She was a show girl, now she's a Corolla

Greetings from the world of....(hear in head sound of Rob the Announcer from The Price is Right)...A NEW CAR!

That's right, folks. I bought a brandie spankin' new car. Her name is Lola and she is a lovely shade of midnight blue.

I was rather panicked this morning. And let me tell you why.

Chariot (may she rest in peace) was really a mess. Needed about $600 or more worth of work done to her. I had to put her down. It was the best for both of us. But that left me without a car, over a long weekend. Enterprise gave me a rather pathetic excuse for a rental it seemed as if no one wanted to give me a deal. I gave up on the pipe dream of a new Honda because I knew no one would give it to me at a price I could afford (which is not very much). So, I swallowed my pride (for the millionth time this week) and Nick, bless his heart, suggested the Corolla. I made some calls this morning, found a guy who was willing to work with my numbers and, about 4 hours later, I drove away in...A NEW CAR!!

In the end, it was all so simple.

Lola now has a whole 58 miles on her and boy does she purr like a kitten.

Merry Christmas to me!!

(and to you, of course)

Just my luck

I was on my way to purchase a new car yesterday, and my car completely died.

Unfortunately, the new car deal fell through.

So, I have no car and I'm driving a Chevy Colorado that I actually have to pay for.

Fuck.

Yoga calling...she must answer

Although I would so much rather eat pretzels and watch The Simpsons, I really need to get my exercise in. I'm very stiff from all this stress. So this will be brief.

I did not get laid off today. No one did...yet. That's all I have to say.

Again, thank you all for reading and thank you for your support.

And that's not sarcasm. I swear.

I don't want to talk about it

Well, more bad news has come down the pipeline. And it's almost worse that it has happened to someone who I love dearly and not myself. The one day where nothing had gone terribly wrong did, eventually, have to come to an end.

An unfortunate course of events had led to an extremely unfortunate result: The Nickster will be home alone on Christmas...in Atlanta of all places. This is sad on many fronts although it is unnecessary for me to go into great detail.

However, in a very generous and thoughtful turn of events, my sister and brother in law (ever the martyrs) have offered to do as much as is in their power to get Nick here to Boston (kind of) for Christmas. The likelihood of this actually coming to fruition is slim to none due to lack of funds etc. But in this case, it really is the thought that counts. I am certainly lucky to have them.

In other news, I will receive an update about my current employment today. In case I forgot to mention, one of the four ladies in my office (no one is safe) is being let go at an unspecified time in the future. Apparently the forces that be have a "creative idea."

Oh goody goody.

Do they know it's Christmas time at all?

It sure as hell doesn't feel like the happiest time of the year.

My poor sister. She has been through so much this year and here she is trying to cheer me up and making sure I haven't fallen right off the deep end. Bitching to her about the medical bill and parking tickets I've received in the last two days (both of which are due to someone not doing their job) just made me feel worse instead of better. She still doesn't have all of the feeling in her leg from the dog bite and post-bite surgeries. And I'm complaining about a digital camera that I'll never get back, one I've had for over a year and still hadn't taken the initiative to really learn how to use it.

Christmas is a week from today. It's about time I get my head out of my ass, stop feeling sorry for myself and get in the fucking spirit of the season.

Now where are those god damn Christmas CD's?

And the shit storm continues

I don't mean to complain. I'm usually not one to just throw my hands up in the air and feel sorry for myself. And if I do, it isn't for too long. I get over it and then spring into action.

However, there must be someone out there with a voodoo doll having a grand old time. There are obviously certain things that are beyond my control.

What I can say is that there must be something reeeeally good coming. Really, there has to be.

Maybe someone bought me a $100,000 bill for Christmas.

Dear Massport and Logan International Airport,

Fuck you, too.

Thanks for almost killing me because you are completely incompetent and unable to clear 6 inches of snow and slush from your roadways.

Thank you also for closing the airport as I was pulling up to it after a 2 hour drive in the blizzard of the century.

And a special thank you to the police officer who abandonded his car and was a complete waste of space in helping anyone with getting their cars unstuck. And a special air kiss for the other police officer that yelled at me for trying to park in economy and threatened to issue me a ticket for disobeying his traffic direction.

Extra special thanks to Massport's parking office in Logan International Airport who have taken all of my money for a parking spot that I was forced to take.

You guys fucking rule.

Thanks...really.

Dear US Airways,

Fuck you.

Not only did you force me to gate check my bag after a harrowing (understatement of the year) day of New England weather, but then you lost my bag and then, while the bag was somewhere in the black hole that is your baggage claim system, SOMEONE went through my bag, unfolded all of my clothes, then shoved them back in haphazardly.

Oh and that someone also STOLE MY DIGITAL CAMERA AND ALL OF MY PICTURES.

Oh and yes. Heaven forbid I forget the blatant disregard for my welfare or the welfare of my belongings.

I have yet to deal with anyone within your pathetic organization who has shown a shred of remorse or apathy, nor have been formally apologized to or told exactly what happened to my camera.

But have I been patronized, eternally put on hold, or made to feel like this was all my fault? Why YES. All of the above.

Go fuck yourself. And fuck your mother.

Sincerely,
Fucking Pissed Off

I'm watching a tribute to Tom Petty, which means hell has frozen over and yes...there's the monkey flying right out of my ass

I'm sorry.

But not really.

I don't like Tom Petty. Actually, I hate Tom Petty. And I don't care if you like him. You liking him, whoever you are (and you know who you are) will never convince me to like him, so don't try. Just don't.

I'm not sure how the Billboard Music Awards is even on my television. I'm fairly sure that since I rarely change the channel from Fox, I just didn't notice when the Simpsons ended and this shit began.

Who ARE these people? And what is Gwen wearing in her hair?? I'm really sick of her trying to make a fashion statement, doing something NEW and FRESH every time she goes out in public. Enough. Just dress fuckin normal. It's not a good thing when the best dressed people at an awards show are the members of Green Day and even MARIAH looks good for fuck's sake.

There is only one explanation.

The world has fallen off of its planetary rotation.

Or not. Because Petty is still really ugly. And this is just depressing me. That that ugly son of a bitch is a bazillionare and I'm not.

Fuck.

Well, you got me. It's not Tom Petty's fault. I'm sure he's a really nice guy (even if he is really ugly) and I'm sure he deserves his award.

I'm pissed off for other reasons. I'm fat, I'm frustrated and I can't turn my head all the way to the right. And the last thing is making the first two worse, which is just leading to a vicious, self-loathing cycle.

And Nick doesn't feel good, either.

And no one bought me a pony for my birthday.

All I want for Christmas is one of those beer can hats but with egg nog instead of beer

I kicked ass at work yesterday. I went above and beyond and all that wonderful shit. Celebrate.

I can't help but feel meloncholy this time of year. I need to stop blaming it on my mother. I'm a big girl now and I don't need to keep making excuses for how much I dislike this time of year.

Then I start to look at deeper reasons. Maybe I'm just a miserable person. All I know is that I would rather get knocked out for the next month and get woken up on New Year's Eve. Because I actually enjoy New Year's. If only that I have an excuse to get drunk and make out.

But that can't be it, either.

Nick told me that he bought my birthday present yesterday and he was actually BRAGGING about how he knew what it was and I didn't. And he knows that I hate to be uninformed. He knows that I hate to be the last to know. But he also knows that I like surprises.

Apparently, that makes little sense to everyone but him. He's wonderful. And he really likes me.

The poor man. I think I felt sorry for him the instant after I told him I loved him.

I start to imagine what it will be like when I'm pregnant with my first child and then I actually start to pity him. You should too.

Black Wednesday

So my birthday is on Wednesday. 25 years young.

I've never been a fan of the day. I guess I'm really not into celebrating my own birth, especially since one of my parents (who was like, there) isn't in the picture. And the other parent (and other other parent...god, I'm making this complicated) doesn't get all that excited about it, either.

I don't remember anyone ever being excited about it. I see my sister with her kids, getting them all riled up for the big 10 or the big 5 and I actually get jealous. (I'm not proud of being jealous of a 5 year old.) I don't think I ever got that pure, selfless feeling of wanting to have a day just about ME. Or maybe I did and I don't remember. It's entirely possible. I know I was a big brat when I was little...or so I'm told.

At any rate, I dread it every year. I don't want anyone to make a big deal and I just want it to get shoved under the rug, along with that extra five pounds and the book that I can't seem to finish reading.

But before you get all "aww, that's so sad, she just needs a nice day" and shit, remember this: I say I don't want anyone to make a big deal out of it, but I actually do.

I want everyone to make a HUGE deal to make up for the non-deal it was when I was little. I want surprises and declarations of love and voices from the past and a million dollars. I want a new car and a new computer and a house and a 4 carat diamond ring and a job that I really, truly love and to lose 20 pounds and to fit into a size 10 and to have smaller feet.

This is your life...

....and 5 more years until you can REALLY be depressed about your age.

In the true spirit of procrastination, I've just spent a good chunk of time reading old blog entries while I should be making sales calls. But you know what? I'm fried, totally and completely burnt out this week. I don't have anything else left in me. So...two blog entries in one day, for old times sake.

In doing so, I'm reminded what a fucking loser my ex was, and probably still is. I haven't heard from him and I hope I never do. He never sent me the money he owed me which might piss me off but I don't care. It just doesn't matter anymore.

Despite how complicated and stressful things have gotten lately, I feel so unbelievably lucky. I'm so excited for the future.

(Insert barfing noises HERE)

Rant: I'll give you something to cry about

People just really fucking suck sometimes.

Car Accident Update:
The young woman and man who were the driver and passenger (respectively) in the car that I happened to bump into late last month have now decided that they were both injured in the scuffle. I take back anything nice I said about them before. They suck. They fucking suck. They suck monkey balls.

I shouldn't even get all worked up about it. I have plenty of coverage and I don't have to shell out any more money. Or do I?

But you know what pisses me off THE MOST? The accident really wasn't my fault. The stupid little 18 year old chippy driving slammed on her brakes and I didn't have enough time to stop. I wasn't on the phone. I wasn't tailing her. I wasn't pissed off.

