The Not-So Empty Cookie

So Secure You'll Lock Yourself Out Every Time

2010-08-04T12:41:00.003-05:00

Dear Bank-I-Hate-More-Than-Any-Other-Bank-Ever,

You're impossible to deal with. No, seriously. Not only is your customer service the worst I've experienced, but your available services are severely limited compared to other banks, and your website is impossible to navigate. I can't click two places without being shuffled outside security and asked to log in again. For the seventh time in as many minutes. And your security questions just piss me off. THREE separate question-answer sessions required to log in? The actual questions are baffling, too...what ever happened to "what is the name of your pet?" Can we just install a retina scanner on my computer already and get this bullshit over with?

*sigh*

Since I know you're not willing to work with me on this, I'm sending you a complete list of candid answers to your proposed security questions. Please see below.

Love always,
M

Question 1 Options:
*What year did you start elementary/grade school?
Are we talking kindergarten or first grade? Shit, how old was I then? I can't remember...okay, subtract 10, carry the 1, add 4, spin in circles three times...ugh, forget this one.

*What was the first musical concert you attended?
I cannot remember what I ate for dinner last night, I absolutely cannot remember the first concert I attended. It was probably Elmo on Ice or something, but I'm also not going to remember whether or not I capitalized E and I when I typed it in on this godforsaken website.

*What is the first name of your spouse's mother?
Why do you hate single people?

Question 2 Options:
*What was the name of your college roommate?
Oh my god I finally know the answer to one.

*What was your birth weight?
Well, you see, I vividly remember the moment when the doctor placed my minutes-old naked body on the scale and it read.....I HAVE NO IDEA

*What is the name of your oldest child?
as;lkjgaeo;riuy;kljdfklhj

Question 3 Options:
*In what city was your paternal grandfather born?
I would ask him but he is DEAD...way to make it awkward.

*In what city did your parents meet?
SERIOUSLY HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THESE ANSWERS

*What year were you married?
That is it, I am suing for anti-single bias. Fuckers.

Happy Birthday to Me!

2010-08-01T23:45:00.000-05:00

Well, I did it. I survived another year.

Much love to my friends who were able to make it out to celebrate with me this weekend, and also to everyone who sent birthday wishes. You all mean more to me than you probably realize.

I'm declaring an official end to my quarter-life crisi.

And I have a new mantra:
Old enough to know better, not old enough to stop.

I'm really looking forward to this one.

~M

I Prefer Bruce Wayne to Batman, Really

2010-07-22T09:01:00.000-05:00

I was so inspired by the Warrior Dash in Dallas that I decided to start training for the Tough Mudder (and round two of Warrior Dash in Austin). For those of you unfamiliar, WD = 3.5 miles of mud and obstacles, TM = 10 miles of mud and obstacles.

Apparently under my prissy exterior I'm a masochist.

So far my "training" has consisted of upping my runs to a consistent 15 miles (ish) a week and slowly increasing each week's longest run. I'm up to 7.5 miles which makes me think I might not die in Austin in February. Unless I drown during the swimming, but I'll think about that later. I'll also think about the strength-training later. Maybe.

Getting these runs in requires all sorts of balancing and trade-offs. Balancing pain between being sore and re-tearing the tendon in my foot. Balancing time between work, studying, running, and actually returning friends' phone calls and trying to have a social life once in a while. Balancing time of day between "oh my God it's so hot out here I think I might die of heat stroke" and "getting killed by a homeless guy in the dark so he can trade my iPod for hookers and blow."

It has not been easy, my friends.

Somehow I've found a way - leave work at a certain time so I can study for an hour then rack up miles on the trail before it gets dark. Then I study more.

But one challenge remains: my runs take me past a bat colony toward the end of my run, around dusk. On longer runs, I pass the bridge three or four times. For six weeks I was able to make it under the bridge without any debacles.

I'm pretty sure you can see where this is going.

Last week, during my first pass under the bridge on my long run, I noticed that there were some weird splotchy things on the sidewalk. Closer inspection (aka I actually looked down) showed them to be dead, flattened bat carcasses. I WAS STEPPING ON DEAD BATS, Y'ALL.

Three miles and thirty minutes of wondering whether I should bleach and/or throw away my shoes and trying not to dry heave later, I approached the bridge from the other side of the bayou. I could hear bat murmurings, and the typical crowd of spectators was there to watch the nightly bat-flight (seriously, why do people gather for these things?), but I decided to tempt fate again.

I was halfway down the ten-foot embankment when WHOOSH went the swarm of bats, inches from my face. I screamed like a little girl, flailed my arms, and sprinted back up the hill. The spectators definitely got entertainment value for their money that night.

Please note, bat-watching is free. I cannot please everyone.

I think it was karma for stepping on their dead brothers. I also think I'll be sticking to the road instead of running under the bridge from now on.

~M

Probably Should Have Stopped Talking After "Hi"

2010-07-20T13:40:00.004-05:00

Lee and I were having dinner a couple months back when we ran into guy-with-the-imaginary-girlfriend-from-last-year-with-whom-things-didn't-turn-out-so-well. Or maybe he ran into us. Or maybe he was just unlucky enough to be meeting the group at the table behind ours.

I've run into him a few times since things didn't turn out so well, and it always feels super-awkward because I *might* have completely lost my sh*t on him and flipped out a teeny bit more than I should have.

I barely had time to say "Lee, he is right behind us, f*ck me" under my breath before he noticed us.

Him: "Hey."

Me: "Hey."

Him: "You, again?"

Me: "Yeah, I'm actually stalking you."

Him: (Long silence, puzzled look.)

Me: "I mean, I'm probably the worst stalker ever because you saw me here. If I was really good at it you'd never know I was doing it." Oh, God.

Him: "Shut up. So how are you?"

Me: "Good, you?"

Him: "Good."

Then he walked off. Lee laughed. I was all seriously that's what just came out of my mouth when I could have said anything and why didn't I stop talking?

Because I'm so incredibly smooth, that's why.

__________________________________________________________________

Fast forward to about a month ago, when I ran into him at a baseball game.

Him: "Still following me around, huh? Can't help yourself can you?"

Me: "Yup, still stalking you. Still sucking at it."

That time, I had enough composure to walk off. As I walked away, one of my friends said, "Oh my God, could he have been any more blatant about begging for attention from you?"

Well hell, I never thought about it that way.

And she was right, two hours and 10 text messages later. Yup, I still got it.

~M

When Independence Meant More

2010-07-05T23:00:00.003-05:00

It was sometime around 1940, in a small rural town. He was an upstanding young man who loved his country and his small town, who worked hard every day in hope of achieving the American dream. He was barely into his twenties and making ends meet at the local grocery while planning to join the Army.

Every day he watched a beautiful young lady walk across the street to the local soda shop on her lunch break. And every day he told his boss, "I'm going to marry her someday."

It went on for months before his boss finally made him take his lunch break at the same time and pushed him out the front door of the grocery, into the path of the young lady.

And in that fateful moment, the young man did the only thing he knew how - he held his head high and his shoulders back, and he walked over and stood right next to her as she prepared to cross the street.

Then he spoke. "If you're lucky, I might let you walk across the street with me."

Thank God my grandmother had a sense of humor, or I wouldn't be here today. And damn if I didn't inherit my grandfather's twisted sense of humor.

My grandfather was one of the most upstanding men I've ever met. He was so hard-working, so kind, so selfless. He loved America and he loved his family. He literally fought for what be believed during World War II. He believed that our independence was sacred and worth protecting.

And he walked across the street every day with that beautiful lady through more than 55 years of marriage, until she passed. Then he went peacefully himself, six months after she, six years ago. On the fourth of July.

There could not have been a more apt time for him to go.

Every time I watch the fireworks, I'm reminded of him - I hope that he knows that I loved him and that I'm sorry I didn't get to know him better when I had the chance. I hope he knows that every year on the fourth, for the rest of my life, I will take a step back and remember what really matters.

~M

To Create Being, or Not to Create Being

2010-07-02T19:58:00.003-05:00

I don't really know where I stand on kids. Well, having kids that is.

I'm pretty sure I'm genetically predisposed to disliking other people's. Once, Roomie and I were having dinner at Kerbey Lane and she says "Ugh, that is the best birth control I've ever seen," and I turned around to see an elementary-aged kid with a fistful of pancake-butter-syrup, smearing it all over his plate and the table. Thank God Kerbey Lane pancakes are so amazing that the image didn't make me want to give them up forever.

I could argue either side of the having kids - not having kids debate. It's a huge sacrifice. It's an experience that I would be loathe to miss. It could destroy my body. Some of the hottest women I know have children. I've been responsible for the death of many a fish and plant in my day. Maybe I would have the instincts to sustain the life of another human being.

Clearly, it's not a responsibility that I'm ready to take on at this point in my life. I frequently forget to feed my cat and/or myself. (Don't worry about the cat, he's a fat boy.) Somehow the topic of children came up on a date recently, and my date was giving me crap about my irresponsibility. I kindly reminded him that he himself had forgotten dinner that evening, and he said, "Yeah, that would totally suck, to be sitting in my office at work around noon and think 'Oh shit, I forgot to feed the kids again.'"

I've been thinking more about the idea of children lately because I'm getting older, more people I know are having kids, and it would be nice to have an answer better than "I have no idea" when people ask me how I feel about the issue. And because I've finally reached a point in my life where I can admire a baby's cuteness without wanting to punch myself in the uterus. Sometimes.

So, maybe one day.

Last weekend one of my friends asked me if I was pregnant. This was odd because it was completely off-topic, because I'm kinda skinny and have reasonably flat abs, and because YOU NEVER ASK A WOMAN THAT QUESTION. It was even more odd because we were standing in a bar drinking. When I responded that I am, without a doubt for many reasons I didn't need to enumerate, sure that I am not with child, he said "Well, immaculate conception has happened before." So I said "And on that note, mah baby needs teh vodka" and grabbed another martini.

Pardon me if my reaction was a bit strong, but: Fucking. Weird.

A few weeks ago, I found myself in a situation that clearly defined how far I am from ready to have a baby.

If you're a guy who personally knows me, or if you're squeamish, stop reading now.

No seriously, stop reading and go read ESPN or something.

One of the girls I work with had a baby. When the baby was about three weeks old, she brought her into the office for a glorified show-and-tell session. As we all stood around the stroller, watching the baby coo and blow spit-bubbles, I thought: Oh my goodness, she is so cute. Completely adorable. Wow. Maybe I could really do that one day. I kind of want to hold her. Wait, how old is she? Three weeks? Babies don't really gain that much weight that early on in their lives do they? Good God she's really big. OH MY GOD SOMETHING THAT BIG JUST CAME OUT OF A VAGINA. I THINK I NEED TO GO BACK TO MY OFFICE AND SIT DOWN.

~M

And Then Orange Goo Came Out of My Bathtub

2010-06-26T19:21:00.004-05:00

On my way home from work the other day, I noticed that the light outside my front door was flickering, and I thought, Hmm, I wonder if I'm the gatekeeper or the keymaster?

Then I thought, Where on earth did that come from? And cursed my parents for watching Ghostbusters over and over with me when I was a kid. And maybe a couple times last summer.

As I walked toward my place, I envisioned opening the door to another dimension filled with demons and Sta-Puff marshmallow monsters, one where I would be wearing a flowy white dress and standing on the precipice of doom.

Then I decided, Well shit, I can think of worse ways to spend a Thursday night.

Clearly, I have a vivid imagination.

And needless to say, I didn't spend my evening in an alternate dimension, but rather watching a movie and drinking a glass of wine on the couch.

Boring.

~M

(p.s. When my hair was red, every time I showered the color would bleed and my bathtub really would look like the Ghostbusters scene with the orange slime. It was awesome.)

Not Only Am I Good with Details, I'm Prompt

2010-06-26T19:00:00.005-05:00

So I'm way behind on catching up and I'm an idiot when it comes to replying to comments, so first a little house-keeping - the wine I was on the hunt for in my last post was 2008 Urban Riesling from the St. Urban-Hof winery in Mosel, Germany. It's a green bottle with a solid colored label that says "Urban" and "2008" in gold really big on the front.

That matters because the same winery makes a St. Urban Riesling as well and that caused me two reorders and a lot of substitute wine-drinking.

If you're able to get your hands on some, I hope you enjoy it. And feel free to mail me a bottle or 7, and/or pass along the name of the person who could find it for you.

Great, now I'm entering the black market of wine dealing.

And if anyone can teach me how to reply to comments, I'd be willing to thank you with wine. Or I could show you how to do anything nerdy in Excel, or maybe even give you bad tax advice.

__________________________________________________

To add even more random to random, I've adopted a new motto, at least until the World Cup is over: "I woke up early for this and no one even scored?!?"

I think it fits my life pretty well.

~M

Cooler, Schmooler, Fridge, Whatever

2010-06-16T23:15:00.002-05:00

Last summer, the guy I was dating left two bottles of Riesling and a set of expensive wine glasses at my place when he rushed out of my life, dumping me for his wife. (Apparently his definition of "divorced" was different from Merriam Webster's and didn't actually involve any legal proceedings or intent to ever file paperwork, but whatever.)

One night I opened one of the bottles, poured a glass to commiserate and realized: it was love.

Seriously. It was the best effing Riesling I'd had in my entire life.

I set off on a quest to buy myself a case (everything in moderation, heh) - it took two months of working with a representative at Spec's and a special order from a distributor in New York, but it finally arrived in late fall.

As I sat the box on my counter, I realized I would look like I had a drinking problem if I put all 12 bottles in my refrigerator. I wasn't about to let it sit at room temperature and ruin, however, so I did what any problem-solving urban-huntress would do: I went to Target.

Fast forward 30 minutes after walking into Target, and I'm standing in the mini-fridge aisle, dumbfounded. One of the employees finally walked over to help.

Me: Hi, I'm looking for a wine cooler, do you have any?
Him: A wine cooler?
Me: Yes.
Him: Just one?
Me: Absolutely, I just need one.
Him: I don't think we sell them individually.
Me: Why on earth would you not sell them individually?
Him (reaching out and touching my arm gently): Ma'am, we don't sell them individually. And you can't drink inside the store.

Oh. And the light bulb came on. I kindly explained that I meant wine refrigerator, not alcoholic-beverage-imbibed-by-underage-kids, and he helped me pick one and carry it to my car.

I'm not sure what kind of vibe I was giving off that made me seem like I desperately needed a drink inside Target on a Saturday morning, but at least now I have a special place to store my awesome wine.

And seven bottles left.

~M

I Made a Friend at the Flying Saucer

2010-06-03T11:36:00.000-05:00

We didn't start out as the best of friends. In fact, we were barely acquaintances.

Sure, we spent anywhere between 40 and 80 hours a week together, slaving away in the same room at work, but we didn't really know each other.

Until one night, when we were celebrating AT's departure from our firm (and subsequent freedom), we sidled up to the bar together. I was ranting about something, per usual, and said "I'm just so tired of it. Everyone thinks I'm a huge bitch."

She looked at me, tilted her head, and said "Yeah."

I instantly knew - we were going to be friends. If there's anything I can respect in this world, it's someone who can look me in the eyes and call me a bitch to my face.

I don't think she'd tell the story the same way. She'd probably say that she was sympathizing and it came out wrong. Or at least that was her original story :)

I taught her to stand up for herself, to not take shit from people. She taught me to be nicer, to give people the benefit of the doubt. I spent the first year of our friendship dying a little bit inside every time she said something feisty. Now I just give her a high-five.

It's been fun having a partner in crime, someone who can call me out on the days I'm being a wallflower or losing courage, someone who can teach me a lot about being a better person and better friend, and someone who will never say no when a stranger offers us a shot.

Today, I wish her well as she takes off on the newest part of her journey in life and returns to Austin.

Lee - it's been a wild ride, one that I'm sure neither of us saw coming. I'll never forget the time you showed me how to shotgun a beer, the time we decided it was raining mud at Jack in the Box, or the time you decided "Enter Sandman" would be good music while on hold with Continental Airlines....or about 1000 other fun memories.

I'll miss you a lot, but I know that it's "see you soon" and not "good-bye." Kick ass, take names, and say hello to 6th Street for me (only partially kidding on that last one).

And like you said, Vegas or bust for your 30th birthday, even if we're married and pregnant. Even though that's only 15 months from now.

