August 31, 2007
6 messages in which we talk about how the dog crapped in her kennel AGAIN, as a result of consuming entire rawhide denta-bones in a matter of minutes. Didn’t think you’d care to read those. Apparently SK is Team Bella.
Ok. Hooray dog! I’m reading your blog.
Outbox Msg 21
Very nice. I see im prob gonna kill you before we get a house
August 30, 2007
a laptop, my cell phone, ingredients for really dirty Abolute martinis, a pack of cigarettes labeled “For Emergencies Only,” a pair of sunglasses, and any book by Augusten Burroughs. SK and Bella dolls would come in the boxed set.
2.) You have an irrational fear of:
heights. And also of procedure.
3.) What type of food do you eat at your grandparents house?
Japanese. I had my first sashimi at age 2. Tofu is a staple. Goyza and soy beans until you feel like you’re going to explode. BEST FOOD EVER.
4.) What weight were you when you were born?
7lbs something, I think.
5.) What would you do if you were stranded on an island with the person you murder, and cannibalism.
I would probably try to befriend cannibalism because it can't have been easy for them to have gone through life with such an unfortunate name. And then I would re-word this question so that it would make sense.
6.) What would you do if you found out you had been cheated on?
Depends on whom he cheated with. Random nobody chick? There would be screaming and yelling and taking the dog and leaving involved. Angelina Jolie or someone of similar caliber? I’d ask him to hit her up for round 2 and introduce me.
7.) Do you stalk anyone on myspace?
Um, no. Creepy.
8.) I find the thought of childbirth:
...really gross and uncomfortable. I have a lot of friends who will be having babies in the next year and while I am happy for them, I don’t envy them at all. It's just not where I am right now.
9.) Next door to my house is:
A 3-story drop to the parking lot. And a Colombian bike-rider who never picks up his newspaper or takes out the trash.
10.) My feet are:
Ticklish. And a size 7, in case you ever want to buy me cute shoes.
11.) My preferred style of jeans is:
Apparently non-existent anymore. I used to have a pair of Levi’s that were AWESOME. But now they only come in stretch. WTF? I hate fucking stretch.
12.) Why is your 1 your 1?
Because it’s SK. If he’s worth sharing MY LIFE with, I am pretty ok with making him #1 on my myspace page.
13.) Know how to cook?
Surprisingly, YES. I have always thought I was cooking-impaired. Turns out, I am not so bad. Good, even. Come over, I’ll make you dinner ;)
14.) What do you want to be in life?
Successful. Happy. Important. Satisfied. Fulfilled. Loved. Wise. Graceful. Accepting.
Too much to ask?
15.) What is the worst way you were dumped?
Um, I’ve never been dumped.
16.) What child-related smell do you not like?
I can’t handle the smell of grape kool-aid. Reminds me of when I was young and my dad stayed home with me while I was sick and made me drink a pitcher of grape kool-aid because my mom said I needed fluids. Barf.
17.) What sea creature scares you?
Well, sharks. And I am really freaked out by sand crabs.
18.) What color hair do most of the people you are around have?
Everyone in my office has brown hair. What a lame fucking question.
19.) What object have you broken most recently?
A pencil. With my superhuman strength! ROAR!
20.) Name your favorite cartoon character.
I don’t have a “favorite cartoon character” because I’m not 5. However, I do like Stewie from Family Guy. I think if I were to ever have a kid, he’d be running that kind of commentary in his head. Hopefully not the being in love with the dog part, but you know.
21.) What was the last thing to make you cry?
Charlotte’s Web. Yes, the remake. With Julia Roberts as Charlotte. I know, I know.
22.) What are the stems on wine glasses for?
Why are they called stems?
23.) My favorite shoes are:
My baby blue Converse. Love ‘em.
24.) Can you use chopsticks?
Only to catch flies. No big deal. Today I’ve gotten 4 and it’s not even lunch time.
25.) Do you prefer beaches or forests?
Beaches, all the way. Too many bugs and crawly things and bears in the forests.
26.) What serial killer do you find most disturbing?
Uh, all of them…???
27.) Who knows a secret or two about you:
No one, really. I tend to kind of lay it all out there for everyone to see.
28.) Have you ever burned yourself?
Nothing major. Ask SK this question, though.
29.) Who is probably talking a load of crap about you right now?
SK. I just sent him a real smart-assed text.
30.) Who is your hero[s]?
My parents are pretty awesome. My uncle Mark actually saved my life once, so he ranks up there. Also, Niki pulled me out of the whirlpool at the end of the tube chute one summer so I think she gets a gold star for that one, too.
40.) Do you believe in things that last forever?
Tell me what you think lasts forever and I will tell you if I believe in them or not.
41.) What are you listening to?
96.5 streamed in on my computer.
42.) What do you smell like?
Green apple shampoo.
43.) Are you married?
No, I am not.
44.) Does anyone regularly tell you they love you?
Lots of people.
45.) What's most confusing to you?
Math. All types. I just don’t get it. Beyond simple addition, I am kind of lost.
46.) Do you have any bad habits?
