Monday, November 30, 2009

Regularly Scheduled Programming Will Resume

But I've been kinda busy for the past few days.

Bad things happen and they tend to take a lot of time and you don't always want to share them with The Internet. (Sorry, Internet.)

Thanksgiving was good.

Karaoke Night could've been better (Some people failed to show up after saying they would. Some people showed up that shouldn't have. Really shouldn't have. Some people got falling-down drunk and had to be babysat all night. You know how it is.)

My favorite pink, fluffy cat is home from the vet and pissed.

I've got class tonight, Internet. We'll chat when I get a moment to myself.


Thursday, November 19, 2009

These Boots Are Made For Pitching Hysterical Fits

I'm totally going shopping for boots.

By the way, if you're ever thinking of borrowing ANYTHING from Kels, oh please for the love of all that is holy THINK AGAIN! The risk-reward ratio is so not worth it.

For example, last night I asked to borrow a pair of black suede boots (The black suede boots that she constantly complains about because they're all she got for Christmas last year, mind you.). Innocent, right? NOT IN THE LAND OF CRAZY.

You see, I was loaned the boots on the condition that I have them back before she had to go to school at 7 the next day. Seeing that I was just going to dinner and would have her prized boots for 5 hours tops, I figured it was okay. It was not okay.

I got sick after dinner and decided to drive home in the morning to shower and get ready for work. Apparently, this did not work for my sister.

She called me nonstop for an hour and a half. Sometimes texted. Thinks like, "I know you're there! Stop ignoring me!" and "Mom's coming to Corey's" and "I'm never lending you anything again EVER!" and sometimes it was just unintelligible, hysterical shrieking.

My sister? She is nearly 17 years old. And she throws tantrums. Screaming, crying, foot-stomping tantrums. Corey's brother? He is nearly seven. He does the same thing.

Anyway, being the diurnal person that I am, I decided that enough was enough and succumbed to the Boot Nazi's demands and DROVE HOME AT MIDNIGHT so I could have some peace and sleep. Because she's been spoiled all her life; why stop now?

Got home and the psychopath was in bed. Lucky cow. So I took off the boots, put them outside her door and went to brush my teeth. When I was done, I walked past her room just in time to see her open the door, take the boots and close the door. Like she's fucking Gollum or something.

"The Fat One wants the Precioussssssssss!"


But whatever. It's Pay Day. Anybody got any Sugar Free Red Bull?


Tuesday, November 17, 2009

In Which I Am Much Calmer

Dear Internet,

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go all Flavor of Love Girls on you yesterday. I had a rough weekend.

Internet, I am just...tired of being everyone's friend only when it's convenient for them. Nobody seems to care when I need a friend to talk to.

I got some bad news on Sunday night and all I wanted was to talk to someone. And Corey does his best, but I just needed one more person. Someone who wasn't so involved in the situation. And as I looked through my phone for someone to call, I couldn't find anyone that I thought would care. I felt like I'd be bothering everyone.

On top of that, I'd been cancelled on consistently all weekend. Listen, I get it: People are busy. But don't make plans with me so that I'm hanging out waiting on your call and then cancel at the last minute when it's too late for me to do anything else. That's just shitty and unfair.

Then the Bar Night Fiasco of 2009 thing just put me over the edge. Nobody even wanted to waste their time hanging out with me. Nobody could be bothered to take time out of their busy schedules just to spend a few hours talking to me and drinking with me and watching people make crazy fools of themselves as they attempted to single-handedly sing both parts to "Everybody Dance Now." (True story. I totally saw a guy do that.)

It hurts my feelings. And I don't think that matters to anyone, though it should. I'm a person, after all. I matter.

You know, Internet, I will let you in on a secret. I've never told anybody this before. But when I was 14, I used to spend hours on a Weight Watchers message board every day. Talking to people. Just needing some kind of attention. It was sad. It was pathetic. I don't want to go back to that place.

I don't wanna be that pathetic kid anymore.

I don't wanna be Paul Rudd from "I Love You, Man" putting out ads in the paper for friends.

I don't wanna be lonely no more.

I just want my friends to care about me. Is that so much to ask?


Monday, November 16, 2009

In Which I Go All Passive-Agressive And Cranky

You have been forewarned.

I don't have any real friends*. As in friends-that-care-at-all-about-me.

