Experiements, Sidebar links, and Random Pics

Remember this experiment? Where I said this:

Harvard. Fraternities. Naked girls. Harvard class schedule. Harvard. Naked. Beer.

Well, I got a hit the other day from the campus of MIT. Not Harvard, but it'll do. See, here's my train of thought: Harvard = Smart = Good education = Great Job = Even greater pay = Big house, maid, and cook = I don't have to work ever again. Let's cross our fingers that, at the very least, Mr. MIT comes back.

My Sidebar links I've been doing a little work on my sidebar. Please check out "Quizes and Shit" and "Welcome to my world" - those include my favorite posts and all the tags I've done thus far. Also, I'm in the process of rearranging my "side dishes" links. Since I can't read, I've been having trouble sorting them alphabetically. So, I've decided to arrange them according to posting-frequency. In other words, if you rarely ever post or if I once liked your blog, but you've now been eaten up by the blogosphere, expect to be near the bottom. If you post nearly daily, expect to be near the top or middle. The 5th circle will always be at the top because that's mah otha blog, yo. Bsoholic will also be near the top cuz he's my best guud blog friend and he's my partner in crime on the 5th.

Corporate Restrooms I have no idea why people try to talk to me while I'm in the restroom. Once you step into the work restroom, there should be a no-talking policy. No no.. no talking.. I don't wanna hear you pee and hear you gossip at the same time. And don't ask me questions now.. I'm peeing for crying out loud! Don't look at me, don't talk to me, just let me pee in peace. Oh, and I think it's absolutely disgusting when I find hair on a toilet seat at work. I don't wanna see hair there. I don't know what body part it came from. And, frankly, I don't wanna know. Sometimes, yes, you can tell... you can tell where the "curlies" came from for instance, but sometimes, you. just. don't. know.

Madmeer One of the funniest blogs e-v-e-r, and I might actually know her.

I made out with Colin Quinn Not that you care or anything, I'm just sayin'.

Selena The young latina pop star died 11 years ago today. I was at her last concert at the Astrodome in Houston. She wore the famous purple outfit.


Chibby's Only Trick

















Have a great weekend, everyone. I'm [apparently] going fishing tonight in Galveston, volunteering at The Children's Festival on Saturday, and going out to my fav mexifood/bar joint on Saturday night.

Half Nekkid Thursday: Favorite Drive-thru

Taco Bell

Oh, how you smell

I can't fit into my jeans

Cause of your flakey little beans

I have a big ole' seat

Cause of your Grade F meat

I got a sauce stain in my car

On my way back from a bar

You are the cheapest place

For to stuff my face

You make me holla

With your nachos for a dolla

I could eat a million Encheritos

And grilled chicken stuffed burritos

Covered with sour cream and cheese

I'll have one more, please

You are the gateway to gastric hell

The one and only, Taco Bell.

Wanna take rediculous pics of yourself waiting in the drive thru line?

Ask Os. He'll explain the rules.

Audioblog Wednesday: Ate my audioblog.

Since Audiobloger wants to be a prick and eat my audio posts, I'll just have to sit and type this one out.

Today's post is sort of contraversial. I don't particularly like to talk about religion, politics, current events, or more specifically my opinions on such. But today is an exception.

Lately, I've been reading the papers and listening to the radio and watching the news about this Immigration Debate. Now, before I start my little rant, I have to honestly say that I don't know much about the details of the bill, as far as what they expect to do with the illegal immigrants that are already here. I'm simply reacting to what's been going on locally in Houston. And yes, I'm of hispanic descent, but you'd have to bust out an encyclopedia to find any relatives that are actually from Mexico. And I'm not saying whether I'm for or against this particular reform, but again I'm simply reacting to all the drama that's been happening in the media and around town.

I get home yesterday and turn on the t.v., and there they are - young, dumb, hispanic kids saying "We are latino! We are the future! We came here to the United States for a better opportunity! We're here to educate ourselves!"

Why the fuck did you walk out of school, then?!

These hispanic kids are walking out of schools all over the country in order to "protest" this proposed immigration bill. These kids don't even know what the hell is going on! I mean, I don't even know what the hell is going on, so I know damn well they know even less about what is going on. For the most part, in Houston, it's been a pretty peaceful demonstration, but I'm watching the news about the protests in California, and these fucking kids are getting riotous. In many cases, police are involved and there have been injuries, attacks, and many arrests.

