Wednesday, April 26, 2006

My Lovely Little Lady Lumps

My boobs have been the focus of much conversation lately.

The other day, I wore my "Irish Girls Rule" t shirt which has a shamrock strategically placed on each ta ta. Upon my entering the restaurant for dinner, the hostess said, "I like your shirt!" and she said it all solicitously while staring at my melons. Then the waitress said the same thing, also very lesbian-toned, while also staring at my knockers.

Jake asked if he could touch my shamrocks.

Today we have a team presentation for our research project, which was for an organization with a lesbian director, who (not because she is a lesbian, just because) is a total biotch. So, without consulting one another, Whit and I both ended up deciding to wear low-cut shirts today to accentuate our Pointer Sisters so that we could get on the Director's good side.

Whitney says she sweats in her cleavage and I said that I do not. She said that's because her muffins touch each other, and everyone else who was around the computer lab agreed that they sweat in their cleavage because their bra buddies also touch. It appears that mine are the only bazongas that do not. So I flashed all the girls in the lab and asked them if my snuggle pups were weird. They said no but I don't believe them.

Then we went to Starbuck's for coffee and as I took the first sip of my blackberry green tea frappuccino, I spilled frappuccino down my chest and (because of the low-cut cami) right between my dueling banjos so I was forced to grab a napkin and essentially maul my own milk wagons in public.

So that is the story of my nippers, my ear muffs, my sweet rolls, my paw patties. And now I must go give my presentation with my big boppers on display.

Sunday, April 23, 2006

Pore Strips: The Highlight of My Saturday Night

Amusing myself on a Saturday night at home

  • 4 pm-7pm: Took hugely long nap.
  • 7:15pm-8pm: Drove to return The 40-Year-Old Virgin to the video store (a movie that amused me at times but I felt was highly overrated by most of my friends)
    • Drove past Japanese restaurant where I would have been tending bar tonight had we not quit. No “Hire Bartender” sign in the window so either they found someone or had a Chinese bartender shipped in from NYC. (Seriously, all the waiters/waitresses, cooks, etc. are shipped in from NYC. I’m pretty sure they are all illegals and that Tim the sushi chef/owner is part of the Chinese mafia. I’m just saying.)
    • Stopped at the liquor store to buy gin (Tanqueray, which is my second favorite after Bombay Sapphire, but also about $10 cheaper. Tanqueray is followed by Beefeaters, which is a few more bucks cheaper, then Seagram’s, God help me, if I’m really, really poor) & tonic water. Pondered on whether if I decided to drink alone tonight that made me an alcoholic and decided that so long as it wasn’t a habit the answer was no.
  • 8pm-9:30pm: Screwed around doing nothing much.
    • IMed with my buddy Mike in NC who asked me for a bj, to which I replied that he’d have to drive 7 hours to get it, to which he replied that NC is much farther than a 7 hour drive, to which I replied that I guessed he was SOL.
    • IMed Jenn, who immediately called me on the phone. Doesn’t she get that I IM because I don’t WANT to talk on the phone? I mean, come on. Otherwise, I’d pick up the phone and dial instead. Spent excruciating ½ hour on phone with her until I figured out how to end the call. Made possible plans to go out with her later on.
  • 9:30-10pm: Put on fuzzy Eeyore pj’s and officially decided to stay in for the night.
    • Made my first (and what would turn out to be my only) gin & tonic
    • Got something stuck in my teeth and dug around for floss, during which process I came across some old pore strips that belonged to my wussy Big X and decided I’d try them.
    • First step was to wash the makeup off my face so I found a makeup remover cloth in my bedside stand that was all dried up (since I have been falling asleep with my makeup on for the past 6 months, which must be helping tremendously in my quest to develop nice, deep wrinkles). Added water to the cloth to make it usable and washed my face.
    • Followed the pore strip directions and wet my nose with water from the same Poland Spring bottle (because when I decide to be lazy I decide to be REALLY lazy, to the point of not leaving one room to get to the one right next door with running water).
    • Smoothed it down, got it all set, had a couple sips of my drink as it began to dry and then realized that I needed to blow the nose which was now encased in this pore strip. I won’t include the details but let’s just say should you decide to do this at home, blow your nose FIRST. Yeah, they don’t include THAT in the directions.
    • Perused the political blogs for stuff about my candidate.
  • 10pm-10:30pm: Decided to blog about my fun night home and wrote all of the above.
  • 10:30pm-11:30pm: More miscellaneous fun
    • Ooh, yay! Pore strip feels like Papier Mache, just like the instructions said it would when it is time to remove it! Removing hurt slightly less than waxing hurts. Was highly disappointed at not seeing lots of gross little blackheads sticking out of the strip even if that does mean I have good skin.
    • Realized that I’m supposed to be doing an in-depth analysis of data for my group project (group who I am meeting tomorrow night at 8pm) and decided to put that off til tomorrow afternoon.
    • Took motrin for a headache and then realized it was probably allergy related and I’m not allowed to mix allergy meds with my happy pills cuz the combo can kill me and all. Boo. May not have another drink after all.
    • IMed a bunch more.
    • Lost interest in blogging about my night.
  • 11:30pm-2:30am: Alternately read a book, spaced out on my sinus medication (yeah, I decided to add sinus medication to the motrin mix in the hopes that it would solve the issues and not kill me), watched true crime stories on tv.
    • Decided life was more fun with the pore strip on.
    • Decided one night in per week is more than enough for me.

