Lez Girls

Peeps, I'm a little behind on my TV because I get 4 channels in English, but I recently signed up for NetFlix, and have been watching hours upon hours of The L Word. Certainly, one could blame my lack of a social life on this. Well, if watching 40+ hours of The L Word is wrong, I don't want to be right. So far, I am on Season 5, episode 1, and I watch at least a couple of hours a day. Two weekends ago, I spent about 8 hours watching the show on Saturday. Fuck nice weather, I thought, I need to catch up with the girls. Totes.

Here are a few indications that I may be spending too much time watching this program:

1. A colleague at work said that she "went out" with a female friend of hers. I immediately assumed that they were lesbos. Keep in mind that my colleague is engaged to a man, but my imagination jumped to the assumption that they were strapping on and eating out.

2. If Katherine Moennig (Shane) walked up to me right now (even though she's straight in real life), I would bang her. Or have her bang me. No second thoughts. It doesn't hurt that she has an androgynous thing going on. Behold:

3. I'm pretty sure I've been thinking about the characters on The L Word as real people, and more importantly, my friends. I have not yet casually mentioned my plans with them in conversation with friends, but it's coming, I can feel it.

4. I've been convinced a few times in rather innocuous situations that I am a lez. Not for any particular reason but because it's the culture that I've been a part of for the majority of the past few weeks. Lezzies are normal, straight peeps are square.

In short, perhaps I should take more time to nurture my social life in a more productive and less imaginary way. We'll see...I already have plans tonight. To watch more of The L Word, that is.

Hip Hop, Hip Hop, Hip Hoppapatamus

This evening I went to my second Hip Hop I dance class with Colleen, Amy, and Ms. K. Colleen and I went last week and it's a nice workout. You see, I am in search of exercise which actually masquerades as something else. I hate running and I went running/walking today in addition to dance class because I feel like a cow.

Dance class is an interesting environment. Very much like my former softball league, there are those in the BEGINNERS class that clearly have had a lifetime's worth of dance training, but they choose to be in the beginners class to make people like me look like clumsy boners. They ask the teacher if the B-Boy move ends on the 7 count rather than the 8, and they rehearse during the water break. If I smoked, I would go outside for the water break, not rehearse the routine that I will forget instantly as I exit the classroom. Perhaps I should take up smoking.

I had this childhood (read: adult) fantasy of being a dancer (no, not stripper) because face-it, they're hot and they're probably good in bed due to the perpetual gyrating (I know, I've used that word two blog posts in a row, sue me), but who am I kidding? I can certainly keep the beat, but anything beyond a shoulder shimmy and a little filthy grinding far exceeds my skill level, and I am OK with that, but I do ask that those sluts in class choose to take the ADVANCED class and not the beginning one, please.

Jesus, I've come to the rather shocking realization that I don't have much to say lately. I received a FB message last night imploring me to blog more often, which I will try, but really, my life isn't that GD exciting.

This past weekend I went to a wedding in Charlotte, NC. Yes, I go to a wedding every few weeks or so because that's how I roll. Evidently. One would deduce that I have no friends left to get married, but unfortunately, my brother's friends are now getting married, which means that I have an entire generation of weddings remaining. YAY! There were a few moments at this wedding where I found myself getting misty, I remedied this by heading to the bar to drink more. Because really, what's a better way to fix that? Drinking more then made me think that it was a good idea to make my mom dance with me to classics like "Get Low" and a variation to ghetto rap songs. She was horrified. But was enough socially lubricated to be only mildly embarrassed. I lied. I pretty much had to drag her kicking and screaming to the dance floor. And I know no one more self-conscious about dancing than her. I'm pretty sure part of her died inside when this happened.

I returned to Dallas to decide that since my face has revealed itself to be an oil slick, that I would return to the safety of birth control. Do you remember those commercials for Noxzema, where they compare the one kid to pizza? Well, I do, and I'm pretty sure that was me in a past life or something. My face is everything in the motherfucking fridge: pizza, pasta, and maybe a ham sandwich. Not to mention, when I feel myself ovulating (read: my body is ripe for procreating. Gross.), I got shooting pains down my legs and my ovaries ached (if any of you readers with wieners can imagine). So, back to the land of the medicated lady-parts.