I have a bunch of bad habits. I am working on them, though.
47.) Have you ever wanted to be a teacher?
No. there was a period of time about 8 months ago when I hated HATED my job so much that I seriously considered becoming a kindergarten teacher—I know, WTF?—but I was quickly talked down off that ledge by people who love me. And who know how detrimental I could be to a 5 year-olds psyche and development.
48.) What is one thing you've learned about life?
It happens to all of us.
49.) What's your favorite color?
Green. Blue. All shades of both.
50.) Have you ever been stuck in an elevator?
Not that I can remember and I am certain I would remember something like that. I am not claustrophobic, though, so I think I could handle it if I were ever to get stuck inside one.
51.) What does your dad call you?
Cheryl, Cheryl Ann, Punkin, Punk, “hey get me a beer”
52.) Has anyone told you that they like you more than a friend?
I checked NO in the “Do you like me back?” letter he sent through my friend on the playground.
53.) What are you looking forward to?
Surprisingly, buying a house. Well, maybe just moving into the house. And really because it’s a HOUSE and means I won’t have to move again for at least a few years. SWEET!
54.) How are you today?
Obviously bored and not busy.
August 29, 2007
Because clearly it’s all her fault. She is going to grow up and be too big for the apartment and will need a yard of her own in which to run and dig and
murder play with squirrels. Because of this, we need to move into a house. Shame on you, Belladonna.
We started looking at “used” homes because the thought of building a new one was enough to send me into convulsions in the corner. I am too big a control freak to let someone else build what I imagine. Moving into something already built would be fine and dandy, because since I was not the one to come up with the design or décor in the first place, there wouldn’t be as much judging and criticizing and shitdamnmotherf’ers this wall was supposed to be TAUPE not CREAM (wouldn’t you like to spend a day in my head sometime? It’ll jack you up, I swear).
However, I am finding out from my friends who have recently gone through the process of evolving from “renters” to “owners” that finding a home that suits you and your family’s tastes is just that…a process. I am not good with processes. I never have been. I am more of a I Want What I Want When I Want It type girl. I don’t do well with following a long flow chart of small events that will EVENTUALLY lead me to my long-awaited end result. I am the girl who tells you in July what I will be giving you for Christmas, just because I am so damn excited about it. Process and procedure, anywhere but having to do with my job, is not welcomed into my life.
"The Girl Who Used To Have A Life, But Is Now Dedicated Solely And Entirely To Finding THE PERFECT FLOOR PLAN AND ELEVATION"
I am a woman obsessed. I pick up the Free! new home magazines at the grocery store. I spend hours Googling “new home builders, Houston.” I play with the interactive floor plans and print them off when I get them to look the way I’d like. I am planning my weekends around going to neighborhoods and walking through model homes. I found 3 new plans this morning that I seriously thought about checking out on my lunch break. This urge to find THE HOUSE is like TRYING to contract chlamydia. I do nothing to stop myself from doing it, and now I can't make it go away!
Also, SK has decided that we will probably stay in our apartment for another few months after our lease is up, to save some money, since our rent is pretty low. This means that the hellish nightmare that has become MY LIFE is going to drag out another 3 or 4 months longer than anticipated. I can't handle it. I think I am going to just be drunk, VERY drunk, for the next year. Wake me up at the housewarming party.
August 24, 2007
3:30pm Thursday afternoon: I work for a computer IT company and though the opportunities to do so are few and far between, I occasionally have to go onsite and assist customers. I was returning to the office after one such instance and got caught in traffic. This was back-to-school traffic in a neighborhood, so we weren’t moving. At all.
I decided to light a cigarette (I know, I know…bad for you, kill you, all that jazz…) because traffic just does that to me. I sat there, unmoving, and finished the whole thing. Just as I went to toss it out the window (b/c I am so environmentally conscious like that…whatev, I recycle) we started moving. I flicked it out, but I guess the sudden movement caused a tiny gust of wind to catch it and blow it back into my car BETWEEN ME AND MY SEAT. I didn’t notice until I felt my back being burned at which point I slammed on my brakes, almost certainly giving the occupants of the car behind me severe whiplash from the sudden stop from 6mph to 0, and arched my back like I was trying to give myself a mammogram with my steering wheel.
The burning stopped, but then the burning SMELL happened. What do I do? Reach down behind my butt, where the still unidentified offending object had fallen and grab it between 2 fingers, which I promptly burned. I am still at a complete stop (by this point someone was honking) with at least 10 car lengths between me and the SUV in front of me, writhing around in my car, trying to figure out WHAT THE HELL IS BURNING ME. I reached down again and grabbed it, felt the familiar smoosh of the filter end of the cigarette, and threw it the hell out of my window. Only then did I realize that the car right next to me hadn’t moved either, completely paralyzed with amazement at my dramatic reaction to a cigarette butt. He saw me hurl the little f’er out of my car and then started laughing hysterically.
I thought about lighting another one, right there, and throwing it into HIS open window and seeing how gracefully he dealt with that. Ass.
I now have a little patch of melted fabric in the crack of my driver’s seat. And my car smells a little like burnt hair.
