Some sexy shit.

After a night of random drunk sex, I find there are 3 key uncomfortable moments the next morning:

1. trying to remember the person's name
2. trying to leave or make someone leave
3. trying to pass gas without making noise or stinking up the joint

I went to the Beer Garden last night and took a guy home with me. He was a friend of a friend of a friend who I met about six years ago at a Halloween party in Hoboken. Let's call him G.

G is pale, funny, and silly...you would think with my low self-esteem I wouldn't be attracted to guy-mes, but I am. We got to my place around 10pm, hooked up for a few hours and then crashed at like 3am. I had a great time until Uncomfortable Moment 3 struck.

I woke up around 6am with my tummy in knots. All I needed was one juicy rip to feel better, but I couldn't do it with someone next to me. Classy broad that I am, I tried to do the slow release. You know, like the sound of letting air out of a tire.

I shit you not (pun intended), I somehow managed to reverse the direction of the gas. I think I was concentrating so hard on keeping it silent that I forgot which way farts are supposed to go. Not kidding.

Sucking gas back into my bowels just made my stomach worse so I gave up and went to the bathroom. Wouldn't you know it, even on the comfort of my toilet seat I was too embarrassed to go. The slow release was totally not working; every time I relaxed my hole a loud fucking whopper came out, followed by a giggle, followed by an intense cheek squeeze. Repeat four times.

I have no idea if G heard this or not; I hung out in the living room to be safe. When I went back to bed he was still snoring away, so either he did hear and was being nice or didn't hear because he was unconscious. I may never know.

We went to the diner this morning and on the way back to my place had Uncomfortable Moment 2. My gas came back after lunch and all I wanted to do was sit on the bowl and relax. While I really did enjoy G's company, he needed to leave.

G wasn't picking up on this, so I had to lay it for him.

G: "I'm not sure what I'm doing today, although I really should do laundry."

ME: "Uh-huh. Laundry's fun, you should do your laundry."

G: "Laundry's fun?"

ME: "Yeah. I love it."

G: "I guess I should..."

ME: "I REALLY have to go the bathroom."

G (jokingly pointing to a puddle): "Go there."

ME (not in the mood for jokes) : "I can't, it will be like the hot tub video."

G (long pause): "Yeah I'm gonna go home."

And there you have it, folks. I am single because I rather shit than date. Poo.

Remember Romp.com?

I was addicted to Jake and his Booty Calls a few years ago.

Only way to describe The Romp: it's a choose-your-own-adventure for horny folk. Brilliant!

Here's the new site where you can find all the episodes....no playie at workie!

Laaaaate...

Random One-Night Stand: Life Goes On

People who work in Publishing are notoriously poor, especially our first couple years in the industry. As a result, we always know where to find the best happy hours. Down the Hatch was pretty close to the office so it quickly became our go-to bar for cheap beer and random hook-ups.

I think it was a Tuesday night when just a couple of us went to DTH. I was gabbing it up with a friend when I noticed this guy was full on staring at me. Like full on. We started talking and eventually he asked me out on a date.

In Thighs dating history only two things happen when I go on a date:

1. I immediately don't like the guy, making me feel relaxed and act like myself, which leads the guy to believe we have a connection when we really don't. I eventually have to turn him down.

2. I immediately like the guy, making me nervous, drink more, and have sex on a first date, which usually doesn't lead to a second date.

I can't help it. If I'm attracted to someone, why wouldn't I want to bang them?? Yeah, yeah. Cow, milk, free, bugger off.

Let's call this guy Doctor C. It turns out Dr. C was a scientist working out of the Museum of Natural History. He had to stay at the lab late so we met for drinks on the upper west side, not too far from his job.

After about four beers, two shots, and some singing (him, not me) Dr. C asks if I wanted to go to the museum even though it was closed to the public. I said shit yeah, so off we stumbled.

It was awesome to walk around the museum when it's empty. I'm not much of a museum goer, but when I do go it's usually this one. The dinosaurs are my all time favorite, so I asked Dr. C if we can go there. He said sure, but wanted to stop by his office for a sec.

Well "stop by" anywhere with me when I'm drunk and you'll get some. At least that's how I used to roll. We had crazy scientist sex on his desk, floor, and I even think his rolling chair. At one point a security guard came by and knocked. Here I am standing naked behind the door, while Dr. C talked to the guard, holding the door so it covered his lower half of his body, which was completely naked and half-mast.

When the guard finally left we just started laughing. We uh, wrapped things up, left his office, and went down to see the dinosaur exhibit. It was totally fun.

The rest of the night is a bit hazy. I think we walked around by the planetarium for awhile and then hopped in a cab. I do remember getting all hot and heavy in the backseat, but I didn't go home with him. I like my bed.

I'm pretty sure I heard from him the next day, but after that he didn't call and I didn't care. It was one of those hook-ups that were just too cool to even bother seeing each other again.

I refer to that night as my Ross and Rachel date. To this day I still get a devilish grin every time I walk by the museum.

There was another reason why I didn't care about hearing from him, though...the "C" stands for Corky. I'm sorry, but scientist schmientist...all I thought of was that fucking tv show.

<"Insert your own down syndrome joke here.">

I'm feeling politically correct tonight. Fa!

Turning Japanese

Hanging in Delilah right now are 24 pairs of underwear, 28 tanks and t-shirts, 4 towels, 2 capri pants, and 7 normal hang-dry items.

