Two breakfasts and a Corona

Today I had cereal with orange juice for Breakfast 1. Notice I didn't say "with a glass of orange juice." FYI, o.j. is not a good milk substitute.

Breakfast 2 I had for lunch: a veggie omelet and bacon at the Moonstruck Diner. Moonstruck has good food and good portions, but is way over priced for a diner, even for midtown.

The Corona is my dinner. I just got back from a Company softball game and I gotta tell ya, beer and baseball go really well together. A couple peeps from the team wanted to go out, but I thought I'd be good and stay in. And by "be good and stay in" I mean "run home and check if FB emailed me back so that I know when and where we MIGHT be hanging out tomorrow night." Loser. Meaning me, of course.

Here are my options for the rest of this evening:

1. Keep computer on and incessantly hit CHECK MAIL on my Yahoo account until I pass out at my desk.

2. Dance for a few hours, shower, and then pass out in my bed without checking email for the rest of the night.

3. Continue to drink Coronas, then move to Stoli O in fridge, drunk dial/text/email FB and random other guys that I've fancied in the past, throw up because I had beer before liquor, and then cry and pass out on bathroom floor.

4. Rub down the pinto, cry tears of shame and joy, pass out sticky and warm.

5. All of the above.

I'm leaning towards the even options. In fact I could do 2 and 4 together. I really wish I didn't break my rabbit.

I don't date...

because I can't take the anticipation.

I am so nauseous right now. It's most likely because I had split pea soup, a pear, and an ice pop in the last 15 minutes, but I think it's also because this whole "chilling out" thing isn't working.

It looks like I'm going to meet FB Thursday night. I checked my email six times today and nearly had a heart attack when he wrote me back around 4pm. I am hyperventilating due to nerves.

This is what is going through my head right. You may want to sit further away from your screen...

what happens if he doesn't like me what happens if he does like me what happens if I like him what happens if I don't like him what if he thinks I'm fat ugly stupid boring unfun and retarded? what happens if I think he's fat ugly stupid boring unfun and retarded? what happens if i walk into the bar and he takes one look at me and runs screaming out of the place? what happens if we have nothing to talk about? what happens if there's a really hot chick in the bar and he goes to the bathroom and she follows and they bang in a stall and I'm sitting there wondering if I should leave because he's obviously been gone for awhile and is most likely banging some hot chick in a bathroom stall? what happens if he's wearing white sneakers??? i fucking hate white on white sneakers! what happens if tomorrow night at my softball game I get hit in the face with a line drive and get a black eye, thus looking mangled when we meet on Thursday? what happens if I get a huge fucking zit right between my eyes (who will be named Ben or Jerry as that's what I've named all my zits since senior year of high school) and he thinks I'm disgusting? what happens if I run out of things to talk about? what happens if I really like him, he sort of likes me, then we go out and he meets my friends and ends up liking one of my friends and not me? what would happen if I just pretend for the sake of all that is holy that this is NOT A DATE nor a big deal and I'm just meeting someone who is rather funny and could become just a friend and ONLY a friend without putting any pressure on myself to think this is IT and that I have to come out of this either married or more broken than I am?? why don't I just shut the fuck up, admit to myself that I am pretty, cool, and funny and that most people actually like talking to me and that there is no need to have a panic attack over something this stupid!! AARRGGGHHHHH!!!

Welcome to my life. For your safety, please fasten your seat belts and keep your hands inside the vehicle at all times.

What's in a name?

I'm the type of person who is quick to give you a nickname ie Jenny-Jen, Biznotch, Lemons, whatever. I'm also the type of person who has alter egos and names inanimate objects.

Delilah Foray is what I call my apartment. Delilah is a biblical whore, Foray is actually "4A" my apartment number. I've lived here for about three and a half years. I love her more and more every day, especially when I come home after a mini-break.

Dee is my favorite color blurple, blue and purple for you slow folk. My living room is blue, my bedroom is purple, my bathroom is green. The kitchen is off to the side by the front door. I painted one wall midnight blue and then made stripes on the other wall. I still haven't hung many pictures, but she's coming along nicely. Delilah really is my home...I've never felt like I had one before.

I've mentioned Bethany Beergut before. She's come back for a visit this winter and oddly enough, I'm okay with her now. I've embraced my beergut and look forward to filling her with more delicious brews. I do not however want her to keep growing!

Ruth Clare Jenkins is my alter ego, not to be confused with my superhero name of Red-Faced Wonder (RFW). Ruth Clare is a feisty 81 year old woman. She's got some youthful pizazz, but is pretty much the stereotypical senior citizen. Ruth likes all things Matlock, Wheel of Fortune, logic problems and TV Guide crossword. She constantly urinates, knows where all the bathrooms are in the Port Authority and Penn Station. While Ruth doesn't steal, she'd probably take some Equal or Sweet-N-Low packets if she used sugar in her coffee.