What's really fucking hi-larious is that these kids are parading around city hall carrying fucking Mexican flags. Mexican flags!! If you are telling us that you came to America for better opportunity, tired of being oppressed by your own country, can't make enough money there, came here to provide for your family in the best environment possible, why the h-e-l-l are you carrying around Mexcian flags? At a protest? Where we are threatening to send yer asses back to Mexico?!

I bet most of the money that's made by illegal immigrants goes straight back to Mexico, too. Now, this is where I'm torn. I know most of these kids are worried about their grandmothers and elderly relatives that live here, and are upset at the notion of sending them back to Mexico. I mean, I certainly don't want that to happen. But, what I'm talking about here are the male immigrants that are sent here illegally by their families only to earn money under the table who send it back to Mexico to provide for their families. I'm sure they do this, because, think about it, US currency is worth more there than here.

Economically, the direct descendents of these illegal immigrants [people close to my age], are fucking my world up. A couple of years ago, I had lost my apartment, my car, my job.. everything, and decided to go back to school and work part time at a local store in the area. I moved to a poor, mostly-hispanic part of town. I swear to you, I couldn't get one fucking penny from the local food stamp office; I couldn't get housing assistance; and I couldn't get a school loan of any kind. Why? Partly because my tax statement from the year before said I made too much money. But, also, partly because I had to compete with free-loading hispanics [with too many bastard children, no education, no jobs, and no housing] in order to get financial assistance.

It's not like I'm against hispanics or anything, I just don't get why people are so shocked by all this. You are ILLEGAL immigrants. It was ILLEGAL for you to come over here like you did. You KNEW it was illegal when you did it. Now, you have to pay the consequences. Surprise, surprise.

*I've been debating all day on whether to post this or not. But, I'm pretty sure since this is my blog, that I'm allowed to do whatever I want to do. However, if you guys get rowdy in the comments, I will be forced to either stab you myself, or remove your comment. And since blood takes a while to come out of clothes, I'll probably just opt for the removal of your comment.

Boo-hoo, why me? I was all set to write this long boo-hoo-why-don't-people-choose-me-and-respect-my-time post last night, but I got caught up in blogland and never got a chance to finish it. Then, this morning during my workout, I realized that I am the one making the wrong choices here. I am the one that should choose NOT to waste a whole day off to help my mother, who in turn is going to treat me like shit and tell me that she chooses my 17 YEAR OLD sister's point of view over mine. And I should choose NOT to waste my time waiting for my long-distance love, who has already made it clear that he is NOT going to choose me should it come to that. And, I should choose to say NO to people every once in a while when I feel the need to spend my time on ME. I have to learn to set boundaries for people, or they will continue to take advantage of my generosity.

Moving tip Wow, see how we change gears like that? Keep up. The best boxes for moving your shit from one apartment to another are liquor store boxes. They are small [easy to move] and very strong [they are used to carry glass liquor bottles, duh]. Usually their shipments come in on a Tuesday or Wednesday, and they are more than happy to let you haul off as many as you can fit into yer tiny little [Fuckus].

Correction: I DON'T have a hernia and I'm NOT going to die I went to the doc yesterday and she told me Paco [that's what I named my 'hernia'] is really just a lymph node that is slighty irritated. You see, if you have an infection in your body, such as a cold or some other random illness, sometimes instead of getting sick, your lymph nodes are simply inflamed. Hopefully, this expensive ass prescription will do the trick. If not, she wants to see me back in her office to poke Paco a bit more.

Shark vacuums suck I mean, they DON'T suck, that's the problem. I bought a little piece of shit Shark stick vac, and it only lasted six months. WTF?! I need another vacuum, but I've been everywhere looking for a new one, and now I'm completely confused. Please! help me and tell me what kind to buy. I'm looking for something small and pretty inexpensive, but IT MUST SUCK. Keep in mind that I live in a small one-bedroom, and I don't need a fucking Dyson.

Tag-My-Ass Monday: And now I know my ABC's

It's been a while since I've been tagged. I mean, I got tagged Friday night, but I mean, in blogland terms.. it's been a while.

[Break for commercial]
This tag has been brought to you by the blogger Lee ann. She lives in a castle, and she DOESN'T have butt dust. Click the link for more information.
[..and we're back.]

Accent - I've been told I sound like a valley girl from the South. However, due to my job, I interact with New Yorkers all the time, and I think I've picked up a little of their accent.

Booze of choice - At my favorite mexifood joint, there's a frozen drink called the Star-Spangled Spaniard. It comes in a huge ass glass and it's a frozen margarita mixed with several other liquors. I can't hold my alcohol worth a damn, so I'm usally on my ass after just one of those.

