It didn't even have pictures! I am so proud of myself.
I used to love to read as a kid. I'm not sure when I stopped reading, but I have a sneaky suspicion it was around the time I met Mary Juana. Reading wasn't really her style; she was more into papers than books. Snootch!
So what book had me by the balls all day? What gripping page turner could keep my ADHD at bay? Why does that rhyme?
It's the book any person would read when the Mets game they were supposed to go to tonight got rained out...
He's Just Not That Into You
AAAARRRGGHHH!! I've managed to avoid this damn book for four fucking years. FOUR! And today I just HAD to read it. Wait, I misspoke-wrote. I didn't "read it," I devoured it.
I have two piles of books to read in my apartment, prose and comics. I just counted, there are 15 picture-less books I would like to read by the end of this year. The comics, shit, I have like three short boxes and 6 trades I've been meaning to get to...so why the heck did I choose to read a book I used to mock and avoid???
Because I really needed to read it.
Like all manic depressive gigglers, I love self-help books. It never occurred to me to ask myself why I love them, but now that I'm writing this I think it has to do with connecting. It's nice to know I'm not the only woman in the world with weight/boy/finger gnawing/low self-esteem/Mommy Dearest issues. While I don't want others to suffer, there is a sick comfort in knowing others have felt my pain. It makes it real.
Whoa. Downer. Okay then, back to He's Just Not That Into Me. You. Me. Whatever.
I needed to read it. I needed to read it to remember that I rock, I deserve to find a guy who rocks, and we deserve to have a rockin' relationship.
Hmmm...I wonder when auditions for Rock of Love 3 start...
And speaking of Bret, did I call it or what??? Ambre won! Who knows if it will last, but I'm proud of Mr. Michaels. He stayed away from the 25 year old itchy girl and went with a woman he could possibly have a real relationship with.
Crap. I need to get laid. Still.
Monday, April 28
It didn't even have pictures! I am so proud of myself.
Sunday, April 27
You may have already guessed that my love/blue post was about Krull. I haven't heard from him in a couple of weeks. I'm angry, I'm sad, I'm disappointed, I'm confused, I'm fourteen all over again. Not quite sure what happened, but I have a feeling I liked him way more than he liked me. I guess it's a good thing we petered out then. Heh. Petered.
Anyhoo, despite the pouting, whining, and occasional shadowboxing (the shadow being Krull's face) LIFE. IS. GOOD.
I really like my new job at Minnow. My coworkers are cool, a few of us went to see my office-mate and Bizarro brother Germ's new play. If you're in NYC and looking to see a play in the next couple of weeks, I highly recommend Sunrise at the Quarry. It is fantastic. Very well written and extremely well acted. I'm so proud of Germ...definitely go see it!
I can't believe I've been at Minnow for three months already. The actual work is cool; I really enjoy being a nerd and running reports all day. But the best part of my new gig isn't what I do, it's what I DON'T do. I don't stress out, get upset, or get angry. I don't stay really late; I think the latest I've stayed so far is 6:30pm. That's nothing compared to the 12 hour days I put in my first year at Company. Oy.
Truthfully, I feel like I don't even have a job. The minute I leave the office it's like I have a whole new day ahead of me. It's so liberating that I've decided to do some good with this new found freedom. I signed up for the Aids Walk on the 18th. (Let me know if you'd like to walk it with me or make a donation.) I also signed up to be a NYCares volunteer. I'm volunteering for two sessions in May to help kids with after school art projects. I hope we use crayons!
Speaking of art, my cartooning class at SVA ended last week. I haven't written about it because part of me was a little disappointed. The teacher was a little too laidback, I was looking for someone to be more hands on to teach me the basics. I'm still glad I signed up for it though. It was during class that I realized I don't want to be a penciller, I'd rather be a writer and do thumbnails or storyboarding rather than full blown comics. But hey, you never know. This time next year I could have a whole new plan...
And this is how I know life is good: I'm incredibly excited to see what happens next!
Written by THIGHS around 9:44 PM
Thursday, April 24
I thought this was so funny that I immediately had to share it...
