Saturday, February 27, 2010

Sequins, Ruffles, and Beer

Oh my gosh, you guys... Guess what I totally forgot to do in all my attention-consuming angst??

The PROM RECAP post that everyone is/was (I assume) VERY EXCITED about.

Prom, as I mentioned, for those of you unfamiliar, is not high school prom, because that would be creepy and weird because I am TWENTY-FIVE and also high school proms suck. I mean, okay, I went to mine, they were okay, they were cheesy and not that fun, but, they were what they were. Glorified high school dances. Awkward and, in retrospect, boring.

Oh no, my friends. This is grownup prom. A throwback prom, held for charity (and for fun)... everyone dresses up in their finest retro attire, comes to listen to an awesome live band, and drink as much free beer as they can until it all runs out. It's pretty much the greatest thing in the history of ever. I was bouncing around in my car all morning on Saturday while running errands because I was SO EXCITED.

This year had a bit of a twist, however... the theme was "Night of the Living Prom" - which, as you may have guessed, involved zombies. Naturally this jacked up the awesome factor by a billion degrees. Zombie attire was not required, one could go as a "normal" promgoer if one so chose. (I so chose. I didn't really want to try to zombify myself.) There were some freaking awesome representatives of the undead, I must say.

All in all, it was just as much fun as it was last year, it raised almost $4000 to donate to the American Cancer Society, which of course is awesome, and I woke up on Sunday not-hungover, which I also thought was awesome.

But really? You don't want to read my rambling, do you? You want to see pictures, don't you? Well, who am I to deprive you?

Behold...

Gratuitous self-portrait while getting ready. TELL ME that hat is not epic. Love it.

My lovely friend Calee and her awesome man candy.
Also, isn't my apartment cute? Ignore the giant P-chef box.


We all met up at Old Chicago for some pre-prom noms, because, well. You gotta eat if you're gonna drink. Needless to say, the regular patrons were either confused or terrified, but after a while, the zombie/prommie crowd probably outnumbered everyone else, and so that was fun. I even chatted with the lady in the booth next to us about what the hell was going on. She was intrigued. I told her she should come next year. The more the merrier!

Braaaaaaains

Yes, the band was totally wearing Ghostbusters uniforms. Fucking. Awesome.


This is, perhaps, one of my very favorite pictures of all time.


I call this one "White Guys Dancing"


Also, my friend Shelly (pictured above, in pink, since I have nothing to link to *cough* get a blog, woman *cough*) apparently also taped a Thriller video on my camera, so I'm going to post that too. Because you can never have too many Thriller dance videos. Also, I think she caught the parts that James missed when he was trying to find a spot amongst our suddenly-formed CROWD OF AMAZED ONLOOKERS. No seriously. They cheered. It was awesome. I think I got one of those performance highs that I've heard about.

Also, I am Not Smart at video things, so, um, let's all take a moment to be impressed that I managed to load this to YouTube without breaking the Internet.




(Miss the other video? No worries. It's here!)

Now, to find a dress for next year...

Friday, February 26, 2010

the butterfly hunter

Every once in a while I get hit with that feeling of anticipation that I've never learned to settle in myself. You know the one you get; when you're waiting. When is the next big moment? When am I going to see so-and-so again? When am I going to have another chance to talk to him? And those god-damn butterflies.

And then I remember.

There are no more chances, no more moments, no more things to wait for. There is only me, there is only goodbye, there is only moving ahead and looking forward.

There is no more worrying about what possibly brilliant thing I could say next time to have him fall in love with me. There is no more obsessing over what I should wear so that I look irresistibly pretty. The point is irrelevant. I need to keep myself focused on moving on. I have made the choice to stop being tortured by these feelings. I am not going to hang on anymore. It takes a special kind of willpower. I swear it's worse than dieting.

I talk a big game. I know this. Maybe it's all a lie. Maybe deep down I don't believe myself, yet. I possess a special kind of stubbornness that runs through my genes. But the truth of the matter is, I am trying. I may have to constantly remind myself, but every time I repeat it in my mind, my resolve grows a little bit stronger.

I'll get there.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

scattered thoughts on a thursday afternoon

So where do we go from here, friends? It's hard to pick up the pieces and put on a smiley face and write about anything else once you've publicly admitted how much you just had your heart smashed to bits. It's hard to follow up that heartwrenching opening act.

I guess we just keep going. It's one step in front of the other, just like every other time. It's never the end of the world. I've done this enough times before. I know the routine. It sucks, and then it sucks less, and one day you realize you don't hurt anymore, and you marvel over this, and you wonder when this point was, but it doesn't matter because you made it, and you're grateful for it.

And then you find someone else, and the cycle starts over. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Lately, I have been non-stop going, pushing, cleaning, organizing, working. It's been a lovely distraction but I'm afraid it's not going to hold me. It might; it's possible. Maybe I just got jarred back into focus and everything is fine. But I can't help but feel like I'm being slightly obsessively manic on purpose and I'm going to crash. I feel great, but it's artificial. I can feel the difference, but I am okay with that, for now. Eventually I will probably scale back my medications but right now I need them at full strength to keep me going. I've got too much balanced right now to let anything drop. And I absolutely cannot, cannot fall back into the state of hysteria I was in on Friday.

I'm avoiding it. Maybe that's not really dealing with it, but maybe it is. If I avoid it, then eventually it fades from consciousness and then suddenly I wake up and the sun shines and the birds chirp and I realize, hey, I'm okay. If I think about it, I get that sinking feeling in my stomach, and my breathing is a little bit less than even. It's completely ludicrous, I suppose, to be so worked up over something I never had. How dare I have a broken heart over someone that was never mine. That doesn't make it hurt less. I waited a year and a half. Being in limbo finally caught up with me and I crumbled. Maybe I was overreacting or pre-reacting - it's likely that he and this other girl are just friends... better friends than maybe my jealousy would like, but still, just friends. Maybe they are working their way up to something more; maybe they're not. It's not my business, really. My business is my own hot mess of emotions to deal with. Either way, I'm only going to find out if I pry; and that, my friends, is its own special brand of masochism. Why dig for an answer you don't want to find?

So I pretend like nothing is the matter and I go full-force into my work and I am focused and productive and I put on my happy face and it's a lie but it's what gets me by... fake it 'til you make it, right? Still, the only way it works is if I don't think about it. I change the subject; I avoid conversations with people that might bring it up. I don't need reminded; I can do that on my own.

I may never be completely free of it, of him. I may be bruised for a while yet. I can't predict the future, for better, for worse. I can only move forward, in whatever direction that happens to be.

And then I promise, I will talk about something else.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Life's Big Questions

Friends, I am sorry for my absence. Rest assured I am doing much better, almost too much so - I am pushing myself - but that is for a series of half-finished snippets of thoughts that I need to make sense out of.

In the meantime, I leave you with an inquiry that has been piquing my curiosity since I was old enough to read and write.

