Tonight the President of the United States of America spoke the annual "State of the Union" address to millions of viewers. I was not one of them. I was at work wondering if he was telling me anything that I didn't already know... the state of the union sucks right now. Unemployment blows ass unless you are lazy and incredibly comfortable with living off the system and it's at it's highest in years. There are multiple issues that the President didn't address that I feel are more much pressing though. These issues became incredibly impressive on me this past week and I feel that I must address them in order to finally find some peace with them.
For those of you who know me and those of you who don't, I've begun taking hot yoga classes. This is simply a 90 minute intense cardio yoga class done in a room that is heated to one hundred and ten degrees farenheit. This literally causes you to sweat your ass off while contorting your body into multiple pretzel forms. In fact, while leaving the first class, I'm pretty sure that I stepped in more than one puddle of melted ass. Now, don't be confused, I'm not turning into one of those "fully centered, focusing on my third eye" weirdos... I'm simply trying to build strength and flexibility. However, there are plenty of yogi's... yep, that's the actual term, in the classes that are into all that bullshit. I mean, I felt completely exhilerated after the class, relaxed, and yes, centered, but I think it had more to do with endorphines than some damn sun salutation.
There are things about the class that I didn't expect though... I didn't expect a man in 1970's short shorts with a giant (I'm talking puts Santa to shame!) sized beer belly to be in the class. Thank dog that he was in back, but seriously, does the room have to be lined in mirrors? Talk about finding a focal point... his giant belly button was it! I didn't expect Big Foot to be taking the class. Or maybe it was a Wookie. Either way, this had to be one of the hairiest individuals that I have ever seen! Add 110 degrees, tons of sweat and I swear to dog, he looked like a lake creature from one of those bad 1960s B movies with the screaming girls and the terribly impossible plot lines! (Swamp Thing is what I will refer to this individual as in future blog posts.) I mean, after 90 minutes, this guy smelled like he'd crawled out of a toxic sewer! I'm just glad he was behind me and that I wasn't downwind.
There are two rules to taking hot yoga:
1. You must wear spandex or very little clothing. This has more to do with the changing of positions than it does with the sweating, but I think if I had layered up, I would have literally died due to dehydration... would have looked like one giant piece of beef jerky. (Btw... sorry for everyone who had to look at my fat ass in leggings but holy shit, was it hot in there!)
2. You must abstain from eating or drinking anything but water for at lest 2 to 3 hours prior to taking the class. Too much heat + digestion = puke. No bueno. Also, there are plenty of moves that put pressure on the internal organs, massaging them to create a release of toxins thus resulting in a better body balance.
Now, when you don't follow either of these directions, this is what happens: strange sweat stains and farts. Yep, farts. That's right. Try keeping your mind focused when the fat ass in front of you has his oversized basketball shorts firmly tucked between his puckered ass cheeks. Why were they puckered? Perhaps it was because he was trying to avoid blowing ass in class. Too bad... he did it anyway! Multiple times! Apparently this is normal, as I can remember my older brother telling me that HE was the one who farted in a yoga class, packed his things, left and never went back. However, this jackass just kept on ripping them like they were going out of style. 40 people, 110 degrees and this jerk doesn't flinch as he flatulates all over the place! Nobody else seemed to notice except me and my friends who tried desperately to keep from busting out laughing at each flutter of his ass cheeks.
I was releasing endorphines. That guy was releasing last nights fourth meal! Thanks for the leftovers asshole!
Now, I wish that this had been the most interesting part of my weekend but this was only second to the events that occured on Saturday night. You see, in typical fashion of celebrating a friends birthday, I ended up in a strip club. Not unusual as I have been multiple times and actually quite enjoy the outing, often viewing it as a sociological experiment. I spend most of my time people watching, sitting at the side of the stage, intently watching the men, both old and young, as they view each dancing woman as if they are pubescent teenagers catching their first glimpse of a naked body. This particular evening did not provide this sort of entertainment however. Instead, I began critiquing the girls, their outfits, facial expressions (or lack thereof), and taking particular interest in their pole tricks.
I'm going to pause here and give props to the athleticism that is demonstrated by strippers. Most of these women were doing moves that even the advanced yogi's in my yoga class couldn't do and they did them while completely naked, in front of a crowd on a cold stage. Kudos ladies... kudos.
Okay, I regress. As a tall blonde entered the staging area, all three of us verbally noted that she must be older because her hair was covering her face. We were right, she was 38 as we would later find out. As we sat watching, tossing singles on the edge of the stage to draw her towards us, her long legs twisting and turning across the floor, our conversation became more intriguing than the dancer. A moment later and I noticed that she was right in front of us, fully nude. "There ya go buddy! Happy birthday! Here's a crotch shot for ya!" I said to my friend. "I don't think she's looking at me," he said. And sure enough she wasn't. She had her eyes right on me, legs spread open, waving at me with one finger.
So where am I going with this? I think that if you are going to have a job stripping, you should probably get your hemmorhoids taken care of prior to showing up for work, removing your clothing and then spreading your butt cheeks in front of someones face and expecting them to give you money. I wanted to give her money, to have hemmorhoid surgery... not to keep her dancing in front of me. Long story short, she later came over and wanted to give me a lap dance. As flattered as I was, I sacrificed my friends' wife to the wolves and let her get the hemmorhoid rub down.
So this weeks lessons: a. get your butt fixed and b. don't eat before yoga.
If only all of life's lessons were so simple!
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Go text yourself.
