隠し彫り

Checking out my tattoo mid-laundry day. I swear I've somehow doubled my loads. My mom is here, but she washes her own stuff so that's no excuse. I've donated at least half of my clothing.

Part doodle-by-an-8-year-old,
part tattoo artist's rescue,
pre-clean up

Idk. Maybe I forgot how to wash clothes.

I was just trying to come up with how I would explain my tattoo to a random person if they asked about it. Considering the fact that the only people who will ever see my tattoo are a husband and maybe doctors - none of whom will care - trying to shape my thoughts into some form of logic is just for fun.  

I see things in images so my reasons were more like memory captures. I remember how I hated the States when we moved here. I remember my brother mowing the lawn with this loud old rickety lawn mower. And I remember the weeds that would grow right back up after he mowed them.  He would be so angry that he would try to cut out the roots with scissors, but they'd just pop back up the next day. My father called them "wildflowers", but I think that was just for my sake because I tried to make bouquets from the clippings. They were weeds. The whole neighborhood was plagued with them. I remember doodling on my scratch pad under my blanket because the room was so cold. I was obsessed with wildflowers. They were like little superheroes standing up to my brother's persistent oppression.

Anyway, I decided to get a tattoo and found the old book in some boxes in the basement. I decided on my rib cage for a few reasons, partly because I incurred a small scar there recently. It was a pretty random resolution, but not.

I took the page to a tattoo artist in Ferndale on a friend's recommendation and he did this cool thing with a giant printer and turned the drawing into a stencil. The needle on my rib bones made my teeth rattle and I had to cover my mouth a few times but I was a good girl and stayed silent.

Okay that reasoning still makes no sense...it makes perfect sense in my head, though. I'm trying to unshuffle the images into a storyboard but it's not working. So if ever asked, I'll just say that my tattoo is a thing of great personal significance.   

Omg. "300" is on.

Throw Down Thursday

I'm in a mood.

I handled the communication piece for my company's new employee uniforms. Over 2,500 employees will receive new uniforms tomorrow. I set up a photo shoot for a few employees to model the new uniforms and created a wall cling (poster that sticks to the wall) from it. It's gonna be complete mayhem in the wardrobe department tomorrow. But I'm kinda proud of the final outcome, actually.

The photographer used me for test shots without telling me. Each time I looked up into a giant camera lens, I was thinking "Where did I put that damned file?".

But that's not why I'm in a mood.

I can't wear a bra yet because it makes my tattoo burn.

That's not why I'm in a mood.

My period is acting like Satan's bathwater this month.  But that's not why I'm in a mood.

It's that superskank Lisa. 

I had to share a vendor table with her at an event today. She kept telling clients that my side of the table was so cold that they would need a sweater to talk to me.

I'm tired of that bitch calling me an Ice Queen. Just because I don't sleep around like she does.

So I advised them to liberally apply antibacterial gel to every exposed part of their bodies and be sure their prescriptions were up to date before approaching her side.

At which point she happened to cough, which led me into a tirade about sexually transmitted diseases starting the zombie apocalypse.

Why does she continue to force me to humiliate her?

I'm like Zod and she's like Otis.

Just kneel before Zod, bitch.

Ssshhh.  Just take it.

Smh.

I swear imma beat that bitch with a bat.

I'm going to 7-11 to get a slurpee. I swear to God, if they're out of the red pop flavor, imma swing a bitch.

Aww YEAH. Kickin' the Detroit old skool basement house beats, homie!!! 

OMG. Detroit use to have these basement parties on Fridays. This is the real beginning of house music. (Don't argue with me. I have proof.) Everyone would be dancing or eating or laughing or a combination of all three. The neighborhood kids would mingle with the older folks who were usually down there drinking out of those red plastic cups and playing cards or dice together. Usually using one of those folding card tables. And the air would be thick with smoke from the combination of cigarettes and the catfish the homeowner was frying for everyone.

OMG I can still smell it. It was hot and dark and it was always packed wall-to-wall. But people were peaceful and happy and the music was amazing. Even an FOB 10 year old with a stupid bowl haircut who couldn't go anywhere without her chaperon brother could blend in. It was always either really old school like Marvin Gaye or Rufus, or house beats like this one.

Well. That was certainly a rant to end all rants. What was my point?

Ah. yes. I'm still going to beat that bitch with a bat.

#straightouttadetroit

OMFG It's Shark Week, bitches!

I'm stuck to my couch like a mako on a school of tuna. 

And I'm going all Polaris attack and breaching this leftover birthday cake I found in the fridge. 

#SeeWhatIDidThere

Last Shark Week

I wanna swim with sharks.