Is it gray or grey?

Discuss.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

still here

Saturday afternoon. I'm primping for the local industry awards presentation. Dress to kill. Makeup to stun. I've got the eyeliner on thick and I'm not smudging any of it away. The hair will be down and straight and silky. The dress is frumpy but it is redeemed because of the cleavage it will show. Besides, it's winter. Longer dresses are okay. I'm wearing the Boots anyway. I should have touched up my roots yesterday, but not to worry. The streaks of dark give it a little more texture. The plan is to look hot and ignore him. I take my time getting ready.

I'm trying to channel my inner bitch. I know she's in there somewhere but it's been years since I've let her out. She could save me right now.

It's been a rough couple days. I am scared to go out and face the world. I was looking forward to tonight. It was only about yesterday that the fact that he was going to be there also, gave me cause for distress. The tears are stopped, but I know they're still back there.

Rewind.

Wednesday evening. I pour what's left of my broken soul onto the Internet. People gave me kind words and virtual hugs and it makes me cry in a good way, for a change. A friend of a friend sent an email. My IRL friends got mad at me for not saying something sooner. I owe a million people a million responses and I haven't had time to find words, but thank you.

Thursday. I stay home. I still feel sick. Whether it is from my stomach or from my emotional breakdown, I can't quite determine, but I give myself a day to rest. I've needed it. I start to feel better. I promise everyone I will be okay. I will be back to work tomorrow. Everything will be normal. I say it, I try to believe it.

Friday morning. I am at work for two hours before I feel like I want to throw up. I can't concentrate. I give in, I go home. This is officially the longest stretch of time I've been away from work. Two and a half days. I go home and have about three anxiety attacks, in a row. I'm sobbing uncontrollably and I have run out of reasons why. I can't breathe. I clutch onto my blankets and pillows like they are going to save me. I call the doctor's office. I need to see somebody. They're full. They transfer me. Also full. But they'll call back. I take two xanax. Trying to breathe, trying to breathe. Still a tearful mess when the nurse calls back. Decides I need to be seen yet that day. Come in at 4. It's 2:30. I set my phone alarm so I'll remember, and then I pass out into the most positively peaceful sleep I've had in recent memory. The alarm goes off and I have to remind myself where I am. It's 3:30 and it's snowing. Better get moving.

Dr. Man asks me a few questions. Looks at my charts, at my current meds. You're an old pro at this, he says. I shrug. Perhaps. He looks at me and asks me to tell him what's wrong. I give him the Jenga analogy. He nods. Waits. I offer a few more things but I don't give answers unless I'm asked. He says he'll fix me up. I want to scream that he doesn't even know what's wrong with me. More pills. Different pills. Should fix you up. Come back in a week.

I'm still sniffling, walking to my car. I wanted a shrink. Someone to ask me the right questions and get the right answers and tell me that I'm not a fucked up headcase. It was not to be. I get my pills from Target and drive home in the snow. I am much calmer than I was hours ago, but the memory of suffocating lingers with me. I take a new pill. I talk to my mom. I drift off.

I write a letter. I say all the things that I need to say, that need to be known, but leave out the ones I am wise enough not to include. I edit myself, but not too much. It's heavy with emotion that I couldn't hide if I tried. I need the part of him that's my friend to listen. Please be aware that you're hurting me. I know it's stupid, but I send the letter. I pray for no response. I want it to be read; I don't want it to be mentioned. I don't want the pieces to be broken into further pieces. My mother demands I send her what I sent so she can read it and weigh in. She's crazy, but sometimes she validates me. She is impressed with my writing skills. I don't tell her about my blog because I don't remember if I talked about her on it. She tells me I did the right thing. I don't know if there is a right thing, but my heart needed to speak.

So it's out there. I don't know what I hope to come of it, but it's off my chest. I breathe a little better. I feel more human. More like myself. I sleep.

*

Saturday morning. I wake up early because I've been sleeping so much. I let my mind wander to everything but him, but he sneaks in there anyway. I change topics. I eventually get up and get ready for my belt testing. It has to be good because I invited my dad down to watch. I don't want to screw up.

I mess up my form but I kick ass on my board breaks. Last week my instructor told me I broke boards like a man. I think it was a compliment. I am tough. I am strong. I don't have time to second-guess myself or I'll look like an idiot. I am secretly shaky the whole time. I can't tell if it is nerves or the fact that I've barely eaten in three days. It's over and I breathe a sigh of relief. That was supposed to be the easy part of the day.

Saturday afternoon. I'm primping for the local industry awards presentation. Dress to kill. Makeup to stun. I've got the eyeliner on thick and I'm not smudging any of it away. The hair will be down and straight and silky. The dress is frumpy but it is redeemed because of the cleavage it will show. Besides, it's winter. Longer dresses are okay. I'm wearing the Boots anyway. I should have touched up my roots yesterday, but not to worry. The streaks of dark give it a little more texture. The plan is to look hot and ignore him. I take my time getting ready.

I'm trying to channel my inner bitch. I know she's in there somewhere but it's been years since I've let her out. She could save me right now.

I finish getting ready. I take a picture of myself. I am surprised at how long my hair has gotten, even though others tell me regularly. I like it. I feel good about myself. I don't look hot, but I look pretty.

It's time to go. I've got my pills, my lip gloss, extra hair product, and my taped-together confidence. I breathe deep. I do not want to be that girl who ends up on the news for stabbing some guy at an awards presentation with a plastic butterknife. Stay cool, lady. Stay cool. No tears tonight.

I'm as ready as I'm ever going to be.

*

Saturday night. Took a pill on the drive down. Made small talk with carpool passengers. Arrived to location, ran into him immediately. Of course. Wasn't ready. He looked adorable. I don't see him dressed up often. Cursed out self and went to coat room to shed jacket. Deep breath, rearrange necklace, smooth hair. Ladies, time to perk up.

Afraid to drink anything (and unwilling to fork over for the overpriced cash bar, anyway) and wary of eating much, but having only consumed a peanut butter sandwich since Wednesday, figured it was worth a gamble. Was relaxed; his presence was familiar and comfortable, even if it was the very thing that had been causing me such intense dread. I am drawn to him. It is something I have no control over. My eyes can't break their habit of picking him out of the room full of people. Every time he looked at me, I tried to decide if he'd read what I'd written. Wondered what he was thinking. Decided it was best left unknown. Tried to avoid eye contact; it paralyzed me. I looked away. Instinctively played with my hair or necklace. Like a nervous twitch.

The plan to avoid him failed miserably. Gave up entirely and sat by him through the awards ceremony. Half-expected him to find a new seat at intermission, away from me. Was relieved when he returned. Small talk and jokes made. He gave me a high-five when my project won a gold award. It felt so normal... but it took every fiber of my being to hold up the effort to make it that way. Fake it 'til you make it.