As the information age and technology continue to grow and take over our daily lives, the way that we communicate is changing rapidly. We communicate quicker than we ever have before rapidly sending emails, voicemails and text messages with the push of a button. I mean, if it weren't for the interweb, my blog wouldn't exist. It would simply be a fifty cent composition book with a hard cover and woven binding, "My Diary" scribbled in permanent marker on the front, modge podged with cutouts from magazines read too many times.
I'm a big fan of the quick communication. I like sending an email to someone at my leisure and getting a response at theirs, often only minutes later. I enjoy chatting with people on social networking sites, having hours long conversations that don't require holding a hot, sweaty phone up to my ear, elbow cramping all the while. I am especially a big fan of text messages for short, simple conversations.
However, as I continue to navigate the world of "relationships", seeking out my perfect soul mate, the text message seems to be making or breaking said relationships. How? It's simple. Any "relationship", be it friendship or other, can be evaluated by the text message.
1. If you text after the hours of 11pm and all the text says is "Yo", the text is not the invitation to begin a conversation, but instead an invitation to copulate... er... it's a freakin' booty call.
2. Text messages should never be received before 8am unless it is an emergency or prior arrangements had been discussed.
2a. DON'T TEXT ME AT 7AM TO SEE IF I WILL WORK FOR YOU AT 2PM, ESPECIALLY WHEN I WAS STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO YOU AT 11PM THE NIGHT BEFORE!!!! Texts should not replace a face to face conversation when the conversation was so simple and could have happened without waking me up! Jerk.
3. Dates should not be made and/or confirmed through text message. This lesson was recently learned the hard way (no pun intended so get your heads out of the gutter!). Said date was scheduled via text message. No communication was had the day of the date, so I knew I was going to be stood up. I decided not to humiliate myself and stayed at home instead. At four o'clock the next afternoon the following text was received:
LL: Yesterday was that spoken word thing wasn't it? Oh shoot, I completely forgot.
First of all, "OH SHOOT"??? WTF? What are you? 60? My mom says oh shoot... not my boyfriends. And it was apparent that you were fully aware of the obligation that you made as you completely avoided communication the entire day when the previous 7 days were filled with text conversations during your lunch break and your evening.
Oh shoot, guess I forgot to respond. Shuckey darns.
Now, there are parts of text messaging that I find enjoyable. For example, I like flirting through text. Sometimes it's just really nice to be able to send a little somethin' somethin' in their general direction to entice them and make sure that they are thinking about you throughout the day. I do NOT condone sending pictures through text of yourself, your body or anything else. (See previous blog regarding the boy who texted me a picture of his erect penis... impressive and disturbing, especially since I'm pretty sure that those weren't HIS flowery pillow cases in the background based on the last time I had been in his bedroom.)
There are other parts of texting that I hate though. This would be the annonymity of it all. I do not know who some texts are from, in which case I generally respond with "Who is this?" or I do not respond at all. Recently, I had a 6 week long fling with a gentleman that I will refer to from this point forward as D. D. is/was a passionate lover (I know, it's geeky but true). He and I had a wonderful time for awhile and then things just started cooling off. I began working more, he wasn't working at all (laid off, but who isn't these days). Here's the lowdown on D.:
*has no job and isn't looking for one
*has been drinking every time that we've talked
*apparently has a couple of kids that he STILL hasn't told me about
*has changed his phone number 4 times, yes, 4 times!!! since I've met him.
When D. texts me, I have no idea who it is and he disappeared, totally M.I.A. for over 4 weeks, then texts me at 2am with "Yo" as the message. The following conversation was had yesterday, times included:
Random number: 2:05am Yo
Random number: 8:39am oh yeah it's d
Random number: 7:24pm so u not tlkin 2 me anymore at all?
Me: 7:56pm Really? I haven't heard from you in like a month and I've been at work all day on a double.
Random number: <7:57pm> oh sorry bout bein mia
Me: 8:03pm Yeah? What happened? Do you even know that T. moved to Wisconsin?
Random number: 8:04pm yea
Random number: 9:46pm so how u been
Now, there are multiple things that bother me regarding this particular text. Emotion is absent. He obviously didn't understand that I wasn't going to respond after not hearing from him for so long. He copped an attitude with ME and then can't type a full sentence or use punctuation. I know for a fact that he owns a phone with a full QWERTY key board so there's no excuse for a lack of vowels, consanants, or ending punctuation.
Guess what... D. now stands for DONE! I'm done!
Make it or break it, but the text message is a helluva way to evaluate a relationship, or lack thereof. Text messaging is great in social situations that require a level of discretion, such as business meetings or large dinners, commenting things that shouldn't be overheard. But don't abuse the privilege. Don't use it as a primary form of communication, only secondary... especially if you're trying to establish a relationship with me. There's nothing sexier than looking into someones eyes while having a deep, heated conversation. The kinetic energy that occurs between two people can't be felt or embraced through some plastic and a computer screen (I'm not knocking internet porn people! But remember, those girls/guys aren't performing for just you... just you and 12 crew members (pun intended), the director, and 4 million other people that are watching the same website you are!)
I'm sure I'll revisit this topic again as there is so much more to say! I didn't even get into confrontation via texts. Til we meet again... go text yourself!
I'm a big fan of the quick communication. I like sending an email to someone at my leisure and getting a response at theirs, often only minutes later. I enjoy chatting with people on social networking sites, having hours long conversations that don't require holding a hot, sweaty phone up to my ear, elbow cramping all the while. I am especially a big fan of text messages for short, simple conversations.
However, as I continue to navigate the world of "relationships", seeking out my perfect soul mate, the text message seems to be making or breaking said relationships. How? It's simple. Any "relationship", be it friendship or other, can be evaluated by the text message.
