Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Are we there YET?!

Good Lord, is it just me or is this December 97 days long????

I have been planning and planning (and buying and buying) for what seems like forever. For crying out loud, are we there yet?! I've got 4 cities and many a'peeps to see before midnight strikes on the 25th. The next day, I'll be hitting the "fresh pow" reeeeal good-that means I'll be skiing and also that I'm extremely athletic, obviously.

The highlight of preparing for all of these upcoming festive treats was the 2 hour naked break down that took place on the floor of my bedroom Sunday afternoon. Stop imagining it, that's creepy. In an attempt to do some forward-packing, packing ahead of time if you will, I ended up uncontrollably crying due to the ski clothes I have, but could not locate. That seems totally worthy of an all out tantrum in the privacy of ones own 10X10 space, doesn't it? C'mon it's never about what it's "about" as some cynical males say in reference to a woman's emotions (so rude). But really, it wasn't about the ski clothes at all.

Here's what crying about lost ski clothes really meant:
You may now use your screaming the following, with a vein popping out of the left side of my blotchy red neck (redness happens when white girls cry) and yea...the vulnerable state of amost nakedness...not just for fun, the trying on of clothes before packing them is a must in my opinion...
1) Why can't I find one thing in this apartment?! I thought I was good at life, organized. So maybe I put things in random spots every now and then to get them out of my sight, cuz I'm completely anal...we all have our hang ups!

2) Like I have any extra money at all to go purchase an outfit (yea ski clothes are outfits, please keep up) that I'll wear once a fricken year. Man, I gotta make more money...

3) It's not like I can borrow ski clothes from any of my size 0 friends! DAMN IT!

4) I hate Christmas!

Please keep in mind that 1-4 (mostly #4) are completely out of line and just a little bit dramatic, even for me. I don't hate Christmas, what I don't like so much is the extraordinary amount of time and planning involved in making sure Christmas is ALL it is supposed to be. Did I see everyone? Did I get everyone a gift...that they'll actually like? Did I spend too much money (generally, yes)? Am I forgetting to put an essential toiletry in my duffel bag? What if I get a migraine in the altitude?!
And so, I pose the question once more...Are we there yet?!
**I posted this early this afternoon once I decided there would be no more actual work accomplished at my desk. A text conversation took place shortly after writing this post-so I blog AND text from my office, it's almost Christmas I shouldn't anywstill be working anyway! This convo brought up the slight option that I bring some of this holiday stress on myself. This was in response to an "I'm out of my mind, what's wrong with my brain?" message:
J-Slow down baby (yes even strong independent women let their man friend call them baby) Just take one thing at a time.
S-You're right. I need to chill out.
30 seconds later...
S-Hey I was thinking we should go backpacking over Valentines' weekend.
Then a purposeful non-response took place.
I was later teasingly scolded (the only way I'll allow scolding, helloooo)
I'm really good at listening to advice.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Vague is so hot right now...

but I refuse to be a part of it.

Thanks to a loyal reader and friend, it was brought to my attention that my previous post was the equivalent of a 20-something male pretending he doesn't like you...confusing and sorta stupid. The last thing I want to do is be one of those vague writers (yea I just called myself a writer, deal with it) that thrives on making everyone guess what the frick she's talking about. Not about that.

So, I will now clarify. See, you even know the next move, that's never happened.

There are two life sitches going on that lead to my deep (like I should've been wearing a long cardigan and converse while writing) post on controlling situations...aka picking noses.
The first is that while I am as blessed as ever to have my current occupation (benies, PTO, and all) I still would have never guessed, or even chosen with the knowledge I thought I had, to end up out of a classroom. I loved being a teacher, it's a part of my being (it's who I am to sound a little less smug). The situation with my most recent employer (Seriously what is up with hag principals impeding on my life???) left me without options as far as furthering my career in that particular school (over specifying here seems like it's breaking some sort of law, hang in there). I have theories on what was going on, but not enough time or energy to muster up putting them into written form. If you were in my world between May and July of this've probably heard all you can handle about it...I'm an external processor, poor schmucks that have to listen to me all the time. God Bless 'em. All that to say, I was left without a choice in the matter. No matter how much I had accomplished, articulated, and attempted to get what I wanted, I was left without a job and one of the things I love the most. Most days in current "big office" position (whoa) I am okay with it all. Then something strikes, either that makes me absolutely loathe things like Excell spreadsheets, or that makes me miss smelly kids, and I am reminded of how little control I have in life. Like literally picking my nose is all I can be in charge of.

Sitch number two is a little bit more of a costly one. You can always find a job (with the help of 'Bauma bucks for a few months and determination) but you can't always find a spare $10, 000. Long story short, I had an "insurance covered" procedure (not exactly a face lift) and am now battling good 'ol Cobra (more 'Bauma in my life) to make them actually pay for it. While I want to make it sound like they're Goliath and I'm sweet little David (who will hopefully end up kicking their a$$) I have to take my part in it. The discrepancy is due to my later than it should have been Cob-ment (Cobra payment: with the amount of bills I have, you'd start abreiving them too). Little do they know, or maybe they know a lot and just don't care, I felt like I was picking all the right things during that time; paying what I could, taking full advantage of their generally lax style of collecting my bartending/unemployment skrill etc. A month and a better rack later, I'm possibly on the line for ten grand. And so far, they haven't fallen for my communicative plea.

And so, with vague attempts to be profound out the window, my reasoning behind yesterday's little "gift" to you is out on the table...or just on your computer screen or smart phone.

Be well.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Picking your friend's nose

You can pick your friends. And you can pick your nose. But you can't pick your friend's nose. (In my opinion, that depends on what kind of friends you have....I won't over think it)

I've always thought this was a pretty punny saying. Word play-who doesn't love it? Like most common phrases that I try to repeat, I always screw this one up in some way. Usually I start with something like, "You can choose your friends..." you see where it goes astray.

More important than not picking noses, I've been in thought, real deep thought ;) lately about not picking circumstances. While I'm a proponent of making life happen...doing what you gotta do...and all that, I realize as I get older that there is just $hit (it's a family site) that happens that we cannot pick our way out of.

I constantly try to think of possible better outcomes if I (queen of the world) were given more control, in having to deal with a situation that seems so unnecessary and...not fun. I tend to falsely rely on my schmoozing skills (whatever, you do it too) far too often in regards to getting out of these sticky sitchesThinking I can blog, I mean talk, my way out of just about anything thrown my way. Generally I'm right (bragging), but there are times I'm wrong in thinking this way and those times are pretty lame. Not only is an overwhelming feeling of angst upon me, but guilt as well, thinking I can control so much more than I actually can.

You tired yet?
Alright now let's put on our black framed glasses and listen to some acoustic guitar.

Monday, December 13, 2010

Why do blogs always come to me when I'm high on Excedrin Migraine?!?

that's what people are talking about when they say they took "E" right?

Stay tuned...

Thursday, December 9, 2010


I'm all for affirming others. I was a teacher who gave all my students "A's" for cryin out loud (most of them anyway). I think telling someone or being told by someone, how great they/you are is absolutely wonderful! I've even build an entire relationship on it. Calm down I'm kidding.
What's really bugging me lately is the constant ooooogling that goes on publicly...not publicly like in the middle of Fresh & Easy, like really publicly; Hollywood.
I may have written a few choice critiques one time on a little lady named Oprah. Her Harpo-rrific show is a prime example of a total oogling fest. This is all based on the episodes I've been forced into watching of course (OK I willingly watched her interview with Georgie W, what can I say I'm a sucker for a sweet smile and Republican values???) Moving on...

Every time I watch (or am viciously tied up and given no choice but to do so), the Big O has one of her Hollywood besties on so they can yuck it up in front of a live studio audience, going on and on for far too long about how fantastic they both are. Yea that's what I want cued up on Tivo after a long day of Excell spreadsheets-a conversation about how amazing O and Travolta's joint Christmas in Belize was. We get it. You have billions and your famous friends have billions and you love nothing more than spending millions in each other's presence. Let it rip.
Me and my friends have spent extravagant holidays together too-like that one 4th of July on the outskirts of Santa Barbara sharing a blow up mattress and bottle of Popov. You don't see me oogling about it in mixed company. Seriously lets just give it a rest. I promise if you do, we won't forget how cool and rich you are...
not for a least a few days.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

The alternative to shacking

While I see the many practical and logistical reasons to shack, I will continue (until further notice) to remain a tenant in my Obcean apartment where I pay rent, utilities, Internet and cable. I am of course motivated by more than just the ghastly bills-the perks include but are not limited to guiltless enjoyment of trashy television without the standard male-I-can't-believe-you-watch-this exaggerated exhale during commercial breaks, and instead with a female companion who enjoys theses classic shows about the upper east side and precocious high schoolers even more than I, assuming that's possible.

Bottom line: There'll be NO shacking.

What occurs instead...

