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!?

Cruise Ship Lollipop

So now that it’s been a healthy 10 days since I returned from my cruise, and now that my tan has faded from a “goldenly awesomely brown” to “the color of poop when you have one of those weird ones that’s kind of pale instead of normal”, I feel it’s time for a little cruise re-cap, eh?

(My sister likes to claim I have a fecal fixation disorder, but she’s the one that wrote on the walls of my nursery in poo after she broke into my diaper bin when she was two, and she’s the one who called me into the bathroom when I was around 3 to check out her poop and then picked it up.)

(Sorry sister, but you’ve told the story about me drawing the picture of the horse with the poop coming out of its butt for the last time, it’s payback!)

(And don’t you dare deny picking up your poop, I vividly remember this, it’s actually one of my earliest childhood memories, sadly.)

So the cruise! Great times were had by all, there was, believe it or not, utterly no drama. 8 girls trapped on a boat together for 7 days and no one had it out! There may have been a bit of bickering now and then, but not anything major. No one went flying off the end of the ship into the shark-infested waters below. Truly an October miracle.

The best day was probably in the Bahamas, where we rented a private cabana with its own stretch of beach, and a waiter running up and down the beach every half hour bringing us new buckets of beer. We sat in the water all day, which was as warm as bathwater, and got totally tanked, if a bit pruny.

Also fun from that day was my very special sunburn. It wasn’t too intense, it was just oddly patterned. I love that spray on sunscreen, but then it drips down your back and chest, and if you’re not vigilant (or sober) enough to rub it in well, you end up with funky white “drip marks” all down yourself. It’s almost awesome, like those people who put stickers on their skin to make little white tattoos when they tan. (My sister also once did this, with a playboy bunny sticker. Ha!) (I’m just throwing her under the bus today, eh?)

Other highlights:

• Almost getting into a fistfight with a dude who was being a lunatic at my friend. He felt she did not spend enough time talking to him after buying her a drink. Guys, seriously: if you buy us a drink, you don’t get to expect ANYTHING out of it. Yes, there’s the expectation of a little friendly chat to size each other up, see if anything’s there, but if a girl decides she’s not into you after a couple minutes, you can’t expect her to sit there and listen to you talk about your iguana farm. Sorry. So yeah, he starts ranting and raving about how she’s “just like every other bitch” or some shit, and oh yeah Fu was NOT having that bullcrap. So I gots up in his bidness, and he called me a “rude bitch,” it was awesome.

• Winning a karaoke contest , the reward of which was maybe not even a reward at all. If I said the words “dressing up like Britney and performing a song and routine with a group of backup dancers in front of the whole boat and accompanied by the ship’s orchestra, WITHOUT a monitor with all the words on it,” would that be something you’d be interested in? And no, I will not be posting the photos. Just picture Britney, then picture Britney if she ATE one of her backup dancers and was twice her normal size.

• Mojitos at nine in the morning. WOOOT!

• Posing with parrots and not getting pooped on (there I go with poop again!).

• Suspicious shots at Senor Frogs in San Juan. They were cheap, and tasted, really, like water. I think the bartender actually just put water in two shot glasses and handed them over. Is this possible?

So, yeah. Good times. No hookups, no interest in hookups, just in sun and drinks and sun and fun. Drinks! I didn’t even drink that much! I was wildly toasted only twice the whole week, and here I expected it to be a near-constant alcoholism-fest. Yet I still managed to spend like 600 dollars. Is this possible? Sheesh.

Other updates:

I’ve got something brewing I can’t really talk about yet, will hopefully have updates soon though. (Wow, quite an illuminating update.)

Mr. Canada is still happening (I know, right? It’s been three MONTHS), but there are no updates. I have a feeling I might just be ending up with a pen pal, to be honest. A pen pal who writes dirty emails. Heh.

But who knows. He says he’s still interested in visiting me, and he’s pretty adamant about how much he likes me...He’s allegedly going to let me know “by the end of this week” what weekend works best for him. So naturally I will update on that, but I’m not holding my breath. If there’s no resolution by then, I think I’m going to have to downgrade him to “Mr. Canadian Friend Who Occasionally Writes Dirty Emails.”

Ummmm, what else?

It’s hot as BALLS out right now, and I don’t like it.

I went to a farm this weekend with my whole family to watch a medieval device fling a pumpkin 2,000 feet. I’m not even joking. I was the only adult there, outside of my other family members, not toting a small shrieking child of some kind or holding hands with some husband-type figure. It was highly depressing, yet also a relief. I’m starting to realize I might not want to procreate. Kids annoy the everloving shit out of me.

