Apparently I'm Asian

A trip to Sephora is in my future

Things that make summer awesome:


· Lounging around/near the water with friends, food and cold beers;
· Awesome flowy sundresses and skirts;
· Flip flops;
· Sunshine until 8 p.m.


Things that make summer suck:


· Forgetting to bring your make up bag inside from your car and returning to find your makeup and brushes coated with a light slimy layer of lipgloss because your MAC palette melted into a shiny soup of gunk

When I grow up

There are many things in my life that remind me that I am getting older and (slowly!!) approaching my Golden Years:

1) People who were born in 1990 are turning 18 this year. They have been driving for 2 years and can vote. (I was a sophomore in high school in 1990. That seems like FOREVER ago. I had a perm and pinned my pants. Neither were a good idea.)

2) My gray hair recently seems hell-bent on conquering the entire area of my head thus making me go to the salon more often. (Thank goodness I don't dye my hair blue ... yet.)

3) I make an "oof" sound when I stand up. And several joints make tree-snapping/cracking noises. (And I ALWAYS comment on it like it's the first time it's ever happened.)
And finally...

4) I realize that I own many age-inappropriate things that weren't so age-inappropriate a few years ago. Like hoodies, stuffed animals (all doggies!) and... the latest track titled "When I Grow Up" from The Pussycat Dolls on iTunes.*

*For those of you unfamiliar with the song which would be anybody who A) is over 18 and B) sane, please take a gander at the video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3gvcpb4_7ZQ

"When I Grow Up" is at best described as "stupid and incredibly catchy like an STD." You don't want to own it, but eventually you got it and there's nothing you can do about it. Even the free clinic can't help you on this one. This is what you get for paying 99 cents. However, I digress...
When listening to this (insipid) song, I realized that I'm old (but refined) because the chorus makes me blush. Said chorus is as follows (as best I can tell from listening to the lyrics with my old-ass ears that have a ring in them from too many days blasting my Madonna on my Walk-man back in the day):

When I grow up!
I want to be famous! I want to be a star! I want to be in movies!
When I grow up!
I wanna see the world! Drive nice cars! I want to have boobies!
When I grow up!
Be on TV! People know me! Be in magazines!
When I grow up!
Fresh and clean! Number one chick when I step out on the scene!

BAHH! So many issues!!

1) "Boobies" is one of my least favorite words. Just typing it sends me into a snit-fit. It's ranks right up there with "hump" and "apps" (short for appetizers). So every time I hear them sing the "B" word, I blush and sing, "I wanna see the world! Drive nice cars! I want to have LALALLALAA!"

2) "Fresh and clean"? Really? That's a goal from when you were a child? Were you raised in a barn or did the lyricist see one too many Summer's Eve commercials growing up?

3) This NEED to be famous. Why? I like being able to go outside without being mobbed. I like that I can buy tampons and nobody is around to report it to Perez Hilton. (He would so draw mean cartoony on me too! I know how he rolls!)

Pussycat Dolls, why have you glamorized paparazi attention? You're just wishing crazy people into your life and face it, your personal assistant is going to have to spend A LOT of time down at the courthouse filing restraining orders for you. Really? Is this the life you want for your personal assistant, Pussycat Dolls? IS IT? Sheesh.

(And just for the record, I know, that A) I enjoy writing lists and overuse them in blogs and B) that I'm a butterscotch away from a stint at a nursing home. I understand this!)

I can assure you that NONE of these lyrics were what I was thinking when I was growing up. NOT EVEN CLOSE. I was way too nerdy and scared of... well, everything. My lyrics would have gone more like this:

When I grow up!
I'll be 18! Wanna go to college! I want an excellent GPA!
When I grow up!
I want to have an apartment! Live in a city! Never date a hole-of-A!
When I grow up!
Write for TV! Eat bacon all the time! Wear lots of hoodies!
When I grow up!
Organized and clean! And labels on all my goodies!

