Nice Mug

Well. It's 3:25 on a Sunday afternoon and as per usual I find myself slightly bored. I have plenty of books to read and tv to watch and cats to entertain yet somehow I find myself in front of this computer making my weekly confessional entry.

Only this time I'm in a bit of a beer haze.

See, what happened was.... I ordered a to-go salad from US Pizza, home of the yummiest salads on the face of the planet. Went to pick it up, brought it home, went upstairs to put up the purchases from Target and heard my brother and his friend Robert come in the door. Went downstairs to say howdy and ended up going BACK to US Pizza to eat with them. It's totally okay though. I hadn't yet eaten my salad so it's not like I had a double lunch. But I decided to go because I had this sudden and inexplicable urge for some beer.

So we went. And I had my beer. And now I'm home, my brother having departed for Conway to visit his girlfriend and Robert having left to go home to Texarkana. I called my friend Kasi from the short walk home to inform her how amusing it was that I was under the influence at 3 o'clock on a Sunday afternoon.

Random thought: I wish I knew how to post pictures because I just got a look at myself in the mirror and DAMN I'm attractive. I mean, truly. I walked into several public places today looking like I rolled outta a paper bag. ha HA! A little spandex in your pants never did anyone any lasting harm. :) And brushing your hair is really quite overrated.

Okay. I think it's nap time. My liver is requesting a conference call.

Save the Environment- Plant a Bush back in Texas

The title of this blog is perhaps my all-time favorite bumper sticker. Though not normally a fan of the back-of-the-car acoutrements expressing hate for mean people, political preferences, love for one's wife, or the fact that real women drive trucks, this is a sticker I would definitely consider brandishing on my vehicle. Though I'm sure no one can guess why...
Once upon a time, I was a fervent sticker-maniac. My ragged out camo-green 1993 Jeep Cherokee was covered in a veritable smorgasbord of stickers for the unfortunate driver who found themselves trailing my bumper to feast their eyes upon. I had stickers advertising my Eurpoean travel (stickers for The Netherlands, France, Belgium and Spain were placed on opposite sides of the rear glass along with a stereotypical Spanish black bull placed over my rear window taillight), stickers proclaiming that I was, in fact, a goddess, and one lone sticker asking you to "Please Use Tongs." The 'Tongs' sticker was actually, er, borrowed from the cafeteria on the campus of UCA. Until 1998, that sticker adorned the plastic cover over the ice cream cone bin. Heh. And as a present to me (as I had frequently admired the outright strangeness of making a sticker with the phrase "Please Use Tongs") my freshman roommate acquired it for me. Bless her.
But after I sold my Jeep for a new vehicle, I decided that the sticker fetish would die with my beautiful Gidget. (Gidget was the name of the Jeep. Gidget the Jeep.) My new car - a 1998 Montero Sport - lacked the jovial personality of Gidget. She seemed more refined, more luxurious. Possibly due to the fact that it was my first vehicle to ever have power locks or windows. I was high rollin. So this vehicle was christened Annabelle, a much more white collar name. That vehicle was followed by a 2002 Jeep Grand Cherokee, christened Dulce de la Noche. Don't ask why. I am fully aware that it makes no sense to name your car Sugar of the Night. It was just amusing at the time of purchase and unfortunately the name stuck.
And now, my world-renown short attention span has reared it's ugly head. I want a new car.
Okay. To be quite clear, it's not that I really want a new car. But Dulce drinks gas like it was lemonade... and it appears that my payoff amount is lower than my trade-in value. (WHAT? I have equity in my car? What is this nonsense?) So now would definitely be a good time to get out while my miles are low, my equity is high and gas prices are "reasonable" compared to what they were a couple of months ago. Meaning that I'm banking on the public to have forgotten about the $2.10/gallon we were paying not so long ago. And herein lies the problem:
I desperately want to convince myself that I should by a compact car. One that gets 35mpg... even in the city. A slight change from the 17mpg average I've got going in the Jeep. But I'm in love with SUV's. It's a vanity thing. I love them. They're beautiful. I am superior to the civic's, jetta's and accent's of the world. And more importantly, my ass does not drag the ground when I drive them. So maybe I can compromise with myself and purchase a compact SUV? Is this the solution? The Saturn Vue gets just as good gas mileage as a mid-sized sedan. And it's significantly better than my Jeep. Not to mention a lovely GM employee discount thrown in for good measure.
We shall see. I'm test driving cars tomorrow. I am leaving ALL bank information, employee information, etc at home so I am not even TEMPTED to purchase a vehicle on the spot. A common theme in my life as a car-buyer. But I am breaking the cycle. I will test drive, compare crash test ratings, MPG, safety equipment, etc until I arrive at a vehicle that does not totally offend me.
And since I've already placed an order for the above referenced bumper sticker, I have a feeling this car may be the one that gets to advertise my political leanings for the first time in vehicle history.