"yada yada...I am feeling this is the Summer of Shannon. But I like the ring of Summer of George better, so I'm calling you George from now on.
SUMMER OF GEORGE!"
Heather, you are hysterical. Miss you!
Written by THIGHS around 12:10 PM
Tuesday, April 22
I suck at dating. I am way too emotional for this shit. I fall for guys way too fast and then ultimately get the shaft. The other shaft.
I don't want to give up though. I know there's gotta be someone out there for me, right?? Someone who fuck, I don't know, just wants to be around me alot. Or at least lets me know they want to be around me when they can't.
It's like me and the color blue. I painted my living room and kitchen blue. I have a blue carpet in my bedroom. Both of my comforters are blue. All "Awesome Events" (ie my birthday or NYCC) are written on my calendar in blue marker. My eyeglass frames are blue. My winter coat is blue. Most of my tops are blue. I have three blue purses. My softball glove (prized possession) is blue. I prefer writing in blue ink. I prefer blue cars. I eat the blue M&Ms last. I absolutely positively heart the color blue!!!
Two thoughts popped into my mind while writing that last paragraph:
1. I want someone to love me as much as I love blue.
2. If blue was a guy, he'd be long gone by now. How depressing.
Written by THIGHS around 10:15 PM
Monday, April 21
I am a shopaholic. While I don't buy as much crap as I used to, I still end up buying new shoes and clothes at the change of each season. It's an addiction; I just can't help it.*
I'm in love. I'm in love with a pair of shoes. I have never been this excited over footwear in my life. I sort of remember digging these navy blue velcro sneakers when I was around three. They had traffic light patches on the sides and rubber traffic light soles. Needless to say, they were kickass.
The shoes I bought today...oh my word! This picture does not do them justice. I am obsessed!!!
Here are my thoughts when I tried them on. And yes, I'm fully aware I'm going to hell.
Oh my GOD I love these shoes!! Should I get the 7.5 or the 8? I'll get the oh my GOD they are going to look so good with jeans too. I bet Mother Jugs will like these too. She'll probably say she's obsessed with them. I'M obsessed with them. Holy crap I can't wait to show her; I'm totally texting her a picture right now.
DUDE. Why do my fucking calves look like sausages?? These shoes are so fucking awesome.
[Talk to salesperson. Make her laugh by being retarded over shoes.]
Oh my GOD I want to make out with these shoes. I would seriously have sex with these shoes if...if...oh GOD I'm horny. UGH. I wonder how many women have banged their favorite shoes. Didn't a Zeppelin groupie fuck a fish once? I really have to stop watching VH1. Am I that flexible? I can sit Indian style, it's sort of the same thing...I don't think the toes would really bend though...NO NO NO! I am not fucking a pair of shoes!! JESUS!
[Ask salesperson her name so I can make sure she gets the commission. Thank her for helping me find my soulmate(s). She laughs again.]
[Pay for shoes. Walk home with a big cheesy smile on my face.]
IlovemyshoesIlovemyshoesIlovemyshoes. Someone's definitely fucked a shoe before, but I'm sure they weren't actually wearing them at the time. Oh puppy!! You're so cute!! IlovemyshoesIlovemyshoesIlovemyshoes...
*Yes I can.
Written by THIGHS around 7:32 PM
Thursday, April 17
The third annual NY Comic Con kicks off tomorrow night. I am SUPER (pun intended) excited!!
My favorite part about convention season is hugging the friends I haven't seen in awhile. That's it! Sure it's fun to see all the costumed fans (mostly Jedis and Power Girls) and hearing the upcoming story events and pubplans, but its the industry peeps that warm my heart.
This will be my first convention in four years where I'll be attending as a "civilian." Technically I was one at the San Diego con having transferred from Publishing to IT by then, but it was still cool to be part of the corporate Company family.
Last week I had gone up to the old offices before Girl and I went to the Mets game. It was the first time I visited everyone since I quit. Some days I can't believe it's only been four months, then days (like today) I feel like I never worked there. Weird.