1. If you text after the hours of 11pm and all the text says is "Yo", the text is not the invitation to begin a conversation, but instead an invitation to copulate... er... it's a freakin' booty call.
2. Text messages should never be received before 8am unless it is an emergency or prior arrangements had been discussed.
2a. DON'T TEXT ME AT 7AM TO SEE IF I WILL WORK FOR YOU AT 2PM, ESPECIALLY WHEN I WAS STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO YOU AT 11PM THE NIGHT BEFORE!!!! Texts should not replace a face to face conversation when the conversation was so simple and could have happened without waking me up! Jerk.
3. Dates should not be made and/or confirmed through text message. This lesson was recently learned the hard way (no pun intended so get your heads out of the gutter!). Said date was scheduled via text message. No communication was had the day of the date, so I knew I was going to be stood up. I decided not to humiliate myself and stayed at home instead. At four o'clock the next afternoon the following text was received:
LL: Yesterday was that spoken word thing wasn't it? Oh shoot, I completely forgot.
First of all, "OH SHOOT"??? WTF? What are you? 60? My mom says oh shoot... not my boyfriends. And it was apparent that you were fully aware of the obligation that you made as you completely avoided communication the entire day when the previous 7 days were filled with text conversations during your lunch break and your evening.
Oh shoot, guess I forgot to respond. Shuckey darns.
Now, there are parts of text messaging that I find enjoyable. For example, I like flirting through text. Sometimes it's just really nice to be able to send a little somethin' somethin' in their general direction to entice them and make sure that they are thinking about you throughout the day. I do NOT condone sending pictures through text of yourself, your body or anything else. (See previous blog regarding the boy who texted me a picture of his erect penis... impressive and disturbing, especially since I'm pretty sure that those weren't HIS flowery pillow cases in the background based on the last time I had been in his bedroom.)
There are other parts of texting that I hate though. This would be the annonymity of it all. I do not know who some texts are from, in which case I generally respond with "Who is this?" or I do not respond at all. Recently, I had a 6 week long fling with a gentleman that I will refer to from this point forward as D. D. is/was a passionate lover (I know, it's geeky but true). He and I had a wonderful time for awhile and then things just started cooling off. I began working more, he wasn't working at all (laid off, but who isn't these days). Here's the lowdown on D.:
*has no job and isn't looking for one
*has been drinking every time that we've talked
*apparently has a couple of kids that he STILL hasn't told me about
*has changed his phone number 4 times, yes, 4 times!!! since I've met him.
When D. texts me, I have no idea who it is and he disappeared, totally M.I.A. for over 4 weeks, then texts me at 2am with "Yo" as the message. The following conversation was had yesterday, times included:
Random number: 2:05am Yo
Random number: 8:39am oh yeah it's d
Random number: 7:24pm so u not tlkin 2 me anymore at all?
Me: 7:56pm Really? I haven't heard from you in like a month and I've been at work all day on a double.
Random number: <7:57pm> oh sorry bout bein mia
Me: 8:03pm Yeah? What happened? Do you even know that T. moved to Wisconsin?
Random number: 8:04pm yea
Random number: 9:46pm so how u been
Now, there are multiple things that bother me regarding this particular text. Emotion is absent. He obviously didn't understand that I wasn't going to respond after not hearing from him for so long. He copped an attitude with ME and then can't type a full sentence or use punctuation. I know for a fact that he owns a phone with a full QWERTY key board so there's no excuse for a lack of vowels, consanants, or ending punctuation.
Guess what... D. now stands for DONE! I'm done!
Make it or break it, but the text message is a helluva way to evaluate a relationship, or lack thereof. Text messaging is great in social situations that require a level of discretion, such as business meetings or large dinners, commenting things that shouldn't be overheard. But don't abuse the privilege. Don't use it as a primary form of communication, only secondary... especially if you're trying to establish a relationship with me. There's nothing sexier than looking into someones eyes while having a deep, heated conversation. The kinetic energy that occurs between two people can't be felt or embraced through some plastic and a computer screen (I'm not knocking internet porn people! But remember, those girls/guys aren't performing for just you... just you and 12 crew members (pun intended), the director, and 4 million other people that are watching the same website you are!)
I'm sure I'll revisit this topic again as there is so much more to say! I didn't even get into confrontation via texts. Til we meet again... go text yourself!
Monday, January 18, 2010
Speak no evil... or just don't speak. You pick.
WARNING: This blog contains many vulgarities and use of cursory language. It also probably contains some ideas that you aren't going to agree with. Bite me. It happened and I thought it and then I wrote about it. If you're curious, keep reading!
The past few days, there's been something that's been bothering me. I've been listening to the "girls" that I work with lately. Most of them aren't ladies so yes, even though they are all over the age of 21, I will continue to refer to them as girls. (Not sleeping with somebody on the first date does not make you a LADY! It makes you a prude.) By the way, I was sticking my tongue out as I wrote that, all the while singing "na na na na na"... just like a child!
Anyway, I've been listening to the dumb things that they say. Generally, I would just ignore them and their pettyness, but Saturday night, I overheard a doozy! Oh my! As we, my coworkers and I, were discussing the pending events of the evening, one of the girls says that her boyfriend doesn't want to go out and she doesn't want to walk downtown alone. "It's cool," I tell her. "I live downtown and I walk it all the time. The other girls have walked it with me. There's tons of cops, people everywhere and it's VERY well lit. Really, you have nothing to worry about. Just don't take a ton of cash with you and pay attention to where you're walking. Look confident and nobody will fuck with you." I'd like to think that I gave her good advice... most of that is the same crap they teach you in every basic self-defense class.
Apparently, my words of wisdom were not enough because she quickly retorted, pony tail swinging, with "But I have rape in my family and I don't want to have that shit happen to me."