But now I'm pissed off.

You know what else? I get FIVE POINTS added to my driving record, a driving record which has been spotless for the last eight years. And my car insurance sky rockets. I just got totally fucking fucked. FUCKED.

So all I can do is bend over and take it...until I move out of this fucking state.

Fuuuuck!!

You've all done very well

My level of self absorption is very high. I won't make apologies for it, but I will say that I've missed writing in the ole blog. I know you've missed it, too.

I'm terribly out of touch with any trashy celebrity news but I DO know that Kate (that's right folks, it's not "Katie" anymore) is pregnant with a gay man's spawn. I'm going to go ahead and assume that this is not his baby. Because Tom Cruise has to be either gay or asexual. Oh...and they can both take their Scientology bullshit and shove up their respective tight asses.

I've gotten several comments (I won't go so far as to call them complaints, but they are) about my lack of blog entries. Apparently this is one of few ways that some of you deem appropriate to keep up with my fast-paced, exciting life. So, I'll oblige.

Work has escalated to the point of chaos which is good and bad. Good because it keeps me busy and distracted from other, usually mind consuming issues (money and lack there of) but bad because there is little room in my head for anything else. However, a challenging, task-driven, demanding job is what I asked for and it is now what I have. I would enter the phrase "high-paying" in there, but that would be less than true. The pay is OK but of course, when you make more money, you spend more money. And there's the rub.

My car is back to being it's glorious self, except for some new (actually old but don't tell the insurance company) issues with the front end that are quite annoying although I am told not dangerous. So I won't be careening off of the highway anytime soon. I know that disappoints some of you, if only because, should I survive, it would make a kick ass story. Admittedly, it disappoints me as well.

I am ridiculously happy in love. I wish Georgia were within driving distance but we do what we can. Spending money on plane tickets was not on the agenda but I try to remind myself it is only money and doesn't love just conquer all?

(The answer is yes)

Oh Chariot

It's common knowledge that when one thing in my life starts going fantastically well, everything else goes to complete shit.

Now that I read that over, I realize it may be a bit melodramatic. Ok...quite a bit melodramatic.

The Chariot (my car) and I got into a bit of a fender bender on our way home this past Friday evening. Not entirely our fault in actuality, but because of insurance and "fault" and all that, technically my fault because I rammed her into the back of a Santa Fe. She and I are both pretty upset about it. She's still driveable but in rough shape. She's worried about her fate, as am I.

The best part about this accident? I told myself that the next time something major happened to her that I would seriously look into replacing her. I've avoided having a real conversation about it because I know she'll be very upset.

Oops I...had a C-section

You must have known that the cheap shots at celebrities would be back. It was only a matter of time. I can only be gooey about being in love in small doses. Otherwise, I'll get sick on myself.

So B. Spears and K. Fed now have a little baby boy. I knew that was coming. What I didn't expect was for B. Spears to have to get sliced open like can of Campbell's Chunky. I can't speak from experience, but I hear that this really ruins your chance to ever have a bikini-worthy stomach, let alone a six pack worthy of a concert tour. I can't say I don't feel a little twinge of guilt for even touching the subject of this kind of misfortune, but I quickly got over it and remembered that I really am a cold bitch at heart. For the rest of my life, I and so many others like me will offically have a better looking stomach than B. Spears. Her sex symbol status, although dying since she started having sex with K. Fed, bed ridden after she announced her pregnancy, is now offically pushing up daisies.

I can't help but snicker. Isn't it awful?

I've become "One of Those"...

...May god have mercy on my soul.

I've set a record for number of days I have not written. I'm upset by it.

To update, I've become completely smitten with Nick. We are in love!! That's right...love!

That said, times, they are a changin.

I recall a time when the sight of snuggly couples, walking hand in hand, looking longingly into each other's eyes, made me throw up in my mouth a little. I looked upon them in scorn, turned away quickly to avert my eyes and placed a look of pure jealous hatred upon my pretty little face.

Now, the response to such a scene goes something like this:

"Aww, look at that couple holding hands! They are so cute! They look like they are in love. Isn't that nice?"

Usual response of the poor slob I'm with (if not actually talking to myself):
"What is wrong with you?"

Many, many apologies.

how will I ever maintain my girlish figure

I don't want to go to my gym anymore. I know I've gone over this.

But here is why...in detail...

I hate it. I hate the meatheads and the slutty girls with their stupid half shirts who only pretend to work out, who I secretly and spitefully hope will someday be fat, divorced housewives. I hate the "trainers" that all look like they just spent two hours getting ready for a frat party and are ready at a moment's notice to shotgun a Power Aide. I hate waiting for machines, where crazy anorexic girls are overworking themselves to no fruitful end. And I hate looking at the stained, leaking ceiling. Worst of all...it's just way too far away for me to even consider going anymore. I know you've all seen the price of gas.

It's not because I'm unmotivated or lazy or tired. It's because I'm bitter. I hate that I've had to go for the last two years and I hate that I even have to pay for it. They should pay ME.

How did I get into this mess, you ask? A moment of pure, weak, instant gratification. I wanted the Stairmaster and I wanted it 5 minutes ago. I wanted to make changes and lose weight and get toned and let off some steam and all those crappy good intentions. In truth, I HATE working out there. I hate getting home from work and knowing I have to leave again, only to go to some shithole with no pool and cracked windows.

What I love is the way I feel afterward. The satisfaction, the exhaustion, the whole soaking in my own sweat thing. But these things do not, in anyway, outweigh the overall feeling of dread I'm met with every time I even think about making the trek over there.

So I've decided that I'll only go when I really have the time or when I'm feeling charitable. Then when my membership runs out in October, I'm off to somewhere so much better. I don't know where and I don't care what the cost is. If anything, this whole experience has taught me that proximity and aesthetics is something I'm willing to get milked for.

And as ridiculously happy as I am right now, I'm tickled to know that I can still access the inner bitch.

FaAAAAAAANtastic.

Cloud Nine

So I'm giving Nick (uh huh, that's his name) the address to this so that he can see how funny I am. But of course he knows this already.

I feel amazing, like I can do anything. And if I wasn't so happy, I think I would be making myself sick. Like sick all over the front of myself. That sick.

It's bad...but in the best way.

In other news, I'm really REALLY tired. I had grand plans of grocery shopping tonight and having a super productive day at work. It would help if it didn't appear to be 8 at night. At least I'm not in the Super Dome.

I'll be more inspired later, I promise.

Hot-lanta

*WARNING: Contains VERY explicit material. Seriously...*

Ok, it really wasn't that hot.

Training was such a blast. I met some amazing people with some killer southern accents (a weakness of mine) and also GOT LAID.

Yep, that's right. Fo' sho'.

:)

Advice

Stop what you're doing, get in your car (or on your bike) and immediately proceed to the movie theatre.

Buy a ticket to The 40-Year Old Virgin.

Watch the movie.

Return home and send me thanks and praises.

I'm off to Atlanta.

Georgia on my mind

The news was not good.

My branch is closing. My manager is being demoted. I get to keep my job, but I have a new "don't like her that much and I've known her for about 5 minutes" manager and a longer commute. I'm beginning to think that someone has a voodoo doll out there with a picture of my head attached.

I think I'm a pretty good person. I help old ladies cross the street (yep, sure do!), I treat those people who deserve it with respect and I bathe regularly. I don't know where I went wrong or what has happened that everything I have touched in the last 5 years or so seems to turn to shit.

But it's not all bad. I've gotten some fantastic new friends out of the deal, friends who I now don't know what I would do without.

It's puzzling.

With that said, I'm making a list of things to bring with me on my big girl business trip to Atlanta, GA. I'm going to training, you see. That's right. SO BIG! My step mother has taken to calling me "The Executive." If only my salary, mode of transportation, apartment OR wardrobe reflected the title, I would be ecstatic.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: It sure is HARD being me.

It's not easy, that's for sure.

What the F

There is spam in my blog. This I will not tolerate.

The big guns here at the new company want to "talk" to my manager and I tomorrow morning. About "plans."

And things were going so well.

I need more cow bell

The new guy is now the has been, never called because apparently he's a small child guy. But I'm not too broken up about it and I've already deleted any evidence of him in order to avoid the accidental drunk dial. *pats herself on the back*

I'm still at work but my brain is fried and I needed a break. I miss writing in this all the time, bitching about this and that. I'm sure you miss it, too. *sniff*

Brenda, if you are reading, your advice about peeing is not only very wise, but also timeless. Thank you.

I finished Harry Potter and just wasn't happy with the results. The wizarding world really is very harrowing. I've started reading the new John Irving book which, of course, is about dysfunctional childhoods, long lost relatives, tattoos, little boys sleeping with grown women and the like. Bring it.

I'm toying with the idea of showing up at Step and Scult tonight. Batting it around like it's a bunny and I'm a big bear. We'll see.

I have to pee so bad

Don't be upset. I know you've missed my witty banter. I've even missed my own witty banter.

I love my new job. I'm obsessed with it. I work many more hours that I used to. I've quickly become the company's number one fan. If you need a job and you're lucky enough to have my phone number, give me a call.

Right now, my bladder is about ready to explode.

I went to Atlantic City last weekend with some hot chicks. I saw boobs and box but no male strippers. It was unfortunate, especially since we were in the third largest city of sin. So it's back to Vegas for me, but boy did I bust out the big hair.

I'm off to the Cape this weekend for two FULL, uninterrupted days of relaxation.

My car is in a constant state of repair.

My credit card bill has now grown arms (hairy, manbeast arms) and tries to grab me and pin me down while chasing me in my sleep.

I have a round trip ticket to Atlanta and a suite reserved just for me. I have to get out the big suitcase.

The highlight of my day as of right now is getting into bed, freshly showered, and reading the new Harry Potter book until I pass out.

Life is good. I just need to win the lottery...or start playing.

but my nails look fantastic...

It just happens to be one of those days where I didn't get up and get going, didn't do anything constructive (unless you count laundry or coloring with my niece), and as a result, I feel like a blob of gooo. That's "gooo" with three O's. Make no mistake about it.

