Au Revoir, Nouveau Shire

And so, this is my last night in Manch Vegas.

Therefore, this is the last entry in FuManchShoes...can hardly have a Manch blog while living elsewhere, can I?

But never fear, I'll post the link as soon as I get my new home up and running, and you can count on me to continue to provide remarkably sporadic updates on my miserable love life, and my ever-increasing frosting consumption.

Until then....

Supermarket Sweep

I am absolutely shallow enough to believe that the quality of man I attract says something about me. Everyone knows that eights end up with eights, and fours with fours. And so on.

I'm probably about a 5 at the moment, but the self esteem reading has been hovering closer to a 2 for the better part of a year, and I think a combination of those factors has allowed me to become quite a hot ticket with the "total loser" element. It is quite an alarming wake up call to realize that the guy who may or may not be mentally impaired keeps hitting on me at the supermarket.

I go to this market near the office a couple times a week to buy sushi for lunch when I'm feeling healthy and 3 or 4 boxes of Oreo Cakesters and a gallon of Hi-C when I'm not.

Regardless, a couple weeks ago this dude was stocking shelves and as I walked past turned to me and said "Wow you look really nice today."

I was tempted to point out that he must think that "nice" means "bloated and zitty," but chose to just say "uh, thanks?" and keep moving. I was wearing a dress and stuff. If he'd been scoping me out for a while he must have been thrown off that I wasn't wearing my usual work outfit of jeans, flip flops, a dumpy sweater, and pungent despair.

Then on Tuesday this week, I saw him again as I was pulling into a parking spot. He was collecting the shopping carts and waved at me enthusiastically, as though we were friends. Bemused, I threw a "WTF" smile and a little wave back at him--big mistake. This emboldened him enough to come up and say hello the second I got out of the car.

"Hi!"
"Hi..."
"..."
"Uh, see ya."

Look, I'm all for guys saying hello when they think a girl is pretty or something. Hey, you never know right? So I know I'm not coming off very well here, and it's not like I'm a frigging beauty queen. Like I said, I'm a 5 on a good day. But this guy? Me and my coworker debated for a few minutes straight about whether or not he was possibly "special." He looked a little like Ron Howard's creepy looking brother.



Which, really, no offense to Ron Howard's brother or anything, but I wouldn't date him either. Oh! Maybe it was closer to the molester guy from "Little Children" who also was Kelly Leak from "Bad News Bears" all grown up, which is wrong on a hundred levels, mostly because that movie ends with him cutting off his own horn and Moe from "Beautiful Girls" rushing him to the hospital.



So yeah, not the best ego boost, that one.

Then there's the Jesus Lover I dated earlier this year, who is now dating a young woman who may or may not be mentally impaired. She's obviously not, but she basically looks...off. Like maybe a little inbred or something. I generally think of my appearance these days as approximately 148 miles of bad road, and I still think I'm about 537 times better looking than this chick.

So does this mean that Jesus Lover Loves Ugly Women?

AND DOES THAT MEAN I'M UGLY?

Between this and the shopping cart guy, it's looking like my drought is going to extend far into 2009.

Probably for the best.

Dear ManchVegas - Eat a Bag of Dicks

Editor's Note: I need to update, so I am posting this, which I wrote in August but never published because I wanted to edit it. Then I never edited it.

So it's old, but still possibly entertaining...More later!

Yesterday (August 15th-ish) evening:

534pm: Fu leaves work, in a rush because she has to run a quick errand and go home to change before heading down to Boston for a dinner.

550pm: Fu gets off her usual exit, furrows brow at odd traffic backup.

601pm: Fu has moved 2 feet in 11 minutes, getting annoyed, starts to feel familiar signs of frustration building, which Fu does not deal with well (blood pumping harder, tight throat, mild rage)

609pm: Fu finally realizes that the traffic backup is because the bridge leading to her street has been shut down. An accident maybe? Odd.

615pm: After pulling a u-turn and going one exit down the highway to find an alternate route, Fu encounters still more traffic, still more road blocks. What the heck is going on here? She finally makes her way through towards a roundabout route to her street and encounters her third roadblock. This one is manned by a cop, and at 622pm, 32 minutes after she should have arrived home, she asks him:

Fu: What's all this road block action about?
Cop: It's the race.
Fu: The huh?
Cop: The 5k. It's been in the papers.
Fu: Well I need to get to Fu Road.
Cop: Sure, just try the bridge.
Fu: The bridge is shut down.
Cop: Hmm. Well you need to move along.
Fu: But I need to get HOME.
Cop: Well, where do you live?
FU: FU ROAD.
Cop: The bridge is closed.

