Anti-pink

WHAT?? You may be asking. How on earth is someone who's blog name is everything should be pink be anti pink on anything?

The one exception to my everything should be pink stance is the pink jersey. Jerseys should not be pink, because if you are going to support a team/college/player, you wear those team/college/player colors. Even if they are a hideous combination. Call me a purist. And really, sports that require jerseys are not cute clothes sports (like tennis or running). Jersey sports are sweaty (eww), hand-eye coordination (fail) physical (ugh) competitive (blech) things, cute isn't part of that equation. And pink, the only thing it supports is breast cancer. Well, it doesn't support cancer, it supports the research and preventative stuff. (and I'm all for protecting the ta-ta's) So pink, stay away from the jerseys. You don't belong on one.

Also, little bitter that breast cancer took my color. Yes I know how bitchy that is. But why did they take my color?

Stork

Seeing as I'm not an idiot, I do know where babies come from. I just firmly believe I came from the stork. Am also willing to accept the cabbage patch explanation. And if any of you tell me anything gross to the contrary, you are not allowed to talk to me until you accept my theory.

Also? Not an idiot, know it is physically possible to get knocked up while unmarried (and that's another judgy rant for another day about how I don't feel too terribly sorry for today's single moms by choice). Once again, I just firmly believe it is not possible for me.

Crush

So yep, I have a crush on my friend's younger brother. He's just as pretty in person as he is in photos. Too bad:

1. He lives far far away
2. He wanted to meet my brother-in-law (air force vs navy academy stories (navy baby! I'm loyal to my sister)) more then see me
3. My pouncing skills are rusty
4. I still can't out run his sister (I maybe able to out last her, but that doesn't matter if she tackles me first) even if I did pounce

However, just having something pretty to think about brightens my day a bit.

Wimper

I thought I was doing as well as I could given the circumstances. I had a new job, I signed up for classes, and I was getting a social life again. And then, I didn't like the new job, I'll be playing catchup in school this semester, and my social life started to wane because I was working 2 jobs. And then...

I get an email from him that he's giving up the dog. Surprise surprise, he can't take care of her. My wedding dress comes in. It's the holiday season so everything festive feels like it's mocking me. And my mother, cannot stop talking about how perfect my sister's husband is, he cooks, cleans, is handy, and how wonderful he is to my sister. I like the guy a lot, and I'm happy that she has him, but seriously mom, shut the hell up.

Well, all those combined, I'm not doing well. I can distract myself sometimes, but usually the loneliness and frustration get the better of me. I'm so frustrated, and still so indescribably hurt, that some nights I wish I don't wake up in the morning. And I'm tired of moving forward becasue it feels like I'm just spinning my wheels right now, which is exactly where I was in the first place. My mom told me I could get off the train when I was having doubts about the marriage. So I got off, and I feel like I'm an even rougher emotional place then where I started from. I know I'm being dramatic. I did the right thing. But the right thing sucks. I don't want him back. But I want to stop hurting.

You germ-a-phobes can kiss my ass

Last year I was a sniffling, coughing, sneezing, aching dayquil poster child. Well, that is until they changed the formula of the quils so it could still sell it over the counter. It doesn't work as well anymore (or at all). And I loved being on day/nyquil. Stupid meth heads, you ruined it for the rest of us.

Now I cough properly into my shoulder or elbow. I wash my hands thoroughly. I'm very aware if raw meat has touched something. I'm up to date on booster shots, immunizations and had a tetanus shoot last year (sucker hurt like a mother f*cker too!). I take preventive health care measures. But you people, you germ-a-phobes, annoy me. Because your apocalypse stockpile of anti-bacterial hand gel isn't going to be your saving grace from the world of evil germs. Yes, sterilization is important, and it is imperative in clinical settings. But in every day life, really, it can be unnecessary. It's you people who go to the doctor and demand antibiotics every time you get the sniffles that we have super bugs like MRSA. There's something to be said about being too freaking sterilized. Seriously, give your immune system a chance to form it's own protection.

