City Savvy Girl

My New Side Job: Impersonator

2011-05-12T12:58:00.000-04:00

It's only recently that I have discovered just how typical I look. When I was younger, old dudes would tell me that I resemble Natalie Wood. I had no idea who she was. Turns out, she was hot, so I take that as a compliment. More recently, I have been getting, at least once a day, this comment, "You look just like Katy Perry!" Groan. Really?

Three of the guys I work with. The lunch lady. The bartender at the company party. The cashier at the pharmacy. The nurse at the doctor. Random people in the same bar as me. My stepdaughter's giggly friends. It never ends.

I haven't decided yet how I feel about this comparison. I almost get the idea that people think I am, at 31 years old, trying to look like Katy Perry. This particular idea disgusts me. First of all, I have been dying my hair black for many years now. Second of all, I have had bangs for just that long. Third, I was born with blue eyes, so there's really no way I can "copy" that. Unlike Katy Perry, I don't look like Edward Cullen just sucked me dry of my blood supply.

Yeah. I like the retro look. While looking for an image to put on this post, I ran across a picture (her):

I got a little sad. Mostly because of this (me):

So, maybe I should capitalize on this. I'm beginning to think I should just give in to these terrible comparisons and just be Katy Perry. I can make appearances at tweenage birthday parties and lip synch to "Teenage Dream" and "Hot N Cold." It would give me an excuse to wear over the top outfits and shoot whipped cream from my breast area and sing about alien sex. Maybe this isn't so bad after all...

What Was Wrong With T-Shirts?

2011-05-11T15:39:00.000-04:00

Oh, my, my. American Apparel. What the hell is wrong with you? I mean, I've known for quite some time that you had a major identity issue, but I thought you'd have it worked out by now. It's like you're the poster child for bi-polar disorder...in the form of a retail store.

I'll admit it; I've spent countless hours deciding on what color leggings I'm going to buy from your store. I admit that you have the best made leggings of any place I've ever shopped. BUT - I can't stand how dirty I feel after I've left. I know it sounds silly, but when I'm shopping and I'm forced to stare at women who look like they've just emerged from a crackhouse circa 1973, I feel like I've been marinating in filth. So why the accusations and distaste? Well, you're a glorified t-shirt store that sells clubwear through models who look like they're geeked up. So, I'm confused. Half the time, your models aren't even wearing clothes...but you sell clothes...? Are you a porn mag, or a retail store? Do people actually wear bodysuits and micro mesh? I mean, real people, not those sickly girls you have on the pages of your catalog. Do they? I recall the first, and last, time I wore a bodysuit. It was 1992. And, unless you've got Amish girls trying to pass off your plaid double-layered full-length skirt as one they made themselves, I can't figure out who the hell would actually purchase something so hideous.

I must be missing something major here. Can someone enlighten me? What is the obsession with looking like a bum? More than that, what is the obsession with spending a small fortune to do so? Oh my God. My mom just called. She wants her one-liners back.

My Fav Potato Chips.

2008-01-04T13:44:00.000-05:00

The co-workers took me out for sushi today since my birthday was last week, and this lunch outing reminded me of something I discovered while Christmas shopping that has captured a spot on my list of favorite things. Right now, that list basically consists of:

(these are in no particular order, I love them all the same)

~Orbit Bubblemint Gum
~Wool knee socks
~Jasmine Vanilla lotion from Bath & Body Works
~b-relaxed vitaminwater
~messenger bags

And now, to add to it, one of the most wonderful new things ever, Wasabi Mustard potato chips from Target's Archer Farms, that comes in a resealable bag. Seriously, these potato chips are simply to die for. Next Target trip will have me purchasing the Sea Salt and Black Pepper and BBQ Ranch. Or whatever the other flavors are.

Happy Birthday! Now, Here's More Debt.

2007-11-29T10:47:00.000-05:00

As my birthday approaches (exactly one month from now, actually), my mailbox seems to be plagued with many "Happy Birthday! Enjoy a gift from (insert name of large store with high interest credit card here)!"

I have a credit card for probably every store you can think of, because I am a woman and sometimes, my window shopping leads to impulse buying of matching coats and hats and shoes that I simply must have. Now, I know this behavior will only cause me stress later on, but I don't tend to exhibit said behavior unless I am strapped for immediate cash. Or, around a holiday, such as this impending one.

So far this week, I've been hit by Gap and Victoria's Secret, and I expect a few others to send me a coupon for being born in the near future.

Here is my complaint: I have a balance on those cards. I pay on time every month. I actively use the card every year, at least a few times. However, when my birthday rolls around, instead of being really nice and rewarding me for being a loyal customer and just giving me a damn coupon or free keychain, I get an envelope with a smiling model on it that houses a small credit card sized piece of paper (how convenient) that says,

"Happy Birthday! Come into (insert name of large store with high interest credit card here) and present this coupon as our gift to you for $10 off your next (insert name of large store with high interest credit card here) card purchase when you spend $50 or more!"

Let me get this straight. I can only use your "gift" if I (a) charge it and add to my already looming balance, AND (b) spend more than I normally would on one item? How is this supposed to make me feel warm and fuzzy inside? Ideally, I should be able to use that $10 no matter what form of payment I use to buy a $20 hat if I want. Or, $10 socks. Shouldn't I?

Rock of Whores.

2007-07-17T10:36:00.000-04:00

I simply loathe reality TV. It's actually the reason I have refrained from changing the channel to anything other than TNT (endless Law and Order reruns are found there...) for the past two years. It's gotten out of hand. However, while I was at my parents' house on Sunday, I saw a special preview of a new show on VH1 called "Rock of Love." Basically, it's Poison's Bret Michaels playing the bachelor with 25 ~~girls~~ total hoochie hoodrats vying for his love.

I decided after seeing the sneak scenes, I had to watch the entire episode, and when I did, I literally, out of utter disbelief, could NOT change the channel. The man friend was over watching it with me, and I turned and looked at him at one point and had to reattach his jaw to the rest of his face based on the fact that he, too, could not believe what he was witnessing. The girls on this show are just trash, with the exception of maybe three of them who were holding themselves in a semi-ladylike manner. On national television.

I'm actually wondering if I should go to the gyno and get tested because I think an STD may have jumped through the screen and infected me. That's how dirty these girls look, and I'm not even kidding.

What has entertainment come to when a washed up 80s rock icon (who looks like total shit now, by the way) gets his own TV show to find "the one?" That's not even the most disturbing part. One of the commercials during the show advertised Poison's new album that has them putting a twist on their favorite songs by other artists. I'm still scared to remove the earplugs from my head in case I happen to accidentally hear any of the covers during a normal day.

Bret, hang it up, dude. It's over. It's been over.

Sand In My Shoes.

2007-06-04T17:04:00.000-04:00

I know, it's about to be summer in something like two weeks. What are you supposed to be doing for summer? Vacationing. Where? The beach. It just goes hand in hand. Am I weird because I'm passing up a trip to the beaches of Destin and a lake trip to Austin, TX in order to have a very, very short stint in NYC? I love that place. I want to go there whenever I can. Even in the stinky summer when I question my decision to go to a city that smells of ass and dead people when the weather is sweltering.

But it's not just that. I also want to go to the mountains and sit in a hot tub overlooking trees and wildlife as opposed to sitting in a literal sea of sand that has me taking really long showers at the end of the day in order to find every last grain of sand that is lodged into places unmentionable all over my body. That's in addition to the lobster-like skin I tend to acquire while on the beach since I never know that I'm getting burnt until I retreat indoors and notice my nose is as brown and crispy as chicken straight out of the fryer. Sure, I turn tan the next day thanks to my Italian roots, but it's hard to sleep when your skin is on fire and the sheets feel like sandpaper.

Beach trips also warrant that horrible result of bringing the beach home. You know, you go to the beach. You sit in the sand. You roll over. You put your towel in a bag, and you go home. And half the beach has come home with you. Sand. For. Weeks. Everywhere. It's like the glitter that I still have in my car from over a month ago that fell out of my hair initially, and has survived quite a few sucks of the vacuum.

Even though I hate the beach, I really enjoy the smell and the fruity drinks that tend to come with it. Not to mention the awesome bronzed skin I come back with. It looks super under the ugly flourescent lights of the office, let me tell you...

Whatever Did We Do Then?

2007-05-11T14:02:00.000-04:00

Last night I was hanging out at Taco Mac in the Highlands, like I often do because they have free wi-fi and an extensive beer collection. A couple of my pals were with me and we briefly got on the subject of how we communicated with our friends back in high school when there were no cell phones. We had car phones in the bag. Well, my friends did. And we had land lines. And let me just go ahead and say that I was savvy to texting before texting was texting. Confusing, I know, but I was blowing up my high school sweetheart's pager with numbers that spelled things. You know, it was harder than anything to try and figure out the secret pager code, but we managed with what we had. Now I carry around a Blackberry that has so many letters on it, you can barely see the numbers, and it's a freaking phone for Heaven's sake!

But that's how we got by. When I taught high school, these kids couldn't grasp the idea that we had NO CELL PHONES!! It was a completely foreign thought to them because they'd never done without. They were hitting people up on the celly when they were old enough to use their grubby little hands to dial.

I kind of miss the days when I had to write out numbers and decide which of the three letters of the phone key it stood for and make it into an actual word. I miss the fact that I didn't have to hit an 'ignore' option when someone would call me. I didn't have to screen. The convenience of becoming less social was not there. I was harder to get. Now...not so much. And I feel like it rules me.

However, on the upside of new trends in technology, I have awesome conversations with my friends now thanks to email. I can write them whenever I want, and depending how connected they are, we can go back and forth all day long. It's awesome. Of course, it's gotten to the point now where I'm so quick that if I take a couple of hours to answer, my friends think I'm dead.

Here's a thought: I should, instead of taking the Mac to the Mac, save up my money and go up into the woods for about a week and request a cabin with no TV, Internet, or phone. And one that has a hot tub overlooking a mountain. Surely that will help me regain my lost sanity, right?

Tell Me a Story.

2007-03-23T16:29:00.000-04:00

Last night I had one of those rockstar moments. I was at the Local about 3 drinks in when someone got the bright idea to walk across the street to Liberty to get a random tattoo. My friend decided to get her roommate's boyfriend's name put under her arm where no one could see it. Except maybe whoever she marries. Or anyone who sees her in a bathing suit. There's a story behind why she did that (mostly as a joke, and somehow an instance to prove something), but I won't get into it. Now, I've been having the itch to get another tattoo for some time now, and thought, "What the hell? I'll go, too!" So I took the lovely little picture of an anchored cross I've had in my wallet for over a year, specifically for an occasion like this, and went to Liberty with my friend, her roommate and her boyfriend and got myself another spot of ink. It was the shortest amount of time I've ever spent in a parlor, and I must say, it hurts a hell of a lot less after 3 drinks.

These are the kind of stories that one day, my great nieces and nephews, or, God forbid, grandchildren will want to hear from their kick ass rockstar family member.

I have so many stories about things that have happened to me, which might have turned out to be boring, except that when I feel something significant coming along, I intensify it and make it more interesting. Not dramatic, just a better story to tell. I don't know why I do that, but I know that I have fun and I can floor people with some of the stuff I tell them. I'm sure if I was famous and had lots of money, these stories would be tabloid worthy, but I'm just a single chick living in the city. And that's it. And there are many of us. But I feel like I gravitate toward the ones who don't tend to censor themselves the way the majority of girls do. I know why they do it, because they don't want to be single and feel like they have to repress themselves. I, on the other hand, am everything you see. That's what you'll get. Why hide it?

Smudging the Soul.

2007-02-12T20:28:00.000-05:00

I recently had a little bit of a life change. I had a boy living with me for the past couple of months, and things began to change between us for the very worst. It got to the point where I was constantly walking around with a bad feeling about me, and I think it was that whole "sixth sense" thing, as I found out that I actually had good reason for the bad feeling.

So, last week, I made the decision to tell him to get all of his shit out of my place by the time I got home from work that day, and that I wanted that to be the end of this charade we were playing. I came home to find my apartment the way it was before he entered my life, and I let out a sigh of relief. On the end table were the keys he'd used for the past two months. I put them in my pocket because later on, I was planning to give them to the person that agreed to come by and walk the dog sometimes while I'm at work. That same night, the guy came over to meet the dog and hang out. We were drinking some beers, and during one of my trips to the loo, as I turned to flush and pull up my pants, the keys literally flew from my pocket and landed in the toilet. As it was flushing. I watched in disbelief. Mainly because a million thoughts went through my head as to why this sort of thing might happen. I think it was definitely a sign from above that the tainted set of keys needed to exit through the sewer pipes so that I could get a new pair for the life ahead of me.

I was telling a co-worker about this entire fiasco of the past week or so, and he shook his head, and he told me that my closure of the relationship was what happened with the keys, and that in order to rid my life of negative energy that the boy carried around with him, I needed to smudge my place. Now, I had no idea what this meant because I've never been the type to believe in spiritual mumbo jumbo, until recently. He told me that I needed to go to one of my neighborhood shops that carries incense and the like and get some sage leaves and burn them throughout every room and that it would take all the negative energy that the boy left behind and make it vanish from the air. I thought this was the best idea ever, and he swore it would work. So, I did some reading up on the Internet about it, and then after work, I went over to Crystal Blue in Little 5 Points and asked the guy behind the counter where I could get smudging supplies. He led me over and explained how to do it. I brought the sage leaves home and burned them over an ashtray as I walked throughout the house, lingering a little in the spots where the boy spent most of his time.

As I was doing this, I got mental visions of his face, and it was white and frightening, like a ghost or something. Maybe it was all in my head, but it was very vivid and made me feel a little strange. By the time I got through the entire apartment, I felt like a weight had been lifted from me and that I had finally closed one door so I'm free to open another, rather than just crack it.

Puppy Love.

2007-02-05T19:56:00.000-05:00

Ah, man. I swear, puppy love is the best thing ever. Especially when it's a human you're experiencing it with. Until it ends. But the fortunate thing about that end is that the real canine can make up for it. Or, at least, I should think it would. Which is why I became a forever home this weekend. Roxie.

She might be the sweetest thing you've ever met. The only thing she wants to hurt is my Happy Bunny slippers, and I think that's because I have them on my feet at all times.

Now if I could just ask Amanda Palmer where I can get a coin-operated boy from, then everything would be totally perfect. Well, almost.

Dear Street Fixer Uppers...

2006-12-21T11:45:00.000-05:00

Atlanta streets are the most horrible in the nation...I'm convinced. Whoever is the genius behind taking out a large, very deep strip of asphalt at West Peachtree and North, causing congestion from cars who have a hard time driving over such road hiccups is a complete and total moron. It's been like this for about a week now. Fix the damn thing already. My poor low profile tires were not meant for driving of this type. Don't be surprised if you get a bill from me to replace tires. Either that, or I'm going to expect more of a tax refund to cover it come April, since I live here and pay taxes here to have that road fixed.

Another thing, if you're going to redo a sewer fixture that is located in the middle lane of a busy street, you might want to give people some kind of warning sign so they don't go plowing into the not-so-cleverly placed cones and orange tape that pops up out of nowhere while you're driving along. Thank God I took my eyes off my iPod long enough to realize I should change lanes in order to not slam into a school of cones and tape.

I'm still wondering why (and how) the stupidest people have the jobs that require the most thought. Someone enlighten me so I can stop bitching for once.

Atlanta: Crack Haven.

2006-12-08T13:52:00.000-05:00

I was reading this post on Metroblogging Atlanta, and it occured to me that I see more crime on the streets of Atlanta than I turn my eyes to. I'm well aware that this sort of thing happens in the 'burbs, too, but I guess I have the choice of removing myself from where that may happen in the 'burbs, as opposed to the city, where it's in front of my face on a daily basis.

I bring this up because last Sunday I was at the Burger King on North Avenue. The man friend and I wanted Whoppers, and that is the only place around our area where we can get one. We decided to eat-in instead of drive-thru. Sitting in there for as long as we did became uncomfortable after a while because of all the randoms off the street that kept straggling in, not ordering, and then leaving...multiple times. I'm convinced that there is some kind of drug business being run in both the parking lot and the bathroom of the place. Can't Burger King do something about this? I can just see the headline now: "Innocent Whopper-Loving Couple Killed in Gunfight Over Drugs...At Burger King." The Dairy Queen is pointed out quite often in the Creative Loafing Blotter as a place where crack dealers are arrested for running business. It's no secret. Sure, I could just stay away from those places, which I probably will from now on. I had no idea it was as bad as it is until I spent more than 5 minutes at the place and actually got out of my car.

Welcome to Atlanta, the place where all of your street pharmaceutical dreams can come true...

El Gato es en Mi Pantalones.