Well, we've seen crazier shit happen.

~M

(p.s. I'm certainly not crying as I write this, because that would be very un-bitch of me. Look what you did, hahaha.)
(p.p.s. Hey look AT, you made my blog twice in 24 hours. That's the real shit right there.)

So....I'm Still Here

2010-06-02T23:31:00.002-05:00

This blog and its recent blackout have been on my mind a lot lately. I have so much I want to write but no words to explain. It's been a whirlwind of a few weeks for me, and a lot of what I've been through is too personal to post here. Maybe one day, once the wounds are less tender.

Call it a quarter-life crisis (if I'm planning on being realllllly old), a mid-life crisis (if I'm planning on going out in a blaze of glory), a breakdown, what-freaking-ever. But I'm okay. Things are on the up and up now, and the Not-So-Empty-Cookie is far from dead.

AT asked me tonight what's up with this blog, and my response was "It's been so long now that I don't know how to come back, I don't know how to explain, I don't know how to reintroduce myself, other than to say - Um, yeah, so....I'm still here."

So, um, yeah....I'm still here.

~M

Wherein I Admit to Jumping on the Twilight Bandwagon

2010-05-11T10:05:00.000-05:00

I consider myself a reasonable girl who can admit she was wrong. I describe myself as opinionated but open to others' ideas and feelings, willing to see other points of view and eat my words if necessary.

The last thing that made me eat my words? The Twilight books.

::insert sound of thousands of teenage girls screaming "SQUEEEE!"::

I talked shit about the Twilight franchise for over a year. Then I decided I needed a hobby, and reading seemed like something I could handle, and a coworker was extolling Twilight's virtues in the kitchen at work one day, so I decided to give Team Edward a chance. And, dear God, I spent two straight weeks in January doing nothing but going to work and staying up late to finish all four books. I may have been so obsessed at one point that I looked up the plot of New Moon on Wikipedia just so I could focus at work. (If anyone from work happens to read this, that last sentence = not true.)

It's only been a few months but I'm thinking of reading the books again. That's how much I've fallen in love with the Twilight empire.

I was discussing this with Little Brother the other day, and needless to say he does not share my point of view. His opinion is something like, "Twilight is ridiculous. Bella is a character who not only doesn't have a personality but is so bland she could be anybody. And she has two guys who are otherworldly and completely special fighting over her. I just don't understand why girls are into the story at all."

Um, LB, let's reiterate - girl being fought over by guys totally out of her league? That, my friend, is the American dream. Sign me up.

Thoughts on Karma and Cat Pee

2010-05-10T21:43:00.005-05:00

Side Note: So. Yeah. This blog went dark for a couple weeks while I dealt with some personal stuff. And now I'm back, with the second half of my cat pee story. Carry on.

N and I were together less than a year but carried on a three-year, cross-country, love-hate affair after our breakup. We finally stopped speaking about a year ago. In retrospect, I should have saved all the money I spent flying all over the place to see him and bought myself something nice. Something nice that didn't tell me I should use wrinkle cream so I wouldn't "look like shit by the age of 25." (Note: I think I turned out quite nicely, thankyouverymuch...)

Anyway, N came to Houston two summers ago for a weekend. When he arrived, I let Burke out in the apartment hallway to say hello. N ran at Burke, yelling and chasing him down the hallway. Because he thought it would be "funny." Clearly it worked, because Burke made a horrible screeching noise never heard before nor since and started clawing at my neighbor's door. I scolded N, sent him inside, and spent 15 minutes trying to calm Burke down enough to get him through my front door.

(He's a big cat - if he doesn't want to do something, it's hard to me to wrangle him. Don't judge me.)

Things seemed to calm down between the two alpha males until N and I were getting ready for dinner and drinks. N was primping in my bathroom and I was trying on various shoes in my closet when Burke walked into my bedroom and right into N's suitcase.

Burke looked at me, then at N, then back at me, then back at N, and peed all over N's stuff.

N started yelling something incoherent about his designer shirts being "just ruined." Then we got in a huge fight because my reaction was to exclaim "that's my boy!" while doubling over with laughter. He made me cry during dinner and the weekend did not end well.

But he's the one who ended up with cat pee all over his pretty clothes. Karma's a bitch.

The Inside of a Toilet Bowl is NOT the Happiest Place on Earth

2010-04-28T15:34:00.005-05:00

The coolest thing my former employer ever did was send all of us to Disneyworld for "team-building." It was the first time I'd ever been there, and my assigned week happened to fall on my 22nd birthday.

I somehow managed to leave for Orlando with my cell phone locked securely in my car trunk. Or, should I say, the small chasm between the backseat and bumper of my Camaro. I don't consider it a real trunk unless you can fit a person inside. A live person, of course.

N (my Ex with the capital E) and I had been together for a few months and were already discussing marriage / cross-country moves, so I figured ~~I'd be in big trouble if I didn't call for three days~~ he'd feel sad and hurt if I didn't call for three days.

After a ~~freaking awesome~~ long, tiring day of exploring the Magic Kingdom and learning the team-building skills necessary to make a topiary (did you know that there is damp, moldy moss involved? I sure as hell didn't when I volunteered), I found time to call N from the hotel room. After the obligatory exchange of "Thank God you're alive" and "I was so worried I hadn't heard from you," his tone became very serious.

"Baby, there's something I need to tell you. I really need to tell you but I don't want you to be mad at me. Maybe you should sit down."

Panic set in as I wondered what sort of bomb he was going to drop on me while i was at THE HAPPIEST EFFING PLACE ON EARTH. I mean really, of all places? Where is the justice in the world? Did he cheat? Did he burn my apartment down? Who died?

(Note to self - get that shit under control and stop freaking out.)

I started to hyperventilate and he started to ramble. "So I stayed at your place last night because it's closer to campus and I hope you don't mind but I didn't want to make the drive this morning and I just did it but I didn't go through your stuff or anything and so anyway I wake up this morning because you know I have to go to class and the first thing I do is go into the bathroom because you know that's what I have to do when I first wake up, is pee..."

And I'm wondering Where. On. Earth. Is. This. Going.

"...and so I'm standing there peeing because I stand when I pee and I have the toilet seat up because that's what I do when I stand there and Burke runs in and he's excited to see me and I just can't stop him in time..."

By then I'm assuming that Burke mauled N's naughty parts and then N killed him.

"...and he jumps on the toilet seat and I try to grab him but I'm not fast enough and he slips and I just can't stop and...and...and... Baby, I'm really sorry, but I peed on your cat."

I laughed until I had tears streaming down my face and fell off the bed. Then I told my coworkers and they laughed until they had tears streaming down their faces and fell off the bed. And then we ate Mickey Mouse-shaped cookies, and pizza, and ice cream, because that's what you do at the happiest effing place on earth. I didn't even care whether or not N had rinsed Burke off.

(P.S. Look who took 2 seconds to Google how to make strike-through text. I'm one step closer to world domination now, mwuaha.)

The Eyes Have It

2010-04-27T15:42:00.005-05:00

I had an amazing weekend, one that provided some interesting stories. However, as is typical, I've been too busy re-immersing myself in the real world to collect the pictures or start drafting the stories. So I took the cop-out approach today and gave myself a mini blog makeover.

A new blog look to compliment my new look. A look which I have been too busy to take pictures of, but let me assure you it's awesome. Or so I've been told. Quite possibly by people are too scared to tell me otherwise, but I like it and my hair matches my eyebrows for the first time I can remember and I think that's gotta mean something.

So until I can do better on the visual side - hey! look! it's a new blog template that's all pretty and has orange! and red! and flowers!

And until I can do better on the content side - hey! look! here's a short story I've been meaning to write up for almost a year now!
_______________________________________________________________________

In Vegas last summer, someone pulled my friend aside as he was walking across Tao Beach and said, "Hey, are you here with the redhead with the fuck-you eyes? She's gorgeous."

(Okay, so those may not have been his exact words but there was a compliment in there somewhere and that's not even the point of this story.)

Being me, I completely glossed over the compliment part while hearing the story and said, "He said fuck-you eyes? What does that mean? Did he mean fuck-me eyes, as in I'm seductive? Or did he mean fuck-you eyes as in I give off a 'look at me the wrong way and I will squish you' vibe?"

And being the wonderful man that he is, my friend responded, "Knowing you, and having looked at you, I'd say both."

I concur.

The End of an Era

2010-04-22T16:31:00.001-05:00

Two years ago, I came home from work one day and dyed my hair fire-engine red. I was angry, I was hurt, and I was disappointed with how my life had turned out. I wanted an outward way to express how I felt, and bright red hair was my way of saying "fuck you, world" in the most extreme way I could think of without losing my credibility (professional and personal).

Two weeks later, I interviewed for and accepted the job I have now.

And I was stuck with the red hair.

I embraced the change over time, accepting my new life as the feisty, loudmouthed, and sometimes affectionately-titled "Red." And let me tell you, I've met every expectation and cliche out there.

My red hair has been my identity, my security blanket, my excuse, and my crutch.

But it's time to let it go. I'm not angry anymore, and I don't need to hide behind a mask. I'm ready to start a new era in my life. It's about damn time I found the girl who got lost somewhere along the way and bring her back to face the world as a stronger, wiser version of herself.

So when this posts, I'll be sitting in a salon chair going back (or at least closer) to my roots. And probably crying like a baby, like I am while writing this.

Goodbye, Red, it was so fun while it lasted, but it's time to let you go.

Brownies. On a Plate. Next to my Car.

2010-04-20T17:33:00.004-05:00

One day last week, I saw this next to my car as I was leaving work:

And my thought process went something like this:

Ooh, somebody left me a present!

Wait, that is a weird place to leave a present.

Ooh, brownies.

That's gross, so germy.

What a waste.

I wonder if the one sitting on the plate is still clean...

Come on, don't eat the brownies off the garage floor. That's worse than eating cookies out of your kitchen trash can.
(not that I've ever done that before, *cough*)

So I mustered up some self-control and snapped a picture with my phone instead. Moral of the story: don't eat the special brownies.

Just a Little Creepy

2010-04-19T09:08:00.000-05:00

On my flight home from the Bahamas, I sat next to a cute, talkative guy. The only problem, other than that his tendency for conversation was preventing me from sleeping off a hangover, was that he was 21.

Anyway, we chatted the entire flight, and said an awkward goodbye as we deplaned. We kept catching each others' glances from across the terminal as we walked our separate directions, but neither of us did anything about it.

I couldn't help thinking to myself, He was a cute kid, I should have given him my info.

So I got home and did what any creepy Internet stalker would do - cross-referenced his college's hockey roster with Facebook, and sent him a friend request. I figured he'd either be amazed or repulsed.

It's been two weeks and he's either repulsed or hasn't logged into Facebook. Seeing as how he's in college and probably lives on Facebook, I'm betting on repulsion. Yikes.

At least I tried, right?

What is Normal Anyway?

2010-04-18T17:04:00.004-05:00

I suspect that a lot of my relationship problems (friendships and romances) stem from my complete lack of a grasp on normalcy. I was talking to my Dad the other day, and I was describing the problem to him:

"Dad, I've seen so much weird shit that I don't even know what normal is anymore. I have no idea. I wouldn't know normal if it walked up and punched me in the face. Actually, if someone wearing a shirt that said "normal" walked up and punched me in the face, I'd be all THAT'S NOT NORMAL."

I'm glad he has a sense of humor and understands my pain.

So in the meantime I'm going to try to immerse myself in as much "normal" as I can find.

Denied

2010-04-08T08:14:00.000-05:00

If there's one thing I learned in the Bahamas, it's that I'm really good at shooting guys down. Take a few examples:

Guy #1: Do you want to dance?
Me: Sure, why not?
Guy #1: Seriously? Really? You're not kidding and being mean just to screw with me?
Me: Okay, I have now changed my mind.
He walked off.

Guy #2: I noticed you smiling at me while I walked by, what's up?
Me: Have you ever seen that Youtube video "My new haircut"?
Guy #2: Yeah.
Me: Yeah, you're that guy.
He walked off.

Guy #3: Why don't you want to go home with me? I'm the best guy in here.
Me: Um, sorry, but I just want to have fun with my friends.
Guy #3: But I bought you a drink.
Me: Yeah, I told you that you didn't have to. I'm sorry, I'm going to go find my friends.
Guy #3: But I bought you a drink.
Me: Look dude, if I fucked every guy who ever bought me a Bud Light, I'd be a dirty, dirty whore. If it's that big of a deal, I'll give you $20 to go away.
Guy #3: So are you saying that you're not interested?
Me: Do you want the money or not?
Guy #3: I'm not leaving until you explicitly tell me to go away.
Me: Go away.

In retrospect, I should have given Guy #1 a pep talk (fake it until you make it, sweetheart) and just left Guy #2 alone. Guy #3 probably deserved it. So my project for April is to not be so difficult. We'll see how that goes.

Wordless Wednesday

2010-04-07T10:27:00.000-05:00

Give Me a Sign

2010-04-06T09:55:00.000-05:00

During February, I fell in love with a pair of shoes at the Galleria. Beautiful white leather, quilted Dior peep-toe pumps. Beautiful, expensive pumps. I didn't want to regret an impulse buy, so I decided to give myself a month to think about it.

With one week to go, I had no idea what I was going to do, so I said, "God, give me a sign," and headed out with some friends on a Friday night.

Within five minutes of walking into the bar, a random guy spilled his beer on my left shoe. Literally thirty seconds after, a girl walked by and dumped an entire drink on my right shoe.

I GET IT, GOD.

My friends and I wandered over to the other side of the bar to grab a table, and on the way someone at the DJ booth knocked a drink off the balcony and it went straight down the back of my pants.

OKAY GOD, WAS THAT REALLY NECESSARY? I mean, really.

So, I bought a laptop instead of the shoes. Then I left it in the box for a month because of the fear that oh no, I bought something I know nothing about and what if I got the wrong one and want to take it back but I can't and I'm stuck with it and oooh, I don't want to regret my decision. I didn't take it out of the box until the 30 return period was over.

With that level of anxiety, I CLEARLY didn't need a pair of $800 white leather shoes.

Quick Catch-Up

2010-04-05T20:48:00.001-05:00

I had all sorts of grand plans to write before leaving for the Bahamas last week. Just like doing my laundry, working out, and all of the other things I planned to do before leaving, it didn't happen. Work's been a bit busy lately.

I missed Easter with my family and Burke's fifth birthday. It was the first time I was away from my family on Easter, and the fifth time I forgot Burke's birthday. Poor kitten. One of these days I'll remember to dress him up in a stupid costume and take pictures.

Now I'm back home and back in the grind at work. Can't wait for things to get back to "normal." I won my office NCAA pool, so I think my luck might finally be turning around ;)

Quote of the Week

2010-03-26T08:59:00.000-05:00

"Well, either he's telling the truth or he punched himself in the face for another chance with me. Either way, he's getting that chance."

First Cousins

2010-03-22T08:51:00.000-05:00

I woke up a few days ago to an email from the Roommate:

Ok so it's 4:00am this morning and my phone rings. I don’t recognize the 512 number so I silence it and fall back asleep. About 20 seconds later, my phone rings again with the same number. Now I'm thinking "what if it's a friend or something important like an emergency to try and keep trying to reach me" so I answer it all groggy and pretty much still asleep. Here's how the conversation went:

Me: "Hello?"
Person: "Hi Roommate" (man's voice)
Me: creeped out at this point. "Who is this?"
Person: I hear him say "This is one of your first cousins" but after I hung up the phone I'm thinking he said "This is one of your ex-boyfriends". Now I'm currently living with one of my 2 ex-boyfriends so process of elimination leads me to believe it's psycho Ex. Lovely.
Me: "Who? Who is this?" (b/c i'm completely confused why a first cousin would call me at this hour mind you)
Person: "I have the wrong number. Sorry. Bye". Hangs up

What the fuck? I havent spoken to this sack of shit in almost 5 yrs and he thinks it appropriate to call me at 4:00am to have a reunion conversation. I mean really. I guess he got a 512 number finally or was using some other phone or whatever but jesus, I'm too old for this bullshit. Anyways, thought you'd enjoy this story. I wanted to get it out before I forgot any details or my line of thinking. I'm sure we'll chat about this later.

