More self embarrassment

I've already dedicated a previous post to explicitly humiliating myself with random embarrassing tidbits about yours truly, but I have yet another thing to confess.

I honestly deliberated whether or not to make this confession for quite awhile. And by "quite awhile" I mean, like, five minutes. I had to outweigh all the pros and cons of the matter- i.e. How many friends will I lose by admitting this? Will Blogger delete my blog upon admission of this deep, dark secret? Will I be able to walk the streets unharassed once this information gets leaked to the public?

Ultimately I decided to put myself on the line, as well as my popularity (which is non-existent anyway) and safety, in order to get this off my chest. So, here it is…



I really, really adore Katy Perry.


Ok, now that I let the cat out of the bag, please, PLEASE keep in mind that I'm a fundamentally good person with good values and, in my opinion, good taste in music. I will admit that in the past I've foolishly listened to some horrid music, including the Black Eyed Peas, Chris Brown, Limp Bizkit, and Lil Wayne, but I assure you that since then I have gained wisdom and have moved on to better tunes.

I would like to point out though that I was never idiotic enough to listen to Hanson, Nickelback, or Creed. Never, ever... ever. I do have some dignity for Pete’s sake.

Thankfully I’ve moved past that era of my life- the crappy music era- and now pride myself on listening to good bands. By ‘good’ I mean original, talented artists and/or bands that utilize real instruments. I’m not into the cookie cutter, overproduced, and gimmicky stuff that plagues mainstream music these days. This includes nearly everyone that is ‘hot’ on the Billboards these days, but especially Ke$ha, Justin Beiber, Miley Cyrus, and all those other so-called pop sensations.

I’m not saying all pop music is bad… just 99% of it.

With that said, I'm sure you can understand why I struggle to admit that I like Katy Perry. She is very much all those things, but especially very gimmicky and overproduced. Instead of being annoyed by that, however, I am saddened.

Why am I so emo over Katy Perry, you ask? Because the girl has talent.

Unlike most female singers these days, she is actually capable of being something other than an auto-tuned sleazebag. She has an immensely unique and expressive voice that would do so well in the rock/alternative/indie/acoustic genres of music. It’s not spectacular by any means, and actually it’s quite imperfect, but that’s exactly why I enjoy it. Also, she has personality! One that hasn’t been molded by label execs. I only say this because I became familiar with Katy more than a year before she ever hit the scene with “I Kissed a Girl”. She was an unsigned singer with a blog that featured ridiculously entertaining posts and videos. Her love of cheesy sayings and gaudy outfits is nothing entirely new either. She truly is nutty.

Do I like the music she puts out? No. As I said, I wish she would shimmy away from all the bubblegum pop and veer toward a more daring and alternative direction. Then again I understand that her music sells and thus I can’t knock a girl for trying to get fame and moolah. I only hope that now that she has made a splash in Hollywood and has established a firm fan base, she will consider taking the ‘risk’ to put out more innovative and reputable music. Right now she’s simply a performer. Hopefully she’ll one day transition into an artist.

Any-freakin’-way… In spite of my disinterest in her current music, she put on a rockin’ performance on SNL this weekend. She performed both “California Girls” and “Teenage Dream”. The former wasn’t anything noteworthy but the latter, “Teenage Dream”, was surprisingly impressive. I especially like how she started out acapella to showcase her grungy voice.




On a side note, I like the cover she did of MGMT’s “Electric Feel”. Of course it was already an excellent song so she didn’t have to do much there, but I do like her spin on it.

Of course this is all my own personal opinion and I am not a qualified music journalist who works for Rolling Stone or BLENDER magazine so you can take all this with a grain of salt. I just ask that you still be my friend and not make fun of me behind my back now that I have unleashed this beast of a secret.

Wait… Hello?



Are you even still reading this?








Ugh. I knew it.

Lazy Sunday

B is out of the house today. He's in Seattle taking care of some final business before Basic Radio's record label showcase this upcoming Thursday. In other words, he's doing 'future rock star things'.

So while he is off being a Very Important Person, I'm at home... alone... and bored.