2006-12-03T18:31:00.001-05:00

I think I spelled that right...I'm not sure. And I don't really care.

Friday night, I had to go to Atlantic Station to help the man friend find something suitable to wear to the Company Holiday Party we had to attend Saturday night. After searching for an hour and finding nothing reasonable, we decided to eat at Rosa Mexicana...I think that's the name of it. It's Rosa something. Anyways, we get inside from the cold, and are told it'll be a 25 minute wait, and that both of us would have to remove our hats when we get to the dining room. Fine, whatever. All I'm thinking at this point is how retarded that policy is in a damn Mexican restaurant.

Our buzzer goes off and we're seated with menus to find that (a) the beers are all Mexican and $5.50 a piece, (b) nothing on the menu, not even the appetizers, is less than $10, which pissed me off when I discovered that despite the outrageous prices, there was (c) no free chips and salsa. I settled on an enchilada platter consisting of two small enchiladas that were covered in black beans and only filled with chicken. I don't even think the chicken was seasoned. The man friend got some sort of bowl of something. I begin eating, and it's not the best Mexican I've had, which further irritates me since I am spending over $8 per enchilada.

Towards the end of the meal, I'm trying to have a serious discussion with the man friend even though the dining room is open and extremely loud, when I become distracted by a man's ass in my face for an extended period of time. There is little space to move around the "aisles" of the restaurant, yet, they have this retarded idea to roll a large kitchen cart out to make guacamole right in front of your table. So, for about five solid minutes, the guacamole guy had his butt 6 inches from my face. While I'm trying to eat.

Sorry, I can't appreciate the place at all. That entire monstrosity is trying so hard to be "high-class" that they've resorted to allowing an "upscale" Mexican restaurant with shitty food to set up shop there. Ugh. I'm completely put off. Next time, my ass will get a burrito from Moe's instead. At least I'm getting enough food to fill my belly (with FREE CHIPS AND SALSA), and it doesn't taste like shit on a stick.

Nothing To Do? Not Here.

2006-11-22T20:27:00.000-05:00

I know I've put a little list of fun city/date activities up here before, but with the impending holiday season, there is an almost endless list that I have put together of things I simply must do. Unfortunately, nothing is free. Figures.

*Ice Skating: As of last weekend, Centennial Park has opened their outdoor ice skating rink for the holidays. It'll run through January 7th, 2007. I wanted to go to this so bad last year, but never did because everyone I hung out with kind of sucked at being proactive. I'm ending that this year. I WILL go ice skating. I will also pretend that I am Kate Beckinsale and that my man friend is John Cusack, and then we'll go have hot chocolate somewhere awesome. You can skate for 90 minutes, and it'll cost you $6, plus $2 for skates.

*Titanic Exhibition: This will be going on til June at the Civic Center. I was obsessed with the Titanic when I was a kid, so this is like hitting the motherload for me. It's $20. Steep, yes, but think about the history you get to stand in front of. I'm getting chills from the anticipation.

*Aquarium: I still haven't been. But I keep hearing it's pretty much the most awesome thing ever. At least until the new World of Coke opens next door. I'm kind of obsessed with fish, too, so I'm pretty sure that I will loooove the Aquarium. I mean, they have penguins and sea lions, and Belugas, oh my!

*Zoo Atlanta: Yeah, another place I still haven't been. But now that there's a new baby Panda, I simply must see her before she's not a cute little cub anymore. I keep seeing the updates in the paper and I want to love on that furry little bundle of joy so bad. I know, I can't, but it'd be cool to go watch her from behind the glass.

*Jazz and Martinis: I finally checked out Martinis & IMAX last weekend, and it was really expensive, but reminded me of one of my favorite places to go that I don't really visit often...Dailey's Downstairs. They have jazz nightly, and they encourage cigar puffing, so of course I feel like I'm some kind of rich bitch from another decade when I'm in there. Nothing wrong with that. If you're rolling in the cash money, then you can check out Friday Jazz at the High Museum.

So...yeah. There are a couple things away from the normal bowling, karaoke, and band show outings that I've become accustomed to.

My Best Of Atlanta...

2006-10-19T10:20:00.000-04:00

*Largest Selection of Hair Dye: Walgreen’s on the corner of North and Piedmont has a selection that causes me to choose the wrong color every time because it’s such an extensive collection. They have brands I’ve never heard of. They have colors I didn’t think existed, and I’ve worked in a salon before, so I thought I had seen it all.

*Coldest Beer in Town: Now, if you’re okay with your sexuality, then you won’t mind going here. I think this place is great. They have tons of Madonna and Cher in the jukebox, the bartenders are friendly, and the patrons are friendlier. Friends on Ponce (right above the Drunken Unicorn/MJQ) pours drafts that actually slush it’s so cold. Sign me up!

*Best Place to Pick Up Men: I only discovered this about a month ago, and it’s kind of a no-brainer. Taco Mac in the Highlands is crawling with men. All the time. Why? It’s a sports bar and they have a large selection of beer. And a couple of good-looking waitresses. Pick the sport you like the best, and go there during that season. You’re sure to find a single guy more than happy to talk shop with you. Stay away from the tables of men sitting alone…they’re married.

*Best Place to Pick Up Women: I know guys are dying to know this. I actually don’t have much of a clue on this one. Sorry. I’ll guess that it’s someplace that specializes in martinis, though.

*Best Burrito: There’s no shortage of burrito places in town, that’s for sure, and as much as I’m eating Moe’s lately since that’s what the man friend prefers and I’m mostly indifferent, I always go back to Chipotle. Barbacoa Fajita Burrito, please, add guac. Thanks.

*Best Place to see a Show: I was here on Sunday, and even though most of the stuff playing there is not what I prefer, Variety Playhouse is the best place. There’s not a bad seat in the house, and the sound is always incredible. On a smaller scale for local shows, I’m going with Smith’s Olde Bar, for the same reasons.

*Best Place to sing Irish songs: Limerick Junction…they have a dude with a guitar in there every night (except for open mic night on Tuesdays). But it’s so much fun to get wasted (car bombs and Guinness for everyone!) and sing those songs and clap your hands and rap your fists on the table. Bring lots of friends, because sharing is imperative.

*Best Place to Make an Ass of Yourself: I’ve found that as many times as I’ve been carried out of 10 High that no one ever seems to remember, and if they do, they certainly don’t let me know it. I’m sure it’s the dark environment, and the fact that I tend to not eat dinner before going there, but the past few times I’ve puked, I’ve spent the night drinking there. I’m sure they’re used to it with Metalsome Monday.

*Nastiest Bathrooms: Hands down the most disgusting, smelliest, bathrooms in town are found inside the Masquerade. I’m scared to sit on the toilets there because I’m certain I’ll catch something, even though experts say you can’t catch things from toilet seats. If you ever go, bring your own TP, because you probably don’t want to use theirs, unless you’re comfortable with drip drying.

*Best Place to Find Douchebags: Any bar, club, venue that has the address of “Peachtree Road.” That means Buckhead. Pick a place, any place, and it sucks just as much as the tools that frequent it.

*Best Place to Bowl: Midtown Bowl off Piedmont is loads of fun, and it’s just been renovated, so it’s nice and clean. Pitchers of beer are $9, and if you bring a couple of people with you, it’s the perfect recipe for a good time.

*Best Hamburger: This is a tough one, because I’ve always said the Vortex has the best hamburgers, but then I had a Fried Green Tomato burger at Agnes & Muriel’s a couple months ago, and it was pure heaven. That shit will cause your cholesterol to rise a couple points for about a week, but hey, it’s yummy.

*Best Place to Take a Date: As cliché as it sounds, Two Urban Licks is my most favorite place to go on a date because it’s dim, and romantic, and the food is phenomenal. They have awesome wine that they apparently make themselves, and the service is always super duper.

*Best Place to do Bad Things in Public: El Bar is this new underground bar/club behind El Azteca on Ponce, and it’s so dark in there that you could probably do the nasty out in the open and no one would bat an eye. Seriously.

*Best Radio Station: Yeah, right.

*Best Thai Food: Have you been to Panita? It’s behind Surin in the Highlands. It’s a guy’s house. I’m sure he lives there. He runs the whole place all by himself. He seats you, takes your order, cooks your food, and takes your money. I wouldn’t recommend going there if you’re in a hurry. He’s really nice, and it’s truly authentic food, so you should check it out.

*Best Blog I Miss the Most: www.fatasianbaby.com. R.I.P.

*People Who Take The Best Drunken Pictures: Like No One’s Watching. Those guys have the market and put all those hipster sites in NY to shame with the photos they snap out at shows. Brian 3000 is hot on their trail, though...

*Best Bar to Go to if You Don’t Want to Be Found: Dailey’s on International has jazz nightly, and really awesome frilly martinis. The clientele is usually out of towners staying at a nearby hotel, so locals are never in there. Don’t even think of trying to steal it from me. And probably steer clear during prom season, since that’s a popular place for the kids to go eat beforehand. The other one is Corner Tavern in Little 5. That place is awesome, and I never see anyone I know there. Love it.

*Best Place to Practice All-U-Can-Eat: There’s a place in West Midtown off Marietta, I believe it is, called Chow Baby, and it’s all you can eat stir fry. If you haven’t been to this place, get on it. And try everything. You make a bowl from their stir fry buffet, adding anything you want, they cook it and bring it to you, and then you do it all over again. I’ve only been there for a quick lunch, but I hope to get drinks and dinner there soon.

*Best Place to See Tourists: I used to think it was downtown, which I guess it is, except that I like to see how close I can come to running them over when they’re jaywalking, so that’s not the best place. It’s Little 5 Points. “Look, mom! That girl has pink hair and a ring through her nostrils!” It’s like the eclectic residents of Atlanta have become freaks in a cage over there.

*Best Place to Hit Crackheads with your Car: If you ride down North Avenue, any intersection between Glen Iris and Juniper is good for that, no matter the time of day.

*Best Bloody Mary: Thanks to Christian for introducing me to the Bloody Marys at Carroll Street Café. I HATE Bloody Marys. But these are the most scrumptious I’ve ever tasted. They are so effing delicious, and after one, you’ll be seeing double. Completely worth the money...and hangover.

Further Evidence of Why I Hate People.

2006-10-04T16:18:00.000-04:00

My comments on this story: Stupid person.

Excuse me, but how outdated is this little spat this lady is trying to cause? Maybe I'm a little bit irritated because I happen to love Harry Potter and the creativity of J.K. Rowling, as I am a writer myself, but mostly, I think it stems from the fact that this woman is the very reason I am no longer a teacher, and I am no longer living in the 'burbs.

Congratulations. Your little display of self-righteous 'oh no, the mention of witches and wizards is going to turn all of our children into Wiccan devil worshippers' has been heard, and luckily overruled.

Think about your poor children. They are the ones who are going to school and being ridiculed because their mother made national headlines by joining the list of insecure parents trying to ban a fictional book from schools. Have you even read the books? Those kids celebrate CHRISTMAS! How is that supportive of Wiccan culture? And how the hell does a book get blamed for a summer camp? Do you really think that the Wiccan culture didn't exist before Harry Potter? Wake up, lady. You're a moron. Suggesting that Harry Potter be taken from libraries is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Yes, let's discourage the children of one of the dumbest states in the country from reading. You should be happy they want to read. Let them. You just need to sit home and watch your talk shows and let education happen.

No More Mr. Mice Guy.

2006-10-02T16:05:00.000-04:00

When I was in college, I had the most lovely experience of being exposed to mice for the first time. I lived in south Georgia in an apartment complex that had been built in the middle of a field, meaning that we would most likely run into the furry little critters at some point, seeing that we were on the first floor. Sure enough, we had a mouse. Just one. But man, he was a noisy fella. Every night I heard that little booger in the kitchen bouncing around on potato chip bags and making a mess. Sure, he was cute, but anytime one of us caught a glimpse of him, cries of disgust were let out, and an overall mini fiasco took place. No, they don’t hurt you, but they are filthy rodents.

Last night, I was watching the Beatles Anthology, and I heard some ruckus coming from the refrigerator that my man friend has in his room. I began to look over in that direction and noticed something small, gray, and furry scurrying around. The noisemaker came out of hiding long enough for me to see it was a mouse. Since I’m a chick, I grabbed my flip flop, stood on the bed, and called the man…from my cell phone. He was visibly irritated that I thought a mouse was reason enough to disturb him from working. So, I decided to just let the mouse run around, thinking that it would probably just go away after a little while, right? Noooo. Not right. In fact, I think he left and told his friends he hit the jackpot, because ten minutes later, I looked back at the refrigerator and saw SEVEN MICE!!! Seven! A whole mouse army invaded and were crawling all over the damn place. I have no idea how to deal with this because I’ve never had to deal with it before. In college, we called the maintenance man. My maintenance man didn’t see this infestation as a problem.

I searched the room and found a candle, and thought, “those little bastards won’t come past the lit candle because it’s scary.” I set it up by the fridge so they’d stay in that area. Then I found a can of Lysol and decided to try and fumigate. I sprayed one of the mice that was hiding under the fridge. He just slid further back and continued to munch on whatever was under there.

I finally went back to the Anthology because I was exhausted from trying to keep the mice from landing on my face while I was sleeping or something horrific like that. You bet your ass that I’m bringing poison over when I visit again, though.

Car Flirting.

2006-09-14T18:58:00.000-04:00

We've all done it, I'm sure. You know how it is. You're a commuter, so while you're sitting in stand still traffic on 285 just waiting to get home to the leftover Chinese food in your fridge after a long, hard day at work, you tend to look around at all the other people sitting in traffic with you. Sometimes you notice a young, single member of the opposite sex in the lane next to you and since you have nothing better to do, you flirt. You try making eye contact, and if you do, you smile. It's exhilaration at it's finest, because much like vacation hook-ups, you'll probably never see that person again. You feel better about yourself if they happen to humor you with a smile back, and then eating Chinese on your couch with you dog while you watch re-runs of Sex and the City doesn't seem so hopeless and pathetic anymore.

That's all good and everything, but sometimes, people take car flirting to the extreme where it becomes dangerous. When I say dangerous, I don't mean so in the sense that you could end up coming home to a rabbit boiling in your saucepan and a crazy in your shower. I mean dangerous in the sense that you eff up the traffic around you because you're so caught up in car flirting that you've completely forgotten how to drive. This happens way to often on a little street I like to call North Avenue. I spend lots of time on North Avenue, simply because everywhere I possibly need to be is located up and down it. Many times I ride with my window down because I like fresh air...or I happen to be enjoying a cigarette. I can't tell you how inviting that is for some asshat carload of guys to yell, "Hey sexy! Where you going tonight?" at me while they're cruising up and down the street. Sure, that's flattering and whatnot, but it kind of sucks for the person in the vehicle in front of the asshat carload because they weren't expecting a large SUV to come plowing into their bumper on account of a driver who was thinking with the wrong head.

Today I saw something that gave me flashbacks of a little (and when I say little, I mean ginormous) to-do that used to plague my old town of Statesboro every spring. It's called Playa's Ball, and it's the equivalent of Panama City during high school spring break. A car full of girls was stopped on North, every single one of them turned completely around in their seats (even the driver) checking out a car full of guys in the lane next to them. They all had their windows down and were shouting at each other. Is this really necessary? They held up all the traffic behind them because they couldn't pull over to a parking lot and chit chat; they had to yell in the middle of the street. If the attraction from this car flirting incident was so great, then pulling over to the Varsity and discussing how fine they all think each other are over a naked dog and an FO is much more ideal situation.

Grrrr.

Location...Yes. People...Not So Much.

2006-09-04T22:06:00.000-04:00

Athens is a really beautiful town if you trek around in the area where all the bars and clubs are. I took a little road trip there on Saturday to see (caution, shameless plug ahead) my boyfriend's band, Eller, play at Tasty World, and man, was I put off by the whole experience. Of course, once the show got started and I was in the comfort of music, it was fine, but while standing outside for a smoke and in between sets, I'm positive my look of disgust was evident.

Now, if you're unfamiliar with the hype of opening weekend in a college town with a supposed football powerhouse, then you won't get this. Yes, it was opening weekend, an exhibition game against WKU, actually. And by the time we rolled in at around 6:30, the streets were flooded with drunk ass men and women (I use those terms very loosely). Everywhere you turned, there was some chick in a dress stumbling down the sidewalk, blazing their "oh my Gawds" and "shut ups" at a volume higher than necessary. The men were all displaying their testosterone with harsh words and the "I'm ready to fight" looks. This makes me want to never step foot in that town again, and I swear I say that after every visit. I know I wasn't that stupid in college, and all of my acquaintances were just as laid back after an all day drinking fest as I was. I don't know if it's all the red that sets these jackasses off, but it's really unflattering.