OHMYFUCKINGGOD.

632pm: After driving around and trying three more ways to get home and encountering only roadblocks, a single tear of rage works its way down Fu's face. She encounters another cop:

Fu: (tears) I need to get home!
Cop: (no sympathy) WHere do you live?
Fu: Fu road.
Cop: Oh. Well you need to wait until the race is over. That road is blocked.
Fu: So I can't go HOME? I LIVE THERE.
Cop: Well, the road is blocked. But don't worry it's only a 5k and it just started!
Fu: What if I had medication I had to take at a SPECIFIC TIME?
Cop: DO you?
Fu: Yes. Yes I do. Its my rage-control meds. (In reality: "No. Hmph. But I COULD.")
Cop: Don't worry the race will be over soon.
Fu: Yeah. Like your MOM.
Cop: What?
Fu: Nothing.

651pm a full hour after she should have been home, Fu finds another cop.

Fu: WTF, dude.
Cop: Can I help you?
Fu: Yeah. I need to get to my HOUSE. ON FU ROAD.
Cop: Oh, it's closed.
Fu: Ok, yes. It's closed. Why did I not know this would be happening so I could plan accordingly and take my anti-homicidal rage medication with me? Because now youv'e just put everyone in my eyesight at risk. Seriously.
Cop: It's been in the papers for weeks.
Fu: You didn't think, oh, maybe a flyer for my apartment community might have helped? What if I didn't speak English well? What if I subscribed to the NY Times instead of the crap assed Union Leader?
Cop: The race will be over soon.
Fu: Yeah, and hopefully this squirrel over here instructing me to kill kill kill will hold off until then.

Also? Eat a bag of dicks. I was 90 minutes late to my dinner.

OMFGERRRRRMS!!!! Nooo!

Okay, I'm sorry, but what the fuck.

Why am I the only person (girl, in particular) in America who is not afraid of germs? Maybe it's because I don't really get sick all that often, so I'm not particularly paranoid about it, but it seems to me that far too much energy in America is devoted to rampant germ fear mongering.

I was at a concert last week, and my friend chose to desperately hold in her pee and avoid having any more beers in order to avoid the porto-johns. Look, porto-johns are gross. No one likes using them. The thought of the big trough of foulness just a couple feet below where I am peeing is hardly pleasant, but for goodness sake, stop being such a priss and hold your damn breath. You're not going to die.

What's most hilarious to me are all my girlfriends who are the biggest germophobes have shown zero qualms in the past about sticking their tongues down strangers' throats after one too many jager bombs--Newsflash ladies: You're going to catch way, way more diseases from that guy's tongue than you will from sitting down on the damn toilet seat in the bathroom:

SO QUIT PEEING ON IT.

This is my number one thing. You can tell me I'm disgusting, and who knows, maybe I am. But unless it's a truly questionable bathroom (such as, for example, those aforementioned porto-johns), I just freaking sit down. I don't know about you, but when I sit down to pee, I'm not rubbing my vadge all over the toilet seat. Instead, two small portions of the backs of my thighs nowhere near my orifices touch the seat.

I am also not pissing all over it like a disgusting dog in an effort to merely hover over it, protecting my pristine ass cheeks from exposure to...what exactly?

Studies have shown that there are about a thousand other surfaces in most public restrooms that are more vile and germ-covered than the toilet seat. Like the door handle, and the soap dispensers (irony!) and, oh yeah, the floor.

I just wish people would relax about germs. It seems so silly to me. We come into contact with a lot of disgusting shit every day if you think about it. Money, door handles, pets, keyboards (oh yes, your keyboard at work is probably full of more bacteria than the toilet seat), etc....

So chill out! Do what I do! Keep clean, wash your hands, use the Purell if that tickles your fancy, and just relax. For all you know you're going to get a piano dropped on your head tomorrow anyway, and I'll bet then you'll wish you'd drank an extra beer at that Journey concert.

All I know is that I have a couple big time germophobe friends and I get sick about 10 times less than they do. Probably because I allow myself to come into contact with more germs, and I build an immunity. We could all learn a thing or two from Westley, don't you know. You'll never build up a good immunity to iocaine powder if you avoid it altogether, you know what I mean?

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.

Oh for the love of...

I was having a lovely day, then I had to go and read this bullshit.

