good morning. fml.

Can someone please fucking explain to me how a grown woman stays up late drinking Slurpees and IMing?

I am no longer fourteen and I do not have an internet boyfriend in Alaska [anymore]. My hormones are not raging as I go through ‘changes’ and I am not on cocaine.

I just had some projects to work on and all day long I felt off. I couldn’t get my shit together. Struggled to make some deadlines, got a few things completed later than I’d hoped. At about eleven p.m. I finally had nearly everything complete and I hit a roadblock.  Then I had a mental breakdown.

So I needed another Slurpee. This would be Slurpee #2 of the day.

The next thing I knew, this happened.

Do I look happy? That’s because I’m not.

Now everything is finished, but it’s TOMORROW already and I have another pile of things to do and items on my to-do list.

How did I get so irresponsible!?

heartbreak dreams

Over the last few months, I’ve started dreaming again. It started with a bad dream.

After the first awful nightmare, I began having soft, comforting technicolor dreams and I woke up remembering them and smiling. I felt safe and assume that something is changing to allow for this new development. I thought maybe I was in a new place, I’m making a lot of life changes – there must be good things coming.

A few nights ago I woke straight up from a dead sleep after a strange dream. I imagined I was in the running for Miss America (this is not the point – so let us not dwell on my obvious ineligibility) and had been training as Miss Oregon for months. Then it came to the crowning and my Miss Oregon crown was taken and given to a girl who was once my friend. The other players in my dream were shocked, upset; even they couldn’t understand how it could be taken from me. When I woke up from this dream my heart hurt. It was a heavy, painful feeling that I can’t describe. I thought it would go away, so I tried to sleep – but that failed. I got up and went for a run at 5 a.m. and I couldn’t shake the heartbreak the dream had caused.

Two nights ago, I got home from a sorority sister’s wedding and curled up with too much wine sloshing around in my head. I felt good. I felt fuzzy and warm. I woke up, again, out of a dead sleep feeling hearbroken. I dreampt I was in a shotput tournament (I did do shotput in high school so I feel confidently that this dream was plausible) and though I was the obvious winner in the situation, some guy got my trophy. A man. In the women’s division.

It made no sense. I didn’t know this man in the dream or in life, but I was still heartbroken. Defeated.

This feeling has rarely come to me in life and I can’t understand where the dreams are coming from. So, obviously, I went to my trusty internets to find out the origin. I found this.

To dream that you are in a competition, represents your need to grow and expand. Learn the value of endurance and perseverance. Also be more assertive.

To dream that you win a competition, suggests that you possess the necessary skills to accomplish a goal or solve a problem in your waking life.

Since I keep losing the competitions, you can imagine what that means. I think i know where this might be coming from and if so, I definitely know how to fix it. So, let’s hope my working on some new projects, and actively addressing the unresolved issues floating around with the white wine in my head, help to get rid of these heartbreak dreams.

trying to fit in

I grew up in a family that always kept up with appearances. My hair was always perfect, my clothing ahead of the curve. This was mosty my Grandmother’s doing, but some of it rubbed off on me. I’ve always been into fashion and new trends – I wouldn’t say I’m a slave to it, but I definitely pay attention.

However, I still wear yoga pants for days on end and don’t always straighten my hair before I leave the house. In fact … sometimes … I don’t wear MAKEUP for days on end.  Yes, my skin can pull it off. Don’t be jealous.

But the last two weeks, I have been out of my league.

I have been living [house sitting ... but I pretend I live] here

And it looks like this inside

And whenever I get on the elevator, rich 60 year old ladies look at me strangely. They ask if I’m new. They stare at my tattoos like they’re watching two hillbillies kiss.

And a few weeks ago when I had too much to drink and then woke up still drunk the next day and walked the dog —- they all knew. They could see me sway at the building’s dog park.

At first I was angry. I wanted to growl at them all and scream. They reminded me of my Grandmother – telling me I looked awful or that my shirt wasn’t the right color or my hair needed to be brushed.

But I decided I should take advantage for the next week. I want these snobby ladies to know I can play their game.

I’m trying to tap into my Grandmother’s head. What would she tell me? What would she do? So I have decided that for the next week I will wear only dresses and flats when I go out, and wear sunglasses so I never have to look anyone in the eye. And it’s always okay to be drinking wine – no matter what the hour.

