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'.

:)