It's not easy being green...

I think I have a bit of a cold.

*sniff*

I'm lightheaded, achy, my throat hurts and I sound like Kathleen Turner. Who knew a cold could ever be so sexy? So, if anyone wants to call me and talk dirty...

...don't. Like I said, I have a bit of a cold.

oh I want to be that complete...

A few things I've discovered the last few days...

~Abba-zabbas are the most difficult and underrated candy-bars ever.

~Seven hours in a car coming home from Vegas isn't as much fun as you'd think.

~I'm lonely.

~I still love my job.

~I also love Excel! Spreadsheets are a little gift from God.

~Fruit Flies never take a holiday.

~I'm really horny after my period ends, which seems odd.

~I always want to become a vegetarian after Thanksgiving.

~Any chore is more fun when you sing. It's the Mary Poppins in me.

Yep.

Running on Empty

After two months of eating whatever I want, sitting on my behind and feeling very sorry for myself, I got up and went for a run. My body basically said, "What the fuck are you doing you crazy bitch?" in a very surprised and concerned tone. The damn treadmill faced the damn mirror so I could see the extent to which I had let myself go. Let me just say in workout clothes I'm somewhere between not bad and Anna Nicole. At one point my left hamstring up and quit. I mean it put on it's houndstooth hat, picked up it's briefcase and walked out. I read somewhere that if you inhale for three steps and exhale two steps, there is less stress on joints. So as I breathe I count:

"(Inhale) One, Two, Three! (Exhale) Four, Five..."

...and I just zone out.

I do love to run, but I hate being out of shape.

The Future's So Bright I Gotta Wear Shades...

Can I just say it now? I'm digging my new job! It's creative, exciting and even allows time to chat with my friend, Kathy. Also, I learn new things every day. Did you know that left eye in Latin is Oculus Sinister? And right eye is Oculus Dexter. One sounds like a Super Villain and the other the name of an optometrist's bowling league. Yep, it's excitement in eyewear.

Come Senators, Congressmen, Please Heed the Call...

I, being a feminist, decided to write an email declaring my "ugh" against Judge Samuel Alito and this was the response I recieved.

“Dear Ms:
Thank you for writing to me about the nomination of Judge Samuel Alito, Jr. to replace Justice Sandra Day O’Connor on the Supreme Court. I appreciate hearing from you and welcome this opportunity to respond.

Now that the President has put forth another nominee to succeed Justice O’Connor, the Senate Judiciary Committee, of which I am a member, must fulfill its obligation to thoroughly review his record, read his opinions and evaluate his judicial philosophy.

This new justice will be critical in the balance with respect to rulings on Congressional and Executive authority, as well as a woman’s right to privacy, environmental protections, and many other aspects of Constitutional law. Since Judge Alito has been nominated fo fill Justice O’Connor’s seat, the extraordinary importance of this nomination cannot be overstated. Having said that, I intend to reserve judgement until our due diligence and the formal hearings in January are completed.

Once again, thank you for sharing your views with me. I will be sure to take them into consideration as the nomination process moves forward. Should you have any additional comments or questions, please feel free to contact my office in Washington, D.C. at (202) 224-3841.

Sincerely yours,

Dianne Feinstein
United States Senator"


This is the kind of answer that my mother would give me when I'd ask to get my ears doubled pierced or if I could stay out all night to see the Rocky Horror Picture Show when I was sixteen. Then I read this article. Hmmm...

You Take a Piece of Me With You...

The other day I read that Aristotle once put out a theory that a baby inherits traits not only from the father, but from all the men that had slept with the mother to that point. Of course that got me to thinking. If that was true I might just have to go hunt down Salman Rushdie, Jon Stewart and Jake Gyllenhaal (for obvious reasons of course.)

Then I went to the dark place. Oh god, my future baby would be an arrogant bald, pothead depressive who loves wrestling, tequila, emo, film noir, and Ren Fairs. I think this says more about me than my child. So now I will make a list (YAY! I love lists!) of the good qualities I would like my child to inherit from the dudes I've boned.

Starting from the Cherry Pop:

#1. Intelligent, a romantic nature, principled, silly and has a big heart (when he acknowledges it's there.)

#2. Athletic, smart as hell, spiritual, self-assured and the ability to do a backhand spring.

#3. Musical, grace under pressure, kind and the ability to multi-task (he could drive, light a bowl and grab my breast all at the same time)

#4. Ooo, a one night stand...I don't remember his name, but he could drink both beer and tequila without getting sick. I think that's impressive.

#5. A flair for drama, good style, a fighter for the underdog, great taste in music and she could kiss like a bandit.

#6. Easy-going, loyal, viscerally smart, a good kisser and cool like The Fonz.

#7. Extroverted, diplomatic, clean, knows how to leave and stay gone.

#8. Clever, a unique sense of humor, self-aware and looks sexy when smoking (really the only guy I know who can.)