Chore I hate - I hate all chores. But when you live by yourself, they aren't called "chores" anymore. It's simply called "shit you have to do cause no one else is gonna do it for you."

A couple of years ago, an older friend of mine was telling me about his 17 year old daughter who was threatening to move out and marry her boyfriend because she was tired of her mother making her do chores and all.
I responded, "Well, she's gonna get a shock when she moves out, gets her own place, and realizes that now she has to do ALL the fucking chores."

Dog or cat - Rat. You guys might remember Chibby Chibberson, my blue hooded rat. She was a rescue, so I don't really know her exact age, but I'd guess about a year old. Rats only live about 2-3 years, and I've had over 10 rats now. I used to be involved in small animal rescue when I had more free time, and I'd travel all over Texas rescuing animals and adopting them back out to better owners.

Here's a pic of Chibby:











I'm an equal opportunity animal lover, though. Growing up, we had a dog. When I left college and moved to Houston, my roommate had a snake, three cats, and a dog. My favorite was the snake. It was a corn snake named Kellogg, and it was the most laid back creature I had ever met. We used to sit on the couch and watch Friends together. Currently, there's a stray cat in my apartment complex that I've grown close to. I've named him Bruno, and sometimes he's waiting for me at my door when I come home.

Essential electronics - Alarm clock, cell phone, computer.

Favorite perfume(s)/cologne(s) – I wear Giorgio Armani Sensi.

Gold or Silver? – Silver. I usually only wear silver. I do have, what I call, "ghetto gold" - that cheapy gold jewelry from Claire's - that I wear if I'm wearing brown or something that wouldn't look right with silver.

Hometown - Houston, Texas

Insomnia? – Never. I love sleep. But on weekends, I have "early wakey up" syndrome because during the week I'm used to waking up at 4:45am, so on the weekends it's hard for me to sleep past 7am. Gah!

Job Title – Receptionist Extrodinaire.

Kids? - Try to avoid them at all costs.

Living Arrangement - Me and Chibby Chibberson. I have a one-bedroom apartment in Houston. People always ask me one of two questions when they hear that I'm single living by myself:
a. Do you ever get scared living by yourself? No. I've lived on my own since I was 18, and it's no big deal to me. I've lived in nice neighborhoods and I've lived in not-so-nice neighborhoods. No, I don't check under my bed or in my closets when I come home from work. No, I don't believe in the boogeyman. No, I don't sleep with any lights on in the house. No, I don't freak out when I hear noises coming from outside.
b. Do you ever get bored/lonely? No. First of all, I'm never really home that much to begin with. I have a standing joke that my apartment is more like a "hotel", just somewhere to sleep. I have plenty of friends/family/'chores' to keep me busy. And when I do get a moment to myself, it's nice to come home and chill out in the peace and quiet.

Most admired trait - I think other people admire the fact that I'm an easy person to get along with, and that I'm pretty generous and giving with my time and/or resources. The trait that gets over-looked most of the time [that I wish wouldn't] is my complete loyalty as a friend.

Number of Sexual Partners - Now? One. Ever? Uh...

Overnight Hospital Stays - None.

Phobia - I get very anxious and short of breath when I'm in a crowded room with people everywhere and there's no comfortable place to sit and not much room to move around. I'm not sure if that's considered claustraphobic, or what, but I'm getting short of breath just thinking about it.

Religion - This is a tricky question. Let's just say, I was raised Catholic and in college I learned about different religions and realized that I'm not so much Catholic anymore. I know I'd never get married in a church, and I think it's silly that we should only be made to give up our vices two months out of the year. Just seems a little rediculous to me. But that's all I'm gonna say about that.

Siblings - Younger sister. Ten years younger.

Time I wake up - 4:45am. Work out from 5am to 6am. At work by 7:20am.

Unusual talent/skill - I'm acutally good at making presentations and speeches. My junior year, I was a corporate communications major at UT. I've taken enough speech classes to last a life time. As a sales manager, I had to conduct meetings and give presentations to execs at the regional office regarding our sales preformance. Working with special events at my current job, I get to do some speaking at company meetings.

Vegetable I refuse to eat - Cooked spinich. I'd rather not eat something that tastes like someone has already chewed it.

Worst habit - I say inappropriate things out loud in public. I get this from my mother, and I try to be discrete, but sometimes I'm on a roll and I don't think before I speak. Ironically, it absolutely irks me when someone else says inappropriate things that, in turn, embarrass me in public.

