Sunday, November 30, 2008

Name Game

"Oh no, don't name him that, I had a bad experience with a insert name here." This was a comment someone made at a baby shower when they asked the expectant mom what name she was considering for her unborn child. Well, that's fine and dandy for you honey, but it's not your baby she's carrying and whatever issues you have with what's his face shouldn't really be a factor. What you name your baby technically your prerogative. That being said, there is still no excuse for naming it something stoopid.

I used to work in maternity, so I've seen my fair share of baby names. There has to be a fair amount of pressure in naming your baby. It's your baby's name, kinda a big deal. I understand naming the baby after a family member, weather the name is traditional or not. But even if you give the baby a fairly normal name, what's with the odd spellings, different pronunciations, or random capital letters? Acceptable: Willem (like Willem Defoe). A bit different, traditional Dutch spelling, and can be shortened to Will. Not acceptable: Ieaian = Eian? And why do people insist on naming their children after things? Like Tiara, or Chain. Other names I saw were: Kalebe, NaLia, and my favorite, just plain stupid: Nawloge = knowledge? I'm sad (but mostly amused) to say I'm not making this stuff up.

And what's with celebrities naming their children really stupid names? What, you're not a big enough attention whore that you have to subject your child to your limelight addiction too? Fail. Now I know being a parent is hard, harder then you'll ever imagine. (but absolutely rewarding too I'm told) And you're going to make mistakes along the way, kids don't come with an instruction manual. But why do you have to screw up right from the start with a dumb name? And while you might think what's the harm in giving them a different name, it will help them stand out in a crowd. But apparently there is a direct correlation between odd names and delinquency. Just saying...
(PS, spell check is going ape sh*t over this post)

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Tales of Baking

Repost from old myspace blog: but ha-larious none the less:
I wanted to be all Martha Stewart like and make cranberry bread (it's the holiday season, why not). First step: find recipe, but not an actual Martha Stewart one. I wasn't about do something crazy perfect as hers, because that's just loony. Not to mention I would probably have to harvest my own cranberries to make it truly Martha-Stewart-like and a Cape Cod trip isn't in the cards right now.

I digress. So I went to my faithful source for all things food: The cranberry-orange/apricot/apple combinations, the cranberry bread pudding…were all highly appealing. I may even try a few of those one day. But to my chagrin, most of the recipes were rated "medium," and considering I'm afraid to attempt a Martha, anything above an "easy" rating is not so much. So I tried and found a recipe for cranberry nut bread, the closest thing I would find to plain cranberry I assumed (and rightly so too). So with the recipe found, I divided and conquered, or gathered ingredients and baked.

The end result: not bad, but tart as hell (it's cranberries though what did I expect?). And I made a small mistake: I used the wrong flour. Instead of all-purpose, I used self-rising flour, making the dough extra risey (is that a word? I'm using it anyway), and it overflowed the loaf pan a lot. Wrong flower? You might be asking. Yeah, we have two kinds of flour in our house. My Asian mommy uses the self-rise stuff for Chinese dumpling dough. It didn't even cross my mind to check what type of flour I was using, because really, who has two types of flour? Two kinds! Moral of the story: Sarah is afraid of Martha Stewart.

Bread update: Baking success! Have found recipe that works! Still quite scared of Martha Stewart.

Friday, November 28, 2008

Why I Should be a Country Westen Star

  1. I have plenty of achy brakey heart material
  2. I actually can sing
  3. I can put on a thick southern accent if need be
  4. I have an awesome stage presence (when not shaking due to mad amounts of nerves public speaking gives me)
  5. Could use the word y'all professionally (w/out snickering).
  6. I love big hair. Love it.
  7. Once famous, I shall start my own charity saving baby seals or something through country music. Because there aren't enough charities that do real work at all
  8. I would snag me some Billy Currington (since JoeDon Rooney of Rascal Flatt's is married now) He's pretty.
  9. I have an excuse to always wear cute boots
  10. Some of that Grand Ole Opry stuff is so sparkly!
  11. There are no Asians, so it's time affirmative action took place
  12. And, look WICKED cute in cowboy hats.

Thursday, November 27, 2008

Happy Thanksgiving!

A few years ago, I wanted to help my mom with the turkey. And really the only way to learn how make a turkey is to watch your mom, and then wrestle it yourself. But my sister asked me why I even wanted to learn in the first place. I said, "well, you know, one of these days mom's going to be too decrepit to cook and you're going to have know how to too." She thought for a millisecond and said, "screw that, I'm coming to your house!"

Knock on wood my mother is alive and kicking and is still around to irritate the crap out of me into my old age. (that is unless she goes senile, then she's going to a home. And she's been warned). But she's perfectly healthy now and can make Thanksgiving like she always does. So in a bit of ironies, my sister, who never planed on making her own Thanksgiving, is having the entire thing all on her own this year like a grown up for her in-laws. Well, I suspect her husband will be the one to cook the turkey. And I'm the one at Momma's. Funny, no?