It started out with a shelf. No, not a book shelf-you know I don't read. A shelf in the medicine cabinet. Running into a no deodorant nor toothbrush situation more than once results in the evolution of a girlfriend shelf. A pro, in addition to the obvious better hygiene: the skeevy yet casual "glancing" at what's in that mysterious cabinet no longer has to exist. What? I'm just grabbin my retainer case-for a whole minute while simultaneously rising onto my tippy toes to maybe get a better view of what's livin' up top.

We're at a point of full disclosure, and I believe the girlfriend shelf deserves some of the credit.

Once fresher pits and breath are accomplished one gets tired of packing potential outfit changes in her already stuffed fake Coach bag. And so, a dresser drawer is offered...and a dresser drawer is accepted, gladly.

My time at the home of the significant boo is now cozy and quite functional for unexpected "get ready's." Beware give me an inch...and I'll probably ask for a glass of milk.

**Maybe I DO read ;) Seriously though, I'll take a kilometer at least...and the liberty of acting like I own the place. oops. I mean, I didn't come over the day after Thanksgiving and put up Christmas decorations...that would have been weird.

Did I mention I have a key?

Upon a confused exit from my (I mean his) bathroom an inquiring man asked, "Where'd that huge box of tampons come from???"

From under my sink Silly!

Ah, the alternative to shacking.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

The Unit

Some call it their private, some their wee (or the repetitive version: wee-wee) and if you're a part of my call it


Male, Female, makes no difference, you're dealing with The Unit. While the fact that we also call the remote control to the TV a "unit" can be confusing, generally it's a closed case if one can at all decipher context.

In addition to the convenience of a unisex term, The Unit is ALL inclusive; encompassing but not limited to: the female internal organs (in addition to external), the source of all monthly irritability, and life for that matter, the place you're not allowed to kick Dad when you wrestle...all can be simplified as...The Unit.

You can imagine my amusement (or perhaps a more accurate term, immaturity) when the meeting I scribed for all afternoon was about classes and "units."

Really? To get that degree you need 78 UNITS? That sure is a lot. I can barely figure out having one. That's hardcore.

It takes 16 hours for one unit? Yikes.
I've got a lot to learn.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Another EH post

Ya know how there's that generalization about Mexican (or Italian) Catholic families going on for daaaaaaaays? Well, I no longer consider myself Catholic and am only 75% Mexican but...yea I got family for days. On Mother Theresa's side (really that's her name, I never said we weren't once Catholic) I'm one of approximately 50 cousins (translation: 50 primos). We sort of stopped counting after the 2nd cousins climbed to a whopping twenty five. And speaking of 25, being over that age and not having squeezed out a few...puts me behind. It's like I'm forever running the mile in a quarter-aged adult.

One of my spectacular primos is Cuz Tom. You've heard of him before, if you keep up on Blonde like you should, and know that he is nothing short of entertaining...and smart (ladies?). After some love-stemmed badgering, I got Cuz Tom to join good 'ol Eharm. If you rolled your eyes or even shook your head in a disapproving (or maybe just bewildered) manner, you really need to get in the net. It's no different from Facebook kids...just a more successful engine to hone your e-flirting skills and actually meet some legitimate young much would they pay me to promote for them? Something to think about. Anyway, Tommy and I have e-bonded over the EHarm and filled each other's inboxes with anecdotal notes on his current date adventures and of course wisdom from a veteran, uh that's me.

While Tom is chomping (at the bit) for a guest spot on B.S.S, for now I will continue considering his request and instead utilize my copy/paste feature to share our informative e-convos.

Some stats
"I have noticed that 75-80% of girls have 'Honesty and trustworthy' in what they are 'looking for.' I guess guys really are dicks. And almost 100% of girls use the 'How much personal space do you need' question in their set. What's the correct response here??? Do guys weekends count as personal space?"
"Yes. Most of you are. And the personal space question is a trick. They wanna make sure you don't have too much time away from them. The option 'I don't need that much' is good or a 'write-in' something like, 'I think balance of all the important things in life is key blah blah blah."
(The personal space thing will figure itself out. No need to have Tommy ruled out by some broad because he's an only child and likes watching football alone all-day-every-Sunday! She'll get used to it...and maybe even make herself useful by preparing a 7-layer dip for the occasion)

"My new favorite is that apparently Friday evening is the designated time for chicks to respond on Eharmony. After one communication a day the prior week I got nine last night."
"JJ* has a theory. On Friday nights chicks are at home wishing they were out with their boyfriend like all their other friends. I was forced to explain to him that I threw a wrench in his theory and was totally 'partying it up big time' on Friday nights during my EH stint. duh."

"BTW how many dates did you go on with JJ ? How many dates did you go on with any other matches?"
"I held my cards pretty close to my chest with JJ. I had just gotten out of an "IBD" stage (Intrigued by Douches) so typical, and wasn't used to someone so forward and nice. Post Date 1 the schedge went as follows:
D2: Allowed a P/U at my house. I was fairly certain he wouldn't murder me and dispose of my remains at that point. Oh and after dinner and a beer/bowling sesh he went in for the kiss. And achieved his goal.
D3: Casual date. More kissing.
D4: Post date attempt to get some sort of faint verbal commitment from me. No go.
D5: Suckered me into liking him. Post steak dinner at his apartment (clearly over the push the lettace around the plate phase), I finally could see what it'd be like to be with sitting on the couch watching Lopez Tonight sorta thang.
I called it dating after that. A total of 6 weeks in he got to be called my BF. Monumental for all involved. I had gone on about six first dates around that same time and can relate to how bombarding it can be! Lucky for me (as a lady that is) we don't have to shell out cash all the time like you fellas. We do however have higher chances of having to sit across the table from a total jerk-off for upwards of an hour, I suppose it all evens out. Had plans for a D2 with one of those dudes but cancelled since I had already decided he wasn't as great as JJ (aka Thursday night guy at the time) That was an easy one to fig out. My first round with EH I went on two dates with a guy; the first being awkward but a little fun and the second (a LOST finale date at my pad) concluding it was just indeed awkward. I mean, if we can't have a good time sitting on a corduroy couch watching the obviously best show on Television, chances of making the long hall are slim. I had another second date planned with a Season 1 EH match after a great wine bar date but lack of audible communication skills (that means not through text message) led me to nipping those plans in the bud."

*JJ- The boo's initials. I'll give you a hint: Both first and last name can be said with a Spanish accent (mission accomplished) You didn't really think I'd ever date a guy named "JJ." You know me better than that.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

I'm kinda awkward

In the mere two weeks I've been on the job (the job with benies and a fabulous office space, that is) I've realized a few things. I'll keep all of the details confined to my "Reflective, get to know myself deeper" journal and simply say this...

I'm KINDA awkward

While I pride myself on having polished social skills (humor me) I have found that in a work setting, like a real work setting, I sorta struggle.
I can yuck it up all day with my fellow "assistant" level coworkers, but in conversation with the Steinbrenners of this place...this employee becomes awkwaaaaaaaaaard. It's as if I had sergeant-like parenting as a kid, leaving me intimidated by authority. So not the case. I mean, did YOU get to watch Melrose Place and Thirty Something at the age of nine? I think not.

Anyway, I become nervous that I'll say something inappropriate or idiotic (not that it's completely out of the realm of possibility) to my boss or others that share her professional standing.

In my awkwardness, for some reason beyond me, I continue to reference Larry David's hit (and what a hit it was) Seinfeld. It's like Dustin Hoffman's obsession with underwear from Kmart in Rain Man. Only my Kmart is a late 80's sitcom based on the life of a comedic Jew from New York. Not only do I verbally reference episodes of Seinfeld as if it's the norm that everyone else watches them over and over again on KTLA, but I also tap into these genius scenarios in the silence of my own head. Like right now as I write this blog (on "The Man's" time...and dime), I think about when George brags to Jerry about doing nothing at work all day, appearing busy only by acting pissed off. This behavior results in responses like, "You've been working too hard Costanza. You need some vacation time!" In my past job force years, non-office bound, I used to chalk this up to George's typical underachieving (since I'm totally besties with all the characters I know these quirks obvy). Today however, I might see the endless possibilities of getting away with personal tasks on company time. hmmm.

Alright, off to more productive filling out my absentee ballot and paying my gas bill online.

Friday, October 15, 2010

More TV

Yea so I watch a lot of TV. I'm recovering, okay.

I watched my beloved Tuesday night show, Glee this week. The boo's house is not the environment that nurtures my commentary on the episode's choice of Broadway tunes and fashion statements, like I thought it would be. We got through it. Well, he got through it, in reality.
This week's episode was a little off putting for me. I don't consider myself a hiding-under-a-rock Christian (by any means really) and can tolerate, and even participate, in debauchery every now and then. However, this viewer tunes in to Glee because the innocence of the show and its subjects are well, refreshing. ..And I was a Thespian in High School, let's save this for another time.