Yummy foods I make - And by "make", you mean "buy"? Enchiladas verdes from Cafe Adobe, coconut shrimp from Red Lobster, and broccoli and cheese soup from Chili's.

Zodiac sign - Crapricorn.

Here's the part where I tag unsuspecting bloggers:

Madmeer

Snav

Lime

Logo

Bsoholic [ha ha, sucka!]

*Editor's note: I just realized that this was supposed to be like an A-Z thing, but I omitted some questions that I thought were kinda lame. Feel free to visit Lee Ann's blog for the whole list and add them back in if you wish.

I made out with Colin Quinn.

Not really, but I made him laugh and I'm sure that's the comedian equivilant of making out.





















Benefits Chick won tickets to the Laff Stop last night, and the main act was former SNL cast member Colin Quinn. Fucking awesome. That about covers it. The alcohol was flowing, the opening act was funny as hell, and of course Colin Quinn fucking kicked ass.

The opening act was Ryan Conner, and [how gay is this?] both him AND Colin Quinn have myspace pages. And, of course, they are both each other's "friends". Fucking retards. Anyways, his blog is here. And his myspace is here. Go check him out in a city near you, you won't be disappointed!

I hadn't been to a comedy club in ages!! What a shame, really, cause I used to go all the time. But, my cash flow isn't what it used to be, and my new shopping habit has taken up most of my excess dough. Even with free tickets, it broke down like this:

Burritos and beer before the show: $ 8.93
Smelly-good shampoo and conditioner at a tiny rich shop in the area before the show: $27.91
Pointless flashy sunglasses at a small boutique in the area: $23.54
2 Raspberry Tickles and 1 Charlie Chaplin [alcoholic liquids during the show]: $21.00
1 cheese ball: $5.95
Getting kissed by Colin Quinn after the show: priceless

The joke that made Colin [we're on a first name basis now] laugh:

While taking pictures with my camera phone, Colin noticed that there was no flash.
He wondered, "Did it go off? I didn't see a flash!"
So, I said with a smirk, "You wanna see a flash? I'll show you a flash!"
Laughter ensued and Colin kissed me on the cheek.

What can I say? Sex sells!

[Here's a slighty blurrier pic from my camera phone.]


























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Half Nekkid Thursday: A Bit Nipply

Wanna keep me warm?

He makes me melt: Osbasso.

I have a hernia and I might die.

Not really. I might not die. Actually, it's pretty unlikey that I would even come close to death. But at this point, I think I would prefer death.

But, I definitely have a lump near my lady regions. Where the leg bone connects to the hip bone. Yup. Right there. Ow! It's the size of one of those rubber bouncy balls you get out of the quarter machines in restaurants or grocery stores. Except not as bouncy, and much less fun.

I noticed the pain yesterday after trekking thru the Rodeo grounds after the Gretchen Wilson concert [more on that in a future post]. Later last night, I climbed into bed and felt a nagging pain in my pelvic area. I felt around a bit, and found the offending small lump where no small lump should be.

I don't have health insurance because of some stoopid mix-up at work. But the good news is, they are going to correct that tomorrow and make the coverage retro-active as of Feb 13th. The bad news is, I will be billed for the retro-coverage which is roughly twice what it's gonna cost for two pay periods. [If you're not following what I'm saying, it doesn't matter, just know that I have health insurance now but at a great cost.]

Hopefully I can get in to see the doc later this week or maybe first thing next week. Hopefully it's just a "sports" strain and maybe won't need surgery. Hopefully, this won't cut too much into my work out routine, which as of now, has been put on hold. Hopefully, it's just a pulled groin muscle and I will be back to my normal self in a couple of weeks.

The Cuz said, "See, fluffy people shouldn't be exercising."

Who's she calling "fluffy"??

I'm 18.. going on 82..

I can tell I'm getting old.. because drinking on a week night doesn't seem like such a good idea.
I can tell I'm still young.. because I don't think twice about mixing spicey food and beer.

I can tell I'm getting old.. because the first thing I bought when my tax return came in was nice towels.
I can tell I'm still young.. because the next night I blew forty bucks on getting hammered on margaritas.

I can tell I'm getting old.. because say things like, "I think my matabolizism is slowing down."
I can tell I'm still young.. because I can go without sleep and still do my job well.

I can tell I'm getting old.. because when I wake up, my back hurts.
I can tell I'm still young.. because I still wanna have sex even though my back hurts.

I can tell I'm getting old.. because I'm saving up money to go to the dentist.
I can tell I'm still young.. because I don't have a 401K account.