Oh yeah, and maybe you’ve heard of this thing called the Red Sox GOING TO THE WORLD SERIES!?!?!?

HOLY SHIT!

So yeah. Um, and that’s about that.

This entry was not funny or even all that interesting. What can I say, I live to disappoint!

Ahoy Ahoy!

Yes, I know. Okay? I KNOW.

Here's the thing: If I were a gynecologist, and also a man (or, I suppose, a lesbian), the last thing I'd want to do after a long day spent elbows deep in vajayjays would be to head home and get in one voluntarily. I really don't understand how male gynos do it...Obviously, sex and pelvic exams..NOT the same thing. But when you're prodding at various kitty cats all day, some of which are in a state of...um, distress....are you really going to want to stick your face in another one at the end of the day?

I suppose a better example would be how you knew that friend in high school or whatever that spent the summer working at the ice cream shop, and you were all jealous and "Mmm, free ice cream!" and she was just like "Yeah if I even SEE another scoop of fricking pistaschio I'm gonna pistaschi-hurl."

That's what's up with me.

Part of my job, as I've said before, involves blogging.

And then I get home and I write for my other personal blog (sometimes, though my co-blogger would probably say not nearly enough) (and don't get in a snit, that one is also technically work related...as in, I don't use the word "vajayjay" on it). And then there's a bunch of TV on...and the Red Sox are in the playoffs...and the litter box needs changing...and there are ants in the cats' food...and then I have three Facebook messages to reply to...and wah wah wah.

So I'm sorry, I know I'm like, the awesomest and stuff, but you're going to have to deal with only a few FuUpdates a month. I did 8 in August, 7 in September, if I can bang out a few in October I'll be continuing to set that pace. It's the best I can do! Sniff.

Anyway. Tomorrow (!!!) at 4 a.m. (!!!!!!!!!!!!) I leave for a 7-day Carribean cruise. I'm beside myself. I've even already packed. Normally I'd start at around 340 or so, and just dump the contents of my dresser and hamper into my Jimmy Hoffa suitcase (big enough to hide a body!) and hit the road. But this time I packed last night AND all the stuff I'm bringing is clean. Okay except for the shirt I wore in Boston Saturday night, but it's not like it smells. And I only wore it for a few hours. What? Shut up!

Speaking of vajayjays....One thing I haven't done but wanted to was get a bikini wax. I've never had one, and the cruise seems as good a reason as any. I know this makes me a weirdo amongst women, because apparently at some point in our evolution you all got together without me and decided to save off all your pubes all the time, but I don't go bald in that arena. How do you all do that? Don't get me wrong, I maintain the fairway. Not like this is a "Where the wild things are" situation or anything. But if I take too much off the top my special area starts to resemble all the "before" pictures in the Proactiv ads, know what I mean? So it's like, I can either have some shrubbery, or I can have a nasty case of vaj Rosacea. Which would YOU pick!!?

But. I hear that doesn't necessarily happen when you wax. So I'm sad I didn't get the chance. What is the point of this story? I have no idea. I should go. After all, I need to be awake in 6 hours and it's only 830. Christ!!

Man, fricking vacations. Every time I go anywhere I have to have the "common sense" talk with the FuManchDad, and he's so ridiculous.

Me: Hello?
Dad: Listen, you'd better be safe on this cruise.
Me: Does that mean I can't act out the Titanic scene after 4 margaritas?
Dad: Yeah, don't do that.
Me: What about buying questionable weed off an island man with equally questionable hygiene?
Dad: Questionable as in potentially fake, or questionable as in laced?
Me: Laced.
Dad: In that case, no.
Me: Great, now I won't have any fun.
Dad: You can always read. In your stateroom. With your cash in your underwear so no one will steal it.
Me: I didn't have time to get that wax, so there's really no room in my underwear.
Dad: Now that's just over the line.
Me: What?!?

I promise I'll update when I get back. Maybe. Ahem.

Not a Real Post

So I owe you guys a post, fine. Fine.

But, psst, this isn't going to be that interesting, it's just a rant. And has nothing to do with boys, Canadian or otherwise.

(I'm actually settling down quite nicely in that department though, and find myself 24% less psychotic than I was last week, which is a lovely development.) (He is still talking non-stop about visiting me, but instead of going all Boil-a-Bunny on him about "when, when, when!?!" I am merely ignoring it and just being like "I guess we'll just see aboot that when it actually happens, eh?") (Very proud of this development.) (Okay, onto the "real" post.)