To spare you from having to read it, it's basically this: It should be okay to discriminate against and hate fat people. Because they CHOOSE to "stuff their pieholes with Big Macs" (yeah, right here? Never had a Big Mac in my life.) and therefore like, totally deserve it.

Sigh.

It's not even the article that's making my head explode, although it really is just the biggest load of shit I've ever read, and I can't even believe that it made the front damn page of the Huffington Post (the guy throws around all sorts of crazy generalizations without a single scientific fact to back any of them up). It's the comments.

What's hilarious to me about reading any article having to do with weight/obesity/fitness/whatever, is that every single person who comments on it is immediately a goddamn EXPERT on exactly what's going on in someone else's body--or in their kitchen, bedroom, gym membership, whatever.

Just look at the comments, "most fat people," "the VAST majority of fat people," "maybe 5% of fat people"....everyone throwing around stats willy nilly and using them to justify acting hateful towards a specific group. Because if you CHOOSE something, you like, totally DESERVE to be hated and discriminated against.

Yes. Because all fatties? We WANT to look this way. We want to be actually mooed at from moving cars when we go out to jog (and yes, this has happened to me--my favorite thing is that the same people bitching that fatties should "get off your butt and exercise" are probably the same ones who enjoy making fun of those who do. It's a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation, "Get off your butt and exercise! Just not in front of me, or I will publicly shame you for trying to be healthier, because you deserve it, now stop being fat at me!"). We sit at home at night with...now what is that fat-hating people always accuse us of?...oh yes, "piles of Twinkies" and "tubs of ice cream" chortling to ourselves about how GREAT it's going to be to be made fun of and laughed at and marginalized.

What gets to me most about articles like this is what I call the "Virginia clause," where the guy wrote the famous article "Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus," because the little girl said in her letter that her dad claimed, "If it's in the Post, it must be so."

As soon as people who enjoy feeling morally superior to fatties see anything backing up their hatred in any sort of legitimate news source, they use it as an excuse to be hateful. Just LOOK at the comments on that article!

There are people saying that because no one comes out of a concentration camp fat, that it is proof that fat isn't genetic.

Okay. (deep breath) People in the concentration camps were FUCKING STARVING, YOU RAGING DICKWAD.

As in, they were denied almost any food at all. Oh, clearly, this is the solution. Let's throw all the fatties in a work camp (another brilliant commenter idea), starve them all half to death and expect them to live on that diet for the rest of their lives.

GREAT IDEA.

Oh, then there was this charming exchange in response to someone rightly pointing out that no one would ever encourage actively hating any other group of people, blacks for example:

"No one is suggesting we lynch fat people."

"Of course not, the rope would break."

LOVELY. And Ridley is claiming there's no such thing as weight discrimination? Suuuure. Then there's the guy who actively admits that if he had to choose between hiring two equally qualified candidates for a job, he'd choose a thin person over a fattie, because OBVIOUSLY if a person is large it means they have no self-discipline and would be more likely to miss days due to all their "health problems" (and yeah, right here, normal cholesterol, normal blood pressure, normal everything, totally healthy). I kind of hope that guy hires a perfectly thin cokehead or heroin addict as karma for his complete idiocy.

Are there plenty of fat people who eat out-of-control and are sedentary and unhealthy? Yep. Definitely. I've known plenty. But are there also fat people who exercise regularly, make good food choices, but still are not societally acceptable weights? Yep, I've been one of them. And are there also thin people who eat like pigs and never exercise? Yep, I've known plenty of them and so have you.

Why is it that people go on and on and on and on and ON about how "simple" the calories in/calories out math is, but never take the "heavy eating thin person" into consideration? Why is a fast metabolism easy to accept, but a slow one isn't? Is it because the person with the fast metabolism has a body that society doesn't direct us to hate?

My sister and I grew up eating the same shit, playing outside for the same amount of time, taking the same swimming lessons and skiing lessons and playing on the same soccer teams. She was skinny as a rail, and I was always a chunk. Same with my dad (skinny) and his brother (chunk). Actually, I beat the crap out of her at swimming, I was the one bringing home ribbons and medals, all while being (gasp!) fatter than her skinny ass.

But regardless of any of this crap about the science (which is INSANELY complex..go buy a biology book and try to comprehend the vastness of information that's out there on the human metabolism and how different it can be from person to person), regardless of anything: why is it okay to actively hate on someone?