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Screw Baked Goods, I Need Something Stronger

I got an email from the ex. And while it wasn't mean/angry/immature like his previous ones, it still threw me for a loop. Lets just say, I'm going to need more then a pink frosted doughnut to get me out of this funk.
Stupid boy. This is why I want to go to drug making school, so I can self-medicate. Illegal? A bit. Do I care? Not at the moment.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Everyday Should have Baked Goods

It's amazing how a pink frosted doughnut can make the world right again.
For as long as I can remember, my parents have had a cup of tea every night. And now I partake in the nighttime ritual too. And about once a week, Dad brings home doughnuts or baked goods to go with the tea.

Last night, I was starting to go down the sad/angry path. My mom stopped me before I could get myself worked into a tizzy, but I had some residual glumness. So when it was tea time, I wasn't in the chipperest of moods. But I opened the doughnut box and there it was! My favorite doughnut of all time, strawberry frosted! Daddy bought me the pink one! And suddenly, I didn't feel so bad anymore. If only all problems could be solved with something as simple as a pink frosted doughnut.

Monday, November 24, 2008

Craft and Crap, 2 letter difference

I'm all for having a hobby. I read, some people knit. Other people collect things, like stamps or boys. And some people, like to do crafts. Shudder. And then there are people who think crafting is the same thing as design. And they are wrong, because crafting stuff is complete and utter crap.

I get art for art sake. I don't think I have a particular style of my own. If you look through my past work, you'll notice there isn't a constant thread through any of it except bad. But even though I didn't peruse the design career, I still went through 6 years of school for it, and I am more then entitled to have an opinion, but more importantly, allowed to judge other people's crap taste. And craft crap is crap. And it's not so much the local artist I have a problem with (though I find a good deal of them are dirty hippies). If the want to starve for their work, that's their prerogative. I even like a few of their pieces at times. But the people who's hobby it is to turn something crappy into something crappier, like mismatched buttons into an ugly picture frame, or add an applique to a lamp shade just to break out the hot glue gun should bedazzle themselves into a box.

But I guess we can't all be designers, or else a lot of my friends wouldn't have jobs. And we have to have the crap stuff out there so that the good stuff is clearly much better. But there's still no excuse for bad taste. Or a beadazzeler.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Growing up is not cool

I go back and forth like a ping pong ball. When does it stop? I ask myself questions like: would he have moved to Lexington? Maybe. Should I have left him that option though? Maybe. Would he have been happy here though? Definitely not. Did we want the same things from life? Not at all. When said like that, it looks like a simple choice. But you don't just wake up one day and decide to leave everything and start over. You've swept all your doubt under the rug hoping it goes away. Ignorance can be bliss, but it's harmful too. At some point you have to put on your big girl pants, and say fuck it, I'll deal with it now.

I can air dirty laundry. I can mock his dreams openly and belittle him all I can to make myself feel better. I even went out on blind date, but I just wasn't there mentally. (sorry Mike, you're great on paper, but I'm a mess) I told the ex to never contact me again, because I can't deal with it (that he listens to). It's my way of moving forward inch by inch. I contacted old friends and started rebuilding my social circle here. I enrolled in classes and I got 2 new jobs. Forward, forward, forward. But there are some days that I simply won't be able to deal with. My wedding dress comes in January. What I'm going to do with it, I don't know. (please don't suggest anything, I have thought about what to do and I already feel bad enough, so stop trying to be "helpful." It's like pouring 1000 lbs of salt in the wound (almost MiL-that comment's toward you)) But I am not dealing with it until then. And my wedding day, I'm popping a Valium and/or drinking myself into a coma the night before. I don't even want to know that day exists.

I know I made the right decision, which is some sort of solace. But I hate that even though I'm no longer with him, I cannot get him out of my head. No matter how happy I am to be home, how excited I am to be going back to school, how many new jobs I start, and how much I think I'm ready to move forward, there's always this thought in the back of my head: "You are only doing this because you left him. Because you had to start over." Way to rain on my own parade. I have a hard time taking comfort from anything without marring it in some way. I hate that he can ruin things for me. I hate that I let him more. Where are my big girl pants?

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Moral compass

Ten years ago, when my I had my very first boyfriend, my uncle though it prudent to give me a book on how to date applying christian values as a Christmas present. Riiiiight. Number one: overstep. And two: that's complete bull sh*t of a gift. And he wanted me to read some it while he was here so we could discus it. Uuugh. I may have strained my eyes not trying to roll them in front of him. The bullsh*t book said something about not giving it up (ever) and then some couple didn't even kiss until their wedding day. I stopped skimming right then and there and moved to full out mocking (I was only snickering until that point). There might have been a self induced asthma attack from laughing somewhere in there too. The last time I saw it was several years ago in the basement of my college house, water damaged tossed in a box with some wood chips (foam core more then likely in that house). Why was it there you ask? Mocking is much more fun in groups, duh.