In addition, my friends Ms. K, Sweet Lora, and I have made plans to go visit Ms. A in Beantown in November. We got the flight for a steal and let me tell you, the trip can't come soon enough. Also, I am trying to get "SweetDick" to come over from State College, PA in order to cram my catching up all into one trip. Not to mention, I am pretty sure that SweetDick will ADORE Ms. K, Ms. A, and Sweet Lora. I think we're all long-lost soul mates together. It will be a trip for the ages.

In February, this "lady" turns 30. I fear 30 like I do death, cockroaches, and close-talkers. So in order to deny my aging, I plan on going on a fancy trip to distract myself. One of my dearest friends and I are attempting to plan a trip to Vietnam, and maybe Laos. How awesome would that be to ring in the big 3-0?? I must also mention, however, that February also brings the Graduate Record Examination (or GRE) the day after my actual Bday. I figure at the very least, it will be a nice respite from standardized testing and aging.

Well, back to work.

You're welcome, Ollie.*




*Or maybe you aren't since these posts are progressively less eventful.

"Labor" day

It's Labor Day today, and happily I slept in (with the aid of some bennies) until 11, and am now watching the US Open on tv. I just saw Melanie Oudin advance to the Women's Singles Quarterfinals. Keep in mind 2 things:

1) Melanie is 17-years-old

2) I am less than half a year away from the dreaded 30 and have never enjoyed watching tennis, until now, evidently

There's nothing like watching an entire day of tennis (or any sport, for that matter) on tv to be reminded of how little you're accomplished in life. Let's see, what have I done, oh, wait, many things!

• I ate 11 donuts and 2 kolaches in one sitting once (keep in mind that I was 17 at the time, I'd like to see Melanie do that!)
• Among my family, I hold steady at 3rd place in MarioKart
• At one point I was really awesome at Scrabble, until I watched this Scrabble documentary, which revealed that I was actually rather sub-par at the game
• I probably hold the (unofficial) record for most hours logged on Tastespotting.com
  

Annnd, I think that's it...those are some accomplishments to be proud of right?!?

Umm, and is it just me or it tennis player Tommy Robredo smokin' hot??

Actually, can I take that back? If the below is his "oh" face, I want no part of it.

I just looked up "women's hormones" in order to find a witty blog title and came up with...

• "Symptoms of Hormone Imbalance in Women"
• "Sexiest Public Hairstyles"
• "How to tell if your vagina is..."

You see, the reason I was looking this up was because I this past weekend decided to go off the "anti-baby" pill. Please, close your mouths and stop your screeching. I've decided to do this with the hope that it will boost my mood and maybe make me feel a little better. Plus, I'm not bangin' anyone, so now is a good time to give this an 'ole college try. My delicate ovaries have been hopped up on hormone juice since I was 15, so at the very least, I want to see how my body will react. To see if it will go bat-shit crazy or to see if it will make me feel like a new woman.

Needless to say, I've been 3 days sober and I feel absolutely, positively awful. Thankfully, I have an office at work, so when I started bawling today after reading an email about a dog named Tank, my door was closed. This is on top of near narcoleptic tendencies, like two days ago, when after eating about 6 pounds of food, I fell asleep on my couch and woke up 2 hours later. I appear to also have developed what can only be described as stomach spasms which are so deliciously coupled with exceptionally acute abdominal cramping. What a fucking delight!!

Anywho, it'll be interesting to see what kind of beast I turn in to, so I will keep you dears posted on my uterine status! I just know you'll be waiting with bated breath!

Gonna get mah hurrr did.

Greetings, my princes and princesses! I have decided to take off from work today at 4 to get my hair did at the "Beauty Shop" as they once called it. No, mine is not a quick $40 perm and trim in an old house swathed in pinks and lacy textiles, but this is a place with cement floors, exposed brick, and minimalist decor wherein I hand over $90 of my hard-earned cash to have Magical Matt trim half an inch off of my slow-growing (now 2-inch-long) mop. I was searching for some hairstyles, you know, because I have so many options since I basically have a buzz cut, and came across some "Greatest Hits" for my head.