Having worn my last pair of clean undies today there was no choice..I had to do laundry. Poop I say.

It's not so bad once I do it. The laundromat is right across the street from my apartment, so I put my clothes in the wash, come home, go back to put them in the dryer, come home, and then go back to pick them up. I like doing this because running up and down my four flights of stairs is sadly the only exercise I get nowadays.

I went downstairs about an hour ago to get my clothes out of the dryer and hot damn, one load was still wet. (That sounds dirty.) I threw everything into another dryer for an extra 20 minutes and then gave up. I was hungry, tired, and not in the mood.

So now all of my wet stuff is hanging around the apartment and all I keep thinking is that...wait for it...I feel Japanese.

I swear to god that I have no idea if this is mean or rude or what, but as I glance around my living room, I feel this overwhelming sense of being Japanese. Specifically, a Japanese Madam running a fake laundromat as a cover for her brothel of bukkake and gokkun-loving girls.

I went to a brothel a few months ago. I got a lap dance (and more!) from this chick "Courtney". It was a cool experience, but I don't need to go again. Brothels would be awesome if there weren't any men around.

Am I gay? I'm gay, right? Aw crap.

Freaky Tuesday?

Between Anonymous 2's comment and the fucking mouse in my office, I have been a tad freaked today.

Anon 2, thanks for the reality check. When I read your note I immediately got on the defensive, ready to bomb you with a bunch of excuses. Then I realized what I was doing and stopped myself. As of right now all I can say is that you hit a nerve and I appreciate it.

Office mouse, I FUCKING HATE YOU. I don't want your neck to snap in a trap, but if that's the only way I will get rid of you then...YIPPEE KI YAY, MOTHER FUCKER.

If anyone wants to see Die Hard on Friday, let me know!

Pitch In!!

I just ran out to the store real quick and witnessed a crime.

Some asshole opened a pack of cigarettes and threw the cellophane and foil onto the sidewalk.

WHO LITTERS IN THIS DAY AND AGE!?!?!

I am shocked and appalled. Fucking douche.

Let it be known that if you litter, I will judge you.

Today my ass exploded.

Damn you Sette and your all-you-can-drink bloody marys!!

I did it again. Rocks and I went to brunch yesterday. Since 4 or 5 bloody marys wasn't enough, we just HAD to keep drinking. We went over to Trailer Park to get some PBRs, but then the evil bartender said, "Today's specials are $3 PBRs and $5 margaritas." Ay caramba! I was in a margarita mood all weekend so naturally I partook in the pecan pie.

Stupid! Three margaritas later I blacked out. Again. This is what I remember:

1. Passing 46th Street station, which is one station pass my stop.
2. Setting my alarm for 8am.

That's it.

I don't remember leaving the bar, getting on the subway, taking the subway back towards Manhattan after missing my stop, walking home, or passing out on the couch.

This is very bad.

I love alcohol. I really do, but I have a problem. I'm not supposed to be drinking on Zoloft, let alone drinking to excess. That's it, I am not allowed to drink liquor anymore. I just can't handle it!!

And boy did I pay for it today. I normally shit three times a day, after every meal. I didn't crap this morning, but after lunch, damn. I had to brace myself against the bathroom stall. It was like Finch in American Pie AND there were two other girls in the bathroom. Leigh-bee, I am so sorry.

Four hours later I had to go back for round two which thankfully wasn't as painful. I felt much better afterwards. Now that I'm home, I'm fine but just annoyed with myself. What the fuck is my damage?? I can't keep going to work hungover (I did on Friday, too) and I DEFINITELY can't keep doing this to my body. I'll be fubar if I don't clean up my act soon.

I mean seriously, I'm going to be 30 years old next year. In my mind there are certain things 30 year old women should not be doing and blacking out is in the top 10. The rest, in no particular order:

1. Smelling dirty laundry to see if she can get away with wearing it again
2. Biting carrots in little pieces and spitting them into her salad, being too lazy to cut them with a knife
3. Making out with people under 25
4. Using paper towels to wipe when she runs out of toilet paper
5. Using water in her cereal when she runs out of milk
6. Changing her sheets only once every two months
7. Being financially irresponsible
8. Forgetting to wear sunscreen
9. Shouting out "Wow!" when examining her ear gunk on a Q-tip

Fuck. I'm such an asshole. I hereby declare that I, Thighs, will no longer do shots...ummm...will no longer drink on Sundays except during football season. NO!! I solemnly swear I WILL NOT DRINK LIQUOR ANYMORE. I am only to drink beer and if I start blacking out from beer, well then I'm going to kill myself. AARRGGHH!

P.S. Yes the above list is of stuff I currently do and am working on not doing in preparation for the big 3-0. (The Q-Tip thing happened this morning. It was gross, but totally cool.)

Saturday Night Live (continued)

And I wasn't going to write about this either, but fuck it. I'm one margarita and two Coronas in the bag.

I went to my parents' house last night. We saw FF2 (eh) and then watched Flight of the Conchords and John From Cincinnati. I HIGHLY recommend Flight, I am considering getting HBO just for this show. Oh and for Inside the NFL in the fall, which may be my favorite show that I've dearly missed the past 3 years. John From Cincinnati is a little out there, but you can tell some pretty cool shit will soon be revealed.

This morning we put together this massive gazebo. I love putting things together so it was actually a lot of fun, even though it took about 5 hours to finish. My parents were cool, I was cool and it was good. My mom did call my dad a fuckface at one point, but her name-calling has become rather endearing now that her sailor mouth isn't backed by psychotic rage.

