kissing frogs

My Romcom-in-Real-Life Romance was short lived, as Hank* was unable to follow through on his romantic gestures. I was disappointed to say the least, but at least I found out quickly.

Next came Tony*. He was a tall, successful, ruggedly handsome business owner who seemed to think I hung the moon. I was really warming up to him as well, and considering our future options. We had been out a dozen or so times, when Hallow's Eve's Eve gave me a fright! We were hanging out at a bar talking with some people we just met. The election was quickly approaching and out it comes that Tony had already voted absentee/mail in ballot for HitlerVoldemortTrump, a man who scares the bejeezus out of me. A man who has a life-long reputation of being a sexual predator and a scam artist of a businessman. A man who regularly makes racist comments, and (at the time) had two pending trials in the next couple of months for fraud and for the rape of a 13 year old girl.

I told Tony that we needed to just not talk politics (so I could consider what to do with a guy I like who is obviously morally at odds with me). We talked about other things. We left the bar and were headed back home when we passed by a Hollywood iconic hotel and he asked if we could hop out for a drink in the hotel bar. Sure. More drinks sounds like a swell addition to this evening. At the bar, we started talking with the other people bellied up, and lo and behold Tony brings up Trump again! I am pretty drunk, so things get pretty heated. Long story short, I got so mad I got up and left him there! uhmNOthx buh-bye you can keep your selfish reasons for voting for evil.

Next was Johnny*. His online profile pix were dapper and handsome. When we met, his IRL self was moderatly attractive, but I felt no spark at all. On the plus side, we had a blast hanging out! He was hilarious. After 2 beers, I was ready to leave, but he doesn't ask and orders us another round. ...ok... well, I won't be rude, he is sweet, I'll hang out. After beer 3, I say I really must leave, and he very sweetly walks me to my car. I go in to give a polite hug, and he shoves his tongue down my throat. Dude. Johnny. I gave you no indication that I was open to that! Ugh. Next.

Finally I met Tyrone*, a gorgeous tatted up former musician turned real-job-holder. He was funny, smart, not voting for Trump, and seemed to be really my type. We had a first date that turned into practically three dates. Charming, sweet, and seemingly into me. Until he reaveals on date two that he is moving to Phoenix at the end of the month, but if things go well, we can fly back and forth on the weekends to "romp" and if things go really well, maybe more. Well call me flattered, you want to be FWB with me? Ugh. #ByeFelicia

I feel like I'm on an episode of MTV's Next.

But you gotta kiss a bunch of frogs to find your prince, right? Pucker up and kiss it...

*names changed to protect the frogs

gay pair-eee

Gay as in happy. Pair-ee as in Paris, with a French accent.

I just returned from Paris, where I spent a week flopped on the futon in my parent's studio apartment. My parents have become quite the jet-set travellers in their old age, and have recently acquired a 1/8-th share in a "quaint" little shithole 300+ year old apartment in the 2nd Arrondissement in the City of Lights. The location couldn't be better, and the apartment couldn't be dumpier. But hey, the price was right! *free*

We tromped all over the city, shopping on the ritziest street and in flea markets, eating at urban hipster hot spots and old world historical landmarks, saw Mona at the Louvre and Barbie (the one that dates Ken) at Les Arts Decoratifs. It was a blast, despite the rain that persisted the whole week.

I forgot my razor at home and embraced my inner French girl. I ate loaves upon loaves of bread and basically an entire government cheese wheel amount of every melty rich mama-animal-teat- producing goodness I could. I drank gallons of wine. And I'm pretty sure my waist is smaller than when I left home.

French women eat. They eat carbs and fat and they drink and they are all thin. They might work out, but you would never know. In the whole city I saw one gym and one yoga studio. In a week of wandering through packed streets I saw two women wearing activewear. French women dress. And French women smoke. eww.

I'd like to be more French - eat rich delicious foods, drink rich delicious wines, dress with purpose each day, maybe even smoke a cigarette or two. Ok, maybe not the smoking (ewww).

this cigarette is so angry!

But food is different in France. There you buy your bread from the boulangerie where it has been freshly baked that day, you buy your cheese from the fromagerie where it has also been made fresh. Your wine comes from grapes raised without pesticides and is monitored by a commission yearly to be kept to a certain standard. Restaurants offer what is fresh and local and in season.

