cleopatra, comin atcha.

i want to stop neglecting this blog. i feel some sort of inexplicable obligation to pollute the internet with my nonsense ramblings. alas, work eats up an ungodly amount of my time, so i will probably not fulfill this desire. but i will make a more active effort.

cody and i got a kitten a few weeks ago. (if you are just tuning in, cody is my boyfriend with whom i live in atlanta.) despite repeatedly tossing around the idea and lurking on pet adoption websites and the petco kitten window, i was slightly hesitant because cats live a long time, and i didn't think i was ready for that type of commitment. but then our neighbor said someone he worked with was giving kittens away, and i rarely say no to free anything, so we picked her up the next day.


her name is cleo, because she is a bad bitch, like cleopatra. we thought about naming her oprah, but she will never be big enough to live up that name. she likes to climb up our legs, which is not such an issue when one is wearing pants, but is rather painful when one is not. she seems to think plucking her off and setting her back on the ground is simply part of the challenge. as a result, i look like a cutter.

that feather is connected to a string, which is connected to a wand. she drags it all over the apartment and often puts it in her food dish. she also makes it a point to play with it right next to our feet, even though there are more spacious locations available. this is clearly a calculated decision that allows her to "accidentally" miss her feather and attack our appendages instead.

beauty school drop-out.

i keep thinking about going back to school... and consequently about how much i still would rather not.

it's not that i'm opposed to learning. i am so down with knowledge. but i'm not down with spending a lot of time and money to earn a degree simply for the sake of having one. and i'm even less down with the possibility of earning a degree, not being able to find a job related to said degree and still working a waitressing job to pay for life.

i can't say that i am unbothered by the fact that people i graduated from high school with are nearing the completion of college while i'm still struggling to get it all together. but a gameplan for my life will surely appear before me somehow, like this mysterious footprint on the wall (presumably mine), which i have just noticed.

i'm not my perspective.

feeling this unreasonable urge to talk to myself on the internet for the first time in a long time.

i love living in atlanta. people are nice and my apartment is big (and still looking a little sparse). i started working at a sports bar type place (not hooters. but i would kind of rather wear orange hot pants to work than kakhis), so hopefully i will be making lots of cash money once the football season is in full swing and then be able to flush out my crib.

unfortunately, i have not yet met any notable members of the hip-hop community, but i'm sure it's merely a matter of time until i will be smoking blunts with lil wayne in his condo.

in order to steal my neighbor's internet i have to balance my computer on my narrow windowsill and even then, i sometimes cannot receive a signal. but it's working particularly well this evening, so i have been stationed here for an amount of time i would rather not specify to take advantage of the connection/waste time on my day off. there are some squirrels that live in the tree behind my apartment, and earlier i glanced to the side of my computer to find one of those adorable motherfuckers sitting about six inches away from me on the other side of my window. as you may or may not know, i love squirrels more than pretty much any living creature with or without fur, so having one approach me in this fashion was basically a dream come true. he didn't stick around very long, but when he was back up in his tree he was rapidly swinging his tail around in a circular movement, which i'm sure means, "i really felt we connected, human, and i will come see you again." how exciting!

unorganized ramblings.

i think i have discovered a new mental condition which sets in when one is approximately nineteen years old and leads its victim to take great joy in events and activities revered by the elderly (early bird specials, crocheting, going to bed at 9 o'clock, grandma sweaters, vegetable gardening, so and so forth). about a year into the onset of the condition, physical manifestations of being elderly start to develop. these symptoms include: forgetfulness, exhaustion, and waking up at 2:30 AM to go pee. i hope once the medical community recognizes this as an actual diagnosis, they call it Proft Syndrome.

i'm trying to teach myself how to knit. i am impossibly terrible at it. it's so hard! my mom has been trying to help me, but she does not understand the concept of demonstrations with explanations, so when i ask her a question, she simply takes the knitting needles out of my hand and takes over. then when i continue to struggle and need further clarification she just yells in her german accent, "look! it's so easy! i don't know what your problem is." and i don't either. crocheting is so much easier.

i'm moving to atlanta on monday. it's sort of unbelievable. but i have always loved the atl, and i'm really excited about it. i keep thinking about how much i'm going to miss my dog, which is sort of dumb because my parents only live an hour and a half away.

something i despise more than almost anything is pretentiousness. there are lots of things and people i would classify as "pretentious," but i don't really have time for that. the group most often slapped with the pretentious label is the hipsters, which is a term that i don't think anyone really has a good grasp of because it's not very definite and people love to overuse it. sort like the term "emo" in 2003.

my personal vision of a hipster is this: a young man or woman who defines him or herself by the often douchey music, clothing and accessories he or she chooses to enjoy. there is not a problem in wearing clothes purchased at, say, american apparel and listening to obscure, pitchfork-approved bands. the issue is believing to be superior because of these things. because quality as a human being is not determined by how deep your v-neck is.

everyone is entitled to personal preference. this is america. you can like what you like, but you don't have to be an asshole about it.

there is something, however, that i have to be an asshole about: the ironic moustache.
(to demonstrate, here is a total stranger whose image comes up when you google search "ironic moustache.")