Every four years, my alma mater, Georgia Southern, plays UGA opening weekend. When I was in school, I went to this game. When walking to the game from tailgating, the girls that attended UGA were adamant about yelling obscenities at me about how they were going to kick our asses. Really? No shit! You mean to tell me that your I-A team is going to hammer on my I-AA team? Damn, I feel like a fool for not knowing that. Honestly, that was completely unladylike and not necessary. I know we're going to get beat. Those games are meant to entertain, and get the UGA boys their first win of the season. Everyone knows that. I vowed then to never go to Athens unless it was absolutely called for.

This time, as I stayed sober to drive us back to civilization, I'm driving down a street to get back to where I need to go back to Atlanta, and some turd that was jaywalking hit my car with his hand because apparently, I was supposed to stop for him to be a drunk idiot. I hope that joker ended up in the back of the paddy wagon. Of course, if you hit the Highlands on any Friday or Saturday night, you tend to find the same behavior. Ask them where they graduated from. I have a sneaking suspicion the answer will consist of the words "University" or "Georgia."

Bathroom Rituals.

2006-08-20T13:00:00.000-04:00

Many guys might not know this, but the women's bathroom houses a plethora of activities that theirs probably do not. Since I tend to go out in public a lot, and there are usually beverages involved, I find that I must use the public facilities when nature calls. It's more amusing when the beverages are of an adult kind, because then the bathroom is filled with drunk ladies, all trying unsuccessfully to hover above the toilet seat that is covered in urine from the last ten girls that couldn't keep their tush directly above the porcelain. Yes, it sounds gross, and yes, it is, because since your muscles tend to relax whilst drunk, your bare bottom ends up in the sea of urine. That's probably the worst feeling in the world. I'm not going to say it hasn't happened to me before, because it has, and in order to prevent it in the future, I wear shoes that are easy to squat in.

The other activity found in the women's bathroom is a feeling of camaraderie. It's almost as if as soon as you enter the germ ridden room, any other female in occupancy becomes your best friend, whether you know them or not. They're handing each other toilet paper under the stall, lending each other their compacts, and making small talk about the guy waiting outside that they're completely in love with. Sometimes there's a chick who is visibly upset for whatever reason (usually a guy), and the fellow squatters are there to comfort her when she's down, and pick her back up to look presentable enough to leave the loo. It's probably the only place where women are genuinely friends, even if only for a split second of potty time.

I'm not sure how it is in men's bathrooms, because the last time I was in one was in college, and there were no men present at the time. I can only imagine that it's a bunch of dudes standing around the urinals, sizing each other up, and giving a head nod to acknowledge each other's presence. I'm pretty sure they have no problem keeping the soap and paper towels stocked, either...

Schmuckhead.

2006-08-07T14:59:00.000-04:00

As positive as I am that I have voiced my distaste for the area north of Atlanta called "Buckhead," I feel like further expressing how happy I would be if a bulldozer would come along and tear the entire place down. We could put all the homeless people there in their own bubble, and feed them. At least it would smell better.

Seriously, I had to trek up in that area on Friday night, pretty late, to retrieve a friend of mine. I didn't even enter the place I was picking him up (Peachtree Tavern), but it was enough to just stand outside of it to make me remember how much I loathe that whole place. I witnessed two different individual people, both of whom looked to be all of 18 years old, barfing up three days worth of food on the street. No wonder that area of town smells like dead ass all the time. How lovely...I happened to be right across the street from a large church. I'm convinced that God was punishing these two dumbasses for taking it to Suckhead and drinking way too much cheap well liquor to hold.

As I remember, the last time I stepped foot in this particular area was St. Patrick's Day 2005. I was so drunk, my friends threw me in the cab with them and brought me to see some horrible Grateful Dead cover band at Peachtree Tavern. Wow. I remember how quickly I sobered up once I realized where I was, and some tool I knew from high school wouldn't stop trying to feel my sister up. Someone ganked my favorite black corduroy blazer while we were there, too. I was so pissed. I also remember walking into the bathroom and finding all the scantily clad stick figures doing blow off the counter. Yeehaw, what fun. Really, if this is what "Buckhead" is, I'm staying on my side of town.

Minivans.

2006-07-22T15:04:00.000-04:00

People who drive minivans irritate me. Mostly because they drive one of two ways. Either they're the kind who cut you off in traffic and display wreckless behavior, or they turn in front of you and drive ten miles under the speed limit. The latter probably tick me off the most because there's no getting around them.

Yesterday, I took a trip to the 'burbs to see the parental units. When I got off the exit and began driving toward the neighborhood, a minivan turned in front of me at a stop sign. I proceeded to go and keep up with the 30 mile an hour speed limit, and within two seconds, I had caught up with the van, that was going 15mph. Not only that, but soccer mommy was riding the brakes and stopping in the middle of the road. After careful observation, I figured out why this woman was driving like someone who broke out from a retirement home. Her carload of kids was distracting her, so much, in fact, that she wasn't even looking at the road (which was quite curvy). She had all of her attention occupied in her rear view mirror, talking to the kids.

It's called multi-tasking. If you have a couple of offspring, chances are that you know full and well how to do two or more things at once, and this should include driving. If I can take eight drunk adults and taxi them around town while obeying all traffic laws, including the speed limit, then you should be able to do the same with four kids in tow.

Coolest Website. Ever.

2006-07-13T10:49:00.000-04:00

This is not a new website, I've known about it for quite some time, but I just revisited it last night, and thought I'd share in case you don't keep up with every single ad campaign known to man.

Coca-Cola launched these artsy fartsy aluminum bottles sometime last fall in other countries. They're really cool. They are portion controlled, meaning you can fill the rest of the bottle with liquor and drink from the cool bottle rather than a glass. Naturally, the bottles are for the club industry. Not sure if they'll make their way to the States, but I hope so. I like the pretty colors, and they also glow at night.

Check out the official site for information on the artists who designed the bottles and exclusive music videos for each one. There are also very pretty desktop background downloads. This site is like a playground, and a media buff's wet dream. Click here for the m5.

Atlanta: THE Place to Date.

2006-07-12T20:12:00.000-04:00

I read sometime last year that Atlanta was the number one place for singles. Yeah, maybe if you want to stay single, otherwise, that's a crock of shit if I've ever heard one. In my experience, the ones who are interested in something long-term, or even short-term, are either way older than me, or way younger (they obviously haven't been jaded yet). Getting a man my age to spend a couple of hours with me is comparable to pulling teeth. Then again, as Butch Walker says, maybe it's just me.

Either way, I got wasted on Friday and had the brilliant idea to ask a guy (only a friend, but still, it's the inspiration for the blog itself) to escort me to the zoo one Friday afternoon since I am lucky enough to keep those wonderful "summer hours" at my "real" job where I only work 'til noon on Fridays. The next day, in a moment of clarity, I thought about how no one (at least, the majority) ever tries to woo me with a creative outing. This city, as much as it sucks for dating, has a ton of things to offer outside of the normal thing to do on a date (and when I say "normal," I mean going to see a band and then having drinks, since that's the type of crowd I roll with). Quite honestly, I'm sick of going to shows as a date or to "hang out." You can't talk to the other person, there are drunkasses all over the place, and you run into half the town. That's not to mention the fact that I'm probably drooling over the musician onstage that I have a little crush on rather than paying attention to the poor guy who brought me there.

So, I've come up with a little list of things I think would be fun to do on a date. It's not rocket science, but whatever. Indulge me.

*Bowling: I don't think I've been taken bowling on a date. Sure, in a large group of people I've met up and bowled, but never on a date. I LOVE to bowl. Love it. I will probably kick your ass, too, for I took Bowling 101 in college and aced it. I do, however, think this idea is even better with another couple (preferably one that doesn't enjoy spending their time either (a) making out, or (b) fighting). Having a couple of pitchers of beer and going during the Cosmic Bowling time only adds to the fun.

*Chuck E. Cheese: Do you remember how much fun that place was? I do. Skee ball! Pizza! And now, BEER!!! The only sidenote here is that I absolutely can NOT stand little people, so it's best to do this on a weekday, not during the summer, and a couple of hours before they close.

*The Zoo: Of course, the zoo. What could be more fun than walking around looking at exotic animals and studying their behavior? Think about how funny you can be just based on the actions of the animals. It's a no brainer. I think it might be kind of pricey for admission, but this is something you can do all day, and you can really get to know a person since all you have to do is talk or observe. The petting zoo is a must, just wash your hands afterwards.

*The Aquarium: It's new, and I still haven't been, however, I hear it's amazing. I drive by it everyday, and I can tell you one thing, the crowds have certainly died down lots since it opened. Another place you don't want to go on a Saturday, though. Too many strollers that will only piss me off to the point where you might think I'm the anti-Christ. Also kind of pricey, but supposedly well worth it. Get a season pass and you can take multiple dates there!

*Ice Skating: I'm pretty sure there's a year-round rink somewhere, but this is more for romantic winter dates. They have a rink outside in the Centennial Park that always looks like fun. Hey, you can be just like Kate Beckinsale and John Cusack in Serendipity! Remember? They fell in love at first sight, and sealed the momentous occasion with an outing on the ice skating rink, where they met up again, finally, after seven years.

*Museums: There are plenty around the area, pick one that looks interesting, and go. Unless you're taking a chick that's minus a brain, she'll probably love it and think you're smart. I, for one, can appreciate that. Don't forget about that Martinis and IMAX thing they have at Fernbank. At the moment, at least until August 13, they have chocolate martinis for the chocolate exhibit. If some guy brought me to this, I'd pretty much be in love with him. Chocolate = Love.

*Pot Making: There's this place in the Highlands called Wired and Fired where you can go in and paint pottery. Sounds kind of lame, but stop and think about how much fun it could be. I'd totally dig it.

*Six Flags: This is another one where I'd want another couple around as a buffer, but I have always loved Six Flags, as trashy and redneck as it is. Just stay off the water rides unless you want me to barf due to you smelling like a wet sock all day. Put me on the coasters! Get a picture with me in the photo booth! Nothing says fun like a good redneck outing.

There's a few suggestions. I have a ton more, but you're probably as tired of reading as I am of typing.

Grrrr.

2006-07-12T11:05:00.000-04:00

Have I mentioned how much I despise Gmail? Yeah? I have? Okay, just making sure.

Bastards.

Come Fly With Me.

2006-07-09T03:03:00.000-04:00

This is a rant. I flew to Austin, TX last weekend for a little lake getaway. I had to drive to Birmingham to catch a plane because I was flying on Southwest, and for some reason, they don't service Atlanta. Boo. They're about to change this policy, but for now, they have open seating. This means that when you check in, you're assigned a letter, A, B, or C, and when they board, they call people in that order. Once you get on the plane, you just sit wherever there's an empty space. Okay, that's cool, right? Kind of.

My complaint is people. Go figure. Why is it that some people find it necessary to strike up a conversation with you? My routine consists of popping a big piece of bubble gum, doing crosswords or reading trashy magazines, and listening to the iPod. Of course, you can't listen to the iPod for about twenty minutes when you take off and right before you land, therefore, anyone around you that's feeling chatty may try and strike up a conversation. I'm not interested. I don't want you to talk to me. I want to sit in peace while I ponder if that strange noise is going to send me plummeting to my death 30,000 feet below.

I had a couple of plane changes on this particular trip. On the way there, I noticed a guy checking me out while I was waiting to board. And what do you know, he ended up sitting next to me on the plane. He decided to talk to me as we were landing since I ignored him during take off.

Him: "Sooo, are you in school?"
Me: "No. I graduated a couple years ago."
Him: "From high school?"
Me: "No . . . from college."
Him: "Wow. How old are you?"
Me: "I'm 26. How old are you?"
Him: "I'm 20. I didn't think you were that old."

Gee, thanks. I'm flattered that you thought I was cute until you found out that I'm "old." I swear there's a sign on my forehead that says, "if you're not old enough to drink legally, please hit on me," because it's too often that this happens to me.

On the way back from Austin, I got stuck next to a redneck family from Bristol, TN. The mom had hair that was so blonde, it was white and I'm sure it probably glowed in the dark. She offered me some of her magazines to read, which I politely declined since I'm not really interested in what The National Inquirer has to say. She was even nice enough to point out a picture of Britney Spears and how she looks like shit. I just laughed and popped my gum.

Isn't It Ergonomic, Dontcha Think?

2006-06-28T09:36:00.000-04:00

I work in a corporate setting. Things are done in a more structured fashion when it comes to workspace. One thing I find a bit funny is that you have to take a class about ergonomics before they allow you to order an ergonomic chair. It’s only one class, and it takes place during the lunch hour, and I will say that it’s actually informational, but come on. A mandatory class to get a chair that will make work less painful? Just so they can show us how the chair actually works, since some people refuse to read the insert that comes with the chair? I got to the point where I was going to boycott this practice since it made me feel like I was back in high school again. “You can’t get your learner’s permit until you take this class about drugs.”

Unfortunately, despite my efforts to ignore the pain in my shoulders everyday, I had to succumb to the fact that the burning muscles would not go away unless I got a new chair that would hug my body and encourage all of the parts to stay in the positions that don’t create knots and aches. So, I caved and went to the class. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I learned how to set up my workstation to cause less pain in general. I had no idea what a detailed subject ergonomics was. At the end of the class, we got to pick which chair we wanted to be delivered to our cube. Naturally, I picked the Aeron chair. They just look cooler than the other choice.

I finally got my chair after a couple of weeks. Apparently, they are not cheap. I heard they were $800, but since I wasn’t footing the bill, I have no real idea how much they cost. The ironic part about this whole fiasco and process I’ve had to go through is that even though my shoulders no longer feel like there is an actual fire inside my flesh, my butt hurts. I have adjusted this chair every which way I know how to in order to make it comfortable, but nothing is working. My butt still hurts. My tailbone area feels sore, as if someone literally kicked my ass. I guess it’s a small price to pay for my back to be in better shape, no?

Cast Your Ballot.

2006-06-26T22:56:00.000-04:00

I spent the day inside in front of the TV, because I woke with a head that was going to explode this morning, so I didn't see work in my future. While trying to catch up with soaps I used to watch so many years ago that I can't view anymore due to having to somehow make income to pay rent, I noticed that it must be close to some kind of election. Now, I don't keep up with politics because frankly, I don't really care to. I research the candidates on my own before an election, and then make my decision to bring to the booth. I'm simply amazed at how the candidates currently in question for the governor position think the public is stupid enough to believe all the shit they hear in the ads littering day- and primetime television. However, unfortunately, I think they're probably pretty successful in playing on the naiveity of the general public.

I know one thing, it pisses me off to see these self-promoting ads because the incumbents have more than proved that everything they like to promise to do on TV, they can't back up in the office. Who talked a lot of shit about education to get all of the state educators to oust Roy Barnes? Sonny did. Who does Leah want to slap because she was part of that audience and fell for it? You guessed it. And if you didn't, lay off the drugs and try to keep up here. And what about that Mark Taylor guy who bases his entire campaign on the fact that he's a fat ass? I'm a little tired of that, too. While other politicians are harping on the problem of obesity in teenagers, this guy is using his overweight status to try and get elected. I know it's all about image, but come on, unless the "Big Guy" is going to sit on all of the crooked politicians and make them all of the sudden vote for the good of the people they are representing instead of their personal endeavors, then I'm not interested.

Like I said before, I don't keep up with politics because it pisses me off more than anything to else to know that these people have no integrity and lie their way into office, only to use that power to benefit their company/real estate/contributors rather than the public who put them in the very position they abuse. There have been too many new stories about corrupt leaders in the past couple of years to make me think that anything is being done the right and moral way. I'm allowed to bitch. I've voted in every election since I was 18. As far as anything presidential, well, I'm allowed to bitch there, too, because I didn't contribute in putting him there either time.

Popo-owww!

2006-06-07T13:24:00.000-04:00

I hate Britney Spears as much as the next person over the age of eighteen, but I tell you what, this whole mess she’s gotten herself into really has me chuckling. Why? Because I hate her husband more than I hate her. I find it extremely hilarious that King Popozao is playing second fiddle to their kid (which he doesn’t seem to care about fathering...big surprise there), the new “manny,” and Britney’s newfound love of interior decorating in pink and other forms of girlie fashion. It’s almost as if she’s torturing him for being a complete tool by making his home and his family unbearable enough that he will leave on his own, with nothing but the corn rows he flew in on. I have to say I admire her for not putting up with his shit. Looks like she finally went from girl to woman instead of whatever it was that is in between those. Aw, snap.

An Open Letter.