This week opened with an out of nowhere, out of line Shlessy scene. Generally I'm just fine with these. One of my Thursday night faves, Grey's Anatomy has had a lesbo story line for the last two seasons, am I abandoning this prime time medical soap opera? No I'm not...although I do have some opinions on the banter and bicker seshes displayed by the female doctor duo. Long story short, they're unnecessary and of ammature sorts.

Back on track, Glee's scene was confusing to most of us since we've never seen this interest before from either character, and in fact both cheerleaders (stop your judging) are typically "boy crazy" in every other scene up to date. Only one question: So...they like girls now?

In addition to a sneak attack lesbian scene, we were exposed to the loss of Arty's V card (I don't refer to his Visa and YES, Arty is the guy in the wheelchair) to one of these gone girl cheerleaders! What is going on? Since we're talking abreves, I'll tell you another thing: The "B" word was used not once, but twice! C'mon producers (sometimes I call them Gleeducers, you can too if you want) your show is getting Emmy's and great feed back don't become one of them! Yes, sometimes conforming is optimal, like when I finally gave in and bought my leather Rainbow flip flops in 2005, but in this case...just quit it.

I want my Tuesdays to be full of nerdy high schoolers and music I can can-can in my living room to. Don't make me watch the new hit Hellcats instead. Because I will. If you don't think those previews displaying a half-to a full-to a basket toss stunts are're wrong.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

So happy I could vomit...somore

I've said it before...this is not a "hey check out my life!" blog. If you feel compelled to check out my life you can see my facebook. Yea that's right I post pictures and a status update from time to time, what? That being said, I just can't refrain from an update-ish post...a sequel really, to last week's: I'm so happy I could vomit.

This week I can lift my arms over my head. Yea. I can wash my hair and even reach for a bowl from the cupboard for my cereal in the morning. It's kindofa big deal. Lord knows I need the fiber these days.

In addition to the development of my once T-Rex arm span, I don't have stitches anymore. Now I just have to keep myself from literally vomiting when I change my medical tape every 3 days in the shower. Barf. It'll all be worth it in the near future...once I can run around bra less (like all the other females in Ocean Beach) and get through a day without Extra Strength Tylenol and Law and Order reruns.

I drove my car for the first time post surge and not only felt capable and mentally there (a first in seven days) but also enjoyed the destination and jams awaiting me. If there are two dirty things I love in's J in the B and the Dogg. I drove my car to Jack and the Box and heard Snoop Dogg on the way. I mean get real, curly fries are delicious and any song with Snoop D O double G in it is worth listening to, even if Katy Perry is involved.

Since it's mid month, Obama's people are in between paying me (hello?!) which means today I drove around town, with consciousness and precision, using up the disheveled gift cards from deep within my wallet. With $8 in one's checking account, untouched credit to Sports Authority and Target can be quite useful. For example, tonight's meal, Hamburger Helper, shoved in the back of my pantry, will be eaten in all its glory, because of the $2 frozen ground turkey I was able to purchase at....uh Target. The socks (from other said store that got my biz today) will be handy tomorrow when I go on my first cardio expedition. My current ankle sock inventory needs to be washed, which FYI costs three buckaroos here in my apartment complex. See how it all works out...every time! While some may be stressed on the 14th of the mo when the cash flow becomes a slow drizzle really, I see it as an adventure, and when all goes well (like today) exciting adventure ;)

All this financial venturing will come to a halt soon. What's that you ask? Did I just get offered a full time job with decent pay and excellent benefits? Why yes, yes I did. And it starts next week. This will begin exactly two weeks after becoming a lady-like D cup, the perfect amount of time for recovery and unemployment. Didn't I say it always works out? Don't check posts from three months ago, I may have been singin a different tune. Nonetheless I'm saying it now, life has a way of doing that.

That's about it for the updateISH post. I'll go back to vague, sarcastic rambling ASAP. Don't worry babes, you can sleep tonight ;)

Saturday, October 9, 2010

I'm so happy I could vomit

Seriously, I might vomit.

I don't think most people would be as happy as I am right now, in my current state...let's keep in mind that I'm not most people.

Up until 9:00 yesterday morning I had blood and "fluids" draining out of me. Literally out OF me, like there were tubes that resembled pink Twizzlers sutured into my trunk. It was the sides of my breasts really, but I find that using the word "trunk" makes people (like my father) more comfortable. So you're welcome.
If you read often, or at least have jumped on the blonde train for the last two weeks, you know that I just got my taking-over-the-world chest....surgically reduced. I now claim a moderate D, or at least will once the swelling goes down. Dr. Lee of Del Mar you are a gem!

For some reason this topic doesn't seem allowed as a public post, but with this excitement (or pain killers) brewing inside me, I just can't help but yell it from my world wide web rooftop!

The last three days have been quite humbling. Is there anything better than the people you love bringing you flowers and helping you wipe? I mean really. I had my 48 hour nurse, her name is Mom, and many others doing their part. It really does take a village.

What I have found makes these sorts of events most amusing: being on drugs. While I won't deny loving the pop of an Excedrin Migraine from time to time (as needed of course) I am NOT one of those kids that eats Percoset and Vicodin like Trail Mix. The whole feeling like vomiting thing is actually from these beastly drugs. Sensitive stomach issues really cramping the life style I'm trying to live this week. While I'm beyond even slightly interested in the quasi recreational use of pills, Nurse Annie throwing a little Oxy in my line in the Recovery room did not go unnoticed however, or unappreciated. For me, this moment seemed the best time to make comments related to "sponge baths" to the boyfriend, in front of the mom. Good choices. I learn now that the pervy look on my face probably proved the secret seriousness of my comment. What a creep I am.

So now I recover on the couch, falling in and out sleep (not too far off from my usual afternoon) and catching bits and pieces of Entertainment Tonight and The Soup, which air just about all day long for those of you that would like to be on the pulse of Hollywood.
Today's Goal (just so you're kept ABREASTof the situation): shower

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Some TV

Sometimes some people watch some TV when they're unemployed. That's just what I've heard.

While it's probably wrong to coin myself as UE, the 25 hours a week I grace the yacht club with my terrible attitude just don't feel like a real, full-time job. My fellow servers and bartenders love it when I say that. They don't think it's rude and offensive at all. Actually the fact that I receive unemployment (technically legal since I did lose my full-time gig and report my yachty earnings) isn't at all annoying to them either.

Anyhoo, back to my recent favorite ack., TV. I've been really reaping the benefits (since I don't have any other benefits) of my AT&T Uverse account. Whodathought spending a hundo a month on mind numbing distractions would come in so darn handy?

Because of this TV dazed stage of my life, I have developed some opinions (weird I know) about some certain programs:

1. If I have to see or hear the commercials for Oprah's final season one more time...a)If I had bazillions of dollars, (that much money is cause for invented words) I too would take random strangers to Australia. Why the hell not? and b) the over dramatized song in the background of all the visual nonsense is enough to make me lose it! I find myself looking around my empty living room to find someone and ask, "Is that NOT the worst song you've ever heard?!" Needless to say, in that moment my roommate is at work, like a normal person at 11am.

2. The Bachelor Pad. A guilty pleasure/obsession. After a long night of bar tending I watched our Tivo-ed two hour finale. Now that is some good TV. Worthy of a midnight bedtime and the dangerous quadruple-time-commercial fast forward...seeing all the arrows is always anxiety ridden. My favorite is that there is inevitably one (or two in this case) female that is just certain her reality TV friend-with-benies is going to end up "changed" and wanting to marry her. At the conclusion of the finale she (they) were both wrong. Shocker.

3. VMA's resulted in three realizations for me: After Justin's Nokia live performance I just may have Bieber fever AND while hip hop music is not my forte, Eminem inspires me to put on a hoodie and drop some mad flows. Beyond the Cauc-y boys... while I love my own boo, if given the opportunity, I might accept Usher's hand in marriage. Those moves. Like MJ but way less creepy. Love it.

Mmm that's all for now.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Blog Baby

Like the Indian man sitting next to me on my recent flight said...
There's something maternal about me.
While my initial reaction was to assume he meant I was fat, I quickly turned my emotions to that of appreciation. I'm almost certain it was a compliment, I'll be taking it as such regardless.
Currently, I have friends, a boo and most importantly a blog to nurture with my said "motherly instincts." Oddly enough, the less structured life is for me, the less time I find to take care of my very important (and necessary for the sake of my sanity and overall friendliness)Blog Baby. Note: Blog Baby is blonde just like someday my human baby will be. Isn't that precious.

While the current thoughts that go round and round up here need to debut ASAP...I will not be doing that quite yet. I will however be reminding Blog Baby that I love her (meaning you, reader) and will be gracing her with my nonsense soon ;)

Much love.