I started to get sad about Dickfart and some other stuff in the late afternoon, so I decided to come back to Queens pretty early. My parents were a little upset, but I just really wanted to come home. Then my mom sort of kicked me when I was down, which is always such a blast and definitely made me want to leave.

The first thing she said to me last night when she got to the theater was "Did you wear that to work?" Now Company is very laidback about dress code on the 10th floor, the 11th floor a little more corporate. I had Casual Friday clothes on, jeans and a yellow top that can really only be described as a fashionable house-coat tee. (It's cool, I swear.) So yeah, I was definitely casual, so what? She mentioned this a couple of times. Then the best thing she said, prefaced by "I don't mean to play the mother card, buuuutttt..."

At work this week Fi and I were talking about waffle ice-cream sandwiches and I immediately got warm and fuzzy inside. Waffle ice-cream sandwiches were one of my mom's favorite things to eat so our conversation brought me back to a sweet memory that I forgot all about.

My mom was nice enough to buy waffles on the way back from the movies; we both had a sandwich while watching the HBO shows. For breakfast this morning we had waffles and bacon. For lunch I considered having another waffle ice-cream sandwich, but ditched the waffles and just had the ice-cream.

And here's where the "but" came in. My mom said I shouldn't eat ice-cream because I've gained weight and she knows I want to get back in shape. She also offered to give me $100 so that I can shop for work-appropriate tops that fit, since she knew I didn't want to buy clothes at this fatter size, with the hope I would lose weight soon.

Now picture this. I'm laying on their couch already feeling depressed and wanting to leave, but through no fault of my parents. Why the fuck would my mom think that was a good time to tell me I'm fat and need new clothes????

I must admit, I'm more upset about Dickfart then what my mom said, but I wanted to vent. For the first time ever I'm feeling pretty damn sexy, despite weighing 180 pounds. I find it ironic it's not the guy who recently rejected me, but my own darn mother that has taken my tiny bit of confidence away. And here I thought she couldn't do that anymore. Sucks ass.

Saturday Night Live

It's 8pm on a Saturday night. Delilah and I are kicking back with some Coronas.

I had my first stressful week at work because of a couple spats with one of my bosses, GP. Out of the 3 peeps above me, GP and I have a history of butting heads. Long story short, he wants a few projects to go-live when I know the data is wrong. What's better, getting a project done fast or right? Luckily Fi and Mags are going to help out, so the week ended on a high note.

I don't know if it was the stress or an allergic reaction, but all week I got these ugly sores along my jaw, hairline, and neck. They look like picked at zits, which is weird because I've had pretty good skin my whole life. It's clearing up now, but I still don't know what caused them. I think it may have been this sunscreen I don't usually put on my face, but did on Monday. Yes, I am so pale that I put on sunscreen before I go to work. I've been known to get sunburned on lunch breaks. In March.

I was also bummed out about something else on top of that poop, too. I'm embarrassed to write this, but if this blog thing is going to be real, well then I'm going to be real.

I'm having a hard time getting over Dickfart. I know we only went out that one night, but I really felt like something was there. I know, I ALWAYS feel like something's there, but this was different.

I think the reason why I felt such a connection with him is because of his blog. I only started reading it this year and I immediately felt that we were the same person. The way he writes, the way he jokes, everything seemed so, so...me.

Maybe that's just what good writers do though. They tap into what gets you almost as if they are writing only for you. Rage, my favorite writer and good friend does that. He's so raw, so honest, and so fucking out there that he makes me feel sane. Dickfart did that, too. His writing makes me feel like I'm not alone, that there are other people out there who are truly awesome, but have a hard time seeing it for themselves. Plus he is a gluttonous pervert like myself.

Or maybe it's not Dickfart I'm upset about. Maybe I'm upset that I have to get off my ass and keep looking for The One. I mean fuck, I ain't going to meet him in my office or on my couch or when I'm shitfaced at a bar with friends. I need to put myself out there for real, not any of this dramatic "I-went-to-Ohio-or-emailed-a-quasi-celebrity-to-find-love" bullshit.

Furball made fun of himself by saying he's boring, that this weekend he's hanging out with his family and fixing up his house. While I don't want kids yet nor think that going to Home Depot is an eventful weekend, I want what Furbie has. I want to always be with the people I love, in a place I love to call home. I'm halfway there, but now it's time for me to have it all.

Father Thighs

I'm going to my parents' house this weekend for a belated Father's Day celebration. For the past few years we've been going to Seaside Heights to bar hop along the boardwalk, play video games, and eat at the Beachcomber but since Rippie is out in LA I think we're going to go back to our roots. It just wouldn't be the same without him. Who would whip my butt at air hockey and who would me and my parents make fun of for smoking a cigarette like a pansy ass sissy girl?

Our old Father's Day tradition was to go to the movies, chill out at home, and then watch Predator or Total Recall. Every year. We are huge Ah-nold fans. I think this year I'll take him to see FF2, then watch Total Recall. It's not every movie you get to see a three-breasted hooker.

I like my dad. Isn't that nice? He is the silliest bastard I have ever met. One of my earliest memories is when we'd run around pretending to be superheroes. I would either be Wonder Woman or Batgirl, depending on which Underoos I had on, and my dad would either be the Joker or The Penguin. I don't remember what my weapons of choice were for Batgirl (most likely the Batarang) but for Wonder Woman I'd lasso him up or chuck my headband at him. Awesome.