Drinks afterwards with a contingent of coworkers and peers. Tired and wanted to go home, but at the mercy of my ride. Water for me. Eventually changed tables to the empty bar stool at his table. Small talk then time to go. Asked if he was okay to drive home. Habit. He promised he was; almost seemed somewhat appreciative that I'd asked, even though I always do. Something about the smile he gave me caught my heart for a few seconds; decided I'd imagined it, and it didn't mean anything at all. Buttoned my coat, turned and walked into the winter night.

Home, sweats, brush hair, brush teeth, back into my familiar bed. I made it through the evening. It was okay. I was okay.

Sunday morning. Wake up. Day 2 of living with a broken heart. Breathe in, breathe out. Repeat.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

contrary to popular belief, big girls DO cry

If I had a Wordpress blog, this would probably be a password protected post because generally I'm not comfortable just splaying my emotions out there were anyone an see them, which I realize is rather counterintuitive to the whole blogging process, but if you've seen the shit I write about, it doesn't generally matter. Besides, I don't even care anymore. Let the wrong person see it. It doesn't matter.

Anyway.

Shit just kind of fell down around me again today and I don't know if it was like a giant game of Jenga where the right piece was pulled out at the wrong time and sent the whole thing toppling over, or if I'm just being a freak and overreacting to something I should have long ago stopped caring about. I don't know if it's this, per se, that's causing me to suffocate, or if it was just the catalyst, the trigger, to a bigger issue of me being long overdue for a nervous breakdown.

Either way, I am fucking miserable and worn out and I can't stand being in my own skin right now and it's hard for me to breathe and there's absolutely nowhere I can go to run away from it because that shit follows you. To be cliche: you can't escape yourself... though God knows I wish I could.

I don't even know. I don't deserve this. I know this. If you believe in karma, which I sometimes do, sometimes don't, there is absolutely nothing I did to deserve being served up the bigger piece of shit pie. I am a good person, I am too nice to people, there is very little I want out of life and for some reason even that seems to be too much.

There are few things worse, in my opinion, than a slow, gradual heartbreak. When you can feel it, constantly breaking, bit by bit. Not like a quick blow or ripping off a bandaid. Just, slowly, methodically, tearing you down. Denial only lasts you so long, and then you're stuck staring the truth in the face and there's nothing else to do but admit defeat.

The fragments of my emotions have been circling the drain for quite a while now. I lost control of them well over a year ago. I acknowledged the fact that I was done for... I waited... I acted, was rejected, and retreated... and slowly, surely, my stupid fucking piece of shit heart didn't listen to me and decided it was perfectly content to be continuously, repeatedly smashed with a hammer.

It's a dull ache, the constant pain of it. Some days, though, you can feel another piece just break off altogether, and you can't breathe, and you wonder how the hell there are still pieces left to be breaking.

And if you're really lucky, it will happen a lot, in a row, so you don't really get time to recover from one mini-heartbreak before the next one comes along. A series of little emotional heart attacks, and you're just begging for one of them to just do you in so you don't have to suffer anymore.

Yes, perhaps I am being melodramatic. I don't care.

Quite honestly, I am kind of impressed at the longevity of my current source of suffering. It's so very unlike me, and so very unlike anything I have ever experienced before. It makes me hate myself in ways I never knew possible, and it makes me sadder than I ever thought possible. I'm a pretty strong chick; it takes a lot to get to me, and even then, it takes a lot to knock me on my ass and break me so completely.

So, what the fuck, me?

I get accused of being too vague and it's probably true, so I may as well just dump it all out here and then be "done" with it, except that's not really how it works, although it's a nice theory.

If you're one of the privileged few that I open up to in real life, or even if you've been reading this blog for a while, which in the Venn diagram of people, that IS the overlap, you may or may not know I've pretty much been in love with this one guy for like a year and a half and change. I've lost track. And this is so beyond unusual for me because I don't like to be one of those girls that's hung up on anyone, and I sure as shit have been stomped on so many times that it's really a wonder that I even bother to care anymore at all. If I had my way, I wouldn't. (I know there are a lot of people who would argue this point, but it's all bullshit, and I would so very much rather not feel anything at all, than to put myself through this shit. I would be willing to sacrifice the hypothetical "good" that comes with it, IF I WERE EVER TO HAVE HAD IT, if it meant I could get rid of the bad, too. The good, for me, does not exist, because I am fucking cursed.) And it's really nothing out of the ordinary, I suppose. Maybe you should never fall for your friends. Maybe I never got that memo. Maybe I could have tried harder to catch myself and run the fuck in the opposite direction. Maybe I was doomed from the start. I don't know. What I do know is, after months of sorting out how I felt and working up the nerve, I did something that I have never really done before, and I told him. Because that's what grownups do. Not surprisingly, I got my heart handed back to me with a "thanks but no thanks" and I was quite obviously crushed but eventually I pulled my shit back together but apparently didn't learn my lesson because that was LAST JULY and I am STILL a fucking mess for him. It's quite possible that, being a guy, he just assumed that that was that and moved on his merry way, except you'd have to be a special kind of dense to not notice that I was so unbelievably smitten. At this point, all of our acquaintances in our shared circle are well aware that I'm like the stupid puppy that would follow him around waiting to be kicked. Except that makes me sound pathetic and at the end of the day, I'm usually much smarter about things. And I've kept my mouth shut.

Needless to say, the ol' heart injury is acting up again. I may or may not have known that a flareup was coming... because we're really hitting the anniversary-mark of when I finally, finally admitted it, and finally apparently jumped off the proverbial cliff and just went with it.

This was, of course, before I knew that there was no parachute, and I was going to just plummet to my doom. No, that revelation came months later.

Anyway. It's been hard lately, because it hurts lately, because it's just as much there as it ever was, and I'm talking in circles and I know this and fuck it all I don't even care.

I don't know what I was hoping for. I guess I was just waiting. People change, feelings change... I was just hoping they'd change in my favor, for once.

I am frequently entire too perceptive for my own good. I knew there was a different girl he had his eye on; I also knew she wasn't interested. So I waited. I guess I was hoping that when he finally let go of that, maybe he'd see me. Pick me. Because I've been right here the entire time.

So I waited. And I was okay with that. There were a handful of guys I blew off in the interim because they were nothing like what I wanted or what I was hoping for and even if I wasn't completely preoccupied, it's very likely that I wouldn't have been interested anyway. It's also possible that there were guys out there that I didn't even notice, because I was so single-mindedly focused on this other guy. For a year and a half.

That's hard core for me, y'all. My longest relationship clocked in at about four months and even then it started to fall apart at about three. Other flings and infatuations lasted a couple months, tops, if I was putting forth any sort of actual interest.

But. A year and a half. And I know I'm still not done. Not free. Not over it.

