The Rejection Scheme

You know what I figured out lately? I put up with an awful lot of bullcrap from men who aren't even necessarily worth it. Actually, shit, no man is worth putting up with bullcrap. I keep forgetting.

The basic formula is as follows (not to be confused with my dating formula, wherein I ignore all these things willingly and get SUPER DUPER EXCITED every time I meet a guy).

I meet a guy, convince myself he's not totally douchetastic (even though he usually is) and then basically allow him to act like a shit to me while making excuses about it. 9 times out of 10, the guy isn't even my boyfriend when he's being the douche, that's the extra pathetic twist.

So, how to break this pattern? Celibacy and lesbianism are no solutions. One, I mean really, I like dick. Two, right now I got 99 problems and a bitch ain't one, and I'm not really looking to change that. Who needs 100 problems, including a bitch, right?

I'm starting by rejecting someone. This guy I met last weekend really likes me, constantly sending flirty texts, telling me of my hotness (snort! riiight) etc.

But I am not really into him. He's nice, sure. But there's no pop or whathaveyou, and he lives a couple hours away. So he's out. I'm going to fully reject him. And, drunk on power, I'm also going to reject the next three guys that are interested.

Now, based on my current appearance and general poor attitude and recent tendency to dress like a hobo, it's highly possible I won't find three guys who are interested for like, three decades.

Which might solve the problem, really. But wait, I did say I wasn't into the celibacy angle. Hmm..Okay, three guys, including the guy I am currently rejecting.

So I figure, two more victims, and I might have enough gumption to finally find someone worth my fucking time.

And in the meantime, I have to return this text I got from that guy who dumped me on IM and then hit on other girls in front of me like a night after we totally had sex, BECAUSE I AM A PATHETIC LOSER.

The Pursuit of Misery

Ok, so I keep getting comments about how I'm a Debbie Downer, Negative Nelly, Sad Sack Sally, whathaveyou lately, and how all I do is complain about my life, and blah blah blah, do I need to worry about you, blah blah blah.

Yes. Yes, this is true. And I am sorry about it...I think I am just going through a phase.

I mean, I know it's not fun to be around someone who is constantly moaning about everything in their life that sucks. And I know I am whinging on a lot, and engaging in quite a bit of a self-indulgent pity party bonanza the last few weeks....I do feel bad if I am bumming anyone out and making you worry, there's really no need to, it's just a rough patch, so chillax!

(I hate the word "chillax," it sounds like they made a fro-yo version of the special yogurt that makes you shit.)

(Oooh, I should copyright that shit right there, that's a million dollar idea. "Feeling bound up? You need to Chillax!" (TM) )

What's the point in faking, right? I don't really subscribe to the whole "put on a happy face" thing. If I am miserable, I'm, well, miserable. It happens to most humans at times, and I think some nice venting and maybe, yes, a bit of self pity can be helpful.

If it drags on for weeks, ok, maybe it starts to get old (and I know I'm reaching that point). If it drags on for months, ok, maybe it'll be rubber room time for old Fu. Like, don't let this go on through the end of summer or anything. Are straightjackets slimming? Hmm...

But I really don't think it's going to get to that point.

I just am feeling adrift as of late. Writing out that top ten list was extremely cathartic for me, because it really did bring my murky issues into specific relief, most specifically number seven:

7) While generally content with current job, fully recognizing that will need to move on eventually, but having ZERO clue what to do next or where to do it.

I have no clue where I'm heading, and it's causing minor to serious panic. All that other stuff that's wrong (gut, pathetic dating life, lots of consumer debt related to tendency to shop for joy) is generally fixable.

And the career and direction stuff is fixable too....but the answer to that one isn't as obvious as "get on a treadmill, join eHarmony, cut up credit cards and stop using shoes as baby replacers, especially since you generally wear fucking flip flops when you leave the house these days."

So anyhow, to those who have expressed concern and annoyance at my emotional state, don't worry. And here's a list to make you feel better:

Top Ten Things That Are Not Miserable About Fu's Life at the Moment:

10) Currently in possession of dream car that I've been lusting over for about 4 years.

9) Terrific family, even if my sister is starting to resemble one of those Hollywood ladies that you complain about being too skinny when really you are just jealous and wish that you could slice cheese on your collarbones.

8) In these trying economic times, while I do have too much debt, I also am fairly comfortably middle class. I'm not struggling to make ends meet and if I could just stop drinking (ha!!!) I'd have loads of disposable income.

7) I have an outline and a couple rough pages of ideas for the book I am starting, which will likely take years and years and years to complete, knowing my penchant for procrastinating, but at least it's an idea.