I also had hand-me-down Robin Underoos from my cousin; whenever I wore them my dad would put on "Rockin' Robin" and we'd dance around the living room. If I ever get married I always thought I'd tell my dad we were going to dance to some standard father/daughter song, but then have the DJ throw "Rockin' Robin" on as a surprise. I also thought it would be cool to rip my wedding gown open and be wearing a Robin costume underneath, but yeah...this is probably why I'm still single.

The sad thing is I don't really remember my dad being around that much through my teen years. I think it was because my mom was the dominant force in the house that there just wasn't room for any other relationships to form. Weird right? Thankfully we became close again when I went to Rutgers because my dad works near the campus. Sure I'd hit him up for cash or the keys to his car, but I think he liked that I came by.

I'm pretty sure the last time we spent a whole day alone together was when I moved to Delilah. I seriously freaked out that day. I don't know if I was just scared of moving by myself or what, but I did not stop crying. I cried the whole ride up to Queens from Jackson, I cried when the movers came, I cried when they couldn't get my couch in the apartment, I even cried when I ordered two sausage sandwiches at Home Depot (they have like a cartdude). My dad was like what the hell is wrong with you?? Three years later I'm still not sure, I guess it really was just nerves.

Nowadays I talk to my parents about 3 or 4 times a week. Never, ever thought that would happen. As soon as I call they have to put me on speaker and then they keep talking over each other so that I have no idea what they are saying. Actually, my mom keeps talking over my dad, my dad eventually gives up and walks away. They are dummies...and I honestly can't wait to see them.

Dear Dad,

If you are reading this blog I am most likely dead. I want you to know that while I was alive I loved you very, very much and will continue to do so if I'm not burning in the pits of hell. Sorry for sleeping with so many people.

Happy Father's Day!

Love,
Thighs

FB is a DICKFART.

Oh yeah, since some of you asked how things were going with FB...well they're not going anywhere.

I haven't heard from him in about two weeks.

'Nuff said.

Paper shopping bags as purses

I wasn't a regular subway rider until I moved to Brooklyn a few years ago. It was around then I noticed an interesting trend in purses.

Many women will carry your typical pocketbook (Ruth Clare), but a good percentage will also be carrying a small paper shopping bag, too.

This shopping bag tends to carry an umbrella, a pair of work shoes, maybe Tupperware lunch. It makes sense because when you're done with those items or dropping them off at work, you can easily fold the paper bag up and tuck it into your regular purse for the way home.

These bags are usually gift bags from either a birthday or Mother's Day, a non-holiday colorful one, or a small bag from a store. I've noticed plenty of Clinique, Bloomingdale's, or Gap bags used to tote random stuff. Again, this seems perfectly acceptable.

The key to using any bag from a store or company is to use some common sense and discretion. Seems easy enough. I mean you wouldn't carry a huge bag that said "Valtrex" on it even if it was a freebie from one of those coked up pharmaceutical sales reps, right?

Well today I was walking out of the subway and noticed a bag. This bag actually made me gasp. Me. Gasp.

One of the last words I think anyone would use to describe me is "conservative" (the others being "tan" and "sober") so if I was a little shocked...well, this lady's fucking out there.

What store was the bag from? Guess. Don't guess. It was from Babeland (this is a clean link).

For the Mormons who read this, Babeland is a sex shop. Her bag was as bright as the store's awning and big enough to fit a pair of boots, or well in this case, three dildos and a butt plug.

I was shocked. I mean I couldn't be the only one who knew where that bag was from. I had to see what was inside so I caught up to her. I was slightly disappointed that the usual paper-shopping-bags-as-purses items were inside: a newspaper, sweater, and umbrella. What the fuck.

The woman herself seemed like your average, petite brunette, maybe late 30s? She was wearing a suit dress without the jacket, her outfit saying "office" while her bag said "orifice."

I really wanted to follow her to see where she was going. If she was going to the office, I would have LOVED to hear or see people's reactions. Seriously, I can not be the only person in midtown who knows what the bag means.

I don't know what I would do if someone at Company brought in a sex bag like it was nothing. Even Victoria's Secret bags are a little much. I think depending on the person I'd either laugh or puke, not much gray there.

So if you're looking for a kinky brunette that likes sex toys, hang out at the 35th Street and 6th Ave exit of the NRW train around 8:45am and look for The Bag.

If you're looking for a kinky blonde that likes sex toys, post a comment and give me your email address. Wocka, wocka!

Phuckin' Philly

I feel dirty. I blame it on Philadelphia, but truthfully it's more likely due to the fact that I can't stop farting today.

Yesterday I went down to Philly for the Wizard World con and the Phillies/Tigers game. I haven't been there in awhile so this was my first time taking mass transit down. We rode NJ Transit on the way there since it's cheaper, but the SEPTA didn't wait for us to pull into Trenton so we then jumped on two light rails to get down to the convention center. Not sure if we would have been better off waiting the hour for the SEPTA train to come, but whatevs, it worked out fine. We took Amtrak home, I definitely advise this if you can afford it. They serve beer!!

Rockstar and I got to Philly around 4pm and went right into the con so I can say hi to some friends. I only went to one convention before working at Company, at Philly in 2004. It was funny, I kept getting on line to get DaQ to sign some comics, but then I'd freak out and keep getting off! I remember seeing Red for the first time there, too. We have a mutual friend so my brother kept saying to go introduce myself and I kept pussing out. It's totally weird that less than a year later I ended up working for him and that DaQ would be one of my favorite peeps of all time.

