good quality (read: stupidly expensive and marketed by Jessica Simpson) clip-in hair extensions.
Please don't judge me. I judge myself enough for this decision than anyone of you ever could. I just want long hair again. And anyone who knows me knows that my patience level is nonexistent. This is just a temporary solution until my hair gets the length I want it. Is that so wrong?
...
You're right. It's totally wrong. But I might just do it anyway.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
stay golden!
Check it out... I finally fiddled with my TOT graphic and brought it up to my standards which are, admittedly, quite below par. Don't be horribly surprised to see a new graphic in the near future... though I must say that I'm totally digging weather vanes right now. Nothing like the crazy shit Aunt Meg had in Twister that I can't find a screencap of at this very moment. It doesn't really matter; if you were alive in 1996, you saw Twister and you know about all those crazy metal death traps Aunt Meg had in her front yard.
Also, on a related note, if you search for the words in "twister screencap" in Google images, you're going to see a bunch of naked asses sticking up in the air. Just, you know, fair warning.
Thought One:
I'm still not over those metal weather vane things in Aunt Meg's yard. What would possess a person to put all those sharp metal pieces outside on display in the middle of Tornado-friggin-Valley? I'm just saying. Tornadoes...wind...flying metal that's been shaped to move easily through the air... she and her Metals of Doom probably decapitated half of Wakita when that tornado went through there.
Get out while you can.Thought Two:
What happened to Nelly Furtado? I've been listening to her lately and though I lost a lot of respect for her when she sold out with that "Get Ur Freak On" remix and that album after Folklore, I miss her music.
Plus, I've been listening to that remix of "Get Ur Freak On" a lot lately. I can't help it, okay? It's catchier than the swine flu.
Thought Three:
It's too soon for (really stupid) swine flu jokes, isn't it?
Thought Four:
Wolf-whistling is impossible. This isn't a thought; it's an absolute fact. And anyone who can wolf whistle is a jackass because wolf-whistling is subjective and offensive and I spent more time than I'm willing to admit trying to wolf whistle using the tutorial found in October's Cosmo and all I managed to do was make my lips chapped.
Thought Five:
I realized last night that I watch almost two hours of The Golden Girls a day. It's not even intentional. I've started watching/listening to the 7 am airing while I'm getting ready for work, then tend to watch again at 10:30pm, I'm in bed by 11 during the week (because I'm turning into an old spinstress, what with The Golden Girls and having a cat and all), tend to watch at 11pm, then set my sleep timer on the TV for 30-60 minutes after that. So, that's at least 90 minutes of watching Blanche, Dorothy, Rose, and Sophia and all their crazy antics and witty banter.
I fully blame Hallmark for constantly showing reruns and having all day long Sunday marathons of The Golden Girls. But I will say, here and now, that lying in bed watching The Golden Girls marathon on a Sunday afternoon is the best way to cure a hangover caused from a Saturday night of boozing it up.
Now, if you'll excuse me. It's almost 10:30 and I need to watch a TV show I've already seen a million times.
Rose: I just had a thought.
Sophia, Dororthy, and Blanche: Congratulations.
- The Golden Girls
Sophia, Dororthy, and Blanche: Congratulations.
- The Golden Girls
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
words to fox news
When Obama was thanking Congress for being there and for the American public watching, I wanted him to, at that time, point a finger at the camera and say, "And to you, at Fox News, fuck you guys."
Friday, September 4, 2009
the soggy purples
This week has been one of those weeks. It wasn't awful, but wasn't necessarily good either. It was a mix between the blues and the mean reds... the soggy purples.
Like I said, it hasn't been a bad week... but it hasn't been necessarily good either. It's just been a soggy purple kind of funk.
But, in different news, I co-interviewed a student for the assistant job in our department at work. I've never interviewed someone before and it's been five years since I've been interviewed. So, trying to be professional, I Googled (Google is way professional) questions and proper ways to interview a potential employee. I also asked one of the ladies I work with to be in the interview as well since she has hired students in the past.
It ended up kind of feeling like a 'good cop, bad cop' kind of thing. And I was the bad cop! I was asking questions about her application and the lady who was in the interview with me was explaining the job and what she would be doing as if we already hired her... which we pretty much had before she got there because of her experience and all that. But still. I felt like a bitch. And I'm not a bitch; I just bitch about things. There is a difference. It all ended well though, and the student was hired. And I added another bullet to my resume as an interviewer.
Despite all of that, I'm still feeling those soggy purples. I hope hanging out with my family this weekend will cure me of this funk. If not, then the soggy purples might be given a violent shove into the mean reds.