In a room full of MY friends, you would have been able to hear crickets chirping and the sound of the world stopping directly on its axis. But the other girls seemed to agree with her mentality. I am pretty sure that I quit breathing for a minute as I contemplated the words that she said, studying her face and all of its' seriousness. I stared blankly at her. Her pony tail still shaking from side to side as if the wind were somehow blowing inside; she seemed so confident in her... stupidity.
The following conversation occured between the minutes of 11:21pm and 11:23pm in my head:
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? ARE YOU MOTHER FUCKING KIDDING ME YOU STUPID ASS BITCH?!? Do you even know what rape is? Because I'm pretty sure that if you were to look it up you would find that it is not genetic. It is not hereditary (unless you have a pedophile in the family that preys on generation after generation but I know that you don't)! You've got to be the biggest waste of tits and ass I've ever seen. I mean, seriously, did you even think about those words before they came out of your mouth? Just because someone you know was raped doesn't mean that YOU will be raped. I mean, what makes you even think that you are rapeable?! Yes, rapeable... able to raped. I said it. I mean, do you seriously think that every guy that resides downtown will want to fuck you right there on the street corner? Well, guess what honey, you don't even have an ass. And your little bitty boobies... you don't even have hips that shake from side to side. You have nothing to entice men when you are walking down the street at night in a winter coat. ARGH! I can't believe that you are so dense to think that just because your grandmother was a rape victim that you will be too. It's not breast cancer or herpes!
Now, I will admit, my anger was out of control as I was tired, covered in soy sauce and my back hurt. However, this is a girl who has a simplistic beauty, natural really, and is highly intelligent in all other aspects of her life. However, in being a woman... she's a dumbass.
She's not the only one. There are lots of women dumbasses out there. The ones that really get me aren't just the general dumbasses... but the dumbasses that contain a lot of potential. The girls that seem to have all their shit together in all aspects of their lives, except for the part that requires a decent level of commmon sense. They have boyfriends that they cohabitate with fairly successfully. They made decent grades, are involved in campus organizations that will potentially secure their futures based on membership alone, and they seem really good at balancing being emotional beings with being intelligent beings, until moments like that when all of my faith in womankind is challenged and then destroyed.
Please ladies! I urge you to think before you speak! I realize that far too often I am incapable of doing so and that I often end up on a steady diet of shoe leather. However, I generally keep my "foot in mouth" moments to suffering from the effects of alcohol or calling dumb girls out on their dumb shit. Okay, I admit, sometimes my timing is just off but whose isn't? Seriously though ladies... it only takes a moment and it doesn't hurt... it can be contagious even. ... please, think before you speak, especially when your thoughts are stupid.
The past few days, there's been something that's been bothering me. I've been listening to the "girls" that I work with lately. Most of them aren't ladies so yes, even though they are all over the age of 21, I will continue to refer to them as girls. (Not sleeping with somebody on the first date does not make you a LADY! It makes you a prude.) By the way, I was sticking my tongue out as I wrote that, all the while singing "na na na na na"... just like a child!
Anyway, I've been listening to the dumb things that they say. Generally, I would just ignore them and their pettyness, but Saturday night, I overheard a doozy! Oh my! As we, my coworkers and I, were discussing the pending events of the evening, one of the girls says that her boyfriend doesn't want to go out and she doesn't want to walk downtown alone. "It's cool," I tell her. "I live downtown and I walk it all the time. The other girls have walked it with me. There's tons of cops, people everywhere and it's VERY well lit. Really, you have nothing to worry about. Just don't take a ton of cash with you and pay attention to where you're walking. Look confident and nobody will fuck with you." I'd like to think that I gave her good advice... most of that is the same crap they teach you in every basic self-defense class.
Apparently, my words of wisdom were not enough because she quickly retorted, pony tail swinging, with "But I have rape in my family and I don't want to have that shit happen to me."
In a room full of MY friends, you would have been able to hear crickets chirping and the sound of the world stopping directly on its axis. But the other girls seemed to agree with her mentality. I am pretty sure that I quit breathing for a minute as I contemplated the words that she said, studying her face and all of its' seriousness. I stared blankly at her. Her pony tail still shaking from side to side as if the wind were somehow blowing inside; she seemed so confident in her... stupidity.
The following conversation occured between the minutes of 11:21pm and 11:23pm in my head:
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? ARE YOU MOTHER FUCKING KIDDING ME YOU STUPID ASS BITCH?!? Do you even know what rape is? Because I'm pretty sure that if you were to look it up you would find that it is not genetic. It is not hereditary (unless you have a pedophile in the family that preys on generation after generation but I know that you don't)! You've got to be the biggest waste of tits and ass I've ever seen. I mean, seriously, did you even think about those words before they came out of your mouth? Just because someone you know was raped doesn't mean that YOU will be raped. I mean, what makes you even think that you are rapeable?! Yes, rapeable... able to raped. I said it. I mean, do you seriously think that every guy that resides downtown will want to fuck you right there on the street corner? Well, guess what honey, you don't even have an ass. And your little bitty boobies... you don't even have hips that shake from side to side. You have nothing to entice men when you are walking down the street at night in a winter coat. ARGH! I can't believe that you are so dense to think that just because your grandmother was a rape victim that you will be too. It's not breast cancer or herpes!
Now, I will admit, my anger was out of control as I was tired, covered in soy sauce and my back hurt. However, this is a girl who has a simplistic beauty, natural really, and is highly intelligent in all other aspects of her life. However, in being a woman... she's a dumbass.