i fail to see why anyone with the ability to grow facial hair under the age of 35 would choose to put this above his lip. do you want to look like a child molester? i mean, who is laughing at this joke? i don't think the general public sees humor in ruining an otherwise perfectly attractive face. maybe it's funny for, like, the first week. but after that, the joke is clearly on the wearer. because no one will want to have sex with you.

must sleep.

doing this thing again where i overestimate my control over the universe. am under the impresion that there is an appropriate amount of worry i need to generate in order for me to get what i want. i think this is probably a sign of insanity, thinking that the universe only takes your requests seriously if you cry about it just right.

to counter my crazy, i am trying to be relaxed by letting the chips fall as they may, but it's rather difficult to suppress feeling overwhelmed and frustrated.

on a brighter, unrelated note, i have been attempting to grow a vegetable garden, and today i ate the first of my cucumbers! which was quite tasty, in case you were wondering.

wheelchair jimmy, we need to talk.

this is the overdue video for "best i ever had:"



1. this was directed by my former main squeeze, kanye west. i would just like to say i expect more of you, good sir.

2. i was asked to be in this video but declined after bras were banned from the set.

3. they really put those degrassi acting skills to use there, didn't they?

i do not like to move it.

i dislike a lot of things. like when people ask, "are you having fun yet?" in situations when you are clearly nowhere close to having a good time. and the fact that i have to go to court tomorrow for a very minor rear-ending incident, in which i happened to be the car doing the rear-ending and someone in the other vehicle insisted upon leaving the scene of the accident in an ambulance. i am quite nauseous about this. mostly because i hate being in trouble. i do not like to be reprimanded, and i typically carry about my business in a manner that prevents me from having to face consequences for what can be considered irresponsible behavior. so, this is pretty much making me want to vomit.

anyway, i am really not naturally inclined to lead a healthy lifestyle. it's not that i dislike being healthy. it's just that i do like junk food, and i do not particularly enjoy sweating. i am down with vegetables and enjoy their flavor whilst eating them, but i would almost always rather be eating something fried. deep fried vegetables are probably my favorite. since i am aware of the shortcomings of my habits, i have recently made an effort to be healthier. i stopped drinking diet soda because i thought the artificial sweeteners were causing my headaches, but i actually still get headaches all the time. so it seems that i gave up my beloved pepsi one for nothing. and because i don't drink diet soda anymore, i only have, like, one regular soda a day because i fear the calories.

i know what you're thinking, "good for you, stephanie." but i'm really not so convinced that passing on the carbonated beverages has really made such a difference in the state of my health.
and really, research on the negative effects of artificial sweeteners are somewhat inconclusive. yes, they are nasty chemicals, but if the body can handle it, then so be it. and by "so be it," i mean, "let me drink it."

even more remarkably, i have started to exercise in the form of jogging most nights a week. i have kept this up for about two months and noticed... nothing. i am not overweight. i don't really have major complaints about my body's appearance and am actually pretty grateful for what i have. but i really thought my ass would look a little more like beyonce's if i ran around my neighborhood listening to her on a regular basis. this assumption was false. and let me tell you something, i have never understood the appeal of strenuous exercise; it feels like dying. people who say they enjoy it are liars. these are delusions they feed themselves to keep them motivated during their quest for fitness. even beyonce says she hates exercising and only does it to stay hot.

this is quite understandable. i could totally see myself living in this state of mind, except for one thing: I LOOK, FEEL, AND WEIGH EXACTLY THE SAME.

exercise, what is it good for? absolutely nothing, if you are going to stay stagnant at a hundred and something pounds and find no joy in it whatsoever no matter how many times you circle your housing development. say it again, y'all.

maybe some day i will find a form of aerobic exercise i find fun. until that day, it is too hot outside for me to go running until after it's dark out, and by that time i would really rather just retire to watching other people lose weight on quality television programming such as oxygen's dance your ass off (or dancing with the fat people).



my money is on this little chola:



may the best dancer lose, you guys.

20.

as of yesterday, i am twenty years old. this is very awkward for me.

for the past few years, i have consistently felt like i was growing into more of a person i could be comfortable with. because for the majority of the time i spent attending post falls middle and high schools, someone -- humility, first of all -- should have delivered me a punch in the face. although i am now far less social and drunk, i am also less of a shitbag.
the past few weeks i have been feeling unlike myself. just... totally uninspired and swaggerless, if you will. this is one of my least favorite feelings. i hope it doesn't have anything to do with aging.

another issue i am having is being able to determine when it's appropriate to be offended. this typically happens at work when people i hardly know want to talk to me about my breasts. the most awkward of these discussions occuring when an old man sitting across from the table i was clearing off said to me, "i bet all the girls envy you." this was met by a clueless smile, as i had no fucking clue what this guy was talking about. until i remembered that i am merely attached to a set of knockers. i then had to smile and laugh while this guy told me about how his daughter developed early but peaked too soon and never got a full-fledged rack like mine.

i'm sure that he was harmless. yet i would certainly never dream of having this conversation with a complete stranger. but i feel like if i had said, "could you, sir pervert, please not discuss those with me or think about them, in general," the consensus would be that i was being some kind of uptight prude.

there are situations when the objectification of women is more acceptable than others. when they are posing for men's magazines or even working at hooters, i can understand the urge to reduce this person to nothing more than body parts. i am not opposed to women presenting themselves as sex objects. if you are self-aware enough to know that's what you're doing, then i fondly say, "get it, gurl!" but i am working at a fucking barbecue restaurant, wearing jeans and a t-shirt that are in no way overtly sexual, and i do not want you to pay attention to my tits. i can't put them away because i am fairly petite, and there is just nowhere to hide them.