...
This is really starting to sound like some sort of pansy terror alert system, isn't it?
Like I said, it hasn't been a bad week... but it hasn't been necessarily good either. It's just been a soggy purple kind of funk.
But, in different news, I co-interviewed a student for the assistant job in our department at work. I've never interviewed someone before and it's been five years since I've been interviewed. So, trying to be professional, I Googled (Google is way professional) questions and proper ways to interview a potential employee. I also asked one of the ladies I work with to be in the interview as well since she has hired students in the past.
It ended up kind of feeling like a 'good cop, bad cop' kind of thing. And I was the bad cop! I was asking questions about her application and the lady who was in the interview with me was explaining the job and what she would be doing as if we already hired her... which we pretty much had before she got there because of her experience and all that. But still. I felt like a bitch. And I'm not a bitch; I just bitch about things. There is a difference. It all ended well though, and the student was hired. And I added another bullet to my resume as an interviewer.
Despite all of that, I'm still feeling those soggy purples. I hope hanging out with my family this weekend will cure me of this funk. If not, then the soggy purples might be given a violent shove into the mean reds.
...
This is really starting to sound like some sort of pansy terror alert system, isn't it?
Thursday, August 27, 2009
thoughts on thursday
NOTE: Okay, I started this yesterday, got hit with my undiagnosed ADD and never finished this post. Since I'm too lazy/uncreative to think of something else to blog about, I'm posting what I wrote yesterday. Don't like it? Tough noogies.
It's Thursday and I have nothing real to report about anything. I guess the only way to make a real entry is to do another Thoughts on Thursday.
This would look better if I was on a computer that had more than a Paint program; just pretend it looks nicer.
Thought 1:
The other library, the one I don't work in, but the one that is still connected to the building that I do work in, is closing tomorrow at 1 because of electrical issues. How lame is that? If they get to go home at 1 on a Friday, then I should be able to as well. I mean, we're all working similar jobs, we're all on the same payroll...
Actually, that's not true. Since I'm 'full-time temporary, part-time hourly', I'm on a different payroll than the real faculty and staff. But still, those are just details that shouldn't affect me getting to go home early on a Friday afternoon.
Friday afternoon, people. That's, like, the best time to get off work and still be paid for it ever.
Thought 2:
I bet UK is glad they got rid of this guy before he went and pulled this stunt and had this lovely picture of himself taken:
Check out that handsome mug.
It's Thursday and I have nothing real to report about anything. I guess the only way to make a real entry is to do another Thoughts on Thursday.
This would look better if I was on a computer that had more than a Paint program; just pretend it looks nicer.Thought 1:
The other library, the one I don't work in, but the one that is still connected to the building that I do work in, is closing tomorrow at 1 because of electrical issues. How lame is that? If they get to go home at 1 on a Friday, then I should be able to as well. I mean, we're all working similar jobs, we're all on the same payroll...
Actually, that's not true. Since I'm 'full-time temporary, part-time hourly', I'm on a different payroll than the real faculty and staff. But still, those are just details that shouldn't affect me getting to go home early on a Friday afternoon.
Friday afternoon, people. That's, like, the best time to get off work and still be paid for it ever.
Thought 2:
I bet UK is glad they got rid of this guy before he went and pulled this stunt and had this lovely picture of himself taken:
Check out that handsome mug.Thought 3:
I'm 89% sure that I'm getting a wrist tattoo. What am I getting? Why, a dorky literary tattoo of course!
The quote is from Mansfield Park by Jane Austen, and I think it will look lovely on my right wrist. I have some fears of getting inked in such a visible spot, but I'm pretty confident that it can be covered up with the bracelets I wear, or a watch, or, you know, long sleeves. Problem solved.
Plus, I really like the quote and I can't see it working as well in any other spot.
Thought 4:
My little cousins are trying out for America's Next Top Model tomorrow in Chicago. I am so excited and nervous for them. They're both gorgeous, smart great girls and they totally deserve an opportunity to shine. So, tomorrow, if you're hungover and lying on the couch watching reruns of ANTM on Oxygen, send some good thoughts their way.
Yes, that is exactly how I plan to spend my Saturday afternoon.
Thought 5:
Gah, this has been a shitty post. Maybe I can save it by throwing in a few movie lines?
Carol: Ray isn't coming out of his room until he resembles the man I married.
Art: Carol, we don't have that kind of time.
- The 'Burbs
Mr Shickadance: Ventura.