Option 1:

No, my sillies, this is not actually an option, but it was one of the more "recent" uploads to my favorite hair website. Seriously? It can't be. It's like someone's school picture. Whatevs.

Option 2:

This seems versatile, does it not? It's just in case I feel like being bull-dykey or just slightly androgynous like Shane on the L Word. Either way, thank god I have chesticles to make me look like a slightly hormonally confused woman.

Option 3:

I'm typically paralyzingly afraid of anything involving an electric razor, but how hot is this white-girl Grace Jones 'do? Answer: Not at all. It scares me. I would need tats for this. And piercings. Multiple. Oh, and a wiener.

Option 4:

Just in case I feel like being E-Mo and moody. I don't even understand the physics of this. Is that an eagle wing? I would also need asps for eye brows. So, I guess this is a no go.

Option 5:

Is it gross that I legitimately like this? Princess Leia + JSimp Hair Extensions + rainbow = awesome.

Perhaps I'll just let Magic Matt do what he wishes...hopefully, I won't end up with this...

Another One Bites the Dust...

This weekend I went to my 400th wedding of the past few years. One of my college roommates merged spiritually with her soul mate last night. Man, oh man have things changed. I still feel like a 12-year-old around all of my adult friends of the same age. While they discussed diapers, daycare, and breastfeeding, I sat there trying to shove enough booze into my mouth so that dancing wouldn't feel so weird later. It seems as if dancing has become an interesting challenge for me at my elderly age. Suddenly, dancing to "Boom Boom Pow" and "Get Low" feels like the challenge of the century - since when do I have no rhythm and just shift my weight and throw my shoulders all around?!?!? I felt like it looked as if I may have been having a seizure. Perhaps I was.

One of the songs they played at the reception was Brooks and Dunn's "Neon Moon" - yes, you're correct in thinking that this delicious duo consists of Ronnie Dunn and Kix Brooks. Yes. Kix. With an X. I found out this week that Kix and Ronnie were parting ways. WHAT?!?!? This is awful. If Kix and Ronnie can't make it, then who in the fuck can?!! I did not dance to "Neon Moon" but I did find myself singing along wistfully thinking about times of yore at the rodeo when I saw them live. Keep in mind that at the rodeo I also saw Charlie Daniels Band, Jerry Jeff Walker, Django Walker, Hank Williams Jr., Lynyrd Skynyrd, Kelly Clarkson, Nick Lachey, and more. No, my dears, not all in one year, but this was spread out over the course of my painful adolescence, and sadly, adulthood. Kells and Nickers were seen a few years ago and I jumped at the opportunity to go - why the fuck not? It promised, at the very least, to be entertaining. I loved the idea of being in the presence of little girls who were just beginning to feel "things" downstairs at the sight of Nick and the sound of his rich, honey crooning. I went with a group of girlfriends and we quickly realized that there were no lines for beer. Score. I was sold. There's nothing better than NOT having to wait in line for a $9 16 ounces of pure Coors urine. So, I got plenty beered up and sang along with Kells and swooned alongside a group of screeching 11-year-olds. I was in my element. I often think back to those simple times (read 6-7 years ago) and wish for sexual tension in the form of a D-list former boy-band/reality show star. Hot. God, I miss being 23 when I still couldn't manage my drinking and lived at home. Livin' the dream.

What a worthless blog entry. This is what you all get when I sit down to write and try to force something, Ms. A. Here's to hoping there's less where this came from...

I leave you with this. Drink it in, peeps.

Who saw Val Kilmer in Thunderheart? I sure did.

It is in the sacred spirit of the 1992 classic Thunderheart that I write this blog. Before I begin, may I ask IMDB why this film has gone down in popularity over the last week!?!?