I suppose you can say I deserve it, for smoking in my car or just for smoking, period. However, I would appreciate it if next time I do something ridiculously brain-dead like that and you can actually see the panic in my eyes, just please wait until you are out of my line of sight before you lose your shit and laugh like it’s the funniest gdamn thing you’ve ever seen. I appreciate that it might be, but for me, it was a bit traumatic.
The FIRST time I set my car on fire it wasn’t an almost situation. And I was being a Good Samaritan (not a cigarette-smoking floozy) and helping a friend out. Turns out, we were both idiots and didn’t know how to jump-start a car, which is excusable for me being a tiny, frail girl and all, but this was a guy friend I was helping…this is shit men just know, right? Um, wrong.
He was a co-worker at the time, and had been a good friend through college, so I should have known mechanical stuff wasn’t his forte. However, he was really good with computers, so I guess I just assumed there wasn’t much of a difference.
His car died on the roof of our office parking garage due to a dome light being on all day and he asked me for a jump. He borrowed what can only be described as jumper cables for Barbie’s Dream Corvette, from another totally macho friend. They were the smallest jumper cables I have ever seen in my whole life. We positioned our cars next to each other so that the cables would reach, which basically meant I parked my car IN HIS ENGINE, and set about connecting the cars.
I was driving Ralph, my old 1990 baby blue BMW, and the battery was a bit corroded (which I later found out is a BAD THING). He kept looking from his battery to mine, saying things like, “negative to negative, or negative to positive?” This is when I offered to call AAA. He said nah, I got this, and kept looking from car to car.
Finally, he hooked them onto my battery, shrugged his shoulders, and told me to start my car. I offered to call AAA again and was again turned down. I got into my car, turned it on, he cranked his engine, and…nothing. He yelled out his window that I should try again. I did, he did…still nothing.
All of a sudden, I noticed the cables were smoking. He jumped out of his truck and yelled “HOLY SHIT THE CABLES ARE SMOKING!” Thanks. I stand there, staring, not having a freaking clue as to what I should be doing in a situation like this, and then BAM! They catch FIRE. FIRE. I have a FIRE on the engine of my car!
What does he do? What any logical person would do—starts beating it out with his HAT. Yeah. I know. Not that I can say anything though…I am still standing, staring, mouth on the mother f’ing ground because I cannot believe this is happening right now, here, on the parking garage roof at our office building. He yells at me to find some water (yeah, I know…electrical fire, water…sigh) so I bolt to the backseat of my car because I ALWAYS have 1 or 2 or 17 half-empty bottles of water back there. Thank GOD I couldn’t find any that morning.
I return to the front of the car with nothing so he continues beating the fire out. It worked, surprisingly enough. There is smoke EVERYWHERE, I have jumper cables melted to my battery, and there are burned pieces of plastic dripping onto the concrete below my car. I start laughing, hysterically. It was either that or cry hysterically, and I never ever, even if you pay me, cry in public.
I then called AAA.
Who got to our office building in 5 minutes.
And jumped his car.
And set nothing on fire.
August 21, 2007
So I have always been one of those people who have never wanted to have kids, and if you know me, you have been hearing me say this since I was, oh I don't know, 2? There is no part of me that wants to be pregnant, no part that wants to experience the
horror majesty that is childbirth, no part that wants a baby of my own to hold and raise. I just don't have that desire. I have always said I will be a fantastic aunt. The fun one YOUR KIDS want to come hang out with. When they don't cry all the time. And when they're potty trained.
No, this post is not going to be about how I have suddenly changed my mind about all of that. This is about why I am angry that no one told me that a small dog was quite similar to everything I have heard about small children. Like I said, I have only been SAYING NO TO KIDS since I could talk...why would no one warn me about the dog?!
She barks at inappropriate times, cries when it is completely inconvenient for me, and pees EVERYWHERE. She has to poop 2.5 seconds after she is fed and will put anything on the floor in her mouth--dried worms on the pavement outside are a favorite--resulting in atomic diarrhea all over her kennel. She jumps up on us when we get home, scratches SK in the eyes (I still don’t know how she pulled that one off) and steps on him in places he would really rather she not step.
She is pretty damn cute, though, which is why I continue to give her second chances.
She can be smart—she knows how to sit on command, will wait without moving while we get her food from the bag to the bowl to the floor (although the amount of drool that spills out of her mouth and pools at her feet during this process is pretty disgusting), and is learning to be polite and not take treats from us until she is told to do so. She is finally going to the door regularly when she needs to go out, and will cry if we don’t notice her standing there. However, once she cries you would think someone threw a f’ing grenade into the apartment by how fast SK and I move to clip the leash on her, throw open the door and RUN her down the stairs. The cry means, “Ok jerks, I am standing here, I am letting you know that I have to go and now you have 3 seconds to get me to some grass or else I am going to empty my bladder RIGHT HERE on your rug.”
I love her. I do. And I have to tell myself that every morning when she greets me with her little puppy breath and lick to the face, right before she smiles up at me and pees on the carpet. Demon.