2006-06-06T13:08:00.000-04:00

Dear Fellow Females,

Hi. I just thought I would point out that it is now the month of June, the month of summer, and that the low of the day is usually about 70 degrees in the early morning. Please keep this thought in mind when you strap on a pair of these:

Just because Jessica Simpson doesn't have the sense to put them away (let's face it, she doesn't have the sense to do a whole hell of a lot of anything, really), that does not mean you should follow suit. You look absolutely stupid. Sandals, sneakers, and open-toed shoes. That's it. Those are your only choices for summer. Am I making myself clear? Gratzie.

Turning Japanese, I Really Think So.

2006-05-31T14:57:00.000-04:00

Every so often, my company has a little celebration out in the lovely courtyard at our office complex. Last week, Kyle Petty and Kevin Harkin were out there talking about racing and how bad Atlanta drivers were. We all got free Checkers cheeseburgers during lunch. We got to look at the racecar with our company-sponsored logo on it.

Today I attended a celebration called "Flavors of Asia" where all the employees were invited to sample the Asian products of the company and P.F.Chang's. There were also performers of Asian dance and booths set up with oragami, Chinese calligraphy, and some kind of skin painting. I was fascinated by all of it, because I am somewhat obsessed with Eastern culture. Everything about it holds my attention. I even have a couple of ink spots on my skin with Asian flare. It's quite fantastic. Here's what I brought back to the cube (it's my name written in Chinese, which the guy had to look up in his little book):

Uh-Oh...The "Talk."

2006-05-30T21:52:00.000-04:00

I'm hoping this makes sense, because as I type, I'm sitting in a room that is roughly 110 degrees, if not more, due to broken air conditioning. I'm pretty sure sleep is not in my future.

I had an interesting conversation with a male friend today about "the talk." Of course, this is not the first time I've ever encountered such a situation, so I was delighted to let him in on a couple of the so-called rules of "the talk."

By definition, "the talk" is something that happens when you've been hanging out (and by hanging out, I mean something that resembles dating) with someone of the opposite (or I guess same, if you swing that way) sex, and you being to wonder, "Is this person my girlfriend? Are we seeing other people? Or are we exclusive?" This question burns and burns through one's brain when their feelings really begin to get involved. I don't know how it is for guys, but I'm positive it's worse for women because of this one rule: The guy must initiate "the talk." I cannot tell you how many times I've had those questions float through my head every hour of every day, and then not bothered to bring them up simply because it's the guy's job to do so.

I don't know why, it just is. I consider myself to be an independent and somewhat liberated woman, but if there's one thing I refuse to do, it's bring up the status of the relationship with "the talk." The most relief I've ever felt in my life is when I've entered into "the talk," gotten the response I wanted, given the response he wanted, and eventually reached peace with what the relationship boundaries actually are.

How does one bring up "the talk?" There are a couple of ways you can do it. It solely depends on the outcome you're looking for.

The most recent one I had, there seemed to be a little bit of a misunderstanding as to what exactly I wanted out of the whole hanging out together thing. I innocently tried to crash on this guy's couch because I was too drunk to drive and had no money for a cab. He basically declined, so I rudely woke my sister to come pick me up. Before she got there, I was being flirty with him as I usually was, and he says to me, "Hey, I hope you don't have the wrong idea here, I don't really want a girlfriend right now." I couldn't hold back the laughter. I assured him that the last thing I wanted was a boyfriend and that I just enjoyed his company, and then he felt stupid, but now we're friends. There's an example of bringing up "the talk" when you don't want the person to hang around as much anymore.

Another one that sticks out in my head was the longest relationship I've had in the past three years, which was all of two months. Longevity is not exactly in my vocabulary at this moment. Anyways, we were watching a movie at my place, except we were talking more than watching, and this guy stares at me as I go on a tangent about something, then says, "You're so passionate and strong. You're independent and driven, and it's so sexy. I've never met anyone like you, and I love you for that." This is a bit gutsy, because frankly, the 'L' word freaked me out. But I went along with it, and tada! We were boyfriend and girlfriend for one lovely month.

There's no need to go that far and pull out the 'L' word that soon. The last "talk" I remember having was with someone who lived in Washington, D.C. We dated for two weeks while he was visiting Atlanta, and at the end of it, right before I let him go at the airport, he took my head in his hand and he said, "I'm going to miss you so much. I know I'm far away, but I want you to come visit me often, and I'll come see you. And I don't want to see other people." That was fine with me. He was the perfect boyfriend. He was never around, and when he was, it was good. That lasted for about four months.

The best piece of advice I can give a guy is to bring it up when it starts feeling like an attachment is being formed on either end. It'll eliminate the agony of misunderstandings, and make you both feel more at ease. If you want a timeline, I'd say after seeing someone solid for a straight month, you better bring it up...that's the absolute maximum.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to stick my head in the freezer before I die of heat exhaustion.

A Guide To Atlanta Living.

2006-05-29T17:59:00.000-04:00

I was reading up on NYC and trying to do a little research on the city, when I realized how incredibly different people up north are compared to people here, and how it can be quite a culture shock. I've seen lists floating around about Atlanta life, but here's my own based on the two years I've been downtown.

*Homeless people. Yes, Atlanta is known for it's alarming number of homeless people. They're everywhere. If you're near a shady park (and no, by shady, I don't mean full of trees), then you'll be harassed much more than if you were in, say, Piedmont Park. In my first apartment, I encountered angry and crazy homeless much more than my new area. Any gas station, drug store, grocery store, or bar in my neighboorhood (technically the Old Fourth Ward) was crawling with them, so I learned how to handle it. All you have to do is smile when the start coming after you and say, "Sorry, I don't have any cash on me," and keep walking.

*Rappers. For some reason, ever since Outkast became a household name, every single African-American male that can put a couple of obscene words together in a rhyme is on the street hustling tourists and dwellers with the crap they made in their basement. And they want you to buy it from them. Normally, in order to avoid this, I just stick the iPod earbuds in my head and walk by without making eye contact.

*Parking. Parking blows in Atlanta. If you're downtown, then there are plenty of pay lots, and damnit, you better pay, because you will get a ticket, or even worse, a boot. If you're in the Highlands, Little 5 Points, or East Atlanta, then you'll probably have to hike almost a mile to the bar/restaurant/shop you're going to because you can only park on the street in the residential section. In Midtown, you should probably take a cab. They charge out the ass in the pay lots, which are normally full and usually apt to being run by a scam guy who isn't even affiliated with any parking company, meaning he's pocketing your payment. In Buckhead, someplace I refuse to go, you should probably take a cab or the Marta for the same reason you don't want to park in Midtown.

*Driving. Yet another thing that tends to piss me off. The traffic intown is absolutely horrendous. For some reason, if it rains, everyone forgets how to drive altogether. The interstates become parking lots, and you'll end up sitting at traffic lights through two or three cycles. Even though everyone who has a cell phone should also have the cool ear attachment that comes with them all, you won't see anyone (except me) using it because they would much rather cause wrecks and cut people off from concentrating on holding the phone, talking, and driving rather than on just driving. I hate you if you're one of those people.

*Eating. The best hamburger you can get is at the Vortex. I'm also impressed with their beer selection. The best Thai/sushi is at Harry & Son's or Surin in the Highlands, however, go to Panita for a more authentic feel of Thai. I pretty much only stick to hamburgers and Thai when I eat out, but Agnes & Muriel's has some bad ass Southern cooking. If I want pizza, then I go to Fellini's.

*Neighborhoods. Every metropolis has got them. Here are the ones you'll find here, and my own stereotype.
**Downtown: You probably don't live here. If you do, you probably work or go to school here, too, and you probably love tourists.

**Midtown: Predominantly gay neighboorhood, there are also a ton of hotels and gourmet restaurants in this area. Everything is really pretty here. Especially the men. You just can't have them if you're a woman.

**The Highlands: Chances are, you graduated from college five years ago, and your frat buddy told you about this awesome neighboorhood where everyone has a dog and a wife, but no kids. There are a ton of cool bars and restaurants to choose from.

**Poncey-Highland/Inman Park: You're probably some kind of artist or bartender, or something along the lines of a service worker, because this is probably the most affordable, out-of-the-way neighboorhood with an oodle of charm.

**Little 5 Points: You're probably heavily pierced or tattooed, and you probably do that to other people. Unfortunately for those of us who live here, it has become quite the touristy spot for OTPers and high school kids with nothing better to do than walk around.

**Cabbagetown: This is the most hippie-looking neighboorhood I've ever encountered, but I like to hang out there from time to time.

**Buckhead: If you're overly pretentious and enjoy plastic/silicone/saline, then you'll love Buckhead. I do not.

**East Atlanta: If you live here, there's a good chance you love art. And beer. And music.

**Old Fourth Ward: Also referred to as SoNo (South of North), if you live here, you were probably told that it'd be a great real estate investment. And it might. If you can stomach living in the ghetto until that actually happens.

I should write a guide to tourism, maybe.

Malled.

2006-05-29T14:06:00.000-04:00

Seeing as today is a free day off due to the Memorial Day holiday, I took a trip to the mall to take advantage of the holiday sale. As for most women, shopping is like therapy for me. Even if I don't buy anything, I take overpriced articles of clothing into the dressing room and model them for myself, decide that it isn't worth it, and then put it back.

I had a mission today, though. I needed a new power suit for this thing I'm doing when I visit NYC next month. I go to Macy's, because I have a charge account there. There's a big sale on suits. I start looking around on the racks and find that, for some reason, most of the suits are pants suits. I want a skirt. If I'm going to wear a suit, I don't want to wear pants. Women are supposed to wear skirts. Plus, I buy pants in long length, and suits don't accomodate that. I find 6 that I want to try on. Three are black, one is navy with pink accents, one is dark brown, and the other is a seersucker looking brown and white. I begin to try them on, and I immediately become frustrated. Apparently, in order to buy a nice fitting suit, you have to have a completely proportional body. I, however, have a large ass, making the skirts a little snug, and the blazers a little frumpy looking since they're too big. Of course, the navy one fits perfectly. What's wrong with that? Well, what the hell kind of shoes do you wear with a navy suit? Probably navy, but seeing that I don't own navy shoes, and am not about to buy some for one outfit, I put this in the "not going to buy" pile.

I finally settled on one that I think will do the trick, and it was something like fifty percent off, making me happy with my decision to purchase. Then I looked around at the other sales in the junior's department because they usually have cheap tops for like $4 around this time. Apparently I blinked and Lenox Mall became the most ghetto ass place to shop. While I was looking through the rummage rack, some bitch stood in front of me like I was in her way and very rudely said, "Excuuuuse me!" I gave her the once over bitch-don't-use-that-tone-with-me look and moved even more out of her way. My blood was hot because I don't appreciate her "I'm going to buy a $1.99 shirt even though there's no way it's going to fit my fat ass because I'm cheap" attitude.

I eventually got over that. And then as I'm leaving, there is a car just sitting idle directly behind my parking spot. And the guy is paying no attention to the fact I'm trying to back out. So, I lay on my horn because the car is hot as poo and I just want to get the hell out of there, and he sits. And sits. And sits. Just as I'm about to get out of my car and knock on his window to tell him to move his effing car before I go psycho shopper on him, another car pulls up behind me and he finally notices I have my reverse lights on and moves.

My therapy has turned into a living hell.

How To Ask Her Out. Kind Of.

2006-05-28T10:59:00.000-04:00

So, Dave requested a little insider info on how to ask a girl out. I am happy to oblige, because I'm bored, and because I consider myself an expert on this. Maybe I should make myself some sort of certificate for my wall? Here are some general tips:

*I like cheese, but only from the dairy section. This is probably my biggest complaint. When I'm out at the bar or any other place I might meet someone, for some unknown reason, they seem to think that, "Has anyone ever told you how beautiful your eyes are?" will suffice in striking up a conversation with me. Now, the compliment is nice, but my God, I've heard that a million times. Don't be caught off guard when I give you an overly smart ass response if you use that one. It's a compliment hidden in a pick-up line, and I know it may be hard to believe, but I'm not stupid just because I'm female. "So, do you come here often?" <---That is another one that is completely unnecessary. At this point, all I'm thinking is that if I talk to you, give you my number, and then go to the movies with you, you're going to pull that lame yawn-stretch-throw-the-arm-around-her-shoulder move. It's so not suave, and neither are you. The remedy? Easy. Maybe you should spend some time thinking of interesting (and intelligent) topics to break the ice. Leave the pick-up lines at home, because unless you're after a chick who happens to be minus a brain, it won't work...we know all of them by now.

*Hi, my name's Drunky McDrunkerton, what's yours? This is another big one that I've come across quite a few times. It amuses me, but it's sad at the same time. I encountered this the other night, actually. I was at a gathering at a friend's house, and there were some guys there I didn't know. One of them seemed nice enough, and it was obvious he was making every effort to talk to me. After about two hours, he was so drunk he couldn't stand up, was babbling incoherently, and almost molesting both my friend and I, in addition to pissing off every other male there by screaming obscenities at them. He was "that guy." He was Drunky McDrunkerton. Guys that get that belligerent turn me off in a big way. I begin to think they're gross, and the last thing I want to do is picture myself making out with them down the road.

*I'm sorry, do I look stupid? Another thing I can't stand is when I enter into a conversation with a guy, and as it goes on, he begins to assume that for whatever reason, everything I say is just fluff, whether it be about music, news, or the weather. Excuse me, but I am educated, and I do have an opinion of my own, and when you insist on belittling me, the last thing I want to do is take it a step further and go on a date with you. There's a good chance that on some subjects, I know more than you do, so don't talk to me as if I'm some insignificant creature in the folds of time. Acting surprised when I use "big words" probably isn't a good idea, either. You're just displaying that you didn't think I was smart enough to use a "big word" in the correct context.

*Look at this face, what does it tell you? If you are striking out with a girl, chances are, it's written all over her face or tone of voice. Cut your losses and move on. It's annoying when a guy hangs around and wants to keep trying to get your number when all signs point to "Not gonna happen, buddy."

*Expect much? Sure, you can buy me a drink, coffee, whatever. However, if I allow you do so, please don't expect that I'm going to leave with you, or accept any other sort of advances you come up with. I hate it when people give you something and expect something in return. I give my time to people everyday, and sometimes I'll pick up a little gift or something that I know a friend would like, and I never expect anything in return. It's just common courtesy. The same applies when buying a woman a drink.

*Full of what? Yourself? Self-explanatory. I'm not interested in how much money you make. In fact, it's a huge turn off when you want to tell me about what kind of car you drive, how big your house/condo/apartment is, or anything else along those lines. That may work on someone who's materialistic and shopping for a husband that will allow her to spend her days in the gym with her personal trainer in between watching her soaps and shopping, however, I have more planned for my life, so your monetary accomplishments mean nothing to me.

*Up here, slick. I think I've addressed this somewhere before, but dude, quit staring at my chest. I know that it's hard not to look, but there's a way to go about doing that. When I'm not looking in your direction, you can size them up all you want. However, when you're talking to me, and your eye-to-eye contact becomes eye-to-boob contact, it's in poor taste. I'll catch you everytime, and I've gotten to the point where I'll call you out on it. Try me.

Designs on Who?

2006-05-26T13:35:00.000-04:00

Have you ever gotten up one day and realized the one thing that has been on the top of your mind everyday for months is all of the sudden absent? In my case, it is a person, and for some reason, yesterday was some kind of epiphany-filled collection of hours rather than any ordinary day.

At work, I got more done than I normally would have and even worked overtime to finish up a big project I’m working on just because my mind is clear of who I’ve been daydreaming about for a few months. It’s like I came to the sudden realization that…I’m over it. Yeah, I’m over it. And I’m smiling from ear to ear because of this. I knew it would happen someday, but I walked around hoping it would be through reconciliation as opposed to my feelings taking a turn for nil. I think I like it better this way.

Part of this may be that I came to the conclusion that I have much bigger plans in my near future, and pining over an unrequited love will only hinder them. I’m about to make a huge change in my life that I know will be for the better, even if it will be tough, and right now, I’m genuinely only concerned with myself. I’m more focused and clear-minded than I have been in a very long time. This could be a result of not drinking nearly as much as I was in the past, but nevertheless, I feel good. Finally. I feel like I have something to look forward to.

Now Who's the Smart One?

2006-05-24T13:23:00.000-04:00

It amazes me just how incredibly stupid some members of the human race can be. The ones I am talking about in this instance are the ones who were born without a va-jay-jay.

In my experience with men and girfriends, I have found that it is true what they say about all women being on the same team to bring down the asshole population. I'll just give a couple of examples so you know.

Scenario A: You meet a girl. She catches your eye. You catch hers. You ask her out. The first thing she does is search far and wide to find any dirt on you, who you dated, what your hobbies are, etc from the friends she has that may know you. And they in turn ask their friends. Chances are, before you even get to the date, this girl knows some odd tidbit of personal info about you already. She also knows if you took a different girl out the night before you took her out. She also knows you slept with that other girl the night before you took her out. Wow, Mr. Classypants, smooth move.