Well anyway, last year-dayquil poster child. I ended up missing a day of work becasue a stupid cold knocked me out. Well, when I got back, I popped my behind the counter pills at 6 hour intervals (the kind you have to show your id for, sign your life away and are only allowed to buy 3 boxes a year becasue they are awesome) and sucked on cough drops like candy so I wouldn't scare people (I worked at employee health, it's bad form to have one of the front desk people not healthy). But I sounded awful, and I my coughing wasn't completely suppressed. Plus I looked like hell, you could tell I was sick. Well, my 23 year old coworker (she'll always be that to me) followed me around with a cavcide wipe (hospital grade anti-bacterial wipes) wiping everything I had touched, or she primly used the anti-bacterial hand gel every time I coughed. QUITE ANNOYING. So after one too many feverish cavicide swipes of the office, as she sat down, I croaked out "Joke's on you, I licked one of your pens."

Handbag

I'm not a designer purse kind of gal. Not to say I'd turn one down as a gift (which is how I got a Prada bag (yes that was a name drop, no I don't care.), but I won't buy one for myself. And as much as I adore Kate Spade handbags, I don't love her stuff that much to pay those designer prices.
Really, I don't care to shop for purses at all. I get bored quick with it (unlike shoes which I could shop for hours), and I want to find the "perfect" bag. Not too small-becasue then you can't fit anything in it. Not too big-becasue then I'll put way too much stuff in it (like an umbrella) and I don't like a heavy purse-even if it is a lethal weapon. It must be easy to open/close. I would like pockets or a compartment of some sort, but not one of those stupid cell phone pockets. Because no one uses those. I like a more structured bag as opposed to a slouchy bag so the contents don't fall out of the purse when I get tired of closing it. And I prefer handles and not shoulder straps. I like to swing the thing. And it must be classic, I'm going to carry it for a while.
When I find a purse I like, I use it a long time. I'm willing to spend more if I can use it a few seasons. But I've lucked out: the 2 purses that I use the most, and have received the most compliments on? Combined total: under $30

Merry Christmas!

Even though it's been a rough holiday season for me, I'm very thankful for what I do have in life. I have a roof over my head, I'm employed, but most of all, I have a loving family and lifelong friends. I have people. And without them, well, I don't want to think about where I would be. Santa might not have brought me everything on my list (no island, but I did get an Aston Martin!), but I already have what I value most in the world.
So Merry Christmas everyone!

Shiney

My sister pointed something out to me: in my 10 years of dating, of my 6 serious boyfriends, 5 of them have given me jewelry

1. 1st boyfriend: a heart necklace for valentines day. We broke up a week later. Right, I'm a bitch. Is being 16 a good defense?
   
2. 2nd boyfriend: a bracelet on my 17th birthday, and earrings for our 6 month-versary. I lost the bracelet when it fell out of my band bag (while we were dating), and one of the earrings at some point. I don't think I ever told him that...oops
   
3. 3rd boy: a ring for valentines day. He put it on my right hand, and later remarked "oh it's on the wrong hand." And I said "no, nothing goes on that hand unless it's a diamond" We had talked about marriage, then I remembered, we were 18.
   
4. 4th boyfriend: Nothing shiny. Boo.
   
5. 5th boyfriend: necklace from Tiffany's. Because I (drunkenly) said "I want just one thing from that store and I'll be happy for the rest of my life" And he drunkenly remembered. Plus it was Christmas, how was I to know he would take my suggestion to heart?
   
6. 6th boyfriend/the ex: 2 necklaces and earrings as anniversary/birthday/graduation presents, and the all important engagement ring.

However, I have never actually asked for jewelry, except the engagement ring. And that wasn't an ask really, that was a "there will be a ring or I will not say yes" statement. So future husband: you are really only required 2 pieces, the engagement ring and wedding band. But, it would be prudent of you to remember this tidbit: at some point I would like a strand of pearls for as a wedding anniversary gift (becasue my sister and I are fighting over who gets mom's. This way, no more fighting!), and every time I birth one of your children (drugged or not), I would like something shiny to commemorate the occasion besides stretch marks. Oh right, I get a baby out of it. Meh, I can always use more earrings.