. 

It's definitely this city.

Aimlessly wandered Bourbon Street in an attempt to try all the popular "take out" drinks and collect all the cool cups. A cute and funny and charming and quite persuasive Irishman wouldn't give me back my phone until I agreed to have breakfast with him. 

Thank goodness for filters.
*Courtyard
*Wacky bed decor
*Room service
*Ominous streets...my fave!
*Remnants of hand grenade/diner

It was circa "North by Northwest" charming. 

I'd had 2 hurricanes and a hand grenade (bestest drink ever!) at that point, so the teeny local diner on the next corner with all of 3 tables did just the trick.

He looks more Italianish than Irishish. Actually, he looks exactly like the actor in Age of Adeline (great movie, btw). He has that manly scruff and the super thick longish hair that looks like a silk sheet. It's sort of uncanny. 

I'm calling him O'Brian.

And he has the boyish nervousness of a guy who doesn't have something scripted to say to a woman. He was unsure how to take charge of the conversation. And his inquiries were hesitant. It's beyond refreshing. And I'll bet the technique has garnered him a gaggle of thots. 

Or maybe it's this city.

I'm not gonna lie. At 1am, there are lots of flirty guys around with alcohol-induced courage, armored with a variety of pick up lines.  I would think that a woman walking alone in New Orleans would mean that there's something wrong with her. But apparently, it only means she's been separated from the protection of her pride.

But O'Brien's kind of concentrated "I see beyond the fact that you have a vajayjay and you smell clean" focus and affected obsession works for me.

Or maybe it's this city.

He does have really nice lips.

And in the whole 4 hours, not one "I've dated (and/or love) Asian women" reference.  

However, he had no idea who Jean Luc Picard is.

Sigh. Some things just can't be taught.

Damned city. They let anyone in.

Side note: A dude wearing a Star Wars t-shirt told me to come over and touch his lightsaber. Probably his 20th attempt to be clever that night. I told him I'd like to borrow it so I could shove it up his ass and watch it light up.  His buddies were still teasing him by the end of the block. 

Daily Post-Its

Trying something new. I'm going to write a random thought on a post-it note every day this week. This will force me to blog something every day.

Well, this should be a hot rambling mess.

MONDAY

Okay. Who the hell put mint flavour in the damn chocolate muffins? Are you kidding me? This stresses me out. Attention Chocolate Companies: Stop mixing chocolate with mint.  It's not a flavor. It's disgusting. These two ingredients belong way away from each other. They're like fire and ice. Seriously, who's responsible for this disgusting concoction? It's disrespectful to chocolate, it is.

One time I drove thru a new Starbuck's. I ordered my usual white chocolate mocha. I took my first sip as I got home and was walking through the kitchen. I gagged from the nasty shot of mint syrup some dweeb had added to my cup and barely made it to the sink to spit it out. Know what I did? I drove my ratty old car right back up to Starbuck's and went off. Apparently, the shot of mint was a "freebie".  Really?  Why would I want to brush my teeth while eating the heavenly perfection that is chocolate?? How DARE you, sir?

Stop it.

TUESDAY

Sometimes, we affect change simply by doing nothing. Change is imminent, and our immobility creates a sort of wormhole around the evolving currents. In effect, everything around us shifts about to make room for transition, but because we refuse to shift with them, they just find another way around. And our resistance anchors us to what once was, which will at some point be pushed out naturally. Like a splinter.

I doodle Einstein-Rosens
in meetings.

 

But evolution continues. It won't stop just because you glue your feet to the floor of your universe. 

A bite from change can shoot enough venom into your veins to debilitate you.  Movement caused by an evolution we weren't ready for can weigh enough to crack our frame and knock us about. Action --> Equal/opposite reaction.

But sometimes, change occurs and you push off and follow everything around you into that wormhole, but with the acceptance that all the floating pieces shifting about - bumping into you, scarring you, singeing your skin - it actually toughens your bones and shines up your shell.

 

Evolution can be the greatest exfoliant.

WEDNESDAY
Just saw that. Okay, listen. Don't use what you know about my personal brand of ethics to try to manipulate me. Just because I believe in paying it forward and the tenacity of karma doesn't mean that throwing out phrases like "you owe me this" and "this is your debt" will work. Most likely, your transparent attempt at coercion will get you even less than you already had.

Dammit.

THURSDAY
I can scratch my butt by wiggling in my office chair, but then the arm handles poke me in the ribs.