That's pretty much the face I've been making since I woke up at 7 o'clock this morning. I'm bored out of my mind, folks. I've already taken a shower, eaten breakfast, and surfed the internet for what seemed like an eternity, so I'm running out of things to do. I don't know a thing about football so I can't even entertain myself with the Seahawks game airing today. I can't even play with my dog because, well, she's doing this...

Luckily I only have a hour or two to kill and then I will be meeting up with my best friend and her son. We're going to head up North and partake in some shopping, which is funny considering I'm broker than broke. I'm not really sure how it's all going to pan out since, a.) I don't want to overdraw my account, b.) I don't want to use a credit card, and c.) I don't steal things. We'll see how it goes.

In the meantime, enjoy these self-portraits I took.

See- I wasn't kidding about the whole being bored thing.

(And I wasn't kidding about the broke thing either. Any and all donations are gladly accepted.)

TGIF... man

Today is the day that I have been waiting all week for: Friday. In all honesty I've been whining and moaning about this week since I first stepped foot in my job early Monday morning. For some reason this has been an exceedingly tough week, though I really don't know why specifically. Work hasn't been abnormally laborious or anything, and neither has life. Truthfully, I've been hitting the sack before 10 o'clock almost every night this week, something that is unusual for a night owl like myself.

In a nut shell, this week has been a routine schedule of: waking up, going to work, coming home from work, eating some food, taking my dog out to go pee, watching sleezy tv shows, and then going to bed. Nothing too exciting and/or exhausting. In fact, most of the geriatric patients at my work facility have more exhilarating schedules than I've had this past week.



They are laughing at how lame my life has been lately.


Nonetheless, I'm very relieved that today is Friday and that I will have the next two days to recharge myself. To kick things off with a "bang" I'm attending another one of those 'ladies nights' I spoke about in a previous post. As usual there will be a lot of carbs, wine, and feminine banter. A number of the women are bringing their children and, since I didn't want to be left out, I announced that I would be bringing my dog. Like all mothers, I just hope my child doesn't poop on the floor or chew a hole in the leather sofa. Knowing my child though and her love of delinquency, I'm almost certain something of the sort will occur.

(Rebekah, the hostess of this event, I apologize in advance and promise to pay for any and all damages my dog causes... well, so long as they are under $40.00.)

I will once again be cautious of my wine consumption so that I don't succumb to another alcohol induced pig out (as also explained in my previous post). All it takes is more than two glasses of vino and then I start having romantic fantasies in which I am slopping saliva with this big guy:

This pizzaburger would B's final meal if he were ever on death row


Plus it's never good to get sloppy drunk in front of your child(ren). I don't want my seven month old rottweiler to grow up and be a drunk floozy on the streets. I have bigger dreams for her than that.

Every man's dream come true

No, it's not Megan Fox butt naked in a kitchen cooking a 14 oz. New York steak. 

It's this:

Get paid to hang out and eat pizza with Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello and Raphael? I know my boyfriend is not the only guy who would be overly excited to run across this help wanted ad.

Aliens are real and I'll prove it

The woman in the above picture is some model, hence the tall slender figure and long brightly lit runway. I'm not really sure of her name though because I don't follow up on supermodels much since I don't want to do any further damage to my self-confidence. I do think she's a Victoria's Secret model, and I'm only saying that because I receive their catalogues every month- despite the fact that I have never ordered one thing from it. Personally, I can't bring myself to buy something without trying it on/seeing it in person/touching the fabric. The chances of me liking something I ordered from a catalogue is low, yet the chances of me being lazy and not returning it are high. I can't risk that. When you are a young, broke college student like myself you have to be wise with your money, and ordering a hot pink lace corset with matching panties is not exactly the wisest decision.

And again, I digress.

The main focus of this post is that nameless half-naked chick above. Despite being a model, she is... an alien. Now before you roll your eyes at me and click on the tiny 'X' in the upper right hand corner of your browser window, hear me out. This woman is not of our species. She is an entirely separate life form. This is blatantly obvious to me, perhaps because I've seen Men in Black and Mars Attacks! like a bazillion times, but I understand that it may not be as obvious to the untrained eye; therefore, I have taken it upon myself to enlighten all three of my readers as to why this 'model' is actually an enemy to humanity.

