Thursday, February 28, 2008

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!

Saturday, February 23, 2008

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?





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.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

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 :)

Monday, February 18, 2008

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.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

T- Minus 60 Days

Until I walk down a runway in lingerie.

Talk about doing something different.

Monday, February 11, 2008

Home Sick

Yesterday I ran around like a fool and for the first time in a long time ate fast food.

Bad. Idea.

Oh nacho cheese, why hath thee forsaken me?

By 7:00 last night I was sweating, had the chills, shaking and running a temperature. I blamed it on the intake of cafeine, which I never drink because it makes me all sick and loopy, and instead kept going until 11 last night when I finally came home and passed out. By this morning I was in agony. I still managed to get dressed, do my hair and makeup, and get my lunch together, but about 10 minutes before I leave in the morning I couldn't take it anymore. I called in sick and beat a hasty retreat to my bathroom where I've been for 7 hours. SEVEN hours. And I still feel like hell.

The thing is, at my last job I still would have made it to work. The bathroom was decidedly more private and I wouldn't have had my entire department watching me go in and out of it all day. At my current job I pass the open door of every manager to get to the ladies room and even better; the bathroom door opens right into the entire shared common cubicle cluster for the whole office. I stayed home more out of fear of sharing my Gordita mishap with the office than my inability to make it to work even with a broken leg.

I know that I did the right thing but I HATE staying home. Hate. Especially on a Monday. This can't look good. But I can't let myself feel guilty: I'm still shakey and clammy, water is the only thing that will stay down, and I would not have been able to live down being responsible for sharing my gastronomical nightmare with an office full of people.


I'm freaking out.

In other news I agreed to trounce down a catwalk in lingerie in April. I had to restart my ban on booze a few days ago but that is okay; I think my insane decision to dress like a hoochie for charity is just what I need to get that final push of motivation going for me. Even better; I can't survive today without losing some weight, right?


(And still the spell check won't work. I'm going to have to start composing in Word and copying over, but not today, too weak to toggle between windows.)

Saturday, February 2, 2008

Starting Over

Ah, Anonymous, who ever you are, this is some great advice: "Don't look upon not drinking as "I can't drink alcohol". Try and see it in more of a "I could drink, but right now, I am not going to because I want to become more healthy". It does help to alter your perception. "Can't" seems to foster more rebellion and irritation about constraints."

I had two glasses of wine last night.

I have to start my 21 days over again.

All I can say is at least it wasn’t two bottles of wine but still: Who am I if I can’t even trust myself?

Today it’s wine, tomorrow it’s nacho cheese and next week I’m probably up to heroin. Great. Maybe I can just knock a few of my teeth out in anticipation of my new lifestyle. Best part is even with a crippling drug addiction I probably still won’t lose any damn weight. I’ll be the only coke whore that weighs 400 pounds.

There is a rumor that tonight I’m having numerous people over at my (currently filthy) apartment for a cocktail party. Well, a wine party. Great timing, right? Me of no self restraint? Having people over to drink cases of wine. Perhaps if I just shoot myself in the foot now I can get this over with quicker. Saying that I don’t plan to drink tonight means nothing in light of the fact that I made it hardly 6 days into a 21 day moratorium on booze.

So, these people I’m supposedly having over, they are all female. Which means my apartment has to be clean, I have to look nice and I have to have good food to offer. Whereas I am the sort of person who would order pizza and explain that the “pepperoni goes well with Merlot, I swear” I cannot get away with such things tonight. So I have to clean my apartment, lose 10 pounds, figure out a menu, go shopping, cook said menu, and figure out what 10 grown adult women do while standing around and drinking.

I’m an adult now. What do adults do when they hang out? WHAT? I have no freaking idea. Everyone is going to be bored.

What the hell am I going to serve to eat? What the hell does a cocktail party menu look like? And how the hell am I going to afford this?

Why can’t I just order pizza?

And why the hell don’t I have one GD ounce of self restraint?