Huh. Now that I'm writing about Ruth Clare, I'm realizing she's a lot like my grandmother who passed away a few years ago. I'm surprised I didn't notice that before, then again Ruth Clare could be any one's grandmother.

Ummm...yeah, I got nothing. Hope you had a good holiday weekend!

Well, well...

I rock.

Job:
My new job is so fucking fun. "Fun" for me is having to research a problem, find the solution, implement it, and then pass it on. Right now I'm learning how to set up direct deposit. Geekness: I created all of these fake invoices for testing in the dev environment, one for my friend Chewie who "expensed" $5,000 for an all night drink up with me. Thanks Company!!

Actually now that I think of it, check out Chewie's awesome new limited series Drain. Three words: lesbian vampire ninja.

Baby Spice:
I dated Psycho Joe when I was 19. One day his little sister and I were coloring when she said, "You look like Baby Spice!" I knew who the Spice Girls were but didn't really know them apart. His sister went running to her room, ripped down a poster, and practically smothered my face with it since she was so excited about the observation.

I couldn't believe it. I looked exactly like her at the time. Those were my club days back then so I wore glittery make-up, silly clips in my hair, lots of colorful bracelets and necklaces, wore pants with 36 inch bottoms. (Still have 'em.) I played it off like I was upset that my twin was a Spice Girl, but secretly I thought she was cute therefore making me cute.

Ten years later I don't think we look alike that much any more. She's all sexy and tan now while I'm sitting here wearing pajama shorts with little owls, moons, stars, and the phrase "nite owl" written all over them.

I do think it's still funny to use her as my profile picture, though. Maybe one day I'll put my real picture. Maybe.

FB:
I ended up calling him Monday night after a lovely dinner at Spag's, on my way to meet the guys at the Beer Garden. I thought I was nice and breezy (without saying so!) and am quite proud for not flipping out about it all week. He called back tonight!

We only talked for a few minutes, but he sounds really nice! We are both booked up until next week though so I probably won't have any news until next weekend. Fingers crossed!

Since I'm a loser I forwarded all of the emails between us to Rockstar for validation. She made a good point about them; I barely said anything about myself. Basically I said I liked beer, football, and the color blue. While I do feel that sums me up pretty well, I have an unfair advantage over this poor guy. I mean, FB's been writing his blog for three years. If I was nuts I could read the whole thing and analyze him to death before meeting for drinks. (To clarify, yes I am "nuts" but I am not "nuts-nuts". Dick.) You know why I haven't?? Because I really want to hear about his life from him, not from his blog. Cute, right?

So of course now I'm wondering if I should forward my blog to him. I came really close to emailing him the link right after our phone call, but I stopped myself. It's not that I'm embarrassed or anything, I just, I don't know, I just don't want to be my usual impulsive self anymore. Freud said you aren't an adult until you can delay gratification. Well I think I'm ready to become an adult, so I'm going to wait a few days and then make a decision. And no the adult me will not stop watching Spongebob.

Weekend:
I'm going to the shore with Spags and Rocks. Woo hoo! I love, love, love Seaside Heights. I can't help it. When I die my heaven would be to hang out on the Seaside Boardwalk sans anyone from Bayonne. And Staten Island. And Long Island. Okay, sans any guy that is shorter than me and/or wears a wife beater and track pants.

Anyways, I can't wait to swim, get some seafood, eat some Kohr's ice cream, play some skeeball and Target Terror/Area 51, and drink on Grandma Beach's porch.

And get this...I bought a bathing suit today and while I did buy shorts to wear over it I was not as disgusted with my legs as I usually am.

Well, well. I'm liking this whole liking myself thing I got going this week.

I rock.

Random Rant: Select Dental

Has it been awhile since you've seen a dentist?

The folks at Select Dental brought back my smile and it didn't hurt a bit. I should have done it years ago.

I hate that fucking commercial. It's always on NY1 in the mornings. If you've never seen it, you're lucky. If you have...

that couple is so not a couple!! The guy is totally gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but come on! They are clearly not in love. They are not worried about each other's teeth nor do they share medical bills. The guy is dreaming about dick, while the blatantly bored beard is thinking, "He is sooo gay."

Select Dental, if you are too lazy to find good actors to fake the funk, it leads me to believe that you may be too lazy to find good dentists. As a result, I have decided never to come to your office despite your affordable monthly payments. So there.

And apparently I'm not the only one who is bothered by your lame ass commercial. Fa!