Do we really think "if I just hate them and shame them and humiliate them and denigrate them enough, THAT will make them skinny?"

Please! I don't care if you are the laziest, fattest human on the planet who really DOES stuff your "piehole" with, um, pie, or Big Macs or donuts....You still deserve to be treated with the same respect that anyone else does. No one "deserves" to be hated.

Except maybe like, child molesters or something. Oh! Especially FAT child molesters.

Taking a Bible Beating

Oh, for Christ's sake.

Where did I leave off? Oh yeah, he'd dumped me. Well, that lasted all of three seconds, because I'm the shit, I mean, come on. Would you be able to stay away? So he came back, admitted his mistake, and everything was relatively peachy for the last 6 or 7 weeks.

I say "relatively," because things can't really be that peachy when I'm not getting laid, let's be serious. But we still did, um, "other stuff," and it was okay, actually. I thought I liked him enough that his Jesus-loving wasn't going to be a big deal. We spent pretty much all our free time together, talked on the IM every day (this will be important soon), sang karaoke duets, he met my parents, we played Trivial Pursuit and Scene It and Cribbage (how many boys like Cribbage as much as me??? It was a match!) and basically were a fairly normal couple for a while there.

Then he had to go to fucking church.

He hadn't been in a while. I was actually glad for him, since I know how much he loves the Jesus.

I was glad until he came over that night to tell me that he prayed at church all afternoon, and while he was not breaking up with me (remember that later too), he did need to tell me that he could never make out with me or fool around with me, or even sleep in a bed next to me ever ever ever again. Because apparently Jesus wouldn't like it or something.

I'm not trying to dis Christians. Many friends of mine are seriously devoted Christians, and I have even been friends with a guy who felt just like the Boy did--no physical contact, not even kissing. The thing was, that guy sought out women who felt the same as did. Dated girls he met through church or Bible study. This guy has known what I'm about from the very beginning of our relationship.

Not to mention, we'd been doing PLENTY of physical contact before this. He was pulling a complete 180 in the middle of our relationship. You can't just follow the Bible "sometimes," and then have it cause a massive rift in your romantic involvement. I mean, come on.

And yet? I didn't dump him. I told him I wanted to think about what to do, and we have hung out a couple times since then.

Then today, he fucking IM'S ME, as in, sends me a fucking Instant Message (with my notes in bold):

well I have been thinking a long hard time about this and this is what I thought. I understood that my decision was going to be a shock to you, but I didn't think that you would respond in the way you did and have (Which I think means he thought I would dump him right away and spare him the trouble). I have tried to explain my feelings and all you keep telling me is how you don't think you can handle the situation. Well I have thought about it and I can't handle the situation either. I think you are a very fun nice girl (Oh, how nice), but we are far too different in our morals (SLUT!), political views (LIBERAL!), and belief systems. I need to be with someone who can share my feelings and beliefs and you need to be with someone who can do the same. We are just to different and I know I am taking the coward way out by typing you this (YOU THINK, DOUCHE??) but I am afraid I will not be able to in person (Because I am awesome and he doesn't really want to end it, but he thinks he has to because of God or something). Good luck with everything and I hope that you find what you are looking for. I am very thankful for everything you have done for me (I can't even tell you how nice I was to this guy, because it's too pathetic now) and the kindness you have shown me. God Bless and take care.

So look. Everything he says there is true. We ARE too different. And I was ultimately going to end our relationship too. But I was trying to slowly ease into it, because I enjoy spending time with him very much, and I thought we could just transition to friends.

But y'all? Ain't no goddamn (yeah that's right, goddamn) way I can be friends with someone who ends our relationship in a freaking instant message, and then immediately signs offline (or, more likely, just blocks me) without giving me even .0005 seconds to read it and respond.

So I did the only rational thing:

1) Called him up and left a voicemail bitching him out for being such a pussy.
2) Sent him a text informing him he is not actually 22, but 12, because only 12 year olds dump people on IM.
3) Sent him a much calmer email after I was calm (well, calmer) explaining just what I have in this post. That I wanted to be his friend, that he has disrespected me completely in a way that I didn't even think he was capable.

I'm officially a psycho--and the worst part is that I had no intention of contacting him again after all that, because he didn't respond and I do have some self-respect left.

But he has one of my favorite movies.

Do I let it go? I really want that movie, it's a Matt Damon movie! A girl can use a little Matt Damon after taking such a beating emotionally.