And now, you're probably all, "so what? this isn't news." And it's not, really. But like I said. I'm pretty perceptive. And I noticed that he and this other girl have been talking more lately, and cue pangs of envy. But I don't know, maybe they're just friends, right? I finally sent her a message because, well, I thought we were friends, and it took everything I had to say the words out loud and send it so I could find out once and for all and that is the other thing that sucks, waiting to hear back on something you are afraid of... and then she responds with something akin to, "yes I noticed you had feelings for him, yes we've been talking more, I don't know if there is anything there, not sure what to tell you, but I know how you feel." What? First off, that is sort of a violation of Girl Code - if you know one of your friends is interested and you don't back the fuck off... either way I couldn't tell what she meant, and it kind of hurt. But, more than that, it was like a god damn sucker punch to the stomach. Again. Not from her, but from him. Why does he always pick someone, everyone, anyone but me? I realize that sometimes, it's not there, fine. But he's fucking killing me over her. He has to know. Everyone else does. I'm not always the most subtle. And after this long, Jesus, you think he'd maybe, maybe give me a fair chance? Instead of just so readily dismissing it, if he even bothered to give a shit at all.

And then my brain shifts gears into a whole other slew of issues. Maybe if I was thinner, or prettier, or less socially awkward, or less talky, or had a smaller ass and trimmer thighs and skinnier arms (and, well, let's face it, my breasts are awesome, so we will leave those alone). What is it about me that's not good enough?

I suppose I could talk to him, instead of flipping out and whining to the Internet. I could. But I'm not really strong enough right now to hear the truth if the truth is what I suspect it to be. I've already gotten burned once. I'm terrified. I mean, I'm equally terrified of losing him to that homewrecker bitch who is actually a pretty nice girl, but I don't think it matters what I say, or do, because I don't think he listens, or cares. It's like I'm not even there. I'm just a fixture. he probably wouldn't even notice if I said fuck it and cancelled whatever there was left of our friendship. If I just disappeared entirely. That hurts too, but strangely, not enough as it does that he won't even try to see me. Like, really actually see me. I'm right here, I always have been, and I probably will be for quite a while yet.

I honestly don't even care what happens to our friendship, if we were to fuck it up by trying to date. Truth is? I'd be willing to risk it. I would rather try and fail, then to not try at all, and always be left wondering. If whatever's left of our friendship gets sacrificed as collateral damage, well then, so be it. It's not like it's that awesome right now as it is. I've obviously got ulterior motives and he obviously doesn't care if he hurts my feelings. If we tried it and it didn't work, we'd probably be exactly where we are right now. Superficially awkward. And we can go back to occasionally hanging out in groups and drinking beer.

It really, really doesn't help that so many people I/we know, ask me if we are dating, and when I say no, that they tell me we should be. Yes, I know, thanks, I think so too, obviously. Just friends. Smile sweetly, walk away and kick something or cry. I love it when I get to announce that, nope, he's not interested, I'm not good enough, shrug, what do you do. And then pretend like it's okay, that it doesn't bother me.

And before I get the inevitable comments - no, he's not an asshole. I don't waste my time on those types of guys anymore. I've had my share. "Oh, you'll find somebody better." Hah. Not around here. "He's clearly not worth your time" etc. Blah blah blah, insert cliche statements here, I can tell you every single reason why you're wrong. I would not have wasted this much time and energy and emotion into something that I thought would hurt me so much. If I'd have had any idea this would have blown up in my face so very much, maybe I would have been able to avoid it from the beginning. And I would rather waste my time with him than with anyone else. It's not his fault. Maybe it's mine. I expected too much.

And it triggers this sort of chain reaction. Because this type of soul-wrenching misery can't just fuck with your heart and your feelings... it has to fuck with everything else, too. So I look at my life and realize I don't know what the fuck I want or even if I'm where I want to be anymore. I can't even think of anything that makes me happy. I like my apartment, but it's a fucking mess and I'm overwhelmed with all the shit that I've somehow acquired and don't known what to do with. I like my job, but right now I'm so weighed down with so many things that it's sort of starting to feel like, well, work and sometimes just writing my two-do list exhausts me. And I'm juggling so many things and I can't drop any of them or else I would be admitting, proving that I can't do it. I love my friends but they've all got their own lives and quite frankly none of them are quite in the same place that I am and so I'm not really sure how well any of them can relate to my shit and so I just don't bother them with my "problems" because who really cares other than me. They've got more important shit to deal with than my petty little boy problems.

And so I start to wonder, what would happen if I just dropped everything and moved a hundred, a thousand miles away and just started over. Financially, it's not an option, and mentally, it's probably just crazy. But I could. I've got nothing tying me down here. The possibility is both terrifying and somewhat comforting. But I know I'll never leave.

Anyway. It is what it is, and I don't have anything else to say right now. There are no more stars to wish on, no more petals to pull of the flowers. There's just me and my loneliness and the emptiness of tonight that threatens, like always, to suffocate me. I don't even care.

I might do the prom picture post recap just so this isn't the last thing hanging in the air for however long, but I feel like my words have run dry and I just don't have the energy to pretend like things are fine anymore. I think I might try to just go offline for a while and deal with my shit and hopefully pull myself back together so I'm not such a fucking mess because my whole life I've tried so very hard not to let them see that I'm weak, I'm vulnerable. Nobody has their shit together all the time, but I've always tried to pretend.

Clearly, it's working so very well.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

fuck.

Jesus Christ, I do not have the time or mental capacity to deal with my heart re-breaking all over again over the same goddamn things. I do not have time to be hurty and sad and feeling like shit. What the fuck, universe? I thought you were finally going to cut me some slack for a while. Guess not. But, hey, that's okay. Keep wearing me down and pretty soon I won't have any feelings left for you to stomp on.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

So, Um, Sorry, I Guess....

I was totally, totally ("totes") for reals going to do a prom recap post today (PICTURES!!) but here is the thing, I'm lazy, I haven't been feeling well (although it's probably largely in my head because right now I feel fine... I'm probably eating crappy and sleeping crappy and mistaking "grumpy" for "ill") and I've kind of been in a funk but can't quite find the words to explain why or how and this makes me stabby at myself and I bought myself some clearance candy at Target today and the stupid pink heart box was mocking me because I opened it and there were, like, eight pieces inside and I was like ASSHOLE BOX I PAID $2.50 FOR YOU but they're really good chocolates so I guess it will be okay even though I am trying to psych myself up to try and lose some weight again (I was mildly horrified at watching myself jiggle through the Thriller dance, and they say the camera adds ten pounds, but everyone else looked fine, so it's probably just that my ass added ten pounds, and that, my friends, needs remedied.)

I may have forgotten what I was going to say just now.

Anyway clearly I'm having some issues. Check back again soon for more fun-ness. Also, I updated the 30things blog buuuut you already saw the video here so I'm not sure it makes any sense to link to it except I've already typed this much of a sentence so, um, yeah.

I'm going to stop talking now.

Later, tatortots.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Are you READY for this AWESOMENESS?!?!?