this, to me, seems like an entirely rational way to feel. yet when sarah palin gets all uppity on the today show and every other media outlet because david letterman makes a joke about her 14-year-old daughter getting knocked up at a yankee's game, i feel like she's sort of overreacting. and i just don't want to be sarah palin.

there's always gonna be another mountain.

i cry about almost anything that be can be considered as remotely touching. it's embarrassing and i think somewhat unexpected because i tend to be such an asshole. i am an asshole with heart, okay.

while i am not necessarily ashamed of my emotionality, i am certainly not proud. i have recently reached a new low, which consists of getting teary-eyed every time i hear "the climb" by miley cyrus. needless to say, i hate myself.

on another note, the lonely island is not funny. i saw "jizz in my pants" when it premiered, and was not really that amused, except for the justin timberlake cameo. a few days ago, i finally got tired of not understanding why everyone was "ON A BOAT," (after months, seriously) so i watched that video too. the only time i cracked a smile is when andy samberg used the term "flippy-floppies." this could simply be attributed to the fact that he is an adorable jew, and i would definitely hit it.

also not funny: "like a boss."

clearly, i am too refined for this type of humor.




(haha.)

whatever it takes, pt. 2.

so, i hate to go on and on about this. but i have a personality defect that causes me to become rather obsessive about things that i like. right now i am obsessed with house and wheelchair jimmy.

i am going to go as far as to say that wheelchair jimmy is beginning to fill the space left in my heart when kanye west started sucking.

here is the lyric that sealed the deal for me: "i ain't on the fence about it. i ain't mister feeny."

because, ladies and gentlemen, that is a boy meets world reference in a rap song.

whatever it takes.

in the earlier part of this decade, the canadians bestowed a tv gem to the inhabitants of the north american continent (well, the english-speaking ones, at least) called degrassi: the next generation. it was a soap opera starring middle schoolers. it was awesome. it's tagline was "degrassi: it goes there."

and it honestly did cover an impressive range of territory: homosexuality, self-injury, eating disorders, cocaine addiction, etc. one of the places it went, among many (obviously), was a school shooting, which was the result of excessive bullying of this weirdo who was dating and also abusing the overweight girl that everyone liked. the target was jimmy brooks, or wheelchair jimmy, and it left him paralyzed from the waist down (including his boner, as we learned in a later episode).

here are two really shitty clips to refresh or introduce those who are unfamiliar with the incredible poignancy of this series. the first the scene is the epic moment where ricky, the abusive, armed psycho shoots jimmy. the second is a scene in which jimmy's best friend (douche), spinner, admits that he was the reason that ricky shot him. the terrible synchronization of voices and mouths truly gives the second clip a little something extra.





i stopped watching the show a few years ago. around the time when spinner was trying to deflower the hot christian and manny was showing her tits all over the place.

when i think about it, i can recall wheelchair jimmy wanting to pursue a music career in real life, but i naturally thought this was never going to happen. well, i was wrong. wheelchair jimmy is a rapper now, going by the moniker of drake, which is not his real name (aubrey graham). wheelchair jimmy would have been a better stage name. drake seems a little random, kind of like his successful rap career.

he has, like, eight different collaborations with lil wayne. one of which is entitled "every girl," the chorus to which is, "i wish i could fuck every girl in the world." this is coming from WHEELCHAIR JIMMY out of toronto, CANADA. i can't even count how many times i have heard this boy say the word "pussy" at this point in my life. but his star is on the rise, and i bet i will hear him say it countless times more.

what i'm trying to say is: good for you, jimmy brooks, for getting out of your wheelchair and canada and melodramatic television and into the pants of what sounds like a plethora of women.

please consider.

sometimes when i neglect my blog for a while, i feel like the follow-up entry should be extra special, which just causes me to delay posting even further. i'm not sure why i feel this type of pressure, since my readership consists of about.. no one.

i recently had an eye appointment. to put this in perspective, i would much rather go to the dentist (except for now, because i know i need to have my wisdom teeth removed, but i am too much of a pussy to want this to happen). i started realizing i was going blind when i was about ten. people always seemed to be able to read things that i could not. in order to avoid having to wear glasses, i faked having adequate vision for quite some time. then at school they had a mandatory eye exam, and the jig was up. my mother accompanied me to the eye-doctor and they asked me to read the smallest line i could see clearly, and i replied with something along the lines of, "E." and i've worn contacts ever since.

a few years later i got some back-up glasses, reserved for mornings and nights and those unfortunate times i forgot to order contacts before running out. i have kept the same pair since i was, like, fourteen. maybe fifteen. i know the prescription is off, but compared to my natural blindness, it is still pretty clear. the only reason i am interested in getting a new pair is because one of the ear hangers (official title) has been broken off and super-glued back on twice, and that is no way to live.

after making the doctor flip back and forth between lenses more times than he probably would have liked to, he gave me a new prescription. i feel like the different lens options are trick questions, or he knows which lens is supposed to be clearer, and i am going to choose the wrong one. i honestly get a hint of test anxiety before eye exams. maybe i have this issue because i am not one for subtlety. apparently my prescription has changed considerably over the past year. i hope this trend does not continue.