Sadly though, DaQ is a HUGE Mets fan so I had to be the one to tell him that the Phillies won last night. This means Philly is only two games behind the Mets, so let's hope NY gets back on a win streak.

Like I said before I'm more a baseball fan than just a team fan. Bad sportsmanship really pisses me off, like the other night when Bonds was booed in Boston. Yes, he may have taken steroids, "may" being the operative word. And yes, I do believe anyone who takes enhancement drugs should be punished, but still, have some respect. I equate athletes taking roids to actresses who get plastic surgery. I can't imagine how depressing it must be to feel or see yourself lose what you've been defined by for so long. I can't burp my way through the alphabet anymore and let me tell you, it's very hard for me to accept.

Where was I? Oh yeah, so when I go to other stadiums I always root for the home team, even when their win affects NY. I know, I know, I should move to a state with no team then, but really, it's just fun to get into the spirit of it. So I apologize to DaQ, Furbie, and my other close Mets fans...I cheered for the Phillies last night. I'M SORRY! I feel soooo dirty, like a cheat or a floosie. I don't deserve to live in Queens.

This begs the question, what the hell am I going to do when I'm at the Mets/Dodgers game in LA next month? Well I've decided I owe it to the Mets to proudly wear their colors and cheer them on, risking ridicule and being hit with peanuts just to make up for yesterday.

My thoughts on Citizens Park? It's a nice stadium, check out my pictures. Rocks pointed out that it's very similar to Busch. I looked it up and both were designed by HOK Sport and others, so there ya have it.

Okay, enough dramatics. I really did have a good time at the game and it was great catching up with friends at the con. I'd like to go back to Philly and do some touristy things next time. I really wanted to get down to Pat's and Geno's, but we didn't have time. I ate a cheesesteak at the game that was okay, so it wasn't a total loss. I don't get why my farts smell like Chinese food though...

Anyways, I'm going to be taking it easy the next few weeks to save some cash and lose some poundage before my California trip on the 20th, so if anyone's up for some low-cost and low-cal fun, I'll be around!

Gotta wear shades.

A big thanks to the peeps who gave me such nice feedback on my last post. It really means a lot to me.

Here's a little fluff to go with your nutter...

I went to the eye doctor a couple weeks ago because I felt like I've had something in my right eye FOREVER and I needed to renew my contact prescription. It turns out I have a slight infection, although not contagious and not enough for antibiotics. Doc said it could be allergies so he said keep my eye moisturized and come back in a week.

He also said to not wear contacts. I didn't listen. I played softball twice, had that date with FB and the wedding. I love my glasses, but I've become optically vain and can't bear to wear them when I want to look pretty. And, for a less shallow reason, didn't want to risk breaking them during a game.

I went back to the doctor's this week and he said the infection is still minor, but it has now gone to both eyes. He told me to stop being a jerkoff, wear my glasses and throw out all my makeup. Okay, he didn't really say jerkoff, but he did mean business so I listened this time.

I'm not used to wearing my glasses so I did something pretty stupid the other morning. I'll preemptively excuse this by saying a) it was early, b) I didn't have coffee yet, and c) I'm blonde.

I was on the subway staring off into space when I noticed this really attractive girl. While I keep telling myself I'm not gay, I couldn't stop looking at her. She was dressed really nice, good hair and make-up. I like to think it was more admiration than fornication that made me stare, but it was complete dumbication that got me caught.

Again since I'm not used to wearing my glasses, I seriously thought I was wearing SUNglasses which lead me to believe she couldn't see where I was looking. (This is dumb for two reasons. One, I was clearly NOT wearing sunglasses as the subway was not three shades darker from the lenses and the bald guy standing next to me had sweat that glistened off his scalp in the fluorescent light. And two, I left my sunglasses on the diner table at the shore.)

Long story longer, she caught me. I knew she knew I was staring and then I knew she knew I knew she knew I was staring. There was nothing to say, so I did what any embarrassed pervert does...turned red, closed my eyes, and dreamt about having sex with Jon Gruden. (By the way Jon, if you should read this, I demand you keep your visor and headset on the whole time, and you must spank me with your clipboard. Thanks!)

To my V-train Vixen, I apologize on behalf of all people who you have or have not caught staring at you. Honestly though you are too pretty to ride the subway, so what the fuck. It's your fault now! Ha!

Will someone PLEASE remind me to buy new sunglasses the next time we're out???

Extraordinary

Therapy Thursdays. Gotta love 'em.

I was feeling pretty down this afternoon for no particular reason. In my book this is much worse than having a reason. Basically I start feeling bad, then I start feeling bad for feeling bad, and then I start feeling bad for feeling...you get the picture.

When I left work I felt incredibly melancholy and didn't understand why. I had a great time on my mini-break, a great week at the office despite some project setbacks, and am looking forward to hanging out in Philly on Saturday for the comic con and Phillies/Tigers game. Life is good.

Then my "must-feel-bad" go-to thoughts jumped into my head: I'm fat, poor, boyfriendless and still eat my fingers. Poo.

Lucky for me I was on my way to therapy so the blahs didn't last long. I had a fantastic session with Cee tonight. It took me about a good 25 minutes of babbling to get there, but I made this realization:

My whole entire life, all I've ever wanted to be is extraordinary.