Scenario B: You have this wonderful girlfriend. Before you started dating her, you were dating another girl. Against your wishes and despite your efforts to keep them apart, those two girls become friends. Uh oh. You and your girlfriend break up. Which relationship stands the test of time? Not yours. Do you really think all those nasty things you said about the girl you dumped aren't going to get back to her? They will. Just like your pants, maybe you should zip your mouth.

The point is that girls talk. And they listen. And to be honest, it doesn't matter if you get them against each other, eventually a bond will be formed and then you're shit out of luck, my male friend. It's happened to me, and I've seen it happen around me. Girls hate each other, but in dire situations, they become emotional creatures, and whatever you say will not change that. We are delicate flowers the majority of the time, and it's in our nature to nurture. It's also in our nature to get revenge. A man can only hope he was raised well enough to bypass doing all the buttface things most do and just be honest. I won't hold my breath.

I Want.

2006-05-21T22:41:00.000-04:00

It is imperative that I have a pair of these. Would anyone like to accompany me to the Louis Vuitton store with their credit card so that I may have them?

Hip To Be Square.

2006-05-21T03:41:00.000-04:00

For the second time in two nights, the whole "controversy" of the hipster/scene lifestyle has come up in conversations I've had. I just don't get it. I often wonder how guys can find this kind of behavior and style attractive even in the slightest. You know what I'm speaking of. I guess because of the type of thing I do, I run into it a little more than the next person, seeing as I am not what one would call a hipster/scene chick.

It's a style. Granted, I know quite a few that have always been on the cutting edge of what hipster/scene is, and that's perfectly acceptable, but then there are the girls who you can look at and tell that the only reason they have multi-colored hair and pale skin coupled with a ridiculous outfit even Cyndi Lauper herself wouldn't don is because everyone else is doing it. They're not into it for the fashion aspect, they're into it because some website or band taught them it was cool. It's so boring to me to go someplace and see every single girl with the same exact haircut; the haircut that looks like they took the scissors to their head themselves. This is the same haircut that took them an hour to primp, even though when they're done styling it, the only look they've managed to achieve is the "I just rolled out of bed" one.

It isn't just appearance. Oh, no. It's also this horrible snobbish attitude. You know what I mean here, too. You see one of these girls out, and even though you've had many conversations with them in the past, when you make eye contact the next time you bump into them, they pretend like they have no idea who you are. Nothing about you is good enough to warrant the time for a simple, "Hi, how are you? Good to see you."

This is simply unacceptable in my book. Here's a little secret: You do not live in New York...you live in the south...where social niceties are practiced. You are not better than the guy or girl standing next to you. I know it's shocking to hear this, but someone had to say it sooner or later. Allow me.

P.S. - Your taste in music sucks, and I'd fire your stylist were I you.

But Nooooooo...

2006-05-18T13:20:00.000-04:00

...I couldn't wait. I couldn't wait 3 months. And now, my agony of things not matching is worsened since my technology was impossible to match three months ago, but is easily matched today. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, then look at this, and then try to draw your own conclusions. I'm too upset to address it further. Thanks to Paulie for enlightening me, as I have been in a cloud of aloofness here lately.

Pardon me. I must restock my tissues because I am not just crying on the inside.

Oh, and Happy 24th Birthday to my sister, Lindsay. We're going for jazz and martinis tonight, cocktail dresses and all. She better drink every drop of the vodka mixture set in front of her, or I will, and that could be very bad.

Foam.

2006-05-16T18:51:00.000-04:00

Okay, so Coca-Cola has their new drink out, Coke Blak, that is a mix between coffee and Coke. After tasting it about a month ago, I tried to figure out what would be good to mix it with to make a tasty adult beverage. A friend of mine said he tried it with Jack Daniels. We played a little game coming up with cute names. I said "Blakjack." He said "Blak Majack." There were a couple others, but I don't remember them.

Anyways, I've had a bottle of Bailey's nicely chilling in the fridge for a while that I occasionally take out to offer as a nightcap on the rocks. While in Publix last night, I picked up a 4 pack of Coke Blak. I didn't realize how pricy it is...$5.99! And that was on sale! You probably see where I'm going with this.

It's been an incredibly long day, so I wanted a drink...a real drink. I went and got my special Coke Blak glass and put some ice in it. Then I poured it 1/4 full with Bailey's and emptied a bottle of Blak in it. In an instant, the regular foam at the top of a Coke standing alone turned into the consistency of a float. I stirred my concoction and let it sit for a few minutes. Once I got past the foam, it's not bad! I'm going to place the taste somewhere between an Irish Car Bomb and a White Russian. Those are my two favorite drinks in the whole wide world, so I'm digging the Bailey's and Blak combo.

Thinking of clever names is a little bit harder for this. The only thing I can come up with is "Blak Baileyed." Yeah, I know. Seems I've missed my calling in life to head up some massive marketing firm.

Dating Rules.

2006-05-12T23:28:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine posts these blogs with personal questions for the reader to input on, and one of her questions was "What are your rules for dating?" It took me a minute to come up with some in my head, because I've never really thought about it. Here are a couple I came up with off the top of my head that I find myself evaluating dates by.

*Boy, get yourself some chivalry. I must admit, I'm a sucker for chivalrous acts. If I could go back in time and live when men didn't just assume women were anything other than fragile beings, I'd probably be happy to some extent. I expect to have my car door opened. If you take me out, this is how it should go: Pick me up by coming to my door to get me, walk me to your car, open the door for me, and take me somewhere. You don't have to open it for me to get out, I can do that myself, but anytime I'm getting in, you better open the door. This goes for doors in restaurants, movies, or wherever else we happen to end up. It's just common sense. If you fail to do this, I'm probably not going to entertain the idea of a second date, because there won't be one. I also like it when my chair is pulled out for me, and when you help me put my coat on in the winter months.

*Give me things. That probably sounds materialistic, but if you come bearing presents, I know you put thought into the date and went the extra mile to please me. I've never received flowers or anything like that, but I have been given CDs (I'm a music whore, so this is a good way to catch my attention), among other things that had something to do with what my date knew my interests were. Beer is another one. Cards are good, too. I swear this isn't a shallow requirement, it's just produces warm thoughts for me when someone makes an effort. I don't expect jewelry or anything like that...I don't even like jewelry, I just think when you come bearing gifts, you'll make a better impression than whoever I go out with later on in the week.

*Converse. Talk to me, please. Tell me about yourself, and for Heaven's sake, ask me about myself. Dates are very much like interviews. Both parties need to literally bring something to the table. If I weren't interested in you, I wouldn't be sitting with you spending my precious time trying to decide if we click. Bonus points if you happen to come up with topics not normally discussed that make me actually have to think about responses. I spout off personal information all the time, so that's not out of the ordinary. Please don't talk politics or religion, it bores me. I'm with you to have fun, not to be lectured.

*Call me. I'm not going to call you. I don't call boys. It's your job to call me, so don't expect me to call you. I'm probably thinking about you if we went out and had a good time, but I'm not going to call you because the one thing my mother drilled into my brain was that girls are not to call boys. It doesn't mean I'm not interested if I don't call you when you tell me to. In fact, anytime a guy says, "Give me a call," I respond with, "I don't call boys." Also, if you think it's cute to wait three days to call because you saw that on Swingers, it's not. I'm an adult, and I don't like games. If you had a good time and can't wait to see me again, then by all means, please call me the next day and make a plan to see me again. Chances are, if you felt that good about it, then I probably did, too.

*Keep your paws to yourself. I'm not looking to hop into bed with you. I know it's shocking because women are liberated and tend to have the sexual prowess of men these days, but I'm somewhat traditional in that department. I'm happy you spent so much money on a nice dinner and drinks, but that doesn't buy you a free ticket into my pants. Where are your manners? Try me. I have no problem saying no. It's what I do.

*Compliment me. This is another one of those things that seems like common sense. Yes, I'm vain. Hell, I am a woman, after all. I spent time to look nice and smell pretty for our time together, so if there is something you see that you like, then tell me. I'm not one to get all gussied up very often, so when I do, and you like it, it's probably best to encourage that behavior if you want to see it again.

*Be yourself. I can't stand it when I meet someone and they seem so much like me, and we have all the same interests, only to find out later that they lied about their tastes for whatever reason. Save time for both of us and just be yourself. I mean, I'm comfortable in my skin, and that's what you like me for, so return the favor.

*Be nice to my family. The stupidest thing you could possibly do is piss off one of my family members. These are the people I care for the most, and they care for me. Show some respect to gain their approval. It's not hard to do, I promise. They're nice people who are laid-back like me. I don't want to have to be subjected to comments about "that asshole" I'm dating, so make sure you're not an asshole.

It Makes You Think.

2006-05-07T20:33:00.000-04:00

Every day when I go into work and swipe my badge in the lobby, there's a janitor there who greets us with a very toothy smile and a "good morning." I always notice him and always think about what a nice person he must be, even though I don't really know him other than his positive behavior in the lobby. I guess he's about my age, and I always think about how I'm lucky that I was able to go to school to be someone's secertary rather than be the person who literally cleans up after them. Somehow when I ponder it, the jobs seem the same, though.

At any rate, last week I noticed I didn't see the janitor. I just figured that since I'd come in earlier in the morning that he probably hadn't made it to the lobby yet. Then, when I was walking to the parking deck on Wednesday, I saw something that completely made my heart sink. There was a poster on the wall by the lobby. There was a picture of the janitor and his toothy smile. Under the picture, there were words that read, "Memorial Service for Marques Mapps, New Calvary Baptist Church, Donations can be sent to CCP 207." It hit me that something had happened to the nice young man who always greeted all the workers that parked in my deck every morning. Something came over me, and when I made it to my car, I let out a few tears. I wondered what happened to him.

I found out on Friday that he was involved in a freak car accident last Saturday and was killed instantly. I didn't get many more details, but he was 25, and that hit me. Questions began to rise in my head. Why did this happen to him? Does everything really happen for a reason? Does God really have a plan for everyone? Why, of all the people on this earth, did He have to take one of the most genuine and sweetest souls instead of someone with a nastier disposition?

Then I think of how that could've just as easily happened to me, and my life could've been taken just as instantly, and it still can. And it's depressing.

Apples and Wine.

2006-05-03T11:40:00.000-04:00

I never get tired of receiving this e-mail. It makes me feel better. My sister sent it to me this morning. It really puts things in perspective.

Women are like apples on trees. The best ones are at the top of the tree. Most men don't want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they sometimes take the apples from the ground that aren't as good, but easy. The apples at the top think something is wrong with them, when in reality, they're amazing. They just have to wait for the right man to come along, the one who is brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree. Now Men.... Men are like a fine wine. They begin as grapes, and it's up to women to stomp the shit out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with. Share this with all the good apples you know.

I'm a good apple.

Butt-Crack in a Bottle.

2006-05-02T10:37:00.000-04:00

We've already established that I use G-Mail, and in order for this e-mail to be free, sponsors place little ads on the screen for their products. I'm sure there is a very technical way to figure out the content of the e-mail so that a sponsor's product that may be appealing to the mail user will pop up. For instance, when I clean out my spam, I normally see little ads that tell me to click if I would like good recipes that include Spam as an ingredient. I cannot imagine what it was in one of my latest e-mails that warranted the following ad:

Butt-crack in a Bottle - www.liquidass.com - Long-lasting, intense butt-crack smell in liquid form for pranks.

I'm pretty sure we were not talking about pranking anyone, nor were we talking about ass in any form. I just thought this was funny. I hit send, and then I see "Butt-crack in a bottle." Thanks, Google. I'm not sure I could've gone another day without knowing that I could purchase butt-crack smell. I feel much more relaxed now.

I've Got Ants In My Pants.

2006-04-27T19:57:00.000-04:00

Everyone has one thing in the world that makes their skin literally crawl. Some people can't stand nails running down a chalkboard, for others, it's something else, like snakes or bad skin. For me, it's hundreds of tiny ants running together. If I see such a sight, I get goose bumps and the hair on my head stands on edge. I don't know what it is about organzied ant formation, but it seriously creeps me out.

I came home from work today to find that an army of ants has invaded my kitchen. I cringed. It was so horrible. I still have no idea where they're coming from. I don't keep any kind of bug spray around, because at my last apartment, I did not have this problem with bugs. I also had a dog, and she would just eat them. Not now. Now I'm infested. I come up with the best solution with what I have laying around, which is a bottle of 409. I sprayed them with 409 and washed them down the sink drain. Ah, the kitchen is clear of ants.

A couple of hours later, after washing all the dishes and putting them away so there's nothing for new ants to track down, I go into the kitchen. They're back. I know what I'm buying tomorrow after work...

Here's A Quarter...

2006-04-26T18:19:00.000-04:00

One reason I don't really love living in an apartment in the city is that there's no laundry facility in my place, or my building for that matter. Normally, I drive twenty miles west every other Sunday to do my laundry and get fed a good meal by my parents (which usually consists of Chinese take-out, one of the only things that can make me happy). However, with gas teetering $3.00/gallon, I have foregone the visits since early April, leaving me with a very large pile of dirty clothes that I have probably recycled a couple of times before tossing them into the laundry basket. The last time I used the apartment complex's laundry room, it cost me $2.00 to wash AND dry one load. So I come home from work today and scrounge up $2.00 in quarters to wash two loads. When I get down to the washers, I discover that without warning, the price has been moved to $1.25 to wash, but the dryers are still $1.00. Gee, thanks. Now I have to go back into my apartment and get more quarters.

I come back after starting two loads only to come up short in quarters to finish the other two I have. I only have enough for one more, so it's time to decide what REALLY needs to be washed, and what can wait for the next trip to mom and dad's. I separate everything out, and by this time, my wash should be ready to dry. I head back down to the laundry room and transfer everything into the dryers and throw my third and final load into the washer.

As I'm walking back to my apartment to sit and wait for an hour until the clothes dry, I pass the most beautiful tree out in our common area of the complex. Apparently God hates me today, because one of His creatures has decided to defecate as I am walking under the tree, showering me with poop. Yay. I have just thrown all the dirty clothes into the washer, and now I have on a shirt covered in bird shit that I cannot wash due to quarter restraints.

Agape?

2006-04-23T12:46:00.000-04:00

In my quest to try and classify certain feelings I have, I ran across this article. I remember being in Sunday School and talking about this, learning about the different kinds of love that are exhibited through human nature. Agape love is probably the most difficult to obtain because the lines are so easily blurred and not clearly understandable. Reading this gave me comfort in knowing it's not reached without difficulty and finding inner peace with God. The most conflict comes from deciding whether I can be strong enough to work towards abandoning loving unselfishly but still harboring expectations. It makes so much sense, yet due to that ever constant human nature we all struggle to contain, reaching agape is much easier said than done.

In the words of Rhett Miller, "I should have never let it start."

It's a bit lengthy, but well worth the read. This is exactly how I feel right now and conjures up every inner conflict I'm dealing with. Read the article here.

Welcome To The ATL.

2006-04-22T23:41:00.000-04:00

I love this city. I really do. I can think of a couple of others I'd much rather be in, however, this is where I can afford to live for the time being. What I do not like about Atlanta is the whole perception of just how ghetto it is due to the panhandling homeless and cruising up and down Peachtree Street blasting songs that contain more obscenities than necessary.

People who visit often gripe about the aforementioned eyesores, and I usually just disregard it because I'm slightly immune to that kind of behavior having to deal with it on a daily basis. Then, I have encounters like I had tonight, and I understand more why people are so negative about Atlanta. I went to the Loft to see one of my favorite bands, and when I got to the "secret parking spot," I noticed it was $10 to park. Um, no. Not when I'm only going to be there for about an hour. So, I drive over to the $3 parking lot about four or five blocks from the venue because there's always an attendant...and it's cheap.

When crossing at W. Peachtree and 17th, I noticed the little walking man light up across the street alerting me that it was my turn to go. I start walking when a car turns in front of me, almost hitting me. Then, this bitch sticks her head out of the car window and screams, "Get out of the street, you stupid ho!" I honestly wanted to shoot my mouth off like the sassy one that I am, but the thought crossed my mind that she would probably pull a gun out and shoot me. I don't really want to die that way. So, all I said was, "It says for me to walk now!" And then I continued on my merry way.

I go see the band and then I get ready to leave. I part ways with my friend and begin to walk back to my car. Right before I get to the parking lot, three men passing me on the sidewalk stop me and begin to harass me. They kind of circle me and start on the "what's a pretty girl like yourself doing alone?" I also got a couple, "you have a fine ass" comments. This sort of thing doesn't normally shake me, but considering it was late and not well-lit where I was, and there was no one else around, I started to get a little scared that I was going to end up in the morgue after being brutally raped and beaten.

