Tuesday, March 26, 2013

equality shouldn't be up for debate

I don't want to get married. It's my right to choose that, and when/if I decide to get married I should be allowed to marry the most amazing person I've ever had in my life without worrying about what states we have to stay in, or how many countless others are denied this right. I'm thankful I live in a state that recognizes same sex marriage. My rights, the rights of my girl friend, and our equalities shouldn't be an issue up for debate. It fills my heart with such sadness that we're still facing these issues as a nation, and as humans.

Lesbian, gay, bi, trans, or queer, no one should have the right to tell you you are any less than. Stay strong and always be better than.


Thursday, March 21, 2013

throwback thursday | 3 days until my birthday and i was a pretty sweet kid

That's not a poodle, it's my moms amazing 80's hair.
I'm all "Give me your damn cake monkey man!"
I know, you can be jealous of my sweet 90's outfit. 
Whatever Santa, I don't need your present when I've got these sweet bangs.
I hadn't learned about flat irons yet, and the makeup was for a performance piece I did. I needed to eat a serious meal when I was 15.
My sweet teenage bedroom. 

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

just because.. it's all about me

I shower with the lights off and the door wide open. I sing and dance when cooking dinner, with four wide eyes staring at me hoping I drop a piece. I fill my wine glass past the half way mark, and won’t pour more in until I’ve finished it all. I think it’s bad luck. I can never have my back to a crowded room; it goes double in a restaurant. I love to laugh but smiling takes effort. I pretend I’m the invisible woman when grocery shopping and buy to many boxes of mac and cheese. I like to have sex in the morning and don’t care if my neighbors hear. I hate wearing jeans but will on occasion, mostly when I know I don’t have to wear them for longer than 2 hours.  I can’t stand people telling me what to do, and will do the complete opposite to prove that you can’t dictate my life. I underestimate how big my boobs are every time I try on a new shirt. I could eat sushi for every meal, and I’m really too sarcastic for my own good. I’m a natural red head, who bites her nails if she doesn’t have nail polish on them. I’m obsessed with efficiency but I’m always late.
I am my own woman.
I wouldn't have it any other way.


Monday, March 18, 2013

my only weakness is a listed crime

I woke up this morning hoping it was an extra weekend day, but it wasn’t. I’m also a day closer to my birthday, and the combination of these two facts made me feel like hiding out under the covers. At least for an extra hour.

My weekend was one of those low-key barely do anything but spend all the money in the world kind of weekends.

For the first time in a while Kh and I went out for drinks and dinner. But mostly drinks Friday night. I had a beer, and some wine. Beer = not such a good idea for me. Throwing up all night is awesome. 

I have a gluten intolerance. I love beer more than I could ever love a child born from my own womb, but I can't drink it. And GF beer makes me want to hurl just thinking about it. 

Saturday I had a bazillion little work related things to do, and barely slept Friday night. Which translates to.. I took a nap in the afternoon. Boooya. It was pretty great, I must admit.

After my sleeping beauty goal was complete, we went to Target to pick up “all those things” that we had been running out of but refused to make trips to the store for. Those few things turned into a cart load of money symbols dancing around.

It never fails. I always end up buying the same few things when I go to Target. Panties, and makeup. Sometimes I mix it up and buy a shirt, dress, or pants. But generally panties and some form of makeup makes it’s way into my basket.

You’d think my dresser would be overrun with panties at this point, but I think someone in the apartment below me monitors when I’m doing my laundry and steals some of them out of the dryer. Pantie thief! I still can’t find my favorite black pair from my last Target excursion.. Oh well, look at the cute Spring colors I have now to replace them.

It was time for me to replace my favorite pink and red lipstick as well.

I was a bit disappointed in their clothing selection. How is that no matter what level of self love you have for yourself at the point in which you cross the threshold into a Target dressing room, it’s ripped away from you the second you look at yourself in the changing room mirrors? I also felt real old shopping in the Juniors section and over hearing this conversation.

“Ok, like you totally have to pick out clothes for me, and I’ll totally pick out clothes for you. You know what I mean?”

I always try things on, and then think it over before buying them. I’m liking the striped dress and the floral one.

Lets just skip right to Sunday. I made Kh leave the house early, we grabbed coffee and egg sandwiches at our favorite café then did the most horrible thing in the world.. Grocery shopping at Trader Joes on a Sunday morning. Even early, it was terrible. Everyone turns into savage beasts when trying to get their bags of broccoli, and their bananas.

We survived. And went shopping.. again. This time, I hated it but Kh was real into it.

