This Post Brought to you by...

Vicodin
Muscle Relaxers
Anti-inflamitories
Frozen Bags of Peas
And some massive heartbreak/disappointment


I also have to be quick because I am not supposed to be on the computer (shhhh, don't tell anyone). A couple of weeks ago, while out being social (with people! I know!) I managed to mess my neck up really, really bad. It may have been the wicked awesome dance moves, or the smooch fest with an old flame, or maybe just me having the audacity to move my neck, but I did something bad. I'm still in substantial pain and have missed much work on mandatory bed rest. The massive, major, heartbreaking side affect of all this is that I MISSED THE DAMN LINGERIE SHOW. The pain did not make me cry. The sheer boredom of being trapped alone in my apartment for days on end with nothing but narcotics to keep me company did not make me cry.

But being forced to drop out of the show made me cry.

It will be a couple of weeks before I can post again because I'm still on mandatory no computer use (the angle is bad for my neck) so I won't be able to catch up with all of you for a long time. I miss you all badly. The only words of wisdom I have for you is this: If you ever sign up to be in a lingerie show that you are super phyched up for don't go and fuck your neck up because you will cry for two weeks after the missed show because the opportunity will never again present itself.

Now it is time for more meds and seriously, my neck is spasming. Gah.

I miss you.

A porky vacation

I gained 7 pounds in less than a week.

And it was soooooooo worth it.

I pretty much ate my way through my mini-vacation. Almost a full course meal every two hours. Of course there was also the ocean, the comedy show we saw, people watching and more but there was food: Food. Food. Food.

And now I have to pay the price. I need to work out two times a day, everyday, and eat nothing but air and water until april 12th.

Sallyacious and Thelongversion I have to get in a message for you both: Wordpress hates me and has eaten many of my comments after I try to post them. I don't know if it is my computer or what but I'm giving up and just sticking a postit to my computer screen in hopes that it magically finds it way to you.

I'm off to eat another delicious air meal. Kisses.

I'm still here, even if my internet isn't

You know what rocks?

The fact that I am a pretty high level IT person and I can't get my own damn home internet to work.

Yup, it rocks.

It proves that the "professionals", regardless the field, likely have little to no clue what is going on and probably got a liberal arts degree that will only serve to keep the person in perpetual student loan debt until death.

So I'm sitting the corner of my bedroom, huddled against the wall on the floor because I can't move the network cable for the internet or else it will inexplicably die. I probably have to buy a new network cable. Or it has something to do with the magnetic fields sent out by the sun, but really, who understands the mysteries of non working internet? No one. And those who do are liars. Dirty, dirty liars.

I'm glad I at least got it to work enough to post this becuase I am leaving town for four days and didn't want to go even longer between posts. I am going on an extended girls weekend in a fab city. Naturally this means that one of the girls is acting super flaky and weird and started dating a really, super creepy married guy. AWESOME. The other girl has some kind of viral doom plague and can't talk without launching into a crippling coughing fit. Why, why, oh why does everything I attempt to do have to be such trouble? Did I steal money from the blind in a previous life? Kick puppies? Do you think it is my gaping head wound?

My wrists are killing me and I'm cold so I'm going to post this while I can. Take care y'all!

Sometimes I wish you guys lived in the same city as me so bad so that we could hang out. You could tell me which pair of latex thigh high boots best complimented the bustier I have to wear in the upcoming fashion show and I, in turn, could listen endlessly to you talk about your varied and facinating lives.

Is it possible to miss people you've never met?

As for people I've met in "real life" I was supposed to go out tonight. Then it snowed like a foot. This would not deter me in any way because I grew up in snow country and snow is no biggie, but it freaks out the people in the city where I live and especially the people I was supposed to meet up with tonight. Luckily they called before I put my makeup on but to say I'm bummed doesn't even cover it. I was really, really lookig forward to tonight and facing another night alone (in a series of what? 10,000?) makes my little heart break a bit. Ah well. There will be other nights right?