Nighty-night and cross-continent hugs for my soldier. Three more months!!!!

hardy fucking har har har

So. In the grand scheme of things I am aware that I shouldn't let ridiculous comments from insecure individuals burden my thoughts. But somehow... they filter in. Which only makes me want to beat said individuals with wooden baseball bats.. Which seems to be a common theme in my head. But anyway.

I don't even want to delve into the subject. I'm just that mad. I'm pissed that I even for one second doubt myself. I work for YEARS to get certain thoughts out of my head and then BAM some ill-conceived red-haired fuck-up has to put his over-analyzed two cents in. No. I am not skinny. But how dare he reinforce what society imposes upon women of a certain stature? And I realize what this next statement makes me sound like, but, what right has he, this five-foot-ten MY ASS red haired, pale-skinned, psuedo intellectual chicken-legged freak afflicted white boy to whale on ME?

Fuck 'em. Fuck the lot of 'em. You people with your penises waiving about and such. Keep your thoughts to yourself. Or at least keep your thoughts in your own social circle. Don't feel the need to invade mine and present your views of my inadequacies to the unsuspecting ears of my friends. They'll be the first ones to vouch for my insanity after I beat you to a bloody pulp with whatever blunt object is handy and is deemed to inflict the most trauma.

I was so damn proud of myself for behaving in a marginally mature manner and not belittling his lackluster characteristics, both physically and mentally. Ha! Shows what I get for attempting to be mature.

And now I'm pissed I devoted a whole page to this nonsense. I am avoiding bigger issues. Ugh. I am unbelievably glad there are only two people who occasionally read this crap. And both are women. So maybe I won't be judged too harshly.

Cheesy Goodness

Ok. So I was wondering today who thought up the idea of frying cheese.
Who thought, "ya know, cheese is great and all... I really like it on my sammiches, it's great in my pasta, and it's super on crackers... but I really think we could do something more with it."
And then took that thought process which led to the not-so-logical conclusion of breading a stick of cheese and dropping it in a deep fryer?? WTF??

But it sure is tasty. Bordering on the less-than-healthy side but still incredibly yummy.

So yeah. It's a Sunday. Super. I start my 11-8 schedule tomorrow. And Kasi starts her first day at CompanyXYZ. And Lacy has an interview there. (!!!!!!!! help !!!!!!) Brittany is meeting a new guy that I'm not sure I approve of. My brother got in a wreck on Thursday that my parents didn't tell me about until Saturday because "he wasn't hurt so it wasn't necessary." ????? It's alright. He just junk-yarded the car. Totally okay. Not sure they would have even told me on Saturday if I hadn't called that afternoon to say hey. I think I jacked up my knee while spastic-dancing around the house yesterday. But there was this really snazzy song on the radio so it was totally acceptable. But being a spazoid while walking down steps is a mite more complicated than my normal daily activities. Hence the jacked up knee. And I watched this review on Car and Driver this morning about the Pontiac GTO. What a gay-ass car. I mean, I realize the original GTO was based off a simple sedan and they just muscled it up. And this new body style is also. But they only gave themselves SEVENTEEN MONTHS to create the new GTO. Which is just wrong really. It looks horrible. It's pathetic. And it pisses me off.

And that's a Sunday for ya. Getting pissed off at a car manufacturer for having heads inserted into assholes while gimping around on a fubar knee, making pasta combined with salmon-from-a-can (nasty, by the way) and talking briefly to friends who are spending their day off in much the same way. Hopefully their Sunday is salmon-from-a-can free.

I think it's naptime.

Peace.

Crazy Season is officially OVER

Just like the title says, I am no longer in season for Crazy. Done. Stick a fork in me. Roasted crispy. Ready-to-serve.

I had a five day span where I really did go off the deep end a little bit. But, I suppose we all have those moments. Or so I assume. Granted, sometimes I don't have the best surround sound in my head. I have body image issues that pop up at the most inconvenient of times and a basin full of self-deprecating thoughts waiting to explode. But it's by no means my every day thought process. When I wrote my previous entry, I felt like it would never get any better. I was conscious of every flaw, defect and blemish. Not to mention having become so obsessed with presenting to my family the image they so desperatly want to see. How could I ever knowingly disapoint the ones I love when it was something I could so easily change? Surely my dating/commitment reservations were not natural and merely a by-product of too much must-see-tv. Right?

Well, this whole shabang has (cheesily enough) taught me quite a bit.