I think I have to let it go, because even if he gave it back to me, he'd probably like, mail it to me or something so he wouldn't have to see me, and that would be even more pathetic than everything else that's already happened.

Remember the resolution? I had said I was giving up boys for three monhts. Well, three months have almost gone by since then and I have been with The Jesus Boy for almost that long.

So now I'm renewing it as a Spring Resolution. Three months. If you so much as hear a peep from me about a damn boy anytime between now and July, I give you full license to just come on over and shoot me in the head.

I leave you with my favorite Tenacious D song about "doing it" (hehe), which is dirty and raunchy and features both Jesus and Satan! I find it quite appropriate:

Worst. Day. Evah.

1) The new guy dumped me last night, and I reacted very, very poorly. Highly, highly embarassing in retrospect. I know, deep down, that it's probably the right thing to do because let's face it, I am too old to not be looking for someone with real long-term potential. And this guy was SUPER sweet, very cute (srsly, I never should have gotten him in the first place, it was ridic how cute I think he is), and very interesting....but not like, marriage material.

2) I also went and had an x-ray last night. The doc said I was all good, then calls me up today and says he missed a fracture in my lower little finger. I have to go back there in about an hour to get fitted for a typing-inhibiting brace/splint thingie.

3) I actually let myself get a bit weepy over the guy situation last night, and as a result today my eyes are hard little pits sunken into my head. I'm a wreck, and also have gotten absolutely fuck-all done at work.

And so? I am packing it in. I am going to the doctor for my stupid hand thing, and then taking the rest of the day off for mental health.

Siiiigh.

Mardi Graaaaaaaaaaaaah (and other stuff)

I was in New Orleans for two days and three nights for Mardi Gras (yes, Mardi Gras is early this year, I'm very tired of explaining to people that Easter comes early sometimes, and that Mardi Gras is planned around Lent or whatever, because I'm insanely not religious so I can't explain it properly anyway, but I do know that Fat Tuesday is today, which means Lent starts tomorrow, which means Mardi Gras started last week, okay?).

Things I managed to avoid:

• Puking on the street
• Getting puke/excrement sludge on the cuffs of my jeans, something we were actually warned about on the plane on the way there (ew)
  
• Making out with anyone ugly (or making out with anyone at all, come to think of it)
• Getting groped/raped/molested or in other ways sexually harassed (ok this is only 95% true)

Things I did not manage to avoid:

• Getting my boob grabbed by this old guy, but it was kind of my fault so I let it go, I was flirting with him because he bought me and my friends like 100 drinks and a $700 dinner at a fancy restaurant. Yes, I am a whore for swordfish.
• Spraining (I think) my hand when some d-bag chucked a huge bag full o' beads at me off his float. You could argue he was trying to be nice by giving me so many beads, but he WHIPPED this thing, it bent two of my fingers all the way back, If he'd hit me in the face I'd have almost definitely lost some teeth. Fucker.
• Learning the glory of taking really nice wine from a fancy restaurant out into the streets in a freaking "to go" cup. Ah, New Orleans.

All in all, a good time. I'd go back, but might be too old after this, because after only two full days my liver feels like it's about to explode. I imagine it's plotting its escape plan now, soon I will be in excruciating pain as it attempts to burrow out through my colon or something (ew).

I am not in a healthy enough mental state to discuss the SuperBowl yet. But basically? The Pats choked hard. I think this choke might even be worse than the 04 Yankees dropping four straight to the Sox after getting them on the ropes three games to none, but it probably just feels that way right now because my pain is still so fresh.

Okay, so I will give the Obligatory Romance Update.

I managed to NOT blow it on date three (inconceivable!) and have successfully continued seeing He of the New Year's Resolution Ruination (if you recall, I declared I was giving up dating for three months as my resolution). Though we haven't gotten to hang out much due to my insane travel schedule and his schooling schedule, I believe we are now at 6 dates, 100% more than my usual Tommy Boy Pretty Pet Freakout Blow It All point.

This is almost unprecedented. I can't even count The Ex, because he was (for whatever reason, though I attribute it to my thin-ness at the time of our meeting) so totally enamored of me in the early days it would have been near impossible to drive him away.

So, yeah, I'll keep you updated.

Speaking of thin-ness, I'm like....SO not. I've been getting really caught up in the Fat Acceptance movement lately, not actually doing anything to participate but getting thoroughly obsessed with reading blogs from some really freaking smart bitches who write about how, you know, fat people are actually people. (Who knew!? All this time I figured I was an alien from the planet Lardassonia, where Twinkies grow on trees--there HAS to be an explanation for Banana Twinkies, right?) (Mmmm, banana twinkies.)