Thursday, September 2, 2010


Ya know that one friend who claims that one really learns about herself when in a romantic relationship? Things like what her strengths are, her weaknesses (a topic I don't care to learn more about, personally) and so on and so on...

I don't hate on the relationship loving friend, and especially not any of her theories. Clearly I appreciate the effort it takes to come up with one and then attempt selling it to others to boot! I have learned something very recently about myself, thanks to my current oh-so-insightful Man Friend (My MF if you will).

It turns out that there is something I do during very inappropriate times, something that should generally be done...

in private
at night
and if your love life is anything like mine often yourself.


MF observed and pointed out that I might possibly be a narcoleptic: one that "suffers" from sudden, uncontrollable deep sleep. His substantial evidence included that many of my "anecdotes" I share begin with the phrase, "This one time I was sleeping..." or end with the surprising, "...and I didn't even wake up!" cliff hanger.

Throughout various stages of life I've been found all of a sudden head back, eyes closed, knocked the EFF out. As a child, this relaxing past time was documented in various photos, one most creepily involving my older sister above my head, perched on the arm of our mid 80's tweed sofa, awaiting the moment I'd come to for some play time.

In high school I was the reject that fell asleep at the wheel of my father's Ford Explorer (without a drop of under-aged alcohol involved mind you, I was a church kid duh).

In college you could find me in standard arms crossed, upward-facing position, napping through the required morning chapel. Good thing the closing praise and worship sesh was louder than a standard alarm clock and could wake me just in time to head to class.

Now as a young professional (using the term loosely) I continue my habit/passion for "resting my eyes" with unexpected nappy-poos in unexpected places (floor of the mom's house I'm babysitting in and underneath a co worker's desk at morning recess to name a few). Why am I unemployed again???

I find this to be a strength (shocker) in case you're wondering, since many a travel buddies have found themselves envying my skill to transform a twelve hour bus ride across England into a rejuvenating and blissful time of slumber.

I think I'll head to the couch now.
Good night.

Monday, August 16, 2010

Anyone got a basket...

that I could put ALL my eggs in?
'Cause that's what I do with my eggs...or job related hopes and efforts in this case.
With every new prospect, I find myself under a very certain (and overly confident) assumption that I will a) GET the position and b) joyfully remain with the prospective company for years to come, moving up the ladder and retiring with enough saved to spend my post fifty days party planning and shopping for shoes.
While the practical side of me kicks in and insists I continue my search and "networking" (probably my least fave thing to do, after babysitting in a dirty house) I half-ass attempt applying for other positions although I just know it's a waste of my precious time since I'm clearly going to be offered said former position that obviously offers a hefty salary, pension and reasonable Health benies.
Can you guess what happens next?

Similar to the other "shoe being dropped," the bottom of my basket instead drops, leaving all of my fricken eggs on the floor.

And my hunt continues...for a suitable employer (and more eggs).

Thursday, August 5, 2010

That is (once again) the question

I wrote a post when Blondestoryshort was just a baby (now she's a toddler...but hopefully not in the terrible two's stage) that was titled, "To teach or not to teach," as that was the current question.

And here I am again, asking the same damned thing.

Much like the past two summers I'm left wondering what the FRICK I'm going to do in the fall. Isn't it just great that teachers, those supposedly molding our future generations, have the least stable positions of anyone? I'll postpone jumping on my Soap box for another time, my archaic computer may not live long enough for all that I have to "share" on that subject.

After being totally screwed this past year (that topic not being postponed but rather omitted altogether) I'm seriously considering leaving the education "industry." I quote the word as its run unlike any other industry in the world...leaving all professionalism aside for some reason or another.

The endless job options (remember where there's a will, there's a way) may and most likely will provide better income, growth potential and overall sanity. I mean really, are the summers "off" worth spending anxiously waiting for answers and the slight hope that someone, anyone, might hire you? You meaning ME?

Then another question occurred to me. What is it that keeps me so loyal (or maybe painfully in bondage to) teaching? Is it possible that the passion for students and the profession as a whole is actually more about a little thing called FEAR? Fear that this profession has become my identity? That I'm obsessed with the idea of being called "Teacher" and being viewed as nurturing and creative and all the other positive adjectives that title exudes?

Or perhaps FEAR that there may not be another career that I'm as good at as it's my only shot at totally avoiding failure!

Who the hell knows. It's 9:30 and I'm going to bed. That's what happens when you're an unemployed nearly 26 year-old ;)


are easy when they involve nice wine and fancy dinners.
Upon being a part of one for over five (ish) months, the things a young couple starts to do are a little different.

What started out as a trip to Cancun, somehow became a back country camping expedition through Yosemite. If you're anything like myself, you don't even know what that means...Well, I'll tell you (since as of seven days ago I now know, in a major way).

Back country camping means camping withOUT things like an established camp site's standard amenities (like a bathroom) and food with its natural hydration in place. Instead one survives on his own water filtration system and indulging in baby wipe wipe-downs and instant coffee, close seconds to showers and REAL coffee. While these aren't really indulgences (unless you chose hot chocolate over the coffee like one particularly clever blonde) they do make ones camping experience quite exciting.

And how could I leave out the twenty-two mile hike part?! This would be the mode of transportation used to get from one camp "site" to another. Did I lose six pounds last week you ask? Why yes, yes I did. The fact that until yesterday I was moving around like my eighty-five year old grandmother...moot point.

The advantages to this sort of "couples' retreat," no not the pants that transform into shorts with the convenience of a below-the-knee-cap zipper, but instead...
sunsets at 9000 feet, bantering with the one you love around a homemade fire pit, and of course romantically scratching each others mosquito bites.
Advantage above all the rest: Leaving your bf tricked into thinking you're athletic and mountainous.

And you thought I agreed to wearing hiking boots without a motive...

Friday, July 23, 2010

Damn it

I find myself really making use of this two word combo lately. If I were 60 years older I could tack on an "all" at the end or really go nuts and sub "you" for "it!"

All these emotions (that are related to a career hault and result in outdated cursing phrases) have me girling out as well. Try not to judge me when I share that the following came out of my mouth this morning...
"Don't you wish we had time to just cuddle for another half hour? I hate nannying (pause thirty seconds) Damn it."

I'm upset with life for a few reasons: 1) I'm so NOT stoked on my job that i've become the woman that wants to lie in bed all day and 2) while I'm making that "under the table" cash, I'm going completely insane in the process.

Damn it's come out when finally a long walk turns into both children sleeping and then loud neighbor slams her trunk or let's her dogs bark incesently.

Damn it's fly when I realize it's 5:00 and the only job related task I've accomplished for the day is giving bubble baths and making vegan sandwiches (I'll refrain from discussing the drive down Rosecrans in mom's van that displays an Obama sticker)

All that to say...until I'm back in a profession with a salary and benefits that include more than the diaper bag's first aid kit, I'll continue to mumble...


Friday, July 16, 2010

Working for the man

and by "the man" I mean the mom.

Guess who tried to start a revolution at the park today?

That would be me.

Being a socialite (not rich by any means, but devoted to have a life of socializing) makes the crowded park days a TREAT for this nanny. I could not have been more excited when I saw Nina and later, Marie roll up with their double strollers today. Why wouldn't I want to chat it up with my Austrian and Mexican colleagues on this gorgeous July afternoon?! With my toddler fast asleep and only one child to doesn't get much better these days.

Of course the three of us discussed our particular "situations. " Don't underestimate the power of commonalities crossing language barriers. As a wanna-be-Mexican myself, practicing the 'ol Espanol was not something I was not willing to pass German could use some work though. Nina has become more like a NANA to her two children and Marie is here on a visa, attempting to live the dream. I personally maintain my bitter to be babysitting persona for as long as possible. With common "jefes, " we inevitably get on the topic of pay. I mentioned the fact that I was having a renegotiation talk today with my mom (didn't happen...procrastination of confrontation is not a new habit unfortunately) there is a need for $5 more an hour...I'm a certified teacher for crying out loud. Little did I know (being so presumptuous) these two broads are making a fraction of my measly 10 an hour, under the table. Apparently, San Diego moms believe that the further from the US you reign, the less they pay. Isn't that nice.

This is where I began to paint signs that read "Love your child, Pay your foreign nanny," and run around the playground with a blow horn.

Although slightly more subtle, I did let Marie in on the fact that she's being totally screwed by her American family that not only pays her $4 an hour for three kids (I quickly did some math) but has a curfew of 10:00 established nightly! How is this European supposed to soak up all that PB has to offer (oh so much) by leaving in a cab at 9:45? Really?

Nina was already on board as she told her madre that ocho an hour is insufficient for the work she does...preach it sister.

Stay tuned for next week when I get all the over worked and under paid nineras to lie down in front of their employers' Chrysler mini vans and demand the respect and pay they deserve. I plan to revolutionize the world of childcare AND get my $15 an hour, under the table. While I almost reconsidered upping my free at the end of today, the passive aggressive reprimand for lack of putting the laundry away brought me full circle back to the idea.'s on.