MY Registry

I was itching to start my registry. Technically, it was supposed to be ours, but really, it was going to be all my doing. Like I would give him a say in something as important as the china pattern. Ha! Because he has such klassy taste (sarcasm is dripping here)

Clearly, I was going to ask for the ubiquitous kitchen aid mixer in pink. And the bender had to match. Oh oh, while I'm at it, a pink tea pot would be super cute too! And really, I wasn't going to let him pick out the pots (calphalon), knives (henkles), everyday dishes (fiestaware! in scarlet, cobalt, sunflower, shamrock, tangerine, plum and black), or the flatware. He wasn't going to get a say in the coffee maker (he didn't drink it anyway), the food processor (wouldn't use that either), the kitchen linens, the bake ware (becasue I did all the baking), the color coded cutting boards. He owned 250 thread count sheets - NO. So no way was he allowed to pick the sheets or matching down comforter. Or the fluffy factor of the towels, what color the shower curtain should be, how many vases and picture frames we needed... Right, I wasn't really going to give much of a say in anything. I have a feeling he would eventually pitch a fit over something stupid like wanting an ugly toothbrush holder. And I would relent at the moment to avoid a sceen, but I'm sneaky enough to go back the next day and change it. One thing I was going to let him pick was the griddle. He could have whichever one he wanted. Because that is what he was going to make me fabulous pancakes on (and serve them to me in bed on the tray I picked out), so it should be something he likes. But that was it.

I think this is a fabulous plan. I think I'll keep it in place for my real wedding. But my right guy is a classy guy so this whole you-seriously-have-no-taste-issue shouldn't arise. Or better yet, he just shuts his pie hole and gives me the scanner gun. But I'll be nice and I won't really ask for the pink blender. Maybe.
But dammit, I'm getting that pink mixer.

Poking Myself in the Eye

Guys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses. Sh*t, does that mean I have to start wearing my contacts again?

I have crappy vision, crappy enough that I must wear some sort of corrective lens to function in everyday life. I once lost both my contacts at work and I had to get boyfriend to drive me home since I seriously couldn't see 12" in front of me (we were working together that night, fortuitous timing). Lesson learned, there is now a spare pair of glasses in my car for instances like that.

And becasue I have gotten lazy the past few years, I pretty much wear my contacts only when I'm (a) interviewing for jobs, (b) going out for a night on the town or (c) running. And none of these things are happening at the moment. Mornings before work I'm not coherent enough to know my name, so the business with the contacts is a fail plan. Plus those suckers start to burn and/or itch like hell after a while. So I wear my glasses all the time now. And I have really cute frames too; black plastic frames w/zebra print arms. Squee! Though I will totally admit I was going for the naughty librarian look when I picked them out. Maybe cute isn't the correct term... But if that old adage is true, does that mean I have to start poking myself in the eye again to get a new boyfriend? Boo.

Naked!

The less time I spend naked the better. I don't think too many of you are disappointed by that. Now if you would burn that mental image out of your mind I would appreciate it. I admit I haven't been the most modest in my past. I used to wear jeans 4" bellow my belly button like they were my right, and when I got my "growth spurt" (ie: when I suddenly became stacked) I didn't wear a top that wasn't a v-neck. And push-ups (of the Victoria Secret variety)? Were my my new bff (still are, who am I kidding).

Well anyway, I've grown up some and now I'm not so much into the skin showing. So the more time I spend with clothes on the better. But really, it's not because I'm Prudie McPrudeton. Nope, I like lot's o-clothes becasue it's cold now. I do not like my skin to be uncovered for a second. Even the 5 seconds from bathrobe to scalding shower is too much time for me to be exposed to the elements. But in the summer, I'm sure I'll be whining how hot I am and I'll be saying "the less clothes the better" God I'm a fickle.

Why I'll never be a grown up

I swear to god, there is a company in town called: Big Ass Fans. Seriously. Their logo is a donkey's butt. And no matter what, every time I hear about it or someone says they work there, I can't help but grin and start to giggle. Every. Single. Time.

This is why I'll never be a grown up. Because a words on an ass's ass make me laugh.

Sneeky Starbucks

Starbucks makes me use their lingo.

I refuse to order my stuff, tall, venti, grande. Because it annoys me. If I'm going to pay $4 for a cup of fancy coffee, I am going to order it how I damn well want it. Well, they have this fantastic seasonal latte; the pumpkin spice. It's all sorts of deliciousness, and I treat myself to one at some point during the fall. Well, I had a super craving for it, and the Starbucks kiosk was 20' across from me. And I was shopping, I needed sustenance in the form of foamy caffeinated seasonal goodness. So I ordered a small pumpkin spice latte. And the cashier guy asked "now, do you want the small or the tall? Because this is the small" and holds up this 6 oz joke of a coffee cup. And my hand flies to my chest and I gasp "oh no! That's terribly small!" So I begrudgingly ordered the my pumpkin spice tall.

