I heart long weekends.

I don't know what's with me lately. I can't bring myself to write for some reason. Oh wait...I know the reason. It's because I decided to be a writer! A writer who doesn't write! Yaaaayyyyy!!!

My parents were on a cruise so they were nice enough to let me borrow their car all week. Last Sunday I did some shopping and visited my friend Tom and his fiancee Julie (so nice to finally meet her!) down in the Jerse. Monday through Thursday I kept the car in a lot. Yes this was a wienie move, but the last thing I wanted to deal with was alternate side parking. Wienie. Friday was my first Summer Friday. Minnow's policy is pretty sweet, we work 9-6pm every day and then get every other Friday off. It's, in a word, awesome.

I kicked off my Summer of George by heading back to Jersey to visit my friends Melis and Jim. It had been way too long since we last hung out, but as always, once we get together it's like no time has passed. I love that.

I also loved the hike we went on Saturday morning. It was such a beautiful day, check out the view of the city from the top of the mountain:



And another gorgeous view:



I had such a great time, thanks for having me over guys! And an even bigger thanks for answering the inevitable phone call or email bound to come your way from my parents, who did not look well when they saw this:



Introducing my "Even though I am clinically depressed, on meds, and have returned to being a fat whale, I swear to Shizza I got this cut hiking when I slipped on some leaves, landed in the crab soccer position, and sliced my wrist on a stick" scar for life. (The picture is blurry on purpose because the cut is too nasty for a close up. I only make my bed when someone comes over.) At least I'll have a great conversation starter for the next few weeks. And by "great" I mean "uncomfortably awkward and sad." The Minnow gossips are gonna eat this up.

I really miss driving. I love to drive, especially in Manhattan. It's perfect for someone with self-diagnosed ADHD and lots of aggression. It was amazing how fast all of my driving habits came back. The hair twirling, the nail-biting, the bad singing, the road rage, and the Tourette's. For example, some dude pulled up next to me to get in my lane. I was cursing him out in my head for not using his blinker when he looked over at me and sheepishly said, "I made a boo boo." I think it threw me for a loop that a) he could see me b) he was talking to me and c) I could hear him, so I really didn't mean it when I responded with a booming "Fuck you!" I was so embarrassed that I just put my head down and gave him the go-ahead wave. Remind me to buy a muzzle the next time I rent a car.

My parents came back yesterday so I did what any car-free Astorian would do on a beautiful Sunday, I walked over to the beer garden and got sloshed. It was the first time I went so far this year and it was such a good time! It really was the perfect day for outdoor drinking.

Today is all about recovering...why can't every weekend be a long one??

I'll keep going.

I could go into work now, but I have to clean my bathroom, shower, get dressed, and go into the city. If I rushed I could get there by 2pm, but then I need to leave at 4:30pm to volunteer. It's my first NYCares project, I'm doing arts and crafts with elementary school kids. I could have sworn the hours were from 5:30-6:30pm. I didn't realize I needed to leave work early. I don't think Tennis would have cared, but I thought coming in late and leaving early was worse than not coming in at all.

Actually that was the worst part about this morning. Sure the tub sitch sucked, but it was much harder for me to deal with making the decision to stay home today. I feel really guilty, especially since Summer Fridays start this week. I don't want anyone to think I'm taking advantage.

And get this, I kept wishing my mom was home so I could ask her if it's okay to call out. What the shit is that? The thing is if she would have said no, I think I would have stayed home anyways. Ha! I'm laughing now...this is for you Rockstar...

Why do I ask for other people's opinions when I already know what I'm going to do regardless of their input?

Fuckin' 4B

I'm so annoyed. Did I ever mention that my neighbors spend every waking moment in their bathroom? Seriously, one of them is in there at any given moment. I think they get paid to run water.

My first super was this guy named Joe. I don't know what nationality he was, let's just say Russian because he looked like he drank a fifth of vodka just to get out of bed in the morning. Joe was a very nice yet lazy super. He always kept the building clean, but wasn't great on fixing things in the apartment. After awhile I gave up asking him to do stuff and started fixing shit on my own. I'm pretty handy when it comes to the small stuff.

The one thing I did need Joe to fix was my damn tub. I guess I lived here for about a year when it first happened. I woke up to a loud gurgle; it sort of sounded like the river of slime in Ghostbusters 2. I looked in the bathroom and there was thick brown gunk coming up from my drain. I swear to Shiz I thought someone's toilet backwashed into my tub. I nearly barfed. Luckily my parents came up that day; when my dad saw the mess he assured me it was drainage gunk not poopage gunk. Phew.

The plumber didn't come for three days. I was so pissed. Thankfully I still had my Crunch membership so I used their shower before work in the morning. Oy. Now that I think of it, that was the last day I stepped foot into a gym. Whoops.

I remember the day the tub was supposed to be fixed. I was psyched to be able to shower again (it's the little things in life), but once I saw my bathroom I flipped. The tub was drained but filthy. Somehow my sink got involved and all of my products underneath were covered in gunk. And the best part, there was a big gaping hole was in my wall. The plumber had to knock out six tiles and my soap dish. Awesome.