This is, unquestionably, one of the greatest achievements in my life. Not only because it's awesome, but if I think about it? There was definitely a time in my life when the thought of dancing in front of people would have probably given me hives.

Not so anymore, dear friends. This video is one of my new favorite things ever ever ever. I want to snuggle with it and watch it over and over for the rest of my life. It was probably one of the most fun things I've done... and, like, a crowd actually formed and started cheering and it was kind of surreal and awesome and I'm getting giddy just thinking about it.

Anyway. Pictures are coming, as promised, I have a lot to sort through and I need to pick out the best ones and it's a big task and also I'm more excited about this anyway.

I present to you... the Thriller dance.




(I'm the one in the teal dress in the second row)

(A million bajillion thanks to my friend James who taped it for me and didn't even get mad at my eight hundred reminders this last week not to forget his video camera.)

(Squee!)

Sunday, February 14, 2010

I Still Refuse To Concede That Today Is A Holiday

I made this a few years ago to express my disdain for the Day of Commercialized Romance.



Sorry for the obnoxious water mark and shitty image quality. I was in my third year of my graphic design program, I really have no excuses. Also, click here to see the rest of my arts. Mostly photography with some shitty poetry thrown in. Good times.

Prom recap to follow. I am pre-scheduling this way in advance, but I am just taking a wild guess that I am probably hungover at the time of this posting.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Holy Awesomeness, Batman!

The first thing that crossed my mind this morning (well, besides "I want to sleep and not go to taekwondo, God you are a lazy bitch, whatever, *snooze button*) was that I needed to go directly to Target, do not pass go, to buy a new camera. I was so focused on this endeavor that I left my house without my blackberry, which, you know, is kind of like me leaving the house without pants. THAT'S how important this was.

Now, if you don't know me, you should be aware that I am a Picture Taker. I always have my trusty little sidekick on me, and I am the one who insists upon documenting every occasion, even if people roll their eyes at me. (It is always these same people that are the first to nag me about the delayed presence of the photos onto facebook, I might add.) So last night at my friend Molly's birthday partay, you can imagine that I was fairly dismayed to find my camera was not functioning, um, properly. After a bit of bewildered confusion, it dawned on me that this may or may not have had something to do with its unfortunate encounter with an upturned fruity cocktail last Friday... RIP, little buddy. It did take pictures throughout the evening but when I went to load them on to my computer, none of them had saved. Last time this happened, I attributed it to the fact that we had just come from visiting a haunted house, but. It's apparently either my camera or the card reader, that traitorous little bastard. I'm not really sure.

Anywho. I'm actually really, really glad I discovered this last night, because I would have been devastated if I did not have a functioning camera for tonight.

Because tonight, dear bloglings, is Prom.

And no, I'm not some crazy cradle-robbing cougar - this is a grownup prom. It's technically for charity but even if it wasn't I would fork over cash for a ticket anyway. It's the best thing ever. It's a throwback prom, which means the goal is to find the most god-awful retro prom dresses you can get your hands on (and ass into - holy shit, people were much smaller back when). The 80's, of course, is the most popular decade, and no complaints here. Anyhizzle, it obviously needs photodocumentation like none other, and so a new camera must be acquired immediately.

Fortunately! I logged on to my bank account last night to see if I could squeeze in this unexpected little expense, and lo! My tax refund had arrived. Double lo! It was bigger than I expected. Which means I probably screwed up in doing it but if that means I get more money? Fine, I admit my failures. Anyway. I went to Target and bought a pretty little Nikon, it has a 5x optical zoom which makes me happy because my old one only had 3x, and it seems to have a pretty quick shutter speed because I hate hate hate cameras with long delays, and the dude at the counter said it did pretty well in low-light situations, which is always a plus. And it was probably about time for a camera upgrade anyway. I liked my Olympus (RIP) but it was really only good for outdoor shots and low-light shots without a flash. The flash tended to darken whatever wasn't immediately in its path, which was something that annoyed the bejeesus out of me. Anyway. For as much abuse as I put my cameras through (this new Nikon is point & shoot #4, I think), it lasted a surprisingly long time. And it was on a price cut. So everyone wins.

You know how I get really indecisive about some things? And make snap decisions about others? And how the snap decisions are usually about "big" things? (college, job, apartments, etc etc). Yeah totally spent less than 10 minutes at the camera counter. I chatted a little bit with the dude working and took his advice but really, it was one of those more intuitive decisions that I've made where I just decided instantly and that was that. And while a camera might not seem like a "big" thing, well, for me it is. Because we are going to be spending a lot of quality time together. It also (prepare for tangent!) seems like the snap decisions I make usually end up being the best ones. If I overthink something, I usually end up talking myself out of what I probably would have done if I had just gone with my instincts. And you know what? I've found that my instincts are usually right... I just need to learn to listen to them more.

Who knew that buying a camera would lead to such introspection? Ha.

ANYWAY.

Like I said, I pretty much left in a state of MUST ACQUIRE CAMERA NOW and left my 'berry at home. Which means, when I returned to check my email...

I found that I had WON A FREAKING iPOD NANO from Not That Kind of Girl's blog giveaway which is all kinds of awesome because, well, obviously I don't have one, plus I don't ever win anything. And after the crappy week I had (including the Death of the Camera, RIP) it totally cheered me up like a billion times over.

Also, if you don't read her blog, you totally totally should. And I'm not even saying that because she is giving me a free iPod. I LOVE the concept behind her blog and she's an awesome writer and has actually inspired me to start being a little more ballsy myself. Anyway, you should probably go over and start reading it, if you aren't. No seriously. Go. I'll wait. Actually I won't because once you go over there you probably won't come back over here so, um, hugs and kisses and it was nice knowing you. ;)

Anyway. Expect a full recap of Prom - with pictures! (probably mostly pictures, because, hello, they can speak a million times better of it than I can!) And, hopefully, hopefully hopefully, a video of me + the Thriller dance. Oh yes. That is my main objective of the evening.

Only, probably not until Monday. Because, you know. Booze, dancing, etc.... Let's just say I probably won't be very useful tomorrow. You know how it is.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Take Your Spec Job and Shove It

I may not work as a graphic designer anymore, but I do still work for an agency, and I do still have ties to the design world. And organizations/companies that put out calls for spec work or crowdsourcing still kind of annoy me in a way that very little else does. It undermines the value of the industry and adds to the whole "my cousin's neighbor's plumber's son's nephew could design me a logo for $20" mentality that doesn't go away. Everyone with a copy of Adobe is a designer these days.

The American Institute for Graphic Artists (AIGA) issued a statement/letter to the National Endowment of the Arts (NEA) berating them for their decision to issue an RFP for a logo calling for - you guessed it - speculative work. You'd think an arts organization would be more sympathetic to the industry, but whatevs.

The entire article/letter is here and worth a read on its own, but here are a few main points I would like to call attention to. As you probably already saw on my Twitter stream.