Top #4 reasons I'm certain the above model chick is related to E.T.:

1.  She has no bellybutton. It's a known fact that humans have belly buttons and aliens do not. I do not see any apparent bellybutton in the above photo- neither an “innie” nor an “outie”. All that I do see is what appears to be a poorly airbrushed bellybutton on her abdomen, which was obviously a lame attempt to make her appear human.  
2. Her hair. It's totally alien style. All tall and conehead-ish. At the same point it's yet another attempt to disguise her alien citizenship, more specifically her misshapen head/bulging brains/space antenna. That hideous bouffant hairdo is not fooling anyone, and neither is that tightly fastened headband.
3. She is floating in thin air. Look at her feet. She is not walking- or as the fashion people say, 'gliding'- down the runway. In actuality she is FLOATING down the runway. What type of beings hover in mid air? Aliens.
4. She is unnaturally thin. She literally does not have an ounce of fat on her and for that I refuse to believe she is an authentic woman. Real women cannot resist the temptations of chocolate, ice cream and wine. She has clearly never had a piece of chocolate in her life. Aliens do not eat; they feed off of energy... and human souls.
5. Her eyes. She is totally giving the alien stare. You can tell that behind those eyes are lasers that have the power to burn a hole through a human body. Notice how disconnected her eyes are from reality? Yeah, it's because she is plotting the demise of mankind.

This isn't an isolated incident either. Look at these other aliens disguised as 'models':

 

Call me paranoid, call me jealous. Whatever. I'm just trying to send out a public warning. You can consciously accept this warning or ignore it, just don't come crying to me when a flock of Calvin Klein models show up to your house and abduct your children and dog.

And now I have a child phobia

Sometimes I get really excited at the thought of having my own kiddo one day. I know- weird, right? I mean, shouldn't I be savoring my youth right now and not fantasizing about being tied down by burps, bottles, blankets and butt rashes?

Don't worry, I'm not trying to give birth to a miniature me anytime soon. I already have my hands full trying to properly train both a puppy and a boyfriend, all while working full-time and finishing up my degrees. Still, I plan on being a mother one day when I have all my ducks in a row.

Though I understand and respect the fact that some men and women choose not to have children, I can't imagine not having one. Kids are cute, entertaining, and hilarious! Yeah they have their bad days but hey, who doesn't? I have like four mental break downs a week, which each typically include a lot of kicking and screaming, so I could easily handle a two year old's temper tantrum. In fact, my child and I will probably have joint tantrums in which together we punch pillows, scream at imaginary people, hit our heads on the wall, and then calm down with milk and cookies. It would make for some great mother-child bonding.

Moreover, having a child will provide me with an excuse for doing a lot of things that I really love doing but, being a young, childless female, am often looked down upon for. For instance, I could finally wear yoga pants all day, every day and simply blame it on the fact that 'little Johnny kept me up to 4 am last night' or 'I've been so busy chasing after little Johnny that I haven't had the chance to do a load of laundry'. Other mothers will praise me for mustering up the strength to actually put on pants, much less yoga pants, and go out in public despite being terrorized by a demon child. Whether or not my child truly is a demon that prevented me from dressing in respectable attire is irrelevant. So long as there is a believable alibi, I'm in the clear. Most importantly though I'll be super duper comfy- and guilt free- in my black stretch pants.

Also, having a child means I will finally have someone in my life that doesn't judge me for my unnatural and often absurd addiction to sweets. When I am inspired to eat ice cream for breakfast one morning or suddenly feel like making Chocolate Peanut Butter Banana Sandwiches (my own creation) in the panini press at 11:30 at night, my child will not shun me as being weird or gluttonous. Instead he/she will undoubtedly support me and be more than eager to join in on the fun. At last I will have a partner in crime to join me in my sugar binges! And let's be real- kids love sweets, meaning I will ultimately become the coolest mom on the block. I will stand apart from all the other flat butt, veggie forcin' mothers. I take great pride in this.

Lastly, when the house is a mess and company is on the way I will no longer stress myself to the max by attempting to do a house wide clean-up in 4.29 minutes. Instead I'll just say, "Hey there! Welcome to the house. Don't mind the mess, little Johnny was a bit of a wild one today! Ha Ha." To be honest I'll probably be contributing to the mess myself. I'll 'innocently' leave a dirty bowl on the living room table or a used towel on the bathroom floor, all while knowing in the back of my head that I can later blame it on my first born. Like I said, so long as there is a believable alibi, I'm in the clear.