I realized one thing; peplum shirts make my boobs look ginormous. I even tried on one of those mesh insert peplum shirts, which just made them even more gigantic. Bam! 

 I had a few misses.The one on the right I liked, but it had a busted seam in the front. And the left one was to short in the front.

But ended up getting these three shirts. For under $40. And a pair of black skinny jeans, on sale for $19. I love being cheap.

Here's to another Monday. 

Sunday, March 17, 2013

stream of conscious sunday: my birthday

My birthday is in seven days. It seems like it’s really speeding towards me this year, palm open and ready to slap me across the face. Last year I turned 26, and I wasn’t dreading it so much as I am this year.

It’s not the getting older thing that bothers me. It’s the odd number thing. 27 just doesn’t have a very nice sound to it. 

“Oh yeah, cool, I’m 27.”  Said no one ever.


I’ve never really been one for celebrating my birthday. It was usually just an occasion for someone to make me feel terrible, and sink me into a dark depression for at least a week.

As a kid, I used to hide under the table when everyone would try to sing Happy Birthday to me. Or worse, when everyone’s attention was drawn to me to unwrap all the gifts. What if I got a shitty gift? I’d have to hide the shattering of my little child heart and pretend like I was oh so happy to receive pink fuzzy socks. That hasn’t really changed in adulthood. I hate opening presents in front of people.

I don’t like being the center of attention, I’m more of an avid onlooker that sits back and takes it all in. Forming a good story or silently judging the idiots making fools of themselves.
The only time in my life I started to really enjoy my birthday was when I started dating Kh. I’ve had 2 birthdays with her, and each year she makes them pretty great. I get sucked into some kind of birthday obligation that involves hanging out with friends that make me feel miserable the day of my birthday, and Kh always plans a “make up birthday”, the day after. It usually just involves me doing whatever I want and her supporting me with my decision. If I wanted to lie in bed eating ice cream cake and watching Harry Potter all day, she’d be there to change DVDs for me.

True love, that shits for real.

I’m hoping this is the one birthday that afterwards I wake up and feel like an adult on. When I turned 20, I thought 21 would bring a newfound clarity on adulthood and life. When I turned 25, I thought it would be 26. And so on.

Well. Perhaps this is the birthday when others start thinking I’m an adult.

While I know it’s not your age that determines adulthood, I’m still waiting for that “a-ha!” moment. I mean, I’m ok with going on with life always feeling like I’m 21. I’d say 16 but I need to be able to legally drink in my own mind, right? And these lines on my face weren't there when I was 16. 

And my butt wasn't quite as wide as it is now. 
And my boobs weren't nearly this awesome.

 I'm sure I'll have more birthday posts this week. For now, shhh.. it's not this close..


Friday, March 15, 2013

what i want from march | lately

. My birthday to quietly walk across the stage, bow, and exit without making a big scene. Or hopefully without flipping me off too.

Two. The sun to stay out past 6pm, and to peak its bright ass head out for more than one day during the week. Can I get rid of this seasonal depression already?

Three. Grow hair, grow.

Four. Day trips to eat my favorite cheese platter. Yes, I’d drive 30 minutes to eat a plate of cheese. Maybe even two plates. Mama loves her cheeseeee.

Five. I’d like to sleep in until at least 10am one of these days. My month would be complete if I could spend the rest of that day napping too.

Six. A day off would be amazing. I haven’t had one yet, so give a girl a break.

Seven. The first season of Once Upon A Time to get out of my system. You suck, but I can’t get enough of you knowing there’s always one more I can watch.

Eight. My wine to stop running out. An every other day run to the liquor store is making me look like I have a problem.

Nine. My grandma, and mom to send me my Christmas presents. If they want to save time and send my birthday presents with them, that’d be great too.

Ten. I want to pet a goat. Maybe even a pig too. Even if goats can be assholes and pigs feel weird.

I've been drinking too much beer lately, knowing full well I shouldn't. My hair is unruly and creating it's own rules. Winter is eating my soul alive, and I can only sit back and watch it dine. I'm to tired to put on real clothes, I live out of my car and find my personal time only exists in the morning. I'm having a hard time saying no, but desperately need a date night with my Kh. I'm thinking to much, and saying to little. Running on empty but always feeling too full. March is always a strange month for me. 


Thursday, March 14, 2013

i wish i could be in you one last time

It’s always important to blog about something of content. Something of substance. Something people can relate to. Right? Pfft.. Well, that’s why I’m going to tell you all about how upset I am with my favorite pair of boots dying on me. 