FRIDAY
Tis the season for ridiculous jewelry commercials. Every third commercial is a guy proposing to a woman while shoving a gaudy diamond ring in her face. The basic message: "She won't marry you unless she sees a big rock." The women at work lose their damn minds when someone shows off a giant engagement ring. What's the obsession with diamonds? And why do women put so much importance on them?  This is how I know I'm somehow broken. I've never wanted kids, and I've never wanted a diamond ring. I'll take a really pretty cubic zirconia any day. Who cares how much it's worth as long as it's pretty? The stone in my mom's wedding ring has been long gone. She never replaced it. She just wore it without the stone. Besides, I could invest the rest of that money in something important. Like shoes.

Oy vey...this one again.

In other news, I broke my booty shaking it to Bruno Mars' Uptown Funk all day. And my answer to everything today was, "Don't believe me? Just watch!"  Kristyl came in and we closed the door and had a dance party. Also, I had to quickly lower my arms and get down from the chair when my boss walked by.



Seriously, how addictive is this song? It's got that swanky smooth 1980's Morris Day Jimmy Jam vibe.

 

I wanna punch Eve in the throat.

The cashier took so long to ring me up for midol and 2 candy bars that I wanted to spontaneously mutate into Predator circa 1987 and snap off his head with my pincer teeth and my boobs hurt so much I can't even look down at them without wincing in pain and I have this overwhelming need to bite someone and no matter how lovingly I cradle my stomach it still feels like theres a small village of ninjas on crack having a studio 54 party inside and so I will just sit very still like this on the side of my bed with my head on the pillow but if I could just reach my laptop with my foot and slide it over maybe my arms could find the strength to slide it up onto the bed and I could at least kill some zombies also the next text message or call or Skype or ding I get on my phone will result in the total annihilation of not only you but your future offspring by way of a Japanese voodoo curse that will turn your testes into balloon animals

 

 

#mothernaturemyass

 

 

 

 

The Double Standard is Alive & Well, cheers.

Third comment already. Wait...this just in. Make that the forth. 

Why is it that whenever I post a photo with a man, he must be my boyfriend? Why can't he just be someone I know?  What does it say about me that I can't stand next to a man? Am I a slut who can't control myself around the opposite sex? Do you think that I'm so sheltered that I fall for the first guy that pops up? What's wrong with you people? Or what's wrong with me for thinking that you'll assume that maybe I don't hiss at men when it's time for photo ops. And what does it say about you?

I figured that anyone who bothered to read the post would see the event decor and people behind us, connect the dots, and realize that it might be one of the ROSE Awards finalists. But that's the conundrum, isn't it? You have to actually read the post.

This is why I never post photos of me with men. And why I will never ever post a date photo. Or maybe any photo of me ever. Or maybe anything super important in my life. 

Interesting. I post photos of me with women all the time. Why don't you assume we're lesbian lovers?

You see where I'm going with this?

#overit

#sofrustrated

Worst I've ever had

The neighbors were crack dealers. I could hear them talking about kidnapping someone for ransom. My brother lived with me. I told him I thought they'd kidnapped our grandmother. He didn't believe me, but I was suspicious. And he would only speak in Japanese. I would only speak in English. We considered calling the police, but my brother was very dismissive about it, and said not to. Finally, I didn't care what he wanted and I kicked in their side door. There was my grandmother, very still, lying in someone's bed. I pulled back the covers and smoothed her hair. She opened her eyes and looked partly in shock, and partly sad. She finally focused and smiled at me, the way she use to when she would come out of a fog and had something funny to say. I was so angry and my tears were hot on my cheeks as I wrapped her in a sheet and carried her back to our house. As I walked away with my grandmother, I imagined doing horrible, gruesome things to the neighbors. And their children. Even worse things to their children. I was livid.

 

While I carried her into our house, I woke up from my dream. I'm curled up and shaking and sobbing and seething and I can't see and my heart is jumping out of my chest.  I thought maybe typing this would be calming, but it's not working. The sadness on her face in my dream brought me back to when she was here. I've seen that look before. When she was lost in her fog and thought she was alone. Dammit with the crying. I want to hurt those neighbors...but they don't even exist. They're not real.

 

We use to live next to a crack house. That same house that was in my dream. I remember because I could look down from my bedroom into their side door. They put my parents through all sorts of stuff.  Once, my sister and I jumped from our 2nd story bedroom window and into the snow in our nightgowns to bang on neighbors' doors while my parents were being robbed at gunpoint. One day, a guy chased another guy into our backyard and pistol-whipped him to death while my mother was hanging our clothes out to dry. Not to mention the myriad of bullets embedded in the bathroom walls from shootouts.   