I can tell I'm getting old.. because I think older guys are sexy.
I can tell I'm still young.. because I think 35 yr old guys are "old".

Half Nekkid Thursday: My Ever-shrinking Ass

Since being on this diet and losing all this weight, I decided to try on my "skinny" jeans. They are two sizes smaller than what I was wearing last summer.

What do you think?










































I have considerably less junk in my trunk.

Maybe you're a little green with envy?

Wanna play? Ask Os. He's an ass-man.

The world is about to end, my ass explodes, and hang on to your hats for Rodeo pics

Hang on to your ass. The world is about to stop spinning. I worked out this morning with my mom, and we got to talking about my sister and the fact that I am not taking her to the Rodeo to see Hilary Duff [gag]. And I told my mom straight out, if my sister is going to be an ass and say rude shit to me, then she will have to deal with the consequences just like every other normal human being on this planet. She's 17, she's practically an adult, and she has to learn to watch her mouth and her attitude or else people won't do shit for her. And you know what the amazing part of this conversation was? MY MOTHER FUCKING AGREED WITH ME. This was the part where my feet stopped moving while the eliptical trainer was still moving and when I stumbled on my way down to the sweaty, stinky floor, I hit my chin on those moving arms handle thingys.


Static cling is a sneaky muther fucker. I put my shirt on this morning and zipped it all the way up. I then went to the sink and did my hair, put on my makeup, put on my heels, grabbed my purse, walked downstairs to my car, drove into work, walked thru the parking lot, clocked in, checked my email, opened the front doors, went to the cafeteria and ordered my breakfast. It was then, and only then, that I noticed I had not one... but two black socks static clung [is that a word?] to the inside on my shirt. I slowly pulled them out of my shirt and stuffed them into my pockets. I paid for my breakfast and left.

Warning labels don't lie. Yesterday I jokingly told Benefits Chick that I was immune to that sugar substitute they put in sugar-free foods. Then I proceeded to overdose on 24 pieces of Sugar-free Life Savers. Let me tell you something: they put those fucking warning labels on there for a reason. A damn good reason, I found out later last night. And karma is not one to be taunted with.

Random pics.























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Sex dreams, bitchy sisters, and a whole lot of lovin'

-Let's start with the bitchy sister part and get that over and done with. This is not a whiney, she's-a-bitch-to-me-just-like-her-god-forsaken-mother-so-feel-sorry-for-me-while-i-cry-myself-to-sleep post. This is a Ha!-I-called-bullshit-on-you-and-now-you-know-how-it-feels post. To sum it up: my mother is evil, and my little sister is her evil clone built to destroy me. And my 'little sister', I mean younger than me, taller than me, and old enough to be tried as an adult if she ever did successfully murder me. I don't feel like getting into the whole sob story of what happened tonight to piss me off, but let's just say my sister was being her usual bitchy self. And my parents, of course, did not try to stop her. What am I saying? They actually sided with her. Whatever. My point is that payback can be a bitch. A bigger bitch than a mere 17 yr old can be, that's for sure. So I'm NOT taking my sister to see Hillary Duff [gah! what a relief!] as previously planned, and I'm definitely NOT taking her with me to see Black Eyed Peas [cause honestly, I don't wanna deal with her attitude]. I'm slowly beginning to let myself accept that there are negative people in the world, and that not everyone shares my beliefs of thou shall be civil to people who are nice to you. I shouldn't let people take advantage of my time and caring like I've done in the past. I should just chalk it up to them being narrow minded and selfish, and move on with my day. But mess with the bull, and you get the horns. Mess with DaMasta, and they might have to rely on dental records to identify the body.

-I think pot makes me dream craaaazy dreams. It could have been induced by stress, or the chinese food, or the fact that I don't sleep with pillows... but I'm pretty sure it was just the drugs. I got toked on Friday night and Saturday night and got drunk on both nights and I proceeded to have the weirdest series of crazy-ass dreams I've ever had. There were old white doods with big wing-wongs, government space crafts, Secret Lover Boys in grave danger, men barking in the middle of the street, explosions and gun-fire, and bright lights and fast cars. At one point, I was telling myself that this was just a dream and to go for broke and try to disarm the bomb. But it exploded, and because it was MY dream, I hid just in time, and I didn't explode. Anywhoo, I woke up completely dazed and confused, and it took me a long while and a cold shower to realize that it was just a dream. You ever have a dream where you're actually exhausted and hungover? Well, it's not as much fun as you'd think it would be. Surprisingly enough.