She's not the only one. There are lots of women dumbasses out there. The ones that really get me aren't just the general dumbasses... but the dumbasses that contain a lot of potential. The girls that seem to have all their shit together in all aspects of their lives, except for the part that requires a decent level of commmon sense. They have boyfriends that they cohabitate with fairly successfully. They made decent grades, are involved in campus organizations that will potentially secure their futures based on membership alone, and they seem really good at balancing being emotional beings with being intelligent beings, until moments like that when all of my faith in womankind is challenged and then destroyed.
Please ladies! I urge you to think before you speak! I realize that far too often I am incapable of doing so and that I often end up on a steady diet of shoe leather. However, I generally keep my "foot in mouth" moments to suffering from the effects of alcohol or calling dumb girls out on their dumb shit. Okay, I admit, sometimes my timing is just off but whose isn't? Seriously though ladies... it only takes a moment and it doesn't hurt... it can be contagious even. ... please, think before you speak, especially when your thoughts are stupid.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
It's raining men...
... thank dog that I live in a city with a very large sewer system because most of them need to be washed away like yesterdays dirt. It's getting nearly ridiculous and maybe it's just because I've never received this many compliments before, as slanted as they are, regarding my looks. It's all about the booty... and I've got a big one!
Rest assured though: THE BOOTY IS BACK! Just recently a supermodel died during plastic surgery. Surprise, right? Well, she was getting... get this... ASS IMPLANTS! BITCH WANTED A BOOTY! It was POETIC JUSTICE! She should have eaten a cheeseburger, a taco, drank a beer... she's have had that booty in no time and still be alive. You can check out the story here: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/worldnews/article-1232381/Solange-Magnano-Miss-Argentina-dies-buttock-implants-operation.html
I recently read something in one of those magazines, Glamour, or Cosmo or something that said that as men get older, into their early to mid thirties, they begin naturally seeking women with larger (within reason of course) hips. As mens biological clocks begin ticking, they seek a woman with whom they can use as a baby factory. Well, what comes with hips? BOOTY! Kanye West knows what I'm talking about... according to him (and Jay-Z on the Blueprint 3 album), I'm the perfect woman: "She got an ass that could swallow up a g-string and on top, uh, two bee stings."
But what is the true attraction? I mean, the comments are getting more bold! Just yesterday, as I was leaving my apartment building to go meet a friend for dinner, I was wearing boots, jeans, and was completely bundled up. It's true, I might have had a little hop in my step but I was on a major endorphine high after doing nearly an hour and half of total kick ass cardio. There are approximately 5 bus stops within a block of my apartment. They litter the corners like trashcans, every 15 feet another little blue and white sign gives permission for people to huddle together against the elements and for one thing: to harrass those of us who drive our own vehicles! They beg for money, cigarettes and SEX! Yes, even SEX! "Let me get on that!" I hear it all the time. Guess what buddy, you're not getting anywhere near THIS! My personal favorite: "Now THAT'S what I'm talking about! Wooooo wweeee! I wanna take a chunk outta that!"
Really sir, please do not use the word CHUNK when referring to my ass. Oh well, I gave him a little extra hip sway and bounce as I continued walking towards to my car. I never even looked at him, but I knew he was looking at me. Why shouldn't I bring joy to this world one jiggly butt cheek at a time? I just use what genetics gave me... sometimes I feel so blessed.
As I said before, the compliments, however sideways, are flattering nonetheless. But there are times when I just don't understand it. The other morning, I had woken and gone through my typical routine of applying for jobs online, drinking my cup of tea and watching an episode of Law and Order: SVU while eating my breakfast. I threw on a sportsbra, old stained t-shirt, tennis shoes and shoved my hair back into a ponytail. I skipped brushing my teeth and washing my face as I was only going down to the 2nd floor and was planning on sweating my ass off when I got there. iPod on: She Wants Revenge bursting it's beat from the ear buds and I'm waiting on the elevator. "I smell like soy sauce from work last night. Ick." I think to myself as I'm waiting on the doors to open.
As they open, one of my "neighbors" is also in the elevator going down. I don't know him. I've never seen him. It's a 16 story highrise. As I enter the elevator, I see his eyes look me up and down, never even nearing my face. Slowly scanning me from tits to knees as if this were an airport and he were a TSA agent looking for contraband or explosive devices. I heard him say something but didn't have any idea what it was. I popped out an earphone to hear him ask me again if I was going downstairs to work out. "Yep!" Nice observation buddy! You're a bright one! "I'm Mike." he says without extending his hands; afterall, they were full of recycle bags for the grocery store. "I'm Steph." I replied. "Gonna work out that body, huh? Looks good." he said, slowly licking his lips. REALLY? Thank dog for cameras in the elevators because I'm pretty sure that he would have mounted my leg if given the opportunity! The elevator doors opened and I quickly exited and nearly jogged into the hallway and around the corner. I could feel his eyes burning holes into my butt. And as I continued my workout, I did so smiling, slightly flattered by the compliment, as creepy as it was, from a total stranger.
Even when I'm at work, my butt works with me or against me. The other night, while trying to squeeze past a Chef and their food cart, the Chef wasn't paying attention and ran a huge line of butter across my ass. Talk about buttering the buns! I've been asked by more than one Chef if they can bump into me... from behind. And my personal favorite was hearing, "Um, Steph, all your good stuff is in the way. I need to get around you." REALLY?! It's not a damn continental divide! It doesn't need a map to be navigated!
The War in My-butt-is-tan, Buttageddon, or whatever you want to call it will continue to be a regular part of my blog as it is a regular part of my body (pun intended) and even more regular part of my day.
