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

Soul Sister

You know those people that you have to love because you are genetically connected to them? Most call them family. And then there are those people you actually choose to love because they are who you wish you were genetically connected to? Your chosen family.

When I was 16, I decided my family should host a foreign exchange student. Maybe I'd seen the movie Better Off Dead a few too many times, but I had this very romanticized idea of falling in love with some gorgeous guy with a terrible accent. Well, my parents somehow agreed to the zany idea, and the following year we were driving to the airport to pick up the woman who would soon become my sister and another member of our family.

Sure, maybe I was a teensy bit disappointed we didn't get Hans, some imaginary strapping hunk from Hunkland, but I quickly got over it when I met Chantal. She was sweet, fun, pretty, generous, and brought me chocolate from Belgium. *nomnomchocolate*

That year we loved and fought as true sisters. We had each other's backs. We giggled in the wee hours of the night. We got on each other's nerves. We had adventures. At the end of the year, I didn't want her to leave! We hugged and cried and made promises to write.

Because I am ancient this was before email was prevalent (email was new and seemed a cold way to communicate and I could go days without receiving any... so I rarely checked it), and so we actually hand-wrote letters, and called when our college-student budgets allowed. I visited when I studied abroad in the Netherlands. We sent little gifts, and when she fell in love and got married, I flew out for the wedding.

A few years later I flew out again and was able to meet her two young children, who were absolutely adorable and sweet, and got to see her be an amazing mother. Her light showed even brighter through her kids.

Then we both got busy. She had kids, I was working in Los Angeles trying to break into the entertainment industry.  We emailed, we Facebooked, but despite the additional modes of communication, we talked even less. But we always knew the other's love was there. When we did chat, it was as if no time had passed. Like sisters, with a common bond, we could still know each other with just a tone in the other's voice.

A couple of years ago, Chantal got sick. Colon cancer. She fought and took risks and lived her life to the fullest even with pain and disease. She took experimental treatments. Things looked good for a time, until they didn't. A few months ago, she was told there was no more treatment to be done. Still, she remained positive, sure that some new treatment would become available, some new trial, some new possibility.

About a month ago, she went into the hospital because of some pains. She still was so positive, planning to get the pain under control. In my heart I knew then if she didn't come out quickly, she never would. A couple of days ago, she passed from this world. She was with her cousin, and he said that although she could not speak, she nodded that she was not afraid to go.

I am comforted by the fact that she is no longer in pain, that she was not afraid at the end, and that she was surrounded by love. But I am still brokenhearted that my sister is not there for me at the other end of the phone, or a facebook message or email, or a "like" on a picture. My heart breaks for her two teenage children, that they should have to live the majority of their lives without her. My heart crumbles for her mother, who should never have to feel the pain of losing a husband and her only child. My heart hurts for all who loved her, including me.

I can't help but feel lucky to have known her, to have been loved by her. Everyone who knew her felt the same way. Perhaps those whose lights shine the brightest also burn out quickest. Or perhaps life just isn't fair and some only get to be here a short while. Either way, cancer fucking sucks and it can go fuck itself.

Give those you love a little extra tonight. Reach out to that person you've been meaning to catch up with. Open your heart.

I miss you, Cha... my sis.

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

well hellooooo ladies...

Got myself a job interview at a women's only gym.  (or as my dad would say, 'weeeeemen's gym,' pronounced like Oscar Mayer's 'wiener')  even though the last time I worked at a gym I gained weight and was completely micro-managed.  I interviewed with the assistant manager lady and seemed to win her over, although the interview was über-short and felt like she was rushing through it.

She ended the interview by letting me know she would be seeing some other applicants, and would let me know by next Monday.  Why do I feel like I shouldn't be holding my breath?