Welcome to the ATL.

Taxis Can Bite Me.

2006-04-22T11:44:00.000-04:00

I sometimes use taxis when I cannot drive home or walk from the bar, so I can't really get that upset with them for that reason. It's the little things about taxis that piss me off.

1. "Oh, God, please, I promise I will go to church and pray everyday if I just get out of this car alive." I often mutter this to myself when in a taxi. I remember one time in particular I took a cab to Star Bar to meet up with a friend, and when going around a curve, I ended up from one side of the backseat to the other. Seatbelts would be nice here, but for some reason, I never see one. I mean, yeah, I want them to get there fast because then the meter doesn't run as long, however, I would like to actually make it to my destination.

2. "Can you repeat that?" I can never understand a lick of what the driver is saying because they never speak good english. I hate that. Especially when I'm trying to reach the comfort of my own home, or if I'm in a foreign city and don't want to be dumped off in the ghetto.

3. "Why won't this taxi get the eff out of my way?" As a driver, they piss me off the most. I encounter many, many taxis on my drive home from work through downtown. They take up an entire lane outside office buildings, and then when they pull off, they don't even bother to check and see if another car is coming, they just cut you off. Then, once they're on the road, they have a problem staying in one lane. It's like in Grand Theft Auto when you can go on taxi runs to make money, except this is real life, and you're not supposed to brush other cars or run over people. If I didn't know I was in America, I might think I was in Colombia with the way taxi drivers are.

Don't even get me started on buses...

Easter.

2006-04-16T17:41:00.000-04:00

Brunch at the Majestic, the only place where you can sit at the counter in between a homeless man with one leg talking to himself and a man who took a bath in cologne that couldn't stay off his cell phone long enough to put more than two bites in his mouth all while enjoying a stack of pancakes and hashbrowns covered in ketchup and cheese. The only thing missing? An orgasmic Bloody Mary from Carroll Street Cafe. Mmm.

Watch Your Damn Kids.

2006-04-15T13:08:00.000-04:00

I went to Target this morning. I love Target. As I am walking down the area in front of the registers towards the accessories section of the store, I see a little boy running up the aisle, and a woman running after him saying "I think she's back here. Hey, stop!" Now, I'm pretty good at deductive reasoning, so I figured out that the woman chasing the kid was not the kid's mother. The kid's mother was perusing the hair dye with the other two kids she had in tow and let this toddler wander off searching for her frantically. All I'm thinking at this point is, "Dear God, please don't let this kid throw a tantrum in front of me, because I will begin to profusely cuss and mutter every other obscenity in the book."

Much to my happiness, the kid disappeared and I made my way over to the earrings. I'm going through all of them wondering why they have all these bronze accessories throughout the store, yet there are no earrings to match. Bastards. All of the sudden, here comes this woman with her three kids, all looking to be under the age of about 6. They are out of control. They are weaving in and out of the narrow and small aisles of Accessories picking up sunglasses, necklaces, and watches. This whole time, the mother is standing at the counter yelling at them. I look at them in disgust, because I am utterly disgusted. Their pants are all falling off (three boys here) their asses, displaying their undergarments, and they are seroiusly pissing me off by getting in my way while I'm trying to shop.

Once the mother removes herself from the counter, she comes over to where I'm standing and picks up a necklace, and then asks me if I think it's cute. I look at her and try my hardest to force a smile and tell her that, yes, I do like the necklace. I just can't conjure up happy thoughts about this woman when her kids are ruining my alone time while I'm doing one of my most favorite things...shopping.

I'm sure that all sounds wonderfully bitchy on my part, but I don't care. There were plenty of people there with their kids, and they had them under control and close to them at all times instead of bothering every person around them to the length that a complete stranger is chasing them through the store trying to return them to an irresponsible parent. This is why kid leashes are a great idea, no matter how cruel they look. I mean, if you're going to do the deed and pop out babies every couple of years, then by God, you had better do your duty as a parent and keep tabs on them. I could have snatched one of them up and done horrible things to them due to this woman's aloofness. Lucky for her there weren't any kidnappers in her vicinity.

Free Sauna!

2006-04-14T20:14:00.000-04:00

Oh yes, that's right...I am getting the use of a sauna for free! It's quite posh, actually. Schmeh schmeh. Hmm, yes, it's my apartment. I have been inside since about noon after a lovely outing to the neighborhood coffee shop, and I'm pretty sure that in the 80 degree weather we're having this weekend, I have sweated out about five pounds so far. It's awesome. If I shower, the purpose is defeated, because as soon as I step out and put lotion on, I'm right back where I started. I have a nice oscillating fan that I have been carrying back and forth to my room and the den all day, and I must say, it does a good job of accomplishing jack shit.

I moved here in October, therefore I have not had the pleasure of sitting in sweltering heat until today. Maybe it gets like this while I'm at work, but since I'm not here, I have no clue. Yes, I've opened the windows and tried to get as skimpy as I can with clothing without going completely nude (the windows are open, remember?), but this doesn't seem to help much. In all fairness, I have an AC unit in my room, but I really don't feel like being confined there when I'm home. In the PX last weekend, I saw a big ass fan that would probably blow the hair right off one's head and exclaimed how I needed it, jokingly, but now I'm thinking I really do. This whole day has reminded me of the time my elementary school took a trip to the Agri-rama and had to act out what it was like to live in the 1800's in a house with no AC or electricity. I thought it was fun then. Now I'm just irritated. I understand the madness behind all my neighbors who have obviously been here for a few years and their method of putting aluminum foil in the windows. I'm only assuming this keeps the heat reflected or something.

Even now, at 8:30 in the evening, I'm contemplating taking my ice cube trays and sticking all the ice in a bowl and sitting in it just to cool myself off. Aw, hell, maybe I should just go to the bar and have a frosty beer in the AC.

The Science of Women.

2006-04-13T21:39:00.000-04:00

I'm baffled by the whole argument that there really isn't such a thing as PMS, but that it's something that women use as an excuse to be a bitch for a week out of every month. Since I am, in fact, a woman, I feel like I can comment on this discrepancy like an expert, because I know my body and how it works. For years I was on birth control pills (BCPs) to regulate my cycle, which is a completely normal thing for women to do. It sure as hell wasn't fun to be on my period for ten days when I was playing sports in high school. BCPs were a quick fix, because they basically regulate your hormones so you have a cycle of four to five days. It also managed to curb PMS, make my boobs grow, and make my skin much clearer.

After almost ten years of taking BCPs, I decided to stop simply because I don't need them for what they're for, and I was tired of paying $30 a month for something that was just becoming a pain in my ass. Ever since then, I have begun to realize how wonderful they are by certain changes I have noticed. For one, I think I'm on my period all the time. It's pretty much every three weeks, so it's like I'm buying tampons during every grocery trip, unlike every other trip like before. I can deal with that, though. What I can't deal with is the amount of money I am spending on junk food. Every two weeks like clockwork, I am racing to Publix to stock up on pints of Ben & Jerry's, cookies, and other sugar-loaded crap from the bakery. Why? Because I have overwhelming cravings that control me, and I must indulge or I simply cannot function. For instance, in the past two nights, I have polished off not one, but two pints of ice cream, and that's in addition to the enormous helping of banana pudding I had at work today and the cookies I had for breakfast, and the chunks of Colombian chocolate my boss gave me. I can't recall being this bad about junk food before I quit the drugs.

That's only one thing I've noticed. The other is the alarming level of anger I tend to experience every two weeks as well. It gets to the point where I am so angry I'm in tears and my skin feels like it cannot contain the red and boiling blood careening through my body. I could almost understand how some of these nutjobs on TV kill their husbands if they feel like this, because last month I almost killed the copier at work. How can an inanimate object manage to make a person bawl, cuss, and kick (we call this a tantrum) in such a profuse way? It's PMS. I'm normally a decently laid-back, and outgoing person, but I know that my tune changes fairly quickly around my 'special time.' I almost feel sorry for anyone who happens to cross me during that time, because you'll get more than you bargained for. I think it's comparable to bipolar disorder. One minute I can be excited about life and everything about it, and the next, I want to go to Chuck E. Cheese and beat the shit out of those heads that pop up and down from those holes...sorry, I don't know the technical name for them, and I'm too lazy to look it up at the moment.

Why Doctors Suck.

2006-04-10T16:38:00.000-04:00

Well, maybe doctors don't suck, because they help us get better. However, after recently receiving benefits from work after being without for two years, I've been a co-pay slamming fiend getting myself in check. I went to the PCP about a month ago to get a prescription for some medicine that is bad for your liver, so in order for me to have a refill for this medicine, I have to get blood work done to be sure it's not disfunctioning and everything is cool.

When I asked for the medicine, I was told it would be a three month stint of taking pills that cost $300 for a month's supply...and my insurance probably wouldn't cover it. I got it anyways and learned that my insurance does, in fact, pay for the brunt of it, leaving me with a $30 co-pay per month. I can handle that with ease. I get a script for a month's supply.

I called the doctor's office to ask them to call in a refill for me since one month has passed and I'm out of pills. I get a phone call around 2:30 telling me that they won't allow me to have the refill without more blood work. Fine. I go in today to have blood drawn and to get the little piece of paper to bring to the pharmacist. While waiting, I'm asked for $20 for this visit. What? But I was just here a month ago, and you took blood then! And now, you're telling me that in order for me to continue this drug regimine, I have to pay you again, in addition to the $60 for the next two months of pills? Grrr.

I know, it's the procedure, and I am using up two minutes of the doctor's time for her to write 10 words on a piece of paper, but come on. I wouldn't be so upset if the pharmacist hadn't told me last month that it was unnecessary to get a blood test every month like the doctor says, and I trust them more, especially since the pharmacist is savvy to the chemical make-up of medicines. Boo.

Drop And Give Me Twenty.

2006-04-08T13:54:00.000-04:00

My brother. He looks amazing. If you think he couldn't kick your ass before, he certainly can now. More to come about how horrible the commercials in Columbus/Ft. Benning, GA are. I have to gloat at how proud I am of him.

Too Much To Ask?

2006-04-07T09:51:00.000-04:00

Is it too much to ask for e-mail that is reliable and works? Am I going to have to shell out money for a mailbox that works? Ever since I have had a gmail account, I have had problems accessing my mailbox daily. The most annoying part of it is that an error window pops up and says something like, "Oops...we're unable to access your mailbox at this time. Try again in a few minutes." Why do I have to do that? I never had this problem with Yahoo! Mail. Not once. In fact, I'm thinking of switching back to it for my primary account. There are a couple things to consider.

GMail Pros
**Allows for "conversation" interface making it much easier to keep up with what message went where.

**Has built in chat that can be used with other GMail users.

**VERY good at weeding spam from the inbox.

**Enormous amounts of space to send and receive files.

**All the cool kids are doing it.

Yahoo! Pros

**It rarely, if ever, gives me a problem.

Well, shit, I guess I'll stick with GMail. Is anyone else having this problem?

Notoriously Stupid.

2006-04-02T16:49:00.000-04:00

Another Sunday at mom and dad's spells another day of mindless television watching. The station of choice is VH1 today, where they pride themselves on Celebreality programming. The one they're pushing right now? Some show (a reality sitcom) based on the life of Tori Spelling. This has me pondering why washed up stars of the nineties listen to their publicists tell them that all of America wants to see a TV show based on their life. I personally don't give a shit about Tori Spelling. I know what she's been up to. She's in every other Lifetime movie I happen to catch the first ten minutes of when I flip on the TV. I don't need to know much else other than that.

Ah, but now, everytime I go through the checkout line in the grocery store, I'm going to start seeing her face all over the magazines like I did when I was a sophomore in high school. Even then, the images of her odd, sunken breasts and anorexic looking frame were enough to make me want to vomit, and I don't see my mind shifting in opinion on that one.

I know plenty of people who are egotistical and vain, including myself, but even we aren't delusional enough to think that anyone would actually want to sit down for thirty minutes to watch what's going on in our lives. Amazing how some people become convinced that they are that important in this capacity because they have someone whispering in their ear how wonderful they are...

That's Bushit.

2006-03-28T09:50:00.000-05:00

I noticed this from another blogger's post, and it enrages me. Here's a little excerpt from the Bill of Rights:

Amendment I

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

Now this story in the AJC brings attention to the fact that you really can't say that. So the cop thinks this is an obscene word, even though it's not really a word (we're talking about the word "Bushit" here)? Does this mean that I might get a ticket for having a bumper sticker that says "Down with Sexual Harassment!" because it contains the word "ass" and may be offensive? Or maybe if I had a Shih-Tzu, I should just tell people it's that dog that sounds like the "s" word when they ask what breed it is because someone might be offended? All you people with those lovely French Connection shirts that say "FCUK" on them better be careful, because it looks like the "f" word at first glance, and apparently, the government doesn't like that.

Secrets.

2006-03-26T16:21:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite things to do on Sunday is check Post Secret. This site is awesome. I think I like it so much because when I read about the secrets of other people, it makes me feel like my problems are even more trivial than I already know they are. Sometimes the secrets are funny, sometimes they are very serious. I saw one today that I had a good chuckle at, because I swear, I could have sent it in.

Just What I Needed.

2006-03-25T12:45:00.000-05:00

In the hustle and bustle of the busy world around me, finding a moment to have "me" time is almost impossible. That can easily be blamed on myself, considering there are many times when my body says "no" and my mind says "yes." Yesterday they both hit a wall and said "no." Actually, they screamed it. Yes, it was Friday, a night that was supposed to be filled with The Features and Decatur Social Club turned into a night of spending time in the bathtub with bubbles, chai tea, and Eisley and gmail conversations. After getting caught jamming out to the iPod at work while copying returns, I thought, "Man, if it's gotten so bad that I'm trying to fit in "me" time therapy at work, then I need to fix something." The only thing missing was the typical order of Chinese cuisine, which I really wish I had opted for, but alas, Blimpie sufficed.

It's funny how much you can find out about yourself when you spend quality time doing things you actually enjoy. I started to realize my addictions.

**I'm addicted to Chai Tea. I can make a pretty decent latte with sugar and milk. Mmm.

**I'm addicted to Parliament. Not so much that my day revolves around them, but to the point where I have my best thoughts while having one.

**I'm addicted to music. This is no surprise, but I realized yesterday that there is not a point in the day where I go more than twenty minutes without it. Literally.

**I'm addicted to words. I love them. I wish I knew more, and I'm working on that.

**I'm addicted to honesty and modesty used in moderation. I sometimes reveal tidbits of info to people in my life that make them wonder, "Where the hell did that come from?" Then I go back to being the agreeable chick they always knew and turn the bitch switch to the "off" position.

**I'm addicted to Apple. I can't stay off the damn thing. I bought it to have something to work on and tote around so I'm not stuck in the house all the time, yet, I have found so many ways to distract myself that I hardly get anything done. If it's not that, it's the aforementioned iPod.

**I'm addicted to coffee. I woke up after noon today with a splitting headache. I need my coffee.

**I'm addicted to Lifetime. Dear God, I said it. My TV is rarely on, yet, when it is, it is always on Lifetime! This is how I'm certain that I am, in fact, a girl.

Contemplation leads to realization. Introspectively, there are so many aspects of my life that I need to rid of and avoid like the plague, but being self-indulgent takes away all hope of that ever happening. People are curious creatures, and I'm not immune to that. Wouldn't it be nice to completely cleanse our lives of all negativity? That would mean neglecting family and friends, though, so it's not a feasible solution by any means. However, I've decided to change that, somewhat. Maybe I would feel better if I quit torturing myself, and instead of laughing off the negativity with my humor and wit, I'll just snap back by pointing out that niceties are lacking, and it's not okay anymore. That won't happen. But, like I conveyed to one of the "problems" last night, watch out! This girl is exhausted from being cordial all the time. You've been warned.

Color Me Beautiful.

2006-03-21T21:25:00.000-05:00

I try. I really do. I try to be a "girl." I fix my hair daily to be long and flowy like a girl instead of wearing it up in a clip or ponytail. I shave my legs about every other week (okay, not that long, I'm exaggerating). Sometimes I wear skirts with heels that make me taller than most of the men I encounter throughout my day. I wear make-up. Lots of it on my eyes because I was told to play up my best feature, which that is. I moisturize daily for soft skin so I'm not ashy and crocodile-like when someone touches my arm or anything else.

There is one thing I cannot bring myself to do, and that is the whole painting-of-the-nails thing. I hate painting my nails. Actually, loathe or despise would be better and more powerful words here. I was in a wedding last September and was made to have a manicure. Professionally. At a spa. It was nice. But honestly, paying someone money to put polish on my nails is not my idea of practical. I can do that myself, and it doesn't cost me anything. It also takes less time and I don't have to make small talk with the chick while I'm having it done.