Ace: Yes, Satan? ... Oh, I'm sorry sir. You sounded like someone else.
- Ace Ventura, Pet Detective
Cassandra: There's only one reason Christian girls come down to the Planned Parenthood.
Roland: She's planting a pipe bomb?!
Cassandra: Okay, two reasons.
- Saved!
I'm 89% sure that I'm getting a wrist tattoo. What am I getting? Why, a dorky literary tattoo of course!
The quote is from Mansfield Park by Jane Austen, and I think it will look lovely on my right wrist. I have some fears of getting inked in such a visible spot, but I'm pretty confident that it can be covered up with the bracelets I wear, or a watch, or, you know, long sleeves. Problem solved.Plus, I really like the quote and I can't see it working as well in any other spot.
Thought 4:
My little cousins are trying out for America's Next Top Model tomorrow in Chicago. I am so excited and nervous for them. They're both gorgeous, smart great girls and they totally deserve an opportunity to shine. So, tomorrow, if you're hungover and lying on the couch watching reruns of ANTM on Oxygen, send some good thoughts their way.
Yes, that is exactly how I plan to spend my Saturday afternoon.
Thought 5:
Gah, this has been a shitty post. Maybe I can save it by throwing in a few movie lines?
Carol: Ray isn't coming out of his room until he resembles the man I married.Art: Carol, we don't have that kind of time.
- The 'Burbs
Mr Shickadance: Ventura.Ace: Yes, Satan? ... Oh, I'm sorry sir. You sounded like someone else.
- Ace Ventura, Pet Detective
Cassandra: There's only one reason Christian girls come down to the Planned Parenthood.Roland: She's planting a pipe bomb?!
Cassandra: Okay, two reasons.
- Saved!
Friday, August 21, 2009
a talk with the universe.
So my "Crystal, You Dumbass, Don't Buy That" list is slowly unraveling.
And, by slowly, I mean that I bought three seasons of television on DVD last night at Target because I have no fucking self control.
But, it was season six of The Golden Girls for nine dollars! You best believe that, if they had the other seasons in stock (which were all nine dollars as well, and the reason why they were sold out), I would have bought the whole series. I also purchased the first two seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer because, evidently, I want to make myself even more unattractive to the opposite sex and stay single forever. And, if that doesn't do the trick, I also bought oodles of scrapbooking supplies.
I swear, if I take up knitting, someone kill me.
As long as I don't go on a shopping spree these next two weekends, I should be able to get my savings account back on track. I was doing fine up until I got hit with a $200 pet deposit and a verbal lashing from the landlady on Monday.
This not spending money for the next two weeks should go well since I've just got approximately 20 publishers to contact/bribe/beg. I have to get published, you guys. I really believe that if you want something bad enough and if you try, then it will happen. And, maybe I should do what that book The Secret says to do and put what I want out there in the Universe.
Hey, Universe, I want to be a published author.
Okay, I've never read The Secret, but I'm pretty sure that was one of the steps. Another step probably says not to be a smart ass about the other steps.
Oh God, what if I had to give up sarcasm in order to get a book deal? Talk about Sophie's Choice...
And, by slowly, I mean that I bought three seasons of television on DVD last night at Target because I have no fucking self control.
But, it was season six of The Golden Girls for nine dollars! You best believe that, if they had the other seasons in stock (which were all nine dollars as well, and the reason why they were sold out), I would have bought the whole series. I also purchased the first two seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer because, evidently, I want to make myself even more unattractive to the opposite sex and stay single forever. And, if that doesn't do the trick, I also bought oodles of scrapbooking supplies.
I swear, if I take up knitting, someone kill me.
As long as I don't go on a shopping spree these next two weekends, I should be able to get my savings account back on track. I was doing fine up until I got hit with a $200 pet deposit and a verbal lashing from the landlady on Monday.
This not spending money for the next two weeks should go well since I've just got approximately 20 publishers to contact/bribe/beg. I have to get published, you guys. I really believe that if you want something bad enough and if you try, then it will happen. And, maybe I should do what that book The Secret says to do and put what I want out there in the Universe.
Hey, Universe, I want to be a published author.
Okay, I've never read The Secret, but I'm pretty sure that was one of the steps. Another step probably says not to be a smart ass about the other steps.
Oh God, what if I had to give up sarcasm in order to get a book deal? Talk about Sophie's Choice...
Thursday, August 20, 2009
why i hate the jonas brothers.
Whenever I make some snide comment about The Jonas Brothers (which is a rather frequent occurrence), I am always asked, "Why you be hatin' on The JoBro, bitch?".