 

Well, that was a lot of squinty typing.  I'm sort of falling back to sleep. I probably won't remember why I'm so angry when I wake up. Plus, I have 3 back-to-back meetings and 100 deadlines. Which is good. Busy is good. It's distracting. Oh, crap. And the house tax payment. And the security alarm installment. I had a wireless alarm system installed on the house. I've been wanting to anyway, but last week, the neighbor across the street was robbed. I hear nothing's left but hangers. So I have security doors, a pulse and sensor alarm and, soon, a gun.  The home insurance premium should drop like a...um...I can't think...drop like....okay, what drops?

Clarifications

1.  No, I didn't have a baby. That is my late friend's baby, taken just after birth last December. The photo was posted for the baby's grandmother. The "don't, just don't" caption was added for Kristyl, who, I knew, would start up again with the "you should have a baby" thing.

 

2. The "wars & women" was tongue-in-cheek. I thought that was obvious, but I suppose it could also read as a serious rant. I do believe that men aren't always the best leaders. I believe that, in many ways, a man is weaker than a woman. Particularly with regards to physical burden (ever watch a man get a paper cut?), faithfulness and perception. I do think it's unfair that we have to carry the weight of everything "organic".

 

As I typed that last sentence, I paused to chug down two more Midol tablets...in honor of this fine day...a holy day...my favorite time of the month.  Cramps Day.

 

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to my bed to lay in the fetal position and cradle my stomach for the rest of the night.

 

That is all.

Yay! Snow's Melting!

Woot!!

Obsessions, Undercarriages & the Id.

For the record, there's a car alarm going off in the distance. It's my fault. I kinda set it off.  And my bunny slippers are wet and I just slid across my kitchen floor. Cuz I ran through a snow bank while fleeing the scene of a crime. Long story.

Icicle bunnies!

Marvella was my best friend when we first moved to the states.  She lived a few houses down, and we would walk to school together. Marvella's mom would section her hair into these high-up-top pigtails. Her hair was short, so the ponytails looked like little puffy cotton balls. So I called her "Puffy".

She was the only schoolmate who wouldn't make fun of my bowl haircut, or my choppy English, or that I would wear the same shoes all year.  She's the only schoolmate my father would let visit (not that anyone else asked to), and we could sit on the porch and play if all my chores or piano or ballet or skating or whatever was finished.  I was so happy for her company but sometimes wondered why she spent so much time away from home. In retrospect, I think her home life wasn't the greatest and she just wanted to be away from it.

Whoa. Flashback. I had to get the bowl haircut because the school bully...what was her name...bah! I can't remember... Anyway, her minions held me down while she chopped off my braid.  So I had to get the stupid haircut. Which made it worse because I became the "fly lice chink".

That's crazy!

Okay, so Marvella. She had this constant compulsion to remove a person's nail polish using her fingernail. She would cradle your hand in her lap and painstakingly, patiently lodge her fingernail between the layers of polish and your nail bed, and get the polish off that way. This required intense concentration. She would lift your hand and study the layers of polish, determine the best angle to begin.  She barely paid attention to what I was saying when she was in "nail polish mode".  And if she was able to get the entire bed of polish off in one piece, she brightened with satisfaction and pride.

I mention this to offer that I'm not the only crazy person out here. 

So I don't know if it's because of the twenty seven polar vortexes we've had in the last two damn months, or if this is testament to my layered brand of insanity, or if I can assign complete blame to my old friend Marvella... but I've become completely obsessed with the piles of snow that gather behind the tires on cars and trucks. Namely, I'm preoccupied with kicking the piles of snow off. 

If the temperature is closer to above freezing, the pile is all slushy and not satisfying at all when I kick it because it just sort of slops to the ground like a slurpee. But if it's maybe 20 or below, the snow pile is packed and sturdy. And a good kick will knock it off in one piece. And then it sits there in a mold of the car's bumper and the car is finally free of the dirty pile of snow. Yay!  It's the weirdest release.

 

The act of dislodging a stockpile of snow with my foot gives me Marvella-ish contentment.

I'm constantly tempted.

As in...not paying attention to traffic because I'm staring at the stockpile on the car next to me.

As in...glancing around to see if anyone's looking before kicking a stockpile in a shopping mall parking lot.

 

Yep. Definitely my own brand of crazy. 

 

I stare longingly at cars I pass on the road, and will comment as appropriate for a married man at the Playboy Mansion...

"Oh, look at those babies."

"Now that is a thing of beauty."

"I'd like to get my foot all up in that!"

Wait, what?

 

Hey. You have obsessions, too.  Don't even give me that look.

I walked over to check on/harass my neighbor a while ago. I headed home (just now) thinking about blogging with nothing to blog about, and happened to take a gander at the snow pile on my neighbor's car.  And I saw it...