I complained for weeks, but Joe didn't respond. Since my shower was working, I covered the hole with poster board and gave up. Two months later I found out Joe was diagnosed with cancer. Two months after that he passed away. It was such a shame, he really was a nice guy. I no longer cared about my bathroom. This was early 2006. The hole is still there.

About a year after Joe died, my tub acted up again. It turned out 4B's plumbing was the issue. They apparently needed all new pipes. I found this out early one morning when I heard a sledgehammer knocking through their bathroom walls.

I was afraid to come home that night. I had no idea what to expect and even if I did, I don't think I would have expected what actually happened. My bathroom walls were still up (thank god), but the impact of the sledgehammer caused my medicine cabinet to shift a few inches and empty out. My sink, shower curtain, towels, and part of the floor were covered with paint from four broken nailpolish bottles. All shades of red and brown. It was a bitch to clean.

Naturally I flipped out again. I could hear Female 4B in the bathroom (where else would she be), so I ripped down the poster board and went to stick my head through the wall Shining-style. All I wanted to do was yell and scare the shit out of her. I did NOT want to see a 50 year old Italian woman naked exiting the shower. But I did. From the waist down.

Needless to say, I scared the shit out of her. I yelled, but it wasn't the angry "my bathroom's a mess because of you" it was "oh my god I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry." Whoops again.

I haven't seen the woman since, but hot damn she is still in that bathroom all fucking day. In fact I can hear her right now. Yep, I'm home at noon on a Monday. Know why I'm home? 4B has once again caused my tub to blow up. I woke up to this, but with six more inches of water:



It started draining itself about an hour ago.  The landlord, plumber, and new super (the one who fixed my kitchen sink a few weeks ago) were just here. They said 4B is all fixed now so I shouldn't have any problems.  I fucking hope not!  Who wants to take a day off waiting to get their tub fixed?? I'd rather go on a day trip or something, not sit in my apartment which, no offense to Delilah, has smelled like a wet turd all day.

So there ya have it.  My Monday.  Fuckin' 4B!  WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS IN THE BATHROOM?

Partner let me upgrade you

Ever wonder what I look like while blogging?  Don't.  I'm either pantsless and laughing or pantsless and sobbing.  Me pantsless is blinding.

Ever wonder what my old computer looked like?  No?  Remember the movie War Games with Matthew Broderick?  No?  Why are we friends again?

Introducing my very own WOPR ("whopper").  Note the size of the computer against the Amstel Light.  



Wait it gets better...check out the monitor's girth...




Sad. Huge and sad.

It was definitely time for an upgrade so I switched my neck tie to purple labels and bought Maczine...ain't she a beaut???

Broken record

Ricola Ricola Ricola Ricola Ricola Ricola

Sputnik Sputnik Sputnik Sputnik Sputnik

Racing thoughts suck.  My new trick?  I think of one word over and over again.  It leaves just enough room in my mind for only two more thoughts:

What the fuck am I doing with my life?  and I am insane.

I haven't been posting much lately because I feel like a broken record (and I'm afraid to use Maczine, she's way out of my league).  Where am I going? When will I get there?  Who will be waiting?  What shoes should I wear?  Blah blah blah.

A scene in the movie Fight Club has been on loop in my head for over a year now.  It's the one where Tyler grabs the clerk out of a convenient store, puts a gun to his head and says:

“Raymond, you’re going to die.” He looks through the man’s wallet, “An expired community college I.D. What’ja study Raymond?”

“Stuff…”

“Stuff? Were the midterms hard?” He smacks him on the head with the barrel of the gun, “I asked you what you studied!”

“Biology, mostly,” the man cries.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did you want to be, Raymond K. Hassel?” 

“Veterinarian, veterinarian…”

“Animals! That means you’ve got to get more schooling.”

“Too much school.”

“Would you rather be dead?”

“No, please…”

“I’m keeping your license. I’m gonna check in on you. I know where you live. If you’re not on your way to becoming a veterinarian in six weeks, you’re going to be dead. Run on.” 

Universe before I begin, please note I DO NOT WANT TO BE HELD UP AT GUNPOINT. EVER. Thank you.

What would I say if I was Raymond?  Would I say anything?  Would I whimper "I don't know" over and over? Would I say, "Fuck you and shoot me muthafucka?"  

Is my fear of knowing myself, knowing my purpose stronger than my fear of death??  Or am I of course over-thinking this, that I'd simply rather live my life not knowing my full potential just as long as I have plenty of time to watch The Hills?

Interesting.  And by "interesting" I mean "Shut the fuck up already you whiny bitch!"

Jupiter Jupiter Jupiter Jupiter Jupiter 

It's a girl!

Name: Maczine Marie McGee

Parents: Thighs Marie McGee and Delilah Marie Foray
(Marie is always the middle name of the first born daughter in my family for generations. I don't know why.)

Birthdate: May 7, 2008 (same day as my mom!)

Height: 20-inches

Weight: not so heavy out of the box

Hair: none

Eyes: BLURPLE!