6) Excellent friends, so excellent I am constantly being told I need to move across the country to be closer to them or told I need to stay put so as to not leave them. Also, they make awesome karaoke partners, as my friend Kelly and I have started to make a career out of our Wilson Phillips renditions (I play Carnie, natch).

5) Well, ok, despite my recent adoption of a dreadfully dour and pessimistic attitude, I'm still pretty much awesome, and potentially the coolest person you know.

4) I am running out of ideas here, so I'll say that hey, at least I live in America, where I will not be beaten to death for dishonoring my family by getting raped, and am still in full possession of my clitoris. While I have some serious issues with the way things are going here lately, I am still very, very, VERY grateful to have been born here. I need my clitoris people, it's all I've got going for me these days!

3) It's summer, which means I am tan, especially right now after spending full days at both the beach and the pool this weekend.

2) Oh yeah, my apartment complex has a pool! That's a reason for happiness right there.

1) My life, in general, is happy and fulfilled and I have been very lucky. I've experienced tragedy, but minimally in comparison to others. I've never lost a close family member, I've never been a victim of a crime worse than pickpocketing (though if I ever catch THAT bastard, he'd better watch out), I go on nice vacations (Nashville in 2 months, Mexico in 5, woot!), I have cute kitties, I am generally good looking despite recent resemblance to Jabba the Hut, I do have about 100 pair of adorable shoes and other cute clothes and accessories, and all and all my life has been good.

Which is why I don't mind wallowing a bit lately. Yes, I'm fairly miserable, but yes, I know that it's GOT to be temporary. And if it isn't, well, I guess my book will veer more towards Sylvia Plath than its current David Sedaris direction.

(Ha, as if I could write as well as either of them, but you get my point.)

Anyway, I must get back to work, but for god's sake quit worrying about me.

How Do I Stop Being a Psycho?

Ok, so naturally, as with all things where I'm a total psycho and can't help but be, I have this guy situation.

Over a month ago, I liked this boy. A lot. Because, as we know, I get way too excited when I meet boys and turn into Tommy Boy in a sales pitch, it ended up with me getting burned.

We went out a couple times, I knew he was seeing someone but he made it seem like more of a casual fling, "I barely see her...it's more of a casual hookup thing right now...we never talk", but then she went and became his girlfriend and our constant flirtation was suddenly all "ohhh well I thought we were just friends, yeah that time we fooled around was just drunkenness even though it happened sober as well along with lots of power-cuddling, what, friends don't do that?"

And even though my brain is capable of logic, and I know he actually treated me shitty, I haven't been able to stop being friends with him. The question is: can I get over this if I am still friends with him? Probably not. But why am I incapable of excising these cretins from my life? I did the same thing with Mr. Jesus, who came crawling back begging for friendship after DUMPING ME ON IM.

So ladies, how do you get over it? I try deleting him from my phone but he still texts on occasion and still IMs on occasion (though with nowhere near the all-day-every-day (no seriously, all.day.every.day) fervor of pre-girlfriend). We are still "online friends" on the social networking site we both frequent. He still messages me there too, and I feel like it would be petty and immature to "de-friend" him.

I'll grant him the "credit" that at least he talks to me 99% less than he did before. He probably realizes that at the very least, our "misunderstanding" was a result of the fact that we talked to each other approximately 300 times more than we talked to anyone else in our lives.

Sometimes, I really wish that mind-erasing thing people use to get over people from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless mind was real. It would make my life so much easier!

Write Me a Story, Bitch

So sayeth my friend James on my MySpace page, and I tend to listen to complaints about the lack of updates to this blog when they include profanity. Just a little hint for the future.

I haven't had anything particularly amusing to say lately. I keep this blog to be entertaining, but considering I've felt 100% "meh" for approximately, oh, a year now, that is the reason the blog doesn't get updates. I read through old posts on this and other blogs I've kept and I used to be downright jubilant and, if I may say, hilarious. I'm not feeling that anymore.

Top Ten Reasons Why Fu's Life Sucks Balls and She Doesn't Feel Like Writing About it (aka Pity, Party of One):

10) Despite having been on a diet since 2002 that was initially successful, has only grown to be the size of Jabba the Hut's fatter sister in recent months, and is usually about as sweaty.

9) Despite being two years out of her most recent serious relationship, her only other "relationship" not with a bottle of alcohol has been with a born again 22 year old college student Christian guy who dumped her twice and could never afford to even buy her drinks or take her to a movie.

8) Number 9 may be a result of Manch dating pool, which is, shall we say, "shallow," but even more so for those women who resemble Jabba the Hut.

7) While generally content with current job, fully recognizing that will need to move on eventually, but having ZERO clue what to do next or where to do it.

6) Friends all getting boyfriends, social life consisting of cats.