...the most GLORIOUS snow pile ever created!!! [echo]...

So of course I just had to walk back across the street and to her car, brace myself against the side view mirror thingy, and kick the pile.

And set off her car alarm. lol

I just ran home through the park. In my pajamas. And tripped into a pile of snow.

Okay, I had to stop typing for a sec.  Still laughing. I'm a horrible person.

She's probably looking for her keys.

The pizza guy who delivered pizzas to the audience at the Oscars on Sunday. Or the Emmys. Whatever it was. That was AWEsome. Edgar. How was he so calm? Where is this specimen? I will marry it now.  

 

I wonder if he's a Trekkie. 

 

While we're on awards, can Lupita Nyongo ever NOT be poised perfection? Every time I see her, I weep with jealousy over her beauty and those badass gowns I couldn't even pretend to wear.

Oh, to be a hanger
in that closet.

That robin's egg blue gown she rocked on Sunday was heavenly.  But the red Ralph Lauren cape gown she wore a few months ago? OMG. I weep. How can you not? It's a thing of beauty.

She can dress her ass off.  And she has silky smooth skin. AND she has zero fat on her body. That bitch.

For Iram: New store at Oakland Mall called "Manic" that sells a better quality. The white ones in the collage here...

Are below-knee versions of the ones I wore here:

Seriously, I had to leave before I bought something. Don't ever make me do that again.

 

Robot got a girlfriend for XMas. Did I mention that already?

I had this overwhelming need to do something selfish and primal and unplanned and unwise and not like me. It is apparently my body's new, grown up response to unnecessary stress. My body basically said, "oh yeah? Well, back at ya, bitch".

RoboPlaya!

I know this is all cryptic and scifi-ish. I confessed it in detail to a friend.  Okay, really, it was more like whining about it.  But my friend's indifference pushed me off the fence of humility and personal accountability and modesty and onto the lawn of narcissism and decadence.



That's not true. I can't blame one person's indifference for my life decisions. Ultimately, I did it because I wanted to. I wanted to be someone else for a change.

His indifference was the bird that landed on my head as I was trying to balance the fence that caused me to topple onto the lawn of narcissism and decadence.

Analogy much?

It could've ended badly. Really badly. Like...dead bad. I've never done anything like that before, and would have never made that kind of snap decision about something so serious.

Robot agrees.

But it ended up being the best, most selfish thing I've ever done.

I feel like a different person. Or renewed. Or something.  Like a soap opera villain.

It feels like I yanked that last part in me that was a girl, and became this me.

I'm a teeny bit closer to the woman I want to be.

 

And she's kinda awesome.

 

I'm guessing 0.17

I drank too much tonight. Nothing's fuzzy. But I'm swaying a little. And slurring sluff.

lol sluff

heh

My coworker's been experimenting with liquor-food recipes. So along with the two margaritas at the pub, I had two "crown royal cookies" (oohmygod), these gummy bears that she soaked in vodka (hiccup!...it's all booze!), and this chocolate rum cupcake thing. I didn't eat the cupcake. Driving home, I kept trying to eat the frosting. It didn't compute that the thing was wrapped in plastic.

I just kept wondering why it was so hard to chew.  Note the imprint where my nails tried to scratch through the plastic.

 

Why did I use my new US passport as a coaster?  I dunno.  Now it'll be all sticky and smell like liquor. I could use the Japan one, I guess.

 

 

 

Succulent Chinese Meal

So I just FaceTimed with a giant red-haired Barbie who sounded suspiciously like my little niece.  Hmm...talking Barbie...my niece's voice...I'll crack this case if it kills me.

I'm blogging while under the influence of a romance movie. Watching Pride and Prejudice (The Keira Knightly version, based on Jane Austin's 1813 novel).  I refuse to confess to watching a romantic movie. So let's just pretend it takes place on a spaceship.

Yeah, it's romance-y. But its also about social classes and breaking social rules and stuff.  That's all secondary. The crux of the story is that rich Mr. Darcy is all stuffy and bound by the rules of his social class, but he has the hots for Elizabeth, who's family is poor, and she's sort of a brat.  It's also really funny. Elizabeth's mother is a trip, trying to marry her daughters off to whatever rich dude walks by. She's like an old school Kris Jenner. And the short cousin who wants to marry Elizabeth...Mr. Bingly, I think? Love it.

Anyway, I love that Darcy seems so boring and drab and proper, and that he's so drawn to Elizabeth's light and spunk and apparent lack of interest in him. The dude that plays Darcy is perfect for the role. Any responses to her are said in a sort of monotone feigned fatigue. But his eyes follow her around the room like a moth to a flame.