Only problem--the point of those blogs is that they promote health at every size. Meaning, you can be fat and still healthy, and exercise, and all that great stuff.

Why is this a problem? Because while I am coming to terms with the fact that I will never ever ever evah be "thin," I'm also not so healthy lately. I drink like a sailor and eat shitty things, and haven't seen the inside of my gym in three months. D'oh.

So I think it's time to get back on that. I'm not going to re-join Weight Watchers for the 100th time, but I am going to at least try to embrace that "health" aspect of Health at Every Size.

Soooo, that's it I guess. I'll be back with Obligatory Romance Updates as they become available.

Resolution, Schmesolution

It's so typical. The moment I boldly declare that I am swearing off men for my new year's resolution, I meet one.

Literally. I made the decision, and met one the NEXT DAY.

How is that even possible? Sigh. It's like the universe was waiting for me to give up entirely before dumping a cute guy who shares my love of karaoke into my lap.

I won't bother with details, since everyone who reads this blog has likely already heard all about the hows and whats surrounding the first couple dates, but here we have come to the dreaded third date.

The third date for me, is generally when things go to crap. Basically, I tend to get myself completely worked up when I start seeing someone. This overanalytic excited insanity is no doubt due to my overall lack of dating experience. I've got plenty of experience hooking guys in bars, but highly limited amounts of dating them for reals like. So I tend to lose it.

Ever seen Tommy Boy? I'll modify one of my favorite quotes from that film to explain:

"Let me tell you why I suck at dating. Let's say I meet a guy, let's say he's even remotely interested in dating me. Well then I get all excited! I'm like Jojo the Idiot Circus Girl with a pretty new pet! Now the pet is my possible relationship. Hello there pretty little pet, I love you! And then I stroke it, and I pet it, and I massage it. Hehe I love it, I love my little naughty pet! You're naughty! And then I take my naughty pet and I go GRAAAGHGHGHGGHGHG! (bash bash) Oooooaaaauuugh! I killed it! I KILLED MY PET! And that's when I blow it."

(For hearty laughs and a better understanding for those who haven't seen the film--and really, what's wrong with you that you haven't? It's in my top five!--click here.)

So.

I meet up with him tonight for dreaded date #3. I'll fill you in on my next post with the details of how I'm going to blow it.

Good times!

Son of a Bee Sting, She's Back! And She Voted for WHO?

Good lord people. Fine. FINE. I have been under an unrelenting barrage of whiny bitching ever since I stopped blogging regularly, and I am proving once again why I should never procreate: whiny bitching always works on me.

Fuuuuuuuuuuu, damnit! Update your damn blog!

Me: Oooh, okaaaay.

Mooooom, damnit! Buy me some beers!

Me: But you're only 8!

MOOOOOOm!!!!

Me: Okay fine. But get me some too. And some ciggies.

Anyway.

You'll be pleased to know I've been up to absolutely fuck all since my last update. Exciting! I think Britney's release of her last marble into the Hollywood night air might be the most thilling thing to happen to me lately. But I don't even have that much to report about that, because my last four Us Weeklies are sitting untouched on my kitchen counter. It's weird, I am busy, but probably not too busy to read Hollywood gossip. I just kind of don't give a shit anymore. Weird, huh?

That's not all.

Part One: Politics and Shit

After registering as an Independent, I voted (gag) Democrat in the New Hampshire Primary. I'm not going to say who, though I can imagine you all can figure it out pretty easily just based on which Democrat takes the most shit for not being Demmy enough. And not having enough cock and balls.

Oh, be nice, Kucinich MUST have a cock, you've seen his wife, yes?

So yeah. I did. Sue me. I kind of (gag) like her. And it's not because I felt sorry for her, though I do find the news media in general and Chris Matthews (gag) in particular rather odious, particularly watching him almost give himself a stroke over Hillary's NH victory and then say on TV this morning that the only reason she's even in the Senate is because her husband cheated on her.

Oh, obviously. Clearly. Ass.

Matthews is living proof that it's not just Republicans who are crazy-assed misogynists banging their "balls equal goooood, titties equal baaaaad" drums all over TV.

(I wonder what the misogynists think of Ted Kennedy? He's got balls and titties.)