Fine Starbucks, you win, I will use your fancy size language. But I still won't be ordering anything skinny, no foam, half calf, or other bull sh*t. So there.

Twirl

Because I have a friend in med school, I make her answer all my medical questions. She humors me and gives me answers, but she also includes the disclaimer that she is not a doctor yet and this is not actual professional advice. But we've been friend for a long time (about 15 years I think) and as much nonsense we talk with each other, we do have some interesting conversations about medical stuff (because I ask a lot of questions).

One day, we got on the subject of autism, and how the professor from my human sexuality class (of course I took that one) told us this story: After all sorts of unsuccessful therapies, this extremely autistic child was wrapped tightly in a blanket and then rolled around on the floor. Which sounds ridiculous, but basically, they overstimulated the kid. So when the kid sat up, he stays still for a bit and then focused on his parents, which he may have never been able to do. But the theory behind that is that the over stimulation righted something in his head. At least temporarily.

So she went on the tell me another similar theory. You know how you have 2 halves of your brain, and there are many connectors between them. And in autistic kids, the connectors don't connect and/or relay info like a normal brain does (and this is all my interpretation only). What the over stimulation did for that kid was that made the connections work or align correctly. And she asked, why do you think little kids spin around with their arms outstretched? They are essentially over stimulating themselves and getting things realigned in their head, weather it's the physical connection by shaking things into place or just getting the info between the halves. (still, just babbling medical gibberish here) Fascinating, yes?

And as smart as this conversation sounds, when she asked the rhetorical why do kids spin question, my out loud super grown up response was, "uh, 'cause it's awesome!"

The 5 stages of grief

Denial: Check. Done thinking nothing was wrong. Have admitted everything was wrong
Anger: All the time. Bitter flag is waving high. But I think I've stopped telling random people "f*ck you and your happiness" (under my breath)
Bargaining: No longer saying if he does A then I'll do B and so forth. No longer wishing on every star. As much.
Depression: All the time. I don't go a day without crying, even if it is just a little tear up.
Acceptance: I thought I was getting there.

I'll shut the vent soon. I promise. I've got 2 of the 5 taken care of. I've gotten this far, even if it isn't by leaps and bounds. I've gotten this unfar with a lot of people's love and support, and I don't know how to show my gratitude for it. But until then, the only thing that I feel that helps me is to just vent. I think when our wedding day arrives, and it hits me, wow, this really isn't happening... I'll be able accept the failure for real. I'll realize there were two of us in that relationship, and two of us to cause so much pain (though I still want to blame him for everything). So there's a light at the end of the tunnel so to speak, even if it is aways off. The vent will close, the door will shut and I won't look back. And that's a good feeling to know.

Happy/Sad

It wasn't all bad. In fact, a lot of us was really good. Happy even. It's so easy to focus on the end and get scathingly mad. But as time goes on, and the anger starts to subside, I start to remember the good, and there really was a lot of good. I truly wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. There were a lot of happy moments, and now they hurt too much to remember them. Because that's all it is now, just a memory. And now that I can recall the good, I'm aching in unhappiness.

There are things I'll never forget, like every detail of the proposal. I gasped as he dropped to one knee. I had thought I would be too shocked to even say anything when he asked, instead I screamed yes for the whole world to hear. How I burst into tears right after I said yes. I remember what we both were wearing, and how the purple the sky was as the sun set. My heart was racing as I was thinking "oh-my-god-oh-my-god-this-can't-be-the-moment-oh-my-god-this-is-the-moment." I remember him telling me I could look at the ring, since I hadn't at first becasue I was too busy jumping up and down screaming excited. I remember complete strangers cheering from their balcony as we walked back to the condo. I remember the way he looked at me all day, like I was the love of his life. I remember everything.
And there are 1000 pictures to remember it too. Glasses on, no makeup, hair disheveled, and I can't tell if he's red becasue of his sunburn or from blushing. Some of those pictures are framed, both of us glowing with happiness. And they are all packed in a box I may never open again.

Well, we all know I'm not that happy anymore. Him putting the ring on my finger was the happiest moment of my life. And me handing it back to him was the saddest. There aren't any pictures to remember that moment. But that's ok, I remember enough as it is.