Added to that, I know I scared the new guy away. Maybe I'm not ready for someone to be that nice to me. I don't know. I know that Pretty Miss would tell me to shut up because I'm being stupid, and I wish it was that easy. I wish I could like him, fall in love with him even. But as my sister told me today, unless there's a guy who has emotional problems and treats me with little or no respect, I'm not interested. What she actually said was that I "couldn't wait to get into their pants." She was pissed at me, getting all red in the face and telling me to call him before I sabotage the whole thing. Then she really twisted the knife. She played the "you're acting just like mom" card. Before I could protest, I had to admit she was right.

I know I'm just in "one of my moods" and I know I'm PMSing. I'm allowed to use that as an excuse.

My sister still can't walk or be standing for more than 10 minutes at a time. She's desparately bored and still really pissed off. I know I can soak that part of her up and I know I did.

In short, it's sympathy wallowing. And man am I good at wallowing.

Anyone who drives a Hummer and is not a member of the military should be shot in the knee cap

No, really.

I digress.

I went to the gym last night thinking that I had just enough time to get there, do my usual thing, go home, shower and be in bed by 10.

That didn't happen.

I get to the gym and decide I want to go into the locker room first, which I don't usually do, but it was about 120 degrees yesterday and I had been drinking water all day like it was...water, so I had to pee. Who do I see when I walk in? WELL, since it's Wednesday night at 7:15, I see Ani, a lovely young lady (if perhaps not one of the most tolerable coworkers) headed for the bathroom. Now, I worked with Ani over two years ago, but we live in the same area so I see her from time to time. We're friendly and do the obligatory "how's life" song and dance. She teaches a class called "Step & Sculpt" which I've never taken, probably because being at the gym until 9 at night seems less tempting than having tacks for eyes. However, I have always told her in passing that I would one day join the class, and there she was and there I was, 15 minutes before it was due to start. Why not, right?

The "stepping" part wasn't bad. I'm semi-coordinated, so I caught on pretty fast and managed not to fall or trip. I did, however, start to sweat quite a bit. It's only recently that this has started to happen. Of course everyone sweats when they work out to some extent but I'm no Lance Armstrong and only someone who stars in her own sports commercials should actually work hard enough to sweat as much as I do. I'm not sure if it's some sort of strange hormonal thing, but it was bordering on embarrassment when I had to stop because my vision was blurred by the sweat that had dripped into my eyes. While I could still (kind of) see, I was having trouble once the step routine started getting more "complicated." But then the warm up was over. What I thought was already fairly challenging was actually just "get your heart pumping" crap they do in the beginning. I thought I was done for. Luckily, there were two ladies who couldn't have found there way out of a sack lunch. So I think to myself "Phew! I look in shape compared to those two!" Not so much.

Moments later, these two uncoordinated ladies, both of whom I had moments before secretly mocking, schooled me when it came to the "sculpt" portion of the class. After two sets of the "hip strengthening exersices," I started to hear myself whimper. My hair was completely soaked with sweat at this point and, when I caught my own reflection in the surrounding mirrors, I thought I was another girl in the class who I had somehow failed to notice up to this point. I thought she looked quite winded, had very jiggly (uneven!) boobs and resembled a slightly overweight and very tired (and wet) looking Molly Ringwald.

Oh wait no. That's just me.

I tried my hardest to keep up and I think I may even have fooled them. Ani, bless her heart, was over the top encouraging, in true aerobics instructor form.

I should mention here that one, if one was so inclined, can bounce quarters off this women's ass. She was drunk at a Christmas party one year and we tried it in the bathroom while the president dressed up as Santa and passed out free champagne. So I know.

I was ecstatic when the class was over. While I attempted to dry myself off with a hand towel, I was greeted by Ani, who wanted to make sure I had gotten "a good workout." I casually shrugged and said "Oh yeah. I mean, I thought the hip exercises were kind of beginner but it was still great." The lack of essential vitamins and nutrients had effected my brain function. There was no going back. Ani nodded and said, "Oh really! I have always thought that! Come next Wednesday and we can do the more andvanced ones." With that, she turned on the balls of her feet and trotted off. Every square inch of her body was bone dry while I stood there, looking as if I had gotten into the shower with all of my clothes on.

I'm so fucked.

If I could, I'd kick my own ass

My first week of work was amazing. I mean simply great. I finally feel like a have a purpose and I don't just sit behind a desk all day. It challenges me and makes me think.

With all that said, it's quite a bit of hard work and it will take some getting used to. I'm used to doing next to nothing and getting paid, remember.

In other news, I've been a bit of a jerk to the new guy. I cancelled our date last night because I just couldn't find it in me to do it. I know that's so amazingly lame but I just knew it would be a suckfest with the mood that I was in. I spent most of the day attempting to find semi-young-but-still-professional clothes for my new job only to be met with ill fitting scorn. A pair of shoes perked me up momentarily but my cummulating credit card balance brought me back down to the depths of depression almost immediately. I know I'll be making more money somewhere eventually. I just don't have any right NOW.

Anyway...about the new guy. As I've mentioned before: He's SUPER nice. And cute (even if a bit on the skinny side), tall, calls me, has good taste in just about everything, pays for stuff, etc. HOWEVER, I'm used to dating, for the most part, selfish, albiet charasmatic, pricks. So this is my dilemma: I need to give the new guy much more of a chance (so far: two dates, one awkward but promising kiss), but I'm scared and walking on very unfamiliar territory. It's true what they say about intellifent, attractive women always dating the jerks. I've morphed into a stereotype without evening realizing it. It's snuck up on me...people are shaking their heads at me and gazing is wonder and curiosity at why such a well put together (albiet prone to earth shaking mood swings, but no one is perfect) woman just isn't attracted to nice guys.

Sigh.

I don't want to let this defeat me, so I'm not giving up. Here's to calling him back today to reschedule.

sad

Allie leaves to go back to SF,CA tomorrow. Tonight, she made me laugh until I was crying and wanted to vomit. I miss her so much.

It's so hard being me

Hello hello

Oh I know, it's been so long. We both know it, so stop complaining and listen up.

The new job is going great so far. My only issue is with wardrobe. Spending three years in advertising did little to contribute to my suit collection. Now I need to own a couple, and I don't. It's stressing me out, especially since I have negative dollars and my car is making a very concerning hissing sound. Crap.

It's hot. Hotter than shit. My swamp ass has kicked into high gear. Especially with those pantyhose I had to wear today. Who invented those things? They should be shot...in the foot...and then left for dead...in the desert...wearing a wool suit...a black one.

I need to wake up in seven hours and drive to a city run entirely by the mob.

I like the new guy. I like him quite a bit.

An Ode to Domestic Goddesses

I'm watching my sister's children all day today while she gets stiched up. I'm worried about her and busying myself with laundry, dishes and overall chaos management. It's dizzying.

I love my nieces and nephew. I really do, will all of my heart. But they can be devil children and the urge to get out the duct tape and utilize that spare space in the hall closet does become rather tempting.

I have no idea how my sister wakes up every morning at 5:30, goes running and then comes home to monitor these angels. I'll have to mention to her that she is an amazing woman. Again.

I'm hiding from them right now. The littliest, who is four years old, has not stopped following me around all day. Their dog, Max, possibly the sweetest little monster in the world, follows in her wake. I have my own little conga line.

We're off to the pool soon, where I'm sure I will manage the endless splashing, disobedience and the like.

Don't tell anyone, but I secretly love it.

Sigh

Today is my last day at Useless Advertising Company #1. For some ungodly reason, I was here for 11 hours yesterday. I've decided that I care too much.

Of course there are things that I will miss, like not rolling out of bed until 8 every morning, but it's time to move on. It's exactly the right time.

An update:

My sister is doing much much better. A week ago Monday, she was bitten in the lower calf by a dog in her neighborhood. The bite was treated immediately, but an infection quickly spread and she was in emergency surgery by 11pm on Thursday. They had to slice both sides of her lower leg open and leave it exposed in order for the infection to drain out. I've never seen her in so much pain, even after the four kids she's managed to squeeze out. It's been rough on everyone, but she's pulling through just fine. Unfortunately, they had to put the dog down.

My date last week was so awesome. This guy is the polar opposite of jackass. He's younger than I am, extremely considerate, kind, caring and has already called me more in a week than my ex called me in a month. We were supposed to go on a second date tonight, but the poor thing is very sick with some sort of stomach flu and spent last night in the ER. Despite that, he still managed to wake up this morning, call me and even wish me luck on my last day. I'm nearing full smit and borderline making myself nauseous.

Oh, and he's really handsome. And tall. Did I mention that? Don't worry, I'm not like in love or stalking him or anything. I'm just really happy that someone like him likes ME.

I'm such a dork.

I'm back, I'm sun-burned.

My sister is home from the hospital. For all of you not up to date on what happened, I will tell all about it later.

For now, I happen to be freaking out and I think there may be only one person who reads this blog who knows why. Her name is Pretty Miss.

Crap.

"that boob is really big"

I had a conversation last night with Pretty Miss Lisa about my enormous right boob. It's quite a bit larger than the left one. That's, uhm, my left.

In my profile, I mention how much I hate my boobs. It's really just the one boob I'm not fond of. I have no hard feelings toward the other, more perky, less troublesome boob.

I'm surprised I haven't written about it until now. Maybe because it's been bothering me a whole lot more lately.

Unlike the majority of women my age, I can't wear cute tube tops or anything without a bra. A strapless bra is an extra challenge and requires severe padding and half a role of double sided tape. This makes the summer extra challenging. I won't even dwell on the bathing suit scene. Let's just say I've spent many a Saturday afternoon pouring over bathing suits in the fitting rooms at Macy's only to leave empty handed, my face streaked with mascara.

So, I've decided after speaking with Pretty Miss about this that, once the new health insurance kicks in in November (yes, that long), I am going to meet with a plastic surgeon and get this taken care of.

I'm not a vain person, but I'd like to look cute in something strapless. Just once.

it isn't easy to pat yourself on the back

I might have a date with a very cute and seemingly normal guy. Updates to follow.

First a new job, now this. Let the good times roll.