Instant Gratification Grrrrl

Plans to go to nunnery on hold!

FB emailed me today. He said his email's been wonky for the past couple weeks, but I should call him if I want to hang out this weekend. Naturally I flipped out.

Having just watched the season finale of Scrubs I realized that I am very much like Elliot. We both get really hyper, talk very fast in an ear bleeding pitch, and flail around a lot. I like to think it's less annoying when I do it. Endearing, if you will. By the way, when did the cast get so old looking?

Of course Furball mocked me for a bit today, but was nice enough to humor me by pretending to be FB during my imaginary phone call to him.

Furball: "Hello?"

Me: "Hi, FB? This is Thighs. (10 seconds of maniacally adorable giggling) I can't do this!!! Aaaaarrrggghhh!"

My very first thought about anything in life is "NOW!" Work, food, beer, clothes, shoes, sex, drugs, coloring books, everything. I have to have it all right away. I've never asked myself this:

Which is stronger: the pain of not having this now or the pleasure of having something better later?

Most of my problems come from me being so all or nothing. If I want it, I get it. If I like it, I love it. If I don't like it, I hate it. If I'm done making out with some guy at a bar in Memphis I will make my friends leave right away with no explanation even though they didn't get the water they ordered and really wanted to drink because they were so parched from lots of alcohol. (Sorry Rockstar.)

After reading FB's email all I kept thinking was I would write or call him back tonight. I didn't even fathom the idea of doing neither. I really want to hang out with him, he told me to call, why wouldn't I call?

And then I had therapy. Today was a smorgasbord of topics, mostly about my need to react to everything. Cee made me realize that I never allow myself to relax and enjoy a positive moment. The minute something good happens I jump into Elliot-mode getting all emotional and crazy, totally replacing the peace with utter chaos.

She said I need to breathe. Just breathe.

So for the first time in my life I am going to enjoy a nice moment and not put pressure on myself to make the next move. It's not about games, it's not about anything other than me allowing me to chill. the. fuck. out.

I'll decide to call or email him come Monday. This weekend is for me!

Plus I only have $10 until Wednesday. Sad.

Oh well...

I wanted Natasha the sexy Russian minx to win, but the other chick did. Oh well.

I wore a dress to work today. Like I mentioned before I never wear shorts, barely ever wear skirts or dresses. I think I looked pretty from the waist up. Still hatin' on the waist down though.

When I lost weight a couple years ago I worked out and monitored my caloric intake. My diet was less than 1,200 calories a day BUT this was not counting fruits and veggies. I wish I could get back into that mindset. Actually maybe that's my problem. I am a very different person than I was in 2004. Ooooooo!!! Maybe the new me wants to be bulimic! Saaaaweet.

There are two things in life that weigh me down: fat and debt. Have I ever mentioned how I'm horrible with money? If I could be comfortable with my body and in the black I really don't know what the fuck else I'd think about. Hmmm, probably peni. And breasts. I'm a top-up lesbo.

I got my first card in college because I wanted the free umbrella. Or was it the shower radio? I forget. I've had about 5 since then, transferring all my debt to new cards with lower APRs over and over again. I now have one card that if I continue to pay the minimum every month will finally be paid off in 5 years. That is of course if I stop charging on it once and for all.

Herein lies my problem. When I was broke I'd scrounge up the minimum due, then I'd charge bills because I had no cash. So for about two years there was this vicious cycle of paying and maxing, paying and maxing. It was ridiculous.

The crazy thing is even though I'm making decent money, I haven't been able to break the cycle. Truth be told, I haven't even tried. I balanced my checkbook yesterday (aka logged into Bank of America's website) and realized that I have spent 33% of my YTD income on crapola.

You know what crapola is? Food. And yes of course alcohol, but mainly food. I am one of those morons who buys lunch every day, sometimes breakfast AND dinner, too. On average I definitely spend $10 a day. I'd say lately I'm spending close to $16.

Okay so yes I'm blonde, but HELLOOO!?!?! It doesn't take a genius to see that's the connection between my weight and financial issues. If I would just start bringing my lunch to work and eating breakfast and dinner at home, I'd be saving money and eating healthier.

I gotta say though, I love when someone else makes me a salad. I make salad at home too, but there's something about the rainbow of fresh veggies laid out behind the glass, the grilled chicken cut in perfect bite size pieces, the oil and lemon juice dressing the deli guy makes special for me (at least I pretend I'm the only one he makes it for)...god I need a life. I wonder when ANTM Cycle 9 starts.

Speaking of not having a life, I cancelled eharmony, haven't heard anything from FB, and actually did hear from Softball Pat Sunday night. He said he'd call this week, but whatevs. I'm thinking of entering a convent soon anyways. Better start calling me Sister Mary Thighs.