Monday, July 12, 2010

My career in transition part II: Stinky kids

Here's the thing...
Babysitting is clearly a glorious position to hold, everybody knows that...need I mention "under the table" again?
The problem is that not all children are cute and cuddly, although I plan to bear some of my own someday (like in 7 months, I'm kidding) that will possess both said qualities. Some children that you babysit, "you" meaning me, are actually not that cute and sometimes smell as well.

My set childcare gig, twenty-five hours a week thank you very much (bragging), includes two adorable little babes...thank God. The random "shifts" I'm picking up from time to time thanks to my Alma mater's "Job Board," do not. While my total obsessive compulsiveness (mostly in regards to clean surroundings) makes me want to burst into various adjectives on the topic, I will refrain, and stick with one: Stinky.

Okay two: Stinky and Dirty.

Ask any teaching professional I've worked with and they'll tell you I am one that could be described as "child-centered." However, child-taking-over-your-house, I am NOT. I mean really, when you can no longer see your kitchen counters due to bibs and animal crackers, I believe there is a problem. It's no wonder your kid is stinky, so is your house! I of course keep these thoughts to myself...only sharing with you and the world wide web.

In my humble and expert opinion your kid stinks for a few reasons. One: They are used to having total control (A conclusion I've come to since the focal point of your living room is now a Diaper Genie and 3-foot bookcase filled with "Maisy Mouse" books) which means they decide when and where they will wash their hands and take baths. I'm shaking my head as I write for those of you that like visuals. B: They are still in diapers at two and a half because you believe them when they say the potty scares them...for the non-childcare workers; mo' diapers=mo' stank. And Three: You, having succome to your child's every wish and command, don't leave the house often enough to realize your house SMELLS, the poor toddler has no choice but to be followed by the odorous environment.

While I'm not disgusted enough to deny the $40 I'll make while Stinky kid naps, I do find it necessary to rant about these unpar conditions.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Nanny Diaries: my career in transition

It's very probable that for the next month or so this blog will leave its usual topics (random crap and men?) and transform into one that reflects material similar to that of The Nanny Diaries. Damn my current sitch.

Although I have the blessing of a salary and bene's until the end of the month (isn't that nice) I am currently and technically unemployed. I will refrain from getting into all the reasons I should NOT be in this situation (going off on a former female boss is not fun for anyone, nor the point of "Nanny Diaries") and instead focus on what this means for me currently.

Attempting the whole forward thinking thing (an ongoing journey) has me taking part in the glorious world of childcare. If I make millions in the month of July, August may not be disastrous, obvi. I feel like a young girl again...19 and stoked for an under the table ten bucks an hour. By the way I find the mentioning of the "under the table" part to be very significant. Sort of like when I'm bartending and in the midst a sailing conversation I manage to throw in that I have another full-time career. It's important to me to get the respect I deserve. While I much appreciated my former fellow teachers' young and some just young at heart ages, at this point in my career it's at a whole 'notha level; my current colleagues range from ages one to three.

I've come to a few conclusions in the past week of my career in transition... what else is new? You can always count of this blonde to "figure out" people and situations and then tell you about it ;) The first conclusion is that moms are skinny for a reason...

What a novel idea having a picnic at the big grass field over yonder sounds like. Until you the babysitter, or nanny if we're trying to sound legit, realize the entire walk is uphill and the double stroller (children vertically situated, as opposed to horizontally side by side) is holding your lunch, purse, towel for all to sit on, miniature "Dora the Explorer" shoes, blanket since San Diego thinks July gloom is allowed, multiple sippy cups and water bottle (for when I'm about to pass out on yard 10 of a street called "Hill") with children included totals at approximately 70 pounds. I don't know about you ultimate athletes but personally, when I chose to power walk or even run (obviously occurring on an every other day basis with free weight integration 3-4 times a week, all while eating a hand full of raw almonds for "satisfaction of hunger") I avoid anything steep and pushing extra weight at all costs. Dis be a workout! Good thing I'm not trolling for men in the local area anymore 'cause I am REALLY attractive during these times. Once at the field (walking to an actual park is not an option geographically speaking) we each eat our lunch which consists of 1/2 a peanut butter on double fiber wheat, blue berries and for me the privileged adult, a Peligrino. Did I mention this is why moms are skinny?

Generally on the walk back home with toddler fast asleep and three year old talking nonsensically loud, I'm just about ready to get the EFF outta there...mostly to hear myself think, sanitize and have an early evening glass of Chard. With just one more dreaded childcare task at hand, they've lost me. Patience is gone (although not in an obvious way. I DO have to keep this $10/hr under the table gig for minimum of another month) and I'm counting down the last hour.

Then adorable 3 year old girl, wearing floppy hat and all, innocently asks, "Do you HAVE to leave after our bubble bath Miss Sawa?" And my heart melts. While this just sounds totally precious, and it is, it only makes my crazy wheels spin in one direction. No, not in the direction of being a nanny for longer than a month...but in one that doesn't include working at all and instead being the mom to a little shit of my own! See how terrible this transition is for everyone involved!?!

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Here's why I shouldn't have a dog

This week I'm babysitting...a dog. Notice I didn't say dog sitting.

The first time I watched her she was a puppy, an "untrained" puppy. That means she did her business all over my apartment, for an entire week. The positive reinforcement give-her-a-treat-when-rarely pooping-outside trick was not successful. Since I was teaching a two week Yoga and writing course at the time, with flexible hours, I figured the availability to come home at lunch, take her back to school with me etc would make for an easy week. False.
As those of you who've followed my previous dating life have already concluded, I'm not too quick of a learner. And so, I committed to babysitting this dog again. I'm on Summer break, why wouldn't I have a dog with me...all day long? One that is no longer under 20 pounds especially.

In the past 24 hours I've decided I should NEVER have a dog because of the following reasons:
1. The noise created by said dog chewing a bone makes me wanna punch an infant.
2. I refuse to spend any of my hard earned income on dog merch. "Looks like you chewed through your leash, I guess you'll be staying inside today now won't you?"
3. Dog smells. All of them. Unacceptable.
4. "Really? I'm picking up your poop?"
5. Whimpering doesn't make me question what the pouch's current need is. It makes me yell at her to be quiet.
6. I feel it's unreasonable that I have to trick a DOG into getting into her crate when I leave. Playing "Go after the beef jerky I just threw in there" for five minutes is not my idea of time well spent.
7. I don't think it's sweet to cuddle with you in my bed. I'll barely do that with another human, let alone a possibly flea infested animal.
8. More sounds: lapping of water, whipping around the frayed rope toy...nope not okay with those either.
9. Window down, you sticking your head out doesn't make me smile, it makes me anxious. If you jump out and get run over by an F150, guess who your mom is mad at?
10. Life is just easier without a dog. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I just wanna live a simple life.

Friday, June 11, 2010

Why is it so easy...

to totally hate men?

I'm almost hoping that upon reading the first line, you immediately rolled your eyes or said something like "ah geez" under your breath.
I know.
This does not come from a bitter, I just got dumped kind of place, quite the contrary. I am actually quite pleased with the male suitor in my life. In fact I'll let ya in on a little secret, I'm on the LOVE train. This is a great thing to remind me of when I'm in my dark place...listening to Fiona Apple and painting my nails a shade of deep purple.

I bring this up because I am overwhelmed with how true I STILL find this statement. I found myself texting a girlfriend (a like minded one) yesterday...
"Hey wanna meet up for lunch and talk about how we hate men?"
Her reply...
While the end of our lunch date did NOT leave us settling on the idea of storming out on our men and becoming life partners, we did discuss how frustrating we find dealing with males to be!

Throughout most of the last 5 years (I say "most" because there were a few DB's that reminded me), I've forgotten about this fact often. Some might say that having a wonderful boyfriend should change your view on men, yea okay. True. There are some Saraland "truths" that have become "falses" thanks to this great man, but his very existence ALSO reminds me of how interacting with the male species can be so IRRITATING! It's nothing personal toward my boo (incorrect spelling purposeful), he is no doubt the cream of the crop, and due to the fact that he was born in the 70's, has me picking up on ridiculous sayings like...cream of the crop. However, his mere two Y chromosomes! How can such a level headed woman turn psycho so easily?! Note: My psycho-ness is often stuck in the confines of my own head, for the sake of the world. It's crazy making. Who really cares if the tone in someones voice was less than joyful? Apparently, if I love you...and you're a male...I do. Great. So glad to be emotionally invested. What a joy.

Love: So Euphoric

Wednesday, June 9, 2010


Lately it's been a rough one...I'm steering clear of calling it a rough week, because for this particular pocket of my world, it's been a rough 6 months. Boo.

As mentioned before, I'm the kid at work who has to prove herself. YAY! Yes I know that I am practically still a tween, but having graduated college almost five years ago, I HAVE HAD JOBS before now. Crazy right? The school loans and rent have been paid for the last 1/2 decade, really.