Oh sure, they'll Facebook me every now and then all, "Oh em gee, I miss you! I haven't seen you in foreverrrrrrr! Coffee sometime?" but that's about where it ends, you see. Because when I wanna see them, they flake out on me.

They have plans or homework or say maybe and then just never show up. Some even go to the trouble of contacting me AND making plans only to repeatedly break them.

So I'm fine to talk to when I'm the only other person online, and Facebook comment and text when you're all bored, but when I'm feeling lonely and want to actually make human contact with you Fair Weather Douchebags, you can't pencil me in? Awesome. The only people that want to see me are my boyfriend or are related to me.

So I'm cancelling bar night. Because I don't want another repeat of my 14th birthday where only one person showed up and could only stay for a half an hour.

You guys can go to Hell.


*Please note that I didn't mean to generalize. Some people are out of town (i.e. Jen) and excused.

Thursday, November 12, 2009


If thinking that Britney's hacked Twitter account is funny, I don't wanna be right.

P.S. Yes, I follow Britney on Twitter.

Monday, November 9, 2009

When Even An Apple A Day Won't Save You

I had my first Girly Doctor appointment yesterday. Yes, yesterday was the, day. Freudian slip. What a feast for the senses that was!

There were cold things, wet things, clanky things, chemically-smelling things. Everything I dreamed and more.

I got there early because apparently, I needed extra time to obsess and FREAK THE EFF OUT. Seriously. I know I had that deer in headlights look about me because as soon as I walked in the place, the lady at the desk was all, "You've never been here before, have you?" So I filled out all the personal questions on the paperwork and tried to calm myself down by reading short stories on the Kindle app of my iTouch while I waited. Newsflash: It did not work.

Desk Lady finally calls me back and weighs me and Jesus Tapdancing Christ, I gained 10 pounds since the last time I weighed myself (I don't remember the exact date, but it's been a few months, okay?) so ha-fucking-HA! to my boyfriend who insisted that I wasn't getting fat. I win, Corey! I. WIN! Except really, nobody wins. Because I am still fat.

Anyway, they take my blood pressure and I'm so nervous that Desk Lady tells me it's abnormally high. DUH! And then she's all, "Get completely undressed and put on this tissue paper vest thing making sure that the openpart goes in the front so you totally look like Fat Pasty Aladdin with an estrogen issue. It's not long enough to cover your doughy ass, so for modesty purposes here's this sheet made out of paper towels." That may not be exactly what she said. I was nervous and shit gets hazy.

So I took my time changing. I folded each item of clothing. I considered wearing my hoodie over the vest thing under the guise of being cold. I hid my understuff between my skirt and sweater (because nobody needed to know that I mismatched). And while I was taking part in this shenanigans, Doctor Lady totally knocked and then opened the door....and then quickly shut it.

And all I could say was, "Uh....I'm almost..uh ready."

Then I sat down on the paper-covered table (Doctors' offices are single-handedly killing the rain forests with their paper consumption, yo.), pulled my Bounty blanket over my lap, folded my arms and sat. For a long time before Doctor Lady finally got up the courage to come back.

Maybe I cried a little. Maybe just a little. Because I was scared. Whatever, you don't know me!

Doctor Lady finally comes back in and asks a few questions and punches me in the chest a bit to make sure I don't have The Cancer, which I don't (bonus!) and before I know it she's all, "Put your feet in these thingies which are like, a mile away from where your feet end when you are lying on this table because you're so effing short." I had to scoot wayyyyy down, y'all.

So then Doctor Lady starts making all kinds of noise down there. Metallic noises. Like she was making chain mail or something. And I get curious and look down to see what she's doing and she's holding something that looks like the trigger of a caulk gun. And she tells me I'm gonna feel some pressure.

Pressure? Pressure does not accurately describe what I felt. What I felt was more like...cold and...pinchy and...ohmygod I have to pee like RIGHTNOW!

But all in all, Doctor Lady was quick and nice and smelled like Katie (Light Blue by Dolce and Gabbana) so I guess my experience wasn't all that bad after all.

Plus, she gave me Motrin 800 (What are the odds? Four days after I take myself off Motrin 800 because my hip is feeling better!), Vicodin (not sharing) and Birth Control so I don't get ungodlyexcruciatingdebilitating cramps!

Or, you know, babies.


Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Let Me Slip Into Something A Little More Uncomfortable

Internet, we have a few brief things to discuss and I will let you out early (Sidenote: That is my most favorite sentence in the entire world to hear from my professors.). I'm about to make you reallllllllly uncomfortable. Enter at your own risk.

First off: Summer. I miss it. I know, I know. I bitched and moaned and lamented and wondered when oh when fall would start. But you know what? I miss tank tops and shorts and sunshine and Slurpees. I do. Summer, I am sorry I doubted you.

Second: Why does everyone always think I'm pregnant? One mention of a craving or a stomach ache or, "I have to tell you something" and everyone's all OHEMGEE do we need to make a drug store trip? I will totally go with you and guard the door to the public bathroom while you pee on stuff. Do you people have like, a checklist or something you go through?

Has to tell me something? Check!
Stomach ache (regardless of whether or not it's in the AM)? Check!
Random craving for Swedish Fish? Check!
Cranky? Check!
Cries for no reason? Check!
Big, squishy gut? Double check!
Period? Doesn't matter, it's probably spotting.

Seriously, people. Too much I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant. These traits? These are my normal everyday traits. I have a weak stomach and am lactose intolerant. Maybe someday (80 bazillion years from now) when I AM pregnant, I will feel tip-top, eat a healthy, balanced diet and will have total control over my emotions. Then you'll know what's up and you can be there when I accidentally give birth in the bathroom.

Third: Doctor's appointment is Monday and quickly approaching. I am reaching panic mode. Do I get there early? Do I bring my iPod to drown out the scary/uncomfortable? Do I participate in No Shave November (TMI? Don't care.)? Do I talk to her? Do I stay silent like I'm at the Dentist? Do I refrain from making echoing noises when she's down there? Do I wear body glitter? Do I draw a face and do a ventriloquist act? Do I tell her to buy me dinner first? WHAT DO I DO?!* I'm thisclose to just cancelling the appointment altogether. That is how afraid I am.

Alright, Internet. I'm glad we had this talk. You're dismissed.


* Note to self: Refrain from making pregnant jokes as with x-ray technician.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

So 16-Year-Old Boy With A Cheesy Mustache

I'm ridiculous. I don't even need to say that for you to know that I am ridiculous. I may as well say, "the sky is blue," or, "grass is green, " or, "Lady Gaga is a dude," and it would be less obvious and unnecessary than telling you how ridiculous I am.

Case in point: I think I am funny. Scratch that; I think I'm hilarious (a sentiment not shared by...pretty much anyone). And I laugh at my own jokes all the time. Even in my dreams.

So last night, I'm sleeping (No, really?!) and I have this crazy dream where I'm on a competitive rowing team with my mom, my dad (who are divorced, FYI), my brother, my sister and two guys that show up named Luke and Marcus. Why are they names Luke and Marcus? I don't know. Ask my subconscious.

Anyway, my brother keeps making gay jokes about Luke and Marcus and I'm all, "Patrick, stop it! They're going to hear you."

But he is carrying on and on and finally my dad goes all Father Brady and says, "You know son, the exit road works in both directions." (It's my dream, so OF COURSE it's the perfect set-up.)

And what do I do? I say, "Apparently!" and then crack up laughing SO hard at my own dream gay joke that I wake myself up.

Oh my God. I'm going to Hell.

I'm sorry Gay Rights Activists! I wear a White Knot on my purse that goes with me everywhere! The Birdcage is my favorite movie! The best concert I ever went to was an Indigo Girls concert! I think Clay Aiken and Lance Bass are...well, okay I still don't like them all that much. And Perez Hilton is a complete and utter douchebag...But Ellen! She's awesome! And Neil Patrick Harris! And Melissa Etheridge! And OHEMGEE Nathan Lane is adorable! AND SHAME ON YOU IF YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT GEORGE MICHAEL!

Gay people are just people. And luckily, most of us people can laugh at ourselves. Especially me.

Because in my case, if I don't laugh at myself, who else is going to?


Sunday, November 1, 2009

I Don't Like To Brag (Total Lie)

But I totally rock at Halloween costumes. I started young.

At 14, I was a SUPERSTAR!

A few years later... Step 1: Cut a hole in a boxLast year I had Faith.

And this year? Well, let's just say...Bears...Ditka...Polish sausage...Ditka

Happy Belated Halloween!