Wait, I think the holy water would burn my skin. Oooo! Maybe I'd rather be a vampire than a nun. Vampires are whores.

Nun. Vampire. Nun. Vampire.

This is the hardest decision I've made all day.

Estrogen 1, Testosterone 0

I am SOOOO glad it's pouring out right now.

My softball game was just cancelled.

Now I can watch the final episode of America's Next Top Model tonight!!!

YAAAYYY!!!

Sugar Honey Iced Tea

I have never been a shy shitter. "When you gotta go, you gotta go." Be it school, work, friend's house, Taco Bell (practically a must), or Spice Market (where I was on Saturday) I will by all means take a dump with no remorse.

Only once has my carefree poopage embarrassed the hell out of me. It was in December at Nightingale (I think) when I bombed porcelain harbor and got made fun of for it.

There were only two onesie bathrooms. I did what I had to do, gagged on my own stench, ran to the bar to get matches, ran back before someone could come in, gagged some more, lit two matches, and hoped for the best. Ironically the two matches didn't do shit.

Two chicks were walking towards the door as I walked out. In a bad attempt at making up for the smell, I offered to hang myself out there by saying something along the lines of, "I'm SOOOO sorry. I think I ate some bad tuna."

Well they were disgusted and rightly so. My farts are usually odorless, but when they do smell it's a cross between rotten eggs and roadkill with a hint of broccoli. My Nightingale nugget was ten times worse.

Now I rarely ever get embarrassed. Sure sometimes I blush, but I'm always red so it doesn't really mean anything. Only twice in my life have I been completely mortified before this. One, a very VERY unfortunate karaoke experience with the song Rump Shaker. Two, a very VERY funny yet ridiculous experience when I stuck a french fry down a girl's ass crack. (She was wearing really low jeans, my friend dared me to do it, and yeah, I did it. No, I didn't know her.)

Now both of the above moments occurred when I was pretty smashed. The next morning however was when the mortification (is that a word?) set in. Embarrassment is hard, but lemme tell you, it's ten times worse when you're hungover. I still cringe whenever I hear Rump Shaker and I still feel bad about the french fry...although I will never forget seeing it dangle for the one nano-second it was stuck in her ass.

Where was I? Oh right, my dump at Nightingale. Completely mortified how bad it smelled. Even more mortified since those two dumb yentas were making fun. I was so embarrassed and will never, ever poop in a onesie bar bathroom again...or at least not when girls who pretend they never crap and/or fart are around, which leads me to my shy shitting.

I love my new job so far. I feel like I'm in the accelerated nerd classes, like enrichment, the Delta program, or Gifted and Talented. My new boss Fi got back from vacation today...I'm really excited to work with her!

The only thing I haven't given up though is the comfort of the bathroom on my old floor. There are more women on 11, the kind who probably don't shit at work and if they do they put toilet paper on the seats beforehand. Yes, this means I don't do it. I'm lazy and unsanitary. Sue me.

They also seem to be the type of women who would gossip about the poopetrator for years on end. No need for that action folks, so I decided to keep going to the 10th floor to be safe.

Of course what did I do the first time one of my old floormates "caught" me? Amy was just about to walk out of the bathroom as I was walking in:

AMY: "Hi Thighs!! How are you? What are you doing down here???"

ME (entering BATHROOM STALL): "Hi!! I still like taking dumps in this bathroom!"

AMY (walking out): "Uhhh...okaaay. (nervous giggle) See ya later!"

INT: BATHROOM STALL.

WE SEE ME sitting bare assed on toilet shaking my head in shame due to my total lack of internal editing, yet completely thrilled with my decision to still crap on 10.

END SCENE.

Dipreshuhn

I woke up at 2pm today. I slept for 14 glorious hours. Fantastical.

I love sleeping in, but unfortunately it throws off my meds. I'm supposed to take my Zoloft in the morning so when I wake up in the afternoon I kinda wig out.

Today I got up, had breakfast, watched Lindsay Lohan's Most Shocking Moments on VH1. Talked to my mom, went shopping on Steinway, had dinner at this great cafe Il Bambino down the block. Came back home, laid on the couch and watched What Not to Wear. Started to have panic attack, began crying, turned on computer and here I am.

Depression is awful for so many reasons. The worst part about it is not knowing what's real. One minute I'm fine, the next minute I'm not. It's exhausting trying to keep up with my moods. Actually, everything is exhausting when you're mental.

I've never been able to trust what I think, how I feel, or who I am. This is why I have barely any sense of self and pretty crappy self-esteem. This is also why I'm constantly looking for validation and approval from others. I have no clue how I rate in other people's eyes, when at this point in my life I should only care how I rate in my own.