On a side note, I had to wait a bit in the lobby before my meeting, and I got a look at the clientele... let me just tell you it is most certainly NOT the ladies-only gym of men's fantasies.  The women I saw coming and going were mostly average-sized to overweight and with a few exceptions, all over 40.  PLEASE know that I am not hating on these women! Good for them that they are taking care of themselves and making time for their health.  I'm just saying it's ... well, it is what women would expect a women's only gym would be.

Bahahahahaha! Ha! Ahem. 

Yes.  but maybe less makeup and hairspray.  and after a year's membership. 

Who knows, maybe I'll get the job and look like the lady in the first picture.  Gills and all...

you want me to do WHAT?

Tonight I went to partake in another class at my stripper exotic dancer Goddess Fitness Dance groupon.  This class involved gyrating on a chair and then hump-twirling the pole.  After a warmup spin with the "butterfly," the teacher (not chubbs; the owner of the studio) broke down step by step how to go upside down on the pole.  Feet over hands.  Oh, and if you're advanced, let go with your hands while you're clutching the pole with your legs.  Here's what it was supposed to look like:

sexy

or even like this would've been great:

strong

but somehow I ended up looking more like this:

what the f*ck are you looking at

I don't think 30 days is even remotely enough time for me to become even the eensiest bit proficient at this thing.

a newfound respect for strippers

For my birthday last month my dear friend bought me a groupon for Goddess Fitness Dance, a place where you can shake your chakras for a workout.  I had been procrastinating going, because to be honest, it isn't really my cup of tea (or so I thought). I don't go to the gym, I don't do dance classes, I hate running; I am a yogi who occasionally does pilates.

With trepidation, I decided to start with something called "Pole-Candy Camp" aka "Pole Conditioning" mostly because it is at a convenient time.  I arrive and sign in with a rather hefty girl working the front desk, and there are a few other ordinary looking ladies of varying sizes waiting in the lobby.  I look around and see a little bit of retail: tutu's, bedazzled tanks, booty shorts, ensconced in drapes of red material that line all the walls.  I can hear a class going on as I sign a waiver the length of my arm, and feel nerves of butterflies skitter through my insides. I was expecting something like this inside the room:

The last class exits and we enter through the red curtains into a large dimly lit room with stripper poles every few feet.  I see others putting down yoga mats, so I do the same and sit and wait for what I can only imagine.  The teacher comes in, and boy is she not what I expected! She is a chubbette if I ever saw one.  She is short, chunky, and wearing what appear to be underwear and a wife beater.  Her arms are sausages and her thighs are heavily dimpled.  This is our pole teacher? Ha! Ok, I got this.  If this little butterball can fling herself around a pole, this is going to be a cake-walk for me.  I am by no means ripped, but I've been very active my whole life and exercise regularly.

you get the idea... 

We start with the "warmups," and by the end of warmups I'm questioning what I'm doing here... I'm already huffing and puffing and sweating profusely. Then we line up in two lines to do pole work.  The teacher, whose voice sounds like a mix between the teacher from Charlie Brown and a hyena, instructs is to do the "peter pan."

flail around pole while bending your legs behind you

Chubs demonstrated, and I thought "easy peasy." Uhmmm, notsomuch.  I look like a bug caught in a bug zapper. Then we added on and did the tinkerbell and captain hook.  Finally, the butterfly: hike yourself up to the top of a pole (like climbing a tree when you were a kid but without bark for handholds and with adult bodyfat) and then twirl around with your hands and feet around the pole, knees out like butterfly wings.

something like this

Our teacher, Chubbs McGee, makes this look easy.  It is not.  First attempt landed me mostly kersplat on the ground.  Take two, no splat! Take three, cranged the top of my foot against the pole... that's going to bruise deeply.  Finally by the end of class, my arms are screaming, my abs are complaining, my legs are even slightly cranky and there are several bruises already forming.

The next morning I am so sore I can barely move.  I feel like I've been run over by a mack truck.  I audibly whimper trying to pull up my pants when I am getting dressed for the day.  I arrive to work and can barely pull open the door to my office.  Ow Ow Ow OWWWWWWW.  Where did these sore muscles come from? I feel certain I didn't even know I had these muscles... and yet here they are, screaming at me.