Anyhoo, I'm totally looking forward to this weekend. I can't wait to party with my pals, geek out over capes and comics, and get my groove on with some hot fan-man. Because really, what else is there in life?
Written by THIGHS around 9:53 AM
Tuesday, April 15
Hello. I'm Thighs. I'm 30 years old and I almost got into a fistfight playing dodgeball.
Each season there are usually one or two teams with a dickfuck. A dickfuck is a guy who takes dodgeball waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyy too seriously. He cheats, ie doesn't leave the court when he gets hit. He curses at the ref when he doesn't agree with a call. He throws a bullet at the 115 pound non-athletic girl on the other team. And the best part, he curses and screams over absolutely nothing. Wait, strike that. He curses and screams over dodgeball.
Fortunately for all involved, Dickfuck's teammates are nice and/or irrelevant so they usually make his antics easy to laugh off. UNfortunately for all involved, this was not the case tonight.
Tonight we played The Ultimate Dickfuck Dodgeball (UDD) team. Not just one Dickfuck, but FOUR male Dickfucks and ONE female Dickfuck.
We had already played one round with The Nice team and were truly having a lot of fun. The minute UDD walked out on the court to play Nice team though, all hell broke lose. They cheated, they cursed, they took vicious shots. It wasn't ridiculous, it was scary and sad.
The whole vibe of the gymnasium changed. UDD took all the fun out of playing, for me anyways. My own teammates seemed bothered by them as well, but there was really nothing we could do except pray the referee would kick them out. UDD's attitude was that awful.
The weird part is they were a really good team. It was so unnecessary for them to take it to an un-fun level. Three of the male Dickfucks were at least 6'2" and very athletic while the fourth was, well he looked exactly like Matt Lucas in Little Britain. See below and laugh:
I can't speak for anyone else on the Doges, but I did NOT want to play UDD. I was very competitive in my youth, way too competitive. This is why I don't play hardcore sports now; I get so friggin worked up that's it just not fun. This is also why I play dodgeball for a NON-COMPETITVE league. TO. HAVE. FUN.
Um yeah, I sort of forgot to have fun tonight. I attacked the Female Dickfuck instead.
I don't really remember how it started, all I know is I said something like "This sucks." meaning how UDD were being jerks. Female Dickfuck screamed something like "No. You suck." and I sort of screamed something back at her like, "FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING BITCH!" And by "sort of", I mean "I did."
I hulked out. I swear to Shizza if someone didn't hold me back (or um, three someones) I would have ripped the bitch's throat out. It would have been a good fight too; I think she was bigger than me. Definitely looked stronger. I would have used my secret weapon though...rage.
So what happened? What made me flip my shit on this poor Female Dickfuck over a stupid dodgeball game? I honestly don't know.
What I do know is that this is a very old pattern. My mom would instigate me to no end: call me names, scream, yell, hit, or just be plain nasty. When I couldn't take it anymore I'd flip the fuck out, but my flip-out would be so extreme that it erased the fact that she "started it." In other words the fight quickly became all my fault.
This happened at Company as well. Some Idiot would repeatedly screwed up, I repeatedly had to fix their mistakes, I'd finally lose my shit in frustration, and then it became a Thighs Issue rather than an Idiot Issue.
I feel like tonight had the same result. I flipped my shit and I became the Dickfuck. UDD didn't bring the negativity, I did. And you know what? It's true.
Rocks and Furbie have said that most people aren't comfortable with the level of confrontation that I am. Of course I thank my mom for this, but at what point will the rage-cord be totally cut? I know I've grown a helluva lot over the past year. I've learned to detach my emotions from my professional life, but how do I protect myself from other people's emotions??
Because really, tonight had nothing to do with dodgeball. It had to do with me absorbing UDD's negative energy, balling it up into a Zeloch orb, and firing it off at Female Dickfuck. So maybe the real question is:
When will I ever stop reacting!?!?