-I'm in love. Still. The most wonderful love you can imagine. But I'm still dating. Confusing, no? Yeah, confuses the fuck out of me every day. But honestly, I couldn't be happier, and I'm just living one day at a time and appreciating the fact that I have a very special friend who understands and loves me no matter what. [This is the part where you gag because I'm being so sentimental.] Oh, and The Pilot can go to hell. That's all I will say about that. No need to console. I barely even remember his name. The Ex is a strange one. I still don't know what he meant by that text message. I didn't know that "we" were still in love and that "we" should be together. I guess he just needs to move on. I will give him space for that. Secret Lover Boy is still around. He's progressing as a human being, but still no where near a 'real' man. He has good bedside manners, though, and I like the companionship.

That's it for now. Wow, this post was hella long.

I'm a big [not so] fat loser.

It started in December. It was a bleak and miserable week. Oh, how I thought the world had turned against me. I thought the evil gods of skinny whores like Paris Hilton and the Olson twins were out to destroy hot curvacious babes such as myself. It was an audruous battle between good and bitter, and although bitter put up a good fight [and sometimes won a few], I came out the ultimate victor.

Of course I did. Who else, but DaMasta.

For a month and a half I deprived myself of carbs. For the first time in my life. [And, now, probably for the ONLY time in my life.] One day, in the middle of January, I woke up and I had suddenly lost two pant sizes. Seriously. That's how the shit works. You are angry all the time, yelling and shouting and shaking your tiny fists of fury at everyone, and then BOOM, you wake up one day and you're skinny. And the world is right again.

Since losing 20 pounds the first month sans carbs, I've gone back to eating carbs, but I've picked up the nifty little habit of working out. And not just working out. Working out at 4:45 am every morning. Thaaaaaaaaat's right. My happy [little] ass gets up at 4:45 am to work out for an hour or so. Then I go home, scrub my ass, and get ready for work.

Needless to say, I've learned a few things on this Mission of Death:

1. DaMasta without carbs is a-no-bueno. Lack of carbs will make DaMasta snarky, irritable, and cranky. [And according to Secret Lover Boy, not so fun to live with.]

2. I can go without pooing for a whole week, and I will not die. [You would be surprised by what no carbs will do to your stomach.]

3. Diet Dr. Pepper is my new best good friend.

4. Beans have carbs. But beans also have protein. So, it's a wash.

5. Taco Bell employees get fucking confused as shit when you ask for no rice and add lettuce.

6. If I get hungry enough, I will resort to eating spoonfuls of peanut butter.

7. It costs a shit-ton of money to be on a diet. Carbs are much cheaper.

8. You know you're falling off the wagon when you start making excuses to eat carbs again. [ie: "I'm sick and my body needs the energy." or "I'm about to die and my one last wish is a burrito from Taco Bell."]

9. Working out at 4:45 am sounds like a bad idea, but it for real will give you energy during the day. At night, however, you will pass out at 6:30 pm and sleep soundly until morning.

10. I always get fatter before I get skinnier when I start a work-out routine. And I can't wait until the skinnier part.

[*This post was inspired by/stolen from Fritz. She's sexier than me. I'm her new bitch.]

My goal is 50 lbs. I've lost 25 and a half pounds as of yesterday.

Half Nekkid Thursday: Sleeping in the shade

Saturday afternoon was perfect weather for sleeping on the porch. But I was at my parents' house, so sleeping peacefully outside is never safe. Some bandit with a stolen [my] camera phone decided to take some pictures of me sleeping.

I could hear the mystery photographer moving around and giggling to herself.

Don't fuggin bother me while I'm trying to sleep, dammit!

[Notice the bling.]

When I finally awoke, I noticed I had acquired a napping buddy.

My parents' spoiled little dog.

I think she saw a squirrel.

Wanna sleep with me?
Ask his permission.

Yipee Kiyay Mutha Fucker!

Two things I was pleasantly surprised by last night:

a. I met a nice guy. [We shall call him The Pilot... cause he is one.]
b. John Fogerty rocked the house!!

Ok, so I went to the Rodeo last night on my blind date [ack!]. How fucking crazy do I have to be to go on a blind date WITH my parents WITH a guy my mom set me up with? Really fucking crazy, that's how.

Sunday was the first day I realized it was going to be a blind date, and I was going nucking futs. The fact that I didn't bother to ask my mom ANYTHING about him didn't help either. AND the fact that I was going to trying to pull off a sexy/chic/urban cowgirl outfit didn't help either. I heard he was going to dress cowboy, so I went out and bought a fucking cowboy hat. THEN I wrangled myself into my tightest fitting jeans and strapped on my black boots.