Rest assured though: THE BOOTY IS BACK! Just recently a supermodel died during plastic surgery. Surprise, right? Well, she was getting... get this... ASS IMPLANTS! BITCH WANTED A BOOTY! It was POETIC JUSTICE! She should have eaten a cheeseburger, a taco, drank a beer... she's have had that booty in no time and still be alive. You can check out the story here: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/worldnews/article-1232381/Solange-Magnano-Miss-Argentina-dies-buttock-implants-operation.html
I recently read something in one of those magazines, Glamour, or Cosmo or something that said that as men get older, into their early to mid thirties, they begin naturally seeking women with larger (within reason of course) hips. As mens biological clocks begin ticking, they seek a woman with whom they can use as a baby factory. Well, what comes with hips? BOOTY! Kanye West knows what I'm talking about... according to him (and Jay-Z on the Blueprint 3 album), I'm the perfect woman: "She got an ass that could swallow up a g-string and on top, uh, two bee stings."
But what is the true attraction? I mean, the comments are getting more bold! Just yesterday, as I was leaving my apartment building to go meet a friend for dinner, I was wearing boots, jeans, and was completely bundled up. It's true, I might have had a little hop in my step but I was on a major endorphine high after doing nearly an hour and half of total kick ass cardio. There are approximately 5 bus stops within a block of my apartment. They litter the corners like trashcans, every 15 feet another little blue and white sign gives permission for people to huddle together against the elements and for one thing: to harrass those of us who drive our own vehicles! They beg for money, cigarettes and SEX! Yes, even SEX! "Let me get on that!" I hear it all the time. Guess what buddy, you're not getting anywhere near THIS! My personal favorite: "Now THAT'S what I'm talking about! Wooooo wweeee! I wanna take a chunk outta that!"
Really sir, please do not use the word CHUNK when referring to my ass. Oh well, I gave him a little extra hip sway and bounce as I continued walking towards to my car. I never even looked at him, but I knew he was looking at me. Why shouldn't I bring joy to this world one jiggly butt cheek at a time? I just use what genetics gave me... sometimes I feel so blessed.
As I said before, the compliments, however sideways, are flattering nonetheless. But there are times when I just don't understand it. The other morning, I had woken and gone through my typical routine of applying for jobs online, drinking my cup of tea and watching an episode of Law and Order: SVU while eating my breakfast. I threw on a sportsbra, old stained t-shirt, tennis shoes and shoved my hair back into a ponytail. I skipped brushing my teeth and washing my face as I was only going down to the 2nd floor and was planning on sweating my ass off when I got there. iPod on: She Wants Revenge bursting it's beat from the ear buds and I'm waiting on the elevator. "I smell like soy sauce from work last night. Ick." I think to myself as I'm waiting on the doors to open.
As they open, one of my "neighbors" is also in the elevator going down. I don't know him. I've never seen him. It's a 16 story highrise. As I enter the elevator, I see his eyes look me up and down, never even nearing my face. Slowly scanning me from tits to knees as if this were an airport and he were a TSA agent looking for contraband or explosive devices. I heard him say something but didn't have any idea what it was. I popped out an earphone to hear him ask me again if I was going downstairs to work out. "Yep!" Nice observation buddy! You're a bright one! "I'm Mike." he says without extending his hands; afterall, they were full of recycle bags for the grocery store. "I'm Steph." I replied. "Gonna work out that body, huh? Looks good." he said, slowly licking his lips. REALLY? Thank dog for cameras in the elevators because I'm pretty sure that he would have mounted my leg if given the opportunity! The elevator doors opened and I quickly exited and nearly jogged into the hallway and around the corner. I could feel his eyes burning holes into my butt. And as I continued my workout, I did so smiling, slightly flattered by the compliment, as creepy as it was, from a total stranger.
Even when I'm at work, my butt works with me or against me. The other night, while trying to squeeze past a Chef and their food cart, the Chef wasn't paying attention and ran a huge line of butter across my ass. Talk about buttering the buns! I've been asked by more than one Chef if they can bump into me... from behind. And my personal favorite was hearing, "Um, Steph, all your good stuff is in the way. I need to get around you." REALLY?! It's not a damn continental divide! It doesn't need a map to be navigated!
The War in My-butt-is-tan, Buttageddon, or whatever you want to call it will continue to be a regular part of my blog as it is a regular part of my body (pun intended) and even more regular part of my day.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Oh baby!
I woke up this morning and swear to dog that I heard the sound of my eggs drying up. Maybe it was because I woke up thinking "What the fuck was that?!" after having a very strange dream in which I apparentlly delivered a perfect baby boy who had the most amazing pitch black hair, bright blue eyes and little button nose who looked straight at me and smiled the same smiley smirk that I often have myself. According to Dreammoods.com, "To dream that you or someone is having a baby, suggests that you are giving birth to a new idea or project. It also represents new beginnings or some upcoming event. A more direct interpretation of this dream, may represent your desires/ anxieties of giving birth or the anticipation for such an event to occur." I'm really hoping that this particular dream has something to do with a new experience as opposed to my fears, or eeek!, my desire, to have a child! I mean, yes, I'm nearly 30 and the majority of my friends have already settled down, found their mates and started popping our their respective biological replacements but I should not be anywhere near fearing that my eggs are drying up!