All I can think is... when can I go again?

oh no you di'int

Went down to SD this weekend for my bestie's bachelorette party.  This isn't her first rodeo in the wedding arena so she didn't really want to do the whole fake-veil/penis-straw/feather-boa route but rather a dignified dinner at a wine bar.  I obligingly did not purchase any traditional bachelorette accoutrements.

Well, multiple bottles of wine later, a latecomer to the party brought the very classy penis-wine-charms which instantly became earrings and nose-rings.  Never underestimate a woman in her 30s or 40s to revert to immaturity when wine is mixed with penii.

Anyway lets just say the evening ended with my tongue not working anymore (slurring much?) and the cabbie offering us a beer for the ride home.  Oh, and me texting Herman*...

Mmmmmyeah.  I had to clean that mess up the next morning! Luckily he seemed to get a chuckle out of the whole situation.  But really, not my finest hour nor my best "move" in trying to nab a man.  Drunk-text is soooo not attractive in the wooing, especially when one has already been rejected.

Finally, I will say that there are an inordinate amount of HOTTIES in San Diego! I think there was a perpetual piece of drool hanging out of my slack-jawed mouth all weekend! Surfers, cyclists, runners, OH MY! Hmmm maybe I should move my search for a BF down south?

my lips are sealed. mostly.

Participated in "reality" today... I've signed several NDA's so I can't really say anything here, buuuuuuut I will say that out of 12 girls two of them had meltdowns and almost walked off the show.  I mean, honestly, I know we were all basically volunteers but I also would have thought we'd all know that this is a TV show and therefore just for fun.  Drama queens!

Ahh! I'm being forced to drink wine and have fun!

I felt sorry for the production crew that had to talk these girls down off the ledge.  One girl was in a snit because she didn't get picked by the bachelor-dude (uhmmm, hello??? neither did the rest of us! the point of the show is he can only pick one girl) and the other thought she was being discriminated against because of her hair color.  Sure, Sweetie, you're the only one here with that hair color except 6 or 7 other girls.  *sigh* LADIES! Put on your BGP and GET OVER IT!!!

Best part of the day? Aside from the spectacular people-watching of my other castmates, I had the best fucking breakfast sammie ever. mmmmm eggs, brie, avocado, lettuce, tomato, and multi-grain bread.  (insert Homer Simpson drool moment here) :

Poor Pitiful Pearl

I worked on a show back in 2007 and became insta-besties with three other girls also working on said show.  As happens, time passed and we all drifted our separate ways.  Well, we met up for dinner and drinks tonight and it was as if no time had passed!  We chatted about sex (good, bad, ugly), kissing (mostly my terrible experience), work, roommates, and baby's breath (the filler-flower).

As we were all going around sharing what we've been up to for the past 2,3,4 years since we've all hung out together, each one shares how they are living with or dating the love of their lives. All except poor little ole' me.

look at my widdle wip twembling

To add insult to injury, out of the three contenders from the man-candy-site, the one I really like hasn't contacted me since Sunday, when I texted him. Boo-sauce.  And tomorrow being fourth of July, the two guys I'm less interested in both wanted to do something with me.  I know, I know, first-world problems. Something tells me this might not be what I'm complaining about if I were living in, say, Darfur.  Although if I lived in Darfur, I wouldn't be celebrating the fourth of July tomorrow either since that's really quite the American holiday... amazing to think that all over the world, right this very minute, people are living their lives.  Some little girl in China is coming home from school; and old man in Russia is drunk on vodka, somewhere in Amsterdam's red light district a young woman is gyrating her body for a high-as-a-kite American tourist and laughing at his idiocy, and none of them give a whit about my problems! Time to pull on my big girl panties and GET OVER IT. *winkandsmile*