So I did what any good friend would do – got the number from her and ran a reverse phone lookup to see if it was her ex. That didn’t work, so I blocked my number and started calling the number over and over. If it really was her ex, even better because he works nights so I would be interrupting his daytime sleep. The first time, it rang once, then silence. The second time, twice. The third time, I made it all the way to three rings before a shuffling noise and a hang-up. I really wanted whoever it was to stay on the phone long enough for me to yell “WHY YOU NO LOVE ME NO MORE?” but that didn’t work out.

We thought about setting up an internet service to call the number every five minutes for two days but thought better of it, just in case is was the ex and he knows where she lives.

Whoever it was hasn’t bothered her since. Mission accomplished.

A Little Friday Randomness

2010-03-19T11:18:00.000-05:00

Here are some random things that happened to me recently, none of which quite deserve their own post:

Straightened my hair and wore it down to a wedding. Got asked by three people how my stylist got the extensions the right color red. Realized I should probably do my hair more often.
Had an asthma attack in the middle of spin class because the guy next to me smelled so bad. Did a discreet underarm check to make sure it wasn’t me.
Met a guy at a bar (shocking, I know). Gave him my number because he seemed nice, even though totally not my type. He left me a message: “Hey, just wanted to say I’m intrigued by you. And I bet you have a cat. I don’t know if you have a cat or not, but you just kind of seem like the type of girl who has a cat.” Didn’t call him back.
Had someone tell me “Your vocabulary is too extensive for you to just be a party girl, don’t worry about me stereotyping you. But I can’t take you seriously when you’re wearing those sunglasses.”
Reached a point while out where I responded to everything anyone said to me by crossing my arms and yelling “I’M FINE!” Informed friends this is now sign #1 it’s time for me to go home.
Got pegged in the kidneys during kickball. While hungover. Did not like that feeling much. Rectified the situation by yelling “guys who peg girls with kickballs are douchebags” repeatedly.
Found out a bunch of people I know read this blog. Decided that’s actually worse than no one reading it because now I can’t be all “oh my god I totally want to hook up with that guy from the party on Saturday” because everyone will know who I’m talking about.

Okay, hell, I think we all know I’ll do it anyway, now I’ll just have to be embarrassed about it.

Busted

2010-03-18T09:03:00.000-05:00

Last weekend my friend B had a few drinks and apparently started feeling a little frisky. She texted one of her boytoys at 3am:

“Come over. Now. I don’t give a fuck if you want to date me or not.”

So of course she wakes up the next morning, sees the text, and needs a way out. So she texts:

“Hey, sorry about that text last night. Megan had a little too much to drink and had some fun with my phone.”

When she’s telling me the story, this is the point where I’m like “oh, hell no, you just threw me under the bus and I wasn’t even there?!?”

Anyway, the guy responds, “No worries, we all have a little too much fun sometimes. I was three hours away but I seriously considered it. And don’t even try to blame that on Megan, we know it was you.”

Vindicated!

And I’m glad that he went over to see her later that weekend ;)

Bahama Mama?

2010-03-17T16:15:00.005-05:00

I’m going to the Bahamas in two weeks, and this is where I am in the preparation process:

(Yes, that's actually a picture of me upside-down in a snowdrift.)

Things I need to do before going on vacation:

1. 5,000 squats
2. 10,000 crunches
3. Start the diet plan I’ve been thinking about for a month
4. Find my passport
5. Buy new sunglasses
6. Get a base tan
7. Dig some swimsuits out from under my winter clothes
8. Buy a new camera battery (so I can have proof of our adventures)
9. Practice snorkeling in my bathtub
10. Send a preemptive apology email to everyone else going on the trip

Funny side note – I was telling a friend about the upcoming trip and everything we have planned to do while we’re there, and he pointed to my hair and said “You can get that wet?!?”

Maybe I should add wigs/swim-caps to my packing list.

Eyelash Curlers

2010-03-11T15:21:00.001-06:00

It was fall of my last year of college, during the time when The Ex and I were planning on graduating and moving to New York together. (Please note that I actually graduated that year, he didn’t. Ha. And neither of us ended up in NYC, but that’s whatever.)

We’d stayed at my place the night before, as we usually did during the week, because it was closer to campus than his place. He’d gotten up and gone to campus while I slept in (man I miss my college schedule).

I stumbled out of bed around 10 and went to shower. As I stood in the bathroom rubbing my eyes, I noticed an eyelash curler sitting on my sink.

That’s odd.

Did the Roommate leave that there? No, she has her own bathroom.

Did I leave that there? I don’t think I did.

Wait.

My eyelash curler has a purple handle, this one is black.

Is he cheating on me IN MY OWN APARTMENT? There’s no way he could pull that off without the Roommate or I finding out.

Oh.

My.

God.

It’s his.

I died laughing. And I died laughing again when I confronted The Ex about it. And then we got in a huge fight because I was being “disrespectful” of his “masculinity.”

Or something like that. I was laughing too hard to pay attention.

Almost Wordless Wednesday

2010-03-10T09:16:00.000-06:00

My friends think they have a sense of humor.

The resemblance is striking.

Angels Botox, Too

2010-03-04T14:15:00.000-06:00

Last Friday I went to a work happy hour and ended up staying at the bar to have an extra drink with a couple of coworkers. As we were wrapping it up, a Barbie-esque (read: blonde and plastic) woman in a fur coat walked in and sat right next to us.

My coworkers and I shared a look of consensus: hooker.

She started talking to me, either because I was the closest or looked like the easiest target. A couple of minutes in, she tells me that her husband of 35 years just left her for a younger woman.

My coworkers were ready to leave, so I told them to go – I was just going to stay a minute. The lady seemed like she just wanted someone to listen, and I thought it couldn’t hurt anything to give up a few minutes for her.

As she talked, I sat and stared at her bottle-blonde hair, face-lifted brows, and plumped lips. It was like looking at the ghost of my future if I were to make one too many wrong turns along the way. Honestly, how many small mistakes does it take before ending up like her? I’m thinking way less than most people would think – just one decision after another and all of a sudden you’re 62 and completely plastic and sitting in a bar alone on a Friday night talking to someone less than half your age.

She snapped my attention back to what she was saying and sent my fears spiraling even further by saying, “I thought I had everything I’d ever wanted. A surgeon husband, my dream house, closets full of expensive clothes I never wear…and here I am, miserable.”

My brain thought “Oh God, this really is my future.” My mouth said, “Oh, plastic surgeon, right?”

She gaped at me. “How did you know?!?!?”

Shit. I felt like I was in a Twix commercial, needing a minute to think it over instead of blurting “because you’ve had so much work done,” so I took a long sip of my drink before I responded. “Well, you know, you’re telling me how much of a jerk he is, and I know that type – all plastic surgeons are assholes.”

Nice save, genius.

Her eyes glimmered and she raised her glass to mine. “Here’s to not putting up with that anymore.” We toasted.

She continued and told me her entire life story, and I felt deeply sympathetic. Then she asked about me, and I told her I’m just a single kid in the city, working and trying to make it on my own.

She looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, “Megan, do you feel like everything happens for a reason? I do, and I think I was supposed to be here to meet you tonight. I’ll be praying for you. I might just be your guardian angel.”

Now that would be proof that God really does have a sense of humor.

Nobody Really Needs Privacy Anyway

2010-02-28T09:30:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was my dad's birthday. In preparation for his big day, I called my mom.

Me: What should I get Dad for his birthday?

Mom: I don't know.

Me: He's hard to shop for.

Mom: He does collect trains, that's about it.

Me: His favorite hobby shop is near my place, right? I'll just pick up something there.

Mom: I don't know what it's called.

Me: Yeah, me neither.

Mom: Well, I can't exactly ask him, that will ruin it.

Me: Go get his credit card statement.

Mom: What?

Me: He spends money there all the time, go get the name of the store from his last credit card statement. Geez Mom, you really need to get better at this whole stalking thing.

Mom (after giving me the name of the store): Sometimes I can't believe you're my child.

Me: Oh, that's nothing. You wouldn't believe the dirt you can dig up on people if you really try. That was just one little credit card statement.

Mom: I'm going to let you go now.

~M

Puma

2010-02-27T08:12:00.000-06:00

This is not a post about being a single woman pushing 30 (rawr!). It's a post about shopping.

Obviously.

A few years ago, I spent an entire day doing some serious damage at the outlet mall in San Marcos. I'd just finished my first real internship and had some money to burn.

One of my stops was Puma, where I saw the cutest jacket. Black with white stripes and an embroidered logo on the right lapel. Three-quarter inch sleeves, cropped waistline. It was love at first sight.

I picked one up and tried it on over my clothes in the middle of the store. It was snug, so I grabbed a medium. I thought the sizing was strange because I'm a pretty small girl, but I wasn't going to let a little damage to my ego stop me.

As I checked out, I couldn't help myself and squealed to the cashier. "Oh my god this is the cutest little cropped jacket ever!"

She looked at me like I was a complete idiot and said, "It's not a cropped jacket, it's from the kid's section."

Well, it's a cropped jacket now.

~M

Groundhog Day

2010-02-26T11:01:00.004-06:00

As per usual in the Land of the Empty Cookie, I just can't win.

Last month I had to have my windshield repaired thanks to a flying rock on the freeway. Then I had to put my car in the shop because some asshole hit it in the parking garage and didn't leave a note. Then I met this really cool guy at a charity event and went on a couple awesome dates when him. Subsequently, he dropped off the face of the earth.

Last weekend another flying rock on the freeway took out my windshield AGAIN. Yesterday an unknown idiot hit my car in the parking garage at work AGAIN. With any luck, I'll meet another cool guy this weekend who will blow me off in a couple weeks.

My life is Groundhog Day.

Add in several really stressful days at work, the fact that my No Pants Saturday tradition brought snow instead of warmer weather, and my complete lack of social plans for the next month...well, things aren't looking so great around here.

I fully expect the universe to turn around and repay me with some good karma, preferably in the form of piles of money and a guy who will actually be good to me. Thanks in advance.

~M

The Prada Code

2010-02-17T08:54:00.004-06:00

I bought myself a black Prada bag for my birthday last summer. I'd post a picture of it but I'm completely unmotivated to buy a new camera battery. Such are my priorities, sigh.

Anyway, this Prada bag has a gold combination lock, which I assume is for locking the purse when it's zipped closed. Unfortunately for me, I bought it from Bag Borrow or Steal and it didn't come with instructions. (Unfortunately only that it didn't come with instructions, BBOS rocks.)

I've been trying to unlock that sucker for six months now, and finally solved the problem on Saturday night. So, to save you some time and frustration, here is how to figure out the combination on your Prada lock:

1. Institute a new tradition called No Pants Saturdays.
2. Meet your girlfriends at a bar wearing no pants. (But keep yourself covered, geez. I chose a dress.)
3. Drink two vodka-sodas given to you by a bartender who apparently appreciates No Pants Saturdays, heavy on the vodka.
4. Drink a shot of who-knows-what with said bartender.
5. Take a Jagerbomb with your friends.
6. Drink another drink bought for you by some random guy at the bar who was impressed when you said "nope, probably would never call you if you gave me your number."
7. Realize you can't feel your feet or recognize faces for the moment.
8. Sit on a barstool and start playing with the lock, turning one dial and pulling with each click.
9. Wake up the next morning and realize that the lock is hanging open on the side of the purse.
10. Thank God you didn't lose the lock during your night of stupidity.

Good luck, and don't forget to take a cab home, ha.

~M

Ode To a Bullsh*t Commercial Holiday

2010-02-12T12:05:00.000-06:00

(This is my tribute to Valentine's Day. To be read in iambic pentameter.)

I walk through stores with aisles all pink and red,
I can’t ignore throbbing pains in my head.
Cards, flowers, and candy on shelves are tucked,
This is a day when I don’t give a fuck.

It’s a bullshit commercial holiday,
Full of cheesy gestures and lingerie.
With lame hallmark lines that I’d never say,
It’s quite lovely to be single today.

Diners at candlelit tables with wine,
Are paying almost twice as much to dine.
More than other night that they would call,
The restaurateurs have them by the balls.

It’s a bullshit commercial holiday,
People doing crazy things to get laid.
I would so much rather do it my way,
I’m a hot single girl and I’m okay.

Someone Else's Boobs Could Kill You!

2010-02-11T17:40:00.004-06:00

And I'm not talking about suffocation at a gentlemen's establishment here, people.

Someone in British intelligence came up with the genius realization that potential terrorists could hide explosive devices in breast implants. They could have figured it out much sooner if they’d heard about South American drug traffickers doing the same thing and thought, “Hmm, if you can stuff those suckers full of cocaine, couldn’t you probably put an explosive in there?” Or if they’d watched an episode of a crime drama about the same subject in the past few months.* Or, apparently, if they'd watched a certain 2003 episode of Nip/Tuck.

Wow, timely realization there guys.

What I want to know, however, is given that plane passengers aren’t allowed to pee during the last hour of a flight thanks to crotch-bomber-man, what’s the response going to be to potentially lethal breast implants?

Full-body scanners?

If we haven’t learned how to tell the difference between a 4 ounce bottle of explosive liquid and a 4 ounce bottle of shampoo, I don’t think x-ray vision is going to help. And what about insecure 16-year olds who wear water bras? I can just imagine the positive press when the TSA starts asking female minors to remove their undergarments.

And what’s going to happen when a scanner detects an implant? Will the person be put on a watch-list? Cross-referenced against pre-approved anti-terrorist plastic surgeons? Required to have a “Breast Implant Airport Security” card? Frisked? Strip-searched? That’s just asking for intentional infliction of emotional distress lawsuits.

Or will the TSA take it overboard and prohibit people with implants from flying? That’s going to piss off a lot of breast cancer survivors and strippers.

While the TSA figures it out, I’ll be out inciting a riot about the sexist nature of this issue. What about Jersey Shore-esque guys with calf implants? They could be terrorists, too!

~M

*I can’t remember which, and Google isn’t helping – NCIS? CSI? Who knows, I watch way too much TV.

P.S. I'm pretty sure I might get fired for running a Google search for "Smuggling drugs in breast implants." The man sees everything.

15 Reasons He Hasn't Called

2010-02-10T13:59:00.002-06:00

I’m convinced that all women, at some point in their lives, have been in this relationship situation: you’ve met a guy, you’re having fun, and everything is going swimmingly well until one day he just stops calling. Since I’m sure this phenomenon is universal, I’d like to present you a list of why he isn’t calling, in no particular order of likelihood:

1. He doesn’t like you (yeah right, everybody loves you!)

2. He realizes how perfect you are for each other and he’s freaking out a little, give it time

3. He realizes that V-day is coming this weekend and is waiting until after then to avoid any expectations

4. He met someone else while blowing you off last weekend

5. He got back together with an ex

6. He ran into an ex of yours who made you seem like a dirty, bitchy whore (all untrue, of course)

7. He lost his phone

8. He had an accident that left him unable to dial a phone

9. He had an accident that left him with amnesia and doesn’t remember meeting you

10. He’s busy

11. He knows he’s waited too long to call and is afraid of the yelling that might ensue

12. He’s actually gay

13. He was just using you to steal your debit card number and use it to buy a bunch of random shit at Walmart

14. He thinks your Nuvaring is some weird piercing/toy and is afraid of you

15. His goldfish died

In the end, though, you all know what to do – delete his number and move on. If he calls eventually, act like you didn’t even notice. And in the meantime, enjoy this e-card: http://www.someecards.com/valentines-day-cards/my-true-love-is-out-there

Much love,
M

Monday Morning Not-So-Hypothetical

2010-02-08T09:57:00.002-06:00

If you were to steal my debit card number, make a fake card, and buy $638 worth of merchandise at a Walmart in Utah, what would you buy?

~M

Devil in Tuxedo Fur

2010-02-03T09:08:00.004-06:00

I'm pretty sure my neighbors hate me. Okay, I can't be sure because I've never met them, but if I were my neighbors, I would hate me.

For the mornings that I leave for work and yell at Burke "Get inside! This is not the morning for your crap!" while clicking my heels up and down the hallway, trying to corral him back inside.

For the nights when I scream "Burke, what the hell are you doing!" or "Stop eating that!" or "The wall is not your scratching post!" at 4am.

This happens almost every morning, and every night. I don't think I've slept an uninterrupted 8 hours in my own bed in the last five years.