I'm really happy right now, perhaps the most content I've been for quite some time. I would never want to jinx it, but I feel like my shit is finally coming together.

And plus, I'm wearing pink and red polka dot underwear that were only $3. How much better can it get, folks??

Huh? HUH??

deep thoughts

Any small shred of motivation that I had left in me to actually do work today went right out the window when I gave my two week's notice. I wish today was my last day.

In other news, one of my simply adorable clients wants me to meet her nephew, who seems completely normal and harmless. He must have 11 toes or something.

Success!

"I don't hate you."
A direct quote from The Doll after I broke the bad news. How professional of him.

I gave my notice today here at Meaningless Advertising Company #1 and was met with great disdain. The Doll looked as if he would either cry, scream, throw up or do all of those things at once. Then he attempted to get out of me why I was leaving. I was vague enough as not to burn any bridges but specific enough that his head might have come about an inch out of his ass. Still, I highly doubt it will change anything. Then he very half-heartedly tried to "convince" me to stay, all the while talking about how it doesn't matter because I've already made my decision. Well, yes. So very true.

Now, not to toot my own horn, but I really can't picture this place functioning non-chaotically without me. I monitor just about everything that comes in and out of this office and I will have to leave a long list of directions for the duration. Poor bastards.

Last Day: July 8th

First Day at Successful Recruiting Firm #1: July 18th

You know what that means?

STEPHANIE GETS A VACATION.

(huge smile)

can YOU feel the love tonight?

I have to admit that I really lost my shit last night. It wasn't pretty and there was much incoherent blubbering and desparate phone calls involved. I'm holding on by a very thin thread this morning. My current job makes me so miserable (I know, I know...waaaaaaaaaah). I don't want you all thinking I'm just a miserable piece of shit all the time. I'm really not. Just when I'm here...and I only write when I'm here lately. The thought of going home and getting on my computer there makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a dull implement, so I'd rather not.

With that said, I want to thank those of you who have posted comments, listened to my bitching, laughed AND cryed with me and just over all rule. Just when I get so discouraged and think there are too few good people left in the world, there you all are, shiny and happy and ready with overflowing encourgement. *sniff* A special thanks to The Momma, who listened and reassured last night better than any therapist could.

In current news, I have yet another phone interview at 2pm today with some head honcho from HR about THE JOB. I'm hoping that this will be the last of it. I spoke with my cousin (one of my saviors yesterday) and she reassured me that many companies are this "thorough" and she went through a similar experience herself. Good. Because I was really starting to think that I was going from one hellish experience to another.

I'm going away to the western depths of Massachusetts this weekend. For all of you not from this sparkling state, The West is a completely different world from The East. Worcester is NOT West, it's CENTRAL, and anything east of Worcester is EASTERN. I know it isn't a big state, but rules are rules. I'll be visiting some sexy girls who I haven't seen in quite some time. It will be THE BALLS (as long as I don't get eaten by a westernite or a bear).

the ugly stick has really been getting a work out

Hello loved ones,

Before I get into my topic of the day, I just want to say that I should hear today or tomorrow about THE JOB. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you're obviously not a regular reader, so please become one.

Oh, and someone in the office is wearing a t-shirt from Meatloaf's 1996 World Tour. I'm just saying.

Anywho...I found the following pictures of Courtney Love today and was quite taken aback. She usually looks like a complete coked out mess, but these are out of control hideous. This is also my new favorite website. Thanks to whoever the guy is that writes that stuff.

There could only be one possible good thing to come out of this. It may mean that Courtney has finally laid off of the drugs and replaced them with ice cream and submarine sandwiches (and gotten rid of her mirrors) which I would prefer to see her do. However, even a lady with a little meat on her bones and a gagillion dollars could pull herself together better than this. Standing next to the most orange person on earth can't help either. It's not that I even want to make fun of her. It's more that I'm embarrassed for her. Where this empathy for a completely insane person comes from is unknown. I am ovulating.

someone won't shut up about me

I went out on Friday night only had three drinks and still managed to have more fun than I've had at a small, loud, crowded, viciously hot (as in: "I've sweat half of my body weight" hot) downtown Boston bar in quite some time. One problem: It was SO loud, that my ears haven't stopped ringing...and ringing...and ringing.

This scares me slightly because it's never happened before. Sure, I've been to loud concerts and even louder birthday parties for small children, but I've never experience actual pain in my ears from the noise. It's freaking me out.

Successful Recruiting Firm #1 finally called me on Friday to let me know that they are "still in the process of reviewing my status" and need to call another reference this week. It's slightly unsettling because here I was bragging about what a great company they are, how efficient and well thought out their hiring process is, and they can't even get it together to call my most relevant reference in the two weeks that I've given them the name three times. Maybe I can use this as a way to get a sweeter offer. Something like "I feel like you have incompetent people working for you and that is quite unsettling to me as I want to work for and with capable, non-retarded people who don't fuck shit up. But if you give me $10k more a year, I'll consider it."

That would totally work.

bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep

Tomorrow will be a week since my second interview, and I still have yet to hear from Successful Recruiting Company #1.

I'm starting to get a complex and I'm a complete mess. If you hadn't guessed, I am the most impatient person to ever wait in line at CVS (enough with the rain checks!), go shopping at the mall during Christmas (I would rather eat poo) or wait for anyone (usually stupid boys) to call me back. I'm an instant gratification and control junkie.

In the past six days, I have cleaned out my tax files (yep, TAX files), my closet (including shoes and sweaters), my photos since age 12, vacuumed my room (three times); scrubbed the ceiling in my bathroom (yes, the ceiling), the garbage can in the kitchen (twice), the inside and outside of the stove; cleared out all of the crap under my bed, detailed my car with a box of Q-tips and single-handedly run myself ragged. I can't sit still and I can't think about anything else.

I could be exagerrating, but you'll never know.

I'm calling them tomorrow.

And I thought I was crazy

I would never belittle someone of their beliefs. I actually wish I believed in some sort of faith, only because I respect the amount of commitment and faith that goes into these things. Everyone will believe what they want to believe and that's that.

With that said, I think Tom Cruise is a complete nut job. A direct quote: "People go for help but their lives don't get better because of these drugs. They get worse. They feel numb and they're told that's a good thing. It's becoming like Huxley's Brave New World. It's like what the English did to China with opium [in the 19th century]. How is this different? It's how you degrade a society — by drugging the piss out of it."

Now, I take personal offense to this. To a certain extent, our society is overly medicated. This is true. However, depression is a disease and is treated as such. It's been proven time and time again by experts and more experts. Just like a diabetic has to take insulin, a truly afflicted depressed person has to take medication to function properly. Period.

Another direct quote: "Look at the experimentation the Nazis did with electric shock and drugging. Look at the drug methadone. That was originally called Adolophine. It was named after Adolf Hitler..." Really Tom? REALLY? See, here I was thinking this was all a bunch of hooey. Oh wait...WAIT. That's because IT IS. Get a grip, dude.

I in no way mean to degrade a belief system, but Scientology preys on the weak. It's a friggin cult. It's funny how I never really gave Tom Cruise a second thought until he publically declared he's a complete crazy. But know what? He does it because he can. Even if he never made another movie, he's set for life.

And for your complete and utter lack of boundries Tom, I salute you.

This has to be a front for the mob

Either that, or one of the Boiling Points camera guys is going to jump out from behind one of the faux office plants at any second.

My "supervisor" showed up to work extremely high out of her mind on god knows what today. You may think I'm exaggerrating or perhaps trying to entertain myself by spinning a tale (usually the case), but I'm not. She is literally sitting at her desk, cocked out of her mind, and presently recording an outgoing voicemail message that says today is June 1st. Let's not also forget to mention that her mouth is covered with dry white crust. Doesn't that mean she's on meth or something? I can't keep up.

She has finally left the building, but not before she printed out several emails of her own for me to "follow up on" which were dated back in February.

I seriously could not make this stuff up.

Still no word...

...and I've cleaned, organized and reorganized almost every available surface in my apartment.

Let's hope I don't have to resort to taking a closer look at the spice rack.

*fingers crossed*

Waiting

Hello all

God, I know I know. This blog has been so low quality lately. It saddens me to think I may have let some of you down or perhaps ruined some lives. I know I can't make up for lost time but I'll sure as hell try.

I've been busy lately, busy and thoughtful. So much has changed in the past couple of months, and for the better. I'm so thankful that everything has started to turn around and things really just keep getting better. It's so refreshing and I'm actually...happy.

I had a second interview on Friday for Successful Recruiting Firm #1. It went very well and now I am waiting. Waiting for an email or a phone call or some sort of sign that they will not only offer me the job, but also offer me enough money to make me content. I know I nailed the interview and I know that I could kick some serious ass for the company. So I continue to wait...and wait...and wait.

I had a fantastic weekend. The beach was crawling with hoochie mamas and hot boys...and cute puppies. Lots of puppies. I want a puppy.

Despite the fact that Hell has come to New England, I'm doing my best to beat the heat. My present "job" seems merely a waste of my time lately, time that could be better spent hanging out, cleaning something, organizing my personal files or balancing my checkbook. It borders on pathetic how little I care for what currently occurs in my professional life. Let's all cross our fingers and hope against all hope that all of this is about to change.

I haven't been watching television. Not even Hell's Kitchen, which I really thought I could get into. I've been spending less time by myself, which I like. I've been outside more. My cheeks are rosier and I have a glow about me. Personally, I think it's my recently whiter teeth but others seem to think it's more than that. It's almost better than being in love, and being loved back. It's feeling connected to myself which hasn't happened in quite some time.

Tomorrow, The Doll turns the big 6-0. He's taking the day off (sweet!), so his extremely elderly parents are bringing in a cake for him today as a "surprise." Apparently they do something similar every year. My sister makes me a cake every year, but she never brings it into work. And she also isn't 100 years old. However, this does mean that I get to eat cake today. That's never a bad thing.

A Testimonial for the Clorox Bath Wand

Since I am so obsessed with the cleanliness of my bathroom, I almost wet myself when I found out about the Clorox Band Wand.