TMI WARNING! Also.. my "aunt flow" came to visit and, ladies, this is the wonderful little visitor that most of ya'll get every month like clock-work, but you see, I can't have children [as nature so kindly blessed me] and the beauty of not being able to have children is the beauty of NEVER having "aunt flow" visit you.. so needless to say, I was a bit preterbed when I had to deal with this womanly inconvenience for only the SECOND time in a year. Why now??? Gah.

So, there I am: bloated, wearing a fucking cowboy hat, struting around in high heeled boots, WITH my parents. Joy. I felt sorry for this guy before I even met him. I was completely NOT in the mood to deal with boys.

But, as soon as we sat down and I had my first beer, I was much calmer and MUCH more tolerant. It wasn't until 30 mins after my parents and I sat down to watch the Rodeo, did The Pilot show up. He was tall [-er than me], had a good head of hair, owns a familiy business [yay!] and owns three properties around Houston [and a condo where he lives now]. He had a crooked little smile and was a great talker. He wasn't shy [which is always a plus], and made great conversation.

We watched the rodeo and then the John Fogerty concert. He told me all about John Fogerty and we ROCKED OUT all night long. That old guy can really put on a show!! Yippeee kiyay muther fucker!! The electric guitar riffs were rockin'! The drummer guy was hot!! Man, it was such a great concert!

Afterwards, The Pilot got my digits and asked me out for drinks and to watch a band in Clear Lake this weekend.

And NO, we didn't kiss. What do you think I am? A slut?! [But dammit, if my parents weren't there, I woulda made out with him something good.]

Dating Update

Ah... Spring time is here... [cue cheesy music and sounds of birds chirping]. Tis the season of lovers, procreating [bleh], and tiny little cutesy butterflies.

Tis also the season that family, friends, and co-workers try to set up DaMasta - leaving them with tiny little stars of hope in their eyes and leaving me with a sickening feeling in my belly.

People assume that since I'm not married that I must be in a desperate attempt to find love. Quite the opposite, really. It's not that I'm trying to not fall in love. It's just that I'm trying to not get divorced. I'm terrified of committment and all that it stands for. It's hard for me to believe that you can be faithful to one person for the rest of your life. And how can you even assume that two people will spend the rest of their lives loving each other? For ever and ever? Until death do you part? I don't think so.

And I don't come from a broken family, either. Both parents [unfortunately for me] are still married. Still together. They threatened to get divorced when I was younger, a couple of months after my little sister was born. The only part that upset me was when my mom told me that I was going to live with her. Are you out yo' mind?! I would have fought tooth and nail to live with my dad. Damn them for not getting a divorce. I actually think I would have been less screwed up if they had just gone their own seperate ways and not made my life a living hell.

Ah, but we can't all live in a perfect world.

But I digress. God bless the poor little unsuspecting souls that try to play match-maker with me:

• The co-worker: This was by far the most uncomfortable and most surprising hook-up attempt thus far. One older lady who works in my department came up to me and said, "[DaMasta], I think you are a wonderful person.." I was immediately waiting for a "but.." It never came. Instead, she finished the sentence with, "and I know someone who is also a wonderful person.. " Uh, oh. I knew exactly what she meant. And for a minute there, I was frightened that she was talking about one of her family members. But oh no. She continued, "He works in the IS department and he's really nice [translation: ugly]." Despite my hesistations about dating someone at work, they brought him downstairs [ack! how embarrassing!] to meet me! Eh. He's alright.
• The mother: My mother is the devil, yes, we all know this. But she has never ever meddled in my private life. Until now, that is. She has four tickets to the rodeo tomorrow. She got them thru her job, so she kept two for her and my dad, and she gave two to one of her clients. Welllllllllll... the client couldn't find anyone to go on a weekday with such short notice, so my mom pretty much just pimped me out. Yup. I'm my mother's bitch. And the guy asked if I was single. With an evil grin, my mother replied, "as a matter of fact... she is." I juuuuuuust realized last night [yes, I'm slow] that this is a blind date. Oh, joy.
• The friend: One of my oldest friends just convinced me to make a profile on Match.com. Not too thrilled about dating online [again], I hesistantly agreed. When I was all done, I found out that she just wanted me to join cause she wanted to see if her new crush [also a match.com user] would 'wink' at me [which is online-dating code for hit on me]. *sigh* And all this time I thought she really wanted me to find true love.
• Secret Lover Boy: He has emerged. From the fiery depths of hell from whence he came, he has returned. Same ole' shit, different day. His criticisms of my lack of cooking, grocery shopping, and house cleaning have not stopped. Even the wonderful little snide comments about my whole existance, in general, have returned.
• The Ex: I haven't returned his call since he sent me that long ass text message the other night while I was at the gym. I just don't know what to tell him. And I don't know what he's talking about when he says "WE" love each and "WE" know we should be together. Yeah... ok... whatever you say buddy. We met 15 years ago, and dated ONCE for about a year. We didn't even last a year together and all of a sudden he thinks we belong together f-o-r-e-v-e-r? Gah.