I have been depressed for 19 years. I knew there was something wrong with me around 5th grade, I just didn't know how to describe or deal with it. Then I started getting sick. I was diagnosed with Lymes disease, even though I didn't have a tick bite. In 6th grade I got reactivated Mono, even though I never had mono before. By senior year I had chronic fatigue syndrome, college Epstein-Barr. I think all of these were legitimate diagnoses, but now I think that my depression was a contributing factor. If I remember correctly, the strongest symptoms I had each time were pretty vague: migraines, arthritis, and exhaustion. Could have been anything.

I went to my first therapist when I was 11. My parents and I were always fighting so we went to therapy together. I didn't know what to say, so the therapist asked what were all the fights about. You know what you fight about at 11? Curfew. I wanted to stay out and play Manhunt with the boys in the neighborhood, but since my curfew was so early it wasn't very dark out before I had to come in. The therapist must have thought I was a spoiled brat because she basically told me to listen to my parents. End of story. I hated her; I think that was the only visit I agreed to go to.

My next stint with therapy was at 17 when I had gotten arrested for eluding police. Yep, I got into a cop car chase.

All I wanted to do after high school was get away from my parents. I didn't want to go to college, I didn't want to stay in Jackson, I didn't want to do anything except smoke pot. For some idiotic reason I didn't seem to get that if I went away to college I would (SURPRISE!) be away from my parents. Stupid stoner.

One weekend we went to visit Trenton State. We fought the whole entire time. We screamed at each other that whole night, I'm sure my mom was smacking me, too. It was awful. I've said before that fights were over only when my mom said they were, so soon after she was laughing and watching tv like nothing happened. I, on the other hand, decided to steal my parents' car and run away. And I did.

I only had my license for a month, but I knew how to get to NY. I was okay until I tried to parallel park. Then I cried and drove around until I found a big enough spot to easily maneuver the car into. I was a few blocks from my grandmother's apartment in Bay Ridge and desperately wanted to go inside, but didn't. I didn't feel close to her at the time, but then again I didn't feel close to anyone then. I walked around Brooklyn for awhile, but then this is when things started getting hazy.

Somehow I was back in Jersey, not too far from home. I say "somehow" because I don't really remember. I think I was so upset that I kind of blacked out and somehow drove myself home. When I snapped out of it I said, fuck this I'm not going home. I saw a sign for Atlantic City and said, okay I'll go there. (Dude I was 17, I had no idea what I was doing.)

So here I am doing probably 65 on Route 9 when a cop went to pull me over. Well, I didn't stop. Again this is hazy. The last thing I remember is saying "I want to go home" and flooring it. I can't tell you much about it.

I remember seeing about three cop cars with lights flashing in my rear view mirror. I remember the faces of the people I was passing pressed up against their windows watching me fly by. I remember seeing cops on the other side of the highway trying to catch up.

And I remember the red light. I think my mom said the cops chased me for about 5 miles, luckily there were green lights the whole way. When I got a red one I slammed on the breaks, skidded across traffic, and slammed into a guard rail. You know what? I kept driving for another mile or so.

Finally I pulled over. The first cop kept trying to open my door as I was trying to unlock it. He kept saying "Open the door! Open the fucking door!" and I kept shouting "I can't if you keep pulling the handle!" He got me out, threw me on the hood of my car. All the cops were screaming "What are you on????". I honestly wasn't on anything.

Long story longer, I got photographed, fingerprinted and in a helluva lot of trouble. They clocked me at 96 mph in a 1986 Toyota Corolla. Everyone asks if I really thought I was going to get away in that piece of shite. My answer is always no, I wasn't thinking anything.

Since I was a minor with no criminal history and (get this) straight A's, I didn't have to go to juvie. I did have to go to court, therapy, pay for the car and all the tickets, and lose my license for 3 months. Once I turned 18 this incident was erased from my record.

Ya know, looking back my punishment was nothing considering I could have killed tons of people that night. Thank Shizza no one got hurt. Anyways, that's how I met Therapist 2. She was very nice, but again, I wasn't ready to be helped.

I already spoke about my third round of therapy, right after my break up with PJ. Basically I was too self-destructive to get any good out of it. I had a therapist, a psychiatrist for my meds, and they wanted me to go to NA/AA. I never did and only lasted with this therapist for about two months.

Which brings me to my therapist now, who I love, love, love. I'll call her Cee. I've been going to Cee for about 15 months and I gotta say, it gets better and better with every visit. She is so understanding and supportive. Even when we discuss shitty things, I always feel better.