Uncle's duty to worry about my moral compass was out of bounds, clearly. But I was a good enough kid regardless, and I had more then honorable enough boyfriends. But I did not heed this book's advice. That ship's sailed and whatnot. I'm quite the heathen (not really, I just like the word). I like to think the guys I dated are grateful for that too.

However, this uncle read it cover to cover and thought it was the gospel. Promised to live by it and other religious cult think. But someone's not going to be worrying about my moral compass anymore (which turned out just fine by the way). Four years after the book gift, he married a whore. And I'm pretty sure how to deal with that kind of sh*t wasn't covered in the book.

Friday, November 21, 2008

Why I would make terrible spy

  1. I giggle too much. This does not seem like good spy behavior
  2. I have a low tolerance for pain and would give in at the first sign of torture
  3. I can always be bribed. Food, money, shiny object, whatever. I'd sell top secrets for pumpkin creme brulee. (don't judge, it's fantastic and you would sell secrets for the right price too. My right price just happens to be in the form of a desert right now)
  4. I squirm a lot, which would probably trip some alarm or give away my hiding spot (that or the giggling would).
  5. I have a terrible poker face (by terrible I mean none), so my captors would always be able to tell if I was formulating a plan (snort. Of course I would get caught, it's me we're talking about, I giggled!)
  6. Though I am good at hiding (I hid in the dryer once during a game of hide and seek. Damn! I just gave away my best one!)
  7. See, terrible at keeping secrets.
  8. I'm loud. Like a rhino clamoring up the stairs loud. That makes sneaking around unnoticed difficult.
  9. More then likely, I'd whine that the plastic thingies they've used to bind my hands are bugging me. (if nothing else, annoy captors. Because they don't want to shoot you at all)
  10. I don't like to chase down thugs. That's what minions are for
  11. And knowing me, I would forget my super secret mission the second I got a new spy toy and show everyone I could while going "oo! oo! ooh! Look what I can do!" And then be baffled why they took my super cool spy tool away.
I don't think I'm cut out to be a spy. I'm lacking some major stealth qualities. That's ok, I'll just take an Aston Martin. As long as Daniel Craig as James Bond comes with it. (seriously, how do you look at it/him of those and not just think: WANT!)

Thursday, November 20, 2008

I'm free!

I lost a big chunk of weight during this whole breakup thing; 175 lbs of douche bag to be exact. So here's a few things that I can do now that I am unencumbered!
  1. I can tuck the sheets in at the foot of the bed
  2. I can cook/eat: onions, mushrooms, beans, seafood, dark meat, game, sushi, sausage, cilantro, stuff with nuts, butter, cooked spinach, hell anything with some sort of flavor. Plus, he refused to try anything until he (rudely) asked what every single ingredient was. I will not tolerate a picky eater over the age of 8.
  3. I can talk to a male coworker without him sulking
  4. I can go salsa dancing
  5. I can listen to top 40 and/or country without shame and I can sing (loudly) along with the radio (he was silently evaluating my voice me if I did - and I'm more then capable of carrying a tune and at least I knew how to actually sheet read music,)
  6. I don't have to pretend to care about his "music," or music in general at all
  7. The toilet seat is always down, and the toilet paper is always stocked
  8. There are not 3+ glasses with a half inch of water on the nightstand
  9. I was going to have to go on a Sandal's honeymoon since I left him in charge of that. Nothing against Sandal's (well, something against it), but it's the Walmart of honeymoon packages, and we all know my opinion on Walmart (it's evil and the epitome of classy with a k)
  10. I don't have to explain big words and sayings to him anymore. For example: svelte, neurosis, comeuppance, epitome.
  11. I could not explain how classy with a K was unacceptable any more to him.
  12. I was a bit tired of being right on pretty much everything common sense. Seriously, I need some sort of challenge
  13. No more explaining that: being raised, going to school, working, cheering for their sports teams, living his entire life and having his entire social circle and immediate family in Cincinnati, meant that he was a Cincinnati boy, not the Kentuckian he claimed to be. Just becasue he was born in the state does not make you a resident. He didn't say y'all, like bourbon, or enjoy horse racing. And you ain't no self respectin' Kentuckian if you don't like none of those. (wow that was fun to say)
  14. I was tired of a lot of things
  15. He forgot a lot of things, like to tell me we were dog sitting for a week starting the night before your half-marathon, or my birthday present, or even that valentines day is a night to spend with your fiancee and not your band mates.
  16. He did not own a single tool, not that he knew how to use any anyway. It's sad when the girl has her own 2 screw drivers (phillips and flat-head) and and he barely knew the difference between the two.
  17. I exhausted my small talk with his friend 2 years ago. I seriously had nothing to say to them in the way of intelligent conversation. Also, I was the only one without multiple visible tattoos and piercings and didn't smoke (ok, he didn't have any of those either. But the company you keep...)
  18. He was a horrible dresser. I donated a few things w/out his knowledge and even gave the dog his shoes to chew on once (ok, more then once).
  19. God he has such horrible taste in everything. Especially in anything aesthetic.
  20. I don't find things, like the couch, in the wrong place (seriously, he cut the circulation path in half, dumb ass). I was tired of busting out the I-went-to-design-school,-so-leave-the-furniture-alone-card
  21. I don't need cards like that anymore
  22. I don't have to worry about his fragile self esteem due to his own short comings.
Phew, things are much easier/enjoyably now. I'm free! I'm free! Happy dance!