Here in the states we shop at huge conglomerate grocery stores that stock huge conglomerate bread and cheese that comes from some warehouse made by industrial machines and unskilled workers. Our produce is available year round thanks to genetic modifications, pesticides, and other unnatural growing processes.

Clothes are different here. Jeans and t-shirts and yoga pants are all anyone wears. Even the high end stores sell the same casual clothes, just at 10 times the price. Kanye will give you a plain white cotton t-shirt for $120, the Gap will give you the same thing for $12.  Lululemon gives you stretchy pants for $100, Target has them for $30.

It didn't used to be like this. My mother's generation hardly ever even wore pants, much less jeans. They set their hair on Sunday night and wore it purposefully styled every day. Even a casual outfit was styled.

Women in New York City come closest to the lost era of style in America and French women, but if you get on the subway you'll still see every assortment of clothing option possible.

As much as I yearn for the days where women dressed I can't say I didn't enjoy going to Target and the grocery store today in my active-wear, with no makeup on and my greasy hair shoved under a baseball cap. Is it possible to have both? Methinks I need another trip to Paris for "research"

Galentines Day

One of my close girlfriends Nikki* started harassing me a few weeks ago about Valentine's Day. We're both single, and she thought we should celebrate Gal-entine's Day with a couple of other awesome, funny, talented, gorgeous single ladies. I was interested, but not super gung-ho. She was adamant that we fine females stick together on this day of romance and do something together and spent some quality energy recruiting us women to hang out with her. What exactly we were going to do was was up in the air, but something. 

Now I'm thinking wine and a rom-com on Netflix, or cheesecake and a comedy at the local movie theater that allows adult beverages. Chill with a side of booze.

Dear, sweet, lovely Nikki group texts the gals that there are some bands playing and wouldn't we all like to go see the bands? Only $25! And wouldn't that be the perfect Galentine's day event???

First, there's no cheesecake or movie in the equation. Second, I've never heard of these bands. BUT. Maybe it would be fun. I've done concerts for NYE, so why not other over-hyped holidays? I search for these bands' songs online.

...

It is the most horrendous, whiny, awful Emo crap I've ever heard. One of the songs I actually have heard before, way back in the 90s, and I remember thinking it was a stupidly horrible song back then!

I text her as politely as possible that I would rather stab myself in the ear with an ice pick than spend my hard earned money to listen to these horrible bands, and maybe we could do something else (anything else). I hoped the other gals would back me up... they were deferentially quiet.

Nikki said she understood it was totally Emo and not really very good, but had nostalgia for her from her youth.

And that she was going to go anyway.

So. After weeks of campaigning for a Galentine's day with me and the other girls, she is bailing. For a shitty concert with men who whine like 4 year olds who didn't get their way. Instead of hanging with the girls she asked to hang out with. uhm-huh. Ditched on Galentine's Day! Well at least I can spend it how I was going to - a bottle of wine and comedic actresses making me laugh.

*name changed to protect the truly sweet friend I'm hanging out to dry for the sake of a blog post

Sleepless in Seattle

Actually, I was sleepless before Seattle. Specifically, the night before. Remember the cute boy I met in Vegas? He flew me out to see him... three weeks after. I was nervous, to say the least! How do you sleep when you are going to fly a thousand miles to see someone you met twice while drunk in a city that imbues inhibition, and you've only traded some flirty texts and a few phone calls since?

Gahhhh!!! I'm getting on a plane!!! Gahhh!! It is landing in Seattle!!! GAHHHH THERE IS A GUY WAITING FOR ME!!!!! geez get a hold of yourself.

I don't know if it was the nip in the air (fucking Seattle!) or the copious amounts of booze I drank, but I warmed up to Todd* pretty quickly and the three days was spent laughing and having the best time. Plus I got to see Rachel the pig, Pike's flying fish, salmonell-ebol-hepatiti-gum-wall, a really big Needle, rode a ferris wheel (Bueller... Bueller... Bueller...) and went to a real actual not-fake speakeasy!

and it pretty much looked exactly like this

At said speakeasy, I ordered a drink called "director's choice" aka whatever the bartender wanted to make. I chose vodka and asked him to make it sassy! Well, let's just say it was more than hair whipped back and forth plus two snaps and a twist! Bowl'o'vodka with a dash of habanero. Yeehaw!

It was a whirlwind, and I didn't want it to stop blowing.  But that blustery gale swooped me up and plopped me smack dab back into reality.