Oh, my dear boots. I purchased you for less than $20 at Burlington Coat Factory 2 years ago. I was unsure about you. Your slouchy, ill-fitting tops hit awkwardly on my calves. My legs looked short and stumpy in you, and I’ll admit I didn’t love you right away.

I put you in my closet. On the bottom, buried under my other black boots. Collecting dust, and slowly being forgotten. I’m sorry for so much lost time. I’m sorry I neglected your needs and want to be worn and used like any other boot.

One day, I put my feet in you while in a rush to leave the house. You were there for me, and you felt so right with me in you. You brought my otherwise sloppy outfit together, making it look like I tried, when everyone knows I didn’t. Oh, how I hate not trying when leaving the house.

You went with me on shopping trips, and trips to the grocery store. You were there waiting when I couldn’t be bothered with a zipper or shoelaces.

The first signs of decay came when my foot got wet while walking on the sidewalk. I knew our days were numbered. Slowly, I felt more of a draft and a cold distancing between us. Today, your sole shattered. There is no fixing what we had, no amount of googling for your long lost twin will bring me satisfaction of wearing you again.

It’s going to take me at least 2 weeks to throw you away. Maybe, just maybe I’ll try to glue you back together and hold on for just a bit longer. 

Oh, my dear boots.


Wednesday, March 13, 2013

five reasons why i should be allowed to sleep an entire day this weekend

Last night I spent an hour trying to log onto my tumblr account. After trying every single email/password combination I could think of, I realized I was trying to log onto facebook. Fail.

While brushing my teeth last night, I dropped my toothbrush completely out of my hand and it bounced off my tank top. I refused to change said tank top. Tonight Kh looked at my tank top and said, “Is that toothpaste? From last night?” Opps. I’ve been caught.

I wrote today’s date at least 8 times today, and each time I wrote the date as 2014. I’m living in the future, bitches. (3/13/13 what a strange date..)

I just fell asleep while sneaker shopping online.  

And drooled. 


Tuesday, March 12, 2013

just because.. we dated doesn't mean i even liked you

You want to stay up all night with my roommate drawing fake tattoos on her? After you told me you really liked her tits? Oh why not, that sounds fun.

You tell some girl to come visit you while I’m visiting family on Thanksgiving? Fun! And I find out because you left your phone next to the bed we share while you're getting drunk in your roommates room and I answered it. That’s even more fun.

I get accepted into a college 8 hours away from my hometown to be closer to you. We plan for months on how our relationship will go once I’m closer. You decide to text me while I’m driving with my family, who’s coming to move me into my new dorm that you want to break up. You could have saved the money and told me when I got there.

I find out the new girl you’re sleeping with is 15 by the voicemail you received from the county sheriffs office looking for her the weekend previously. Now that Little Mermaid watch packaging and long blonde hair in your car make sense. I guess I was getting to old for you.

It’s just not the right time for you, I get it, but you want to date that other girl from structural drawing class? Even after you told me you were molested after we had sex one night? I didn’t see that one coming.

I follow you across the country and live in a guest bedroom of some couple I’ve never met. I get eaten alive by bedbugs and you break your fist on a telephone booth trying not to hit me within the first week of me moving in. While out drinking with some new friends we’ve made, you tell them you fucked one of your patrons at the bar you used to bartend at. You forgot to mention that to me, like, ever before. Awkward.

You tell me you’re divorced and have me spend the weekend with you. Your child wakes up at 6am screaming "MOMMY" at me at the top of her lungs. The next day while you’re tattooing me, your wife shows up and sits with us for 6 out of the 10 hours. She adds me on myspace. She doesn’t know we slept together the night before, and you’re in deep shit.  I should have known when I realized you were living in your parents basement at 33.

We start sleeping together. You run into a friend of mine at a bar and drunkenly tell them you’re dating a girl that’s a brunette and really into astrology. I have black hair and I’m pretty sure you were born in the year of the asshole.

I avidly avoid you for weeks. You can’t take the hint and I ask you if you really think there’s a spark between us, via text. You say yes. Even more awkward.

We spent an entire day fighting but I make amends long enough for you to be my date for a friend’s birthday party. You get jealous and leave me at the club, with the one person you’re jealous that I’m talking to. I sleep with them. Your bad. 


witches look better with cleavage and tales of an animal hoarder

I walk into her first floor one-bedroom apartment. It’s clean and well organized. The artwork on the wall is framed and arranged in a random pattern that denotes a sense of not being random at all. I can tell she probably had spent hours putting those hangings up. Scrutinizing over where her framed “imagine” typography print should go.

I decide she’s a graphic designer, all within the first few seconds of stepping inside the threshold. She apologizes for the place being messy. I make a mental note to never let her see my apartment. Not that she would, that’s silly.