I just have a quick thought:

Does this happen to anyone else? :

This year, I have been to the movies a woefully inadequate number of times. I think maybe three or four. I used to go to the movies once a week at least, no seriously. I LOVE MOVIES.

So this year has sucked for me for movies. None of my NH friends ever wants to go, or when they do want to go I have plans, or they have plans when I want to go, and I haven't managed to get to the theater to go alone enough because, again, plans, always plans (when did I get so goddamn busy, and why do I still feel so lonesome all the time?)....and anyway.

But whenever this happens, whenever I have this lag where I don't get to the theater, I think, "well I will just buy them or rent them or whatever when they come out."

And then after months pass and the movies are long gone from the theaters, I'll find myself in a video store with absolutely nothing to rent, or I'll just buy a three-in-one DVD crap set from Target of like, "Wimbledon" (seen it twice), "The Wedding Date" (constantly on HBO, seen it, and Debra Messing's scary protruding sternum, more times than I'm willing to admit), and fucking "The Perfect Man," a travesty of Hillary-Duff-Before-She-Got-So-Skinny proportions.

What is my problem?

Movies I Still Haven't Seen But Will Probably Forget About By the Time They Come On DVD:

All the stupid "threequels" (Shrek 3, Ocean's 13, Spiderman 3, Pirates of the Caribbean 3)

The Bourne Ultimatum (mmmm, Matt Damon, mmmm)

Superbad

300

Transformers

3:10 to Yuma (Okay so this one I still have plenty of time for, I'm just reminding myself)

Live Free or Die Hard

Fantastic Four

I could honestly go on and on. And yet 6 months from now when I'm finally signing up for Netflix or something I won't remember this. Hence? This blog post for reference.

Now I must get back to work.

Bleh-mmys

I was going to live-blog the Emmys.

But then my birthday party happened, and I was way too hungover all day today to do anything but remain where I've been since noon. Curled up under a blanket. I did order pizza though. Way to ruin my diet that I've been on for like 6 days.

(Buffalo wings too!)

(Good lord.)

Oh, and also on tonight?? Red Sox vs Yankees. And Pats vs Chargers. Jesus. Too much good TV all in one time slot. But I can't make fun of fashion and the Gayness of Ryan Seacrest while watching sports.

One note: Jeremy Piven just won, and looks like he rolled out of his bed (which he was probably sharing with three Brazilian hookers and a pound of coke) about 10 minutes ago. Take a shave, Piven, it's the EMMYS.

So? THEN What?

I'm a big fan of "He's Just Not that Into You" (HJNTIY). It's incredibly sensible, if a bit harsh on the dudes at times (I mean really, they're NEVER too busy to call? What if they get hit by a bus or something?). Regardless, I like the principle: if a guy's into you, it's obvious. If he's not? It's still obvious, you just have to read the signs right.

But honestly? It depresses me. Because according to this book, no guy is *ever* into me. No, seriously! So fine, it's easy to see when guys don't like me, but what exactly are we supposed to DO with that info? Aside from feel like ass?

You see my point.

Take the Canadian guy. He likes me, but probably not enough to put in the money and effort of starting something up long distance. And I don't even blame him, it would actually be really hard. But my knowing this based on my HJNTIY Evidence doesn't make me feel better about it.

It blows, because now I have to cut off contact with him.

I mean, because that's the test, right? That's what it says in the book. Suspect the object of your affection is just not that into you? Stop calling, and stop emailing. And see what happens. If he IS into you, he's going to call and see what's up, or at least email. And if not? You'll probably never hear from him again. See also: Paul Giamatti.

But the book doesn't have a chapter on how not to feel depressed afterwards. I hate nothing more than that "back to the drawing board" type feeling. Argh.

Oh well, you bitches have listened to me bitch about my love life long enough.

"Bitching about my love life" is the new "bitching about my weight!" It's good times all around.

Wow

This might be the greatest thing I've ever seen. It took me a minute to figure out this was a guy. Love his eye makeup!

Dear Britney

You sucked the other night. You should really wear better clothes, and practice your routines while WEARING those 5 inch boots. Oh, and if it were me making a "comeback," I'd have insisted on a bigger, badder production, wtf was up with the 10 dancers and teensy tiny stage? Sheesh. Also, next time start with a nice medley of your older, awesomer work. That being said:

YOU'RE NOT FUCKING FAT.

Jesus CHRIST what is wrong with the world. I'd reckon there are millions of girls besides myself who'd probably sacrifice a couple of digits to have this body. So give it a fucking REST, people. This is why little girls grow up with thighs smaller around than my goddamn wrists.