At the same time, my mother's words are ringing in my ears! "If you don't change your ways, you're going to die alone!" Now, she probably doesn't remember ever saying those words to me and if asked would deny them profusely but I can remember the moment as if it just happened yesterday. It was the day I moved home, out of shear necessity, after finishing graduate school. I was broke and homeless thanks to a roommate miscommunication; she rented out my room before even discussing the pending future of our living arrangements. I can't blame her. I had spent months distracted by my graduate project and written document and was so focused on completing the required work with such a high level of excellence that everything else in my life took their respective places on the backburner... including sleep. Truth is, we probably had the conversation and it got compartmentalized to the back of my brain. Regardless, I remember walking into my parents house to find both of my brothers in the kitchen. They stopped, stared, and went back to doing whatever it is that they were doing. I said hello and proceeded to begin unpacking my car. Within an hour I could hear my older brother whining that I hadn't even said hello and the fighting insued. Thus my mother said the words that continue to ring in my ears as one of the cruelest things a parent could say to a child. Now, I wonder if there is any truth in her observation.
It's not like I haven't had anyone special in my life. I mean, I spent two years trying to fix an alcoholic who is now fixing himself! (AND I AM SOOOOO PROUD OF YOU!) It wasn't meant to be even though I could always see the potential in him that he is now seeing in himself. I just recently broke off a 6 week relationship with someone whose company I enjoyed immensely but just didn't have that "zing" with. I mean, we were compatible in many, MANY ways (I'll let you use your imagination!) but I just had to draw the line at who he was personally... no job, not trying to find one, kids he never told me about (even though I found out about them 2 weeks in to the "relationship" from a mutual friend, I gave him 4 more weeks to spill the beans and he didn't). I quit answering phone calls/text messages from the guy that was brazen enough to text me a picture of his fully erect penis (yeah, it takes balls to do that... pun intended!) because it became quite apparent that he only wanted our time together to be spent doing one thing. I always joke that "Ya gotta buy a girl dinner first!" but now I'm being damn serious! What has happened to dating?! I mean, is dating as simple as figuring out sexual compatibility and then deciding if you can still look at each other the next morning?! Is it really time that I sign up for internet dating?
The last guy that asked me out was the 40 something dishwasher at the restaurant that currently slave...er...waitress at. Sure he's sweet but I'm not attracted to him at all and actually told him as politely as I could no. He cornered me in the back hallway, among the smell of rotting trash and boxes covered in fish juice, and asked me if I was married. I replied no. He asked me if I was sure! (insert crooked look of confusion here) Yeah, I'm sure buddy! "Really? Because you look married!" What the hell is that supposed to mean?! "Do you have a boyfriend?" No, no boyfriend. "Can I ask you a personal question?" Um, you just did... two of them in fact. But what the hell, fire away. "Would you like to go out for dinner and drinks sometime?" Okay, I think for a moment, slightly confused at his intentions but then remembering personal questions 1, 2 and 2 1/2 (are you sure?)... ugh. My stomach fell. I really wanted to just say no but it's not in me to break someones heart like that! So I replied with "Let me think about it." Fast forward to 3 days later and he asked me AGAIN! I replied this time with "No, I don't think so." This guy is relentless! I look at him, 40+ years old, beer belly big enough to rest thanksgiving dinner on, chubby cheeks that have got to be hiding all of the worlds acorns from the entire squirrel population... nope, not attracted to him at all. Sorry, maybe it's shallow, but it's just not there. So he looks at me and asks me... wait for it... wait for it... "WHY?" OMG... what are you, 3?! I said no! Just take no and run with it! Run far, far away!
I keep thinking of that episode of Scrubs where Carla and Turk were trying to get pregnant and there was a hot new gynocologist in town who gave Jordan 6 pap smears in one week and Carla lied to him and told him that she was 29 after he told her "Well, it's not like your 36 or something and your eggs are drying up." I'm 29... ugh... almost 30 and my desire to procreate is compartmentalized in the back of my mind. I'm focusing on finding a real job... and yeah, it would be nice to have someone buy me dinner before expecting me to, well you know, and it would be nice if there was a mutual attraction with that person.
I guess we can't always get what we want! (Insert pending reference to the Rolling Stones here)
At the same time, my mother's words are ringing in my ears! "If you don't change your ways, you're going to die alone!" Now, she probably doesn't remember ever saying those words to me and if asked would deny them profusely but I can remember the moment as if it just happened yesterday. It was the day I moved home, out of shear necessity, after finishing graduate school. I was broke and homeless thanks to a roommate miscommunication; she rented out my room before even discussing the pending future of our living arrangements. I can't blame her. I had spent months distracted by my graduate project and written document and was so focused on completing the required work with such a high level of excellence that everything else in my life took their respective places on the backburner... including sleep. Truth is, we probably had the conversation and it got compartmentalized to the back of my brain. Regardless, I remember walking into my parents house to find both of my brothers in the kitchen. They stopped, stared, and went back to doing whatever it is that they were doing. I said hello and proceeded to begin unpacking my car. Within an hour I could hear my older brother whining that I hadn't even said hello and the fighting insued. Thus my mother said the words that continue to ring in my ears as one of the cruelest things a parent could say to a child. Now, I wonder if there is any truth in her observation.
It's not like I haven't had anyone special in my life. I mean, I spent two years trying to fix an alcoholic who is now fixing himself! (AND I AM SOOOOO PROUD OF YOU!) It wasn't meant to be even though I could always see the potential in him that he is now seeing in himself. I just recently broke off a 6 week relationship with someone whose company I enjoyed immensely but just didn't have that "zing" with. I mean, we were compatible in many, MANY ways (I'll let you use your imagination!) but I just had to draw the line at who he was personally... no job, not trying to find one, kids he never told me about (even though I found out about them 2 weeks in to the "relationship" from a mutual friend, I gave him 4 more weeks to spill the beans and he didn't). I quit answering phone calls/text messages from the guy that was brazen enough to text me a picture of his fully erect penis (yeah, it takes balls to do that... pun intended!) because it became quite apparent that he only wanted our time together to be spent doing one thing. I always joke that "Ya gotta buy a girl dinner first!" but now I'm being damn serious! What has happened to dating?! I mean, is dating as simple as figuring out sexual compatibility and then deciding if you can still look at each other the next morning?! Is it really time that I sign up for internet dating?