5) Roommate who looks like a younger, hotter, thinner Tea Leoni and gets a new boyfriend once a week as though she were picking up a pack of cigs at the corner store. "Say, can I get you a boyfriend while I'm out? I have so many extras, you can just take one!"



4) Roommate-induced decrease in the amount of rent paid per month has done nothing to affect size of monthly credit card bills. Must lay off the kitty litter with the odor-absorbing diamonds. Oh, and the shoes.

3) The other day while at lunch, left the top down on the new convertible and came out to a torrential downpour.

2) Have reached an age, finally, wherein my favorite bar in Manch is no longer acceptable for me to frequent. Find myself complaining loudly about the loud music and "all the kids." Am two years, max, away from being the mean old spinster cat lady telling all the neighborhood kids to get off my lawn.

1) Oh, wait, would need a lawn for that. And to buy a house would need either money, or a husband with money. So nevermind, I guess. Maybe I'll tell them to get away from my mobile home?

I am, however, cheered by my friend Sara's check written in a drunken stupor to her babysitter, whose last name she couldn't remember. So she fudged it. This is kind of hilarious, perhaps only to me and the people who were there that night to witness her drunkenness. Also, 80 bucks? Jesus, I should be babysitting on the side, I'll have a house in no time. (Click image to read my comments)

Soy Joy, Oh Boy

I've been eating soy-based cheese alternative.

That's what it says on the package. "Alternative." Is this fake cheese from Seattle? Was it the original drummer in Nirvana? Was the song really "Smells like Fake Cheese"? (Ew.)

So yes, I haven't eaten any meat (save a hangover-induced lean cuisine chicken flatbread sandwich on Sunday, and a shrimp stir fry earlier this week) in over two weeks.

At one point I'd lost seven pounds from this goddamn sonofabitch diet, but it changes on a daily basis as I go up 4, down 3, up 2, down 5, etc etc until I want to shoot myself in the freaking face...or maybe just chop off a limb. That'd have to be good fro 20 lb, right? Right????

This is what I don't get. I gained so much weight by eating like a disgusting pig and never going to the gym. I've been a freaking saint on both counts for more than 2 weeks, and I can hardly lose 4 pounds? I still weight 15 pounds more than I did a year ago, and only THEN will I be back to where I started, which is actually 25 pounds more than where I was a year before that.

And the most hilarious part about that, is that at that point, 40 whole pounds lighter than I am now, I was miserable because THAT was 40 whole pounds more than I was at my lightest.

See how this math can get depressing?

But anyhow, there is a silver lining.

I feel fantastic, I like the diet, and eating healthy does please me. I don't eat anything that isn't fairly all-natural, wholesome, high-fiber, etcetera. And the exercise is doing some good at least, because my clothes feel looser. Although really, I'm tired of hearing all this bullshit about "inches". What, I'm going lose like 10 inches off my waistline all without losing more than 5 pounds? GIVE ME A BREAK.

Oh whoops, that part was supposed to be silver lining.

In other news, I've got a roommate for the first time in four years and it's definitely weird.

Let me ask you guys something: are the mysteries of the modern shower curtain really so hard to fathom? I mean, really.

I'm no neat freak by any stretch, but when people do the following it makes me NUTS:

1) Leave the shower curtain open after shower. Yes, can I please have sopping wet linen all smooshed together in the corner? I'm just dying to grow some nice crusty mildew.

2) Pull the curtain into the shower along with the liner. This one is an especially annoying bullshit thing to do. The liner is waterproof. it's designed to get wet. The curtain is made of fabric, it can get stained, or moldy, or just plain gross. WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS????

I think the culprit is her freaking boyfriend, who, oh yes, has been flat-out living with us. Three out of the last four weeks. Seriously.

She told me when she applied that he comes to stay for like a week at a time, maaaybe a week and a half. Right.

So after he leaves this time I'm going to have to tell her that he has to limit his visits or pay rent. Because damn. And I know he is the shower culprit, damnit.

But really otherwise it's good. She is nice, she keeps to herself, and she knows the bf always being probably bugs me, because when he is here they are almost always in her room, so I never have to duke it out for TV control.

But srsly, me and my fake cheese are getting tired of not losing any weight.

FAKE CHEESE, people!

Well, Clearly This Won't Last

So I've just completed Day 3 of a nine-day detox, also known as Phase 1 of the "Fat Smash Diet."

My friend talked me into it after doing it herself and losing 30 pounds pretty rapidly, and probably also becuase she was sick of listening to me complain about needing to start a diet but never actually starting one, and using every excuse in the book to justify this diet and exercise avoidance.

"I have a cast on my hand! I couldn't possibly eat anything but ice cream."