Sadly, none of my friends actually talk like that, but the question, however grammatically incorrect and offensive, is still there.
Why do I hate The Jonas Brothers?
The answer is simple: It's payback time.
Since I was eleven years old, my taste in music hasn't mattered. It hasn't mattered because my favorite band is Hanson, and "oh, they sing "MMMBop", what do those long-haired girls know about music?"
I have been facing prejudice since I was a wee little lassie because of my brother band. You would think that I would see the dark road The Jonas Brothers are heading down and would have pity on them. Oh, they're popular right now with their TV show and concert specials on the Disney channel, but that's going to change once their targeted demographic hits about sixteen. The JoBros will essentially fall off the map. They'll probably release a few albums and a handful of singles that will go unnoticed, except by the fans who are still sticking around because, well, that first love never really fades, does it? The band will perform at small venues and state fairs and occasionally be brought up in conversation, but only as a joke.
The same has happened with Hanson. With every album release after their first, Hanson has cause nothing more than a murmur in the music world. Oh, the albums get good reviews in obscure rock magazines, but sales aren't phenomenal and... have you heard "Great Divide" on the radio? I didn't think so. Not that radio play means a lot since most radio stations just play crap these days anyway. By the general public, Hanson isn't respected. Which is just bullshit beyond belief. Did you know that they broke their contract with their record label in order to make the music that they wanted to make?
Do you see The Jonas Brothers cutting Mickey Mouse's apron strings anytime soon? Because I sure as hell don't. And that's why I hate the comparison between Hanson and The Jonas Brothers. Hanson is a stronger group. Maybe, in ten years, I'll respect The Jonas Brothers for being talented musicians.
Right now, though? Not so much. I really don't think that they have the stones to be good musicians. And, if they do have the stones, then you best believe Disney has them in a vice grip.
My other reason for hating The Jonas Brothers? Well, it's simple really. I only have room in my heart for one brother band.
Oh, and these lyrics don't do anything for me either:
"You got moves, I've got shoes, let's go dancing
Pop and lock, battle dance against Hanson
If we lose, all the girls, they'll be laughing
Where would we be, if we couldn't dream?"
Fuck you, Jonas Brothers. Listen to how a real band does it without dropping names in a stupid ass way:
Sadly, none of my friends actually talk like that, but the question, however grammatically incorrect and offensive, is still there.
Why do I hate The Jonas Brothers?
The answer is simple: It's payback time.
Since I was eleven years old, my taste in music hasn't mattered. It hasn't mattered because my favorite band is Hanson, and "oh, they sing "MMMBop", what do those long-haired girls know about music?"
I have been facing prejudice since I was a wee little lassie because of my brother band. You would think that I would see the dark road The Jonas Brothers are heading down and would have pity on them. Oh, they're popular right now with their TV show and concert specials on the Disney channel, but that's going to change once their targeted demographic hits about sixteen. The JoBros will essentially fall off the map. They'll probably release a few albums and a handful of singles that will go unnoticed, except by the fans who are still sticking around because, well, that first love never really fades, does it? The band will perform at small venues and state fairs and occasionally be brought up in conversation, but only as a joke.
The same has happened with Hanson. With every album release after their first, Hanson has cause nothing more than a murmur in the music world. Oh, the albums get good reviews in obscure rock magazines, but sales aren't phenomenal and... have you heard "Great Divide" on the radio? I didn't think so. Not that radio play means a lot since most radio stations just play crap these days anyway. By the general public, Hanson isn't respected. Which is just bullshit beyond belief. Did you know that they broke their contract with their record label in order to make the music that they wanted to make?
Do you see The Jonas Brothers cutting Mickey Mouse's apron strings anytime soon? Because I sure as hell don't. And that's why I hate the comparison between Hanson and The Jonas Brothers. Hanson is a stronger group. Maybe, in ten years, I'll respect The Jonas Brothers for being talented musicians.
Right now, though? Not so much. I really don't think that they have the stones to be good musicians. And, if they do have the stones, then you best believe Disney has them in a vice grip.
My other reason for hating The Jonas Brothers? Well, it's simple really. I only have room in my heart for one brother band.
Oh, and these lyrics don't do anything for me either:
"You got moves, I've got shoes, let's go dancing
Pop and lock, battle dance against Hanson
If we lose, all the girls, they'll be laughing
Where would we be, if we couldn't dream?"
Fuck you, Jonas Brothers. Listen to how a real band does it without dropping names in a stupid ass way:
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