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Why I'm never leaving home

Things that rock about living with my parents:
  1. Free room and board. Fully stocked fridge included - and I get a say in the groceries too
  2. Man cave: ginormous tv w/dish network. Theater chairs with cup holders. And poker table
  3. I can come and go as I please - no curfew, but i do always tell them where I'm going
  4. My mom has a dinner plate made up for me when I come home from work - how awesome is that!? AND, she buys things for me to take to lunch too (I love those little applesauces-but not the store brand, those taste like cardboard).
  5. Roommates that I get along with (98% of the time)
  6. Unconditional support team
One small caveat: my mom is making me clean my room! Sulk.

Side note: spell check did not try to "fix" ginormous

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Stuff I think is trashy and/or unnecessary

  1. Tattoos- one or two small ones of significance are acceptable (your kids' names, branch of military service or Olympic rings). I highly stress the small, and they they can be covered when in a bathing suit. Otherwise, I just think it's dumb. And trashy. Especially a tramp stamp.
  2. Smokers see Cancer Stick=Fail post for explanation
  3. Hearts- unless you are in high school or a Valentine's day card. It should never be an entire motif, even on a wedding invite (I just threw up a little). And it should never, ever be a theme. EVER.
  4. Metal groupie girls - brush your hair you rat. And wear something besides black and some sort of skull and crossbones outfit. You are not a pirate. And also, wear a skirt that is bigger then a band aid. No one cares about your angst, and metal is so 10 years ago.
  5. Groupies in general piss me off. Get a life of your own.
  6. Rock Stars - herpies were never hot, and they last forever, unlike your career
  7. People who wear skateboarding shoes who are not skateboarders (someone in particular comes to mind). An no one's shoes should be 8" across regardless. Your foot is not that big.
  8. Visible piercings besides ears - and only one pair of earrings too. Something about metal in your body screams "I'm 19!" (I did have my belly button pierced - when I was 19. And that at least could be covered up). Also, small cry for help with the self mutilation. Your bullring is screaming be be ripped it out. Painfully too I might add
  9. Showing your naughty bits in public - that's just a no of life.
  10. Frat boys - in a dirty hot sorta way. Though I "dated" a few of them, there is a time and place for them, and that time and place has passed in my life.

Monday, November 17, 2008

Giggle fit

Due to my facebook stalking, I have come to the follow conclusion: There's just something ridiculously funny about college kids on Big Wheels. Racing down a steep hill. And having the pictures to prove it.

Where does one even get a Big Wheel nowadays? Or one of these! Because I so want of these right now. Or, find me a sit-and-spin. Those things are super fun!

Sunday, November 16, 2008

New Life Plan (again?)

I need a wife. Not in the lesbian-is-it-legal-or-is-it-not-kind of way, but I want a good little woman to take care of me (and my awesomeness). I was going to be a great wife. And I actually think I still will be, but not in the same way I thought I would. I was content on running the house (my way), being a stay at home mom, taking care of everything Donna Reed style (in pearls) while my loving husband worked his wonderful job and Hi-honey-I'm-home-ed it every night. As trite as it may seem, I wanted to be a kept woman. Really.

Well, I've changed my mind. I still have every intention of getting married and having a family (in. that. order-babies DO NOT come before marriage in my world), but I'm not going to be
that type of wife anymore. I'm going back to school for 8 years, and I'm not going to take on that much schooling and incur mad amounts of debt only to say, "never mind, I'm only wife/mommy now!" One of the reasons I want to go into pharmacy is because it's totally lucrative, not going to lie.