So maybe I do fit in?

Still not sure.

my thoughts on the topic …

The day after two icons pass away – there is much to reflect on.  Matt Lauer gave me a lot to think about this morning, as did MTV’s Sway – whose soothing voice drifted me off to sleep.

So I decided that, today, I am going to recap some things that The King of Pop and The Queen of Sex Symbols have taught me.

1.  Red is, by far, the best swimsuit color.

2.  White, on the other hand, is preferred for gloves.

3.  Glass balls floating behind your head creates a magical effect people will remember for ages.

4. When they say ‘why, why?’ tell ‘em it is human nature.

5. “The reason that the all-American boy prefers beauty to brains is that he can see better than he can think.” Farrah was so wise.

Other contributions:

- Justin Timberlake

- The highly underrated ‘Charlie’s Angels’ film (which I’m convinced would never have been made had Farrah not been in the TV show).

- Yearly Thriller Dance at Zombie Walk here in Portland.

- Subsequently, the Thriller Dance done by Filipino prisoners.

RIP Farrah and MJ.

Now, if you’ll excuse me – I am going to drink myself into oblivion this weekend and spend a LOT of time singing karaoke.

god damn you, celebrities!

I’m thinking that I need a break from Twitter.

‘OMG, why!?‘ you’re probably screaming.

Because I woke up this morning and, as is the case so often, I didn’t want to be up. So I rolled over and checked my phone. Of course I had a few texts … and then the Twitter drew me in.

‘What happened in the seven hours since I’ve been gone?’ I thought.

I spent the next fifteen minutes looking at Perez Hilton’s tweets about his alleged assault by Will.i.Am.

That’s right. At seven a.m. I was not making coffee or reading about the Iranian protest situation. I was not doing yoga or watching Matt Lauer’s return to The Today Show.

I was reading Perez Hilton’s tweets. His tweets from his Sidekick requesting that his followers call the Toronto police.

Jesus Christ.

Then – of course, I found Will.i.Am., who started a Twitter account simply to reject the accusations.

It was 7:15 a.m. and I was still going. Reading Tila Tequila’s replies to Will and her call for people to unfollow Perez.

Then reading celebrity’s replies to Perez hoping he’s well. Even Kim Kardashian cares, so it’s okay if I do.

It was 7:25 a.m. and I was still in my PJs.

And that’s when I realized … that Twitter is The Devil.

I must stop following celebrities. BECAUSE THEY DON’T KNOW I EXIST, NOR DO THEY CARE ABOUT MY OPINION.

…. For the record …. I’m taking a very progressive stand on this beef.

eff yeah, sweet freedom …. weeping … no, im cool.

welp. i didn’t get to keep my job.

this leaves me in quite the pickle. i have never been unemployed before, and i don’t know how i feel about it.

this was a position for graduate students, so it wasnt a full 40-hour, 9-5, pention kind of job. but i loved it for the most part.

so, now i am on the hunt for other jobs. and i feel a comrodery with the other hundreds of thousands out of a job right now.

so – if you want to hire me to do stuff for you, i will.

things like writing, singing, telling you you’re pretty, brushing your hair, and buying you drugs.

good things coming from this? Melissa Lion might pay me to watch her 3yo, who I am in love with. Roomie might get me a gig at her job (which actually relates to my career path) and above all else – I can post pictures of myself on the bloggie without worrying about people from work finding it. because after june 30th, i won’t have a god damn job!

EFF YES.

things are looking up.

oh jesus. what if i can’t pay rent!?

weep.weep.weep.

no – i’m ok. i’ll be ok.

i think.

preparing for professional death …

Long story short – I have to re-interview for my own job today.

There are other candidates. I want to vomit.

So, since my father’s worry-wort nature has prepared me to do so – I am planning for the worst.

The following are potential job avenues for me:

• Prostitute. [For obvious reasons. Mainly my stems.]

• Professional drinker.
• Personal shopper.
• Bad financial role model.
• Competitive sushi eater.
• Driver. [I would probably need something other than my '92 Intrepid. But whatever.]
• Stunt woman. As long as I don’t have to fall from tall buildings or really jump at all. I hate jumping.
• Drug dealer. Only prescription, though. I’m classy.
• Birthday party planner. For cool people.
• Mimosa maker. Not a bartender. A mimosa maker.
• Test eater for famous people in fear of poisoning.
• Bad joke teller. [I mean ... Dustin Fucking Diamond gets stand-up gigs!]