I get the tour and she shows me where all the pertinent supplies will be for next week. I get a copy of her keys and give her my business card with all the ways to contact me.

She smiles exuberantly and exclaims how glad she is I’m not a psycho.

I smile and say “Me too.”

That was the start of my Monday. But I guess I should start with the end of my weekend.

I wish I could say I did something painfully exciting, when in fact I spent from Thursday until Sunday horribly stressed out. I was cooped up in my apartment with a few overnight clients. By a few, I mean 5 dogs, not including my 2 dogs. If you were assuming I felt like a crazy lesbian animal hoarder that should be put on network television, you’d be assuming correctly.

Although my apartment is clean, and the dogs were all under 9lbs. None of them managed to chew a hole in my couch and live inside the stuffing, so that says something, right?

Sunday after 2 of the dogs went home, Kh and I felt liberated enough to go to the movies with a couple of friends. We got picked up and headed off to see The Great and Powerful Oz in iMax. I’ve only ever seen one other movie in iMax, and that was SeaRex. (Which I totally took Kh to see on one of our first dates, I’m awesome right?)

I sat there, with my head slightly tilted to one side, biting the inside of my lip, wondering if the movie I was watching was a complete load of shit, or if it was just the sheer in your face magnitude the 3D element gave to it. I was quite sure I’d have an image  of James Franco’s gigantic face seared to the inside of my eyelids if I closed them for to long.

I stopped wondering when I looked over at Kh, who had a look of “I smell horse shit and it won’t go away”.  Yay, confirmation from my girl friend that the movie was garbage.

Barely even under the surface of the movie is a severe undertone of sexism, and not a single empowered female was shown. Every woman was depicted as a sniveling emotional mess whose world and core values get completely destroyed when a man doesn’t return her affections. The only woman who doesn’t seem to grovel at the mans feet happens to be a woman who puts her own potential and power aside to help coddle and bring a man to his own self worth. When all along she could probably do some serious damage on her own, not wait for a man to save her.

Or to save the damn munchkins. At least the witches had sex appeal, eh?

After the movie I had 2 ½ beers and we all commiserated on how terrible it was to stare at James Franco’s face that large for so long. 

And now I need to sleep for 3 days straight. 

Thursday, March 7, 2013

it's like winters slapping me in the face

This morning I was driving around a bit earlier than I usually get started in my days. It was just around the time when people are starting, or in the middle of their commute into work. People walking, driving, riding their bikes.

It was a nasty day, with winds up to 45mph blasting you from the side, slushy snow that hit the streets and turned to water, and a temperature of 37degrees.  Just warm enough for me to sweat if I moved to much.

I start out all bundled up, I look in the mirror before I leave the house and make sure my hair is evenly placed around my face under my hat and I don’t have anything unsightly stuck to my face from breakfast. My mascara is waterproof, clutching to my eyelashes for dear life, refusing to let go even in the shower. Just the way I like it.

I look as presentable as I’m going to get, because I know what’s going to happen 10 minutes out the door. I’m going to fall the hell apart.

Let me back track to talk about a couple of people I saw on their commute this morning. They were all bundled up and braving this nasty day, just like I was, but there was one difference between us.

The elements had no effect on them. And I hate them for it.

Ok ok.. harsh..

The gusts of wind seemed to be working with their long hair, letting it flow behind them in waves with their hat perched so perfectly on their head. The snow turned to magic dust crystals when it hit there clothes and left no traces of a wet spot. There eyes were two bright spots in the middle of their big old faces, ready to take on whatever the day had in store for them.  

Is there some elite secret society for the preservation of your dignity when leaving the house on inclement weathered days? I'd like to subscribe to their newsletter.

When the wind hits me on days like this, I squint my eyes like I’m sucking on a lemon candy. I have a permanent scowl on my face like someone is consistently pissing in my cheerios, or like the world smells of farts. My hair doesn’t flow like waves behind me, but rather like the matted seaweed stuck in those waves. If you look close enough I probably even have a sea creature or two lurking in my locks.

The 65% of my hair that’s fake that frames my face takes on a life of it’s own and completely separates from the top layer of my real hair, I’ll attribute that to the sea creatures as well. It looks like I have some odd bowl cut that I missed a few pieces when getting cut.

I can only be thankful my mascara is waterproof or else it would be running in streams down my cheeks. My blotchy, red cheeks.

Inclement weather hates me, and I hate it right back. 

You should see me on 90degree days. I essentially melt into an old tomato that can’t process heat.

Winter be gone.


Wednesday, March 6, 2013

and they say its a nannas house