Well, it's Keira Knightly, so duh.  But still, I wonder what that kind of attention - being privately adored that way - would feel like to normal women. So I watch him for the whole movie. I barely notice the other actors.

Best part is coming up. Elizabeth has already dissed Darcy's earlier awkward marriage proposal, which he didn't understand since he's rich and all, but she finally realizes she can't live without him. 

"You have bewitched me body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you..." See, you gotta understand that, until this point, he's shown absolutely no emotion at all.  And super intimate without a kiss. 

OMG don't cry don't cry don't cry...... DAMMIT!

Sigh. I want a Mr. Darcy who turns into a human halogen bulb when I walk into the room.

And why does everything sound awesomesaucier with a British accent?

Speaking of happy endings existing only in fairy tales...

Yellow Fever is when a non-Asian person is attracted to/only dates persons of Asian ethnicities, solely based on stereotypes and fantasy.  A person...say an ex-boyfriend who left you for dead after an earthquake...who completely immerses himself into a specific Asian culture, and only goes out with Asian women (as long as they look "asiany"), has Yellow Fever.  Short stature, dark hair, monolids...those aren't simply a part of a package of mayhem. They're requirements.

Please understand. I'm so proud of my family and their experiences. I hope that I can one day live up to even a quarter of the respect they've earned.  Being immersed in two cultures, I truly get how meeting someone from a different culture can spark up genuine interest in that world.  It's wonderful to watch a new friend sort of mentally compare cultures that way. 

But SOME guys...they're so smooth. You think they see you. But he never saw me for more than the hint of yellow I would add to his world. I was a national flag. Not a person. And he's still doing it. And I was so stupid.

So I'm deciding what kind of gun I want. This is complicated, and not for the faint of heart. Because you have to actually imagine in graphic detail a possible scenario where you would have to use it.

I don't like guns. I've been anti-gun my whole life. And I don't like the feel of it, or the intent, when its in my hand. But the reality is that I live the right next to Detroit. I live alone in a big house. I hear gunshots a minimum of once/week. I live next to an increasingly popular park area. I'm often out late. I check on my neighbor after work every day, which means walking through the park. (I decided not to blog about the broken glass I walked in to one evening).

 

And I had that dream again.

So what are my options? Move, or protect myself.  I've been looking to relocate for a long time. But every place has its drawbacks.  Denver has less crime, and it's beautiful...but the cost of living is ridiculous.  Toronto has the culture and entertainment I want, but not the education or opportunity.  Mass, Texas...I've checked them all out.  So the logical immediate decision is to protect myself. Protect my family's home, which I've done.

And there's no avoiding why you want the gun. The reasons become abundantly clear when you begin deciding which sort of gun you'll want.  This one shoots a hole right through a person, Shaun of the Dead-style.  This one uses bullets that split up when they make contact, shredding the flesh.  And that other one, you can just sort of aim anywhere in the general vicinity of your target, and you won't miss.

Grown up decision, yes.

But still, better than deciding, "should I go get some ice cream after this baby tears and shreds its way out of my bloody womb and becomes the biggest bill collector of my life for the next 18 years, or should I just stab myself?"

Marc - Friends don't let friends kidnap their iPhone.

So it took me so long to finish this post that Breaking Dawn 1 is on.  The part where Bella dies during childbirth and Edward has to tear the baby out with his teeth? 

Badass. Break the cool code and admit it!



Week in Review (aka, "Photo Madness", aka, "Electric Blanket, Here I Come!")

I'm watching this 1980s movie called Weird Science. So these two nerds make their dream woman and she spends the whole movie trying to build up their self confidence by embarrassing the hell out of them. 

 

Seriously can't stop laughing. The music and the people in the TVs and the rocket in the house and the fashion.  It's perfect. 

Of course, nothing perfect can be left alone for very long.

Buying the dvd. lol @ "soundtrack now available on cassettes". 

Work events were all successes. Final costs were $15k under budget. Woot. In afterthought, I should've used it. Otherwise, I lose the extra 15 next budget.

One was a community outreach lunch for Kids Kicking Cancer. I thought it was important to do this one first. Employees played Secret Santa to over 30 families. There were so many presents that we had to open another room for overflow.

Another one was a movie for employees and their families. Despicable Me 2. Popcorn, pretzel bites, rice crispie treats, brownies, ice cream, cotton candy, sugar-induced comas for all.  Oh, yeah.  I gained 4 lbs. in the last month. 

 

The two big ones were the strolling reception dinner and the "Battle of the DJs" event. So much planning, so many vendors, staffing, sound checks, so many last minute fiascos, so many security rule changes at the door - mid party...so much "why did I wear heels today?"