Which may explain my short temper and bitchy nature, now that I think about it.

This morning was especially bad. During the time it took to get ready for work, my yelling went through a lovely progression. "Burke!" "Burke, stop!" "Burke, leave me alone!" "Burke, Jesus Christ!" "Burke, you knock one more thing off my dresser..." and the culmination in the hallway outside my place, "Burke, if you do not get inside right now, I will fucking kill you," at the top of my lungs.

If my neighbors didn't hate me before, I have no doubt they do now. Which will probably make it harder on me if I ever put up "Free Cat" signs around the complex.

~M

Kickball

2010-01-28T08:57:00.002-06:00

I joined a kickball league. My team's captain invited me because "we just need more bodies on the field," and that sounded like something I could handle. I added the caveat that I become official team cheerleader at the first sign that I suck really bad, assuming that would happen during the first inning of the season. And that was before I learned that I'm on a team made entirely of college athletes, and me. Me, with my twice torn tendon and a warning from my grandmother to be careful since I'm "a little uncoordinated sometimes."

Guess who scored the team's first run! Damn right I did. Nobody saw it coming, especially not me, and especially not the other team. I think it was the look of terror in my eyes as I stepped up to the plate.

I'm planning on using that strategically for the rest of the season.

Then it was my turn to give outfielding a try. And wouldn't you know, the first kicker nailed a line drive right at me in left field. (Is it still called a line drive if it goes all the way to the outfield?) Anyway, the ball was coming straight at me, and fast. All I could think was "oh crap" as I squatted down and prepped myself for the catch.

The ball whacked me hard in the stomach, bouncing off, I thought "oh crap, again," and landed squarely on my butt in the grass with a loud "Ooooof."

My teammates were good enough to back me up and limit the runner to a single. And they were so nice about it, congratulating me on "at least stopping the ball."

A couple innings later, I laughed until I cried as our team's former tennis player showed he's about as talented at kicking as I am at catching. And again after that when one of the girls kicked a foul ball right into our coach, spraying his beer all over his face.

I may just like kickball after all.

~M

Achoo vs. The Big O

2010-01-27T08:51:00.004-06:00

Sneezing has always been one of my favorite things in the world. It sat atop my list of "things that are better than sex" for a very long time. I saw it as the split second when my entire body said "Aaaah," without any sort of preparation or mess required....so to speak.

Yesterday, everything changed.

I wish this was the part where I would launch into a sordid paragraph about having the best sex ever in the history of the universe and how great it made me feel and how it changed my life.

But alas, this is where I launch into an entirely unglamorous diatribe about allergies.

I don't know what the hell is going on with the weather here, but it's 70, then 30, then 80, then 40, then rainy and sunny and foggy and whatever-else-you-can-think-of, all in like 2 days. And I've been sneezing every 15 minutes for the last day and a half.

Sure, the first few hours were fun. If one sneeze is better than sex, then what are 30 sneezes?

The next few hours were funny, because my "Achoo...ugh," was followed by the lady in the next office saying "Bless you" and me groaning, "Thanks."

By the end of the day I'd been blessed to the high heavens but nothing was changing and the lady in the next office gave up on me. I was able to get some sleep last night, but the sneezing started anew this morning. My chest muscles feel ripped apart and my nose feels like it might actually fall off my face. It would be a shame to end up with a deviated septum because I really like my nose and I would hate to need a nose job. I've seen that crap on Dr. 90210 and it makes me want to puke every time, plus I don't think I'd look very pretty with two black eyes.

Sneezing, you're officially off the list.

~M

Accidents

2010-01-26T09:39:00.002-06:00

Someone hit my car in the parking garage at work last week. Those of you who follow me on Twitter may have noticed I was a teensy bit angry.

As in "I almost went back to the garage with a baseball bat to even the score" angry.

When I noticed the damage, the mental image of my smushed side panel intermingled with a picture of the last statement from my bank, showing glaringly how much I still owe on the car.

I bought my car when I was 24, hated life, and figured I might as well have a nice car to mitigate my misery a little. That combination leads to stellar financial decisions, let me tell you.

Luckily now life is great and I love my car, so it all worked out. And luckily my insurance company, the repair shop, and the rental car company have all been so wonderful that I no longer feel like killing anybody.

Figuratively speaking, of course.

Anyway, I dropped my car off at the shop this morning and picked up a rental. Apparently my insurance company made a big deal about ensuring that my rental is "comparable" to my car, so the rental representative felt a lot of pressure to let me pick from any car on the lot. This didn't take long, there were about 8 cars there.

He wanted me to take an extended-cab, four-door Dodge Ram. I don't exactly see how that's "comparable" to a sporty coupe, but he didn't want to take no for an answer. His logic was the truck is the newest and most expensive car they have.

I tried to talk him out of it, because all I could envision was me running over curbs, hitting things in parking lots, and maybe losing a small tree or two under the bumper of that monstrosity. Nothing was working. Then the light bulb came on.

"Hey, remember how you said the security deposit was returnable unless I damaged the car? I'm pretty sure if you give me that thing I'll lose the deposit."

He finally let it go. Hello, Toyota Corolla.

~M

Crown on the Rocks

2010-01-23T10:32:00.001-06:00

I've only seen the Roommate drunk once. I was pretty sure it was the only time she'd ever been drunk, so I checked with her before writing this and confirmed.

*I'm glad I was a part of such a special moment in her life.*

It was my third year of college, and she'd gone to her work's holiday party. I was in my room when she got home, either studying or pretending to. I can't remember. My back was to the door when she came in.

"Hey, how was your evening?" she asked.

I could tell from the tone of her voice that she was hammered. I turned around with a huge smile on my face to see her leaning heavily on my door frame.

"Um, Roomie, how much did you have to drink?" I asked.

"Not much," she replied. "I had a cosmo....and an apple martini...and a chocolate martini..."

I interrupted her. "Um, that's a LOT of alcohol for someone who doesn't drink. You need to drink like three glasses of water, right now."

Then she continued, "And then I had a Crown on the rocks."

My jaw dropped. I was the partier in our relationship, the one who went out regularly. I prided myself on my ability to handle my stuff, but there was no way I'd even attempt that.

"HOLY SHIT, ROOMIE!" I exclaimed. "YOU DRANK STRAIGHT CROWN?!!?!?!?"

She cleared her throat and looked at me like I was an idiot. "It wasn't straight. It was on the rocks."

Touche.

~M

Intervention

2010-01-22T08:10:00.001-06:00

My "Crazy Ex," Z, and I had a very tumultuous relationship. We were on-again, off-again for three and a half years, then it took me another year and a half to walk away from him completely. We were the poster children for a relationship gone wrong.

He put me through a lot of abuse - abuse that I'll talk about more as the wounds heal.

He also had a serious drug problem, one that sent him in and out of rehab countless times after we broke up. I was aware that he used alcohol, weed, ecstasy, and coke - but I never knew to what extent. I liked to pretend it was occasional, but deep down I knew that he was a tortured soul who couldn't stop himself. He was also diagnosed with bipolar disorder at one point. I have no doubt that the drugs were his way of trying to self-medicate.

He was a part of my life for five years, and I never developed the ability to distinguish when he was on something or not. I'm guessing that means he was always on something.

Earlier this week I turned on the TV while I made dinner, and it just happened to be on an episode of Intervention. Since I was in and out of the kitchen, I didn't bother changing the channel.

Do you ever think things happen for a reason?

The episode was about a 28-year old man with a crack addiction. I looked at him - age, habits, behavior, background, family - it could have been Z on that television. The production crew sat down to interview his mother, and she said, "Sometimes I think it would be better if he would just overdose and die."

It hit me like a ton of bricks and I collapsed onto my couch.

When Z was really high, he'd threaten to kill himself. When he was less high, he'd tell me that he couldn't live without me, that if I left him he would certainly go through with his suicide mission. I didn't leave him for fear that he would do it and it would forever weigh on my conscience.

There was a three month period during my sophomore year of college that was especially bad with him and his unpredictable, suicidal behavior. Every night when I went to bed, I prayed to God that he would actually die so he couldn't hurt me or himself anymore.

May God forgive me.

When I saw that grief-stricken mother on television, I realized for the first time that I wasn't alone. That my feelings had been a normal human reaction for someone in such a dire situation. And I felt comforted.

And I could forgive myself, I could let one of the scars heal.

~M

Elevators

2010-01-21T09:54:00.001-06:00

Elevators are awkward. There's no getting around it. I'm pretty sure I've written about it before, but I've had two really weird experiences this week, so I'm going to write about it again.

Yesterday I was thinking about this coming post. Then I just happened to get to ride 51 floors alone with my Company's Chairman. Which wasn't awkward, just terrifying. We actually had a nice conversation, but there's something about talking to the person whose last name is on the Company logo that scares the crap out of me. Then I decided that this post was fated to happen.

Weird Experience #1: Monday night I worked late and the building was virtually empty when I was leaving. I reached the bottom of the escalator and realized that a man was holding the door to the parking garage building. I was a solid 30 feet away and couldn't walk any faster (thank you, Jillian Michaels). I hobbled over as best I could, the man smiling at me and maintaining eye contact a little longer than necessary. As we headed toward the elevators, the man stayed behind me despite being 18 inches taller and clearly able to walk faster. We got in the elevator, just the two of us. And he broke into a show tune. At the top of his lungs. I don't even know what to say about that, other than I was relieved we weren't getting off on the same floor.

Weird Experience #2: While switching elevator banks the other day at work, I thought I spotted a guy I went to college with. I didn't say anything, for fear of it not being the right person, but also because I couldn't remember his name. So I did what any 20-something would do: I went home, found him on Facebook, and sent him a random "hey I think I saw you in my building, hope all is well" message. He didn't respond, so I figured I either had the wrong person or he hadn't checked it. Tuesday night I was leaving late again, and he just happened to get onto the elevator with some of his coworkers. I smiled his direction, and he responded with "Yes, I work in your building." I smiled and said "I thought that was you." Then I realized that meant that he must have read the message and not responded because he totally hates me, and I started blushing (which I later rethought and decided it was nothing - I mean, how do you really respond to that message anyway). But let me tell you, blushing in an elevator completely sucks when you have red hair and are wearing a red sweater and all the walls are mirrored, because then everyone can watch your stunning transformation into a walking tomato.

~M

Scars

2010-01-20T09:39:00.003-06:00

As we walked out of the bar on Saturday night (Sunday morning?), Lee looked over at me with surprise in her eyes and said, "Wow...you were nice to everybody tonight. It was...weird..."

I think she summed it up, well, nicely.

Then we decided that we need a batsignal of sorts so we can wingman for each other better, but that's irrelevant to this story.

The past few months have shown me that I have a lot of scars from past relationships. Scars that can still be tender to the touch, scars that hurt so much at times. I've covered it all up by becoming the token bitchy redhead, the feisty one who doesn't take shit from anyone and has no problem letting people know that.

And then I woke up one day and was ready to let the scars be scars. Sure, I can't change anything that happened in the past, but I can let go of the pain. The past has made me who I am today, and I kinda like myself, so I wouldn't take anything back. But it is time to let go.

The past few months have also taught me that there is way too much abuse out there in the world, way too much disrespect and general shittiness in relationships. EVERY attractive, strong, smart, funny, beautiful woman I know has been trampled on at some point by a guy who didn't deserve her. Emotional and physical abuse runs rampant. And that's not okay.

So the cycle stops here. No, not stops, has already stopped.

It's time to bring back respect, to bring back the Golden Rule that we all learned in kindergarten. I will no longer be a defensive bitch, but rather will be nice and respectful and expect the same in return. If anyone chooses not to act like a respectful adult, I will simply walk away and not have them as a part of my life. Problem solved.

There are enough bad people and things out in the world without me contributing to it. And, oddly enough, it feels good to be truly nice for a change.

~M

Overreact Much? Me? Nooooooo....

2010-01-14T11:56:00.004-06:00

I went to the Rockets game last night. They won in triple overtime. I was there for so long if felt like two games for the price of one. I don't go to games very often, so it was fun to get out and do something new, especially on a Wednesday.

I got home around 11:15 and knew something was wrong as soon as I opened my front door. Burke bolted out of the apartment and down the hallway. I screamed some choice expletives his direction and told him he'd better get inside right that second if he ever wanted me to feed him again and I can't understand why he wants to run around when it's cold and rainy outside anyway.

Please note that cats understand neither threats nor logic.

I wrestled Burke inside and stepped into the foyer. Okay, it's not really a foyer, more like a 2x2 foot area of tile between my door and living room, but doesn't it sound nicer that way? And any of you reading this who have ever been in my apartment - stop laughing.

I heard music coming from my bedroom, and my mind started spinning.

I hadn't been listening to music before I left for work that morning. And even if I had and couldn't remember, there aren't enough songs on my ipod to last fifteen hours. At least I don't think there are. Someone broke into my apartment. Wait, a burglar would have taken my ipod. Oh no, that means someone broke in to kill me. OH SHIT, The Ex still has a key to my place. I really should have asked for that back, the possibility for starting WWIII be damned. Would he have come to Houston just to break into my apartment? Hell, how am I supposed to know what he'd do? I didn't think he'd do a lot of the things he did, so we can't rule this out. He could be here to ask me to reconcile again, or he could just decide to off me once and for all. He did threaten to do that once when I asked for the $1500 he owed me. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

I grabbed my mace from my purse and a huge knife from my kitchen, then closed one bathroom door so I could work through the apartment in a circle. That way no one would have the chance to ambush me.

I worked my way from room to room, checking every potential hiding spot.

Nothing.

I turned the music off, still bewildered. There's no way Burke could have turned it on. Then again, maybe he's smarter than I give him credit for. And, Keith Sweat is an excellent choice, maybe Burke has a thing for slow jams.

Trying to recover, I walked into the kitchen to get a drink of water. And noticed that the microwave was black where the time should have been.

Power outage.

Reset all of my appliances, including the ipod dock, which turns on automatically when reset.

Either I'm a freak, or I've been exposed to so many that I think anything is possible. Regardless, I think I'll cut back on the TV crime dramas for a bit.

~M

Sometimes Being Nice to Strangers is Good

2010-01-12T21:21:00.003-06:00

He grabbed my arm as I walked past him, hard enough to stop me in my tracks. I sneered, flipped my hair, and snatched my arm back.

I hate being grabbed. Especially by strangers. Especially in a bar.

It was girls' night out, and I was looking to have a good time, but not that sort of a good time. I'd broken girl code by making a trip to the restroom alone, and I just wanted to get back to my friends. As I gave him the up-and-down, I thought, "I'm too hot for him anyway. And has grabbing a stranger ever worked in the history of the universe?"

I'm sure it has, but that's not the point here.

I started to storm off in a huff, but I only made it about two steps before he grabbed me again, more forcefully this time. I swiveled on my stilettos, put my other hand on my hip, and hissed, "What the fuck do you want?"

He paused for a second, taken aback, then whispered, "Your skirt is tucked into your panties."

Why yes, yes it sure was.

If I were him, I would have said "See ya, bitch" after the first time I pulled away and let me parade my haughty little ass cheeks all over the bar.

~M

Weekend Catch-Up

2010-01-09T19:28:00.002-06:00

Let's just say that 2010 hasn't started the way I expected.

My mystery illness turned out to be strep. After a couple days of antibiotics and some much-needed sleep, I'm feeling human again. It actually turned out to be a nice opportunity to relax during what would have been an otherwise stressful week.

The Longhorns faced a really tough situation during the BCS National Championship. I'm so proud of the team, especially Gilbert, for making the most of what could have been a completely awful game. Those kids showed more spirit than I've seen in a long time. I can't wait to see what Gilbert is going to do next year.

I started reading Twilight yesterday and I am hooked. So hooked that I'm thinking of apologizing to the people I made fun of for being hooked before I was.

I left my credit card at a nail salon today. Lovely. Thinking back, I'm pretty sure I signed the receipt and handed it back to the lady along with the card. Hopefully she didn't have time to do too much shopping before I cancelled it.

Now I'm going to spend my Saturday night on the couch with a pizza and my DVR. It's not how I imagined it, but why would I want to leave when it's 30 degrees outside anyway?