Yes, I'm going to have to be the one to physically have the baby, seeing as I have the parts to grow it. And I'm more then happy to incubate for 40 weeks (however I will be drugged through labor, it's just easier for everyone that way). But once it's out, I want hubby to take care of it (unless he's also making mad amounts of cash and we can afford for me to go back part time. And if he is making mad amounts of cash too, then we're probably one hell of a power couple, and that just rocks). And not only do I want him to take care of the kids, I want him to take care of me too. All in all, what I want is the wife I was going to be, for myself. Only in husband form. I think whatever path a woman chooses is the right path for herself. Stay at home or not, she did what was best for her and her child. But the path I want now is not the be a kept woman. Now I'm the one saying "Hi honey I'm home! Hey, what time is dinner?"

Saturday, November 15, 2008


  • After spending 2 hours with my friend's adorable but pukey baby, waiting 8 years doesn't seem that bad anymore.
  • Jeanne rocks the homemade remedies. I would even eat a few cook carrots if they are in something she makes (not all of them though, let's not press our luck)
  • I'm still pissed off at boys, but that's just it, they're boys. They aren't worth my time getting all riled up about. And I don't want to play with them anyway, so there, nanny nanny boo boo.
  • As for wanting him back, well, I want the idea of what I thought he could be back, not so much him.
  • And my suportive husband, checklist and all, is out there. That's my new wish
  • Still working on all powers, smite and telepathy the most important

Friday, November 14, 2008

I need a talking to

When does wistful thinking become foolish? Or even worse, detrimental?

I need everyone to tell me to I'm wrong here. Because my wistful thinking is to be with him. I want him to move to Lexington (of course with the dog) to be with me. I want him leave that soul killing city and that stupid band, get his head out of his ass and realize that the rock star dream is A: never going to happen, and B: stupid. And I also want, no, expect unconditional support while I'm in school, and I also want to buy a house and raise a family with him in there too.

But for what really? Even if that happened, my wildest dreams came true exactly how I want them to; I know things wouldn't be any different. He'd say all the right things and promise the moon like always. And inevitably, fall short in some way and disappoint me. Or I preempt the disappointment by doing whatever needed to be done myself. Which always lead to him getting upset at me for assuming his short coming, when he rarely gave me a reason to believe anything otherwise. I learned I was going to be hurt regardless, by him disappointing me, or by him sulking becasue I didn't believe in him. So I just buttoned my lip when something bothered me, no matter how mad, sad or upset I got. All I did was keep score, and that's not what love is supposed to be. And when I start combing through the past in search of answers, I can see how lopsided somethings were (on both sides, I'm demanding). And then I'll get so worked up that I can barely see strait, or launch an angry rant (but is there such a thing as a non-angry rant?) and sometime shed tears out of frustration.

And even though I know I was settling, I sometimes think, well, it's not that bad an option. It has to be better then all these other draining and time consuming emotions I'm dealing with now. So please everyone, tell me I'm wrong for wanting those wishes to come true. Because I need to hear that I'm wasting my time wishing these foolish things

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Play Like a Girl? Hell Yeah I Do

My friend had an awesome rant the other day: "Every woman I know is way more motivated, successful, mature, charming, and all around well-rounded. Meanwhile, the guys I know and meet are whiny, feel entitled (even though they put for no effort for anything they expect everything to fall into their laps), lazy, lethargic, immature, asshole-ish, and completely engrossed in non-reality (like video games, television, and shows like seinfeld that show them they can be fat lazy slobs and get the supermodel.)" Well said Nancy!
My ex is one of theses idiots. A boy who's teetering on the verge of manhood but won't cross the threshold for some unknown reason. And when I read this article, I wanted to throw up because my fiance was one of those Peter Pans.

Women have made significant advances everywhere and I'm unbelievably grateful I don't have to fight the same fight as my mom did (not that it was that hard for her, she rocked it). But now are we supposed to feel bad for the man we outperform simply because we're women and emotional? No way, I'm not going to hold your wittle hand and feel sowry for you. I'm not above blaming the glass ceiling if I need to. What got in the way except your own short comings little man?

I'm making generalizations I know that. I do know quite a few men who are just that, men. Who grew up like they were supposed to now find themselves to be an anomaly in my age group. I'll give credit where credit is due. But putting on your big boy pants and leaving Guy-land isn't an accomplishment. When did growing up become heralded as an achievement rather then just a step in life?
It's still very much a man's world, but the definition of man is being chipped away as we speak. And that's fine by me. I'd rather play like a girl, we seem to be going farther anyway. And we do it in cuter shoes. (insert batting eyelashes)