Fine. I'll go back to my life. I'll date someone a thousand fucking miles away. I'll take six dates in three days and then no dates for weeks. I'll do whatever I want! (sticks out tongue and PPLBTHTHTHT!) I love being a grown up.

just call me Dorothy (Gale -- get it?)

*name changed to protect the not-so-innocent

Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. And sometimes it rains.

Hoo-eee lawdy! Sometimes getting the heck outta dodge is just what you need to mix up your life a little bit! I just got back from Las Vegas with my bestie Claire, where we got thunderstorm-ed upon, partied it up, relaxed by the pool, threw money at the tables, and saw a show. Whew. I am tiiirrred. I need a vacation from my vacation!

Shortly before the trip I had figured out that I was going to ask for a raise at my job, but there was no timeframe on exactly when I was going to do this; I was just going to wait for the "right time."

This bird has good timing. 

The last day on the trip I got a really really random call to come in for an interview to work on a popular TV show, and it could be regular work. Huh.

And then, piece de resistance, I had met a new boy in Vegas! He's cute! He's successful! He's tall! ... and he lives in Seattle. Meh.

So now that I'm back, I have a timeline to asking for a raise (I got it!!) and I also went to the interview (and got that job too!!!)

And my new un-boyfriend has picked dates to fly me to Seattle!!!!!!!

BOOM

GRATITUDE

One week ago I was challenged by one of my oldest friends to publicly list on Facebook three things I was grateful for each day for a week.  What an amazing challenge. I may complain a lot, but I really do have so many wonderful things and people in my life.  Big realizations:

1. I am not my circumstances.  And, my circumstances are pretty good - uhm, hello? First world country? Yes please.

2. I have some truly amazing people in my life.

3. I really love wine.

What was wonderful is I was able to challenge some people who don't normally post mushy gushy motivational positive shit on their updates. I was also able to spread it to several different friend-groups.

So here's my challenge to you, dear reader, give it a go. List three things each day you are grateful for. And you can't list them in your head. You gotta facebook, insta, tweet, vine your gratefuls.  The good news is you can challenge others! Let's do this. Let's spread some goodness in this world.

Here are three images I found under the search "spread love."

Awwww...

Uhmm...

what the...

And just a final note... I found these images on Bing.  Yes, that's right, I said BING.com.  Wtf happened to Google search? It used to be that you could look at the pictures without being taken to the host website, and now, you can't preview the picture bigger than it's thumbnail, you click and it takes you to the site (whatever site that may be...) which might be a site you don't want to go to and sometimes the advertised picture isn't even there! What the hell is the world coming to that I would actively choose BING??? (sigh) Grateful Shmateful.

***UPDATE***
apparently it is my dumb old computer that makes google image search shitty. I have an older version of Safari that can't be upgraded unless I upgrade my computer. Shitty computer. But I don't want to buy a new one, so... shitty old computer is my computer for now.

Ain't that a sexy beast? 

Disappointment, served cold.

So now that I'm one of those annoying people that counts calories, I look at things like serving size, grams of protein, and sodium percentages.  So why do so many of them make no sense?

First, the ones that make sense. One glass of wine, one serving. Yes, I still drink some wine, just not every night by the bottle. Wow that makes me sound like an alcoholic. I swear I'm not. Protesting doesn't make it sound any better, does it...

And a serving size that somewhat makes sense, Lindor truffles. Serving size, three truffles.

I could eat just three truffles. In fact, with some restraint, I could even just eat one or two. I am so saintly.

But then we get to pickle spears.  Serving size... 3/4 of a spear. Who on earth eats 3/4th of a pickle spear?

And don't even get me started on Girl Scout cookies.  You mean to tell me that a serving isn't one full sleeve of Thin Mints?? Preposterous.

Proof of their addictive qualities

FOUR COOKIES? That's it??? What? Who in their right mind can stop after only FOUR???? (sigh) the things I do to fit into my jeans...

Diet is "Die" with a "T"

I had a rude awakening at the beginning of the year. My good friend Claire had begun a new business venture, and I thought I would help her by joining her fitness challenge.  She makes money for each person that participates. Plus I love a good challenge! Well, first thing we had to do was measure ourselves and step on the scale and... *gasp* how in the Sam-Hell did I put on 15+ pounds???? My pants are a little muffin toppy, and yeah my boobs are bigger, but wtf?!?!?

FATTY!!!!