The session began with me saying how badly I wanted to be in love, but how deathly afraid I am of it at the same time. We discussed my commitmentphobia, my ex-slutness, my current tongue-slutness and how all three were my way of making for damn sure I wouldn't connect with anyone on an emotionally intimate level.

I read once that we do what works, whatever we want to achieve we attract it, good or bad. So I thought about it, what exactly am I achieving by keeping others out and holding myself in?

After throwing some ideas around it finally hit me. It started much earlier in life, way before I kissed anyone. It goes all the way back to my impulsive ways, my sense of urgency, my identity crisis, my everything.

Ever since I was a child I've longed to feel special, to be different, to be more than ordinary. What kid doesn't want to feel that way, but throw in some mental illness and a wild imagination, no wonder I became a freakfest stew.

Now when someone says "extraordinary" it's usually meant as a positive. I got straight A's, was in the honors programs, the top clarinetist, and the MVP in softball, and you know what? These things meant nothing to me. All I knew was self-destruction so my extraordinary behavior became completely negative.

From 15 years old, I've taken drinking, drugging, nail-biting, cursing, fucking, kissing, obnoxiousness, and god knows what else to the next level. I've actually taken great pride in them, all because I wanted to feel "special." To this day, I barely ever sit and reflect on my positive accomplishments, simply brushing them off to tell a ridiculous story about banging some guy in a UPS truck. The ironic part is, I pretended I was free, a rebel in a world of sheep, when really I'm still just a punk. A 29 year old punk.

Think about it, what is rebellion anyways? The quick answer is that we rebel against our parents or The Man to stay true to ourselves. Tonight I've decided that's wrong, I mean:

What if I've really been rebelling against MYSELF in FEAR OF my own identity?

In other words, can I allow myself to believe that after all this time...I'm extraordinary just as I am?

Missouri Trip Deets!

We came, we saw, we kicked Missouri's ass!!

The Wedding

Evan and Kimberly's wedding was the whole reason for the trip and I must say, it. was. perfect. They both looked so happy and beautiful!! The ceremony and reception was so them...laid back, cool, and tons of fun. They even got to hang out with everyone and enjoy themselves. Guests travelled from all over the country, which just goes to show what genuinely awesome people they both are!

The wedding also kicked ass because I got to hang out with old friends I haven't seen in awhile. I love it when it feels like no time has passed and you pick up right where you left off. It helps when the group are all hysterical, obnoxious partiers, too!

Ev and Kimberly, I had SUCH a great time. Congratulations and thanks again!

The Baseball Games

Kansas City Royals:
Kauffman Stadium has been around for about 35 years and it's still beautiful today. Tickets are pretty cheap, didn't seem to be a bad seat in the house. If you plan on visiting, definitely go before they renovate and on a Friday...they put on a kick-ass fireworks show that night every week.

Also to note, there is a great hill alongside the parking lot that you MUST roll down as well as a good spot by Section 125 for making out with a total stranger. I speak from experience on both points.

St. Louis Cardinals:
As you can see from my pics, the view at Busch was gorgeous. Definitely sit behind home in the upper decks, so you can take it all in. The stadium itself was really spacious and clean with a ton of bathrooms and vendors, but I was kind of disappointed with the overall look. There were way too many billboards and ads, barely any Cardinal signs or decorations. Maybe that's a chick thing to notice, but honestly, if it wasn't for the fans I wouldn't have realized I was in St. Louis.

In fact, I think Cardinal fans are the best ones I've met on my tour to date. They have so much respect and spirit for the team. Almost every person was wearing a Cards jersey or t-shirt and even when the Angels were kicking their ass, no one booed or fought about it. St. Louis is definitely a good-natured baseball city.

Other Weekend Highlights

Buttercup, our rented PT Cruiser:
Jess, Rockstar, and I did not stop screaming or singing 80s songs and showtunes the whole weekend. Missouri's got some fucked up billboards; I think Testicle Festival topped the list. From KC to St. Louis we played Dead Animal Bingo from Family Guy. (FYI: Foxes are not mythical creatures.) Best 12 hours in a car ever!

Don't Stop Believin':
This song was our anthem for the weekend. Every time one of us started to sing it, the whole group would scream it. Journey rocks!!

Tessie:
Our KC hotel bar waitress. You know you're awesome when your customers do your work for you by taking their own orders and bussing their own table. If I have kids, my daughter may be named Tessa.

Ohio John:
I don't know what the fuck is going on, but this is the third "ex" I've seen this year. The only flame from my past I haven't seen is Psycho Joe and if he pops up then it's official...the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are here.

John and Evan went to college together and it didn't occur to me that he would be at the wedding until I was on the plane. It was actually great to see him and catch up. The only time I felt weird was when he was dancing...I forgot how fucking hot he is. I mean HOT. He was dancing around all sweaty and well, HOT that I wanted to rip my dress off and take him right then and there. I've liked and loved lots of guys, but lusted only a few. Damn John, damn.

Beverly Hill Cops 2:
A great flick to watch when drunk at 2am. That's all.

Underwear:
Undies story 1. Rockstar wore a thong without pajama pants to bed every night. This could be the reason I had a dream that a cheerful prostitute was giving Rocks a breast massage by a public pool.

Undies story 2. On the way back to the airport I sat in the backseat. I was slightly uncomfortable in my jeans so I decided to take them off. I like wearing Hanes sporty underwear so it wasn't like my ass was hanging out or anything, but Rocks was pretty surprised when she turned around and saw me pantsless. "What...are you...are you NAKED!?!?