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Dating 101

The most swoon worthy thing someone has ever said about me is: "She's so pretty, that I can't even talk." I mean wow, I swooned when I heard that. And yet, I never dated that guy. And he was a sweet, nice, head on strait, do the right thing, motivated guy, the type of guy you marry. No, I didn't date him because at the time, I was too caught up in chasing someone else to really notice. I love the chase. Love it. But as fun as it is, it's also exhausting. It's hard to be on your best behavior all the time. So when I was engaged and officially off the market, I was equal parts happy and disappointed my chasing days were over.
Well I was wrong there wasn't I? Back in the saddle I go (groan). After every break up I always say this: "I want to be chased the next time." But old habits die hard, and every time I plop back in the saddle, I go right back to chasing. And I'm so warped up at doing the catching, I forget I'm trying to be caught. I'm such a rule follower, yet I can't stick to the ones I make for myself. Because I really do want to
be chased. Not in a stalker way (crap, now I have to look out for creep factor again), but I want to be wined and dined, fall for the sappy lines and and be constantly reminded that this guy is trying to woo me. And chivalry! I want the chivalry! You will:
  • Pick me up at my front door (no calling and telling me you are here asshat of an ex fiance).
  • Open my car door first (I will lean over and unlock your door though as you are walking around your car).
  • Not talk/text on the phone when with me (asshat still looking at you).
  • Open the door of where ever we are going for me (you are allowed to surreptitiously check out my tush when doing so).
  • If you think I'm pretty that night, for christ sake say it! But keep it classy, a simple "you look really pretty tonight" is wonderful. Don't just think it and keep it to yourself (guess who I'm still looking at).
  • If you asked me on the date (and you did because you're the one chasing), you will of course pick up the tab, but I will say thank you.
  • Flowers are always welcome, I fall for those every time (no stuffed toys, I'm not 15-ahem).
  • And at the end of the night, you will walk me to my door, tell me you had a wonderful time, and leave like a gentleman. I will decide how much of your virtue you should leave with that night.
Now let's see if I adhere to my be the chased not the chaser rule. I might get another genuine unprovoked swoon worthy compliment like that again. And if it happens, I won't be so foolish to pass someone like that up again, chaser or not.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

I'll have the Chicken

One of my favorite fall/winter foods is soup. Most soups that is, I'm not a big veggie soup person. And it's really easy to make, as long as you consider "making" it popping open a can and heating it up. Chicken noodle soup really is one of the best comfort foods out there in my opinion. It's something about the enzymes in the broth that make it feel better food (I could be making that particular fact up).

And I've been feeling a little down this past week, and when shopping didn't cheer me up, (not even for shoes) I decided to food bribe myself and eat whatever junk and/or comfort food I wanted. We have plenty of chicken based soups in the house, but I wasn't really feeling the chicken noodle soup so much. I was all about the chicken and wild rice though. Chicken? Check. Wild rice? Check. Chock-full of feel good enzymes chicken broth? Check. A few veggies for aromatics? Check. Cooked carrots? All over the damn place. Fail.

Monday, November 10, 2008

I just want the dog

I need to stop looking at the daily puppy every day. It just makes me miss my dog. I really, really miss my puppy. I didn't know it would be so hard to let her go when I gave her up in the break up. She was actually one of the main reasons I even tried to make it work with my ex. I couldn't leave her. But one of the stipulations of moving home was no doggie. So with a heavy heart, I hugged her one last time, received my kisses and walked away crying.

But I truly underestimated how wretched it would be. I've halfheartedly pleaded with my parents. I've promised to walk her and feed her and take care of her like any other child who wants a dog. I point out how great a space heater she is. I lavish affection on every dog I see. But it's just not the same, it's not my dog. I could try to make it on my own, get a pet friendly place and then fight with the ex on getting her back. But I don't need create any more drama that's taken place. So I have two grown up solutions here:

Get my own place and get the dog back. Or accept that I no longer have a dog.
I've chosen the latter becasue I know it's the best for the long run. I'm going to try to balance school and work full time, I don't need to add a spaz dog I can't really take care of into the mix. And my no rent plus great support system is a very cushy deal (thanks mom and dad!) and I'd be a fool to pass it up. I can adopt another dog in few years if I still want one when I venture out into grow-up land. But I'm still really bummed about giving her up.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

Monkey Wrench

I had this thing called life all planed out: Undergrad at 23, married 26, mom at 30. And I was about halfway there, and since I was with someone who didn't have real plans of his own (apathetic boy that he is), he agreed with my biological clock. Motherhood was still 3-4 years away, but it's always been the one thing I knew I wanted more then anything. And now, I'm going to have to wait even longer then I ever planned on doing so.

I'm going back to school for 8 years (finger's crossed it's only 6, but still...). Eight years. Eight years is going to be 8 years regardless. I can be 34 with a PhamD and a career, or I can just be 34. It shouldn't be a touch choice, but it is. I know I can't handle motherhood, even a pregnancy while in school (not to mention a husband to knock me up and put up with my crazy self). I've pushed it off for in order to pursue something bigger for myself. So why does that make me depressed? So depressed that I start doubting how much I really want this career.