I think fate stepped in for me to find her. I had no idea how to go about picking a therapist, so I randomly looked up doctors who accepted Oxford. I found Cee's name and noticed she had an office near Company. Totally convenient.

I didn't make an appointment for a while, until one night I had a dream about her. I can't remember exactly what the dream was about, but at one point I was looking at an old yearbook or something and her name was in there. Weird, right? I called her the next morning. Even cooler, it ended up she actually has an office a block away from me in Astoria, too. Fate I tell ya.

SSIIGGHHH...of relief that is. I feel better now, just in time for Family Guy.

Thanks for reading.

Take me out to the ballgame...

Woo hoo!! I got my Dodgers tickets today!

I know I wrote about my trip to California, but I don't think I explained why I was going to so many baseball games.

One life long goal of mine is to visit every ballpark in the country. No time limit, no set order. So far I've hit:

1. Mets at Shea
2. Yanks
3. Orioles at Camden Yards
4. Indians at Jacobs Field
5. Nationals at RFK
6. Brewers at Miller Park
7. White Sox at US Cellular Field
8. Cubs at Wrigley Field

This summer I'm going to:

9. Royals at Kauffman Stadium
10. Cardinals at Busch Stadium
11. Padres at Petco
12. Dodgers
13. Angels
14. Phillies at Citizens Bank Park

I always joke and say this is usually something a person does after they quit drinking and found Jesus, but I'm doing it anyway.

At this point I'm more a Mets fan only because I've been going to a lot of games now that I live in Queens. Also DaQ, one of my favoritest people in the world, has season tickets and is nice enough to bring me to a game about once a month.

When I go to other stadiums though I always cheer for the home team. It's more fun that way, plus it's an immediate in with the people sitting around you.

Oddly enough I'm seeing the Phillies three times this year: at home, at KC, and at SD. I'm not much of a Phan, but I'll score some points with Donovan this year if I pretend I care about them. Slick!

Wrigley was my hands down favorite. I got all choked up when I saw the field for the first time. If you are a fan of baseball, hell if you're just a fan of the movie A League of their Own, you should definitely make a trip to Chicago for a game. Fantastic.

Actually I think I might be missing one. I'm trying to remember where Fingerbang was...I'm pretty sure he was in Baltimore.

Whichever stadium it was, there was a beer vendor who made and wore a wrist brace that had an electric bottle opener for twist offs on top. It looked like a vibrator with no casing, so we nicknamed him Fingerbang. He was awesome.

The only other "rule" I follow is that I must get a hot dog and Cracker Jacks at every game. Word to the wise, there are no Cracker Jacks at RFK!! Blasphemy!

Oooo...and I'm always up for a trip to Fenway. I can't believe I haven't gone there yet. Spags, if your sis can get Boston tickets I am SO in.

I heart baseball.

HOTel cORAL esSEX

I've had sex with a lot of people. I know this is subjective, but I have. I am no where near Ron Jeremy or Heidi Fleiss though the mere fact they are the first two I think to compare myself to may give you a hint. I would say probably as many as Jeter. This isn't because I'm a hot star athlete, only because I have a vagina.

My days of sleeping around have been over for a while now, pretty much since the maple syrup incident. The slow-down has allowed me to notice a very dumb pattern in my sex life...I always get laid right after getting tested for cooties.

I get tested once a year and thankyouthankyouthankyou am clean as a whistle. For the past four years I have gotten laid within a week or two of my test. Maybe it's me doing the whole "phew" thing or maybe it's the Sex Gods smiling down on me saying, "What a nice and responsible ex-whore. She's due some DDA." Either way, it's cool.

This week was my annual check-in, so of course all I've been thinking about is who I'm going to get my groove on with. I was hoping it was FB (famous blogger) but he hasn't written me back in over a week. Poop, I say. Then lo and behold, I ran into an old flame tonight.

Softball Pat is one of the post-PJ big four. Actually he was the first guy I really liked after college. I met him at a company softball game in 2002. From what I remember, the majority of our "relationship" consisted of me checking my email every five seconds to see if he wrote me back. (Oh Jesus. I just realized I've been doing that with FB, too. I am a LOSER!!!) Pat and I went out on a couple dates and shared a magical night of drunk and stoned monkey sex. It was fun.

I don't really remember how long we actually stayed in touch. Maybe like 3 months? I guess it was mid-2003 that we hooked up again on Friendster. We continued to email each other for a bit, but then lost touch.

I knew going into tonight's game we were playing Pat's old company, but I really didn't think he worked there anymore. I scanned the other team to see if he was there and didn't recognize any one. Then some dude hit a double and said "How you been Thighs?" I went all mushy, totally forgot I was playing 2nd base, turned red and giggled a lot. Again, loser.