To a better 2009

Last December, I worked roughly 60 hours a week between 2 jobs, fought a nasty cold for a month, and somehow went apartment hunting too. Not to mention holiday shopping and baking (because I had sooo much time to do that), the dog was getting fixed that month (so on pain meds and was wearing a cone that knocked into everything) and my fiance wouldn't touch me, hell, even come near me because he "couldn't afford to get sick" (and I could? Did you think I was working my ass off for the fun of it? Not because I was trying to save money for our wedding you jackass). Needless to say, I was stressed. I was exhausted, cranky, sick and my my feelings were hurt on top of all that. So I wasn't a tinsel twinkling ray of Christmas cheer when I pulled double duty at the second job. One night I told one co-worker that I hated working with another coworker because "she smells like cat pee or stale snatch." Suddenly I was known as the cranky bartender. Fine by me, people left me alone that way.

So new years eve, I did not want to go out. I had only worked a few hours bartending and made it home by 10 o'clock, but I was in no mood to be social. I wanted to be in my pj's, snuggled tight against his chest on the couch with a bottle of champagne and get my new years kiss. That was it. But he wanted to go over to his friend's house, where they're all smoking like chimneys, getting obnoxiously drunk on crappy beer and going to annoy the crap out of me being the trashy people that they are. And I told him, "I don't want to go, because I'm exhausted, it's smokey, and I don't want to leave the dog alone (She was off the pain killers by then). And instead of remembering how much he missed me on Christmas (we spent it at each of our own parents houses' and not together) and had agreed to no more holiday's apart, he left me anyway. He even waited until after I got home from work just to make sure I really didn't want to go. So I spent new years eve in my pj's on the couch, where I fell asleep before midnight, the dog curled up around my feet, and with no champagne. I woke up right as they were counting down the new year, only to give the dog a quick kiss. Yes, it's exactly as sad as it sounds. And when he called me at midnight, to wish me happy new year, he was pretty unhappy surrounded by all the other couples and remember how much loved me. He remorsefully said "I should have stayed with you." My response was, "Yes. You should have." And then I went to bed alone.

Here's hoping 2009 is a much better year.

Book Recomendation

Might I recommend The Golden Compass? It's a children's book, but it's not a pretty pretty picture book (I could loose hours looking at those though) or See Jane run learn to read either. There have been a few times I've raised my eyebrows and thought, this is a children's book? I honestly wouldn't recommend it to anyone under 14.

It was made into a movie last year w/Daniel Craig (mmm), and Nicole Kidman. And I advise you see it first just so you know how to pronounce a few things. I know fantasy writing allows liberties with the English language, but it's British fantasy... But when the movie came out, there was a big hoopla with a bunch of churches, telling their congregations to boycott the movie. I think the trilogy was written by an atheist, and in the third book the rumor is that the characters try to "kill god." Meh, the controversy just gave it more publicity and the churches shut up real fast when they saw they were driving people to it rather then away from it.

Well, I was reading it at my mom's office while I waited for her get off work (we used to car pool). I was keeping quiet and to myself like a well behaved young lady, when suddenly I just bust out, "well, no wonder the church groups got all twitty about this, they're doing opium in the first chapter!" And then I went back to my quiet zone. Still, pretty good read so far though.

Girlish Figure

One day, a coworker or acquaintance of some sort asked me how I stayed so "impossibly skinny" when I ate the way I do. (I was probably eating something horribly fattening and enjoying it). And I looked at them and said, "easy, I'm just going to throw it up later."

They got all wide eyes and started backing away.

Note to self: bulimia jokes are not funny yet.

Warped Reality

Some of you may remember this, but back in high school (man, I need more recent stories), the movie Grease was re-released in theaters. Being the group of musical lovers that we are, (seriously) we had to see this together. But the real story isn't how we sang along in the theater (becasue we did, possibly in harmony), it's this:

Like all movies, there were previews. And I was sitting next to my frienemy because she needed as much distance as possible between her and her bff''s boyfriend. She hated him for the reason every girl hates another girl's boyfriend: he took away my friend. Plus she was desperately single (and remained that way through most of high school) as salt in the wound. Well, during one of the previews, she starts tearing up becasue the character on screen had twirled romantically into her Prince Charming's arms. And while dabbing her eyes, she says bitterly, "see, even they have someone."