after browsing over the selection, there was only one frame i really had feelings for. i put it on, and the "optician," as she referred to herself several times said, "those are cute... but they're a little big." and i said, "i know, that is why they are cute." she went on to tell me that because of the magnification of my prescription, i could wind up with having some rather thick lenses in these bad boys. then she attempted to sucker me into choosing a smaller frame, but the heart knows what it wants. i hardly even wear my glasses, anyway, and if i'm going to wear them, i am going to like the grandfatherly frame on my face. even if my lenses are going to be half an inch thick, which i pray is an exaggeration.

this (sort of) brings me to a point i am meaning to make: it is so fucking annoying when people wear glasses for decorative purposes. i, first of all, do not understand the appeal to wearing glasses without a prescription. does it make the wearer feel smarter? does it simply serve to add to your hipster street cred? i just don't know.

but ultimately, poor vision is a handicap. would you wear a prosthetic hand over your already perfectly normal, functioning hand? no. well, maybe. but that would be considered to be in poor taste. don't get me wrong: i am totally down with stylish eyewear, okay? just like i support realisitic looking prosthetics, but when you slap those non-functional glasses on your face, it's a) retarded and b) a little disrespectful.

a little late.

today my mom and i were driving home from lowe's, and it was hot, so my mother suggested we stop to purchase cold coffee drinks. after obnoxiously slurping down her frappucino, the following conversation occured.

mom: i feel like edward.
me: ... who is edward?
mom: edward. his hands and lips are always cold.
me: (after a solid moment) oh my god. you're talking about edward cullen, a fictional vampire douchebag from twilight.

so, my mom and brother (who swears he is not a homosexual) have been super into this shit lately. and because they had both finished the books, they rented the movie. a vampire lovestory written by a mormon sounds pretty retarded to me, and despite testimonials of probably dozens of people, i have had no desire to read these books.

now that i have watched about 45 minutes of the unintentionally hilarious movie, i am so glad i went with my instinct. because even if the book is far better, as i have been assured by many, i can sum up my feelings about this argument with the age old saying, "you can't polish a turd."

a few things.

there are some topics i feel i must talk about. they vary in levels of importance.

1. why is the popularity of maxi-dresses soaring? i do not understand. they are ugly on about 96 percent of the population. really, unless you are a pregnant nicole richie, you should probably steer clear.

2. i got boobs when i was probably ten or eleven. they were nothing to write hugh hefner about, but they were bigger than the sets other girls my age were sporting. they did not slow in their growth until i was close to finishing high school. unfortunately, the rest of my body stopped growing when i was twelve, leaving me with a (not quite) 5'2'' frame to lug around my extra-full fun bags. so, shopping for bras is typically a demoralizing process. mostly because i think several brands tend to vanity size, to give ladies of more modest bust the impression that their cup size is larger than it is, which is pretty silly and inconvenient for some of us who have a hard enough time even finding a 34DD, only to spew out at the sides. if i were to find a bra that was able to sufficiently cover my assets, it would undoubtedly be ugly. like, "my grandma's hand-me-down" ugly.

but a few days ago i made a life-changing discovery while at dillard's. i was casually perusing the intimates section when i picked up an attractive bra and realized that the entire rack consisted of bras for C-cups and greater. the brand is lunaire (with a collection called "whimsy"), and it's not any more expensive than most department store brands but definitely better looking. if you or someone you know has a supersized rack, pass the word along.

3. my dog totally just held his puke until i opened the door to let him out. how thoughtful.

4. i am once again unsure of what to do with my life. i really thought i wanted to major in journalism and then apply that degree to a career that involved writing. but i am inclied to feel like i don't really need to go to school for that. i should just be able to get a job and work my way up. and i am worried about job security and lack of income because even employed journalists tend to make moderate wages. i don't really see myself living an extravagant lifestyle, but i would like to feel secure and be able to afford having babies at some point down the road. i'm sure it's possible, but journalism so competitive and i know the work itself would be stressful. i just don't know if i'll be able to take it as far as i'm picturing it in my head. i would certainly not want to write for a local newspaper forever.

because of this i have thrust myself back into quarter-life crisis mode. i have been considering switching my final career destination to somewhere in the medical field. because a)i find it intersting and b)people are always getting sick, which is conducive to employment. ideally, i would like to be a medical examiner because i wouldn't need to have a bedside manner. but you have to be a doctor in order to medically examine the deceased, and i am really not that committed. this is why i am seriously thinking about becoming a nurse.

it feels like selling out. but i think it might just be a sign of maturation. i really have no idea what i'm doing. lolz.

just being hypocritical.

i have a lot of internal dialogue. it would be a monologue, but i am a gemini. so i really do just have a lot of back and forth in my own head. typically over lots of unimportant things. a recurring topic is how much i love/hate the internet.

i care about the internet very much. it makes life so god damn convenient all the time. and you can download things illegally, therefore saving money and the environment because you don't have to burn those fossil fuels to get to the movie theater or wherever it is that people buy music. the internet can give directions, and recipes and teach you do a variety of activities, like crocheting or giving blow jobs.

so, let me make it clear, i do not want to give up the internet. but i definitely think the internet has caused some damage to society or at least my faith in it.