I love cleaning my tub, but I always thought there had to be an easier way than getting down on my hands and knees, straining myself to reach every knook and cranny.

With this amazing product, I put the handle together in two easy steps and just wet the pad. The ease of the process left me starry-eyed. I stood and cleaned my tub, without having to stretch first or actually get in it.

I just love it. I bought it yesterday and couldn't wait to use it. So when I got home last night at 10pm, I went to work. Then I took a shower and it was just so sparkly. I even cleaned the tile ceiling that covers the shower!

Oh Glorious Day!!

Short Stories

I've decided to start a couple of installments of writing I've done. It's not great by any stretch of the imagination, but it's therapeutic for me so enjoy and feel free to comment. It's not intended to make sense to anyone but me so keep that in mind.

My fingers glided quickly across the keyboard, each stroke bringing me closer to the point of no return. I didn't want to take any of it back or second guess myself. I typed blindly, from the heart. I didn't want to apologize to anyone, especially myself. This was the second time in two weeks that I had told someone that my life would be better without them.

I'm not sure if I was ever in love with Jared. He fought me on it because he knew he couldn't love me back. Not now, and perhaps not ever. Falling in love was the next step. He was constantly pulling me in and pushing me away. There was unending evaluation and re-evaluation and I always felt under scrutiny, so frightened of making a ruinious mistake.

I had fanticized about our life together for over a year and did not want it to fail. I needed him to love me and I needed him to fill a void that had been left by years of emotional neglect. If I could just get him to say those three words, I would be cured. I would not be alone or unloved anymore. It was so simple. I became so determined that it didn't matter how miserable our relationship made me. He was looking for something, too but neither of us knew what he wanted. I wanted so badly to be for him what I needed from him. I grappled and wrestled and struggled until I realized it needed to stop. I was the only one with the answers.

I was beyond feeling lost and beyond feeling tired. I was floating in and out of consciousness but still going through the motions. Everyday started to get a little easier than the one before but I still felt numb. The guilt started to creep in after the anger faded away and I sought out reassurance as if I was desperatly trying to understand myself. It took me weeks to realize how much it hurt and how I still hadn't healed from all those years ago.

I'm not sure when I started to care so little for myself. The utter disregard I had for myself was astounding. I would never treat another human being with such loathing, but I continued to exact that punishment on myself. I took no pride in my eduation or accomplishments. It mattered little that I had graduated in 4 years despite a crippling depression and dropping out of college in the midst of my freshman year. I hated that I had anything to be proud of. I didn't deserve to be happy.

At some point in my childhood, I had failed to learn that a mistake or lasp in judgment was almost always forgiveable. Faults were faults and perfection was without them. My mother felt that I was a perfect child and I still try to live up to her expectations. It is consuming and tiring, leaving very little room for error. I have internalized her wishes and replaced her prescense with them.

I have always had this drive to know all of the answers. There are bits of information that I've collected as defense for potentional debates. I'm obsessed with being prepared because perhaps my preparedness would hide how little I thought of myself. My insecurity ran deep, and if I could prevail in any situation, the resulting temporary confidence would fool and confuse everyone, including me.

a return to normalcy

Apparently I couldn't keep up this whole "nothing to complain about" charade for very long. Who was I kidding? Only myself, I'm sure. There's quite a bit of lost time to make up for, here.

ONCE AGAIN, I am single handedly holding down the fort here at Meaningless Advertising Company and as soon as I walked in this place, I turned into a raging bitch. Apparently my task today is to relay updates from the Land of the Obvious. I don't want anyone to talk to me. It's going to be a long day.

Second Job Interview for successful recruiting firm #1 is on Friday. I had to take the whole day off from this hell hole because it will be four hours of job shadowing plus a two hour interview with the Area Manager. I'm not sure if I really want this job or if I want to hold out for something that pays even MORE money. But then I think I'm getting greedy. I'm only 24, after all. Slow it down!

I had a great weekend. I'm a shiny, happy person when I'm not here. Cross my heart.

Blogaholic

I know, I know. I haven't written in quite some time. I'm sorry, I really am. I have no good excuse.

Things are really good. It's just that I really have no news. I've been really busy at work this week and haven't had time to read EW obsessively or make up funny stories for you or complain about anything. There isn't all that much to complain about it, actually.

I'm out the door to a Red Sox game so you're out of luck today, too.

I feel horrible.

Really.

Train Wreck

I had a job interview on Friday for a job that I can really picture myself doing and actually liking. I have been obsessively refreshing my Hotmail page in hopes that an email will arrive from the company letting me know THE DEAL.

I spent a whole boatload of money yesterday during a power shopping trip with my sister. Everything I bought, I really needed. But I still spent a whole lot of money that I really don't have.

I had another nightmare last night that my credit card bill was chasing me, but this time, my car (which I still owe $$ on) and my diploma (still not paid for) had joined it.

I didn't sleep well and I had to cancel my hair color appointment again.

All I feel is shame.

the night I witnessed history being made

Loyal readers,
I am completely and utterly smitten with last night's Idol finale. It was a perfect mix of laughing, tears, bad acting, endless self promotion, spoofs, B-list celebrity appearences and glorious, glorious resolution.

Where do I begin? I'll start with things I just wasn't all that crazy about:
1. Carrie's strange curled/crimped/"I slept with my wet hair in a french braid because I'm 12" hair.
2. The simple presence of Scott, Anthony, Nikko and Constantine.
3. Mikala's bazillionth attempt to channel Taylor Dane and failing miserably.
4. Paula's bejeweled dress.
5. Matt Rogers.
6. Babyface.
7. Seacrest.
8. Simon's completely unbuttoned shirt with hairless chest.

Things that were AWESOME:
1. Carrie's oldest and youngest fans. Even though Matt Rogers was present, it was still pretty darn cute.
2. Carrie's dress.
3. Carries performance with Rascal Flatts. And I hate country, people.
4. Jessica Sierra in a half shirt looking FINE!!!
5. Bo and ensemble performance of Sweet Home Alabama.
6. Bo brought to tears after performance of Sweet Home Alabama and blantantly ignoring Seacrest.
7. Awesome, but in a terrible car accident sort of way: The "expose" about Simon having an affair with himself. Not only did it show support for Paula, but it was a direct slam on how lame and gross Corey Clark is and that rules.
8. Randy's white shoes with pink laces. YES!!

There aren't words, folks. Really.

In other news, last night's finale yielded some commercial breaks featuring previews to some summer shows. One such show is called So You Think You Can Dance which reminds me of Dance 360, which is one of the most unabashedly terrible things I have ever seen. Of course you all know that I just adore unabashedly terrible things. July 20th seems a long ways off, though. What to do between now and then? OC reruns? Become obsessed with Hell's Kitchen, even though I have no interest in cooking or any competition that has to do with cooking?

Who am I kidding. Of course I'll watch it.

Because I just realized that I forgot to mention it...Carrie won.

The end draws near

I have to say, once The Idol is over, there will be an empty space in my life. It makes me very, very sad.

How will I spend my summer nights? Drinking beer and eating BBQ? Hmmm...that sounds like a very close second.

Tonight, we finally learn WHO will be the NEXT American Idol. I'm torn about who I want to win the crown.

If Bo wins, it would be so great. A white guy kinda needs to win. But I think it would ruin his career before it even got off the ground.

If Carrie wins, it seems as if everyone wins. Even though I prefer Bo, I hope Carrie takes home the title.

I can't wait for the audience shots of her family crying, of her crying, of former Idols crying, of Paula crying. There will be so much hugging and gratuitous cheek kissing. Ryan will be just beside himself and mention something about how much he loves his job. There will be TWO FULL HOURS of this tonight. I'll hang on every word, every shameless self-promotion. It will be nothing short of magical.

It must be downright hell at the top

The "business" world has to be some strange, parallel universe that can only thrive in a black hole. That is the only way I can think to describe the bizaare and inexplicable things that I witness on a daily basis.

I suppose I have my theories about it. Most of the people who thrive in this world seem to do so by stepping on other people. They think if they can't get ahead on their own merits, they can at least make themselves look better by soiling the reputation of another.

I understand that ethical success may be hard to achieve, but is the negative mark that some make for themselves really worth it?

I try to find comfort in karma. Will these soul sucking assholes eventually get what's coming to them? Can I really have faith in such an obscure and factless concept? I have no choice but to believe. What else can I do?

a very merry un-birthday

It's Monday.

And it's raining AGAIN. I fear it will never stop. It's almost June and we need to turn the heat on again. I'm starting to wonder if the whole the polar-ice-caps-are melting-because-we-aren't-treating-the-earth-right-thing is really true, like the "scientists" insist.

I find myself slipping into an all too familiar Monday haze, where I start to feel sorry for myself and blabber on and on about how hard my life is and how I'm just so bogged down and too young to feel this way and yada yada yada. It's a combination of many things, one of which is the weather and one of which is a seemingly unproductive weekend. I was busy all weekend, but not running errands and getting all of my anal things out of the way like usual. I was with family down on Cape Cod in a virtual hurricane. I did have fun, especially yesterday when I went to the Sox game and then hung out with two of the prettiest (and funniest!) girls in Eastern Massachusetts.

So I'm not sure why I feel so...icky.

I've started to notice all of these things that I never really noticed before, like how annoying certain members of my family are and how my Dad really is grey around the edges. I've become more settled into my personality and I have become a pro at poking fun at myself. I'm much more graceful, much less clumsy and somehow, more patient. But it feels weird, almost like an out of body experience. When did I start noticing all this stuff?

And when on earth did my ass get bigger?

I've been trying so hard lately not to focus on the negative and I think I've been doing a pretty great job. It's always been challenging for me not to fall into the "poor me, I will never be happy" mode. It's not because I'm a miserable person. I'm willing to try to new things, open to change (within reason) and all that. I think I'm having some serious issues with adjustment to being an "adult." And then I wonder if I'm just having a bad day.

I'm allowed to have a bad day.

Or maybe it has something to do with today being my 1/2 birthday. 24 and A HALF. When did I get this old?

I know, waaah waaaah, you're SO old. Well, god dammit, I FEEL old. And then I become bitter because of how old I feel. It's a vicious cycle.