It was preview for a cartoon movie. A cartoon. A story that someone made up. And then took the time to draw the story that was made up (or embellished for storytelling purposes). She was jealous over a 5 second romantic clip of a cartoon character. Just imagine the face I'm making right now. It's probably close to the same one you're doing.

Well, maybe I shouldn't roll my eyes that much. Because there are times now I find myself unable to watch cute couple romance crap on screen without my eyes welling up (Sex and the City Movie while depressed=baaaad idea, very bad idea). In my defense, I am currently a 26-year-old dealing w/a broken engagement, not a 16-year-old who hadn't had a boyfriend yet. But even then, I raised my eyebrows over this. At least I'm not crying over a cartoon romance. (The Little Mermaid is a different story though, that wedding gets me every time).

Troop 98

I sorta dated my way through a boy scout troop. It's not as whorey as it seems. Long story short, in high school I was in this group thing called Ventures. Or what I refer to as: co-ed boy scouts. It was partnered up with one of the troops in town, but I pretty much joined to go on a week long sailing trip in the spring (and my frienemy made me). I even real camped at one point (and haven't since w/out the aid of booze). Anyway, I had a tendency to date/crush on the guys in the troop (who were my age). My first boyfriend had been a member of that troop, but he left once he got his Eagle. And then I brought him to co-ed boy scouts when we were dating. Welcome back with open arms and whatnot. He left pretty soon after we broke up, gee I wonder why? Couldn't have been me... that and he left for basic training soon after. Meh, I moved on to the cute shy guy in the troop and turned him into my second boyfriend (who I snagged on the sailing trip that I originally joined for anyway). And I my senior prom date was a guy from there too. But that's pretty much it, nothing more really.

I think (ok, I know) I flirted with almost all the guys in that troop. Because I could. And the scout moms hated me. It took me a long time to understand why, but they were momma bears protecting their cubs from the enemy known as teenage girl. When word got around I was going to prom with one of their beloved scouts (as friends, who by the way, was the one to ask me), their first reaction was not: tell me about your dress, like the were asking my frienemy (it was navy with silver flowers in case you we wondering). No no, they all felt it was their duty to inform me: "you know he's leaving for college right?" And my response: "I am too." Geeze women, I wasn't going to wrap all my dreams in a boy from high school (I dream wrapped later in life).

But now that I think about it, I should go back to chasing scouts (oh wait, I'm not chasing right now) Well, not the ones actually in the troop now, becasue that's illegal. But in theory, the guys who continue through scouts into high school (I think they drop the "boy" part somewhere around puberty) are pretty put together guys later in life. Always prepared, honorable and other virtues they get in that handbook thing. Plus there's some sort of code they follow and you know how I'm stickler for the rules.

So, boys, I'm back in town, and I'm single again! (Scout moms be dammed)

Beyonce Annoys Me

"If you like it then shoulda put a ring on it." Shut up Beyonce. I had the ring. And it ruined everything.

That bitter aside, I don't think she's a bad singer. I don't think she's that great though. I think she's a bit all over the place voice range. Also, her fierce stage personality Sasha becasue she's shy herself is complete and utter bull poop. If you're shy and don't want the spotlight, stay out of it. Give it to someone who at least admits they're an attention whore. And why the hell is she soooo sexy? I admit she has a rocking body. But one thing I'll never get is her "dancing." Personally I think she looks like a fish flopping on dry land. And I think her robot glove is stupid also. I don't even want to know how much she spent on that useless "glove."

Why am I ripping on her? I'm crippled with envy of her success.

Brit Brit

This may not come as a shock to people, but I love Britney Spears. Not enough to actually buy her album, but I don't love anyone enough to do that. I think the last album I bought was John Mayer if that tells you anything. I had a slightly unhealthy obsession with the man a few years ago (before he became the semi-tool he is now). My intentions were for him to see me and fall in love with me on the spot, and I was going to become Mrs John Mayer. Very simple plan really. Someone was humoring me and asked what I was changing my name to when we got married (clearly) and what was I planning on going by, Sarah Mayer, was I going to hyphenate (which I think is bull sh*t)? I said, "no you don't understand, my full name is going to be Mrs John Mayer. That's it." Actually, I would still marry him. No harm in rubbing a bit of salt in a particular someone's wound now is there? (I'm petty, I have no problem w/this). See, I'm perfectly happy being a real rock star's wife (also bitchy, still, no problem w/it).