#9. Hmm... Skeevy, gross, a bad dresser, creepy intense energy and the main reason I haven't had sex in seven months. Really didn't like this guy in the long run and I'm extremely glad that Aristotle was wrong about this theory.

That's it. Honestly. I'd say 90% of my former formers were great people and I plan on quality from here on out. Because a list like this is scary.

Steve, Thanks

Ode To Steve

Steve is a guy I know,
Who picks me up when I'm feeling low.
He calls me Sexy, Baby and Bitch,
And was always there when I had an "itch".
But he stopped coming around and I though he was gone,
Then he called my back and proved me wrong.
This friendship's somehow survived for two whole years,
Through all his pouting, whining and tears.
But I love ya kid, that much can be said,
Even though you never want to give me head...

Happy Birthday Stevie!

Love,
Debster

I Might Like You Better If We Slept Together...

I went to Disneyland this past Sunday. Now why would a twenty-nine year old go to Disneyland? I don't know. I guess I'm living some kind of childhood nostalgia kick since I'm so close thirty. I actually used to work at the Magic Kingdom a few years ago. In fact I have worn every costume and worked every land that a merchandiser could. Sometime when I'm walking through the park there is a familiar smell of sewer, chlorine and rotting food that would greet the employees everytime we walked back stage. Ah, the memories.

We went on Space Mountain, The Haunted Mansion, Splash Mountain, The Pirates of the Caribbean...all the classics. Alex really wanted to watch Fantasmic! Mickey Mouse's wet dream. The whole show was Mickey's sexual fantasy masked as wholesome entertainment. The river in front of Tom Sawyer's Island erupts strait up into the air as cartoon images of pink elephant butts wiggling are projected onto it's mighty stream. The "dream" is taken over by the evil women of the Disney cartoons, who taunt Micky with their raw sexuality and power. Finally, Mickey tames the Dragon/Vagina with his Penis/Sword that ejaculates sparks as fireworks shoot off in the background and everybody sings. It's all so Freudian.

Jump Into The Void...

I realized something tonight as I browsed through some blogs, I can't do narrative. I try to tell the story in the order in which it happened and I always end up missing some crucial part. My stories are scattered and uneven. This is something I have known about myself for quite a while but have repressed. My inablility to narrate a story is right up there with my love for cheesy seventies love songs.

My storytelling style is based on emotional importance rather than chronological order. This is because I'm an emotional wreck. I think with my heart and occasionally let my head share it's opinion. That's just who I am and you can just love it or leave it.

Rock and Roll Fantasy...

I had a very Hollywood evening last night. I went out to see my friend Jason's band because I start working next week. Something about getting back to that eight hour workday makes me want to party.

So, you might ask me what would an actual Hollywood evening would look like? Well, let me give you some highlights:

~You start your evening at 10:53 pm.
~You pass the venue and can't find any place to make a left turn.
~ You pay $6.00 to have someone else park your car to go to a place that doesn't even serve food.
~ You're on the guest list.
~ You feign interest in socializing because even this is better than Friday night television.
~ Your friend in the band, between songs, embarrasses you by making everyone wish you a happy birthday.
~ Some guy takes a picture of your shirt with his phone.
~ You leave the first bar to go to another bar.
~ You make an ass out of yourself parking your own car.
~ You meet five heterosexual guys who are dressed better than you.
~ You actually have this conversation:
Drunk Guy Who Looks Like Sam Rockwell (after babbling/flirting):You really
could care less about what I'm saying.

You: I find I'm indifferent about most things.

DGWLLSR: That's the best thing I've heard all night.
~ You have no sympathy for girl who is not only squatting in the gutter puking, but also has entire thong exposed from the top of her low-rise jeans.
~ As you drive home you blast "Back that Azz Up" by Juvenile and sing along.
~ You wake up the next day wearing this shirt.

There you go. Now don't you want to move out to glamorous Hollywood?

Run For The Hills! Run For Your Life!

I found out yesterday that I am employed, again. I went on a couple of interviews for this job and on my birthday I found out they want me! And the money is a little bit more than what I was making at both of my old jobs. So yay.

I wasn't going to mention this job until I had been working for at least a week. Then I decided that if I get fired from this one after three and a half days, I will just move back in with my parents and get it over with. There is nothing left to lose at that point.

In other birthday news, my friends Steve and Mike called to wish me a happy birthday. Steve declared that twenty-nine is the year of anal sex. I had just better bend over and get it over with. I told him that I'd get back to him on that one. Mike called from work. Being that he's my oldest friend I got the warm fuzzies when he called. With all the gentlemen callers, I must admit I feel like a bit of a stud.

Happy Day to Me!

I've taken my birthday nap. Had my birthday fries. And now I'm in the middle of my birthday movie, Life with Judy Garland: Me and My Shadows. So far 29 has been a piece of cake.