Anywho... without that information being known or acknowledged, I have become the "new" teacher who might be (or very clearly will be in some opinions, like my own) good enough to give a classroom next year. Although it is still strangely unclear whether or not this will be offered to this deserving and qualified teacher, I am offended that the choice is not more obvious. That being said, last week I was called a terrible name, one that is the worst than any of the others known world wide by their first letter. I was called..."Second Choice."

I will avoid my entire being that wants to tell all of you every detail of what I've accomplished this year and why I feel like that two word naughty name feels like a punch to the ovaries. Instead, I'll share the beautiful mechanism of coping.

First comes fight OR flight. I chose fight. In fact, I warn you may want to steer clear of this scenario. While I avoid the temptation to take flight, and cry so much that my red cheeks debut, I generally am skilled in stalling until the confrontation is complete, maintaining the appearance of a hardcore individual. Second, upon leaving the environment begin to hysterically cry. I mean, I hear that's what some people do. Next, hop on the phone with someone who will know what has happened before you begin to explain. I find that the initial thirty seconds of sniffling noises gets the point across. Then, post tear trauma, arrive at home and begin to straighten your room and clean the kitchen. This can be a truly magical time for those of us that gush over every pillow placed in it's correct space. Finally, productivity sets in. Calls are made and actions are taken to FIX whatever the problem may be. This way, when you update everyone you know in your world, they can feel relieved knowing you have a plan in place, a ball rolling if you will. While all these stages occur within approximately twenty minutes total, they are essential to the coping process. This allows for minimal red cheeks and ranting for at least the next 48 hours, before the topic is put in your face once again. I have found this works especially well if your particular confrontation is work related and happening on a Friday...

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Beautiful Brusher

What is it about going to the Dentist that makes you feel so good at life?

Although I don't manage to abide by the "cleaning every six months" rule (boring), going once every 13 still makes my chest puff up just a little bit. And yes I meant 13 months, not 12. I fall short of the just a little bit of a slacker "once a year cleaning" just slightly. Gotta keep Point Loma Family Dental on their toes. Lord knows I try to be faithful in my dental commitments but like most others in my life, being just a little behind is so very comfortable! Is it comfortable or familiar? I did learn the mere difference very recently. hmmm. Deep.

I was lectured on the typical lack of flossing, which I assume most have heard at least a time or two. The hygienist found it necessary to not only give me the lecture (ya know the whole your gums wouldn't be gushing blood right now if you actually flossed once in a while talk), but also gave me a full blown lesson on how to floss. This even included a hand held mirror. Nothing boosts your self esteem like an up close shot of your bleeding mouth and chin from an upward view. I don't think she knows that the reason I don't conform to this healthy habit is NOT because I am unaware of how to accomplish the task, I think I could even be good at it if I tried. I steer clear of the glossy floss because I'm a rebel! Doyee.

I was however told, more than once (uh thank you), that I brush beautifully. Alright then. At least I don't totally suck at my dental duties. It's okay, I immediately forget about the put down and just focus on the fact that I am able to remember the last time I was in this chair, having my grill prodded...keeping me feeling good at life.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Bag of Tricks

Have you seen any of the "Oprah's favorite things" shows? Now that I think about it, there's even an established "Club" for books the big-O multimillionaire likes. Is it possible there is a conspiracy to push this female's agenda onto us? What do you take us for, Harpo? I personally refuse to buy a new line of skincare sold only at "Bloomy's" and will NOT be purchasing a Prius any time soon, OK. Rude. That's like pushing all one's opinions (on mostly a few key topics) onto others through the vessel of a blog or something. Who does that?
One of Sara's favorite things, in a non you-should-like-it-too kinda way, is surprises. I don't understand the people in this world (most) who say they hate surprises. What? Why? That blanket, and bold with the use of the "H" word, statement must mean that one doesn't even enjoy fun surprises! "You weren't expecting it, but I just bought you a brand new car! You get a car! You get a car!" I couldn't help but throw in yet another Oprah reference! Anyway, the point is, just because the brand new automobile was a surprise, doesn't mean you hate it! C'mon, let's stay away from blanket one likes those.
One of my Obecian/work friends (I heart when two or more of my worlds collide) is getting ready to set off on a journey to Peru. Although she's not leaving until Fall, her belongings are beginning to go now. No hippie friend of mine needs a lot of stuff to survive. Some even say all you need is LOVE. Love is all ya need. So the belongings she donated to me and my home aren't needed, but definitely a fine addition. I have yet to go through the paper grocery bag of tricks, but on my four-minute drive to work this morning, the surprise bag sitting shotgun cured my ADHD.
Since I'm one of the people that LIKE, correction LOVE surprises, the reach in and see what you find game is a blasty treat for me. What was found in the surprise bag of tricks you ask?

1. Maalox (although embarrassing to admit, probably a wise donation for me these days. ah man!)
2. Q-tips. I don't know why anyone in their right mind would give up the glorious activity of digging cotton into their wet ears after a shower, but I'll take it.
3. Cube shaped vase. This doesn't actually count as a donation, since it was mine to begin with.
4. Brown 1/4 inch heeled sandals. OK. I like things that go on my feet. A better choice than the initial pair offered to me. "Umm, I try to stay away from shoes that look like they belong to the Wicked Witch of the West. Sorry."
5. Maalox...the reach in and see what you find game ALWAYS leads me to pick the same thing up more than once! Unless she gave me more than one box? I think the universe is messin with me.

Man I love surprises.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Doctors, doctors everywhere!

Recently I "drafted" a blog titled Poked and Prodded. Unfortunately it did not make it to the posting phase. This happens from time to time, I begin a piece (sounds fancy right?) and then "save now" it, in hopes that I'll finish/edit later and be able to proudly move to the "Publish Post." Doesn't always happen. In this case, I peaced out completely on P and P and at this time have revamped and can tell you even more about my exciting doctor adventures!
It started out with an Urgent care, ER, Primary Care, GI jont. While most of you can eat a bacon and egg breakfast sandwich, turns out I cannot. On top of my usual constant unexplainable dull achy stomach, I had some pains that were pure evil a few weeks back. Come to find out, I may have even passed a gallstone during that 4 hour sesh, says my Gastro interologist, Sally. My dreams of four little grommets running around one day was almost a nightmare. Getting pretty unraveled I may have spouted off, "If this is what child birth is like, I'm NOT having kids!" Harsh.

As of a week ago, I've now seen (and shared with others) color photos of my inner parts. Who knew what a "bulb" was until now? After 7 days of waiting, and another co-pay, tomorrow Sally and company will let me in on what's happening with my bulbs, intestines and other like parts.

In the spirit of Go-mode, I called on some other Docs today as well. The Neuro, Dr Janine (goes by "Doctor" then her first name, normally a situation that calls for judgment) let me know that my HMO (total racket, but probably better than any program a certain powerful cigarette enthusiast is trying to run, for another time) denied my request to see her. The old insurance, also not great but did the job, allowed me to see a $300 an hour Neurologist, while this one does not. Boo. Under the belief that "all you have to do is ask," I got all of my migraine-tastic questions answered AND a refill on my meds all over the phone...which is free. woohoo! In addition to Dr. Janine's convo, I finally bit the bullet (actually I bit my CHEEK really, really hard and it still hurts like a motha, maybe a Dentist appointment is also in order?) and put in a call I've been putting off to Dr. Lee. If I go from the overwhelming Double D's to a lovely looking C-cup, you'll know Dr Lee has done his job. Gotta love a waived consultation fee from a student's Plastic Surgeon Dad! Soon the question will be are my back and neck problems really from Gnarly Car Accident 2006, or perhaps due to the 20 pound burdens I've been carrying since I was 14!?! To be determined! If so, you better believe I'm stickin it to the man...whose name is Aetna Value Network!

Wednesday, May 12, 2010


I've actually found someone that I want to go on dates with, introduce to the friends and fam (a standard panel of judges of course), and even let call me his girlfriend??? Question marks are necessary as I still am confused by the whole thing. Statements like, "Seriously, what am I gonna do with you?" often escape my mouth.

Yes. It's true. Not that I'm one of THOSE girls (the ones I've made fun of, a time or two) but I do in fact now have (drum roll please)...a BF. The abbreve is just way too hard to resist. Although no one else thinks anything of it, the idea of being one of those goofy girls that's referring to their gentleman caller as "my boyfriend!" all the time, makes my eyes effortlessly roll in a clockwise manner.

Looks like that whole High Maintenance thing panned out. It seems being "HM" causes a sifting effect...sifting through the definitely-not-gonna-happen's and the maybe-I'll-let-you-buy-me-another-meal's...arriving at an okay-you're-legit-I-might-like-you.

Do the anecdotes on dating (and the peculiar opposite sex) seize to exist here?
Absolutely not. If anything, this whole sitch has this blonde more confused and amused than ever!