Last night, I found my Vixen. Vixen is my most favorite Revlon nail polish color. It's a very deep (almost black) red color that screams, "Hey look! I'm wearing nail polish!" So, out of complete boredom, I decided to do the fingernails up in Vixen. I like that name, Vixen. It's so seductive and sensual, and it's all over my nails. I'm a Vixen (which is defined as a quarrelsome woman, by the way) when I wear it. I can get whatever I want with the wave of one Vixen-colored hand, because I am a force to be reckoned with. It's really quite spectacular.

While I'm reminded of how girlie and fashionable I am with the colored nails, I'm also reminded of the maintenance of keeping up with it. I just put the polish on last night, and it has already chipped. No, I didn't use a top coat, or a bottom coat. Why? Because I don't feel like it, and frankly, I do nothing I don't feel like doing. Now, instead of touching it up, I feel like I should take all of it off. This is simply retarded. I spent twenty minutes polishing, then I spent a couple of hours not touching anything to let it dry. That is approximately two and a half hours of my life that was wasted on trying to look pretty that is down the drain because of one little chip. I wonder if I can eke out a couple more days of wear before I look as trashy as Britney Spears on the beach?

My Science Experiment.

2006-03-20T18:34:00.000-05:00

Here at the bachelorette pad, things have been super busy, leaving little time to keep tidy. I stopped at the grocery store today on my home from work, and when I got home, I thought, "Hey, while I'm loading up the fridge, I'll clean it out at the same time." I'm brilliant like that sometimes. So, as I'm loading in all the healthy food I just purchased, I am pulling out yogurt that is unopened and expired in January, unopened milk that expired in the middle of February, and then I reach for the pan of ziti I made one night after my last trip to the grocery store, circa the beginning of February.

For some reason, there is a large amount of water on top of the foil covering the pan. I'm thinking that maybe the free lemonade they gave me at work has leaked from the top shelf, but it seems to be in tact. I can't find the source of the water, so I gently pull the pan out and set it next to the sink, which is overflowing with dirty dishes since I have no dishwasher (I know, it's so pathetic, the conditions I live in). When I remove the foil, I realize the water has somehow grown from the remnants of pasta, cheese, and sauce that was in the pan. It was a lot. Why? Because I am single and I have no friends or roommates, so when I cook a large pan of ziti, I eat it once or twice and the rest goes to waste, or as we see here, begins to grow beautiful molds and curdle byproduct. Mmm, tasty.

I have to marvel in the array of rainbow colors and textures that seem to have emerged from the surface of this once appetizing dish. Then I remember that I can take pictures and freeze this moment in time before trying to rid of it. It may be a while before I make this again simply because I am so grossed out right now from this. I should have saved some and donated it to the local high school biology class.

Tests You Can't Fail.

2006-03-19T21:15:00.000-05:00

Instead of getting completely caught up in Desperate Housewives before Grey's Anatomy tonight, I decided to find out who I am and what I'm all about with Blogthings quizzes. I had no idea I could learn so much about myself from simple questions about my lifestyle and personal preferences. This is amazing.

ONE.

The first quiz I took was to find out what kind of panty I am. There are so many different kinds of panties available to women, and apparently, they all have different personalities associated with them. I'm guessing the thong is probably sexy and daring, while the boyshort is laid-back and practical. Personally, I prefer to wear boyshorts, but let's see where my personality lies on the spectrum of panties:

You Are Basic Panties

You are a laid back chick with a real natural beauty.
You can make unwashed hair and minimal make-up super sexy.
Men tend to notice you show the "real you" - and they appreciate it.
And while basic makes boring for some, it looks classic on you.

What Kind of Panties Are You?

Okay, I can live with that description of myself. Why not? Who doesn't want to be referred to as classic and natural?

TWO.

The next one is a Sex and the City quiz to see which character you most identify with. I love this show, and I can normally pick up with Carrie because of her selfish, yet independent ways. According to the quiz, I am right!

You Are Most Like Carrie!

You're quirky, flirty, and every guy's perfect first date.
But can the guy in question live up to your romantic ideal?
It's tough for you to find the right match - you're more than a little picky.
Never fear... You've got a great group of friends and a
great closet of clothes, no matter what!

Romantic prediction: You'll fall for someone this year...

Totally different from any guy you've dated.

Which Sex and the City Vixen Are You?

I certainly don't have a closet full of great clothes, though.

THREE & FOUR.

And now for a wonderful little contradiction in two different quizzes between how men see me, and what my reputation is.

Men See You As Playful

Men want a challenge and you are the perfect playmate
You know how to push men's buttons and attract a wide range of guys
You enjoy living and loving - it's one of your most attractive qualities
Men are often consumed with desire for you, and you love that!

How Do Men See You?

Your Reputation Is: Maneater

You're the kind of girl all the chicks hate...
And guys are both scared of you yet strangely drawn in.

What's Your Reputation?

Now I've got it in my head...Whoooooa, here she comes, watch out boy, she'll chew you up...

FIVE.

I loved this one because everytime I'm in some cheesey bar situation where there is karaoke involved and I hear this song, I always exclaim, "If I were a stripper, this is the song I'd dance to!" I then proceed to do a little hip-shaking to the beat of the song.

Your Stripper Song Is

Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard

"Love is like a bomb, baby, c'mon get it on
Livin' like a lover with a radar phone
Lookin' like a tramp, like a video vamp
Demolition woman, can I be your man?"

Break out the baby oil, you rock it old school.

What Song Should You Strip To?

SIX.

And finally, what kind of rocker I am. This is somewhat funny, considering the fact that I get a kick out of making fun of the emo community, even though I embrace it gracefully.

You Are an Emo Rocker!

Expressive and deep, lyrics are really your thing.
That doesn't mean you don't rock out...
You just rock out with meaning.
For you, rock is more about connecting than grandstanding.

What Kind of Rocker Are You?

All You Need To Get Everything You Want.

2006-03-18T23:59:00.000-05:00

I used to be an avid listener to the Toucher, Jimmy, & Leslie show in the mornings on 99X. They had this bit they would do every once in a while where they would send "Boobs McGillicuty" out to various places of business to see how many items she could receive by bartering with her breasts. Up until this revolutionary radio bit, I never realized just how obsessed the male population is about boobs. When "Boobs" would go into an establishment wearing a mic, you could just hear the men she was striking deals with blubbering and fumbling over their words at the sight of her ginormous ta-tas. I don't think she was ever turned down for anything the entire time I listened to the show.

Ever since then, I've been taking more notice to men and their behavior. Now, I don't have an overly busty chest, I'm right average in size, but I am still amazed at the powers they have. Wandering eyes, loss of concentration, and the trait of being easily persuaded when I am wearing a low-cut shirt simply baffles me. You can practically see the eyeballs come close to detaching when you accidentally brush one of them, or place your hand on your chest. I find it quite amusing that unless they are of the homosexual school, men are like monkeys with no inhibitions around a pair of mammaries. How do I get a drink at the bar before the men who've been standing there for a while? I push my boobs together and lean in on the bar to create more cleavage, and all of the sudden, the male bartender sees nothing else. It's just too easy. No matter the age of the man, or the education, or the career, it's all the same.

I don't think this would perplex me as much if I were envious of the male counterpart. I don't walk around staring at men's crotches or losing my cool if they're wearing a low cut top. What's the big deal? I mean, yes, it's nice to have them, but remember, they serve a purpose, and it's not for you to look at.

Just When You Stop Looking...

2006-03-18T11:54:00.000-05:00

It is one of the biggest cliches out there when you talk about dating, love, relationships, or anything along those lines. If you've never bitched about being heartbroken or giving up on the opposite sex, then you may not have heard it, but since I bitch about everything, I have. I can't count how many times I've been told, "You just wait, as soon as you're not looking, someone will find you! It's like fate!" Normally things like this don't bother me, but when it comes from your hooked up friend who has perfect hair and is totally in love with her boyfriend/husband, it only makes me want to slap the taste out of their mouth and tell them that I don't want to hear about puppies and ice cream, I just want to be miserable. The truth is, I don't know anyone like that anymore since I left the sorority scene behind when I emerged as a college graduate. I also don't want to be miserable.

So, recently, I have decided to stop dating altogether. No dates at all. If I am asked out, I just tell the guy that I'm involved with someone else, because really, I am involved with myself so much that I don't really have the time, nor the desire, to entertain another individual. It exhausts me to the point where I only want to throw my hands in the air and give up. It's kind of like that episode of Sex and the City where Charlotte comes to breakfast all disheveled and says, "I've been dating since I was 16, I'm exhausted! Where is he!?" Then, of course, she meets Trey and they live happily ever after for almost a year. This is how I feel, except unlike Charlotte, I'm just not looking at all.

And then, last night, the funniest thing happened. It was like a higher power presented me with a situation just to mess with my head and tell me not to quit (which is not working, I still quit). I went out with my friends for the debaucherous block party at my neighborhood pub, and when we stopped at the ATM on the way there, we meet this intoxicated guy who was quite interested in talking to us and was being escorted by a chick dressed like a leprechaun, who informed us that she was not "with" him, so he was fair game for us. I thought this was funny, and I was sober, so I played along. The guy told us to look for the leprechaun when we got to the party and he'd buy me a car bomb, which is something I will never pass up.

We get to the party, and the guy miraculously finds us in the enormous sea of green and Guinness. We start talking, and it turns out he is ten years older than me, and my ears perk up, because he doesn't look it, and this also means that he has an oodle more of maturity than the majority of guys I have been out with. The subject of work comes up, and he tells me he works with software, and it was like my knees buckled, because I have this sick thing about computer dorks, which I realize he totally is in talking with him more. Maybe he sniffed me out with a sixth sense or something, because I didn't tell him of my weird attraction and was amazed when he started telling me about his computer equipment (he uses a Mac), even using the phrase "under the hood." I was floored. I gave him my card and agreed to go out with him. This can only mean one thing: He will not remember our encounter at all due to overconsumption of alcohol and I will never hear from him.

Oh, well. I'm not looking.

All The Addiction You Need.

2006-03-16T12:16:00.000-05:00

It can now be found in one place. This is going to be revolutionary for the weak, such as myself. What do I mean by weak? If you are one of those people who wakes up everyday and only looks forward to the first cup of coffee, which is followed by four more before lunch time, where you switch over to Diet Coke (or Coke Classic) for the rest of the day, before you have a cup of coffee to end your night, then you are one of the weak, and this product will have it in for you.

Today I received my sample of Coca-Cola Blak, which is a "carbonated fusion beverage" that unites the flavors of Coke and coffee together in one bottle. In tasting it, I'm anxious to try it mixed with some Bailey's for the perfect caffeinated adult beverage. The Coke flavor outweighs the coffee, except when you set the bottle down after taking a swig. Then it's quite evident there was coffee present in it because the beauty of that signature aftertaste is there. Mmm. I love it. I'm holding a lovely 8 oz. glass bottle that is sealed with a plastic screw cap and handles all 45 calories and 12 grams of carbs of Blak.

Heaven help me, I have found another vice. You'll have to wait until April 3rd for it to hit stores.

Mad Heifer.

2006-03-15T13:20:00.000-05:00

Unless you have been living under a rock, you should know that a cow in the most wonderful state of Alabama tested positive for mad cow disease over the weekend. Mad cow is some kind of brain deteriorating disease and can be passed to a human through the consumption of an infected cow's meat. Now, even though the poor infectious cow has been disposed of, the whole fear of mad cow disease is planted into the minds of beef-loving Americans through pretty much every media outlet. Catching a few of the headlines made me have bad thoughts...

I've never realized how much I love red meat. I mean, I love red meat. For two years in college, I was a vegetarian (or what my boyfriend liked to call a 'chickaterian' since I still ate chicken sometimes) because I have this adorable dog at my parents' that somewhat resembles a cow, so the thought of eating cow disgusted me greatly. That was a long two years of not consuming ANY red meat. I finally came off it my senior year when my roommates and I decided to practice the Atkins way, which calls for much protein, and I couldn't really dodge eating red meat any longer. I remember the first time I cooked some to throw into Rotel Cheese Dip, I almost vomited from the smell of it.

Flashforward four years and you have a certifiable meat-eater on your hands. I love big, fat, buttery filets as much as I adore half pound slabs of hamburger that've been cooked perfectly medium-well and still have a good bit moistness left in them. Probably four nights out of the week I want to walk over to the Vortex and get the burger they have smothered in blue cheese spread and mushrooms that I, upon obtaining said burger, can hardly wait until I walk into the front door to tear into the way Hannibal Lector goes after human flesh.

I'm not totally scared to eat meat anymore, but I will admit that it doesn't seem as appetizing to me now just knowing that there is always that chance that the fourth case of mad cow in the U.S. will claim me because I was a glutton for red meat.

Boy.

2006-03-14T00:25:00.000-05:00

There's a Weezer song where Rivers Cuomo belts out a lyric about how he wants a girl who will laugh for no one else. Amanda Palmer of the Dresden Dolls sings a fine ditty about a wanting a coin-operated boy who, though he is made of plastic, feels like a boy should feel and is available to her at her disposal. Everywhere you look or listen, there is some mention of any given person's fantasy mate they have concocted in their head. Hell, that movie Practical Magic was pretty much centered on the idea of a soul mate, as Sandra Bullock created a list of traits her perfect man would have, traits she never thought would be possible to find in one person, who she, very naturally in movie fashion, finds over the course of the plot.

There are rules of attraction, and they vary among people all over the spectrum. Can you really stick to a list when meeting people who you may potentially end up with for all the days of your life? So many times we hear, "Yeah, he's nice, but he's not really my type." I've always wondered how people can settle on one 'type' of partner, how some can toss aside the idea of companionship with a person because they don't meet a certain stereotype, wear a certain label, have a certain job, etc. Whatever happened to chemistry and falling for someone because you have a connection with them and your personalities mesh well? Was that ever an issue, or have we always confined ourselves to a 'type'?

I'm guilty. I won't pretend I'm immune to the idea of the perfect guy, the yin to my yang, the peanut butter to my jelly, the cheese to my wine (or whine, in some cases, when we're dealing with me). My guy wears pants he got from the thrift store and plain white Hanes undershirts when he's walking around the dwelling. He has moppy, slightly wavy, kind of long/shaggy, light brown hair and wears black thick-rimmed glasses. He's very intelligent and reads a lot of books. He is a big fan of coffee, too, which is great, since on weekends we can just go up to one of the many establishments near our place where we talk about music, books, and society. He also knows how to cook, he's funny, and he's very protective of me, in that when we're out together, he has his hand somewhere on me at all times, in a sweet and claiming way. He makes romantic gestures often and out of the ordinary to let me know he was thinking of me, because I do the same for him. It'd be more of a mutual relationship, mainly because I don't want him to be uxorious. The real test? I actually want to bear his children, which for me, is a very bold statement since I have been saying for as long as I can remember that I will never reproduce.

Ah, yes, wouldn't it be nice to have all these things in one person? Sure. But back to reality, and to further prove my point, sometimes you have to compromise with your list with who is actually put in front of you. I'm sure that my guy exists, I'm not so sure I'll run into him in this lifetime, or that if I did (which I hopefully have not already) the timing would be right. There are so many factors to consider, as if all the planets and cosmos need to be aligned a certain way for all of this to take place. I feel like I have a better chance at winning the lottery...or getting with this guy:

Or this one:

Giggity. C'est la vie. I have learned not to discriminate either way.

The Rules Of Rock.

2006-03-09T13:23:00.000-05:00

How about some general rules to follow when you are attending a rock show? This is long overdue after I experienced a rowdy bunch of meatheads at the EARL last month. With the emergence of indie-rock on mainstream radio, there's a whole new slew of folks attending shows in much smaller venues than the arena rock monstrosities that they're used to. This is irritating as shit to those of us who have been frequenting the local music scene for quite some time. Your behavior at Philips Arena, or even the Tabernacle, is not appropriate in places such as The EARL or Drunken Unicorn.

Rule #1: You're not in Buckhead. Jumping up and down with your arms flailing around you and entering the personal space of others close to you is not appropriate. If you would pull your head out of your ass for two seconds and realize that the room is so crowded that no one can move much from where they're standing due to lack of room, then you might understand why this is not a good practice. Just because the room is small does not mean that the entire thing is your own personal mosh pit. I didn't come here to mosh, and I didn't come here to dance. I came here to listen to a band I thoroughly enjoyed before you discovered them two weeks ago, so don't wonder why I push you and give you the 'eat shit' look when you rub your ass against my leg without permission. If I wanted to subject myself to the workings of a horny, steroid-infested male, then I would wait in line at Tongue & Groove and pay a $20 cover for someone to do this to me, mkay? I know I look nice, but you're just pissing me off.