 

Stayed in our hotel for the nights of those parties. The shower felt like warm clouds rinsing over you. But the tub? Sweet geezus.  I couldn't shake a bug I caught earlier in the week. By the end of the last event, I was dizzy and I felt hot, then cold. The security guy made me sit down and brought me some juice.

 

Which made me have to pee. Try running in heels on snaggly carpet to a restroom waaay down the hall.  Dammit.

 

One of the DJs gave a few shout outs on the radio yesterday, and employees called in to say they had a great time.  That was cool to hear.

It's Saturday morning and I'm watching the Weird Science movie, and then I think Jerry Springer. And eating pizza.

I want an omelet. With tomatoes and spinach.  Maybe I'll go up to the cupcake place.  OMG. What's wrong with me.

So this post is obviously lacking everything but random clips. Confession: It's mostly for prosperity.  I can free up some space on the iphone, and also look back later and say, "Oh yay... I did that!"



 

 

 

 

Her Logic is Undeniable

I so LOVE this chick. Even though she's blonde and blue eyed with big boobs and all the stuff I typically hiss at, she packs a mean punch.

I was going to post a similar rant about A & F after I walked in and it felt like I'd interrupted the cool kids in class plotting against the nerds, but she sums it up WAY better.

Tell it, sistah!

Best part: "America is...frickin...well, yeah, we're fat, but we're fierce!"

Mosaic Tiles

Don't laugh at my hair.
It was a long night.

I didn't care for the "wait until I have enough interesting stuff" style of posting. I continued to add to it while it was in draft mode, but by the time it was long enough to post, I'd lost interested in most of the topics.

 

I installed a backsplash in my neighbor's kitchen last night.  Sounds more complicated than it really is.  Basically, you scrub the walls, glue sheets of glass tiles to it, wait a while, apply grout, caulk the edges. 

 

I used this tutorial and the products' instructions.  

I came back over this morning to sneak a glass of orange juice and take a look at the progress. First day in the new position. Guess I'm kind of nervous.

Week in Review

27-year old former child star Frankie Muniz has suffered a mini-stroke. He says he isn't a drug user and takes decent care of his body. (Although...lotta drama.)

I recently confessed to suffering a mini-stroke, as well.  Like Muniz, I'm not a druggie, and I generally eat pretty wisely. (Except for my foodie attack as of late.)  And, like Munez, stress seemed to be the culprit. For me, some was work-related. Most of my stress was family/quake-related. Before that, I'd experienced a bout of Bells Palsy (the one where the side of your face goes all slack), also stress-induced.

Mini-strokes are more common than you think among members of our age group (30-45). We have all sorts of new responsibilities and concerns, and we handle them so differently than our parents did when they were our age. No one in my parents' families have ever divorced. Marriages today last what...5 years tops? We're like new fiberglass cars vs. the old big boat steel cars.  We just aren't made the same.

If you do visit the link posted above, please check out the links provided at the bottom.  You really could save someone's life just by paying attention to the signs.

On the Holiday...Really? Was I the ONLY person in The States working the day after Thanksgiving??

I spent some of the holiday visiting friends in Ontario, Canada.

Remember the pink lemonade cookies?  YES. I bought more.

I saw a commercial for an app called Credit Karma and decided to try it. Credit Karma is a free phone app that monitors your credit and gives you status updates.  Given the sensitive/confidential nature of the program, I wanted to try it for a while before giving it a recommend. 

The app keeps you updated on your credit score - and all its gory details  - and gives you real time "credit report cards" and your credit history. It also free (good) advice and tips on improving your credit. 

Thumbs up from me. You'll need to enter your personal information after the install, but you won't be asked to enter it again. And the app will never ask for your credit card or financial info.

The Swedes have created a radical new drug program.  Clinics in Switzerland now give actual doses of heroin to heroin addicts. The reasoning is that an addict can learn to control his impulse to use if he uses in a controlled environment.

The decriminalization of drugs in other countries has been linked to a significant drop in new reported cases of HIV.

Latin Americans are considering adopting a similar program to stamp out drug-related murders, kidnappings and overcrowded prisons.

Not sure what I think about that. I suppose that, if I knew when and where I'd get my next dose, it would stop me from doing something horrible to get the money to buy it.  But then, if I knew when and where I'd get my next dose, I'd never gain the will to break the habit.

  

On Paying it Forward... PIF means that you perform an act of kindness without accepting anything in return. The person you've assisted then pays it "forward" by helping the next person instead of paying you for what you've done. 