Ugh. What a night. Oh and nothing happened. Actually that's not true, after my outburst the male Dickfucks cooled their jets. So at least one good thing came out of it. Female Dickfuck didn't say anything to me and I don't blame her. I'm sure my face matched my purple t-shirt. SCARY.
I wish I could say I'm glad we didn't fight, but I'm not. I walked home by myself, half hoping she'd get her team to jump me in the street. Me against UDD. One Woman Army Corp. I'm sure I'd be in the hospital right now.
Today marks the most primitive day of my adult life. This afternoon I wanted to have sex so bad that I almost banged a homeless man. Tonight all I wanted to do was fight. When the fuck did I become a meathead??
Written by THIGHS around 10:20 PM
Monday, April 7
A question for lesbians. Real lesbians. Not the half-ass kind like myself.
Have you ever thought about working at Victoria's Secret?
I can understand why you wouldn't want to be a gynecologist. Only a man could see that much vag and not get sick of it.
I went to Victoria's Secret after work today and I swear to god an employee was hitting on me. Either that or she was blind and needed to feel my breasts in order to know what size I wear. Most bra-fitters are touchy-feely so it's not that unusual, but she was holding on to them a bit too long. So long that I even looked around the store for a second! When she realized it was getting a bit weird she apologized by pulling down the front of her shirt to show me her own bra and massive cleavage.
This is when it hit me. All lesbians should work at Victoria's Secret at least once in their lives! Straight girls are sluts, you can totally take advantage of us. Case in point, even though this lady was unattractive, I got turned on. She had a huge rack!! Apparently we were the same size, but double D's on a short person look like double H's...and HH stands for Hummina-Hummina.
A few minutes later I went into the dressing room to try on this really hot bra. I knew I looked good in it so I did what any good little minx does, I called my would be suit-her and asked for her opinion. Yeah, she blushed. Sold.
Whenever I buy something new I have to go straight home, put it on, and prance around my apartment for a bit. Well get this...my cleavage looked really good in this bra, TOO good in fact! I actually got embarrassed and changed!!
I can't believe it. My own boobs made me blush.
Written by THIGHS around 10:13 PM
Saturday, April 5
Dear Steak Burrito,
It was great to see you again tonight. I'm so glad you wanted to hang out. I thought you might still be mad at me for not returning your calls the past few months. Then again, you always were the mature one in our relationship.
Gosh, I don't know how to put this. I fucked up. I should have left you alone, but noooo...I just had to give us one last try.
You were wonderful tonight. So loving, so tender, so mouth-wateringly delicious. Mmmm...no, I can't do this to you again.
It hurts too much to be near you, to hold you, to tear into your meaty goodness. I tried to restrain myself by only eating half of you, but you're just too damn good...and I am too damn weak.
Siiighh...my bowels are filled with such sweet sorrow!! I knew the minute I walked into El Mariachi tonight, I would soon regret it. I wish regret was spelled R-O-L-A-I-D-S.
We both know that I don't have the self-control nor the digestive system to indulge in the occasional burrito-call. I need a clean break. And I'll probably need some more toilet paper, too.
This is my final good-bye. You deserve a woman who can handle her beefsteak. I thought I was that woman, but now I know to stick with good ol' tubesteak. It doesn't bother my ass as much, unless of course... well, you know.
Written by THIGHS around 9:04 PM
Yesterday was a very upsetting day at Minnow. A woman in my department, one of B's direct reports, passed away. I was never formally introduced to her, so while I am not mourning her loss directly I am sympathetic to all of my co-workers' grief...especially of course my best friend's.
As soon as I heard the news I went on auto-pilot. All I cared about was making sure B would be okay, but really, what does "okay" even mean in a situation like this? Okay for me is certainly not okay for her, so since my gauge for okay-ness is based on my own personal definition of okay, how and when will I know she is actually okay??
Listening is the correct answer. I will always be there to listen, but in my emotionally ruled world, isn't enough. For me, "enough" means empathizing to the point of hysteria.
I had a delayed reaction to the news. It didn't hit me until mid-morning; I've been trying to pick up the pieces of Me ever since.