A couple innings later I moved over to catcher (heh) and we'd chat while he was at bat. When the game was over he came by, said he was moving to Oregon next week but would love to see (bang) me before he left. I immediately thought of the scene in Singles when Kyra Sedgwick gives this guy who is supposedly leaving the country her garage door opener as a token of her affection. She ends up seeing him a few nights later at some club; all he does is shrugs as if saying "It's your fault you fell for that shit!"

Well, I'm falling for it. I need some ass. Let's see if he calls...and if not, no biggie. I'm kind of digging this whole "saving my flower for someone special" thing.

And DDA stands for deep dicking action. If you didn't know this, we are no longer friends.

Drinko de Mayo

Yesterday Rockstar, Spags, and I headed out to the Astoria Beer Garden to celebrate a beautiful Saturday afternoon.

The beer garden is one of my favorite places to drink, especially during the day. Everyone's smiling and spreading good cheer while enjoying a pitcher of their favorite Czech beer. I'm a poet!

We were there from 2pm to about 7pm. We probably would have stayed longer if the vibe hadn't changed. There were a bunch of peeps in their mid-20s who seemed like first timers. To be honest, they were kind of bratty and a little snottish. I was all for sharing our picinic table, but when you know you'll have 8 to 10 people coming then you should go early to get your own space. There was also a weird amount of blah chicks there, too. I've never seen the bathroom lines that long!

God I feel like a dud complaining about it, but what the fuck? The beer garden is the Hofbrauhaus of NYC...show some respect to your fellow drinkers! Hopefully the crowd will be back to it's old self come August. Only true believers drink in 90 degree heat.

After the beer garden we went out for mexican food in my neighborhood. The food and service was pretty shitty (sorry guys!), but we really wanted margaritas. Big mistake! Within minutes I felt sick. Between the Hoegaarden, kielbasa, portobella mushroom and fries at the beer garden to the strawberry margarita, chips and guacamole at Margaritaville, my tummy was not happy.

By the time our food came out I couldn't even eat, nor could anyone else. Trust me, we are all eaters so this was a first. Rockstar and Spags headed back to the city with doggie bags while I headed to my couch to take a quick nap. I still had plans that night!

My friend Bucket has a Cinco de Mayo party at his apartment every year. Lucky for me he lives right around the corner. If he didn't I probably wouldn't have gone after the day I had.

Around 11pm my friend Chewie called and woke my ass up. My stomach felt better, but I decided I wouldn't drink at the party to be safe. Yeah right. I had a few Coronas, some more margaritas, a cigar, and plenty of chips and guac again. The margaritas tasted like the soda jungle juice I drank at Little League games topped off with about 4 different liquors and beer. Gross, but fine for a party.

I got home about 3am all ready to sleep it off when my body gave out. It felt like a Sumo wrestling match was taking place in my stomach and the Rock of Gibraltar was up my ass. The only position I felt semi-comfortable in was on my knees (heh heh) with my head down and ass in the air. Moaning helped, too.

I had to make myself puke to feel better. All I kept thinking was "Beer before liquor, never sicker." and cursed myself for not remembering it earlier in the night. UGH.

That's twice in a week that I drank to excess and threw up. I know this is all very disgusting to read, but I feel the need to post about it. Not sure what writing about it will do for me. Maybe it just makes it real.

So there you have it, my 12 hour Cinco de Mayo drinkup. Here's some festivish movie trivia:

Girl: "Where are you taking us?"
Man: "Mexico."
Girl: "What's in Mexico?"
Man: "Mexicans."

Name it and I'll give you a Dirty Sanchez. Fa!

Silently Screaming

I figured out why Red bothers me so much.

A few months ago I realized that he represents my mother. Red and my mom are the only two people that have ever made me feel alive. Yes, A-L-I-V-E, alive.

My mom was nuts growing up. The only way we connected was when we were screaming, yelling, and sometimes punching the shit out of each other. I have no recollection of a peaceful or happy moment between us until I moved to NY three years ago.

My mom decided the outcome to every fight, meaning it wasn't over until she said so. If I came downstairs still upset when she was fine, I was the bitch. If I came downstairs fine and she was still upset, I was the bitch. I couldn't win.

I couldn't connect with others either. I had lots of friends growing up, but no one that really "got me" until recently. Communicating and bonding with someone meant I had to feel like a worthless piece of shit. It meant pain, confusion, and tears. It meant passion, rage, and obsession. It meant loving and hating them at the same time.

PJ made a huge impact on me, but it was positive, something I wasn't used to and inevitably ran away from. It wasn't until I met Red that I felt the blood-boiling and heart-wrenching emotions again.