Then I slap myself around and bit, because even I'm tired of my whining, and say "SNAP OUT OF IT" and "DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT."

So in the end, I feel just fine and it's just another gloomy, half birthday Monday morning. I get on with my day and start to feel...hopeful.

Gutter ball

I'm usually not self involved to the point where there are very important/poignant things going on around me and, not only do I not notice or acknowledge them, I just don't care.

Today is an exception to that general rule. My indifference has reached the point of stunning.

I'm in the office, and there is plenty of work to be done. However, I have many blogs to read, some bills to pay and much web surfing to accomplish first. I could care less that deadlines are approaching or that stuff is going down in the Middle East or wherever. Today, it's all about Stephanie.

First off: The season finale of The O.C. was amazing. The show was so/so all season, with the exception of the last couple of episodes. The previews for the finale made me think one thing was going to happen and then something completely different went down. I was expecting the predictable and I got something that made me slack-jawed and a repeat offender of screaming "YEEEEESSSS!" I was expecting one scene with a gun that was actually fired and I got TWO. I have a new appreciation for the people behind this television program. Even if you don't usually watch it, you must tune in this summer for some of the later episodes. There is just the right mix of drama, comedy and self deprecation. I'm in love.

In other news: As if acting and being famous did not already bring in piles of money and one person cannot possibly spend in a life time, movie and television stars are taking to the stage. I had no idea that William Shatner came out with an album. In addition, it seems that the general consesus is that it's actually good. Robert Downey, Jr. has apparently blessed us with a record. Unfortunately all of the pulling on the crack pipe seems to have permanently damaged his hearing. (Side note: Is there actually a Robert Downey, Sr.? If so, who is this man and why have I never heard of him?) Jack Black if of course amazing in Tenancious D but me thinks he was doing this gig before he hit the silver screen. Jennifer Love Hewitt has always made me want to throw up everywhere with her acting, so I'm sure her music would be no acception. She's compared to a "less talented Jessica Simpson," which speaks volumes.

That's it for that. I can't go on.

It's going to rain on and off all weekend, but mostly on Sunday, when I'm supposed to attend a Red Sox game. Sometimes games are more fun in the rain, but still. I don't like being wet when I'm not supposed to be wet. *teehee*

Someone's mind is in the gutter.

Have I mentioned lately that my job makes me want to stab myself in the eye with a Bic medium point?

sleepy sleeperson

I'm very sleepy. It's this weather. The sun comes out for about 5 minutes a day and then it rains and then rains more. It's pretty fucking depressing. Even the chipper, pregnant, always smiling weather lady said it was depressing this morning. How...depressing.

I was thinking more about Britney and how disturbed I was by her show. I know I'm only a year older than she is, but I like to think I would make more educated decisions with the piles of money she has in her possession. I'd like to think I wouldn't utter phrases like "Can you handle my truth?" No. No Britney. I cannot handle it. I don't think you can, either. You have obviously lost several brain cells along the way...somewhere. Maybe it was all that fake smoke during your Onyx Tour, or maybe it's all the Red Bull and nicotine. Did they put you on pain killers for that sham of a knee injury? I'm not a doctor. I don't know.

One good thing has come out of this: seeing Britney without her bra on has reinforced my theory that those bad boys are real. And she looks like shit without makeup on and she's really not all that beautiful, just kind of cute. I'll give her nice teeth. And when she loses her figure, she's just blah. So apparently there is more than one good thing.

I'm serious. What is she doing? Doesn't her mother hire people to talk her out of things like this?

What may be more discouraging is how much thought I have put into it, but I'm blaming that on the fact that the train wreck that happened last night is mentioned on every website I've visited today. And work is terribly mind numbing.

Even more discouraging? I just can't get enough.

Hopelessly Devoted

Hi, my name is Stephanie and I'm a Reality TV Junkie.

Like other types of junkies, I try to hide my obsession. I'm so ashamed of it, but it still feels sooooo gooooood. I wanted to come clean today.

I spent two hours last night watching reality TV. I would like one of those hours of my life back.
A few posts ago, I had mentioned that I would be watching Britney and Kevin: Chaotic out of pure curiosity. I am a closet Britney fan, with one CD and a hungry longing for even more of her "wacky" lifestyle. Last night was the "premiere" of the show and it was just downright terrible. What's most shocking is that I was glued to the television for the entire hour.

Not only is almost all of the footage from a poorly managed hand held camera, the likes of which made me almost constantly nauseous, but I would say about a 1/4 of the show was Britney making distorted faces into the camera, including three different occurances of the "pig face."

Is it refreshing that Britney fell in love with K. Fed in about 5 days? Or is it disturbing that she mentioned not once, not twice, but three times during last night's show, that she had had sex three times in one day?

And why does America want to watch this? Reality TV is about drama and fighting and anger and more fighting. I want to see failure and emptiness. As if we don't have enough reasons to hate/secretly love Britney, now we have to misfortune of being jealous of her sex/love life?? Isn't it enough that she already has a billion dollars and seems "fairly" happy and normal? I don't want to hear it, Brit!!

LALALLALALAAA. I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!!!!!!!!!

Eh em.

Moving on.

The Idol performances last night were just fantastic. I think everyone did so well and there were no (memorable) Seacrest comments or flappy Abdul claps.

This left part of me feeling empty. What is there to bitch about? Where is the outlet for me to unleash all of my pent up anger, bitterness and sarcastic wit? There was nothing. Just innocent anticipation and grand ideas about who will make the top two.

I think Carrie should go home tonight. I've decided that her face is made of cardboard and she doesn't deserve her own record. I've also decided that, even though I love Vonzell, I really want Bo to win. I want him to win so bad.

Are we only a quarter done here?

I haven't written a bitter, spiteful (don't forget sarcastic!) post about anything lately.

My calculations show that it's about damn time.

About being single:
I have a love-hate relationship with being single. All of the time it's freed up on the weekends has been really nice. I've met a bunch of new and wonderful (seriously) people that I wouldn't have met had I still been attached and had no forseeable social life except for my ex boyfriend's social life. My self worth is really up there. I'm losing weight because I'm on the prowl. But sometimes I just want a (cute, single, non-asshole-ish) boy to snuggle with, who loves my bed head, doesn't snore and will run my errands for me (the mannish ones). Is that SO much to ask?
About living in a bonafide shit hole:
There is no update here. I still hate it and treat it as a necessary evil until I either 1) win the lottery that I never play 2) a very distant and very rich relative dies and leaves me their $1.2 million or 3) actually find a job that pays more than I make here.

Side note: On the news this morning, the women who wrote some book about the "quarter-life crisis" was being interviewed. Is this just a crutch for us 20 somethings (maybe even early 30 somethings) so that we can come to terms with what failures we are? Or is it really, truly harder now than it ever has been? I want a no bullshit answer and I can't seem to find one.

About my thankless, shitty job:
Mondays are always the worst. I'm usually one of three people who actually bother to come in or don't have to be "somewhere else." I live across the street, so my excuses are few and far between. It's just so boring and unexciting. I don't want skydiving included or anything (actually...), but a little something now and then would be nice. I've started to get excited about catching a glimpse of the hot mailman which, when I stop to think about it, is really pathetic. For my job, not for me. Right.

I can't stand the man who "runs" this place. He actually used the phrase "too busy" to describe his mental state over the past couple of weeks. What he forgets is that he does nothing all day except forward me useless information that I immediately delete and stick his nose into things that really don't concern him (which he is presently doing). I have had some fantasies over the last couple of weeks that include pieces of the office fight scene from Fight Club (only I don't make myself bleed) coupled with images of myself in some sort of heroine costume (and I look HOT), conquering "The Man."

Second side note: I forgot to put deodorant on today. Although I could have easily run across the street when I realized I had forgotten, I didn't. Luckily, I'm only starting to notice at 3:41 today. On the other hand, I have no one to impress here and I could care less. They're lucky I'm actually wearing clothes and not just a large sheet.

About everything else:
This weather is terrible for my hair. And my roots look awful. But I need money to fix the roots problem, which I really don't have as I've already explained.

Not to leave this on a positive note to ruin it, but even I get sick of my bad attitude. I know it's pretty entertaining for you guys, but can you imagine if I was really like this all the time?
Woah! What a nut job!

But seriously...I haven't wanted to kill anyone at all today. Really!

Uninspired Monday Morning

It's terribly gloomy outside. This is so typical of New England. We have about three days of nice weather in April and May and then, all of a sudden, it's June and hitting above 90 degrees every day.

That's why I just love it here. If nothing, I have the weather to complain about.

I've already logged in two hours here in the office. I'd say it has been about 10 minutes of actual work while the rest of the time was spent rescheduling doctor's appointments, buying things off of Ebay that I desperately needed (VIPs: Very Important Purchases), and updating myself on my fellow blogger's lives.

Isn't it all just so exciting?

My weekend was actually quite nice. I was very drunk on Friday night and had a fabulous time. My crush was there but I treated him as delicately as I knew how. I think I still managed to shock and/or offend him. I still crush him like I'm 14 and I've decided that, until something more exciting comes along, that's just fine with me.

In other news, I think Cortney is immobile in her bed. We unpacked her room yesterday (my anal retentive/obsessive compulsive skills do occasionally come in handy) and she forgot to lift with her legs. When she left my place last night, I was quite giddy and couldn't help but laugh at her hobbling around. I'm such a terrible person.

But I swear that watching her try to make her way down my stairs, one small step at a time, was quite the hilarious event.

I'm trying so hard to be entertaining here. I'll do some work, have a stronger (ok, existent) sense of accomplishment and then perhaps later, if you are really lucky, I'll be back.

Maybe.

sweet dreams are in no way made of this

I have been violated.

And not in a good way.

Let me explain.

I was sleeping very well last night, which lately is a rare occurence. I was awoken at 3am to the sounds of Christian yelling and yelping about something in broken English. They were muffled screams with a loud "Yoo!" every few minutes. I didn't hear Dennis at all so I wondered who he was talking to.