Will I start writing about how wonderful it is to whisper sweet nothings over a candlelit dinner? I'll answer that question with another...Do I become besties with females that indulge in the Ugg/jean skirt pairing? I think not. You know me better than that. I'll be keeping most of the private detes to myself, or maybe make my blog officially "private" so that your social security number is on file if you're a "reader."

Oh and BTW (yes there is a theme going on here), For those of you that are concerned, the WTF (see post title) stands for What The Frick?! Please remember that I am a LADY...and a teacher! I'm molding the future of America for crying out loud!

Friday, April 30, 2010


What did you do on this beautiful, Spring afternoon?

Oh me? (answered a totally hypothetical individual) Well, I purchased some MiraLax. Just a typical day. MiraLax is a laxative for those of you that aren't in the know...and/or don't have bowel issues.

After a week of stomach problems, this is what it has come to. Shoulder to shoulder with other elderly women in Isle seven of Rite aid. All generously throw out smiles. I mean really, without a good BM in your life, a smile from a stranger goes a long way...I'd imagine.

It's amazing how much attention one will give to creating an environment for this natural (yet sometimes supplementally simulated) action to occur. Some even stay home from their occupations, on Friday afternoons? Like text messages are sent...

"Yea I can come over in about an hour. Gotta pick up the laundry, run a quick errand and wait for this laxative to do its thang."

(This sort of message should clearly be sent out in the form of a "bulk text" to all the eligible bachelors in ones phone) There's a lot more where that came from...meaning the pure gold dating advice-duh.

In the interest of true professionalism, the real bound-up-broad inspiring this post will remain anonymous.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Fart Week 2010

It is actually Earth Week 2010, dually note.

I haven't been writing (a catastrophe for us all) due to the utter chaos going on this week. It's difficult to recap all of the "note worthy" situations, maybe because of the Vicodin I've recently ingested?

This week I've been driving (more honestly, I've been speeding) back and forth between school... and the bar. Obviously closely related professions. Yes, I have returned to the world of sailors and fishermen, and their cackling wives duh. The most convenient part of balancing these two acts this week was having to taste all the new varietals on the wine list right before heading back for a meeting vital to keeping our educational institution accredited in the state of California. Always willing to be versatile.

There is a method to my madness...not just attempting to give myself an ulcer, more like a gallbladder issue actually. The method is this: If I want to pay off my arch enemies Mr. Express and Platinum Visa, I'll need to be mixin drinks like a BOSS this summer. The way to get decent shifts, get me on that schedule now before the beloved season starts! See how that works? Forward thinking can be a beautiful thing, so I've been told.

After the madness of the week long training sesh, paired with my "real" job (differentiating my teaching job from the club job in this way leads my yachty coworkers to believe I am a snob. Weird) I found myself at an all time low as far as the immune system is concerned. Running to the mall, right up there with the enemies listed above, to purchase navy blue pants and a new black belt for the uni did not help on Friday at 4:00, before the 5:00 back-after-5-months-shift.

Long story short, Sunday ended with an ER and me thanking Nurse Nancy for the glorious pain meds and her British accent. As of today, I've been told by three physicians that there is something wrong with my Gallbladder, causing my horrendous stomach pain. I'll know more after an ultrasound tomorrow morning, which I realized announcing to the new boo, in a public place, leads others to believe I not a snob... knocked up! Oh misunderstandings, you are fun.

A perfect wrap up to a week that started off with what I read as "Fart Day 2010" (a minor poster malfunction). A sixth grade boy found my "I don't think I'll be a part of that DAY" statement amusing. Cheap laughs. Always worth while.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Why oh why...

is it so hard to come back to work after Spring Break?!?!

I know I have no right (or every right I haven't decided) to complain, since most adults don't get what us old schoolers call "Easter Break" past college.

However, I will tell you what I tell my roommate and everyone else who loathes me for having a coveted schedule...

Well, then why don't YOU go get your credential (by taking 38 tests and another ridiculous number of classes that don't do anything for your teaching skills except make you more patient), then you can have lack of job security and a less than average pay...and get a Spring Break.

I did mention I LOVE my job right?

I like to start out the first-morning-back by looking through my planner, flipping pages, writing things down, basically planning to do things...instead of actually doing things. Seems productive.

What have I accomplished? Duh. I've written three very necessary emails, responded to a planner-related facebook message (you'd think I was type A with all this planner shenanigans), sent out a friend-in-town related text (someones gotta coordinate all these fantastic women), attempted to better my career for next year (huh?), posted a blog (gotta keep up with the digital world) and gone to the bathroom twice.

Happy Monday Readers!

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Soccer Practice

I'm sure that since you're all such loyal and frequent readers (insert corny wink here) you've already read about my hatred for soccer previously.

In this post, I'll try not to get into all the loathe-worthy characteristics about the sport. Things like having to pretend you want the ball when really you couldn't care any less about it (Picture a game right now...Everyone screaming, "I'm open I'm open! Pass it!" Getting excited when the ball last hits the other team member's foot, leaving lucky us to get the ball and throw it back onto the field!) I also won't talk about how in every other situation in life we dodge a ball flying at our head, and in soccer we hope for it and use it as a strategy...what?!

The reason I bring up the ridiculous sport today is because of how useful I realize it can getting you out of trouble, and even making you sound legit. I take no credit for this discovery and in fact want to give all the credit (where credit is due) to the most hilarious female I've ever met, Lani, who although she won't admit it, now goes by "Little Nugget." Lani's got it down. This intellectual figured out that the best excuse EVER is soccer. Her apology for being late? "Sorry, I was at soccer practice." Her reason for being tired? "Man, I had an intense soccer practice last night." Feel free to add any other reasons you need...

Being the girl whose hair is always a wreck (hypothetical obviously)? "Gosh my pony is just crazy from yesterday's braids at my soccer game." Want to get out of something? "If I don't leave right now and get to the field, Coach is gonna kill me!"

My personal favorite from the Nug, "I'm gonna need that over-sized Marc Jacob bag to fit my soccer ball in."

Do I still despise this ultimate team building sport? Yes. Do I finally see a purpose for it? Also Yes.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Yea, that's not gonna work

Date #1

Attractive. fewf.

Witty. check.

Successful. that's cool.

Great first date stats. The missing links, two very important things: real conversation...and dinner.
I suggested Old Venice, a charming local Italian restaurant, for a reason...because I was in the mood for a fancy pizza! I totally get the non-committal "let's get a drink thing." I use it all the time! But the whole point of that move is to have the peace-out-early opportunity if the date is going south. If you're staying for another 2 hours anyway, in my humble and almost expert opinion-dinner is a must.
Letting that slide I suppose (until home to left over Indian food at 9:30 at night!) I say nothing. I don't want to be that girl, the one that's possibly disinterested but wants a free meal.
I am quite the fan of banter; likely unqualified as a dating pro, but most definitely a banter pro! My general attitude, bring it on. Until I have had enough! Then I'll throw a few more zingers at ya...then really be done. At one point, in the three hour sesh, I couldn't even tell you the topic of conversation.
Unfortunately Date #1 left me exhausted...and hungry.
Yea, that's not gonna work.

Friday, March 26, 2010

How many blondes...

does it take to describe the blockbuster hit Avatar?

"What's Avatar? "

"What do you live under a rock? Only the biggest movie in the last 30 years!"


"Because of!"

"So it's a technical A Bug's life?"

"Yes. That's right. It's like A Bug's life."

Monday, March 22, 2010

The latin man with which I ate a shrimp ceasar.

With so much to report on the dating front, I struggle to maintain a focal point. You see, there's an epic battle that goes on in my head (among others): to write on one topic and stay (or at least appear) focused OR to throw it all out there and allow you to experience a sufficient part of the mayhem.

In attempt to get to bed at a reasonable hour and less selfishly, protect YOU from establishing an overwhelming disdain for the topic at hand...I will stick to just one thing:

The latin man with which I ate a shrimp ceasar.

On the third of my 4 dates in four days (shout out to the world wide web) I set out on a latin themed adventure. We met at a Mexican restaurant guessed it, Pacific Beach. The crazy part is that I chose the location, and we know how I feel about PB. On my way to the beloved beach town, running late naturally, I sped through neighborhoods and quickly took in the obscene amount of Beer Pong being played. That's neither here nor there I suppose. A lovely intro into the evening I'd soon experience though.

Arrived, met, and onto the good stuff...

Initially I pegged the latin as muy aburrido (very boring). Quite the contrary. As the night went on, I learned more and more muy interesante facts about Senor Latino; where he's lived, that he's a rocket scientist, and oh yea...the fact that he's a total creepo. *I sorta wanted to just say creep as it's the best possible description, but felt it should be more spanish sounding, to fit the theme obviously.