Right?

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I should pull the pin curls out of my hair but I just don't have the heart yet. If I spent this much time on my hair the universe will come up with something for me to do, yes? No? Okay. I guess I'll just turn in early. And dream of a social life.

Do these extra 25 pounds make me look fat?

The fashion show is in April.

I will be wearing lingerie and perhaps a spring dress or two (you know, the ones they cut up and glue sequins and shit to because they are "designers").

It is for charity.

Last year I helped put it together and run it.

This year I am modeling.

Because I am not getting any younger.

Or any fucking thinner(arrrg! and fuck!).

And it is something different.

Does this clear up any questions? Yes? No?

Now if you need me I'll be walking about in 6 inch (no joke!) lucite platforms and trying in hold my gut in while I clean my apartment.

No booze and still going strong :)

Fashion show fitting round one

Yesterday I had to visit two of the places that will be dressing me for the upcoming fashion show for charity. The first place went pretty well; it was noted that I am the "curviest" girl in the show, and the shortest, which is great because at 5'2 and size six I am not tipping scales but still. Sheesh. I was releived when the first vintage dress I tried on, in a size eleven, fit like a glove. I looked like something out of a Doris Day movie. It is floor length with an empire waste, very tailored, and lace over the whole dress. I was happy to realize that I wouldn't have to lose any weight to wear it. The yellow doesn't wash me out and in relation to whatever else they might have me in I was pleased to have the opportunity to glam it up retro style. Yeah. Well. That was before mention of thigh high black patent leather boots, cutting the bottom off of the dress and various other travesties to fashion.

Yesterday, as it turns out, was not such a good day.

After my visit to the vintage clothing purveyor I had to swing by what I will now affectionately call the stripper shop of hell. Conveniently located in the drug district, ironically sharing a store front with boy scouts of America, I wandered into the shop only to be greeted by a two year old. And no one else. The shop owners (I think) were in the back, doing something illegal, leaving me with a small child in a store surrounded by latex and 8 inch high heels. Finally a surly woman about my age, but much worse for the wear, came out to the front and looked me up and down like I was useless to her. The woman has no interest in me, wasn't sure I would be "comfortable" in her clothes and said I should try to come back in a month or something, whatever. I left as the two year old was running laps around the store and the mom (?) disappeared into the back. At least she didn't make me try anything on.

By this point I was feeling rather stupid. Who am I kidding? I mean yes, I'm not getting any younger, and this is the year of doing things different, but the looks in the eyes of everyone I'd met so far blatantly said "You aren't 19, you aren't skinny, and you're too old for this. You are kinda sad." I figured that I was just being hypersensitive and decided to not think about any of it. I've been cleaning out even more of my closet recently and came across stacks of size 0-2 jeans with the tags still on them. My vintage size eleven self hauled them, along with stacks of other twee clothes, to a second hand store that takes in quality clothing and pays you a few bucks for each piece. As my last stop of the day I went back to the store to collect whatever clothes they didn't want and perhaps a few dollars. The size eight behind the counter, in all of her dumb seventeen year old glory, said that they wouldn't be taking any of the clothes because the jeans were too high wasted and the shirts were too short, but tell my daughter better luck next time.

I'm 26 for fuck's sake.

I felt like smacking that little bitch around.

I deposited the clothes in a charity bin and went home.

I'm old.

I'm hopelessly out of style.

I hate all of the current style.

I'm overweight.

And because I'm no longer 19 I am apparently no longer a viable member of society.

Fuck. This. Shit.

I nice fitting pair of jeans and a cute new pair of boots would probably make me feel better but I'm in total and complete financial ruin and can't even afford to go get myself a gallon of milk today. I'm pretty miserable today too.

But as far as I can tell I'm still in the show. Thursday I go for more fittings. If I don't slash my wrists first.

T- Minus 60 Days

Until I walk down a runway in lingerie.

Talk about doing something different.