Speculative design competitions or processes result in a superficial assessment of the problem.

You do not get a quality, professional solution you would when a designer has a chance to investigate the problem and provide you with a comprehensive result that understands what you need.

Capable and professional designers do not work for free.

I shouldn't need to expound on that point.


Requesting work for free reflects a lack of understanding and respect for the value of effective design as well as the time of the professionals who are asked to provide it.

This reiterates my previous point of undermining the industry as a whole. Already people are hesitant to pay for design because "everyone can do it" (you should see this site, too - painful, painful examples of how uneducated the public is on how the design industry works. I get that it's supposed to be funny, but it mostly just makes me cringe.)

There are few professions where you ask all possible candidates to do the work first and then you will choose which one to pay.

That should just be obvious. Nobody who wants to be taken seriously as a professional would stand for this. Why is it okay in the design industry?

Short answer? It's not.

Other answer? It's the unprofessional and the inexperienced that renew this cycle because they don't know better than to not participate. And as long as designers - any designers - allow themselves to be taken advantage of, the world will assume they can do it to ALL designers.

And that's bullshit.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Jealous of Myself

For a change of pace, I am going to give myself an inferiority complex. Good lord.

I was digging through my old blog, looking for a ranty Valentine's Day post I could link to (what? Don't look at me like that. I have excellent rants once I get myself going and I know I wrote one once.) and after while instead of just clicking through pages looking for Februarys (Februaries? What's correct here?), I started to let my eyes rest briefly on the entries.

Holy shit, y'all. I was a much better writer when I was in my early 20's.

I don't know if it was all my angst or the fact that I was an active artist or the fact that I was also actively being educated... maybe I just found my words better.

I don't know. What I do know is that I wish I could still write like that. I don't know what changed? The fact that it clearly has changed, makes me really sad. What's happening to me? Is this going to continue? I may as well throw in the towel now.

Being old sucks, man.

EDIT-
Ok, so the further back I go, it gets shitty again. I kind of want to punch 2005-me for being whiny and stupid. So I feel a little bit better now. Damn, though, 2007? I peaked. That there's some good shit.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Thoughts on Love... Sorta

I'm going to take a short break from being a cynical bitch (haha, shut up) to discuss what's on everyone's mind this week, and trust me, it IS on your mind, because every single place you turn has made it that way. Pink, red, white, barf.

Oh, I suppose I could rant about the evils of the Holiday of Commercialized Romance, which I have before, and I probably will again, but since I *have* done it before, I don't really feel like it again. (We'll see if that holds true by the time I get to the end of this post.)

And you would not be wrong, technically, if you were to presume that much of my ire is derived from being a single gal on a holiday that crams the fact that you are alone down your throat until you choke on it. You would not be wrong. But you would not entirely be right, either.

I would like to think that I would be just as abhorrent of this holiday were it to occur on one of those rare occasions where I am coupled up, and would still refuse to acknowledge it, even then. (Though it's hard to say, because from what I can tell, relationships make you stupid giddy and one cannot be entirely held responsible for their actions given inordinate amounts of mush.)

Either way. We are not observing it as a holiday. I refuse to acknowledge that it is, in fact, a holiday. Holidays are things like Christmas, Thanksgiving, Halloween, Arbor Day, my birthday. Anything involving copious amounts of food, really. Or booze. Whatever.

What are we talking about again? Right.

Anywhatsit...

I was forced into some introspection while reading a post on my dear bloggy friend Amy's blog, when she broached the subject of saying "I Love You." (Yes, capital letters. It's SCARY. Also, I might have added those myself.)

My history with this Phrase of Extreme Significance really isn't that interesting. (I'm going to basically steal the comment I wrote over there, and repurpose it here, because I'm greedy and lazy and don't want to come up with anything new.)(I've also found that I'm much more honest leaving comments on other people's blogs than I actually am posting on my own. Because, you know. That's how I roll.)

My high school boyfriend decided to drop the L-bomb one night when we were on his couch making out. I decided to proceed as though I didn’t hear him and the asshole REPEATED IT. Eventually it got to a point where I couldn’t just be nonchalant and kiss my way out of it and then finally I think I said it back just because the awkwardness of NOT saying it was just too much. Eventually I convinced myself that I did and a few months later he dumped me because, omg, I was going away to college in the fall. And I was like “What the hell? It’s only APRIL.” And then I was sad and then I got over it and quite frankly none of the relationships I’ve had since then have ever gotten to a point where it was said, because it wasn’t there. And I have a big ol’ fucking hole in my heart because I’ve never, actually, truly been in love. (At least not a love that has been reciprocated.). And it sucks.

I think, though, that for as much as I’ve been rejected and mentally screwed with, I would have a hard time saying it first. Unless it was so definitively real that I HAD to or I’d burst. Or, you know, that I was at least confident enough that it would be returned. Which I’ve never been, because I knew it wouldn’t.

Segue-ing (is that a word? dammit) into other thoughts...

Yeah. I don't even know if I really have thoughts on the L-word, because, well, it just seems like something that happens to other people. Like having money or being cool. I suppose maybe someday it will come my way. I hope.

I'm a liar. I do have thoughts on this. My thoughts pretty much consist of being bitter and miserable and lonely, but only when I choose to dwell on it. People that take it for granted, piss me off. (People that don't take it for granted and talk about it all the time, sometimes piss me off too. What can I say, I'm a fickle bitch.) Like I said earlier, sometimes it just feels like I have this giant hole in my heart because there's never been anyone to fill it. And I'm okay, by myself. It would take some massive capital letter L-O-V-E to make me consider giving up my independence. It's as much a part of me as is my self-depricating sarcasm and need for punctuation to be used correctly. (This is, perhaps, a reason that nobody loves me. APOSTROPHES DO NOT GO IN PLURALS *BITCHSLAP*).

So, perhaps I should have thought out this post better. Disjointed brain-action, much?

Anyway. Anyway anyway. So. I'm incomplete as a person, you are welcome to pity me, I do, blah blah blah, fuck it, I forgot what I was going to say and this is why I don't write about real shit anymore.

Alas. To bring this post back full circle... I'm swallowing up my hatred of the Day of Girly Colors because we're having a little shindig at work tomorrow and I of all people wound up on the mini-committee and so here I am at 10:00 making stupid heart-shaped sugar cookies (from a bag, natch, but it's still better than buying pre-made off the shelf) because I feel like I should at least make an effort. (If I ever have kids, I'm going to be the mom who works a bajillion hours and then comes home and makes the most kickass shit ever for a bakesale because I will not be outdone by the other, less superior moms. I may even wear an apron.)

Somewhere in between thinking I was clever for buying a mix and realizing my ambitions of making them into little hearts meant considerably more time, I think I realized I didn't hate all things pink and cutesy. Also maybe because I spend a lot of time at Target, and some of their stuff makes me smile.