Pretty cheesy, huh?  Yeah, I thought so, too.  Until I actually acted upon it.  Turns out, its an exceptionally rewarding act.  And now I can't get enough. I'm addicted.

It goes like this. A while ago, my old boss gave me something of value that she no longer wanted, because she knew I would appreciate having it.  I practically begged her to let me pay her for it, but she instructed me to "pay it forward" instead.  I sort of rolled my eyes and agreed to do it.

I didn't think much more about it until an opportunity to carry it out presented itself a few weeks later. In a Laundromat of all places, back when my grandmother was still around. I was tired of carting all my stuff back to my car. I gave my bag of change (about $13, I think) and the rest of the box of laundry detergent to an older man walking in.  He hugged me and cried a little and told me that he really needed it.

And that, folks, is how it works. You do something of worth for someone. If they're human, they'll ask if they can repay you. You tell them to "pay it forward".  It's the greatest high.

I pay the bill for the person behind me at the Starbuck's drive-thru. That would be an easy way to get started.

My favorite pink sheets have turned sort of "pastel-y" after a few too many washes.  Speaking of that, I recently purchased an electric blanket, and oh...mah...gah.  On a cold night? Slide your feeties under the blanket, and you'll probably pass out from sheer pleasure. ("Pleasure" said in your best Pinhead voice.)

You can probably catch electric blankets on sale. This one has an automatic shut-off function, but I turn it off and unplug it in the morning, anyway.  You won't need to go any higher than 5 (or whatever the middle is), and you won't need to bundle up with clothes or additional blankets. 

The Boys in IT continue to do horrible things to my robot.  After the last ransom note with a photo of Robot stuck in my coworker's headband, I stormed up to the IT office, punched Brad in the arm and snatched my robot from his shirt pocket thing. 

Btw, it takes 2 Help Desk calls and a drive-by to get you to reset my password, but you've already decorated the IT office?

REALLY?

I caught Mike Epps' performance at the Fox Theater last week. I went alone. I sat between two couples on dates, in the front row up top. The woman on my right had the greatest laugh ever.

The section in front of my row was a high-traffic area, and it was literally like watching a fashion runway marathon. Beautiful women with perfect hair and nails and dresses and shoes...and they knew it! It was a show within a show.  Mike Epps is insanely funny. I cried my makeup off from laughing so hard. He loves Detroit, partly because we treat him pretty frickin well. (I know stuff because he stayed at our hotel. :)

I wanted to meet him after the show, but I was too cheap to shell out another $50 for a photo. I wanted to ask him why he decided to come to town on the same night as the Star Trek marathon. 

I transfer to a new department/ position on Monday. I didn't write much about it here. After my last class, I pulled up Selena Gomez and danced. No one caught me, except the surveillance cameras in the room. Which, now that I think about it, probably explains surveillance operators' snickers today.

I signed my offer letter a couple of weeks ago. The only people who knew before today were people that a huge gossiper in HR told. Just what feels like a natural career progression for me. I've pretty much been doing the new job for a while now already. The title change just gives me the acknowledgement. :)  Otherwise, not a huge deal. Although I'm already bragging about getting two computer monitors in place of one.  Count'em..TWO! I'm ballin'.

Here's more from Mike Epps show. Part of a long bit about sex & marriage.   NSFW.

Feel free to Kik Me

I'm on Kik now.  This is an open invitation, so if you're reading this, you're welcome to Kik me.  Unless I'm asleep, at work, or there's some other reason my phone is on vibrate, I'll respond in kind.

So feel free to message me with gossip or blog suggestions or random rants about boys, blondes or Star Wars. 

Kik ID: JustMimiA

#gchathatesme

S.U.S.

So I feel like certain kinds of stress cause me to go shopping.  And arguing with men is like banging your head against the wall.  I just caught the connection between being pissed off and buying shoes.

Why shoes?

I don't know.

It could be worse.  I could eat when I'm stressed.

That would be bad.
 

For whoever sits next to me on plane rides.

I'm calling it "S.U.S." (shopping under stress)

I just S.U.S.'d after work today. For some reason, I got a vision in my head of a new pair of platform pumps.  When I found them, I couldn't buy just buy the pairs I would wear - the black ones and the red ones.

Oh, no.  I had to buy a pair in all four colors. 

 

And then I caught a sale on some badass sparkly platforms. 

 

Sparkly? Sure. I'll wear those. I'll audition for a role as a Christmas ornament.

 

And then I found some caramel patent leather ones.

 

Ridiculous.

 

And then I got my nails painted a really dark grape. Totally against the grain. And spent like $50 at Bath & Body Works.

 

OMG.

 

Boys are so stupid. From here on in, I'm a lesbian.