First word(s): "Hello" in fourteen different languages

Mom's proudest moment thus far: Giggling on camera

Mom's not-so-proudest moment thus far: Asking herself, "Okay, I have a Mac. Now what?"

I did something!

I've decided to give up thinking and just go right on with the doing. My first do?

I BOUGHT AN iMAC. HUZZAH!

It is the single most expensive item I have ever bought.

How is blogging on a Mac? I wouldn't know, I haven't taken it out of the box yet. Two reasons:

1. I took the subway home. This means I carried the 26 pound computer, a wacom tablet, external hard-drive, and my ridiculously heavy purse from 5th to Lex, then from the subway to my apartment (a 10 minute walk when I'm not lugging shit), and then up my four flights of stairs.

2. My arms and shoulders were really sore, so I laid on my couch like Nell Carter for a good twenty minutes until I had the bright idea to have a drink to take the edge off.

Had I mentioned Krull was a bartender? Well he was. Is. Whatever. Anyways, one night I was at his bar and wasn't really in the mood to drink beer so I thought I'd have a liqueur of some sort. He suggested I try Disaronno. I laughed and said sure, I'll suck the ice cubes dry like the chick in the commercial, ha ha, yada, yada...

Well somehow between that night and today I managed to not only buy a huge bottle of Disaronno, but already drink half of it. It truly is delicious, so while I do suggest trying it I do NOT suggest keeping a bottle in your house. It's waaaay too easy to get shitfaced without meaning to, like tonight for instance.

I swear I only had half a glass. I was bombed for most of America's Next Top Model to the end of Rambo 3...no need to take the computer out of the box when I'm half in the bag...

So there you have it. I'm an iDiot.

Yay! Boooo! Yay! Boooo!

The title of this post pretty much sums up this past week. For every "yay" there was a "boo."

YAYs:

1. Brother Rippie and his lady Devo were in from California. IT WAS SO GREAT TO SEE THEM!!

2. Iron Man is awesome. If you are a comic fan, you MUST stay through the credits. If you aren't a comic fan, stay through the credits and I'll explain to you why that is the coolest fucking thing in the fucking world and why I kept shrieking like a little bitch through the whole scene. I teared up a bit.

3. My dodgeball team made the finals!

4. If you've known me for awhile, you are fully aware that I'd rather sew my eyelids to my toes then sing karaoke. I absolutely positively hate it, but I have to be honest...the American Idol game rocks!!

BOOs:

1. My kitchen sink was busted for two days. The pipe disconnected from the drain causing a flood all under my cabinet. It totally sucked, especially when I kept absentmindedly turning the water on to wash my hands after cleaning underneath. I did this three times until I finally put a bag over the faucet. Of course the bag didn't stop me from dumping two glasses of water into the sink an hour later. Needless to say, I cursed ALOT.

2. My interweb went down. I rearranged my bedroom, forgetting that I only have one outlet and no extension cord. I had to move my furniture back to its original position in order to use my computer, but for some reason my modem wouldn't work when I plugged it back in. Totally annoying.

3. I had a very stressful week at work, which is stupid for two reasons. One, I took this job to detach and be stress-free. Two, I haven't been at Minnow very long. I should cut myself some slack.

Nerdspeak: I was stuck in database hell. Every file I imported into Access needed to be scrubbed, but of course I couldn't tell what was fucked up with it until I ran the queries. It took me two full days to get it right; I wanted to shoot myself.

I fell right into my old Company habits: frustration, anger, "Why the fuck do they even need this shittin' report?," more anger, stupid mistakes, rage, "What the fuck am I doing with my life?," ulcer, stomach pain, teeth grinding, "I fucking hate the world!!!!", HULK OUT....

I finally figured it out on Friday. I was so fucking happy that I wet myself. I think I saw Jesus.

Thankfully I have learned to keep my mouth shut and go for a walk when I get that upset, but man, keeping that shit in hurts...

4. ...making me circle back to:

What the fuck AM I doing with my life???

I am having an identity crisis. I thought I was doing really well with things, but yeah, no. I feel so out of sorts lately. I think that's why I haven't written in awhile. Well posted anyways; I've been writing in my journal like a mad-woman.

I wish I could stop thinking. I think way too fucking much. I want to DO, not THINK!

Ugh! Fuck! Boo!

I read a whole entire book today!

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.

Life is good.

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!

Call me George.

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!

Blue do you love?

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.

Shoe-gasm

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.

[Take picture.]

DUDE. Why do my fucking calves look like sausages?? These shoes are so fucking awesome.

[Talk to salesperson. Make her laugh by overly gushing about 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.]

IlovemyshoesIlovemyshoesIlovemyshoesIlovemyshoesIlovemyshoesIlovemyshoes

[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.

NYCC!

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?

Dodge-brawl

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??

Boobies.

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.

Damn you El Mariachi!!

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.

Sincerely,

Thighs

A delayed reaction.

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 Ridiculous 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.

March

I can't believe March is finally over. I feel like it should have ended three years ago.

Longest. Month. Ever.

Home sick.

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.