Senor said a few questionable things (purposely in my humble not-so-expert-on-dating opinion) that were not the effect of our fish bowl sized margaritas. I believe they were for an all too familiar attempt to "intrigue" a lady by keeping her wondering what the eff you're talking about. One fine example is the sort of compliment but OH PSYCH YOUR MIND IT"S NOT a compliment technique. A real go-getter.

"Yea your photos were really nice...really nice." Thanks. Thanks? Wait a sec, does that mean I don't look really nice in person? What the hell amigo?
"Yea you're like rocking the heels and stuff." Uh, yes, yes I am. Are you trying to say that you like my heels? No? Okay.

There were also a few awesome "I"m super latin" comments.
"Women shouldn't take jobs away from men who need them to support their families" and then opposing to latin culture but still offensive to women comments like, "I just don't like women in my kitchen. I'm the cook." You can imagine my subtle responses to this sort of dialogue. Lucky for him, tequila makes me sweet (sorta), rather than feisty like vodka does! Yikes.

I have to say that the evening was extremely entertaining and since that would be the only expectation I go into like situations with, I was satisfied, kinda. I did enjoy the over poured beverage and fresh-mex cuisine, I must say.

Friday, March 19, 2010

I'm either...

really terrible...or really, really good at this.

I refer to dating. Let me disclaim right off the bat, that I do not rely on my own strength in this area. No, this is not a biblical reference...I currently rely on 29 dimensions that are bigger than's called "online-dating." Lord, seeing that hyphened word in print is just shameful!

Welp, got over the shame pretty quickly, feeling alright now...
This week I scheduled what I like to call a "Dating Quadruple bypass." The expectation is I'll bypass at least three of the four dates. Nonetheless, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday night all include a beautiful dinner. I'll be doing a real-life, unscripted version of The Bachelor. I definitely won't be telling any of them that I'm "following my heart" or "falling in love with more than one of them"...or any statement involving the word "journey." Instead, I'll be attempting authentic conversation and...well....probably drinking a lot of wine.

One of these gentlemen (Mr. Thursday night) is now on Date 3. The process has been less painful than usual, actually enjoyable, I appreciate that. Date 3 means only one thing, in as charming a way as possible of course:  Hair straightening takes a halt. I'm a busy woman for crying out loud. Four dates?  I'm gonna need some sleep and will not have the extra hour for a flat iron and some sticky Paul Mitchell product. Hope everyone's okay with that. Also, I'm over nibbling through a salad at this point...can I eat some red meat in front of this guy yet?! And the girly Coors Light hoax, I'd prefer the 22 oz Stella, thank you. 
Here goes nothing.  Stay tuned...for more helpful dating hints obviously.

And you're welcome ;)

Thursday, March 11, 2010

It's all so simple isn't it?

"I just want to get to the point where I can be in pajamas, without make up, cuddling on the couch...and farting if I need to."

In a discussion about this evening's date, I expressed this deep desire to one of my brilliant man-friends.

Then I learned something.

His response: "I'm sure he feels the same way...He definitely wants to fart on or around you."



Monday, March 8, 2010


Some get excited when they go to The Home Depot. New projects, the smell of wood, helpful men in aprons...

I however believe that The Home Depot is a little peice of carpenter themed hell (let the irony simmer for a few).

Home Depot in my opinion equals two of my least favorite things: feeling ignorant and splinters. I find myself walking around mumbling,"Hi I'm looking to mount something." Hmmm says the handy orange and denim wearing dad.

I now wait in line to purchase my something "Gage wire"??? I also have been navigating the warehouse with the remainder of the ply wood spilling over every end of my cart, lookin like I'm in the know about such things of course.

I think the confused look on my face along with my houndstooth scarf blew my cover. The jig is up I have no frigen clue what I'm doing here.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

The shower chapter

"Jack of all trades, master of none."
You've heard this before. I like to think of myself as a master of some...just mostly the ones that don't really matter that much. One of my "masteries" that I've written about often is that of being a bridesmaid. You know how I feel about that "always a bridesmaid..." saying. Don't you even complete the sentence in your head! I have been a bridesmaid more than a handful of times. In fact I have an extensive collection of spring hued dresses in my hallway coat closet.
I'd love to write some books one day...lots and lots of books. One of them will be of this very theme, how to be a bridesmaid. I'll address everything from watching out for flirting married groomsmen to being on time for all 10 of the bridal showers (a work in progress for even the best of us).
This particular post is an excerpt from the shower chapter of the future best-seller ;) Not shower like that thing I do twice a week, which is also a key aspect of being a bridesmaid, but instead the bridal shower(s) thrown for the blushing bride.
Knowing as many women as I do (part of the reason why I have been a bridesmaid so many times) I KNOW that there is NO way they love playing the standard Bridal shower "games." I put quotations around the word because I do not consider them games. Do you know why I don't consider them games? Because they are not fun. Games are supposed to be fun and digging through your purse to find an expired coupon, safety pin and loose button is not. We (we as in myself and all the intelligent, capable women I know attending these showers) also do not enjoy wrapping each other's carefully straightened head of hair in toilet paper in hopes that the bride will think it looks like a beautiful veil! Most of the time, even the "winner" of the Toilet Paper Bride "game" ends up looking like a brain surgery patient! Who came UP with this stuff? If we must play games, why don't we stick to the legit ones like Taboo and Guestures?!? I mean really.

What I DO like is that refreshing sherbet punch at all the showers! Yum. Why wouldn't one love sweet rainbow sherbet mixed with a bubbly 2 liter bottle of 7up, all presented in a crystal bowl with matching ladle? Delicious. Now THAT idea was a good one.
I believe that we should be the change we want to see...(a saying I certainly didn't coin) and therefore if Bride is down with it, we should STOP playing these ridiculous games! Why can't we enjoy normal food instead of tiny triangled cucumber sandwiches? We can. Yes we can. Si se puede. Let's make these 3 hour early Saturday afternoon events more fun! And whatever you do (as the wonderfully committed bridesmaid you are) don't leave out the Rainbow Punch!

I MAY be high maintenence

I like to flippantly look through my "Eharm" matches, sort of like casually browsing an US Weekly. I don't spend a lot of time (mostly due to not having it) reading every word, studying every picture and on and on. I'm really just looking for the quick facts and only paying close attention to things that catch my eye. In the magazine this might be an Oscars' fashion centerfold, on the Eharm this could be "Height 6'5"under the basic info portion. For me, there are two options after a quick scan of a close or to go forward with that first round of significantly deep questions. So I guess it comes down to I either don't care to ever meet you OR I'm interested in knowing how often you find yourself laughing a) You crack yourself up b) You laugh often but get serious when you need to...I think you get the picture here.

After a fierce talking-to from one of my parentals, I try really hard not to be "too harsh." It's a good thing this blog is blocked from a certain place of work! I'm thinking the "You'll be Closed if..." post may have been exactly what I was accused of! According to Mom, that guy may have a "bad photo" (or 4) and "you can't judge someone on one thing they say...they may not like what YOU have to say" to which I retort, "yea okay..." Between you and I, the truth is, I don't really care if they don't like what I have to say. At least I know that YOU do, generally speaking ;)

All that being said, I'll now go on to rant (for lack of a better word in my post-Sunday-nap haze) about what goes through my head while sizing up my many a matches. These things may be evidence to the fact I am, dare I say it...High Maintenance. I'm not referring to the "HM" gals that take hours to get ready (cmon I don't even shower half the time), require great accommodations (really? throw me in a closet and I'm likely to fall asleep) or even those HMers that constantly shop (okay I'm getting closer). I believe I may be high maintenance in regards to those minor details that don't even run past most's minds.
This evening the following facts/reasoning following them in my sick, sick mind, resulted in some mass CLOSE OUTS:
1) Fact-Gamer photo. In one of the photos, in which he looked attractive btw, Mr Match had a video game remote in his hand. What my sick mind concludes from this-You love playing video games, are possibly immature, lazy and have A.D.D.

2) Fact-Messy room in the background. Again this is a photo related non negotiable. And the sick mind concludes- You are messy. Two words. Not OK.

3) Fact-Written that you wish more people would notice your "deepness" which you refer to as a "flowing, deep river." Um...this one is easy. Conclusion- You are either TOO deep for myself or you are pretending to be because you think chicks dig it, most likely the second option.

4) Fact-Photo of you in a sweaty bar has a caption explaining that you are singing Journey. Sick conclusion- You live in P.B. and have a tribal band tattoo somewhere on your body.

5) Fact-You are below 26 and in the military. Sick conclusion- You are too young for me and are gone all the time OR stationed but hanging out with a bunch of dudes all day, leading to the same conclusion as the messy match-immaturity.
Turns out I'm not ashamed of my high maintenance behaviors, being that I just wrote them out for you to read...and provided just a little sampling of the sickness going on up there. Hey some things aren't negotiable. Like singing cliche songs and not putting your clothes away. Duh.