A friend and I were chatting today about a little vid she sent me over email...it was clip of a baby bear falling asleep. This bear vid prompted me to hastily claim my "Indian" name as "Sleeping Bear." I quickly rethought my claim, as I already have an "Indian" name: Princess Strong Heart. My dad and I were in a little organization called (so un-PC) Indian Princesses. This was an opportunity for daddy* and daughter to spend some time with other daddies and daughters. We once went on a canoe trip with our "tribe" and I slept the whole way in the canoe, leaning up against the ice chest. Daddy paddled the whole way, although I doubt my stringy 10-year-old arm strength would've helped. Daddy also made me a fancy fringed leather vest with my name symbol on the back - very Member's Only. No, my name symbols looked nothing like this:

But it looked more like this:

Do you like my Microsoft Paint stylings? Of course you do.

I digress, the point of this was to assign "Indian" names to my very dear friends who are all equally deserving of this blessing, as well as name symbols.

Ms. L: Princess Magician Assistant

Ms. A: Princess Baby Arm

Ms. K: Princess Soothing Soul

Mr. T: Prince Thunder Pants

Madame Penners: Princess Shrimp Tampico

And I leave you with this:

Make what you like of it...but I love it.

*Please note that my use of "Daddy" does not extend past this blog. I use it ironically, and if you didn't get it initially, you probs shouldn't be reading this blog anyway.

Poop schmoop.

This is how exciting my life is, I am blogging about Penney's digestive cycles.

Penners has now taken to pooping and peeing on the concrete. This comes from an OCD dog who has NEVER used a hard surface for the restroom, reminiscent of the dog in As Good As It Gets who doesn't walk on sidewalk cracks. I have a small grassy area (knoll, if you will) outside of my place where I take Penners in the mornings to use the resty. Penney now looks at this courtyard with paralyzing fear when we head out there in the mornings and some afternoons. Although, one delightful thing about this is that Penners (twice, now) had decided to crap right by my obnoxious neighbor's driver's side door. I imagine her on her fucking bluetooth(douche) talking all about things that I could care less about and hopping into her 4 Runner (she's SO not green) and realizing that she has dog shit all over her 4 inch lucite skank shoes ("what?!?!?!? My lucite!!! NO!)."

It brings me so much joy to imagine that.

So, while I frequently find myself put out that Miss P has taken to cement like hot-cakes, I need to remind myself that Penners is doing this for the greater good. She's such a giver.

July 4th - Independence Day??

Here I am in Houston for the 4th of July. Not because there's a huge shin-dig, but because momma needed to get the fuck outta Dodge. This is how exciting my evening was last night:

- Watched Wall-E and cried

- 2 hours of What Not to Wear

- Took one "Sleep Aid"

- Found myself drifting off into space

- Went to bed, only to watch something that I was REALLY into, but do not remember what it was.

I am here because yet another relationship has failed, and I needed some time away from the Big D. There are numerous other places I could have gone, but that would have provided much temptation that would have led to boozing and bad decisions. Am I too old for that??!? It seems not, since that's pretty much what my last week was like. I spent one evening drinking at 6 pm and talking shop with the ladies, watching Super Bad on loop, dancing to my "Fiesta" play list and then shaving a man-friend's face to look like he had a Hitler moustache. I did not go to bed until 4 am.

Fast forward to the weekend. I am here in Houston, haven't touched a drop of booze since Monday night, but find myself crying during commercials for Cotton, diapers, and adult incontinence aids. I have not left the house in a few days and am actually considering waking up early tomorrow morning to drive back and go into work for a bit. Eeek. I am hoping that this will pass...soon. I can't go into a morning meeting on Monday start bawling - that's not exactly proffesh, not to mention...the second you cry at work, you are the reason that women can't be in any position of authority. The future of Womanhood is perched atop your shoulders much like the world upon Atlas'. Ahhhhh, poetics. There's really no need for them at this juncture, is there?

All one of you that read this don't really care for poetics, huh? Well, actually, my audience may have steeply declined to a whole goose-egg now that I am no longer dating my one reader. Sigh. Maybe I should just start banging a bunch of people...that should get me an audience, right? Maybe just an audience for my vagina, so I should probably think that through.

Well, hopefully this next week will be better. Really, it couldn't be worse...wish me luck...