first of all, if you ever needed reassurance that much of the population is of shockingly low intelligence, visit yahoo answers or read the user comments on news articles. it's depressing.

while the internet obviously offers a wealth of information, i am beginning to realize that this is not always a good thing. for example, i had a doctor's appointment today. i was asking her questions and twice they directly contradicted with what i had read on the world wide web. so now i don't know if i should a)assume this doctor does not know what she is talking about or b)stop believing everything i read on seemingly credible websites offering health-related information.

my most pressing internal battle involving the internet concerns personal/social networking websites. i totally have a myspace (...and a facebook that i never update so it doesn't count as existing), and i am definitely writing a fucking blog right now, which in intself concerns me. myspace has been extraordinarily useful in allowing me to keep in touch with far away people, while also allowing me to remember what they look like in different settings (by themsevles, at parties, during summer, at christmas etc) and keep up with their current interests and state of mind. all of this i like.

but here's what i don't: all of these sites -- myspace, facebook, twitter... especially twitter -- are so self-indulgent. once again, i recognize that i am writing a blog, and i am a self-absorbed asshole myself. this is essentially the whole crux of my internal dialogue. but have we, as human beings, always been this voyeuristic and eager to portray ourselves for others? were we just waiting for the appropriate medium to enable us?

i can't really say that it's a good thing to have these tools to attempt to manipulate the way that people see you in real life. because you are not your myspace profile. and you are not cooler because you list abstract bands in your music section. nor are you a photographer just because you have a nice camera, and having a myspace music profile does not make you talented. i am not writing this angrily but factually.

self-obsession is really something that should be frowned upon not encouraged. the internet has clearly made delusions of grandeur remarkably easier to develop and maintain, which is a fairly toxic side effect of the greatness that is the world wide web.

but srsly.

a few weeks prior to the election i had a dream that barack obama was attempting to feed me roofies. what i'm realizing now is that it's really important to listen to your subconscious cues. i know no one really likes to hear political wank because it's everywhere. but i had another dream last night that i tried to break a bottle over nancy pelosi's head, so maybe it's a sign that i just need to voice my frustrations in a blog that no one reads.

when obama was telling the world that he was change we could believe in, i was not expecting him to fix everything in a short period of time or maybe even ever. but i was kind of expecting him to select a treasury secretary who -- oh, i don't know -- paid his taxes. or make good on the promise of transparency by putting a 1,000+ page bill on the internet for the public to read before having congress vote on it, not after it's already become law. or at least allowing congress sufficient time to read this monster before having to vote on it. or after months of campaigning against pork spending in bills, to actually veto a bill filled with 8,000 of these projects instead of signing it and saying, "this is the last time you're going to get away with this, respresentatives. do you hear me?"

after the stimulus bill first passed, i kept hearing obama say things like, "why wouldn't we replace the federal fleet with hybrid cars?" well, at this very moment in time, that is totally not a fucking priority.

another issue that i am often contemplating is that there is not a lot of accountablity among the government, which is frightening considering how much power they really have. several of these incredibly people regulating the amount of money people give to the government DON'T PAY THEIR OWN TAXES AND DON'T FACE ANY LEGAL REPURCUSSIONS, which is very upsetting to me. but also, nobody will take any fucking responsibility for any type of major fuck up. like chris dodd singing "i didn't have anything to do with those millions of dollars in bonuses given to AIG assholes" one day and then changing his tune to "actually, i sort of did," the next. and yes, i know that president bush did not leave office with anything close to a surplus, but these billions and billions and billions of dollars that are being spent now are not being signed off by bush.

and i don't really fully understand how these people are going to fix a crisis laregely related to people living beyond their financial means by placing the nation into such a staggering level of debt. and i also don't understand how the government can ignore that most economists are not impressed by this plan. but i go to a community college, so what do i know.

a blog about t-pain.

there is a person in popular culture who i think about quite often because i find his prominence and influence to be somewhat puzzling. his name is t-pain. of course that's not his real name, which is faheem rasheed najm, which is of islamic origin because t-pain is muslim. which is kind of funny, even though it probably shouldn't be.

but t-pain's faith is not what brings me here today.

first of all, i am very impressed by this man's ability to have completely infiltrated the rap and r&b market without anybody caring that he is really quite limited in his talents. every song he is involved with sounds exactly the same, and in my conservative estimations, he has collaborated with every artist who has been on BET at any time within the last two years. i am sure he is paid a large sum of money for his work and know he is very prolific. i would say that he could very comfortably retire right now, at the age of 23.* and i politely request that he consider this plan of action.

because i think t-pain has reached the maximum number of auto-tuned songs about drinking and fucking girls (who may or may not be strippers) in or around cars or after telling them about your car anyone should produce within a lifetime. seriously. and he has only been doing this professionally for a few years. what's even stranger about t-pain's appeal is that i kind of doubt any of his lyrical content is based in fact.

here's why:



i have kind of a hard time believing women are dying to rip their panties off for this man, if you see what i'm getting at. (that's subtle for, "t-pain is unattractive.") which in a way, makes me even more impressed that he has been able to make such a successful living by singing songs about scoring all of these shawties, if you will. this is why i feel like "chopped and screwed" is the only song based on his personal experiences. i totally believe that he has been led on by ladies aplenty who just wanted him to buy them drinks but did not want to go back to the crib to get down to business.

but enough is enough. please stop making music. i will buy you a drank.