So, yeah. One day I want a want a child (maybe two if the first one doesn't traumatize me too much) and I'm fairly excited at the thought of it.

Actually, correction: I was excited at the thought of it.


That is, until I saw this:

... and got totally creeped out. That young girl literally looks devilish. At first I was fully joking when I referred to my future child as a 'demon', but now I am fearful that one day that may be the actual case. From the eerie look in her eyes to the chilling smirk on her face, this child is a certified screwball. Oh! And don't forget to check out those slyly folded hands (which are probably concealing a knife) and the POINTED TOES. My God, the pointed-freakin-toes. Seriously. They give me goosebumps, people.

 

Now I'm afraid that I will have a child and this will happen:

Or maybe even this:

At this point any commentary from bona fide parents would be greatly appreciated. If I don't receive any positive reassurance sometime soon then I may schedule an appointment to have my tubes tied in the very near future.

If I run across another horrifying news story it may end up being a full blown hysterectomy.

If I was Oprah rich: Round III

If I was Oprah rich... I would take a vacation to Bora Bora Island.

More specifically the Bora Bora Lagoon Resort & Spa.

I'd swim all day and lounge all night, as well as eat a lot of grapes and drink a lot of champagne since that seems like a fancy schmancy thing to do. I'd stay there as long as I desired, or until the rugged mountain skyline, crystal blue water, white sand beaches and tropical atmosphere got old. In other words, this would end up being more of a long hiatus than a brief vacation.

Don't worry, I'd send postcards.

A post where I sound like a girl

Lately I’ve been having a lot of ‘ladies nights’ with some of my close girlfriends. We’re talking, like, three or four gal nights a month which is surprisingly often for someone like myself.

Though I have nothing against my feminine counterparts, I prefer to spend a large majority of my time at home. I’m a creature of comfort and my notion of a good time is lounging on my couch in sweats with my man at one side, my dog at the other and a fat bowl of ice cream in my lap. Again, I love my best friend with every ounce of my heart and I adore the nights I spend with my other gal pals, but there is just something I find undeniably appealing about being a hermit. For now I will blame it on Astrology and the fact that I’m a Cancer. I don’t really know much about signs, horoscopes and all that jazz but I do remember reading something about Cancers being home bodies. So, yeah. That is my story excuse and I’m stickin’ to it.

I’ve really been enjoying these ladies nights I’ve been partaking in, especially since I’ve been having them with a group of women that are pretty similar to myself. Like me they all enjoy wine, good food and outspoken conversations. They are also fairly rowdy women, which is great since I can be quite noisy (particularly when alcohol is involved) and hate the feeling I get when I'm amid a "softer" crowd. It's sort of how a howler monkey would feel if it were trapped among a bunch of sloths. Awkward and uncomfortable.


This is a good depiction of me after a couple glasses of Merlot

I am penciled in for another get together this evening and though I am excited, I am also a tad nervous. You see, I’ve been dealing with a small issue that is a result of these events. Actually, in the feminine realm this is not a small issue at all. It is a MASSIVELY GINORMOUS issue in fact.

It is every woman’s dreaded nightmare…. weight gain.

This is the most inaccurate portrayal of female weight gain that I've ever seen

Yes, I’ve noticed my weight fluctuating lately. Nothing big, maybe a pound or two… or three or four. It’s truly nothing that I should cry about to the World Wide Web; however, it is a little alarming. Why? Because regularly I’m a notably healthy eater, so much that it sometimes annoys those around me. Thus these pounds are not exactly ‘natural weight gain’. Instead, they are the product of one *single* night of indulgence.

To put it blatantly: I eat A LOT of food during these ladies nights. So much that my body cannot keep up with all the fat and calories it’s ingesting within such a short period of time. We’re talkin’ countless chicken wings, huge bowls of rice, many bags of kettle corn, multiple pieces of cheesecake, continual bits of pie... and so on. I know some analytical brains out there may argue that this is not humanly possible but hey, guess what? IT IS. Well, either that or my scale is playing some serious mind games with me.