"I just got dumped! That requires looooads of ice cream. And booze. Sweet, delicious booze."

"Dude. It's like, Wednesday. Clearly, hamburgers are in order."

It is the same diet they do on "Celebrity Fit Club," which prompted this exchange:

"Is this the guy that screams at them and calls them fat and is mean!?!?"
"No, that's the trainer guy. This is the doctor guy. He still calls them fat but he's like, nice about it."

Anyway, I'm exhausted, because I've been exercising lately (omg!) and am surviving on next to no food yet somehow am not that hungry.

Today for example:

1/2 Cup PLAIN (as in, Quaker freakin Oats, not prepackaged flavored) oatmeal made with skim milk and mixed with strawberries and a little splenda
Minneola (like an orange, but juicier, and with a nipple)

1 cup brown rice
6 oz fat free plain yogurt mixed with raspberries
Medium sweet potato
Grapes

I'd say that adds up to, like, maybe 1,000 calories, depending on how many grapes I ate. 1,200 tops. But I wouldn't really know because the plan does not call for calorie counting, it just calls for not eating bullshit.

So it's interesting, and the fact that alcohol and coffee and diet coke is forbidden, along with every single liquid in the world except for water, means I will likely not last.

BUT, we'll see.

Now I have to go to bed, because did I mention I'm exhausted?

Bzzzz...

Okay, so, to recover from yesterday's ill-conceived rant about how hard it is to be a fattie in a world made for skinnies (or, at least, skinnies and in-betweenies) (Heh, "weenies"), I shall now discuss a completely different and slightly salacious topic: how everything is a vibrator these days.

I noticed a post on Jezebel (my favoritest site ever except maybe for TWoP, oh and Go Fug Yourself, oh and Cute with Chris...nevermind, but it's awesome) a few weeks back discussing this and thought to myself "I've been saying that for a year now!"

But seriously, I currently own three regular household items that vibrate, and are not vibrators. Although come to think of it, my actual vibrator isn't supposed to be one either. (The Hitachi Magic Wand--they pretty much only sell it in sex shops and online adult toy sites, but it comes in this crazy 70's style box labeling it as a muscle massager and showing placid women holding it up to their necks and shoulders).

1) My toothbrush. I think it's an Oral B (hehe) but I can't really remember. All I know is that I'm pretty sure it vibrates more in my hand than it does on my gums, and I really don't think my teeth get any cleaner.

2) My razor. Now this one is just ridic. We KNOW that this is just an excuse for Gillette to laugh all the way to the bank while we pony up 20 bucks for a freaking razor, right? You want to know the best shave I ever got? It was with a fucking pink Daisy disposable with a moisture strip. I was on vaca and forgot my razor, so bought disposables in the hotel, and that damned moisture strip did such a good job that I hardly even needed separate moisturizer after. Seriously. And yet? I own this ridiculous vibrating razor that dries out my legs like they were Bea Arthur's vadge. I really don't get myself sometimes.

3) My face wash. A couple weeks ago I was peeing in Tilton's Tanger Outlets and saw this big poster indicating I could receive a free Dove tote (which is actually wicked cute) and tons of free Dove samples if I spent $150 or more. Well wouldn't you know it? I'd just dropped that same amount on my new Coach bag! In the tote was this. A full-on, straight-up vibrator. You attach facewash pads to it. It's the craziest sensation ever, and vibrates so strongly it felt like it was knocking my teeth loose. There are DEFINITELY women getting off with this thing in the shower or something.

Since things that vibrate seems to be all the craze right now, I think they should just go ahead and make everything a vibrator. Why not?

Feeling a little hot and heavy in the kitchen while watching that angry chef guy, or the naked one or something? No problem, just whip out your vibrating ice cream scoop (also good for a post-coital snack).

Bored at work? Vibrating computer mouse, at your service.

Sick of your workout at the gym? Well you know something dirty can be made out of those wacky machines that make you feel like you're at the gyno.

I'm telling you, it's a vibrating world out there.

In other news, I got a new license today. My old license was basically like the Cosmo Girl meets Glamour Shots image of Fu, probably helped by the fact that I was like a kagillion pounds lighter when it was taken.

My new one is basically the double-chinned Down's Syndrome version of Fu. I'm really glad of two things:

1) The only people who will ever see it are the Middle Eastern guys down at the Cumby where I buy beer (and I'm pretty sure they want to marry me so maybe it will help in that situation), bouncers, cops, and TSA officials.

2) That I got a matching wallet for my new purse, and it does not have a license window. Huzzah!

So sad they confiscated my old one though. There will never be another photo taken of me in which I look better, even if I did get back down to that fighting 2004 weight. Sigh.