Back to the subject at hand. Britney Spears. And after watching her new video, my first thought was: All right Brit-Brit, welcome back! I am all about the pop tarts ruling the charts again. I love a good diva war. It's high time popular music was actually pop. Because I love pop music (no big surprise there), and since all the boy bands have disbanded (sad), I want the bubble gum pop music of my youth back! Now excuse me while I sing along. Loudly.

I love Throwing Parties

Ergo, I love throwing showers. So when I was my sister's maid of honor, I was pretty happy to throw her one. I was fairly relaxed about it though. I shopped for prizes and favors on my own time, finalized the menu in an hour and then timed everything pretty well. And what really helped was that I was able to delegate a lot of things to other people. And the other bridesmaid was super eager to help, she did a lot of the cooking prep work, which made everything run really smooth. For 10 seconds during the planning process, my mom worried something was a bit over the top. But I told her, I want to do it this way. This is for my sister, my only sibling, and we're going to do this right, and I'm more then happy to do so. She's going to have the best bridal shower a girl could dream of.

And success! The food went over very well (even the vegetarians were happy), people enjoyed the games, and Amy broke one ribbon for her mother-in-law. We had relatives from out of town come in for it, and a lot of Amy's friends from high school were able to come as well. Turns out this was Amy's first bridal shower, it just happened to be her own. It was a classic shower, and everyone had a good time.

But the best moment for me wasn't when watching her open the gifts, or talking to the extended family. It wasn't laughing at Amy's witty answers or marveling how well she knows her husband (I mean, she knows what his super power would be). My favorite moment came much later in the evening. We were going to bed and my sister decided to sleep in my room since the bed in her room is uncomfortable. And just before she fell asleep, Amy turned around and said to me, "thank you for the party." And that was the best moment of her shower for me.

Christmas List

• This Kate Spade handbag
• A pony (where the hell is it? I've been asking for years!)
• An advanced copy of the new Sookie book (seriously, I have to wait until May?).
• All of Jen Lancaster's books
• A UK sweatshirt or some other UK paraphernalia (I even like the butt shorts)
  
• Clinique Happy Heart perfume (I like to smell pretty)
• Body Butter from the Body Shop (any one but the coconut one!)
• An island in the Greek Isles (with a vacation house and wait staff included)
• Season 4 of the Office (I have 1-3 already)
• New jeans/clothes (a lot of stuff doesn't fit that well anymore)
• A body pillow
• An Aston Martin (wait, is it a stick shift? Because I can't drive it if it is)
• Peace on earth, and goodwill towards all mankind

And a few other small things:

• Tuition
• My dog. I'll take her over the pony
• An apology from you know who

Some stuff you just can't wrap. Like the island. That's simply to much paper to waste.

Happy Holidays!

I'm baking cookies this year! Real dough made from scratch break out the rolling pin use a cookie cutter baking. First up, gingerbread. I used to bake it every year, but when I was in college it tapered off a bit. No time, a tiny kitchen, a little thing called hell week (project week). But when I came home home, I could just eat the cookies my mom made, and I didn't have to bake. And mom's never allowed to stop baking becasue someone has to make the candy cane cookies, and I simply can't make them as pretty as she can.

Last year I wanted to make cookies, but all I had time for was peppermint bark, which took forever to get rid of. My almost MiL made tons of cookies and gave us plates and plates of them, but honestly, I wasn't that impressed. Maybe one day I'll tell you I thought a lot of her cooking/baking was pretty bland. Oops, I guess I just did. Now now, tis not the season to be bitchy (that starts next month)

Anywho, I'm going to festive up the place this weekend. I'm getting out of this I'm alone and broken hearted funk. The decorations are being brought out, and the gingerbread dough is made and just waiting to be cut into an army of little men. I like to eat them head first so you can't hear them scream. And there's snow here! A tiny dusting that wouldn't keep the kids out of school, but still, it's very pretty and winter wonderland-ish.
Fa la la la la!

Suck It Clariol

I am a brunette. Which is a fancy word for plain brown. It's not dark brown, light brown, or auburn. Not walnut, not chocolate, chestnut, honey brown, copper brown, or mahogany. I don't have golden highlights or espresso low lights. I'm just plain brown.