For awhile the only way I could talk to Red was by yelling and turning red (hence his name). I'd get so upset with him, then I'd cry, then I'd feel bad. To this day I hate and love him at the same time. I have been fighting to get his approval for so long...once again I feel like I can't win.

So why do I still try? And what would winning actually mean with him anyways? I mean, he listens to my ideas, gave me a great raise, must have pushed for me to get this new gig. What the fuck would he have to do for me to get over him?? I've struggled with this question for over two years.

One day I connected the dots between Red and my mom. I was reacting to everything he said and did the same way I learned to with her. Sometimes I'd even get mad at him for breathing...and don't forget...he was my boss!! It's crazy that he invoked my earliest memories and oldest feelings without even knowing it.

I decided to have a discussion with the both of them. Not like in person, it was more their essence. Eventually they melded into one being, this weird fiery ball with lots of rings around it. Kind of like if Saturn was burning.

I needed to confront them/this thing and get it the fuck out of me. What happens if one of my kids has it? Will I hate them too?? I begged and pleaded for it to let me go, that I wasn't going to let him have any more power over me. Then I named it Zelochs.

Zelochs changed into a gargoyle type thing once I named him. He actually wasn't so bad once I separated him from my soul. In fact I told him to stay at home while I went to get a burrito. (Insanity makes me hungry.)

Anyways, that was about two months ago. I haven't spoken to Zelochs in awhile, nor gave the Red/mom connection much thought until now. I was over at Spags apartment tonight and vented to her about my recent challenges at work. I was okay until the ride home, then I started tearing up.

Jesus christ, why does Red still bother me? I figured out he's my mother, I confronted them both, I even turned him into a fucking demon-pet! What else can I possibly do to put him out of my mind??

And then it hit me. He's not my mom...he's me!!! I'M the one that doesn't approve of myself. I'M the one that treats myself like shit. I'M the one who drives me crazy. I'M fucking Zelochs!

I never really needed his approval. I know now that my mom loves me. Now I just need to love and approve of myself.

Sheesh!!

Have you ever met someone that mirrors you? Red did that for me from day one, despite not having a strong enough sense of self to recognize my own reflection.

You know what, I am recognizing myself more and more every day. In some fucked up way it has a lot to do with Red and again, he has no idea.

I am silently screaming. I should just email my therapist my blog instead of spending $40 a week on sessions.

No doubt.

My new job is awesome. It's only been four days and while I haven't done too much work, I know I'm going to love it. My department is nice and nerdy, I get to geek out as much as possible, and I have a window in my office. Well yeah, it's a window, but it's like those bathroom windows that you can't see out of. And well yeah, if I could see out of it all I would see is a courtyard, but still...it's a window.

Greatest geek moment this week:

I crashed a server on my second day. I wiped out an operating unit on one of our test applications. My department seemed both a little scared and slightly impressed. Apparently I've popped my IT cherry.

Challenges for this week:

Patience. I'm feeling pretty useless right now. It's been a long time since I haven't been able to contribute on some level. I keep reminding myself that it will take time to learn the ropes. No one is expecting me to absorb everything in two weeks.

Red. Both he and Furbie pissed me off today. I know I shouldn't care what Red thinks any more, but I still do. Maybe I'll feel better once my new boss comes back from vacation. In the meantime I'd like to vent.

Once again I initiated a project and wasn't involved in the brainstorming sessions. It makes me feel like shit! The past few times I've presented a new process to Red he'll take the scope docs and then set up meetings to make them happen. He knows I like to be involved and yet he refuses to fucking involve me.

It sucks. Furball can sit there and say things like, "Thighs it means you presented it so well that he doesn't need you to explain it." where I say things like, "Why won't Red have any consideration for my feelings??"

Which brings me to Therapy Thursday. Red's job is not to make me feel better. That's supposed to be my job. So what's the dilly?

I am jealous that Furball looks at a situation and instantly sees it in a way that positively feeds his ego. I am jealous that Furball gets all the attention. I am jealous he doesn't have a mood ring face or wears his emotions on his sleeve. I am jealous of his confidence.

Why can't I ever be positive?
Why don't I promote myself and make sure I stand out?
Why do I feel the need to spread my knowledge to make us all equals?
When will I just admit that I'm an intelligent kick-ass employee?
When will I stop looking for other people's validation and approval?
When will me knowing something to be true be enough?


Basically, when will I ever stop doubting myself?????????

Spidey 3

It was good! Not great, not bad, but good.

Gwen Stacy is hot.
Venom looked awesome.
Sandman effects were cool, but his storyline was weird.

I laughed a lot. J. Jonah Jameson was great per usual. So were Stan and Bruce Campbell.

I don't know...I think I need to let it sink in a bit...