*i cannot believe this man is not even a full four years older than me and so ridiculously well accomplished. it's giving me a complex.

update: weather.com knows what it's talking about.

it is snowing.

and i'm not just talking sprinkled baby flakes. there is a blanket of snow covering lawns and roofs in my neighborhood, and the rate of precipitation has not slowed. i feel like i woke up in northern idaho.


needless to say, i want to kill myself. but this is obviously indicative of the rapture being near, so i guess i'll just wait it out.

weather.com is a mockery.

i compulsively check the weather forecast. and not exclusively for phenix city, alabama, where i reside. last night when i came home from work at 12:30, i made my internet rounds, which included weather.com. and that is when i saw this:



at initial discovery, i thought i was perhaps hallucinating, but it has not been adjusted since. so let's examine sunday, march 1.



snow showers? OH HALE NAW.

constant struggle.

i used to revel in my ability to say something terribly mean/accurate/sometimes funny about nearly anyone at any given moment. then i realized that this trait is a top qualifier for being a fucking bitch. when you put it that way ("fucking bitch"), it doesn't sound as remotely flattering as "bitingly witty" or whatever i thought myself to be. so, upon realizing that my negative comments were not conducive to anyone's well-being, i have been working hard to not be so critical of others. except for celebrities. celebrities always have and always will be fair game.

i have mellowed out a ton over the last two or so years. this might be because i keep to myself much more than i used to. unfortunately, being an asshole is like riding a bike and because i am now around people 24/7, it is becoming a lot harder to not talk shit. the asshole in me blames this on the sheer stupidity of other people, but i know that there will always be people with objectionable qualities among the general public, and my fuming about it will not make them go away. i know this. really, the ultimate obstacle in not being mean is the ability to not chime in when someone else opens the the flood gates for the sizing up of others, especially when the potential for unfavorable comments about the given topic are aplenty.

i know that this behind-the-back spouting of negativity is entirely futile, and it must come to an end. if you want to wear inappropriate clothing for your body type or lie compulsively or whatever, that is totally your prerogative, as bobby brown and britney spears would say. and it is not, contrary to intuitive reflex, my place to undermine anyone's choices or experiences. i don't even know why i think i am so qualified for this position in the first place.

but chris brown (who falls under the celebrity clause) i will probably never get over the fact that you sent rihanna to the emergency room. simply inexcusable, young man.

mia giving birth on stage.

and being fucking adorable while doing so.





p.s. kanye, your hair is ridiculous. not in a good way.

being an addict sucks.

i have previously discussed my addiction to pepsi one. people seem to find this to be a laughable exaggeration, but i promise you. i am an addict. from what i've gathered from a selection of television programs, once you're an alcoholic, you are always an alcoholic. and that is how i feel about my pepsi addiction.

i had been clean for about two months, but i started working at this stupid call center, where vending machines are taunting me at every corner, and i must consume caffeine to prevent me from falling asleep at the wheel on my drive home and suddenly i have relapsed. the vending machines at work don't even sell pepsi products. i have resumed my habit with stand-ins, typically dr. pepper, mostly because i thought i was strong enough to indulge in my habit in moderation, which now that i'm thinking about it, was pretty silly. self-discipline has never, ever, ever been a strong point for me.

i have not succumbed to my urges today or yesterday, but i have been thinking about how delicious a caffeinated, carbonated, artificially colored/flavored beverage would be about fifteen times every hour. i am not making progress.

my main motivation to stop drinking pepsi one 3 times a day was because i thought it would relieve my headaches, but i happen to still be getting those, so i really just don't know if the withdrawals are worth it.

in other news, i really hate school right now. and i think i am becoming more of an asshole again. i blame this on feeling constricted and unsatisfied with my current standing in life. i may appear unusually negative from here on out until further notice.

and in more other news, the ray charles biography ray was on tv today, which prompted me to search him on wikipedia. i am really too hung up on the fact that he had 12 children by 10 different women to care about anything else about him. can you imagine a female in the public eye who could remain respected if she had 12 children by 10 different fathers? (the answer is "no.") if ray charles had been a woman, he would have been chastised more than that single lady who just had the octuplets to add onto her six previous children. i do not understand gender-based standards. ladies are always getting the short end of the stick. that movie in general was pretty depressing for womankind. ray charles did not know how to treat his woman way over town who was good to him.

but he did have some bitchin' tunes and there is a sign i pass on i-85 that says, "we're glad georgia's on your mind!" that always makes me smile, so i guess it is unfair to be hostile toward the (dead) man.

so, um.

as you may or may not know, i have been unemployed for roughly seven months. at the start of this period, i was very desperately seeking work, then i got hired at tj maxx, made the mistake of telling them that i was going to need to be in germany over christmas, (because honesty is the best policy...) at which point they swiftly unhired me, and i decided i did not want to deal with this bullshit until 2009.

so, i finally got hired at a call center a few days ago and have already been reprimanded for my skirt length. now i am working 40 hours a week, my shift running from 3-midnight and going to school full time, the whipped topping on my shit pile. but i must persevere. mostly because i have been lazy enough for a long time. and because i have, like, negative dollars to my name.