Saturday, April 22, 2006

I Play With My Magic Bullet

Whitney got the magic bullet! And it was a special where you get two for one! So guess who got the other one? Yup, me! Because Whitney loves me and knows how much I covet the bullet.

Last weekened I watched her pup while she was out of town and on Easter I brought her (the pup) to my house. She had too much human food and apparently refused to eat for days afterward. The dog was a good little doggie while she was at my house. My niece ran around with her a lot and tired her out pretty well. But when I brought her outside to get her in the car and bring her back to Whitney's, she ran away and the leash snapped and I had to chase her. I told my niece to go get my mom and sister for help (my dad and other sister had already left for the drive back to school).

My mom came out and helped me chase the damn dog for a few minutes before my sister ever managed to come out to help. I wanted to say to her (but refrained in the spirit of Easter), "Way to go. Let the fat girl and the cancer patient chase after the dog while you're inside on your fat ass."

Ok so I'm not that fat but I like to exaggerate as you may or may not be aware.

Anyway, so I got the dog back and brought her to Whitney's apartment. She in turn gave me my Magic Bullet and my new-to-me tv. Her boyfriend, whose family is rich, gave him a giant screen tv so everyone got bumped up in turn. She got his old one and I got her old one, which came just in time since my tv has green people on it now, but only if they are standing in certain places on the screen.

But the Magic Bullet is what excites me the most. Being a sometime insomniac, infomercials are an area of interest to me. I particularly like the Magic Bullet and the many things you can make in ten seconds or less with it. The infomercial had been updated the last time I watched it. It used to consist of about three young, hip couples (as hip as they can look on an infomercial anyhow) watching the perky blond and her Australian-accented husband make quesadillas, salsa, pesto, chocolate mousse, sorbet, frozen party drinks, etc., with the Magic Bullet!

The new infomercial adds my absolute favorite infomercial character, the middle-aged, chain-smoking (though no smoke emits from the ciggie hanging on her lips) lady in a bathrobe. Why did they feel the need to have the unlit cig in her lips, I wonder. I don't care though really. It adds to the amusement.

So now I own the bullet and have made: Several types of daiquiries; smoothies; Mexican rice (well I didn't bullet the rice but I did bullet the other ingredients). Mainly, if I'm being honest, I have been making the daiquiries. In fact, I must buy more rum now. And I have a new away message on AIM that refers to the Magic Bullet in a slightly dirty way.