1) I tried to mold someone into something I would like. And worse yet, I attempted to mold myself into something he'd like. I didn't listen to a single thought that said otherwise. I wasn't sure about his voice. And yet I told my friends otherwise. I explained a disproportionate amount of my humor. And still I told my friends how he got my jokes. I disregarded quirks that normally would be deal-breakers ... being the picky person I am it's easy to find these "quirks" in just about everyone. So I attempted to be less demanding. Overall, I was just as enthralled with my friends reaction to my date as I was with the actual date itself. It showed them I was participating in normal behavior. Not letting past mishaps cloud my thoughts. And I worked myself up into such a frenzy, there's no way I could have let anyone live up to such standards. Ridiculous, really.

2) In the process of trying to bring me out of my self-imposed panics, I learned way more about the minds of men who surround my friends. Turns out, they think I'm cute. I'm a little weirded out that the word "hot" was used as a descriptive word as I'm pretty sure I've never heard myself called that, but it's still kinda nice. Every girl needs a boost now and then. Let's be honest. I was a weird looking kid. And quiet. And brainy. And a little too goofy. Now, here I am at an age considered 'adult' by the majority of the free world, and I still think like I did when I was 12. But at least I am aware it happens.

3) I may want, desperately, to delete my previous post. But I will not. It will be there to remind me how ridiculous I can get.

So. I feel calmer than I have in days. The infamous date is over. I'm still not completely sure about this whole thing. I just don't buy into the theory that this has to be complicated. I think we make it complicated. But if we (I) listened to our (my)
head(s) in the process, we'd (I'd) be a lot better off.

Well. I've exhausted the self-centeredness for the evening. I'm going to go sleep the last of my crazy off. Contemplate how I let myself become such a huge freak over a five-day-period.

As well meaning as our parents probably were, I'm always curious if they are cognizant of their effect on our lives.

Now, here's where you're thinking I'm going to launch into a philosophical discussion about the importance of those who share a DNA resemblance with us... hardly. I'm feeling much too superficial for anything so... trite.

I'm wondering if our parents, and to a larger degree those who surround us but lack similar genetics, realize how important even the smallest words can be. How a person can take a certain combination of words and morph them into something so unexpected, it blindsides you completely even years later. How a look, or lack thereof, can become a still frame in your memory, preserved, compressed and technicolor-ed.

Again, I'm sure one is expecting a much bigger follow up than what's about to happen. But I figure that's the purpose of this, right? I've heard (read) this described as an electronic confessional. So what's the use in not using it to it's full advantage? Why censor myself just because I'm afraid others will find me crazier than they already think I am? Why let myself care if anyone finds my rantings stale and banal? My self-centeredness is amusing... even to me. So if I prefer to be selfish by way of my electronic confessional, so be it.

Moving along. What I was writing about before is somewhat ambiguous. I clearly did not define what I was talking about by any stretch of the imagination. Probably on purpose, but that's another discussion entirely. The pea that prompted this discussion is, in fact, a date.

A date. As in with a person of the opposite sex where one is picked up, taken to dinner, to a movie and then home. Not a "let's hang out... as friends... and maybe we'll make out later." An honest-to-goodness date. And for once in my life, this date has no girlfriend, homocidal tendencies, no wife, and no leanings toward those of the same sex. Could be a fluke. Or I could actually be sticking to my list. But I digress. Though two three-hour phone conversations have been completed in no less than 4 8 hours as well as 1.5 hours spent making witty chit-chat on instant messenger... not to mention tonight's ongoing phone calls... we have yet to meet. My date is a friend of a friend. So our date will be blind.

And here's where the beginning of this rant ties in. I have, stored away in my head, snippets of speech from my father, brother and various others. In this particular storage bin are comments relating to my appearance. All of them revolving around my 'pretty face' but 'lackluster body.' The specifics are not worth repeating. They get enough airtime in my head. But you can see where my issue sleeps, right? My date has seen a picture of my face but not a complete photograph. Years of practice have shown me the right way to hold my head, dip my chin, crinkle my eyes and smile just right-- all in attempt in disguising the fact that my body doesn't match my face. Or so the evil demon says that drags up battered old storage bins from the dusty recesses of my mind. I even made a girl-esque phone call to a friend of mine, inquiring on what outfit was the most slimming. Not what outfit was the cutest, the most appropriate, the most fun.... but the most slimming.

How have I let these ridiculous comments rule my life? Where did it change from being just a random comment, to a comment I base my life on? And WHY am I letting the comments of people, specifically men, more specifically men who are related to me, force me into a cage with no door? Because as soon as I open the floodgates, as soon as one thought manages to slip by... all the rest come pouring in. It's RIDICULOUS.

I have no thoughts on how to fix this. Following advice from my mother and friends, I could choose to be more confident. And, at times, I am. But I'm not sure how to escape the times when I am not. Do I seek out the confirmation of others? Or do I just recognize it and let it play itself out? Will it eventually become less of a surround sound and more of a background murmur?

So. I have no idea what to do. The date is planned. I am going. Maybe flash of light promoting less self-centeredness will cure all ailments. Ugh.