The biggest problem is that I am crazy about Obama too. I just know that I voted (gag) for Bush twice in part because I found (emphasis on the past tense) him to be such a charming personality. Obama is MR. Personality. He wakes up in the morning and takes a big Personality Dump before railing his hot Personality Wife and having a Personality Hash Browns covered in Eloquent Ketchup for breakfast for chrissake. He jacks off and his sperm sit in the Kleenex in the trash on the damn campaign bus all "What? Even we have more personality than Romney."

But...what else? I don't know. I just think I despise pretty much all the Republicans except Rudy, and I'm starting to despise him too. (Wait...you witness 9/11? Get out!)

Part Two: Where I've Also Given Up Boys

I hate New Year's resolutions. Probably because I usually resolve to finally be a little better about keeping healthy and working out and getting skinny and shit and it never. ever. happens. So fuck it. But this year I made a couple, the biggest being I am giving up boys for at least three months. The Canadian and I decided to just be friends. I hooked up with a male acquaintance of mine a few times over the holidays but that was underwhelming, generally speaking. I'm tired of being "on the prowl," so I am sort of just saying "eff it."

No boys, no sex, no making out drunkenly in the corner of the bar, no going back to guys I've already hooked up with because they won't add to my "list." Nothing. For three months. It's been 9 days.....(shakes). What? No, my hand's not shaking. That's just because I need a cigarette.

What?

TV!!! Noooooooo!

Pretty much, TV is done. I just watched the last episode of Gossip Girl, which every one of you should be watching, damnit, because it's probably the best thing I've ever seen on TV. I want a Blair Waldorf of my very own. Sniffle.

Now sure, we've got American Idol. But I don't watch American Idol during the auditions rounds, because I'm the person who has to turn the volume down or change the channel whenever anyone is making an ass of themselves. It's why I can't watch Tyra Banks' talk show. So I can't watch the auditions which means I have nothing at all to watch until this damn strike is over. "Lost" hardly counts because that's only one show, and eight episodes will fly by like nothing. Sigh.

What am I supposed to do? Read a book?

Other Obligatory Updates:

The holidays--meh. Kind of the usual. I drank a ton, ate my weight in sugar and lard, gained approximately ten pounds to go along with the 15 I gained before that (sigh).

BUT--I did get a Wii. My love for the Wii is insane. I've played every single day. I humiliate the computer in straight sets every time I play tennis and I boxed against Jesus and totally owned his ass. My right elbow always kind of throbs, I wonder if I get carpal tunnel from too much Wii if I could still stay home from work? Hmmm...

I also wonder if I can tell my doctor the next time they inevitably bitch at me about my weight that my Wii fitness age is 27! That's a year younger than I am now. Hmph. In your face Dr. "Your Cholesterol is approaching the high side."

What else?

Work is good...I was contemplating moving to Boston but now probably will be sticking round Manch Vegas for a while longer. And getting a roommate. Partially to save money and partially so I'll have someone for my second Wii controller, because the cats aren't really getting into it. Or growing thumbs at the rate which I'd like.

That's about it y'all. I'm sure I'll have another update before spring, but god knows this small taste will have you all pissing and moaning at me like you've all got your damn collective periods, so it will likely be sooner than later.

Peace.

Happy (?) Holidays!

So I owe you a post, I'm aware.

But your fearless blogger has been downright down in the dumps lately people, can't deny it. Not about stupid boys (although they continue to be stupid), or anything really in particular. Just in general.

However, tonight was the Charlie Brown Christmas Special. I missed it, and yet I realized that I set it to record on my DVR a few days ago. Lucky me for thinking ahead, because people? I LOVE THE CHARLIE BROWN CHRISTMAS SPECIAL.

Love it. Can't help it. I'm a loser. But I LOVE IT. Especially the part where Linus explains the story of Christmas for a downtrodden Charlie Brown. I'm not religious, but I do love the Christmas Story from the Bible...just something nice about peace on Earth and goodwill towards men and all that. Just not goodwill towards stupid boys, of course (hehe).

Tonight I discovered something almost better than the Charlie Brown Christmas Special. What's that, you ask? What could possible come close? This of course:

Viva Brazil

I'm watching a "Sex and the City" rerun.

Carrie gets an accidental Brazilian wax.

She's horrified, and complains to her friends about being totally "bald" down there.

This episode was in 2000, have times really changed that much in 7 years? I mean, the other women are horrified by this, and Samantha has to explain to the ladies that it's "called a Brazilian."