I couldn't ignore it, so I got out of bed and made my way into the kitchen. I didn't have my glasses on or contacts in, so all I could see were blurry outlines. But I know that Christian is taller than Dennis, so I knew who was who.

I don't like anyone to see me right when I get out of bed, especially in the middle of the night. I'm still all sleepy and out of it, not to mention cranky, and my hair looks like a cross between Jerry Lee Lewis (circa marrying his 14 year old cousin) and the ugly guy from House Party with the flat top.

Dennis DJed last night, so he was completely sober. Christian (who will now on be referred to as DE for Disgusting European) was out of control drunk. I've never seen him this way and I know that he drove himself home this way. And that really pisses me off, even more than I was already for being awoken in the wee hours of the morning.

They are both standing in the kitchen, DE telling Dennis about his night, and Dennis just standing there and nodding his head. Like I said, I could only make out their shapes.

So I head to the bathroom and DE is still raving about his night with his friend Snowflake (oh god I don't even want to know why or how this nickname exists). I come out and head back to my room, pleading to Dennis to shut DE up, but also knowing that this is nearly impossible to do, with any drunk idiot. DE goes to give me a "hug" and I let him, in hopes that he'll shut the hell up. Well, instead of a hug, I get full on gropped.

I'm not talking "he brushed his elbow against my nipple" kind of grope. I'm talking "I was wearing no bra and he full on grabbed my boob AND my ass" kind of grope. I quickly pushed him away while screaming "Do not EVER touch me EVER" and scurried back into my room. If I had been more lucid and not half asleep, I definitely would have kicked him in the balls.

So, I'm dreaming of my sweet, sweet revenge. Any ideas are so very welcome.

Enter dramatic pause HERE

Hello to my loyal and adoring fans,

I'm a very busy person and I don't have much time.

Here, a cliff version of the previous 24 hours.

I went for a walk.
I ate dinner.
I watched some TV and a movie.
American Idol was strange.
Vonzell cried.
I was confused.
I was attracted to Bo in a naughty way that I am ashamed of.
I had lots of recreational fun.
I got up earlier than I had to for a "seminar."
I had a busy afternoon.
I'm sleepy.

And that brings us right up to present.

(loves it)

It must be all that Awesome Juice

I ran across another entertaining tidbit today to share with all (3) of you. I'm having quite the lovely day at work! Isn't that...INSANE?!?!?!?

Yes, it is. I completely agree.

At any rate, check out my new favorite web site.

Slap It

Because I have been more than a productive little worker bee today, I've decided to entertain you all. Unfortunately I cannot take credit for this wonderfullness I received, but you'll enjoy it nonetheless.

Tomorrow is the Official Slap Your Irritating Co-workers Holiday!

Do you have a co-worker who talks nonstop about nothing, working your last nerve with tedious and boring details that you don't give a damn about?

Do you have a co-worker who ALWAYS screws up stuff creating MORE work for you?

Do you have a co-worker who kisses so much booty, you can look in their mouth and see what your boss had for lunch?

Do you have a co-worker who is SOOO obnoxious, when he/she enters a room, everyone else clears it?

Well, on behalf of Ike Turner, I am so very very glad to officially announce tomorrow as SLAP YOUR IRRITATING CO-WORKER DAY!

There are the rules you must follow:
* You can only slap one person per hour - no more.
* You can slap the same person again if they irritate you again in the same day.
* You are allowed to hold someone down as other co-workers take their turns slapping the irritant.
* No weapons are allowed...other than going upside somebody's head with a stapler or a hole-puncher.
* CURSING IS MANDATORY! After you have slapped the recipient, your "assault" must be followed with something like "cause I'm sick of your stupid-a$$ always messing up stuff!"
* If questioned by a supervisor [or police, if the supervisor is the irritant], you are allowed to LIE, LIE, LIE!

Now, study the rules, break out your list of folks that you want to slap the living day lights out of and get to slapping.

DO IT.

HSHT is wearing noisy shoes today and will not stop playing with the change in his pocket. He's getting BITCH SLAPPED.

There sure is some funny looking basil

I love alchohol. I love drinking and drinking and drinking until I'm numb.

Of course, too much of a good thing is...never a good thing.

I've recently started feeling a whole lot better about things in general and the last thing I want to do is fuck that up. But every once in a while, I take liberties. I have to do this while I'm young, you see.

Last night was Cinco de Mayo, as I'm sure you are all aware. I hadn't planned on doing anything, because the OC was on for a full two hours. So really all I had planned on was watching that, in my room, in my bed, period.

I was invited over to Pretty Miss Lisa's place with Sexy Cortney to watch said two hours of unabashedly guilty pleasure. With beer. Lots of beer.

Because my body has all kinds of chemicals running through it already, adding one (or more than one) into the mix almost always results in feeling utterly craptastic the following day.

Today brings no exception. But it's not just because of the beer.

For some reason I thought it would be a great idea to, after the numerous beers, sample some funky junk that I had just gotten my hands on (Christian came through in a pinch with some impressive connections). I had to test it, you see...to make sure it's not poison or bad or any other number of senseless tradegies.

I can safely say that, before last night, I have never been in such a state by myself. I think of it as a "special treat" so I'm usually at a party, surrounded by others, or what have you.

(Side note: The Doll is endlessly shuffling up and down the office today, running into this and that because he never took me up on those walking lessons I offered. It's not improving the headache.)

Needless to say, I found myself alone and high as a kite. On a school night.

For what seemed like hours, I did all of the things I usually do before I hit the sack. I was in the bathroom for what felt like quite some time but was actually about 7 minutes. Then I thought it would be a great idea, since I was home alone, to dance around the apartment in my underwear. Of course I didn't need music because I was singing, very loudly, to myself. After what seemed like another hour (4 minutes), I passed out cold.

About about 3am I woke up, still pretty high, and ate...something. I think.

Now I'm just tired and slowly edging towards cranky. Seven more hours until Doritos, silly movies and sweet sweet basil.

The Latchkey Kid

There really is just so much to write about. For those of you not entirely engulfed in all that is The Idol, you might want to skip this one. OR, because I'm so hilarious and witty, you may want to read on just because of my witty banter. Entirely your choice, but not really.

My friend Kristin shares my (at times) unhealthy obsession with The Idol. Tonight we both wondered why Anthony had a key around his neck, as if it's some sort of fashion statement. I told her I would steal her reasoning: "He's a latchkey...his parents won't be home when gets in tonight."

It's funny. So laugh. Loudly.

Scott, however, is the one to go home. At the beginning of the show, I am SHOCKED that Ryan tells Scott and Anthony to sit on the couch. Thank GOD for Kristin and her reasoning because I would have continued to shriek.

These are the moments when I realize that I am, in fact, completely obsessed with this program.

Knowing the night would only get better with the Prime Time Live expose, I sat back and relaxed. I'm PMSing, so my back is killing me.

Corey Clark says that Paula helped him cheat, slept with him, called him all the time, etc. I don't know if I buy it. But then again, those PTL peeps are so convincing! I mean, his parents are in the mix, he's got phone bills with Paula's number on them, the guy at the Sprint Store is vouching for him...I'm almost convinced. He's going to be on GMA, people!!

Corey loves Paula. He's recording an album written almost entirely about their affair.

This could have been a very short program, with just a recording of Corey going "Yeah...I hit that."

Voting for the worst

I'm watching The Idol.

Duh.

Anthony makes me violently, wickedly ill. Simon has just called him "amatuerish." He defends himself and says he's just "trying to have fun."

Uh, yeah.

More importantly, I heard that there is a website out there encouraging American to "vote for the worst" contestant. The fact that Scott is still in the running is proof that such a thing exists and that people are actually doing it.

Not so unexpectedly, this interests me.

So, I go on that good ole Yahoo! and search it up. I find this: www.votefortheworst.com

The page is down and everything about "the pledge" is down.

I smell scandal.

Speaking of Scott "I'm not leaving until I become a star on broadway" Savol, I can't even look while he performs. It's nothing against fat people, really. I swear. I loved Ruben. Scott is just plain GROSS. Paula just told him he has "moxie." And Simon says...his best performance ever. I'm completely deflated.

I'm actually dreading the rest of the show because they all get to perform twice tonight.

Cross your fingers for me. I'm out of mini milanos.

I once married a pirate named Lou

My cousin Melissa has me pegged.

She sent me a joke today. I edited it a little for effect, but here it is:

A seaman meets a pirate in a bar. The two men take turns boasting of their adventures on the high seas. The seaman notes that the pirate has a peg- leg, hook, and an eyepatch.

He asks, "So, how did you end up with the peg- leg?"

The pirate replies, "Arrr. We were in a storm at sea, and I was swept overboard into a school of sharks. Just as me men were pulling me out a shark bit off me leg."

"Wow!" said the seaman. "What about your hook"?

"Well," replied the pirate, "while me men and I were plundering in the middle east, I was caught stealing from a merchant. I was arrested and me hand was cut clean off."

"Incredible!" remarked the seaman. "How did you get the eyepatch?"

"Arrr, a sea gull dropping fell in me eye," replied the pirate.

"You lost your eye to a sea gull dropping?" the sailor asked incredulously.

"Well you see," said the pirate, "it was me first day with the hook..."

File under: Ambiguous feel good post

So you all know I've been in a bit of a rough patch lately, sprinkled with some high points.

What I find interesting as of late is that support, love, kindness, generosity and friendship are coming from some pleasantly surprising places. You know who you are.

My faith in those who surround me has been renewed to the point where I really am glad that things happened the way that they did. Don't get me wrong, it still hurts like hell. But everyday it gets a little better.

And since I've been through worse, I can safely say that this all will, eventually, lead up to something wonderful.

I can't wait.

And that terrible tight feeling I've had in my chest lately?

Gone.

The Doll is walking around the office.

Well, stumbling actually because he never properly learned how to put one foot in front of the other.

And whistling.

And humming.

And making me want to take my own life.


In other news:
If you want to read an awesome rant, check this out.

not so black friday

Reduce your plan to writing... The moment you complete this, you will have definitely given concrete form to the intangible desire.
-Napoleon Hill

When I woke up this morning at 4am and couldn't go back to sleep, I knew that today would not be the best of days. I had been dreading it for almost two weeks.