i am going to be twenty this year. i realize that it's january 24th, which is a pretty random date to be considering my birthday, which is on june 15th, but this has for some reason just dawned on me and is sort of freaking me out. i need to get some shit done in that decade.

winning the lottery, for example, is at the top of my list.

i also hope to finally have my destined meeting with a rapper during this time in my life because i might not care anymore when i'm in my thirties, as i will be far too refined to keep up with rap music at that point.

i wonder if i will start to look older in my twenties, and if people will stop asking me if i'm still in high school. recently there have been a few occasions where i have been asked if i'm married, which is very confusing to me because i associate marriage with old age, but i suppose one only has to be 18. i also find it rather strange when i am posed this question since i am never with anyone who could possibly be a contender for a husband-type position, and i do not wear a wedding ring.

what's up, dream come true?

when i was a child, i watched dirty dancing, like, literally once a day. i was creepy and obsessed with a) dancing like jennifer grey or "baby," if you will and b) patrick swayze.

you can imagine my utter shock and delight at the discovery of this, the dirty dancing official workout:




i'm not really sure what sort of statistics they used to be able to proclaim dirty dancing as "the number one movie of all time!" but this kind of ridiculousness makes me fall more in love.

i only have one question: do they teach you how to do the legendary lift?

the perks of having a non-native english speaking parent.

i strolled into my living room to find my mom watching a show on the ever compelling lifetime network that featured a very blonde, very white trash woman discussing how she needed a manicure. and another woman wearing a very age-inappropriate, too-short denim skirt, who upon walking into the house sarcastically offered the fat man on the couch another beer.

me: what is this?
mom: wife swamp.

hate that i love you.

whoever is in control of rihanna's career is some kind of genius. she has steadily been benefitting from the same album for over a year and a half now. last summer she released a "deluxe" version of good girl gone bad with a whopping three new songs, all of which were released as singles, "take a bow" (the poor man's "irreplaceable"), "disturbia" (the catchiest song with the most nonsensical lyrics about being some sort of paranoid schizophrenic i have ever heard) and "if i never see your face again" (a mediocre song she did with maroon 5 that i have never listened to in its entirety).

then, at the end of november, she released "rehab" as a single. this was on the very first edition of the album. it has been at the disposal of the millions of people who bought/illegally downloaded that shit in 2007 for a minute. (this actually means that it's been around for a very long time. not a minute. i don't really get it. but i like to say it.) and still, somehow, it is getting a shit ton of rotation. even i for some reason like better now that it's a single. it is my jam, if you will. how is she doing this?

something else i don't understand about "rehab" is the video. it features a pantless rihanna awkwardly interacting with justin timberlake, whose appearance in the video is pretty unnecessary, even if he did write it. his only lines are, "now ladies gimme that.." and "uh, now gimme that." arguably, not the most vital parts of the song. and i just don't understand how being out in the desert on a car or in a trailer in a variety of outfits -- none of which involve pants, even though some of them should -- with the man you are pining for really correlates to having a post-break up meltdown. i mean, he's still there in the desert with her, and they are fondling each other on the hood of a car, so what is the problem? other than the whole thing being rather cringe-inducing.

here is the video. in case someone can explain to me the deeper meaning of it all:

i am pretty inspirational.

first, i would just like to share this incredibly sexy picture of my nearly 20-pound cat. just look at this stud:


i hate it when my attention is drawn to how terrible all the foods i love are for my body. i'm no dummy. i always know that when i am eating potato chips and tostitos salsa con queso, i am not really receiving any nutritional benefits, but when dr. oz is on oprah listing the five ingredients to avoid and the majority of them make up, like, everything that tastes good to me, it is really annoying. I JUST WANT TO LIVE, okay? with my refined sugars and high fructose corn syrup. maybe some day i will be able to afford to be one of those pretentious whole foods nazis. but i just can't help that i love processed foods. just like amy winehouse can't really help it that she is addicted to crack.

despite my unapologetic love for these substances of questionable nutritional value, i fear that someday this will all catch up with me and i will not only be large and in charge, but plagued by various health issues. i do not, however, see myself setting aside the flamin' hot cheetos within the foreseeable future. i hate this condition where i can acknowledge that there is obviously a problem, but i don't care enough to do anything about it. it is such a naggy feeling. like i have to justify to myself why i am entitled to be eating things with enriched flour.

another annoyance in life is girls with low self-esteem. i can let it slide if you are 11-16, because you are probably kind of ugly at this point in time (well, i was.) and you are just constantly thinking stupid, selfish, unnecessarily dramatic things about every aspect of your life. so go ahead, hate the way you look. you will realize how dumb you were during this age eventually. as a general rule, however, i feel like it's sort of disrespectful to constantly nitpick your appearance when you are anatomically normal and your body performs all of its required functions with ease. because there are people who are less fortunate and have, like, five faces with no eyes or mermaid legs. those afflictions, my friends, are things you can legitimately feel bad about.

people (typically in the media) like to say that the media's portrayal of women has set unrealistic expectations for what is considered beautiful. i won't dispute this claim. but i don't really think this is the media's fault. they only show what people want to see, and people want to see attractive people with nice bodies. women who get down on themselves for not looking as good as a victoria's secret model when clothed only in underwear should consider the following:

1)those women have been genetically blessed to be more attractive than everybody else. that is why they are paid millions of dollars for hanging out in their bras.