I, frankly, honestly, grossly....have never been a into the "BP." My friend Casey always used to call it that. "Bald pussy."

And I am pretty much the ONLY one of my friends who keeps any hair on her shit.

Everyone else actually thinks I'm kind of a weirdo for it. The fact is, I can't afford waxing. It's expensive, somewhat painful, but mostly expensive.

I've shaved it all off before, and yeah, it's cool...you feel hot and sexy and all that, and maybe the sex is hotter because of it. But goddamnit, it hurts. I gotta sensitive vag, okay? If I shave it all off, I get a charming array of bright red itchy bumps. And I've tried all the right stuff, the super-sharp new razors, the lotions, the potions, the whole nine yards. I get da bumps.

I suppose I'd prefer, I guess, to keep it bald because that's what all the other girls do and I figure that's what guys expect. And you don't want to disappoint them. I mean shit, they're probably already disappointed enough just to be hooking up with me. Don't want them to go home thinking "sheesh, she was a fatty AND had a hairy beaver? Fail!"

But which is worse, looking like you have a raging case of oozing VD all over your cootch, or having no hair?

What's the solution here people?

Look, I'm not anti-BP. I get it, it's what's "in." But I'm tired of everyone being all "ew" when I admit that I don't got all 10-year old girl down there.

And if it makes me a pariah, then someone please for the love of god tell me how to keep it bald without wax.

I've got Nair in the bathroom that I haven't used yet. The smell grosses me out, and it specifically says not to use it "vaginally" (ew).

So what's a girl to do?

I'm kinda grateful for this SATC episode, because I suppose if Carrie Bradshaw likes some hair on her vajayjay then it's good enough for me. We have the same taste in shoes too, after all.

Goddamnit.

Well This is Some Bullshit

You know what sucks? My timing. Always, always sucks.

I was out on the town in Boston last night at John Harvard's in Cambridge, where a conference I attended this weekend was sponsoring an open bar. Had a GREAT time and many free shots and drinks, and watched the Red Sox kick some Rockies ass. Why couldn't THAT have been Game 4?

They're six outs away from shutting the door on the World Series, and what am I doing?

Sitting on my ass in my pajamas. Because I've been working/on-the-run all weekend and am fracking exhausted. I don't even have any friends over. I just texted a friend saying maybe I should go get some champagne and bring it over for the last two innings just in case they win, and she was for it, but I'm tired...and I don't really feel like it. This is so embarassing.

Three years ago the Sox pulled off the most amazing comeback in baseball history, vanquishing the evil NY Yankees in seven. Where was I for game seven? The cursebreaker? The most important game in the history of the Red Sox?

With my ex-boyfriend and our dog. Pacing around his living room and having three heart attacks. I was not out at a bar, like Murphy's perhaps, a very boston-themed bar (this was in Virginia) RIGHT DOWN THE ROAD FROM HIS HOUSE where there would have been plenty of Sox fans. I don't know why we didn't go....I don't remember. But we didn't.

Game four of that year's World Series, when we won? Was I out at a bar then? No. I was sitting on my booty AGAIN, bc I was moving out of my apartment the next day, so I was packing. And had like 2 friends over to have pizza and beers and watch.

I am one of the biggest Sox/Pats fan I know, and yet every time either team wins a championship I can't get my shit together to get out and watch. I was IN BOSTON earlier today! I could have STAYED and talked one of my Bostonian friends into putting me up, and we could have GONE OUT and watched in BOSTON and I could have had that awesome experience where your home team wins a game in a fun sports bar with everyone freaking out and hugging strangers!

I suck!

So, it has been decided from on high, heard now: should the Sox lose tonight (highly unlikely but the Rockies do have two innings to remember they used to be good) I will be going OUT tomorrow night to watch game 5.

Should they win, I will raise a beer cheer to the home team and play a celebratory "Tessie" for the cats, who have no idea why I'll be jumping up and down and shit.

BUT...

....I will also raise my right hand (right after I put down the frosty cold one) and swear on a stack of Us Weeklys that I WILL be out somewhere FUN when the Pats hit the playoffs this year, up to and including any Superbowl action. Because in 2002 I was at my friend's house for a low-key night, and I don't even remember where I was in 2004, and in 2005 I was at a friend's party. That was fun, but it was also in Virginia. I need to get off my sports fan ass and do something seriously awesome for the next New England championship.

Like, seriously. Because right now I'm actually DEPRESSED that the Red Sox are winning the World Fucking Series tonight. How messed up is that!?