I actually haven't even been thinking about dating anyone lately. I'm not ready to give up my freedom or my bed space. But hey, what have I got to lose? A few strands of sanity?

Enneagram

I have nooOo idea what an Enneagram is, or was, or whatever. I found this test on Andy's site [thanks!], and it seems to be pretty damn accurate. I really like it.

Helpers are warm, concerned, nurturing, and sensitive to other people's needs.

How to Get Along with Me

*Tell me that you appreciate me. Be specific.
*Share fun times with me.
*Take an interest in my problems, though I will probably try to focus on yours.
*Let me know that I am important and special to you.
*Be gentle if you decide to criticize me.

In Intimate Relationships

*Reassure me that I am interesting to you.
*Reassure me often that you love me.
*Tell me I'm attractive and that you're glad to be seen with me.

What I Like About Being a Two

*being able to relate easily to people and to make friends
*knowing what people need and being able to make their lives better
*being generous, caring, and warm
*being sensitive to and perceptive about others' feelings
*being enthusiastic and fun-loving, and having a good sense of humor

What's Hard About Being a Two

*not being able to say no
*having low self-esteem
*feeling drained from overdoing for others
*not doing things I really like to do for myself for fear of being selfish
*criticizing myself for not feeling as loving as I think I should
*being upset that others don't tune in to me as much as I tune in to them
*working so hard to be tactful and considerate that I suppress my real feelings

Twos as Children Often

*are very sensitive to disapproval and criticism
*try hard to please their parents by being helpful and understanding
*are outwardly compliant
*are popular or try to be popular with other children
*act coy, precocious, or dramatic in order to get attention
*are clowns and jokers (the more extroverted Twos), or quiet and shy (the more introverted Twos)

Twos as Parents

*are good listeners, love their children unconditionally, and are warm and *encouraging (or suffer guilt if they aren't)
*are often playful with their children
*wonder: "Am I doing it right?" "Am I giving enough?" "Have I caused irreparable damage?"
*can become fiercely protective

Audioblog: ...Friday?

Back by unpopular demand:

• On Car Idol, I rap: again.
• I talk about nothing: again.
• I laugh for no reason: again.

Half Nekkid Thursday: Sizing them up again..

Last week we saw that Tim Duncan was actually a 'bigger man' than Kobe Bryant.

Let's see what happens this week:

Hmm.. not bad, not bad.

Pretty good for the most popular player on the team.

Holy mother of... !

Anyone know how to say 'night cap' in Chinese?

[Push the button. I dare you.]

Feel the burn...

I went to the gym last night. I thought. I smelled. I played air drums. You'll see:

• When I got to the gym, I climbed onto an eliptical treadmill right next to a really big smelly guy.

• I was very amused with this guy on a stair stepper across the gym. He was clearly having a conversation with himself. He was making facial expressions and gesturing with his hands. He was even laughing to himself.

• Despite thinking the guy talking to himself was retarded, I was still surpirsed when I started getting strange looks from smelly guy and this chick next to me when I started dancing and playing air drums to the music in my headphones.

• I used over five thousand text-messages last month alone. I used two hundred and seventy-five picture messages. However, I only used a hundred and thirty cell phone minutes, and I still have a voicemail message that I haven't listened to.

• I heard that James Blunt song, Beautiful, and thought about Snavy. And then I text-messaged her and told her about it. We used five text messages in two and a half minutes.

• Snav should start paying me for all the times I link her on my blog. Please make checks payable to DaMasta. That's spelled C-A-S-H.

• While I was at the gym, my Ex sent me the following text message: "I'm at the end of my rope trying to convince you that having me as your significant other is not a bad thing. We love each other too much to waste our time with other people. Life is too short for us not to wake up every morning thinking about and being with the only other person who accepts and loves us for who we are. You make me want to be a better man." I don't know what I think about that, but it is by far the longest fucking text-message I have ever received. It counted as four text messages.

• When I left the gym, I smelled just like big smelly guy.