2)they photoshop those pictures, anyway. and while i'm sure that giselle bundchen looks pretty good naked in real life, she probably looks even better after those photos are edited.

3)those girls probably never get to eat carbs and have to exercise all the time. that sounds like such a fucking drag. i would say that if you are eating pasta and are not on a grueling workout schedule, you don't really have a right to complain about not having the trimmest of physiques. am i rite?

so, sure, one could argue that the portrayal of women in various types of media is unrealistic in comparison to what women actually look like. but for women to feel bad about themselves because they don't look like these women is just stupid. take a look around, i'm sure there is someone fatter/uglier than you in the real world. and i'm sure that there will always be someone skinnier/prettier. but more importantly, perhaps we should just be comfortable with the face and shape that was provided to us and focus on being grateful for all the nice things our bodies do for us on a constant basis.

amen.

Things I recall from my trip to Germany

There was this family that sat in front of us on the plane, and the mother and father were both german, yet their two children appeared to only speak English. I did not understand this. They were kind of obnoxious, but fucking adorable. I spent approximately twenty minutes making faces at this two-and-a-half-year-old child when he would stick his head above the seat to look at me. He seemed very entertained by this. But then a few hours into the flight his mood shifted, and he just cried loudly while we crossed the Atlantic. While in a restaurant with my family in Erlangen about a week later, I once again caught the attention of a toddler-aged boy who found it rather amusing to make eye contact with me, hide, then reappear and laugh joyously when i smiled at him. I am a big hit with the preschool fellas.

My uncles Michael and Peter picked us up from the airport. We got to the car and Michael promptly handed my father a beer. My mother inquired whether there were laws in germany about drinking in your car. He seemed shocked at this nonsense idea and said no. My mother explained that in America, this is not allowed. To which Michael replied, “Everything is not allowed in America."

I was under the impression that all Europeans hate Americans, but they actually pretty openly borrow from American culture. For example, slogans of soaps and banks and whatnot are often in English. And on MTV Germany, they play classic American television shows such as Parental Control and A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila, using only German subtitles. While American television may bring the trashy, german television is all about the cheesy. Hannah Montana is on prime-time television and I'm pretty sure Miley Cyrus is going to take over the world.

Within my first few days there, my cousin took me to two bars. One was called Paunchy Cats (I don’t know what it is with germans and English names for things). I don’t know what the other one was called. Consuming alcohol in establishments erected for this purpose is expensive. I think I would rather get shitfaced at home and then go to one of these places. Or just not.

Most people in germany are pretty slender. But those who are noticeably overweight do not give a fuck. There was this one heavier girl in particular who danced like she was auditioning for the Elizabeth Berkley masterpiece Showgirls, which was just mildly entertaining until she took off her jacket to reveal a top that can best be described as a one-piece bathing suit. It did not provide her chest area with the coverage it needed. A few men seemed to like this and paid her much attention. So the fact that my cousin and her friends (and myself. Cough.) mocked her dance moves endlessly throughout the night probably wouldn’t have even bothered her had she realized this was happening. You go, girl.

The night definitely increased in its level of enjoyment as people became more intoxicated and started dancing more freely. The drunkest dancer of them was my cousin’s friend who was, in fact, completely sober. I loved her. However, watching people grind to such well-known party tunes as “Killing in the Name” by Rage Against the Machine or “Rape Me” by Nirvana is somewhat off-putting.

I have a question: Do people really meet persons of romantic interest in bars? These seems impossible. Drunk strangers, men in particular, have a tendency to be slightly repulsive, I have found. I was sober one night in this club that was probably filled beyond capacity (causing me to repeatedly ponder how fucked we all would be if there was a fire) and people were somewhat unpleasant and sweaty. Men kept unnecessarily touching me in passing. If people my cousin did not introduce me to attempted to speak to me, I just told them that I didn’t speak any German and they thankfully did not speak English well. One boy attempted to hold a conversation by asking me why I was here, and I told him I was there for vacation. He then said, “You are here for work?” and I said, “No. Vacation. The opposite of work.” And he said, “Vacation is the same as ‘holiday?’” and I said yes. I could tell he was trying really hard to uncover whatever English phrases he could remember, making this all the more awkward. I glanced around to find my cousin, who upon taking in the situation simply steered me away. I think if I was this courageous young man, I would have killed myself.

There were far too many people on the verge of making love in this club. One girl was completely gone at the time she first entered my view (I could tell because she was dancing while simultaneously and obliviously dumping her beer behind her head) and several hours later she was pretty literally eating/having her face eaten by a boy I am not sure if she was previously acquainted with. But I am sure that it was fucking gross to watch. It went on for far too long. I’m not so sure if I am cut out for drinking in public.

On a completely unrelated note, light switches in germany are sometimes located on the outside of rooms, especially bathrooms. So whenever excreting waste, I am paranoid that some immature soul is going to flip the switch at a most inconvenient time. On new years eve, while extremely and embarrassingly intoxicated, I accidentally turned off the light on some poor girl using the bathroom, leaving her in complete darkness. Proof that I sometimes worry about things that could actually happen to people.

I am now tired and therefore finished discussing my trip. Trust that the rest of my journey was alright. Although, I am fairly happy to be in my normal surroundings again.