Like this fantabulous purchase from two years ago that I may or may not have stowed away while I worked at Target waiting for it to go from 30% to 50% clearance. (shut up, it was the little perks that made me us all happy.)


Yes, that is a plush alligator with a heart in its mouth. Also known as "Squee."

Where was I?

Yeah, so it turns out that I am the kind of girl who can make heart-shaped cookies. It just maybe turns out that I make them for coworkers instead of a boyfriend.

(Note to future boyfriends? I hope you work out, because I will make you FAT with my nom-tastic baking.)

Why, yes. That is home-made frosting that I made from scratch and put on my sugar cookies made from a mix.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Abominable Snowmonsters And Other Naturally Occurring Phenomenon

As I was leaving the SuperBowl party I was at yesterday, the news was on and it caught my attention with their proclamation of "40 hours of snow!" and I was all "wtf, who measures snow in terms of HOURS?!" and then I cried a little.

Seriously. We're probably getting 1/2"-1" every hour right now as it is. Do you KNOW how much snow that would be, total accumulation-wise? On top of the approximately 60 inches we've already gotten so far? Holy FUCK. (East coast, I totally feel your pain, I do, except, until you've lived in Iowa in the middle of the worst fucking winter ever, I have a hard time sympathizing for your 3 inches. I'm really sorry, I am. I don't mean to be a bitch. But SIXTY INCHES. And it's only early February. We've still got another 2 months of this!)

Like, I'm not even fazed by it anymore. I've stopped having my early-winter driving-in-slippery-stuff panic attacks. Snow, whatever. It's not even COLD right now, it's just. Snowing. Constantly.

It's things like almost getting stuck turning around on my unplowed street that piss me off. Things like canceling and rescheduling all of my plans and meetings because I can't leave town. It's that this motherfucking snow is cramping my STYLE.

Which, I suppose, isn't a great reason, but it's a reason.

Oh yeah, that, and it's fucking suffocating me.




My new neighbor.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

To Whom It May Concern: My Ovaries Would Like Me To Tell You That You Are An Asshole

Apparently since I happen to own a vagina, I was not supposed to be watching the SuperBowl, or something. Holy shit, y'all. Did anyone else notice how incredibly sexist and horrible the commercials were this year? I mean, moreso than usual. I can take a joke with the best of them, and I don't mind poking fun at female stereotypes now and then... but it's like Every Single Big-Shot Advertising Agency forgot that, um, women were going to be watching, too. I can't even pick out a specific one that generated this irritation, because it was just this constant stream of sometimes subtle, sometimes not-so-subtle woman-bashing. Like... argh. The first half or so of the game was worse, I think most of the woman-hating was replaced by the shrieking chickens from Denny's as the night wore on, but my point still stands. Not. Cool.

But, hey, you know. If you want to alienate 50% of the population (specifically, the 50% that actually controls quite a bit of the spending), you go right on ahead. Misogynestic bastards.

That said, I was disappointed my the quality of commercials in general this year. There were a few that made me laugh, but mostly I stared at the tv with an underwhelming sense of "what?" It must take a special kind of crack to write ads for the 'Bowl. A kind of crack that makes you not funny.

Or I could say something about this OH MY GOD SO CONTROVERSIAL Tim Tebow commercial that was barely a blip on the radar and for all the buzz it got, I expected.... I don't know, something. All I caught was a gist of "I love my mom" and I was all, this is offensive, how? I read a really good article about it the other day that I'm not going to bother to look for right now and how people were flipping out without even having seen it yet and something about how while it was technically a "pro-life" commercial (God forbid we advertise something besides beer and chips and cars that men deserve to buy because women are unbearably irrational in wanting them to be nice to their families and put the seat down, No I'm not still bitter, what?), it was actually sort of pro-choice in a way too because Mrs. Tebow chose not to return to the US to have an abortion even though the doctors were telling her she probably should, for her own safety. She made a CHOICE, and it worked out for her, and it's a happy fuzzy story and still at the end of the day? Choice. Pro-choice does not equal anti-life and it's so frustrating trying to argue that.

Anywho. I didn't really even want to get into it and I didn't even really want to waste that much time talking about any of this because, hello, it's an overhyped football game with two teams that I don't really care about and I didn't even get any commercials that made me irrationally happy (remember Nanerpus, last year? Yeah. That was awesome.) Let's not even get into the GoDaddy.com commercials or whatever the fuck that was with Megan Fox in a bathtub or the fact that I really, really have my doubts that that many people are genuinely THAT excited about Bud Light and omg I cannot stop talking and I don't even caaaaaaare.

So, to summarize: Something something commercials grumble grumble sexist bastards blah blah blah GoDaddy sucks football rah rah the end.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Unexpectedly Fragile

This week? Has not been all sunshine and lollipops as maybe I've been indicating. It started out okay, uneventful really, and life was grand. The facebook meme actually backfired and somehow made me feel good about myself, which is pretty much the exact opposite of what I expected. (This is, of course, once I got over my sheer embarrassment at actually taking PART in said lame meme. And EMBRACED IT. If you haven't tried it, you should. It's a great ego-booster.) I realized that I actually liked the way I looked, celebrity lookalike or no, and I was dismissing some celebrity matches on the ground that I didn't think they were pretty enough. (Yeahh, I know. What?)

And then... and then came Wednesday.

The work "drama" resurfaced and I actually cried in front of my boss which was embarrassing even if probably not the first time in the history of the world that someone has done that. I am not ready to pass my clients into other hands, even if it is because bigger and better things are potentially headed my way. And it put me in a huge funk for the rest of my day.

And I made a choice, after work: buy a pint of Vermont's finest frozen deliciousness* or go out for dollar beers with my coworkers.

*Ben & Jerry's, OBVIOUSLY.


I chose the latter because (a) I love our local brewery and (b) being alone with my Mood would probably make it worse.

And it was fun, and truly the right decision, but the night ended on kind of an unsettling note. One of the girls in our group was suddenly visibly upset - and maybe only to me, as I was the only other one there with a pair of ovaries. It was about a boy and I suddently felt very sober and very protective. I went around the median that was separating us and gave her a hug, a long hug, and when I pulled away she had tears in her eyes. I tried my best to look her in the eye, wipe them away, and tell her that no guy is worth it. Words I desperately wanted to believe myself. And then the source of her tears appeared behind her. I eyed him with what was probably the bitchiest of stinkeye - I have not felt so fiercely protective in I don't know how long, and for a girl I really didn't know that well (but she shared her cheese fries, so we were all best friends, obviously), but just for what it represented. Another girl, another heartbreak, another asshole guy who was completely oblivious of the pain he was causing.

When my last coworker left, I did too - but I gave her my number and told her to text me if she needed anything. I felt horrible leaving her in what was clearly an awkward and upsetting situatiuon, but I was useless except for my emotional support, and that was about all I could do.