I feel like I lost something, even though I didn't even have it. Going back to school is going to be great for me. I picked something that I know won't be easy, but something I am determined to succeed in. But no matter how many pep talks I give myself, I'm still upset over loosing my could have been. Another 4 years to the original plan may not seem like a lot to some people, but to me, it's a loooong time. Look what happened to me alone in a year. I got engaged, I changed jobs twice, got a puppy, ran a half marathon, and moved 3 times. Then lost all of that in 365 days. So don't you dare tell me a year is not that long. Because A LOT happens. Imagine what can happen in 8. And I'm terrified. Of what I'm not saying, maybe to protect myself or maybe out of stupidity. But I'm really really scared, and no matter how well I think on my feet or how well I can adjust, I'm scared. And I don't want to fail again.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Skinny B*tch

Skinny people are not allowed to have body issues. And that's complete bullsh*t. I know I'm a genetically blessed freak of nature. I'm not blind. I see the stifled sneers when I eat anything unhealthy. I don't ask the sales girl for a smaller size, I just go find it myself. I know to keep my mouth shut about body issues or a fat day. People don't want to hear the skinny girl complain.

Sometimes I do say f**k it and not care what people think. But more often then not, I just self deprecate. And for who's benefit? Complete strangers? Why do you think I run people? So at least I can say I "earned" my shape. I was an awkward teen, but who wasn't? I got lucky and blossomed in my 20's. But that's the point, I got lucky. Really lucky, and I don't know how much I'm allowed to enjoy it, or even If I am.

This isn't a rant directed at anyone in particular. It's just my pent up general observation. Society set up this unrealistic standard of beauty, and even if we have it, we're not allowed to enjoy it. I fell for it, I'm a lemming in society like everyone else. No one wants to hear Giselle has fat days or she hates a certain body part. But they also don't want to hear she knows she's beautiful. Sometimes I really hate life.

Friday, November 7, 2008

Cancer Stick=FAIL

I'm a Kentucky girl. I live in the state w/the highest percentage of smokers (it's very close to 30%), and it's our biggest (legal) cash crop. But I give a rat's ass about tobacco and the money it can make for my state. When I see someone light up, I want to stuff them in a box with other smokers and "forget" to poke air holes in it (they're already asphyxiating themselves, why can't we just speed up the process?).

Maybe I have a hyper sensitive nose when it comes to cigarette smoke. But my gift of super smell doesn't make smokers any less stinky. Smokers smell like smokers (what a novel concept). The smell reeks from your pores, so everything your skin touches, your clothes, hair, anything you touch and that includes the air around you, stinks like an overflowing ashtray. I've passed strangers in the grocery store and I gag because I can smell it. And you know what else?
I think smokers are trashy. Pretty much every single one. On a scale of 1 to 10, (1=pwt and 10=epitome of suave), the most you can achieve on my scale is a 5 (half-ass). I refuse to date one, and really, I don't even want to be your friend if you smoke. And if you're the sole non-smoker in your pack of friends, you're pretty much a smoker in my eyes. And not only do you smell bad, you don't look that great either (that is unless you're into that sallow hag look).

And for the record, all the crap you do to cover the smell doesn't work either. The perfumes, only smoking outside, candles, bla bla bla, don't work. Holding the lit cigarette outside while you shiver by an open window and sticking your head out of said window to take a drag doesn't lessen the smell or cover it up. Funny looking yes. Non stinky? No. And I hope it's 24 degrees and raining when you do that so you get pneumonia. Candles can sometimes mask the smell temporarily, but that's if you're standing right next to the candle. And perfume doesn't cover, it just mixes with the smell radiating out of your pores and makes a smokey perfume.

And it's not like anyone nowadays can say "I didn't know it was bad for me!" I'm a bit more forgiving towards the old coots who've smoked 40 years before the risk were really known. It's an addiction and I know that. But it's an addiction you knew would happen and chose to do it anyway. And smokers every now and again try to say coffee just as bad as an addiction, but shove it. There are documented health benefits to caffeine when done in moderation like everything else. But name one for tobacco. Snuff, chew, smoking, find me one. There's freaking warning label on the packaging. BECAUSE IT KILLS YOU. Even if you don't care about killing yourself by sucking on that cancer stick, your second hand smoke isn't making my life any pleasanter. And if I die due to your nasty habit, (lung cancer, car crash because you were lighting up, fire...) you bet the f**k I'm haunting you.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

Powers I wish I had

  1. Smite- because that's just pure awesome
  2. Telekinesis - imagine possibilities of freaking people out moving stuff with your mind. Also, would be handy to not get up for more ice cream when feeling particularly lazy.
  3. 20/20 eyesight
  4. Glamoring - True Blood /Southern Vampire Series fans you know exactly what I mean
  5. Elasticity - I would love to be bendy, could always win Limbo and/or Twister
  6. Time Travel - a very slippery slope, must be used with extreme caution and only after mastering telepathy skills
  7. Invisibility - am willing to don a cape or type of suit for this; so do not actually need to gain this power within myself exactly
  8. Master chocolatier - once again for awesomeness factor (blame Food Network for putting that one in my head)
Powers I have gained/am close to gaining:

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Husband checklist

  • Last name must be in top half of alphabet (will accept down to P if love for man outweighs name change)
  • Must be between 5"-10" and 6'-4"
  • Does not smoke, and friends do not smoke either (guilt by association)
  • Likes bourbon, but not in a alcoholic kind of way. Appreciates a good Manhattan
  • Has a "smart" job, or better yet, a career (rock stars need not apply). College degree highly encouraged
  • Must make fabulous pancakes, waffles are also welcome
  • Must know how (and love) to grill -no preference of charcoal or gas really
  • Does not mock the following: my love of dancing movies, monster ballads/music taste or my pink rain boots
  • Does not own ugly shoes. If they were before my time, they are to be burned and he vows to never get another pair. Also wears clothing that fits-understands what "tents are for camping, not wearing" means
  • Takes me on real dates (wine and dine me beyotch)
  • Is not a picky eater, willing to try anything at least once
  • Can parallel park (I can't and see no reason to learn now when my husband can for me)
  • Must have one signature meal, made from mostly scratch if possible. Four or more is preferable
  • Knows that if it comes in pink, I want it and he should let me have it. KitchenAid mixer and matching pink blender? Check!
  • Sorts laundry into appropriate baskets/bins (white, dark, colors, sheets, towels etc)
  • Understands what a cliche is and is not a complete walking one
  • Owns at least one piece of fine art. Van Gogh's Starry Night doesn't count (see above for reason)
  • Can fix things and is handy - owning power tools is major plus
  • Reach tall things, open jars and kill spiders (but that's just standard husband material)
  • Never makes me wish for anything more (except chocolate, I always want more of that)
  • Magazine cover good looks and charming personality are highly recommend, but not required.
If you know of a single gentleman who has all of these qualities; more is of course acceptable, please forward resume and Polaroid. Thank you!

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Red White and Blue

Go vote today! I'm not going to inundate you with my opinions and I will respect you for having your own, even if they differ from mine (though you are wrong). And if you don't vote, for whatever reason (but the not wanting to wait in line is a pussy excuse by the way) that's your prerogative. But don't you dare be one of those b*tches who complains how things are because you didn't exercise your right to vote. Your apathy was duly noted, now shut your pie hole.

Also, if you vote and show your sticker, you get free food stuff at certain places! Nothing like a food bribe to reward me for doing something I was going to do anyway!

Monday, November 3, 2008

I want to be a ballerina

(DVR is awesome by the way). I finished my ballerina movie last night. Sadly, I was disappointed. Most of the dance sequences were filmed in the dark. Quoi? you ask. All the "hot" dancing sequences were too dark to see anything, and that's the whole reason I'm watching the movie. What, you thought it for the stellar dialogue? Oh noes. Next time I watch it (becasue you know I will) I'm just going to mute it through the talking parts and make up my own lines. I'm much wittier then a ballerina. Well, I don't know if that's true, I'm sure there are witty ballerinas out there. But they should stick to dancing and never act (at least on camera w/film in it. Especially with film in it). And really, screw being a triple threat people, that's just selfish.

All is not lost, my love of dance movies is unwavering. And if nothing else, it did accomplish one thing; I now want to be a ballerina. If only for the tutus.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Dance off? Yes!!!

Step Up 2, The Streets has a dance scene IN THE RAIN. If you grasp how awesome that is, you are undoubtedly my friend. Does it have a thought provoking plot? No. The best dance sequence ever? Yes (top 5 at least). I will watch any movie with a dance sequence. Case in point: Center Stage 2, Turn It Up. It's the made-for-tv-movie sequel (8 years later) to the real movie Center Stage!
The gist: girl from wrong side of the tracks (Detroit, the whole city is wrong side of the tracks) goes to the Big Apple and finds meaning of life through ballet.

Add: snotty ballet school, cute boy ballerina (who used to be a hockey player? Bonus, he has an accent just so we know how dreamy he is), prima donna antagonist (who's b*tchy demeanor is used to disguise her deep fear of loosing prima donna spot) and a hip-hop dance club. Liberally sprinkle dancing montages (there were 3 (3!) in the 45 minutes I saw alone), and you have yourself an awesomely bad made for tv movie, and my undivided attention.

I didn't get to see the end last night (oh nos!) but something tells me the pinnacle of it is a ballet performance infused with hip-hop oomph. Wrong side of tracks dancer gets into snotty ballet school, cute boy's undying love, and prima donna's respect (who always secretly respected wrong side of tracks girl, but could not show respect until proper dance off).

I'm totally dvr-ing it.