She snapped a pic of me in my britches, then hid her camera so that I wouldn't delete it. Unfortunately she hid it so well that it was left in Buttercup. This was the suckiest part of the trip. Keep your fingers crossed she gets it back on Friday...and that the person who finds it doesn't go blind seeing my albino lower half.

Who's Your TV Alter Ego?:
Buy it for your next trip. SOOOO much fun, great for cheering you up when your flight's been delayed for two hours.

And finally, My Fellow Travellers:
Rocks, Jess, Liz, Jason, and Amber...I had an absolute blast! Thanks for making Missouri fun!!

Missouri Trip Pics!

I'm too tired to write so here are my photos from this past weekend awhile.

I had a GREAT time, will share the details this week.

Enjoy!

I'm awesome at procrastinating.

Tomorrow I'm heading to my first out-of-state baseball games of the year, then rounding out the weekend with my good friend's wedding. Congratulations Ev and Kimberly! I can't wait to party!

Rockstar, me, and a few other peeps are heading off to Missouri for the Phillies/Royals game on Friday, then the Angels/Cardinals game on Saturday. All week I've been saying "Push, push in the bush." and wondering why Missouri is the "Show Me" State. Sack? Tits? Why?!?!?

I suck at geography. It's not that I'm stupid, I just don't care. Pennsylvania was the west coast to me for most of my life. It wasn't until I decided to go on the stadium tour that I made it pass that fucking boring ass state. I'm sorry, but driving on Rt. 80 is awful; I've never been more happy to see Newark, NJ in my life.

Think I'm packed and ready to go? Nope and nope. When I got home I had dinner, straightened up, watched Mean Girls, talked on the phone, and then decided to write. I will most likely shave, give myself a pedicure, dance around in my outfit for the wedding (pretty, pretty!), and read Anna Karenina before I even take out my luggage. I thrive on procrastination.

I've had an entertaining Boy-Week. Haven't heard from FB, although he did say he was busy. I hate busy. Everyone's busy. I'M busy, but I really liked how his kisses taste so I'd probably ditch this whole weekend if he was free. Yes they were that delicious. And yes, I am that much of a pathetic, desperate, horny loser.

I had a softball game last night with two interesting boy events. Donovan and I travelled to the game together. I think that was the longest we ever talked sober. I don't like him anymore, but if he wanted to give me oral pleasure I would not stop him.

After the game I went to meet Rockstar and her company's team at Dive Bar on 96th and Amsterdam. (Warning, Dive Bar is SO not a dive. Total false advertising. ) I ended up leaving the game with this dude I'll call Harold. Harold works at Company, but this was the first time we met. He seemed really nice so I invited him out with me. We immediately hit it off since we both have a sorta random sense of humor and much love for wings and beer. In fact I was slowly starting to dig him when he dropped the bomb...he was only 23.

23? 23? I have an old Gonzo flag thingie from The Muppet Show ON TOUR! back in 1984 that is as old as he is. What the fuck? Yes I know I was only born in 1978, but hearing people were born in the 80s is weird. Hearing that people I have/could have/may have sex with were born in the 80s is even weirder. I mean Rippie was born in '81, I can't go younger than that and still look at myself in the mirror, right?

Right. At least that's what I told myself when we are on the subway home and I was getting off (literally you perv). He gave me googly eyes, kind of puckered up, and actually said (looonnggg pause for effect) that he usually dates women over 30.

AAAIIIIIIEEEEEE!!! I'm 29, you fuck! "Women over 30"?!?! WOW. I mean, WOW.

Now I rarely feel old mainly because I have freckles and still really enjoy picking my nose, but I gotta tell ya, I felt really old last night. He emailed me today something semi-cute, but I kind of blew it off. Harold's a really nice guy and I know he didn't say that statement to insinuate I'm a hag, but I am too young to feel like Maude.

In fact I've decided I can never bang someone in their early twenties, at least not until I'm in my forties. Apparently a big age difference is only acceptable when they are young enough to be your child. Thanks Demi!

I did rub one off to get it out of my system though, but now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure I was picturing the wings more than Harold...

I guess I should go pack now, huh?

SWF seeks SWML(uddite)

Technology is damaging my already tender self-esteem.

Every day I am reminded how accessible I am which in turn reminds me how no one is trying to, well, access me. To combat this, I have decided that I can no longer like or date someone who owns a cellphone or uses the internet.

I figure this narrows my dating range to three groups: technophobes, newborns, and senior citizens.

Technophobes:
If you are a technophobe or luddite in this day and age, you are most likely a freak of nature. While I too fit this description, I don't think I can date you since you most likely don't own a television, don't eat meat, and only read books without pictures. I'll compromise if you have a 9-inch penis, though. Soft.

Newborns:
How does one go about dating a newborn? Is that legal? How could you tell we were dating?

Darn, it just occurred to me this wouldn't work out either because I'd probably get really jealous over how much time he spends with his mom.

Me: "You're such a momma's boy! Why do you want to hang out with her instead of me all the time???"

Baby: "Wah!" (Translation:"Get away from me you sick fucking bitch!")

Senior Citizens:
Yes, I understand that there are plenty of old men who use email or have a prepaid phone, but my guy definitely wouldn't. Instead he'd master the art of story telling with his soft voice, unfettering wit, and charming personality. Although mentally active he'd need to be decrepit, unable to run when I come to visit.