Rule #2: This isn't a sorority meeting. Standing around in a big circle with ten of your closest girlfriends comparing lip gloss and which one makes your lips look the plumpest is not appropriate behavior while at a rock show. I know that it is very important to have a conversation about fashion and boys while in the middle of a loud rock show, but if you'll notice, I said loud rock show. The last thing I want to hear when I have spent $7 to go watch one of my favorite bands is how much of a dick Bobby is for not calling you after you let him get in your pants. Take it elsewhere. The band is loud, and shouting over them to talk to your companions is only going to piss off everyone around you. If you're really there to see the band, then shut your piehole and enjoy the tunes so the rest of us can enjoy it, too.

Rule #3: Do not ever yell out that you think a band sucks, or yell "boo," for that matter. If you think they suck, then leave, or try to get your measly little pea of a brain to drown out the sound. Anyone that gets up in front of a room of people and performs does not deserve to hear your open opinion. Try practicing some class if you don't care for it. You look like an asshole when you vocalize your true feelings to a crowd of people who may think the exact opposite of you, and to anyone who had the couth to keep their mouths shut. Don't blame it on the alcohol, because I'm not buying it. You're probably jealous that it's not you who was blessed with the musical talent to have chicks throw themselves in your direction, and if that seems to be the case, maybe you should just stay home.

End rant.

Are We In The Plus Section?

2006-03-08T11:17:00.000-05:00

FAB pointed this article out yesterday, and it got me thinking, so I decided to address the issue by pointing out a couple of problems that can easily curb this rising epidemic. First of all, becoming a fat lard of flesh doesn't happen overnight, it's something that tends to gradually accumulate over time with diet and no exercise. Seriously, folks, it ain't rocket science.

Am I an expert? No, not quite. I'm an observer, which I put up there as being just as good as an expert in this case. For two years of my life, I taught high school. Ah, public school, the place where children spend the majority of their time during the week. It is also the place where they are fed one to two meals a day. Let me throw this little scenario out there for you: When I began teaching my first full year in my own classroom, I weighed roughly 125 pounds. By the end of the first semester, I had gained about 10 pounds, and then finally, by the end of the year, I had hit the high of 150 pounds. Now, how do you think someone like myself managed to gain so much weight in a matter of eight months? School food! That's correct. My diet consisted of chicken sandwiches (not grilled), pizza, peanut butter bars, french fries, and Diet Coke. I was so exhausted from yelling at ungrateful brats all day that when I got home, I either plopped on the couch for the rest of the night, or I headed to the nearest bar to sit on a stool and get shit-faced.

The school I worked at had Coke and snack machines placed throughout the building, as well. Therefore, the students snack all day on junk food, drink carbonated caffeine (which boasts around 200 calories per can), and then go home to sit around on the computer with no physical activity to burn off said ingested calories. This is why they're fat! The only physical activity I ever heard about them having is sex (normally unprotected, which would explain all the pregnant 15-year-olds cruising the halls).

I know this is a foreign concept, but maybe making less fattening meals available to students, and completely eliminating the current choices will prompt kids to eat better. Also taking the Coke and junk food away might be a grand idea. We never had these available to us when I was in school (I mean, it was ten years ago, but whatever, you get the point). We weren't overweight. My size zeroes were actually too big for me back then.

Clearly, this is the way to begin to fix the obesity problem. Clearly.

You Like Chinese Food.

2006-03-05T19:26:00.000-05:00

Chinese food is one of my favorite cuisines for nights like Sundays when I need to veg on the couch watching crappy ass reality TV and working on all the various projects I've surrounded myself with. The one thing I look forward to at the end of the meal is the fortune cookie. How much fun is it to get so full on rice and General Tso's chicken and then crack open the sweet cookie immediately after to find out what your future may have in store for you? To me, it's the best kind of fun. The anticipation and wonder about what the cookie may tell you about life and happiness cannot be matched by anything other than the novelty of a palm reader. I usually save them and place them around my apartment so that when I feel down or depressed, I have a fortune on a little strip of white paper in front of me to assure me that everything is good in the world.

Today is Sunday. I am on the couch. I am watching some kind of show about some kind of movie awards. I am working. Lastly, I have just ingested Chinese food. To cap off my meal, I cracked open my fortune cookie and fumbled with the fortune through excitement about what it might say. Drumroll, please..."Let another car cut in front of you today."

Let another car cut in front of me? Is this some sort of sick joke? Instead of telling me how wonderful my character traits are, or how something incredible will happen to me in the next seven days, I'm advised to be a courteous driver? I'm placing a call to China Garden to let them know that they will no longer have my business if they do not change fortune cookie companies.

You Must Be This Tall To Ride.

2006-03-04T15:21:00.000-05:00

On my excursion today into the retail area of town, I decided to check out my most favorite thing...shoes. I have entirely way too many shoes. I believe in the practice that one only needs four pairs of shoes. Two brown, and two black, one for each season. I don't practice this, as practical as the idea is. Today, I realized that I actually have a bit of a problem with shoes, which started last summer. The emergence of 70's style clothing as fashionably correct has also made for the rebirth of 70's style shoes. Now, if you know anything about shoes and the history of fashion, you'd know that platform shoes were all the rage thirty years ago. You know the shoes I speak of...the platform strappy sandals with an enormously high cork base. Much like this:

I own a pair of these (not like the ones in the picture, mine are much cooler, but you get the idea). I have always wanted to take a push pin and attach a message to my shoe that says, "I hate people, so don't talk to me, unless you're offering a free drink." It'd be great for when assbags at the bar hit on me. I can point to my shoe and say, "Hey, buddy, I come with a disclaimer." I bet this idea would catch on famously and pretty soon, all the chicks wearing cork shoes would have fun sayings on them, much like the t-shirt craze. The only other option I noticed is those horrible ballet-looking shoes that I absolutely cannot stand. I have some I wear to work when I know I'm going to be on my feet all day, however, wearing them with jeans is impossible because it causes me to trip over the cuffs.

So, here's my problem with the platform shoes: I was blessed with the natural height of 5'7 without any shoes. Now, when I wear my cute, strappy cork wedges, I add about four inches to my height, making me almost 6' tall. It's not exactly ideal to go out to a bar or anywhere else, for that matter, and tower over every person in the room with the exception of a handful of guys that my friends and I refer to as "that really tall guy." Whatever happened to the in-between shoes? The shoes that had an added heel of maybe two inches? I remember in high school I never had this problem because the cool shoes to wear then were the Unlisted heeled loafers. I had a really sweet pair of t-strap, Mary-Jane-looking shoes from Sam & Libby that I have been unsuccessfully searching for since then. I propose we start a campaign to bring back the in-between shoes so that those of us who are a slight bit tall can feel like small, fragile women again instead of Xena: Warrior Princess.

<---Why is it that these are only available to little kids?

I Said Tapas, Not Topless.

2006-03-01T23:31:00.000-05:00

Saturday night I went out for a lovely dinner with my family and a friend from out of town to the new tapas restaurant in Little 5 Points called Sabroso. It's got a great atmosphere and friendly staff, and it looked like the drinks were probably pretty good, too, but I wouldn't know because I decided to stay sober that day. I knew I was going to dinner, so I basically starved myself all day in anticipation for this meal.

We get a large table and some menus. I'm chomping at the bit about the forthcoming meal because I'm so hungry I could probably consume a pile of dung and be happy. I start perusing the menu, only to find that I pretty much want one of everything because the descriptions are very well put together. I read the back of the menu where it tells you that tapas should be shared among the party, and to order about 2 or 3 per person. I'm trying to figure out why this tapa thing is such a fad now, considering there is a tapas lounge on just about every corner. Each plate runs about $6-$8 a piece.

Now, I, being the overly frugal cheap ass that I am, think that this is completely stupid. That means if I order 3 plates as suggested, then I'm accounting for at least $18 worth of food. This doesn't seem fair, especially since I had been at Two Urban Licks the night before and devoured a large cut of brisket for around the same amount of money. I figure, what the hell, surely once I order, the portions will reflect the price. I ask for the flank steak to start off with. This plate was a good size. Everyone around me had very meager amounts on their plates, which made me take a mental note not to order whatever it was they had, or else I would be starving the rest of the night. An order of empanadas consisted of three mini fried chicken wrap things. This cannot be filling to anyone besides Kate Moss circa 1994.

The food was good...it just wasn't nearly enough. I felt like I was some kind of elf in a land far far away where everything is the opposite of super sized. Either that, or I live in a third world country where the meal size I witnessed is considered worthy of the King's Court. I've been to third world countries, and if I recall correctly, they eat much better than this.

Perhaps the most entertaining part of the night was when dessert was ordered and put in front of me out of the five people at the table. I was ridiculed at the way my face lit up as soon as I realized that I would be given the opportunity to delve into it's sweet chocolatey goodness. I was polite, so I didn't let on to the fact that I was so happy because I finally had a regular sized portion of food placed in my sight rather than a saucer with a couple of pieces of asparagus thrown on it.

Not Down With OTP, Yeah, You Know Me.

2006-03-01T00:45:00.000-05:00

How many times have I used the phrase, "I don't go OTP," only to have anyone who lives OTP question what that means? Many times. OTP = Outside the Perimeter. The Perimeter = I285. So if you live anywhere not enclosed by that circular interstate road from hell, then you live OTP.

Living in the city (or "ITP"), I only have one request. If you're going to come to my side of town to experience any of the wonderful attractions we have to offer (the new aquarium, a concert, Centennial Park, etc), please abide by the following rules:

1. Sit your ass down at the computer in your big house, pet your Golden Retriever, and then open your browser and go to Google and type in the address of where you're going. It will tell you exactly how to get you to your destination. They have the best maps. At the instruction that says your turn is in .3 miles, turn, because there is no way that shit is wrong.

2. Out of the three or four vehicles you have, please leave the Excursion, Suburban, Hummer, or whatever else kind of SUV you drive in the garage and take the mid-size sedan instead. Why? Well, you may not drive around here much, so you may not know that your big ass gas-guzzling SUV is entirely way too large to fit in one lane on any street downtown. This is on top of the fact that you will not be able to park anywhere.

3. Brush up on the rules of being a pedestrian, because chances are, you're going to be crossing some busy street somewhere. Check your lights, don't walk if the sign across from you says "DON'T WALK" in big orange letters. I know this is a very odd concept, but it works. I'm only letting you in on this tidbit to help you, because if I am toting through town on my way home from work, and I have a green light, and you're in the middle of the road, chances are pretty good that I will run over you.

4. If you see me driving, I will probably have my window down. This is not an open invitation for you to ask me how to get to the Hard Rock. I know I look friendly, but really, you're only irritating me by expecting me to be your personal tour guide because you didn't follow rule #1 listed above. Sorry to burst your bubble about friendly southerners.

Any questions?

File This Under 'Retarded.'

2006-02-28T09:33:00.000-05:00

As April nears, being the Capricorn that I am, I have already filed my tax return. I was pleased to find out that despite making much less money and having to pay taxes last year that this year I will receive around $500, which is just enough to do nothing with.

The IRS website claims that you can file for free on any of the outsourced sites they list, like TurboTax, which is what I used. I must admit that the entire process was extremely user-friendly. In fact, I needed little help from my dad, and he usually does the entire thing for me. When I get to the end of the filing process, I see that I have to pay to have the actual returns processed, both by the state and federal entities. This is retarded. I can understand $10 or something along those lines, but I ended up having to spend $45 just to file my return. That doesn't count the $.39 I had to spend on a stamp to send out the piece of paper with my signature on it.

You would think that the taxes I have paid for the past year would cover this filing cost. You would also think that by sending all the information over the Internet where no mail is generated would also cut costs somewhere. You would think. You'd be wrong.

I don't know much about taxes, although I work in tax and pay taxes, but I do know that charging me an amount of money that is equivalent to half of my gas bill because I am completing a task required of me by the government as a law-abiding citizen is asinine. All I have to say to the IRS is, "You guys are buttholes. Thanks."

I'm So Emo, I'm Dead.

2006-02-27T01:27:00.000-05:00

I use this site called last.fm to keep track of the music I listen to and how often I listen to it. This site can also act as a radio player that is comparable to satellite stations, except you can control what's played a little more. Anyways, as with any site, there are banner ads. I saw one just now that sparked my interest. It said something along the lines of "Find Emo Love Here." So, because I want to know what this shit is, I click on the ad. It takes me to another site. I'm not going to make a profile because it's certainly not anything I would use, and I really don't need anymore spam in my mailbox.

Here's what I'm wondering: The people who use this Emo Hook-up site; are they going to send each other pictures (taken at an extreme angle) of themselves with their dark hair and black eyeliner on their somber faces before deciding that they're going to converse further about how much they hate their parents and how life would be so much better if they were dead?

Are you aware of the "emo" revolution? Here's a tutorial if not.

Look at me, I'm so emo that I don't even show emotion.

I actually, as much as I hate to admit it, think the emo look on guys is super hot, but they're not interested in me because I don't have short choppy hair dyed four different colors and dress like Cyndi Lauper circa 1985. Oh well. Thanks to A!E.com for the picture.

Google Me.

2006-02-26T13:22:00.000-05:00

The Internet has become a monster. Love and the Internet is more widely practiced and accepted than it used to be. Sites created strictly for dating are a dime a dozen and overly advertised in e-mail and banner ads on practically every site you come across now, making it seem as though it's the perfect outlet to meet people you wouldn't normally run into on a regular basis. The more laid back communities like Friendster, MySpace, and Tag World make for an even less predatory approach for meeting people who have the same interests as you.

What's worse is the vast knowledge that is put out there if you happen to be an Internet whore like myself. Anything that has your name attached to it (many things in my instance) can be found through any search engine available. Before the blow up of Internet communities, you had to rely on the old fashioned approach to stalking. Yes, there are old fashioned approaches, and if you dare say you never practiced them, then you're probably a liar. When I was attending college in south Georgia, I always had a boyfriend...and I always had crazy roommates. I didn't get out much, therefore when the roomies wanted to see what their object of affection was up to on a Thursday night, we used to take my car out on drive-bys because none of these guys knew it. That's right, drive-bys. We'd all pile in the car with angry, man-hating tunes and packs of unopened cigarettes and drive around to all the local hot spots to find out where the guy was hanging out, and more importantly, who he was hanging out with. After that, we'd pick up some wine and head back to the apartment to bitch about the fact that our sighting had the asshole heading out of the bar with his arm around some freshman floozie with very ample fake tits that she got for high school graduation.

Now, in this day and age, there's an easier way of spying on whoever your interest is without the slight chance that you may be spotted. It's more anonymous. It's Google. We all know it's the most used search engine out there, and they, by far, have the best maps, too. I won't lie, I've Googled someone before. It's too tempting not to. You can find out all kinds of personal information that's just floating around in cyberspace. While fun, it can be dangerous. It creates preconceived ideas about a person's character that you wouldn't have come up with had you just shown up for a date without trying to find out anything about them from a source other than the horse's mouth. Carrie Bradshaw Googled the Russian sculptor she was once smitten over, and the information she got back was not exactly flattering. Another documented case is found in this article I ran across.

Just from using a site tracker, I know I, myself, have been Googled a couple of times. How flattering. I'm up for having my ego fed by knowing that someone out there is caught up in me and my life enough to sit down and do a search for me. I will, however, have a problem with it as soon some crazed individual shows up on my doorstep with a weapon and dead rabbit.

Like A Dog, But Not.

2006-02-26T02:02:00.000-05:00

I keep hearing people talk about the phenomenon known as the "Kid Leash" and how they think it's cruel to put a kid on a leash. I vaguely remember seeing these used on toddler-aged children in the late eighties, and then again in the late nineties when I worked in retail. I found it to be a really innovative concept in the mall atmosphere, especially since I was working in a store housing many breakable items that the little brats always wanted to put their grimy hands all over in hopes that they could gank it from the store without anyone seeing them, only to drop the item on the tile floor for me to clean up.

I am a fan of the Kid Leash, to a certain point. Most arguments rely on the premise that parents shouldn't bring their kids in public unless they can control them. While this may be true, sometimes you just have to tote the kid along on your grocery outing, and the best way to keep them by your side without using the cruelness of duct tape is to literally strap them to your arm with an extended string. My parents never needed kid leashes with us, because the threat of a good ass-beating for misbehavior was quite enough motivation for not straying while in public. Unfortunately, this sort of action is now viewed as child abuse instead of discipline in some instances.

Come on, now, I bet this kid would've been eaten by a ginormous gorilla at the zoo had he not been strapped to his caretaker's side.