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.