I don't dye my hair, and I've been told my color is beautiful. I smile and say thank you, but I don't feel that way. I feel plain and unnoticed most of the time, unable to stand out or ever able to achieve bombshell status. And even if I did start dying my hair, I don't even know which direction to go, nor do I care paying for a professional or the upkeep either.

I guess what irks me is that I hardly ever hear anyone dying their hair brown (unless trying to cover the gray that is). It's always more blond or more red. Rarely is it more brown. I've heard of enhancing with hazelnut highlight and/or sable low lights. And when a blond star dyes their hair brown, it's always "for a role." Never because she wants to be brunette. And the press is overjoyed when she goes back to blond. You never hear "she's a bottle brunette." So does anyone willingly dye brunette? Not really, I think they just do that because they bitterly can't go blond or red. So they do the lightest brown they can find and then highlight the hell out of it.

Don't even get me started on eyes. Damn things are plain brown too.

Fa Lah Lah La La!

I like Christmas music. And now that it is officially the holiday season, (after thanksgiving people, AFTER) I feel it's appropriate to listen. Though why do the radio stations keep playing the same version every 15 songs or so? Is there a quota of The Miriah Carey song (you know what I'm talking about) they have to meet every day? I do like that song, I just don't like it 8 times a day.

I'm not against today's music starts putting out a holiday album (for a Christmas album is not PC you see). But why do they insist on adding their own personal touch to the songs? It's a Classic Christmas carol! Keep it that way! And for every beautiful rendition of a classic carol (like my big fancy music term there?), there are so, so many other crappy versions. And why people, why, why, why, can you not just sing the damn song the way it is?!? It's a classic, not yours! Leave it alone!

You know who got it right? Nat King Cole. Every single time. That is how a Christmas Carol should be sung.

Co-ed

What should I do now that I'm about to be a college co-ed again? Should I join a club or something? Could I even join a sorority? (I'm not knocking them, I considered rushing my freshman year) Study at the library? Can I be the girl who wears her pj's to class? Run for student government? Get involved in campus life? I may even attempt to attend a sporting event or two (it's actually hard to get tickets to UK stuff). And I'll actually cheer for my team too, unlike my first college go-round (not that I rooted against them, I just didn't care enough to cheer for them at all).

I'm going back as an older student though, so I'm not sure how well I'll fit in. My peers aren't really my peers. And since I'm a dork already, I feel like I have the cards slightly stacked against me. This is one instance I'm kinda glad I look 19. But if all else fails, I bet I can bribe a freshman into being my minion by buying it beer (though I will teach it the finer properties of bourbon before I consider letting it be my friend)

I'm going to throw up

My wedding dress came in today.
FUCK

Rock and a Hard Place

I want my dog. I want her so bad that I'm even looking at getting my own place, paying needless rent and everything else just so I can have her. But to pay rent, I need money. So I need to work full time. But one of the big draws of being home is going back to school full time. And I need money for that too. I won't do well in school if I work. And I won't go back to school if I'm working full time. I'd have to do both to have her here. And if I'm working full time and going to school full time, then I won't have any time for the dog I want so bad in the first place.
God dammit Mark, why did you ruin everything?!

Arrrgh

It's like he finally understands. For Christ sake, now he starts to understand! Not two months ago when we were at the make it or break it point. Not while I was looking at apartments, or packing my things. Not before I quit my job and uprooted my life. Not even giving back the ring made him understand the gravity of the situation.

No, it has to be now, when I was starting to think I was moving forward. Too little too late like always. No, it's now he's realizing what a fool he is. Maybe one day he'll truly want the same things I want. Maybe he'll even want them with me. He might be a real husband and a devoted dad one of these days. He's going to be all the things I want for somebody else. And the only reason he ever got there in the first place is because I was the practice. And that sucks. It's not fair it's not fair it's not fair! Some days I want to wring his neck and pop off his over inflated head. Other days I want him to come flying back to me and starting over. I want him to see every single dream fall apart in front of him. But most days I just want to not feel anything.

I'm a firm believer in karma. And I can't remember doing anything that particularly naughty. So I better be in for the most wonderful time of my life. Because nothing is worth this much conflict. Nothing.

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)

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: footnetwork.com. 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 allrecipes.com 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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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!)

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!

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

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.

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!

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?"

Update

• 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

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

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)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:
Crap

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!