~M

I Curse You, Healthcare

2010-01-05T07:54:00.000-06:00

I have been attacked by The Crud, the same Crud that everyone around me has been afflicted with at some point in the past month. The Crud that makes me want to curl up in the fetal position on my couch under seven sweaters and a blanket. The Crud that absolutely should not have attacked me this week because THIS IS THE START OF THE TWO BUSIEST WEEKS OF MY YEAR AT WORK AND I CANNOT TAKE A SICK DAY.

That and the Longhorns play in the National Championship on Thursday.

I mean, let's just call it crappy timing all around.

My doctor, who I pay a pretty penny to diagnose me over the phone in lieu of me trudging my poor, aching body over to his office, didn't have much helpful advice: Mucinex and Zyrtec.

I'm skeptical that any of it will help, but I've reached a certain level of desperation, so I trudged over to Walgreens after work last night. I bought a two week supply of Mucinex and Zyrtec, and one small package of Theraflu just in case I'm absolutely dying at work later today.

The grand total: $50.

Seriously?!? These newly-over-the-counter drugs would have cost me about a third of their price if they were prescriptions. And I got my driver's license swiped and my name put onto a national "Look who might be making meth" list.

Let me tell you, Mr. Pharmacist, if I were making meth I'd look a hell of a lot more awake.

And don't even get me started on birth control or the ease in which painkillers are handed out these days.

This just seems to me to be a shining example of health care. I don't know enough to debate it in detail, but I know there's something inherently wrong with paying $50 for just enough drugs to try to kill the Crud/flu/cold thing I have.

~M

(P.S. I sound like an old woman. Just know that when I was younger, I walked uphill to school, both ways, in the snow, barefoot.)
(P.P.S. The word of the day is "trudge." Trudge, trudge, trudge.)

New Direction for the New Year

2010-01-04T18:48:00.003-06:00

At the beginning of each year, I like to take some time to think about where I've been and where I want to go. Having made some stupid and unreasonable New Year's resolutions in the past (giving up meat for an entire year - what was I thinking?!?), I decided this year I'll focus on goals instead of resolutions. Areas I think I can improve, instead of strict rules. So here they are:

1. Challenge myself personally.
Be positive. Be pleasant to be around. Be dependable. Spend more time with friends and family. Become the person my friends know they can call in a crisis because I will be there for them.

2. Challenge myself professionally.
Work harder. Be the one my boss can depend on in a crunch. Take more time to really get to know my coworkers - what drives them, how we can better work together.

3. Challenge myself physically.
Exercise more. Eat healthier. Drink less. Have adventures where I have to ask myself, "What would Bear Grylls do?" Have adventures where I ask myself, "Do you want to give up, or do you want this?"

That's where I want to go during 2010. I hope you'll all be along for the ride.

~M

200 in the 2000s

2009-12-31T10:55:00.003-06:00

It occurred to me at some point in the last few days that we're not just saying goodbye to another year tonight, we're saying goodbye to an entire decade. It's been quite a life-changing decade for me, which is to be expected because it accounts for about 40% of my life. I hope that the next ten years will be more wonderful than the last, and I can't wait to see what is in store for me.

Before it's over, I would like to pay my respects to the 2000s, so here is a list of 200 things I experienced during the decade, in somewhat chronological order. It's been one hell of a ride:

1. Was voted onto Homecoming and Prom courts
2. Had a high school sweetheart
3. Placed top 5 at nationals with my HS cheerleading squad
4. Was blonde
5. Was voted Most Likely to Succeed
6. Graduated high school
7. Was told (all the time) I looked like Britney Spears
8. Was nicknamed "Turtle" because I had a huge, green backpack
9. Saw NSYNC in concert, twice
10. Got drunk for the first time
11. Went skinny-dipping for the first (and last) time
12. Dated a guy I thought was The One (now known as The Crazy Ex)
13. Almost lost The One in a horrific car accident
14. Lived in an honors dorm at the University of Texas
15. Cried when my parents dropped me off to live on my own for the first time
16. Learned that potluck roommates can be really awesome (The Mayor, also referred to on this list as "the roommate")
17. Saw the birth and death of free music downloads (RIP, Napster)
18. Had my college laptop repaired every two weeks, nicknamed it The Cupholder
19. Won a dance contest, thereby scaring the roommate forever
20. Bribed the roommate to like me with gummy worms
21. Learned the "The One" was cheating on me, on 9/11
22. Watched the roommate light a microwave on fire
23. Ate ice cream in the dorm cafeteria every day for months
24. Lost the Freshman Reverse 15
25. Ran hundreds of laps on the track in Gregory Gym
26. Killed two fish and a plant, leaving the roommate to question my ability to even sustain my own life
27. Stalked a mailbox
28. Discovered the wonders of AIM, MySpace, Facebook, and Twitter
29. Tried to train the nerdy engineering guy in the dorm to say "hi" back
30. Accidentally dyed all my white clothes pink in the washer
31. Put wet running shoes in the dryer and pretended I didn't know what the noise was
32. Went to a rave, decided people there are WEIRD
33. Walked 20 blocks with the roommate to get ice cream and almost got hit by a car
34. Took interpretive dance classes
35. Sold my wisdom teeth to science
36. Sold my dignity to a bag of frozen peas after selling my wisdom teeth to science
37. Learned that potluck roommates can really suck sometimes (Whats-Her-Name, not referred to elsewhere on this list)
38. Had a conversation with some Secret Service agents
39. Did some modeling work
40. Learned that frat parties aren't all they're chalked up to be
41. Learned that 3am pizza / Jack in the Box is AMAZING
42. Was marooned by an actual flood in the dorm
43. Played "tackle the mattress" in the hallway of the dorm
44. "Borrowed" some trays from Taco C to sled on campus in an ice storm
45. Flew to Iowa on a whim, to see a friend
46. Spent a summer in West Virginia
47. Went to the WV state fair, which is everything you'd think it would be
48. Went hiking without a map
49. Went white-water rafting
50. Rode a rollercoaster for the first time
51. Played "Trading Spaces" with a friend and made over a house at 3am
52. Appeared in Maxim magazine
53. Worked a Diddy (Puff Daddy? Sean Combs?) Superbowl party
54. Watched a date get arrested (while still on our date)
55. Moved into an apartment for the first time
56. Learned that the roommate used to eat paint chips and sand as a child
57. Lit salmon on fire in front of the roommate
58. Used pancakes and cinnamon rolls as frisbees
59. Learned how to use chopsticks
60. Lost two grandparents and a cousin
61. Waited tables
62. Took a lot of naps on campus (in the Union, and the UTC)
63. Had a perfectly normal boyfriend and didn't appreciate him until he was gone
64. Spent so many nights studying in the business school
65. Unsuccessfully tried to capture the business school bat
66. Ate a lot of bagels at Einstein Bros.
67. Spent a lot of time on Sixth Street
68. Witnessed the roommate get drunk for the first (and last?) time
69. Made up The Steering Wheel Dance
70. Saw Godsmack, Metallica, and Linkin Park in concert
71. Laughed at friends' impressions of The Darkness
72. Sat on the couch with the roommate diagnosing everyone we knew using the DSM
73. Was compared to Christina Applegate
74. Won a bet by leg pressing 200 lbs
75. Filmed a fake reality show in LA
76. Went to Cancun, twice
77. Wished that I, like Dusty Mangum, could be the hero of the Rose Bowl
78. Dated a guy I thought was The (Second) One, now known here as The Ex
79. Was gifted with Burke
80. Bartended at Coyote Ugly
81. Quit MySpace when it became a digital Detroit
82. Was a brunette
83. Smoked my first (and last) cigarette
84. Ate tofurkey
85. Burned myself out on working out
86. Discovered the mecca that is the Whole Foods flagship store in Austin
87. Went canoeing on Town Lake
88. Found The Second One's eyelash curler in my bathroom
89. Learned to never date a guy who takes longer to get ready than I do
90. Had a (harmless) stalker
91. Spent two days snowed in at the Cincinnati airport
92. Used a fire extinguisher for its intended purpose
93. Put an inflatable snowman in the roommate's room while she was at work
94. Let the roommate's boyfriend take the heat for the snowman
95. Unsuccessfully tried to take Burke to get his picture taken with Santa
96. Bought my first pair of designer jeans (and later, purses and shoes)
97. Watched Vince Young and the Longhorns win a National Championship
98. Decided to give up my career to move to NYC and marry The Second One
99. Had breakups three years in a row within a week of New Years Eve
100. Had my heart broken for the first time
101. Learned that brownie batter and potato chips don't cure a broken heart, but they sure help
102. Lost my faith
103. Passed the CPA exam on the first try
104. Graduated UT with a 4.0, undergrad and masters degrees
105. Said goodbye to a lot of friends as we all went our separate ways
106. Drove to Dallas to see DJ Tiesto
107. Went on a 10-day trek through the Canadian Rockies with my parents
108. Climbed the same mountain my Dad climbed a week before I was born
109. Learned why vending machines in Canada don't have dollar slots (dollar coins, who knew?)
110. Went to the Caribbean for a week
111. Made a few trips to New York
112. Got lost in Central Park on purpose
113. Visited the Empire State Building
114. Had recurring nightmares about visiting the Empire State Building
115. Realized Wall Street looked nothing like I imagined it would
116. Discovered the wonder that is Chuy's jalapeno dip
117. Was obsessed with Kerbey Lane pancakes
118. Moved back to Houston for my first "real" job (with business casual and cubicles!)
119. Lived alone for the first time
120. Signed a lease by myself for the first time
121. Learned to carry 15 grocery bags at a time
122. Developed a fierce Starbucks habit
123. Traveled to Snyder, TX, for work
124. Got grief from my coworkers for saying the IT guy in Snyder had cute hair
125. Met the (still) soon-to-be famous rapper Sir Chamalaude
126. Saw a tumbleweed for the first time
127. Made some friends who I trust will be friends for the rest of our lives
128. Learned that some "friends" aren't really friends after all
129. Saw Killswitch Engage in concert, twice
130. Saw Motley Crue and Aerosmith in concert
131. Decided to give working out another try
132. Crashed a jet ski
133. Said "I love you" first
134. Spent a lot of time in Midtown and on Washington Avenue
135. Got dumped on a second date (awfully formal, him not calling would have worked)
136. Ran into one of my clients at my apartment pool and couldn't find a towel
137. Negotiated and bought a car all by myself
138. Cried when I left my first car at the dealership
139. Was introduced to the viral video phenomenon "My New Haircut"
140. Earned the nickname #3
141. Shotgunned a beer for the first time
142. Had a beer-spitting fight with some friends
143. Dressed as Britney Spears for Halloween, circa her first "comeback"
144. Traveled to Alaska for work
145. Ate reindeer
146. Fell of a mountain in Alaska
147. Flew a guy 3500 miles because I had a crush on him
148. Got trapped in a blizzard/avalanche and realized that ALASKA KILLS PEOPLE
149. Had an imaginary love affair with the concierge in the hotel in Alaska
150. Might have been a participant in the disappearance of some pint glasses
151. Learned that "spooning is okay, but forking is not allowed" at work
152. Bought and decorated my first Christmas tree
153. Bought Christmas cards but never sent them out
154. Took shots with my middle school bus driver
155. Went to Europe
156. Drank absinthe for the first (and last) time
157. Was asked by my boss "if you were voted most likely to succeed, how did you end up here?"
158. Realized that good people aren't enough to save a bad job
159. Quit my first "real" job
160. Landed a way better "real" job
161. Went to Las Vegas
162. Missed the only hurricane to hit Houston in the last 15 years
163. Gambled for the first time
164. Decided the apocalypse was surely hitting while we were in Vegas, might as well have fun
165. Put up with a lot of post-relationship abuse from The One and The Second One
166. Walked away from both exes for the last time
167. Learned that some bridges are better when burned
168. Learned to appreciate all my parents have done for me
169. Found my true calling as a redhead
170. Was compared to Kathy Griffin
171. Went to friends' weddings
172. Went to friends' divorce parties
173. Became obsessed with burritos, Cheez-Its, and Eggo waffles
174. Made some people laugh with 3am drunken tweets
175. Started a blog
176. Slept through an entire road trip from Houston to OK City
177. Survived a football game at OU stadium (boooo)
178. Laughed at friends' impressions of The Final Countdown
179. Made up The Rock Star Dance
180. Lit a friend's cigarette with a burning dollar bill
181. Lost a lot of money in the stock market, decided lighting dollars on fire wasn't a good idea
182. Tore a tendon in my foot while running
183. Tore a tendon in my foot while running, again
184. Went to Miami in a boot/cast
185. Won a flip-cup tournament
186. Discovered that martinis are my adult security blanket
187. Joined a private social society
188. Earned the nickname "Awkward Turtle" for obvious reasons
189. Volunteered for some great charities
190. Sponsored an underprivileged child
191. Tailgated a UT football game for the first time (at 26, ha!)
192. Went on a lot of first dates
193. Did not go on a lot of second dates
194. Kept Burke alive for five years and counting, thereby proving the roommate wrong
195. Went in public dressed like an elf
196. Learned how to enjoy wine
197. Learned how to enjoy life in general
198. Found my faith again
199. Became a woman
200. Realized that since 30s are the new 20s, and I'm only halfway to my 30s anyway, this next decade is going to even better than the last.

I hope you all have a wonderful New Years Eve!

~M

Merry Christmas!

2009-12-25T09:20:00.000-06:00

I wish you all a wonderful holiday and hope that you are blessed with great family and friends to spend it with. I'm grateful for having you all in my life!

~M

...Or Maybe They Do?

2009-12-24T11:07:00.001-06:00

I found a different kind of unicorn on Black Friday and decided that these things only come along so often, and I'm worth it. Scoring a beautiful pair of Louboutin's 40% off is too good to be true, right?

Wrong, my friends. Take a look at my Christmas present to myself:

The salesguy won me over with "Just stop ogling and give me your credit card." That man knows the way to my heart, and I have a feeling he and I are going to be friends for a loooong time. As long as he remains in shoe sales, that is.

Merry Christmas to me! I'm back in the game, because I can't help but feel sexy in these. There's nothing quite like a pair of red soles to boost a woman's confidence.

...Don't Exist After All

2009-12-23T18:59:00.003-06:00

I was going to spin the events of the past few days into a week's worth of blog posts, but then I realized that I don't want to bring myself or anyone else down during the holidays, and I want to start fresh in 2010. So, I'll give you the speed version of the story.

As I wrote earlier this week, my "unicorn" made a move on me last weekend. I got my hopes up. I debated and debated on what to do and, with the encouragement of my friends, told him I had feelings for him.

Or more like emailed that I had feelings for him, because I clearly don't have the guts for a live conversation about that.

He responded with (and I paraphrase liberally), "It was a drunken hookup. I feel like an ass, but let's just go back to being friends and not tell my girlfriend, okay?"

I got really upset, felt embarrassed, shot off a response like "Glad I could be the target of your misguided drunkenness, you owe me bigtime now," then made a list of 10 reasons why he's an asshole and I will never date him. Just in case I ever start to think he's that imaginary person who was on my unicorn pedestal.

Surprisingly, I'm okay. To look at the positive side of things - I got out of my comfort zone, did something I didn't think I could do, and put myself out there. I didn't get the response I wanted, but it's the process that counts, right?

Stupid unicorns. Time to start searching for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow instead.

~M

Unicorns

2009-12-20T18:28:00.004-06:00

My friend V and I have some "philosophical" views on "unicorns". A unicorn is that one guy in your life you have an inexplicable connection with, you can't squash your feelings for, and you never got a chance with. V and I are always looking for that chance with our respective unicorns. When either of us gets too excited, we remember to remind each other that unicorns don't really exist. We've probably put our idea of these guys onto a pedestal that they could never live up to. Or maybe unicorns do exist. Where would we be without hope?

This weekend, I got to spend some time with my unicorn. I'd given up on chasing him, but somehow the universe decided to bless me this weekend. For four entire hours it was just us and not a care in the world. For four hours I got a glimpse into what it might be like if I finally got that chance.

Then he went home to his girlfriend, leaving me with only that small glimpse and a tiny hope in my mind that says, "maybe someday."

However, someday is not today, so I will do what I must do and move on.

No matter what happens, I will always have those four awesome hours. And I'm grateful for that.

~M

Last Night I....

2009-12-18T11:45:00.004-06:00

Got to spend quality time with my some of my favorite coworkers.

Was invited to join a book club.