Today holds memories for me that I don't want to relive right now. Maybe someday in the future, I'll look back on them fondly and just put them away to take out only when I feel nostalgic.

I'm a sentimental sap. I thrive off of the feeling I get when I love someone. It's so selfless and light and free. I am nuturing someone, and a relationship that I have grown so proud of.

When that feeling is gone, it is sometimes more painful than the abscence of the person, or the relationship, that I loved.

Today reminds me of that pain, but very little of the absent person.

I didn't understand that until just now.

Falling asleep at my desk

First of all, I don't like Constantine. I did for about 5 minutes when he first was invited to Hollywood. Then, I slowly started to despise his stage antics.

Strangly, I feel rather empty now that he's gone.

What will I have to squirm about now? Who will I turn to when I need a contestant to be completely and unabashedly over the top?

Constantine would not have won by any means, but Scott should have been gone last night.

The only logical reason I can think of that Scott still remains is that the American public is a bunch of ignorant saps. Oh no! Scott looks so sad! Let's vote for him even though he cannot carry a tune to save his life!

I'm not sure about the producers of the Idol. I find the "reality" show to be a bit...too shocking at times.

I'm really groggy and pretty out of it. More later...when I'm lucid.

Opposites Attract...and you know!

It ain't fiction, you know it's a fact (It's a fact)
We come together 'cause opposites opposites attract

An Ode to Paul Abdul:

In your time of need I can only hope you know how much I stand by you, Paula.

My first kiss happened during your hit "Rush, Rush" and many nights were spent pining away for your hip dance movies and sassy 90s fashion.

My extremely successful dance career began at 12 with a stunning rendition of your "Cold Hearted Snake" video, which remains the stuff that legends are made of.

Spellbound is still my favorite guilty pleasure. I'm always blowin kisses in the wind, girl.

"Vibeology" still sends my heart aflutter, thinking of you in your black cat suit, grinding to the beat.

Straight Up Now Tell Me, Paula: Are you really gonna let this get you down?

Scott, dude, you SUCK

Please note: If Scott doesn't go home tonight, I'm going to do something really drastic. Seriously. I just don't know what yet. His mother actually called him "The heart and soul of America." Right.

Last night's theme was "Songs from the last 5 years." This is another display of the brilliant mind of Simon Fuller et al. If they are already desperately grabbing for theme ideas in Season 4, what will become of future seasons? Will one night's theme be "A song you heard on your way to the studio in the Idol van on the soft rock radio station"?

I'm so distraught that I have to go out of order.

Constantine should go home, but he won't. For some reason, there are people (women, supposedly) who think he is "sexy" whereas I think "skeevy, sketchy and disgusting." His little high kick at the end with the lower lip bite made me dry heeve. His family looks like they have just been awoken from the dead and have not yet fed off of the blood of virgins. And what was he wearing? Are those bracelets? Part of his shirt? What? Plus, some horrible singing.

Vonzell is just so unbelieveably and genuinely cute. I mean...is this girl for real? She better be. Even her little "I love you, Daddy" at the end of the song was just heart wrenching. I'm such a sucker. I scoffed when Seacrest called her "The Vonz." I wonder if he's actually that lame or he just plays that lame on TV. Do the producers and pull him aside and say, "Hey, Ryan. You need to really bring the cheese tonight. America can't get enough of your non-funny jokes and non-witty banter with the judges. More more MORE!" He mentions that Vonzell has a ritual where she doesn't talk to anyone on Tuesdays but instead communicates through post its. I'm not sure if this is extremely neurotic and unnecessary or a cute quirk. I'll let you know what I decide.

Randy mentions the dog pound again. I perpetually feel that this is an inside joke that I haven't been let in on, which brings me back to the painful memory of my entire 7th grade year. Why? Why must you taunt me, Randy?

Carrie is a little too...unfeeling for me lately. Her mom was super emo in her little video bio and then Carrie is stone-faced during her rendition of yet another country song. She seems really vacant, like 19 Entertainment already has rights to her brain function.

Bo sings a song that I hate. And he wears a shirt that is painfully ugly. I didn't appreciate the sunglasses. But he has a really hot mom and a very nice girlfriend. He's very wholesome in that rocker, stoner, hippy kind of way.

Things about Anthony that make me squirm:
1. Throat scar. He should only wear turtlenecks.
2. Thumb rings.
3. Too tight shirts.
4. He actually has fans.
5. Whisper singing.
6. A recording of him singing when he was one and half that his parents still have and cry when they play it.
7. His shrill voice.
8. His favorite song that he's been "dying" to sing since the competition started is by Celine Dion.
9. His need to "hit the gym" two times a day.
10. His crumply eyebrows.

Skip three weeks into the future when only Carrie and Vonzell are left.

Guilty!

I have a crush on a boy.

I feel about 12 years old.

It's nice.

As if his hair wasn't offensive enough...

Ryan Cabrera now gets his own reality show, courtesy of Joe Simpson.

I'm officially and genuinely upset by this.

If it weren't free...

I'm freak out over how much Blogger completely sucks.

Death and stereotypes

It saddens and frustrates me when individuals enforce stereotypes that they and their ancestors have spent decades trying to obliterate.

But what I'm really talking about here is The Doll, and him being a cheap asshole.

And he just happens to be Jewish.

I went to high school with plenty of Jews. My first boyfriend (and *love*) is a Jew. They are wonderful people, really. I would never ever say anything ignorant or dare to stereotype Jews.

But I'm going to go ahead and call The Doll a cheap asshole and also mention that he's Jewish.

I'm just saying.

The history:
A friend of the family runs a golf tournament every year in honor of his father, who loved golf and actually died of a heart attack while golfing. All of the proceeds go to the American Heart Association. It is very well organized and a heartfelt tribute to a man that died in his prime.

But The Doll won't cough up $100 to sponsor a hole.

We spend more than that on toilet paper. Seriously.

So I'm upset and disappointed. He's not only making himself look bad but he's making me look like an insensitive prick, too.

Ty the Handy Guy

Last night while watching The Idol (don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out, Anwar) I, very unfortunately, caught sight of a Sears commercial starring none other than the infamous Ty Pennington.

Now, I would never deprive anyone of some shameless money-making, but this guy has gone way over the top. Stop the megaphone screeching, non-T-shirt wearing, fake-tan sporting madness.

For your enjoyment, some snippets from his bio:

Born and raised in Atlanta, Ty learned woodworking from his father. Growing up, Ty loved to surf, skateboard and play soccer. As a television star, you guessed it, Ty still loves to surf, skateboard and play soccer. He also has a one man band called Barney, which he sings and plays the guitar in a white leisure suit lit up with Christmas lights. He also creates mixed media art such as the mockumentary detailing the life and work of fictional artist Adis Pozal (played by Ty in goggles).

There are so many things wrong with the above that I hardly know where to begin.

Quotable Ty: “I’m the kid who never wants to grow up. I want to have fun my entire life.”

Well, Ty. You got me beat. I don't want to have any fun ever in my life. You're a real hero.

For some crazy reason, he appeals to some sort of strange demographic of women between the ages of 40 and 60. I don't know this for a fact but I know for sure he does nothing for me or anyone else I know in my age range.

He makes my skin crawl...and not in a good way.

There are not words for how much I loathe you, Ty Pennington

The Cold Shoulder

Ugh. I'm so disillusioned with The Idol.

My cousin, however, has written an excellent post about the remaining seven. Click here to read.

Lucky for you, work is terribly boring and I can spend as much time as my little heart desires on this recap. Who's excited?!?

I feel, as sad as it is, that there will be a hole in my heart when the season finally comes to a close. But then I'll find something else to make fun of and bitch about. The new B. Spears and K. Fed reality series, perhaps??

Anywho...onto the recap.

Constantine was up first. And he's most certainly wearing eyeliner and exposing his chest hair. It makes me wretch and completely lose my onion and garlic potato chip appetite. Randy says he's "so Las Vegas" but I do not know a soul who would pay to see him there, unless he happens to be playing in the lounge of the hotel one is residing at. Stardust anyone? Maybe he can join Electric Avenue (now called The Verge...woah). Paula, as usual, thinks he's great and wonderful and blah blah blah. Simon says he is like "a waiter in a ghastly spanish night club." I've never been Simon but you so rarely steer me wrong.

Carrie is next and although she's sporting the big hair (which I love), she stares into the camera like she's trying to hynoptize the audience with her mid western charm and shiny blue eyes. I'm not falling for it! I'm blinking...see me blinking?? The low notes were inaudible so I was surprised when Randy and Paula praised her enough to make me stop eating. No luck..because then Simon came in with "Barbie meets the Stepford Wives." Her dress what ill fitting and muy lame. Uh...yeah.

Scott. He looks like he's gained weight. Either that, or he needs to stop wearing his pajamas on stage. "Everlasting Love" is a great song and all but I couldn't hear you over the fantastic back-up singers, who should have a show of their own. The high point of this performance was the end, when I caught sight of a sign in the audience that read "White Velvet." That's...amazing.

Anthony. Even before he starts up, I'm already frightened by the air humping that is yet to come. When he mentions that he has taken two years of Latin dancing, I laughed out loud and spewed chip everywhere. After I composed myself in the middle of the performance, I had to leave the room. There was just not enough air for him to hump and for me to breathe.

*FAVORITE ALERT*I love you, Vonzell. I think you are gorgeous, have a hot little bod and are just so cheery and happy and fun. You can sing, too girl! You make me all warm and fuzzy. If you don't win, I'm quitting my job and moving to Florida to be a postal worker with you. Won't it be grand? *FAVORITE ALERT*

Anwar, please put away your waxed chest. And stop skipping. And stop pretending you're going to win. When I think back on the days of the yellow leather jacket, I get sad, man. Real sad.

Hi Bo. You could not be less into being the next American Idol. Yet even though you could give two shits about the competition, you are still good even when you don't try. Because you did not try at all tonight, I could tell. Mentally, you were in your buddy's garage, belting out Skynard tunes and taking bong hits. Don't deny it.