By the time I got home, I wanted to cry. For her, for me, for all girls who were heartbroken and emotionally abused. For the guy I cannot get out of my heart. For my neighbors, who I could see hugging in their living room as I walked up the sidewalk to the front door, an intimate moment on display. For all the hearbreak, for everyone, for me. For the wounds that are hard to mend, for the scars that will not heal. Everything just felt so real, and I wanted so badly to fix them.

But as I lay curled up in my bed, staring into the darkness, I found I had no tears left. Just a silent, dull ache.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Bandwagon'd

[Alternate Title: Don't Read This Unless You Really, Really Like My Face]

Hint: this is not actually me. I am not this hot.

Ok so, if you've been living under a rock, the new facebook trend is to plug your mug into an image generator and then post a profile pic of who your "celebrity doppelganger" is. At first I ignored it, and then decided that I would not be so egotistical as to even pretend like I looked like any of the airbrushed elite- who was I to presume that I could compare myself to the Beautiful People? Besides, as lame as facebook has gotten, I've ignored a lot of the mass-chains because, um, obviously. They're annoying. But, I take memes as they come and go; some I choose to participate in - it mostly depends on if (a) I'm bored and (b) it piques my interest enough to not classify it as lame. (I totally participated in the bra color one. Not gonna lie. Also the 25 questions one. Because I thought it was insightful and actually really interesting. Maybe because I'm a blogger and that's kind of what I do. Write about myself.)

But then, my vanity got the best of me. Which celebrity DO I look like? In the past I've been told Isla Fisher, Keri Russell, Nicole Kidman, possibly others that I can't remember. Nothing consistent because I don't really look like anyone. But it's still kind of flattering to be compared to a starlet because, well, hello, they're hot and famous.

So I plugged in a photo to the image comparer thinger. Holy hell, it's like a new brand of crack. I couldn't stop! I think I did like ten different pictures. AT LEAST. I still don't know as though I agree with any of the results, but I was kind of gleeful of some that kept popping up (Beyonce? Kate Beckinsale? Julianne Moore? Yes please. Highly inaccurate, but, who am I to argue?). The most common were Jessica Simpson, Rachel Bilson, Katie Couric, Scarlett Johanssen. (Who is Stacy Keibler? She came up a few times too. I suck at pop culture.) I don't know. My friend Steph says I look more like a 1940s movie star, perhaps Ann Sheridan. I looove old movie stars and I think they are so glamorous and beautiful, I think that is probably the biggest compliment ever. (Minus one from my friend Cory on twitter: "You look like sunshine wrapped in rainbows wrapped in smiles wrapped in hott hawtness.com."). Although one time one of my results was Jensen Ackles. Who is male. So, you know. That was awkward.

Musing over this on Twitter netted some compliments which of course made me feel silly and narcissistic. But, who am I kidding? I'm totally silly and narcissistic. So I'm going to post my results for you.

And you know what? At the end of the day? My favorite face is my own. I never really thought I would say that. But there it is.









I google-searched Isla Fisher, since I distinctly recalled being told/exclaimed at by a girl I work with that I looked like her. You know, by someone who has seen me and my actual face, and not a computer that is analyzing old facebook pictures that were specifically selected because I like the way I look in them. You FAIL, myHeritage.com. Fail.

Honestly? I think she's adorable and I WANT HER HAIR.




Below, Ann Sheridan, glam hottie from the '40s. You can see why the suggestion was definitely flattering.





What do you guys think? Who are your celebrity lookalikes?

.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Open Letter to (Cheap) Shampoo Companies

We need to talk.

You know who you are.

You are the ones who make lines of cheap ("affordable") shampoo and sell them at my favorite of all stores, (Target, if we must name names, but I do not think that that is important at this time), and boast a variety of shampoos and conditioners and even styling products for all hair types. You even deign to include the rarest of specialties, the wavy hair. Not quite straight, not quite curly, we possess an intermediate breed of tress, who still has the frizz and unruliness without the lovely full curl to go with it. But, oh! A shampoo, designed specifically for us! For under $4! Glory!

But then. Like a crusher of dreams, you slowly phase this product out of your line. Suddenly we are searching for that wavy hair potion that may or may not actually do anything to help our waves, especially at such nominal prices, but for a moment in time, we have our own, magical, special shampoo. Our needs, our feelings, our unique brand of wtf-hair... you captivated us with the possibilities, and then you TOOK IT AWAY. We are forced to hunt the clearance endcaps and snatch up as many bottles as we can, but given that we are buying cheap shampoo at Target and probably don't have much money, that equates to about three bottles.

And then what? What are we supposed to do, then? Find a new shampoo? Do you have any idea, any idea at all how hard it is to find a shampoo you like? Let alone one that is specifically designed for your hair type? You alienate us with these decisions, and you lose our money, because you have nothing left to offer. Do you really think we're going to go buy the shampoo for straight hair, which you inexplicably leave on the market? Hardly. And it just serves to taunt us when you leave behind only the gel or cream for styling our hair, that can no longer be washed in the matching shampoo in the same color bottle.

All I ask, dear shampoo companies, is that when you decide to market a line of shampoo for all hair types, is that you consider leaving the entire line on the market for more than six months. I have been burned not once, but twice, as evidenced by the near-empty, mismatched bottles in my shower.

Don't you break my heart again. Neither I nor my hair can take another disappointment.

xoxo

Kelly

Monday, February 1, 2010

I'd Like To Thank The Little People....

Guys, guys, I got a blog award! Wheee!

I have been bestowed with the Over-the-Top award from Kim. Which kind of sort of makes me happy. Hee.


Now, here are the rules. Try to answer the following questions with just one word:
1. Where is your cell phone? nearby
2. Your hair? ponytail
3. Your mother? crazy
4. Your father? dorky
5. Your favorite food? cheeseburger
6. Your dream last night? forgotten
7. Your favorite drink? martini
8. Your dream/goal? successfulness
9. What room are you in? officenook
10. Your hobby? sleeping
11. Your fear? loss
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? debt-free
13. Where were you last night? home
14. Something you aren't? sexy
15. Muffins? apple-cinnamon
16. Wish list item? netbook
17. Where did you grow up? BFE
18. Last thing you did? taekwondo
19. What are you wearing? sweatpants!
20. Your TV? off
21. Your pets? kitty
22. Your friends? a-MAZ-ing
23. Your life? awesome
24. Your mood? meh
25. Missing someone? usually
26. Vehicle? pontiac
27. Something you're not wearing? shoes
28. Your favorite store? Target
29. Your favorite color? blue
30. When was the last time you laughed? earlier
31. Last time you cried? (last) Monday
32. Your best friend? several
33. One place that you go over and over? work
34. One person who emails me regularly? mom
35. Favorite place to eat? Fong's


And now I am supposed to pass this lil awardy on... so I hereby present it to: Ms. @maddiemarie of SplendidMishap.