The last guy that asked me out was the 40 something dishwasher at the restaurant that currently slave...er...waitress at. Sure he's sweet but I'm not attracted to him at all and actually told him as politely as I could no. He cornered me in the back hallway, among the smell of rotting trash and boxes covered in fish juice, and asked me if I was married. I replied no. He asked me if I was sure! (insert crooked look of confusion here) Yeah, I'm sure buddy! "Really? Because you look married!" What the hell is that supposed to mean?! "Do you have a boyfriend?" No, no boyfriend. "Can I ask you a personal question?" Um, you just did... two of them in fact. But what the hell, fire away. "Would you like to go out for dinner and drinks sometime?" Okay, I think for a moment, slightly confused at his intentions but then remembering personal questions 1, 2 and 2 1/2 (are you sure?)... ugh. My stomach fell. I really wanted to just say no but it's not in me to break someones heart like that! So I replied with "Let me think about it." Fast forward to 3 days later and he asked me AGAIN! I replied this time with "No, I don't think so." This guy is relentless! I look at him, 40+ years old, beer belly big enough to rest thanksgiving dinner on, chubby cheeks that have got to be hiding all of the worlds acorns from the entire squirrel population... nope, not attracted to him at all. Sorry, maybe it's shallow, but it's just not there. So he looks at me and asks me... wait for it... wait for it... "WHY?" OMG... what are you, 3?! I said no! Just take no and run with it! Run far, far away!
I keep thinking of that episode of Scrubs where Carla and Turk were trying to get pregnant and there was a hot new gynocologist in town who gave Jordan 6 pap smears in one week and Carla lied to him and told him that she was 29 after he told her "Well, it's not like your 36 or something and your eggs are drying up." I'm 29... ugh... almost 30 and my desire to procreate is compartmentalized in the back of my mind. I'm focusing on finding a real job... and yeah, it would be nice to have someone buy me dinner before expecting me to, well you know, and it would be nice if there was a mutual attraction with that person.
I guess we can't always get what we want! (Insert pending reference to the Rolling Stones here)
Monday, January 4, 2010
You've got to move it, move it
So here it is 5pm and I have no idea where my day has gone. It took me hours to peel myself out of bed, then pour myself back onto the couch. I spent the better half of the morning on Careerbuilder looking for jobs that I'm not qualified for even though most would tell me that I'm too educated... as if there is such a thing. However, I would like to give Careerbuilder a big Fuck You for telling me that I'm perfectly qualified to manage a truck stop in Iowa. Yes, that is exactly why I got my Master's... to manage a truck stop. I suppose since I'm waitressing now, it would be considered a lateral move but whatever, not gonna happen.
I keep telling myself that I'm going to go downstairs and work out but I keep bypassing the gym and heading out for cigarettes (yes I know it's only 2 fucking degrees outside! and yes I know that cigarettes will kill me! News flash: I grew up in the 80s and 90s and remember every single one of those stupid after school specials and "Keep your kids off drugs" commercials-- here's my personal favorite, so damn catchy I've considered putting it on my iPod!)http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bxAYHOWxGi8
At one point, I actually went for a walk to the pharmacy to donate 1 arm and 1 leg to them in exchange for my birth control pills. Yes, I know, it's a little funny that the pills that are supposed to hinder the production of said arms and legs are in fact causing me to spend an arm and a leg every month. I suppose it's better that they are my arms and legs than one growing inside me... one thought: Sigourney Weaver in Alien... gross.
Now that I have set up my blog as I said I would, I can mark this New Year's resolution right off my list. One down, 9 to go and believe me, I will keep you posted on all them. Right now, I'm actually going to get off my increasingly fluffy ass and head down to the 2nd floor and hit the elliptical. Then I will hopefully sweat and have an excuse to take a shower today and maybe even shave my legs (although with negative temps in the forecast for tonight, I don't really see the point!)
Oh yeah, and for all you other late 20 something's out there: I learned it by watching you Dad! I learned it by watching YOU!
I've always wanted to say that.
I keep telling myself that I'm going to go downstairs and work out but I keep bypassing the gym and heading out for cigarettes (yes I know it's only 2 fucking degrees outside! and yes I know that cigarettes will kill me! News flash: I grew up in the 80s and 90s and remember every single one of those stupid after school specials and "Keep your kids off drugs" commercials-- here's my personal favorite, so damn catchy I've considered putting it on my iPod!)http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bxAYHOWxGi8
At one point, I actually went for a walk to the pharmacy to donate 1 arm and 1 leg to them in exchange for my birth control pills. Yes, I know, it's a little funny that the pills that are supposed to hinder the production of said arms and legs are in fact causing me to spend an arm and a leg every month. I suppose it's better that they are my arms and legs than one growing inside me... one thought: Sigourney Weaver in Alien... gross.
Now that I have set up my blog as I said I would, I can mark this New Year's resolution right off my list. One down, 9 to go and believe me, I will keep you posted on all them. Right now, I'm actually going to get off my increasingly fluffy ass and head down to the 2nd floor and hit the elliptical. Then I will hopefully sweat and have an excuse to take a shower today and maybe even shave my legs (although with negative temps in the forecast for tonight, I don't really see the point!)
Oh yeah, and for all you other late 20 something's out there: I learned it by watching you Dad! I learned it by watching YOU!
I've always wanted to say that.