If I let Ruth Clare fully embody my spirit, it might work. Even better, there is no way for me to feel bad not hearing from him because one of three things probably happened:

1. Senility kicked in and he forgot we were dating.
2. His bum middle-aged children are angry he's with someone younger than them, therefore stopped him from calling.
3. He died.

Yaaayy!! There's no need to think anything bad about myself in that situation, so please spread the good word and let your grandfathers know I'm coming.

Random Diary Entry: November 25, 1990

Dear Diary,

Today is November 25th. I didn't go to church today because I didn't feel good. But, then I went back to New York and visited my Uncle and Aunt and cousin David I told you about. My other grandmother was there, too. Nothing much interesting happened.

I was just reading the pages I wrote in this diary other days and I realized I sound like a stuck-up snob. I'm always whining about my love life. I'm really sorry. It's just that since this is a diary, I figured I should write anything I want in it.

I like Jonathan Brandis.
I like Jonathan Brandis.
I like Jonathan Brandis.
I like Jonathan Brandis.
I like Jonathan Brandis.
I wonder if I have homework.

I just thought of it. Oh well. I'll do it in school. I need pictures. I want to bring my camera to school and take pictures. Hey! I think I will!

You know how Melissa S. was having a birthday party? Well it was ok. Her brother is a dick. I hate him, Austin, Erik, and James a little. Ron is all over me. I'm not easy or anything, but he keeps running up to me and squishing me and pounding me to a pulp.

I got Melissa a $27.77 charm that says I(HEART)SOCCER in gold. My mom got real mad at me. Hey. It's my money.

Listen I gotta run. It's 10:30pm and I'm beat.

Thighs

I (Heart) Jonathan

Knocked Up

If you like to laugh, please go see this movie.

If you don't like to laugh, please kill yourself.

I need a bloody mary.

Jesus H. Christmas, I'm still drunk from last night.

I got to the beer garden at 1:30pm. I got home at 4:30am. I am typing with one eye closed.

At some point in the evening Chewie and I decided that the beer garden wasn't enough, we just had to go into the city to meet Rage and a few other peeps. Oy vey.

I don't really have much to say except WHY HAVEN'T I HEARD FROM FB???????

I hate all tripods AND my right ovary hurts. My new gyno was a little rough (which I usually like), but dude it's been like a month and it's still throbbing. WTF.

That's it. I'm going to the diner for an omelet and a bloody mary. Hopefully my eye will open before I get there.

JERKASS.

LATE EDITION FINAL!

Pedros, I don't think I told any of you that I'll be at the beer garden all day today.

I have a Man-Shower to go to. No presents, no pastel decorations, just lots o' beer and sausage to celebrate Pandy's unborn child.

I am so honored to go, as I was the only chick invited.

I'll be surrounded by 15 or so dudes...gotta love those odds!

Love beer, too.

Murder Death Kill

I am the most disgusting person to ever live. I completely understand if you never want to see me again after I tell you what just happened...

I...

killed...

a...

roach...

PUUUUUUUUUKKKKKKKKKKKKKKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!

THAT'S TWO ROACHES IN THE PAST TWO MONTHS. NOT ONE, BUT TWO. I AM SO FUCKING DISGUSTED RIGHT NOW.

I was a shitty roommate. Did I mention this already? I always left comic books, crayons, napkins, plates, empty cigarette packs, clothes, what have you all over the apartment in college. Even after school when I lived with Rippie I was awful. I'd go out drinking and wreck the place without ever cleaning it up. Here's a big fat SORRY to all my former roomies.

My sloppy ways is what made me decided to live alone. I'm proud to say that I have grown up a lot; Delilah's totally not a pigsty. Sure there are times when the Thighs-bomb goes off and she's not exactly the cleanest place, but I really do take pride in her which is why I'm so pissed off right now.

In the 3+ years I've lived here I maybe had a total of five roaches. Three of them were within my first couple months living here although I have a suspicion that one roach was repeat offender. Unfortunately he didn't have any distinguishable characteristics to build a case.

Anyways since early 2004 Dee has been roach free...until now. I WANT TO DIE.

A few weeks back I was in bed when I heard a weird rustling. I almost cried when I thought I had a mouse, then I did cry when I realized it was a "water bug". I have no idea how I saw it, but there the fucker was in my make-up bag. In one swoop I somehow grabbed the bag, leapt the five feet to my bathroom and threw it out, leapt another fifteen feet to my kitchen to grab the Raid, and leapt back to the bathroom and sprayed that bitch to death. I threw out all my make-up and most of the crap on my bedroom floor, too. SO GROSS.

Tonight was a little worse. I went to bed around midnight, woke up about an hour ago to take a leak. Just as my ass hit the toilet seat I saw the biggest fucking roach by my tub. Once again I ran got the Raid and hosed the thing down. I was so freaked out that my neck still hurts from cringing so hard, plus I couldn't bring myself to pee for a good 45 minutes due to my irrational fear that I would somehow get impregnated by one of his friends waiting for me under the seat.

I feel like the grossest person in the world. I swear to Shizza if this is the start of a "problem" I will shoot myself. I totally can't sleep now either. All I keep thinking of is that scene in Nightmare on Elm Street 4 when that chick from Just the Ten of Us turns into a big roach...that can't happen for real, right?

FB is AMAZING.

'Nuff said.

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? what happens if I think he's fat ugly stupid boring unfun? 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...