Any other ideas?

I DON’T WANT TO LIVE IN A BOX, PEOPLE!

Wish me luck today!

here’s to you, friday

It’s Friday. Obviously.

::warning: i felt like bombarding you with photos. deal.::

I usually like Fridays, and feel generally upbeat – the weekend is coming. The weekend means booze.

Fridays are usually pretty laid back in my office. Today we even have a dessert party!

So, today I wore my bright yellow moccasins. It’s yucky outside, so I thought I would make up for it by wearing shoes that make me happy.

The iPhone doesn’t do these justice, but they are canary yellow and hella comfortable.

But the shoes have not maintained my cheery disposition like I had hoped.

Instead – this day is going down the shitter. And fast.

It’s mother flipping Fleet Week, and the sailors are everywhere. I want to giggle and look at them. I want to write inappropriate instant messages to co-workers as we watch them pass by our windows.

But even my sassy single office buddies are grumbling about the weather and not getting laid. THAT’S WHAT SAILORS ARE FOR, LADIES!

I tried to cheer everyone up. I tried to hold on to my last string of happiness. I suggested a Starbucks trip. I ordered a Venti Americano with a shot of sugar free vanilla. To give the boost I needed.

The snarky blond bitch obviously wasn’t listening. She handed me this.

Kids – that’s a Venti Iced Coffee.

I’m a pussy, so I just said ‘thank you,’ picked up the coffee and walked out of the Starbucks.

I don’t like to rock the boat.

Walking back to the office, I turned to a coworker and exclaimed ‘This day is going to fucking suck, isn’t it?’

She looked at me. Blankly. Then said ‘Of course it is. Of course. Let’s just get through this without killing ourselves.’

And now, as I type this, our office manager is blasting ‘Born to be Wild’ and it is overshadowing my depressing Pandora mix.

I want to rip my ears off.

So – here’s to you, Friday.

Go fuck yourself.

you’re done with that PBR? i don’t think so!

I have talked about my struggle with money before.

But I’m thinking I need to start getting creative to save money. Let me know what you think:

1. I can’t do coke anymore. Too spendy. Should probably switch to speed or crack.[just kidding, Mom!]

2. I need to learn how to cook so that I don’t eat sushi every two days. I love raw fish, but I also love booze. I should budget booze into my … non existant budget.

3. If my job gets cut out of the budget [stupid education systems], I’m going to need to get another job. Where I make millions of dollars.

Something like a Princess. Do they have those posted on Craigslist!?

Look at Princess Grace for christsakes! She does NOT look worried about paying her cable bill!

In fact, she looks like she just got done watching an episode of a show on Bravo that I can’t watch because I can’t afford it.

Stupid Princesses.

4.  I will begin drinking other’s drinks at bars. A guy goes to the bathroom? I got his whiskey. Some chick is playing pool? That’s my vodka tonic. What? You’re done with that PBR? I don’t think so!

5. Beg. I am going to beg my parents to help me. My bills are covered. It’s the fun stuff … like food … that I need cash for.

6. Send Vimeos of me drinking and being hilarious to Conan O’Brien so he can discover me and ask me to come write for him.

Numbers 3 & 6 sound most likely to really help me out here.

what a waste…

The topic of my blog today is this gentleman.

And not just him, but thousands of others like him.

This man, in an attempt to get out of a drug violation, ate a bag of weed.

A bag. Of weed.

He, of course, gagged and threw up the marijuana in front of the police.  Which, of course, got him the drug violation and the delicious mug shot seen above.

Here is my question: Is this guy new? Has he been around pot before? Has he ever seen someone consume large quantities of mary jane and come out unscathed!?

Doubtful.

Every time I have seen a friend eat one too many pot brownies, they always end up on the floor screaming about elves and asking me to play a Backstreet Boys song on repeat for the next two hours.

I oblige, because it’s always time for BSB.

I digress.

Please, all of you, don’t eat weed. It’s a waste of perfectly good green and if you don’t die, you will simply be the laughing stock of … well, everyone. The entire world will know.

#seriously