Received heart-shaped salt and pepper shakers in a White Elephant exchange.

Crashed a company party of a friend of a friend (well, we were invited so maybe not "crashed.")

Took shots with the man in charge at the party.

Reconnected with someone I hadn't seen in 10 years.

Made out with a Norwegian guy who looked like Hugh Grant.
______________________________________________

I have to admit, that's not bad for a Thursday evening. And now I will go back to thanking God for vitamin water, the only thing that has gotten me through this morning.

~M

This Week, on The Dating Game

2009-12-15T09:22:00.003-06:00

(Insert cheesy announcer voice.)

Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! This week on The Dating Game, our lovely bachelorette has three potential suitors to choose from. Let's get to know them!

Bachelor #1 is a ... well, we're not quite sure he even has a job. He has a tendency to be wishy-washy about plans and loves to send 2am text messages. When he finally picks a time to get together with our bachelorette, he'll stand her up! Then he'll call her at midnight with a half-assed "apology". Welcome to the show, Bachelor #1!

Bachelor #2 is an IT specialist for a well-respected corporation. He looks good on paper and can hold a great phone conversation! He tends to freeze up in person, though, and will try to overcompensate with inappropriate text messages. In fact, he may just ask our bachelorette if she wants to play naked Scrabble! I hope you know how to spell onomatopoeia*, Bachelor #2!

Bachelor #3 is a biochemical engineer for a well-respected corporation. He wants to do world-changing research and is in the process of obtaining a PhD. He'll be a perfect gentleman while out with our bachelorette and even knows how to order a good bottle of wine! He's a tad bit shy but can create great chemistry. You look like you have a real chance, Bachelor #3! Wait...what's that? You're only 23? Well nevermind, Bachelor #3, our bachelorette might not want to feel like a cougar.

So which will it be for our lovely bachelorette? Will she pick Bachelor #1, Bachelor #2, or Bachelor #3? Or will she go running for the hills, screaming she'd rather die alone?**

*Hell yeah, I totally spelled that right on the first try.
**Let's go with that last option. Maybe I'll meet one more guy, go 0-4, and call it a Golden Sombrero.

Almost Wordless Wednesday

2009-12-09T09:22:00.004-06:00

I'm probably going straight to hell for posting this. And for watching it over and over and over when it happened on Saturday.

Turns Out We Were Both Bad Dates

2009-12-08T09:41:00.002-06:00

So, let's just say it's a good thing I saved my new shoes and best dress for another function. Nothing disastrous happened, per se, but there were a few indicators that my date and I weren't very compatible.

1. After "switching the script" on me at the last minute, he showed up 20 minutes late. After I left work early, rushed to get ready, and gave myself major razor burn in the process.

2. When we got to the party I couldn't find a coat check. He followed me around while I held my coat and asked 10 different people where I could put it. Was I expecting too much because I expected him to take it out of my hand and say, "Don't worry, I'll find out for you"?

3. He suggested we mingle, then told me to "lead the way." Um, not my company party. So I led him around the room and talked to random people.

4. He sat down at a table in the corner, complained the entire night about how these functions make him "feel too much like an adult" and how he "can't wait to take the tie off", then when we were leaving said "that was weird, I'm usually the life of the party."

I can see that.

We won't be going out again, mainly because I need a guy that can wear the pants despite the fact that I'm a loud, outgoing redhead. I hope he finds himself a nice, introverted girl. He really does seem like a nice guy.

~M

And Sometimes I'm the Worst Date Ever

2009-12-03T13:05:00.003-06:00

I'm going to a company holiday party tonight with a guy I've been out with a couple times. Our first date was the typical "let's grab a drink." Our second date was going to boot camp (hello, 90 minutes of sprint drills and not being able to walk for 2 days). It seems a little reaching that our third will be a formal event, but hey, I'm willing to roll with it.

Or at least I was, until he pissed me off last night.

I get pissed off easily. I'm big on expectations, and I don't deal well when people switch the script at the last minute. I recognize this as a character flaw. I try not to take it out on the other parties involved, at least most of the time.

The irritation all started when I got a text at 11pm saying "I know I said it was 7, but it starts at 6 tomorrow...That's cool, right?"

Sure buddy, no problem, except now I will have to leave work earlier, get ready faster, and be stressed out about the whole thing. All with less than 24 hours warning, I appreciate it.

But because I'm a wimp, I said "Well, I can be ready by 6." Insert mental freakout.

I should not take it out on him because I am a planner and he is not. I can adapt, I can shift things around. I should not punish him because this week is crazy-busy, planned down to the minute - because he doesn't know that, all he knows is that he invited me to this one event. Please note me giving him more benefit of the doubt than I probably should.

I'm okay, you're okay, we're all okay.

Then he crossed the line. "Make sure you wear something conservative, because it's a company event and all the oil bigwigs will be there."

I don't know what kind of whore you think I am after two dates (neither of which involved more physical contact than a hug, thank-you-so-very-much), Mr. Obviously-Has-N0-Clue, but I think I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself. It's generally a good rule when dealing with women to not give your input on what she should wear, unless your last name is Dolce or Gabbana. I'm pretty sure neither of them like women anyway. And, I also have a corporate job so I am fully aware that this is not the appropriate time to don a Naughty Santa outfit from Fredericks.

I almost want to throw on something slightly inappropriate, just as a "screw you."

But I'm smarter than that, so I will go with demure. You want boring, you get boring. I'll save my best looks for times when I'm sure they're warranted. This guy still has a long way to go to prove he deserves that.

Things That Blow My Mind

2009-12-02T09:00:00.005-06:00

I went to spin class last night (for the second time ever) and they played the Madonna song "Four Minutes" about halfway through. It felt like it lasted for twenty minutes. They must have put it on repeat, those evil instructors. Or maybe it really was only four minutes and I'm just out of shape.

---------------------------------------------------------------

This morning at work I had to call a certain institution about why we didn't receive an invoice from them for the second month in a row.

The girl on the phone said, in the most pleasant voice ever, "Well, we changed the payment instructions for some customers so we didn't send out any invoices for fear of sending the wrong instructions to the wrong people."

Um....DO YOU WANT YOUR MONEY?

I'm reinstating the "if you don't send me an invoice, I don't pay you" policy.

Pfff, Canadians.
(I can say that, because I was born there.)

I'll Take "Inappropriate Word Association" for $100, Alex

2009-11-21T09:15:00.001-06:00

There's a commercial on the radio these days for some sort of Glade product. Yes, I still have commercials because I haven't ordered XM even though I've had my car for almost two years. Chalk that up to extreme laziness and only being in my car 10 minutes a day.

Anyway, I never pay attention to this Glade commercial, just like I never pay attention to any commercial, but it always catches my ear at one point:

"Just stick it in your outlet and forget it for 60 days!"

And I think, Oh crap! Is it time to change my Nuvaring again?

Kinda Like Lara Croft But With Designer Shoes (aka the dumbest idea I've had in a long time)

2009-11-20T08:51:00.002-06:00

Dear "Mr. Andreas Blahnik",

I appreciate your persistence. I appreciate that you have continued efforts to contact me and give me those shoes you promised. There are, however, come inconsistencies in your story. You called me one night at 8pm and told me you were in London...wouldn't that make it, like, 3am there? Maybe you were partying. You've also called me twice at 2am and told me your plane just landed in Houston. Really? Because flights coming in that late really aren't common from New York where you purportedly reside (especially since you gain an hour and all with the time change).

Maybe you weren't listening when I told you that I have a graduate degree. Maybe you think that I have "book smarts" but not "street smarts." Maybe you think I'm desperate enough to get a pair of designer shoes that I'll do anything for them.

You're so wrong, my friend.

Thank you for the invitation to fly to Rio this weekend. Hmmm, let's think - going to a country I've never been to before and where I don't speak the language, with a complete stranger sounds like an excellent idea!

Let me reiterate - I'm not an idiot, sir.

Thank you also for the dinner invitation next Tuesday. This sounds reasonable. No thank you, however, for mentioning that "it will be a long dinner so don't make plans on Wednesday."

Gross. Again, I will not be making any physical contact with you.

Also, and most importantly, thank you for not understanding the undertone of my response when I said "Heh." I WILL be there on Tuesday: with mace, a GPS locator on my phone, a friend watching us from the bar area, and other friends on call every hour to come get me if I need them. The gig is up, "Mr. Blahnik," it's time for me to get those shoes or GTFO. Hope you're ready.

With Equal Parts Anticipation and Skepticism,
~M

Throwback Thursday: Spring Break 2002

2009-11-12T09:20:00.000-06:00

As part of the New-and-Questionably Improved Empty Cookie, I’m reinstating/recreating Throwback Thursdays, which I invented earlier this year and then promptly forgot about after one week. I admire my dedication.

Throwback Thursdays were created so you can share stories from your youth, any part of your youth, whether it be that time in kindergarten when you got in trouble for shoving your little brother into his toy-box or that time in college when your date got arrested and his girlfriend showed up to drive you home. A button and McLinky are coming in the next week or two so you can share in the fun and embarrassment if you feel so inspired.

When I was a freshman in college I celebrated Spring Break with a friend of mine and some of his fraternity brothers in South Padre Island.

*In retrospect, being the only female (and only semi-responsible person) in a house full of beer- crazed frat boys sounds like an excellent and well thought-out plan. Let’s all get together and do it again this year! You’re never too old for SPRING BREAK!*

Moving on.

We spent one night drinking on the beach and doing donuts in the sand in my friend’s SUV. I was neither drinking nor driving but I cannot attest to the condition of the others. Yes, I am aware that this was incredibly stupid. Then we left the beach and drove to a seedy motel so the guys could meet up with some of their other frat brothers for a couple hours.

At 4am when we were finally sitting in the bumper-to-bumper traffic to leave the island, one of the guys (let’s call him P) had a complete breakdown –crying, rambling incoherently, and trying to get out of the (barely) moving car to run into oncoming (barely moving) traffic. I played designated driver and the other guys tried to coax P back into the car. This was no easy task since P was at least 6 ft., 300 lbs.

Eventually the guys got him back in the car and tied him down MacGyver-style with anything they could find in the car. P looked at me, sobbing, and asked “If you could be any animal in the world, what would you be?”

I stifled a laugh, said “I don’t know, P” and asked “What would you be?”

Through his tears, he choked out a response. “I would be a turtle, because it’s hard on the outside and soft on the inside, just like me.”

We all laughed so hard that we joined P in his tears.

I love to tell that story every time I meet someone who knows P.

But deep down inside I get it, buddy, I really do.

~Miss Em

Boys Have Their Toys, Girls Have Shoes and Handbags

2009-11-11T14:07:00.003-06:00

I'm currently addicted to two things in life: Starbucks and handbags. Neither of these are cheap habits. My dad, who does not understand either of these habits, pointed out that if I go to Starbucks every workday I will spend approximately $1000 on coffee every year. My counterargument: I am getting way more value from my increased quality of life every morning that I drink coffee. He conceded and noted that my coworkers should be grateful.

Yes, I am a spoiled brat. I feel guilty about it sometimes. Sometimes.

The greater of the two evils is my handbag habit. I feel like I have a decent collection for a 26 year-old (please don't burglarize my apartment, some of them are vintage and irreplaceable), so I've had to limit myself to two purchases a year. My latest addition was a beautiful black Prada that I bought myself as a birthday present.

One of my male coworkers and I had a debate over this the other day. He doesn't understand why his wife insists on buying so many designer handbags (he shares the opinion of the large majority of men I've met). I laughed and asked, "Do you have a big TV?"

He said yes but that's not the same as a lot of handbags. I asked, "Do you have a sound system?"

He said, "I get your point."

I let him sit on this revelation for a while. Then I walked into his office and said, "You should have asked me if I have a big TV. Because I do. And a sound system. AND a handbag collection."

He laughed and replied, "You're evil."

Yup, sometimes.

~Miss Em

An Unexpected Loss

2009-11-10T14:04:00.001-06:00

A good friend of mine lost his father today after a two-year battle with cancer. Please keep him and his family in your prayers. I cannot even imagine losing a parent at the age of 26.

~Miss Em

An Unsolicited Product Review

2009-11-09T14:23:00.003-06:00

I tried Starbucks new instant coffee, Via, the other day.

*In the interest of full disclosure, I did receive the sample for free, but so did everyone else who went to Starbucks that day, so I'm not sure that it counts. I don't know what the FTC rules and all that jazz are because no one's ever given me free stuff related to this blog. Please note that my tone, if I were speaking aloud, would be a mix of facetiousness and shameless begging.*

Anyway, Via is darn good instant coffee. So darn good, in fact, that if I didn't see the powder dissolving into the hot water with my own eyes, I probably wouldn't be able to tell that it was instant coffee. Ah, what a magical invention!

I will remain an espresso girl and still go to Starbucks every morning, but I see Via as a viable alternative for days when the line is too long or when I need another cup in the afternoon.

Via...viable....hmm, I wonder if that was on purpose.

~Em

Ew, Gross

2009-11-08T14:21:00.001-06:00

You know when the worst time is to realize someone has peed on the floor of the office restroom?
When you're wearing house-slippers and you've already stepped in it.

Dear Neighbors,

2009-11-07T14:03:00.000-06:00

Please get a life. I am tired of coming home from work at 6:30 every evening to find that all the parking spaces are taken. Same goes for Friday and Saturday nights at midnight. I expect that I won’t be able to find parking at 3 or 4am, but seriously, midnight?!? I’m disappointed at your lameness. I’d be even more disappointed if I found out you’re all coupled-up and happy at home on your couches while I’m scouring bars/charity events/churches for a decent single man. I’d also be really angry if I found out you’re just storing extra cars in the garage – I’m looking at you, Mr. Muddy-Jeep-in-same-spot-for-six-months. But not you, Mr. Aston Martin – call me! But I think the worst revelation of all would be that all the parking spaces are full because you’re throwing parties and not inviting me. And no, I do not want a pity invite.

Sincerely,
Your Angry and Displaced Neighbor

Re-Introduction

2009-11-06T13:59:00.001-06:00

So….Project NaBloPoMo has been an epic fail thus far, but I am too stubborn to throw in the towel, so I am going to write and retroactively post some entries so I can hit 30 posts in 30 days. I’m probably violating the rules of the project but isn’t it the spirit that matters? I’ll be caught up and back on the daily posting train in no time.

Also in other news, I’ve decided it’s time for a complete blog makeover. When I started this at the beginning of the year I had no clue what direction I wanted for this project, and to be quite honest, I still don’t have a great idea. But I know that some changes need to be made.

First, a professional makeover is coming. I’m on a pretty long waiting list, however, so it’ll probably be early 2010 before the aesthetic aspect of The Empty Cookie is improved. But don’t all major cosmetic procedures take a while? Or so I’ve heard.

Second, let me re-introduce myself. My name is Megan, I live in Houston, and I’m your atypical single 20-something working girl. Not that kind of ‘working girl,’ the professional kind. ‘Atypical’ because I’m somewhat weird. My friends call me quirky, my dad says I’m aloof. Anyway, when I started this blog I thought that I’d keep it anonymous and have a separate online persona, but that didn’t work for two huge reasons: (1) I have a big mouth and told too many people I know about it because I was excited, and (2) unless my online persona is going to wash my dishes and do my laundry while I’m at work, and/or find the extra income to hire a cute live-in boytoy/assistant/chef, I just don’t have time.

Third, I’m going to change the content a little bit. Sure I’ll keep telling stories about my adventures and disasters, but I’m going to make the guilty and innocent-until-proven-guilty parties harder to identify, and I’m going to clean up the language so as not to offend potential visitors. I’m also going to just let my guard down and tell some stories that I’ve kept private until now; I’ll get over my fear of rejection. Just don’t forget to leave comments telling me how awesome I am, okay? (I kid, I kid, kind of.)

~Miss Em
(Get it? Em? M? Bueller?)

I'm So Glad I Type Most of the Time

2009-11-05T17:04:00.007-06:00

Earlier this week, Beth over at So the Fish Said did a post asking us to expose our handwriting to the world. Or in my case, to the two people who might read this blog. Anyway, here's what I got:

The pen is mightier than the sword, but technology is also mightier than me. *Somebody* couldn't figure out how to scan this and save to a picture format, so a crappy iPhone picture will have to do.