My reaction to tragedy? My heart caves in, my whole world crashes down. I'm a self-absorbed masochist. The minute I feel bad for someone else, I immediately turn the negative feelings on to my own life issues. I'd like to believe there is some sort of honor in this, that somewhere in my subconscious I think if I suffer hard enough they won't have to, but I doubt it. Maybe I am just that controlling and selfish.
I hate watching the news, I hate seeing commercials with starving children or abused animals, and I hate when a homeless person looks me in the eye. And why?? Do I seriously believe I hate it because my heart is too fucking big?? Jesus Christ. Pathetic.
Doubly pathetic is what personal issue I decided to harp on all day. It was Completely Retarded And Pointless...let's call it CRAP for short.
I have been crying all day about friends, life, death, and CRAP. CRAP is always easy to obsess over. I am a master at it. The proof is in the blog, people.
I haven't been this upset in a long time.
You know what? I'm done. The number of "I's" in this post is making me sick.
Written by THIGHS around 12:03 AM
Thursday, April 3
Tuesday, April 1
I'm allergic to cigarette smoke.
Most kids start smoking because they think it's cool. I started because a friend said that smoking a Newport after a joint makes you feel more stoned. Indeed it did and at 16, so it began.
I had a love/hate relationship with cigarettes. I loved the socialness of smoking. When I smoked I had an instant conversation starter ("Got a light?"), an easy way to flirt (was it only a Jersey thing that blowing smoke in someone's face meant you liked them?), and an easy way to bond (Us smokers vs. Them non-smokers). And please! If someone smoked the same brand as me (which jumped from Newport to Marlboro Light Menthol to Parliament Light Menthol with the cool palm tree hologram to Parliament Lights to Marlboro Lights) we. were. soulmates. Cancer-filled soulmates.
And there's the hate part. My body absolutely hated cigarettes. From ages 16 to 23 I must have had bronchitis at least twice a year. I was always sick, constantly coughing up a lung. I knew all the drinking and drugs weren't helping me either (duh), but I didn't care. I liked to party, I liked to smoke, and I wasn't gonna stop.
I am going to write something funny. Brace yourself: Bloomberg saved my life. I was LIVID the day he banned smoking in NY bars. Poor Peteys...I kept writing scathing emails to my friends about freedom and rights and what the fucks. I annoyed the crap out of everyone that day, all because I hate authority and had a slow day at work. Sorry!
Well if it wasn't for Bloomberg, I don't think I would have stopped smoking. It's been four years since the ban and sure, I've had a cigarette here and there (drunk nights, rafting trips, what have you), but thanks to him I am officially a Them.
I deleted my previous post because I felt stupid. I didn't want Krull to read this and think I'm fruit loops, but guess what? I am! I re-posted it because shit, it's funny, sad, and classic Thighs.
Krull rocks my world. Fingers crossed I don't fuck it up by, you know, writing about him on my website. We've hung out a few times and I have to say he might be the coolest guy I have ever met. Every time I look at him I think, "Damn he's cool." Just cool.
Krull is the first smoker I've hung out with in awhile. Guess what that means I have??? No not the clap...bronchitis. UGH!! My body seriously rejects all cigarette smoke at this point. I cough when I walk past people smoking on the sidewalk. My throat gets scratchy if someone's coat smells like an ashtray. It sucks, but now I know for sure that I am definitely allergic to cigarette smoke.
Lucky for me Krull doesn't smoke all that much, I think it's just been an unhealthy week. I don't think we slept at all the one night I stayed over (bow chicka bow bow!). Easter Sunday I was in the car with my chain-smoking aunt for five hours. Tuesday, well read the previous post. Wednesday I had awful hangover gas. Thursday I saw Krull again for a bit after class. Friday through Sunday I had a writing seminar (more on this later) that ran for 12 hours each day...so yeah getting sick was inevitable for someone as sensitive to smoke and a busy schedule as I am.
Yeah, that's right. I'm sensitive. So there.
Written by THIGHS around 1:00 PM