I amuse me.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

I See the Light...I Just Hope it's not an Oncoming Train

We quit my bartending job. We is my sister and I, since I was holding onto the job to give to my sister permanently once she got home for the summer. It was Whitney's birthday the other weekend and she wanted to go to the casino so I stopped into the bar to see if my sister was going to get out early and then I could bring her with me. When I walked in, she said, "Can I quit?" and so I told her that if she quit right now, I'd bring her to the casino. So she did. I told her to quit for both of us. So she did.

I've never done anything like that but I really didn't feel too bad. I mean, when we told Tim, the owner and sushi chef (or when she told him since I was waiting outside), he said, "Okay!" and nodded his head.

The next day his sister, Irene the Super Bitch, called my cell and left the following message (to be imagined with a heavy Chinese accent):

"Hello. Tina. This is Irene. You quit?? I don't know what this means, this quit. I am very mad. If you don't come in tonight. Call me and tell me you are coming in tonight. If you don't come in tonight you can't work here anymore."

I know it's mean but I laughed and laughed at that message. It was like the time this winter my old boss at Munson's called and tried to get me to work at the main office. A. I would not ever work at Munson's again. Even if I was broke and living on the streets, I'd take a job at McDonald's slinging burgers before I took a job at Munson's again. B. If McDonald's wouldn't hire me, and it was work for Munson's or DIE, I suppose I would work there but if, and ONLY IF, I did not have to work at the main office. Yes, folks, I would rather die first than work at a place that workers have referred to as much like a Nazi prison camp.

So, yeah. Ooh, I can't work there anymore if I don't come in tonight. Somehow that threat doesn't hold much water once you've already quit. I used to supervise teenagers for six years at Munson's. Once in awhile one of them would get it in their heads to quit on the spot because that would show me! Trouble was, A. I am liking the lettering my reasons tonight. B. Most of the employees were very responsible. C. Most of the employees were very friendly with me. SO . . . D. I always found out before they dropped their big bombs.

But even if I hadn't, my reaction would have been the same: Ok. Thank you for your service. The end. They were always so disappointed I didn't give them the reaction they were looking for which was probably some combination of disbelief, begging them to stay, and anger. But the thing I knew that Irene couldn't grasp because she is Super Bitch is that once someone quits, there's nothing to do about it. Move on. The end.

When someone's done, they are done.

SO now I'm down to 2 jobs and grad school. My life has now become a blur of one day to the next where I'm not sure what I've dreamed and what actually happened. This is much better than when I just forgot half the stuff that happened to me every day to compensate for the overload.

Overload induced short term memory loss--->blur of dreams and reality. I'm improving. Just 2 more weeks to go then I'm down to one job and no school.

Oh, and 40 pages to write on the theory of public administration to fix my incomplete from last fall before the summer ends.

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Petering Off

What I now feel like posting . . .

Sitting on my bed in the dark with a huckleberry candle lit and the tv on for mood lighting. (Yeah, I know that is so white trash, but what can I say?) Got the iPod on the Thinkin Music playlist again. Sometimes tears blur my vision.

Today was normal. My mom called during the last 10 minutes of class so once class got out, I returned her call as I walked to my car with my friends. She was crying. You know how you can hear it in someone's voice: The uneven gasps for breath, the breaks in tone like an adolescent boy when his voice changes, the warbling over longer syllables. She didn't say anything was wrong but I knew.

I called her on my way home and got part of the story: My brother had been a complete asshole to her again because my niece was playing him against her the way kids learn to do when they reach a certain age. The thing is, my brother has mental issues. I mean, real issues. I don't know exactly what's wrong with him but I would describe it as he is emotionally a 13 year old living in a 39 year old's body. So when he decides to be an asshole, he is an extra special kind of asshole that really deserves a new label altogether. I'm just not feeling creative enough to think of one right now. She also decided she had to clean the house for Easter and she was feeling overwhelmed.

I still had 15 minutes to get home when I hung up with her and I was mad as hell at my brother and at my niece too. I tried calling someone. I needed to talk to someone before I got home and had to deal with both my mother and my niece. I called my sisters. Neither answered. I called Whitney. She didn't answer. And then I felt it.