I’m the Reason We Don’t Have Nice Things

2009-11-04T08:25:00.001-06:00

The summer before my last year of college, I bought my first designer purse – the Louis Vuitton mini pochette in monogram canvas owned by EVERY 20-something woman in Texas. The one that so many women own, I call it “baby’s first designer purse.” You know, this one:

I bought it because every soon-to-be professional should have a nice expensive purse for special times like recruiting dinners, romantic evenings, and Tuesdays. Plus, my then-boyfriend carried an LV man-bag and matching wallet, and I felt like I had to compete, but that is a story for another time.

My first few months with the Louis were as wondrous as I’d imagined they would be. I took it with me almost everywhere and lit up every time a friend noticed its legitimacy. “Holy crap,” they’d say, “I can’t believe you have a real one!” God bless the discretionary income that comes with a bartending job and the fiscal irresponsibility that comes with being 22.

One fateful night I went to see my LV-carrying-then-ex-boyfriend in a fashion show with a friend. He invited us to the official after-party, where he proceeded to scream out “Hey everybody, I used to sleep with these three girls right here” in the middle of the bar while standing next to me and two of his other exes. Knowing that my only options were to cry, throw my drink on him, punch him in the face, and/or excuse myself and try to maintain some dignity, I chose the latter and ran to the restroom.

Seething and shaking, I ducked into the nearest stall and tried to regain my composure. I had placed my drink on the toilet-paper dispenser and moved my arm back down to my side when I saw and felt it start to happen: in slow-motion I watched the Louis drop from my shoulder, straight down my unsuspecting arm, and into the toilet bowl. In a filthy bar restroom.

I screamed.

My friend, who had witnessed the scene and run after me, pounded on the stall door and asked if I was going to be okay.

I did the only thing I knew how to do and yelled, “I JUST DROPPED A LOUIS VUITTON IN THE FUCKING TOILET!”

The entire restroom crowd silenced as I fished it out and tried to dry it off with some paper towels. I managed to do a good enough job that there was no lasting leather damage, but I couldn’t get it entirely dry right away. And of course I was wearing white so I had to walk around the rest of the night holding the bag away from my body to prevent a huge, noticeable wet spot on my pants.

So much for maintaining my dignity.

~Em

A Purely Hypothetical Question

2009-11-03T09:24:00.000-06:00

It’s a rainy, lazy weekday afternoon and you’re sitting in your office, curled up in your chair with a blanket on your lap and a fresh cup of coffee. You take a sip and realize that it’s a bit strong for your liking. Do you (a) get up and walk to the kitchen for some creamer, or (b) just dump in some of the protein shake you have sitting at your desk?

Mmmm, vanilla Muscle Milk.

~Em

One of These Days I’ll Say It How I Really Mean It

2009-11-02T08:20:00.001-06:00

I formally broke up with Shot Time last weekend, and let me tell you, I am less than thrilled about it. We went on one date. ONE EFFING DATE. I figured that after a week and a half of me being non-responsive after this less-than-amazing date, he’d get the picture. But no, of course not, it required a formal conversation.

The day after our date he sent me a text telling me he’d had an amazing time and couldn’t wait to hang out again. Flattering, but I wasn’t interested and didn’t respond.

A couple days later he sent me another “thinking of you” text. I didn’t respond.

The Sunday after our date he left the creepy voicemail that made me hide in my apartment for the rest of the day and order a pizza for dinner in hopes of not being spotted around the neighborhood. I didn’t respond – mostly because I figured I couldn’t without being absolutely furious about his stalker behavior. Then I got busy and forgot to respond.

Two days later he sent me a “please can we get together this week I just can’t wait any longer to see you again” text. I finally responded with “I’m super busy, I just don’t have time. Sorry.”

Last Friday he sent me a text at 7am (while I was still asleep, damnit) that said “Hey beautiful, I’m really looking forward to our future dates, just wanted to make you smile first thing this morning.” I gagged. And then I laughed. So I guess technically it did make me smile, in a roundabout way.

It all came to an end on Sunday when he sent YET ANOTHER TEXT that said “Seriously, when are you going to let me show you the best time of your life? We can’t have the most amazing first date ever and then not have a second.” Apparently he and I were not on the same first date. I finally lost my shit and responded with “Look, I’m obviously not interested in you, sorry.”

He responded with “Wow, I didn’t see that coming. I thought you said you had a great time and you couldn’t wait to see me again and spend a lot more time together.”

I deleted his number.

But this is what I wanted to say: “Look you fucking weirdo, we went out one time – ONE TIME! Just because I laughed once or twice during our date doesn’t mean that I had an amazing time. At no point did I say that I was having an amazing time, nor did I say I wanted to hang out again, nor did I say that I wanted to date you or have ANY ASSOCIATION WITH YOU WHATSOEVER. I figured that ignoring you and failing to suggest any time that we should get together would be clue enough that I have no interest in doing so, but YOU ARE CLEARLY EITHER TOO FUCKING CREEPY OR TOO FUCKING FULL OF YOURSELF to get it. If I was into you, you would know, because I would have returned your messages and made time for you and even shown you affection. Lose my number.” God, I’m so angry just thinking about it.

Despite my bitchy exterior I must be too nice sometimes. Or maybe I’m the crazy one here and that’s why I’m still single.

~Em

The Posts Just Keep Coming!

2009-11-01T09:00:00.001-06:00

I'm rapidly approaching the 100 post mark so to honor my almost-achievement I went back and read my old posts from the beginning. Some of them are pretty funny (in my humble, unbiased opinion), but some of them...not so much.

So in an attempt to improve the quality of this blog and my writing skills, I'll be participating in National Blog Posting Month. That's a post a day during November, even on the weekends.

I'll make my best effort to not post crap.

~Em

All Hallow’s Eve, I’m Giving You a Chance

2009-10-30T07:19:00.000-05:00

I’ve been walking around for the past couple of years telling people that I hate Halloween. I mean, I just don’t get it. Or I thought I didn’t. Luckily someone called me out on it and asked me why I hate Halloween so much, and once I thought about it, the last two have been life-changing experiences. Maybe I don’t hate it so much after all.

Two years ago, my boyfriend of six months and I broke up a week before Halloween. We had some cutesy couples’ costume planned which, in retrospect, I can’t even remember. I guess it was that epic, ha. Scrambling to come up with a last-minute non-couples idea, I chose the pop culture reference du jour and went as Britney Spears from her “comeback” performance of “Gimme More” at the VMAs – fishnets, boy shorts, knee-high boots, sparkly bra, blonde wig. I met my girlfriends at a big house party where we spent most of the evening having a wonderful time. The highlight of my costume was when people asked who/what I was, I got to look at them at say, “I’m Britney, bitch.” It was pretty funny, if I do say so myself.

Then at some point we decided to go to a bar.

If you’ve never been to a bar in your underwear, you should. The night gets fuzzy at points but I do remember dancing on a couch with my hands over my head and having the realization that I was in a bar with very few clothes on and I didn’t care. It was one of the most liberating moments I’ve ever had. Writing that down, though, I think it may be something you have to experience yourself to fully understand.

Last year on Halloween, I was in a boot thanks to the torn tendon in my foot – it was the start of the year-long injured foot saga. (Did I mention that my doctor finally cleared me last week? Woohoo!) I was going to wear my high school cheerleading uniform and be an injured cheerleader, but my boy-of-the-month blew me off to go out with his friends that night instead, so there was no dressing up for me.

I ended up meeting some of my guy friends at a gentlemen’s establishment that we affectionately call Super-Happy-Fun-Land, because it’s fun and because it’s less conspicuous to say in an email. It was a great time to go because the girls actually wore fun costumes. One of the girls came out and did a contortionist routine to the song “Cry Little Sister” from the movie “The Lost Boys.” It was another you-had-to-be-there situation but let me tell you, my life will never be the same.

So there you have it, I’ve come to realize that I don’t hate Halloween after all. This year I’ll be heading to a party with some friends, dressed as Poison Ivy and travelling in a rented hearse. Pictures to come.

My Friends Know Me Too Well

2009-10-29T09:48:00.000-05:00

One of my friends sent me this email last week:

Subject: Ha ha ha
Sent: Thursday, October 22, 5:15pm
Recipient: Em

Today, I went on a date with an awesome guy. I got super hammered and punched him in the face. FML

I hope this was not you…. Jk jk

Haha, nope, not this time. I try to only get wasted and punch non-awesome dates.

~Em

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

2009-10-28T08:15:00.000-05:00

I am the proud owner of this t-shirt:

(Shut up, I’m currently working without a digital camera so a download from the website will have to suffice.)

I call it a political statement. My mother does not share my sense of humor.

~Em

Sometimes the Truth is the Hardest and Most Surprising Part

2009-10-27T10:13:00.000-05:00

At some point during the last six months I learned to be content with my status as professional single girl. Professional as in I have a career, but I guess I’m also professionally and perpetually single. And I’m perfectly fine with that. I’m happy – I have a great job, great friends, great family, etc, etc. I’d definitely rather be single than be with the wrong person. That may sound obvious but it took me a long time to get here.

And yes, I write a lot of stories on this blog about horrible dates I’ve been on. But what you don’t get to read is the times I go on dates with awesome guys I just don’t click with, or even the times I go out for a while with a guy before one or the both of us decides it’s just not meant to be. Why? Because those stories really just aren’t that entertaining, and there are certain things I like to keep to myself.

Anyway, while I’m very happy as a single girl and I’m out having crazy adventures with my friends, trying to live it up while I’m still young and reasonably attractive (ha!), I’m still keeping my eyes open for a good guy. And I’m seeking advice from others who have experience with healthy, happy relationships so that I’ll be ready and recognize it when it happens. There’s nothing I can do to make it happen, but I can make sure that I’ve got my head in the game when it does.

About a month and a half ago I reached out to someone I consider to be a spiritual leader and asked about the waiting game – that is, I have a desire to end up in a relationship but I haven’t been blessed with one yet, so is it fair for me to be frustrated about that sometimes? I received an excellent response from him that (to paraphrase with liberty) amongst other things, yes it’s fair to be frustrated, but I should never give up the hoping and looking, and I need to keep my eyes open because what if I have some great options right in front of me that I just can’t see?

My first thought was “Ha, that’s great, have you met the guys I know? Thanks, but no thanks.”

I woke up two days later and realized, “OH SHIT I TOTALLY HAVE A THING FOR MY FRIEND.”

Well, isn’t life funny.

And now every time I see the guy I feel like he just knows, like he can look at my face and tell something is up. But chances are I’m not actually being any more awkward than usual (which is pretty damn awkward), and he probably just thinks I could use a Xanax or something.

I want to tell him. I really want to walk up to him and say, “Hey, remember those times that I pushed you away? I did it because I was terrified, because I knew deep down inside that I have feelings for you and if we had a thing it could turn into a real thing, and I wasn’t ready for that. You’re an amazing guy – I have a great time around you, you always make me laugh, and I feel like we get along so well. Any girl would be lucky to have you, and I’d give anything for a chance.”

But of course I won’t say that, because I have no balls. I’d like to think that we’ve known each other long enough that even if he were to laugh in my face and say “no fucking way” that we could move on and still be friends. But I still can’t do it. What can I say, sometimes I’m an idiot.

So what am I going to do about it? The answer for right now is nothing. I’m going to sit back and see if anything happens. Maybe it will, maybe it won’t. Maybe I’ll be a total pansy and have one of our mutual friends say something. Or maybe, just maybe, he’ll stumble upon this blog, realize this post is about him, and then say something so I won’t have to.

Yeah, right.

~Em

Take Anything You Want, But Please Sir, Don’t Take My Manolos

2009-10-26T16:10:00.001-05:00

Thanks to Sex and the City in advance for letting me butcher that quotation.

I had an adventure last Wednesday night that felt a hell of a lot like a trip to the Twilight Zone. In the interest of not going too deep back into it mentally, I’ll share it with you as I shared it with a friend via email:

Well, first off I ended up getting incoherent, blackout drunk from 2 1/2 glasses of wine...no idea how that happened, that's what caused this whole disaster in the first place. And I had no idea what kind of event I was getting into because the friend who invited me apparently doesn't believe in details.

So I'm wasted and at this dinner to honor the TX supreme court judges, watching my friend who's running for some public office embarrass himself by handing flyers to some of the judges during dinner, and sending 'i love you' text messages to about 15 people in my phone under the table. Apparently wine makes me appreciate my friends more.

So after dinner we end up driving to this random dive bar with my friend and a couple of family court judges. One of the judges kept ordering shots and telling us if we couldn't handle it we weren't allowed to vote. It was so weird.

While they're at the bar taking shots some random old dude walks up to me and starts talking - turns out he knows my CEO so I feel like I have to be nice and talk to him for a few. Then old guy's friend walks up, tells me he's a bigshot at Bergdorf in NY and is here opening a flagship Manolo store. So the next thing you know he's promising me free designer shoes, swearing his last name is Blahnik, and telling me that he thinks I have great taste and can work with him and a focus group to help him decide what kind of shoes will be in the Houston store... You know, kind of like a muse. Because I'm so cool and all, hahaha.

And I'm drunk and so fucking excited because, well, shoes are awesome and designer shoes are better than sex 90% of the time, and i believe this random man because I'm gullible like that.

So of course I give him my contact info because hey, DESIGNER SHOES, and I get an email from the guy who knows my boss this morning saying, 'my friend did pretty well for a guy that knows nothing about shoes, right? Thanks for being a good sport.'

And then I'm all fuck, I was hoodwinked by two old men!

Then 'Mr. Blahnik' called me an hour ago to get my shoe size and address to send over some stuff, though, so maybe I have a fairy shoemother after all. But don't worry, I definitely don't expect that to ever materialize and I told him to send them to my office, so at least he doesn't know where I live.

And that's how I spent my Wednesday night. Surreal.

I think my friend’s response says it all:

What.the.fuck.
This really happened? I mean REALLY really happened?

Yes, yes it did.

~Em

Hopefully What Will Be the Last Fight Ever with The Ex

2009-10-21T08:12:00.000-05:00

The Ex and I had a very tumultuous relationship for a long time - for the nine months we were together and for the three years of on-again-off-again abuse after. We had a huge blowout fight after St. Patrick's Day this year and hadn't spoken since. It was like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders.

Until I received an email from him a couple weeks ago. It read that he was sorry for how he acted and he thought we were both missing out by not being a part of each others' lives, and he wanted to be friends.

I sat on the email for a few days while I decided what to do. Then, against my better judgment, I sent him a reply that went something like this:

Dear Ex, I thought I'd never hear from you again and I was perfectly fine with that. I've grown up a lot in the past few months and I've come to realize that I have an amazing life - a great career, great friends, great family, etc. I'm very lucky and I'm being more careful on who I let into my life. With that said, I'm willing to try to be friends if you are willing to do it on my terms, with a focus on respect and boundaries. If that doesn't sound like a good idea to you, then I wish you the best.

He shot me an email back an hour later that went something like this:

Dear Em, you're so negative. You're so hostile. Blah, blah, I don't need you in my life. I don't even want you in my life. I reject your offer of conditional friendship.

Then I sent him one back:

Dear Ex, you're right. I'm too selfish to ever appreciate you for the awesome person you are, and you're too selfish to ever do things on my terms. Let's let bygones be bygones.

And that was it. From 'let's be friends' to total implosion in less than 3 hours. That's a record, even for us. I'm proud for finally standing up for myself around him.

And call me on it if I'm totally off-base here, but isn't a friendship based on respect and boundaries part of being an adult, not a conditional friendship?

~Em

And While We're On the Topic of Inappropriate Voicemails

2009-10-20T10:05:00.000-05:00

I got a voicemail at 4am Saturday (technically that's Sunday, right?) that was 8 seconds long:

"Hey, hahahaha, BOOTY CALL! HAHAHAHAHA, that's all I thought you were worth!"

First, was the caller 12? Second, that's just so rude - why do that to someone? Simply not calling would have been a much more civilized way to go about it if someone didn't think I was worth having a real conversation with. And third, wow, questioning my worth as a person digs deep and actually hurts, that's pretty offensive.

I walked around my apartment all pissed off for a while, wanting to call the person back and yell at them and tell them what a crappy person they are, but knowing that would accomplish nothing.

But the bottom line is that I don't have the number saved in my phone, so I don't even know who the caller was. Clearly I didn't think he was worth much either.