I don't know what she's so heartbroken about either

Luckily I think that I’ve discovered the perpetrator and I’m sad to say it’s actually one of my dear friends… Vino. Yes, I blame my gluttonous eating on the numerous glasses of wine I consume during these events. There is something about wine that makes me lose all inhibitions, especially with food. After the first glass of wine I find myself having vivid fantasies about seven-layer chocolate cake topped with a dozen scoops of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and covered with an entire jar of hot fudge. By the third glass I am actually eating all of that.

With all that said, I’ve come to realize that I may need to scale back on the wine consumption at these events if I wish to continue fitting in my skinny jeans. I feel so vain saying this but I’m being honest. I mean, what girl doesn’t want to look good? I know I do. If not for my own sanity than at least for B’s, since any substantial weight gain on my part will cause him to have to suffer bouts of me crying in the closest, clenching my skinny jeans tightly in my hands, and screaming out loud, “WHYYY?! WHY DID GOD HAVE TO MAKE ME SO FAT?!!”

THIS is frighteningly accurate portrayal of the above scenario

Yes, I have issues.

I’m going to scale back on the wine tonight to see how it goes. If it fails to help then I may have to resort to stapling my mouth shut after glass numero uno. That seems like a creepy alternative though so I am going to try and avoid it at all costs.

Wish me luck.


Sometimes I'm really, really stupid

Once upon a time I actually conned myself into thinking that I did not like breakfast. I was truly convinced that there were no appealing breakfast foods, just Eggo waffles and plain ol’ greasy bacon & eggs. It ultimately became a meal I often skipped due to utter disinterest and discontent.

God was I stupid.

Don't read this if you are heartless

Today I posted the following emotional babble on my Facebook:

“Having a boyfriend & a best friend all wrapped up in one single package is both convenient & comforting. It's beyond luck when they are just as (if not more) strange as yourself, too. In other words, I'm so freakin' relieved/thankful I found B.”

At first I was hesitant to post such a sappy status update. Professing such mushiness is typically out of character for a girl like myself. I’d much rather post about the awkward situation I have found myself in or about my incessant infatuation with all things pumpkin. Still, as I explained to a friend who commented on the above status update, “some things are worth risking the chance of being seen as a cornball, like having a saint for a boyfriend though I'm often far from a saint myself.”

B and I have had our fair share of ups and downs. This is to be expected considering both he and I have short fuses and can be exceedingly stubborn. We will butt heads about something as simple as whether ‘either’ is pronounced ee-ther or eye-ther. Of course there are more serious battles as well, but so far there has been nothing that cannot be slept off or hugged out. I truly don’t imagine there will be anything beyond that either. We are crazy people (literally) that are equally as crazy in love.

So what brought all this lovey-dovey stuff up? Well, B and I have had a rough past week or so. Not simply because of our own issues and annoyances with one another, but because of certain outside forces. Problems within relationships are not always ‘partner vs. partner’; sometimes certain things or people outside of your relationship will challenge the happiness of you and your other half. I personally struggle with this since I strongly believe that B and I’s relationship should remain just that- our relationship. So, when outside forces attempt to intrude or scrutinize my life and relationship with B, I become threatened, offended, and a tad fiery. I’m all like, “This is my turf, yo. Back off.” Sort of.

B, however, does not struggle with this. For the most part he always remains calm, cool and collected no matter of what is being said or done by others. As you would expect, this causes me to interrogate him with questions like, “Why doesn’t this upset you?!” or “Why aren’t you as extremely offended by this like I am?!” You would think such harassment would at least provoke a little bit of stress or anger in him but it never does. Instead I am met with a tranquil expression and a response somewhere along the lines of, “... because I love you and always will and nothing and no one will ever change that.” In other words, the thoughts, opinions, and actions of others are essentially irrelevant to him and his notion of *us*. This is obviously something that I need to learn myself.

Though his goodness is always apparent, I am intensely reminded of B’s saintliness during our tough and trying times (i.e. this past week). I have once again come to realize how incredibly lucky I am to have someone who loves and supports me to the exclusion of anything or anyone else. And I am thankful for that.

So thankful, in fact, that I want to scream it from the rooftop... or simply post it on online for all of my fellow Facebook friends to see.


Oh, and for the record, I pronounce ‘either’ the correct way: ee-ther. B, on the other hand, is still coming to grips with its proper pronunciation.