Anyway, I immediately thanked my lucky stars for the wakeup call and the impending diet/workout plan.  The good news -- it is five weeks later and I'm nearly 12 pounds lighter.  The bad news, dammit I'm hungry.

I have never had such bad cravings; wanting to eat everything in sight! Maybe that's because I just ... ate everything in sight. That is, I just ate whatever I wanted.

And then I didn't exercise for months on end.

So I guess I shouldn't have been SO surprised that I had put on a few ell-bees.

It is just so strange, this calorie-counting, this withholding of foods, this ... diet. Or as Garfield would say:

Maybe this is just what happens when you reach "a certain age." Maybe finally finally finally my metabolism has caught up with me. ...or maybe I just drank too many empty calories. Drunky.

Either way, I'm powering through. Gonna drop at least 5 more pounds. Another 10 and I'm back to my high school weight.  hmmm.  nothing tastes as good as thin feels, eh? We'll see about that...

bibbity bobbity boo

Ok Mr. Universe, Ms. Give-me-what-I-want-Fairy, my Genie in a bottle with your stupid three wishes,

I appreciate all this work (and paychecks) you're throwing my way, but this isn't exaaactly what I meant.

Having two days off out of 20 is not what I was looking for! I am TIRED. And because I am TIRED I am having to pass up on fun stuff.  Like drinks with friends (you know how I hate to miss an opportunity to booze it up), birthday parties (hello, booze-portunity missed again!), and even line dancing (booze-a-thon!).  I've been forced to douse myself in Vitamin C just to keep from getting sick.

And to top it off, this "awesome" work you've been getting me? While not exactly "difficult," it certainly isn't what I thought I'd be doing with my life at this age.  I can see myself at my next high school reunion -

Classmate 1:

 I'm so amazing. I dance professionally for Alvin Ailey as their lead dancer.

Classmate 2:

I have two darling children that I home school and my husband is a doctor AND a lawyer!

Classmate 3:

 I was just the lead in a movie playing Brad Pitt's wife! (true story btw)

Classmate 4:

I've been traveling the world ending hunger and war! Joanna, what have you been up to?

Joanna:

Well, the other day at work I made reindeer water bottles...

So much for a little part-time gig to give me some extra cash during the week.  Now I am full-time mummy-juice, turkey-lollipop, craft-maker. Oh - and weekend teacher. Whew... I need a drink.

fucking Bakersfield.

fucking Bakersfield. yeah I said it again.

AKA meth capital of southern cali

It's almost two hours away and it made me miss the Superbowl and St. Patrick's Day.  Like, only the two biggest drinking days of the year! And it is a job that drives me to drink, as if it weren't bad enough already.

My first day on the job was Superbowl Sunday.  I got called in desperation because two of the three teachers called out "sick."  Yeah, yeah, you're sick on Superbowl Sunday, not drinking with your friends at all -- "please pretty please will you please go to Bakersfield tomorrow? We'll pay for xyz extra and put you up in a hotel and name our first child after you?" (sigh) (double sigh) Good thing I really need the money because I was planning to go to a super bowl party just a few miles from my house with the ability to sleep over if I got too drunk to drive home.  Yeah. So as my friends were all toasting their team or their favorite Doritos commercial, I was tutoring little kids how to walk with a book on their heads.  Yeah.

Next, I find myself roped in to teach at Bakersfield for the remainder of the sessions there.  That's ok; there is only 4 sessions left and they will continue to pay me all this extra money, put me up in a hotel the night before, etc etc. Oh yeah, and I still need the money.  So yesterday was St. Patrick's Day.  And I'm Irish.  And I'm wearing my green accent tank top and green ring and green earrings with my required black business attire and I'm teaching kids to walk down the runway.  Aaaaand I'm completely sober.  Yeahhhhh.

This is the worst school schedule ever.  Who cares that I make gobs of money? Who cares that I actually enjoy spending time with these kids? I am missing valuable drinking hours! I am missing drunken "I love you, man" and blurry trips to the bathroom with girlfriends where they keep you from sitting on the pee'd on toilet.  I could have made multiple bad decisions, stayed out way too late, and be hungover right now.

I can't think of any other holidays that I would have to work on that would impede my drinking, but I feel certain if there is something, anything that this school could make me miss it will.  Especially if it involves heavy drinking.  Last saturday I missed a house party.  Not like that is a huge deal but still... I'm just going to have to drink extra during the week to make up for it. Bottom's up y'all.