~Em

Some Dates Send Me Into Hiding....Must Find My Happy Place

2009-10-19T08:57:00.000-05:00

A lot of potential suitors have called me skittish when it comes to dating new people. I think it's because I didnt' really like them that much. But I'll give them this - the littlest thing can freak me out and cause me to stop returning their calls.

After some of the dates I've been on, I think that's fair.

So, just a note to anyone who thinks they may want to date me - if we have been on one date but I haven't returned your calls in a week and, I've been 'really, really busy,' I am trying to blow you off. Leaving me the following voicemail isn't going to help:

"Hey you, I haven't talked to you in a few days so I figured I'd drive from my house in the suburbs all the way into town where you live, and I'm sitting at the bar that I know is right near your apartment complex, but I don't know exactly where you live, and well, I figured I'd just sit here and drink by myself until I get ahold of you and hopefully we can do something. I don't care if you're just cleaning your apartment, or going shopping, I'll come with you I just want to see you so please call me back."

STAGE 10 CLINGER ALERT, you just got yourself a one-way ticket to never being spoken to again. I'm glad I didn't tell you where I lived.

~Em

What Time is It? It's SHOT TIME!

2009-10-18T17:49:00.003-05:00

I should have known that I was in trouble when, before the appetizers even got to the table, I was wondering if my date needed less coke or more Adderall. He was telling me some story of how he got his current job and was about 15 minutes into it, having started the back-story at age 18 (he's 32, so it was taking a while to get there), and I was sitting with my head tilted wondering when he was going to shut the hell up.

I should have also known I was in trouble when he said that he wouldn't be out with me if I didn't look like I could be a cage-dancer at a Kid Rock concert. Clearly the vibe I want to give off, and I don't particularly consider that a compliment.

But I didn't even see if coming when, after dinner, he asked me what time it was, and while I was checking my watch pulled down his lower lip to show me his brand-new tattoo that read SHOT TIME, and yelled 'It's shot time, bitches!' in the middle of the restaurant. He then proceeded to down several rounds of Goldschlager while I watched in horror.

Maybe I'm a no-fun prude, but omeone clearly isn't getting a second date.

~Em

Books and Their Covers

2009-10-13T09:09:00.002-05:00

I got in the elevator this morning with a girl who was so put-together and well, tiny, that I couldn't help but like her. With her nice suit and chunky laptop bag, I instantly pegged her for a first-year law associate. Poor kid, I thought.

When the elevator stopped on the next floor, a very angry, disheveled man got on. Like Mickey Rourke-disheveled and angry. He grunted as he walked on and proceeded to move far enough back that I was close to pinned against the back of the elevator. Instant dislike.

Luckily it was only a few more floors down. When we stepped out of the elevator, tiny girl made it obvious that she had no intention of acknowledging anyone's presence or moving her precious Louboutin's one inch to hold the door for either myself or Mickey Rourke. (When we got to the other elevator bank she let the door close on me again, the little bitch.)

As we stepped off the elevator, Mickey looked at me and said, 'I think there's something wrong with this picture. I was checking my hair in the mirror and you two were checking your Blackberrys on the ride....oh well, I guess it's one of those mornings.'

Poor guy probably just needed some coffee. Guess I shouldn't judge people so quickly.

~Em

The Ice Queen Cometh

2009-10-07T13:31:00.003-05:00

I was out a weekend or two ago with some friends (per usual), when one of the guys in our group informed me that there is a bet going as to which guy in the group "the ice queen" will sleep with first ("the ice queen" being yours truly).

I hope they're patient because telling me that just guaranteed that it will never happen. Ever. With any of them. I had no plans to be romantically involved with any of them anyway, but now it's definitely not going to happen.

When he saw the horrified look on my face he said, "let's start this conversation over."

I said, "Great idea." I put out my hand to shake his. "Hi, my name's Em, and I'm the best sex you're never going to have."

He looked at me in astonishment.

"Or the worst. But you'll never know, because it's never going to happen. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to walk away now."

I mentioned the situation to one of the other guys later in the evening and he was furious for me. But I'm not mad. I was there to make friends and spend time with cool people, not to whore myself out. And if having some sort of moral standards makes me the group's official Ice Queen, then brrrrrrr, I'll take the title gladly.

Put on your jackets people, it's going to be a cold fall.

~Em

Insert Subliminal Message Here

2009-10-06T09:40:00.003-05:00

Last week I painted my nails pink in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month and in anticipation of the Race for the Cure on Saturday. In true Em style I went for neon pink. (This may be a good time to note that the only nail polish colors I own are neon pink and black.)

The next morning I was in the middle of physical therapy when I noticed that I was wearing workout pants with neon pink stripes down the sides.

A few hours later in the restroom at work, I noticed I was also wearing neon pink underwear.

That's when I realized that my nails are subconsciously affecting my life. I'm going to start painting important messages on them: be nicer to people, curse less, do more charity work, remember to pay rent on time, and don't wear mesh underwear to the tanning bed.

My life is going to change drastically, just wait.

~Em

Mmmm, Smells Like Fresh-Baked Bread.

2009-09-30T14:26:00.003-05:00

My apartment complex is across the street from a bread factory.

Want to guess how long I lived in my apartment before I realized this?

Two. Years.

Want to know how I found out?

Someone told me.

I just thought I had neighbors who baked all the time.

~Em

Hi, My Name is Em, and I Have a Problem

2009-09-29T09:00:00.003-05:00

Everyone now: "HI, EM!"

As you may have gathered from this post, I don't cook. I'm too busy considering myself an evolved career woman and spending my after-work time with friends and at the gym. And I find it totally pointless to cook for one person, especially since I don't eat all that much (I'm a girl, and I'm little, whatever).

Most of the time I can pull myself together enough to pick up something frozen from the grocery store - hey, wait a minute, does that count as cooking? - but not always.

I'm a Sunday night Papa John's delivery regular. No, seriously, they know me.

I also have a secret obsession with Chinese takeout. I had Chinese takeout three nights in a row last week. The lady who works at the Chinese place by my house is so motherly that I didn't want her to know, so I went to three different places on the three nights. Yes I'm hiding my takeout habit from the takeout lady. I think I have a problem.

Some people hide their drinking or other habits, I hide my crab wontons.

~Em

Things I Learned This Weekend

2009-09-22T09:01:00.003-05:00

Last weekend I made a trip to Austin to watch the 'Horns take on Texas Tech (Hook 'Em!), and I learned a few things that I thought I would share with you:

1. Inhaling pepper spray kinda sucks.
NB and I were walking to get some late-night pizza when a slightly insane fight broke out on the sidewalk next to us, and a bouncer sprayed some idiots with pepper spray. We inhaled. We coughed. I decided that I no longer want to mace myself just to see what it feels like, thankyouverymuch.

2. Painkillers don't always kill the pain but they do thin your blood.
I was still feeling the pain of my bum foot AND ended up with this bad boy:

I'm a little grossed out that I just put a picture of my foot on the interwebs, but that bruise is so champ I thought it deserved some recognition.

3. It is possible to drink out of two beer bottles at once.
There's no point in double-fisting if you're not double-drinking...just saying.

4. Making out is an excellent cure for hiccups.
We'll just leave that one alone.

I hope you kids had as classy of a weekend as I did.

~Em

Oh What a Bright Shade of Yellow

2009-09-17T09:04:00.002-05:00

I have the short-term memory of a goldfish.

What? I've mentioned that 437 times before?

I'm sorry, I CAN'T REMEMBER.

I've been taking vitamins regularly for a month now as part of my "get healthy / get back in shape / don't look like a fatass in Halloween pictures" plan. My doctor has also said that if I don't slow down a little and take better care of myself, I'll have the life span of a goldfish.

But every afternoon when I make a trip to the bathroom, I still have a brief OH MY GOD MY KIDNEYS ARE FAILING WTF I DRINK SOOOO MUCH WATER moment.

It's the vitamins, genius.

~Em

Seriously?!? How Old Am I?

2009-09-15T13:16:00.003-05:00

I went for a 3-mile walk yesterday. Yes, a walk. No, I'm not a senior citizen quite yet, nor have I even reached the age where I'm allowed to have a midlife crisis.

With this jacked-up foot*, I've got to walk before I can run. Let's face it, just walking hurts right now. I am in no way inclined, however, to sit on my couch feeling helpless and watching more time go by. I'm a fighter so I'm going to get up, grit my teeth, and get out there.

This will probably end unpleasantly.

Anyway, the whole point of this is that I walked 3 miles yesterday. Today my quads and my butt are sore. Am I really that out of shape?

Dear God, I only have six more weeks before Halloween, and we all know I need to be in shape by then to get away with the ridiculous idea I've come up with.

~Em

(*The back story for those of you who haven't had the pleasure of hearing me bitch about it for almost a year: tore a tendon last October, had a boot/cast for a while, re-injured it in July, found out the first doctor missed a larger tear, went back in the boot in August, now I'm out and doing physical therapy to break up the scar tissue, and it's a fun ongoing saga.)

I Get It Now, Taylor Swift...And It Hurts

2009-09-13T20:49:00.003-05:00

Warning/disclaimer/thingy: This post hits me a little closer to the vest than most. Even though I talk about a bunch of stuff on here, there are some things that are just too personal. I've decided to write about this because I need an outlet. I don't want sympathy, I don't want criticism, I just want to tell the story and move on and never talk about it again. If you feel compelled to comment, please keep that in mind.

Last week, the guy I'd been dating for about a month decided that he was no longer going to pursue his ongoing divorce from his soon-to-be-ex-wife. Now they are giving things another shot, and I am out in the cold. (The proverbial cold, that is, because it's still in the 90s here in Texas.)

Things were going swimmingly well until he showed up at my apartment and broke the news to me. Then there was the fantastic late-night phone conversation with his wife, followed by a rude and suspicious late-night text the next day that had to have been written or dictated by her. (In all honesty, I can't really blame her I would have made him do the same damn thing.)

Yes, I should have known better, and I should have seen it coming, but I'm still sad, hurt, and disappointed. Maybe it was all lies, but from what I've heard from both of them, I'm choosing to believe my version of the story as I tell it here. Plus it's just happier here in my little bubble.

I know that it sounds stupid, but I fell hard for him in such a short amount of time. He was nothing but caring, generous, and so fun to be around. He treated me like a princess. He made me feel like I'm smart, beautiful, strong, and can do anything. I could have sat with him for hours and talked about anything. He always joked that we're the male and female equivalents of the same person, and honestly I believe it. Even in the bitter end, he was so considerate to my feelings and handled the situation in the best way I can imagine.

I'm going to miss having him around, and I hope that maybe someday God will work it out so we can be a part of each others' lives in one capacity or another (minus the drama, of course).

As for his no-longer-soon-to-be-ex-wife, I hate her. It's not the phone call, nor the text. It's that she represents everything I see as unfair in this world: she had an awesome man who loved her and gave her an awesome life. Then she woke up one morning and decided she didn't want it anymore. She threw it all away to have an affair, asked him to move out, and demanded a divorce. Then one day, when she saw that it might actually happen the way she asked for it, she decided that she wanted it all back. And she got it. The world can be a cold, unfair place.

And now I know what Taylor Swift wants everyone to feel when hearing her song, "You Belong to Me." The lyrics are along the lines of "She wears high heels, I wear sneakers, she's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers....can't you see that I'm the one who understands you?"

Never before in my life have I truly understood what its like to feel stuck on the bleachers, watching but not able to have what she does. This high-heel wearing, former cheer captain just lost out. And I get it now. And it does not feel good.

My friends have been amazing for the past few days, and I appreciate them more than they know. Some brought me food because they knew I was upset and hadn't eaten, some have given me much-needed pep talks, and The Mayor even went to so far as to make me spit coffee on my computer when she said, "The universe is going to make that woman have a retarded baby. Yeah, I'm going to hell, but someone had to say it." (So tactless, really, but man it made me feel better at the time.)

When I look back on this after the hurt goes away, I want to focus on what I've learned from the experience: avoid married guys until the divorce papers are actually signed, and avoid guys with emotional baggage in general. But on a more serious note, I want to remember what he made me remember: I am a strong woman, and I am capable of finding someone who has all the qualities I'm looking for and who makes me feel wonderful about myself. And for that I thank him.

Now that I've gotten all of that out, it's time to put on my big girl panties and get back out there. Watch out boys, I'm back in the game.

~Em

Wherein I Clear the 'Sugar up My Nose' Issue

2009-09-10T12:01:00.000-05:00

Someone mentioned to me that maybe I should explain the story behind waking up on my 25th birthday with sugar up my nose. Well, I decided that after someone said to me 'ha, yeah, sugar, right.' Actually, that pretty much sums up how the whole thing happened.

The sad truth of the matter is that even though I've been to plenty of wild parties where god-knows-what was going on, and I even dated an alleged drug dealer or two in my day (purely accidental, and the second was never confirmed), I've never done illicit drugs. Ever.

The problem is that no one effing believes me.

One night AT and I were having this conversation and he said 'Em, of all the people I know in the world, I would have sworn you'd done coke.' After the shock wore off and I stammered plenty of things like 'geez you're an amazing friend' and 'what exactly is that supposed to mean,' we somehow came to the conclusion that I would prove it by snorting some sugar.

I have no idea...it made a hell of a lot more sense when we were drunk.

Anyway, we cut up a little line of sugar on a table in the bar and I went in for the kill. And missed. Twice.

Then some stranger walked by, handed me a rolled up dollar bill, and said 'Try this.'

So I did it. And that's how I woke up with sugar up my nose.

~Em

Reason #340598 Why The Mayor is Awesome

2009-09-09T10:23:00.001-05:00

'This is the fucking shittiest day ever.'

No matter what my morning is looking like, hearing that come out of your mouth makes me feel better every time.

~Em

Domestic Ineptitude

2009-09-08T14:51:00.004-05:00

Dear Friend,

Thank you so much for inviting me to be a part of your recipe exchange. I'm really hoping to get some good ideas to expand my culinary repertoire. Perhaps this project will even help me curb my closet Chinese-takeout habit.

Unfortunately for you, your email requested that I send a simple recipe that I can think of off the top of my head. I only have one, so here goes:

Ingredients:
One package Easy Mac
3/4 cups water

Directions:
Pour noodles and water into bowl, cup, or any container you can find.
Microwave 3 1/2 minutes.
Stir in cheese powder.

I hope you enjoy this recipe as much as I do and I hope you'll keep me in mind if you do this again, because I clearly have so much to contribute!

~Em

(p.s. I'm still working on a real recipe to send out, any suggestions welcome.)

How I Spent My Summer Vacation...I Mean, Wednesday Night

2009-09-03T07:39:00.000-05:00

Going to 4 different tattoo parlors on a Wednesday night: hard core.

Going to 4 different tattoo parlors on a Wednesday night because you had to get an MRI on your bum foot and they made you take out all your obscure earrings and you can't get two of those bitches back in without the assistance of a burly man with pliers: not so hard core.

At least I'm cool enough to know where to find 4 different tattoo parlors. Or lucky enough to live in Montrose where all I had to do was walk down the street.

And worst of all, now I'm aching for another tattoo.

~Em

Cleaning Green

2009-09-02T08:38:00.000-05:00

Thanks to the ways of my hippie, recycling, vegetarian Ex, I picked up a sense of heightened environmental awareness in the past few years. I've started trying to lessen my impact on the world in the same ways any other spoiled brat would: buying organic foods, eating cage-free eggs and meat, minimizing my use of disposable cups, recycling at work, and generally throwing money at the cause without inconveniencing myself too much.

And then I discovered that vodka makes an excellent cleaning product.

Ok, so I didn't discover it, but I read it in an article and thought it sounded like a great idea. I hate cleaning products because they smell gross and have too many chemicals. Vodka, however, and I have had a LOOONG love affair.

So I gave it a shot, and damn it if my sink has never been shinier. And that egg that I left sitting in a pan for a week (shut up, so what if I'm domestically inept) - GONE. Vodka even got rid of the sugary rainbow mess in my refrigerator that had been there since 4 bottles of martini mix exploded during the hurricane.

It makes me wonder why on earth I put this in my body, but then I relax and continue cleaning with my handy vodka spray bottle: one squirt on the sink, two squirts in my mouth.

~Em