I wished I had a boyfriend. I was thinking about how I had to go home and make my mother feel better, make my niece feel remorseful, make my niece learn a lesson, clean the house for my mother so she wouldn't have to feel like she had to do it, decide on the best way to handle my brother so I could tell my mother what to do. (It's a bit bizarre the way we've flipped the coin in the last year and a half. I give my mother advice now; she looks to me to fix her problems and to lean on during the hardest times of her life. My whole life I always thought she was so strong. She never backed down from anyone or anything where her children were concerned; now I am the one that has to stick up for her.)

Anyway, I miss tonight having someone to take care of me once in awhile. I get tired of being the one to take care of things for my whole family. I get tired of putting my emotions on the back burner so that I can help those that are weaker than me (my mother, my sisters, my father). I have friends. I have lots of friends but it's so hard for me to show my weaknesses to them the way I have to boyfriends.

I really don't even have the emotional energy right now to finish this post in a conclusive way so I'm afraid I'm just going to have to peter off . . .

Signs of Spring

So here's the post I was thinking of posting today . . .

Signs of Spring

  • Pussy Willows willowing (okay, I made that verb up, but you know what I mean; they get all fuzzy)
  • Forsythias blooming (which, by the way, are bushes that are members of the olive family with opposing leaves that bloom yellow before the first leaves of spring)
  • Peepers peeping (as I drive home at night with my windows down, I go past the swamp near my house and one night it's dead quiet; the next, the tree frogs are peeping their mating calls so loud it almost hurts my ears)
  • Bugs begin to litter my windshield (okay, this is not a pretty sign of Spring, but I didn't say they all would be; I just said they were signs)
  • The Crane has returned to the pond on campus (there are Geese and Mallard Ducks as well, but the lone Crane that lives there all Spring and Summer is much more fascinating to me)
  • I'm not pregnant! (Okay, this is not a sign of Spring, but I thought I should share)

Friday, April 07, 2006

Pregnancy Scares Suck

The birth control pill I'm on means that I only get my period every three months which is awesome, but the tradeoff is that I'm supposed to take a pregnancy test every month because otherwise I could be three months pregnant before I ever had a clue.  I don't do that.  Sorry but I just don't like taking pregnancy tests.

Well I am now two days late, which normally is not a lot at all but when you're on the pill, it's like clockwork so yes, it is causing me concern.  And as any girl who's ever had a pregnancy scare can tell you, once you think you MIGHT be pregnant, you see signs everywhere.  I've been overtired lately, I've gained a few pounds, etc.

I'm taking a test in the morning but in the meantime, I've been thinking all day about what I would do if I am pregnant.  I don't want to be; I'm not ready for pregnancy.  I'm in school and working only part time and I have another year to go before I graduate.  I'm not with anyone right now and obviously I would prefer to be married when I have a kid so there are two of us involved.

Whose is it if there is an it?  Well at first I thought it might have been one of two guys,which really freaked me out because one of them is only 21 years old and not ready at all to even think about this stuff, but then I realized because of timing it would have to be the other guy, the former friend with benefits.  That wouldn't be so bad.

I'd keep it if I am.  I'm old enough to be able to figure out how to be a good mom that can support a kid and I do want kids someday and let's face it, at 29 again, I'm at the optimal time physically.  What about the guy? I haven't spoken to him in over a month.  We didn't end things badly; in fact, we didn't end things at all.  We just sort of stopped talking.  I'd have to call him and get him to just hang out before I could spring something like this on him. Plus I'd have to think carefully about how I told him.

I'm sure he's not thinking at ALL about having a kid right now and my decision to keep this kid would be mine alone; I wouldn't expect anything from him, financial or otherwise; unless he wanted to be a dad I wouldn't ask or expect him to be. Still, I couldn't NOT tell him about this. He deserves to know so he can make his own decisions just like I am doing.

So that's where I am. I didn't get myself into this predicament on purpose and I will be relieved if the test is negative, but if it's positive, I'll deal with it. Still, I'm nervous as hell which is why I'm up blogging at 1:22 AM. Pregnancy scares suck.