See? Very different from what these "dolls" were thinking when they were kids. Very different. (I couldn't rhyme "Be Mrs. Ralph Macchio" in there or I would have included that...)
I can only imagine what the dreams of our youngsters are today. I have a feeling that this might close:

When I grow up!
I wanna retire at 18! Skip a degree! I wanna live without smog!
When I grow up!
I wanna hybrid car that flies! I want a really bitchin' breast aug!
When I grow up!
Paris will be Queen! Nicole VP! Brad Pitt will be the First Man!
When I grow up!
Be a billionaire! Countless things to wear! Cancer free tan!

Anybody want to share a villa at an assisted living community with me? All I ask is that you I) clean up after yourself, II) don't steal my hoodies and III) bring your own butterscotches. OOOF! (Wow, did an oak fall over or what?)

Sigh...

OH MY GOD!


That's all I have to say about that.

online dating

Here’s a hint.

If you are closer in age to my father than you are to me? I’m not going to date you.
My stated age range on match.com is 27-40. If you are 53? You are well outside that range.

Sending me a wink won’t change my mind. Seriously.

Get a clue.

Cold Stone

I went to Cold Stone after work today and came to a conclusion: the singing has to stop.

Whenever you tip them, one yells, “Hey guys, we got a tip!” and they all break into song. It is very, very uncomfortable. The last time I was there it wasn’t a big deal, because when I tipped them the place was packed with people and there were a lot of Cold Stone workers behind the counter singing, so I just got the hell out of there and let the crowd deal with the song. But when I went today, there were only three employees working and myself and another woman in the store. So when I got my ice cream I tipped and sure enough, the three employees started singing. I didn’t know if I was supposed to sit there and listen to them sing or what, but I got the hell out of there and let the other customer deal with it. Very, very uncomfortable.

The sad thing is that I don’t think I can tip these guys anymore. I mean, I really want to - what with them giving me a delicious and over-sized ice cream treat - but I can’t take that singing. And I feel like if I tried to tip the guy but said something like, “You don’t have to sing”, it would turn into some Larry David-esque episode with him calling me out on it and saying, “What? You don’t like our cheerful singing?” and then a customer saying, “Yeah - what’s wrong with you?” and then some hot guy saying, “She’s just bitter because she’s fat!” But unlike Larry David, I would grab a fucking chair and hit the fucker who called me fat and would scream “You fucking douchebag! I will kill you and shit on your grave! I will shit on your fucking grave in front of your family and your pets! I was on TV! Do you know who the fuck I am! I have a blog! I have a fucking blog!”.

I am sensitive about my weight. So sorry, no more tips.

I have joined the gym. I figured it was time, as I went ahead and spent about $200 in preparation for joining the gym (I-Pod with requisite arm-band, gym clothes, new pair of sneakers, some vitamins, etc). In my short time there I have learned many things, which is good because I have probably ten days before I quit. The five that immediately come to mind are:

1) There is nothing good about working out. Any way you cut it, working out stinks. Pedaling on a bike for forty-five minutes that is going nowhere is just plain stupid. And afterwards, the feeling of, “Great - I just did thirty minutes on the treadmill” pales in comparison to the following feelings: “My god, this ice cream is delicious” or “Holy shit I can’t believe I am this fucking high” or “I never knew Southern Comfort tastes this good.” Waking up the next morning and not being to raise your arms above your shoulders because you are sure that they are hemorrhaging is not good. Being in a room with a bunch of sweaty people breathing heavily who smell bad is not good. Expending energy in the hopes of fitting into the societal model of “attractiveness” and developing an inferiority complex in the process is not good. Spending $50 per month for all this is the worst of all.

2) To work out is to waste everything our species has worked toward for millions of years. Fundamentally, when you work out, you are doing something physically taxing that you are not required to do. Can you imagine trying to explain working out to someone from the past? “So, let me get this straight - you’re going to take this really heavy weight and keep lifting it, over and over again. Then you are going to get on this machine and run, though you are not running anywhere. And no one is forcing you to do this with the threat of physical punishment, starvation, or torture. Am I missing something? Because it sounds kind of stupid to me.”

Human beings have evolved to this point in time mentally so that we do not have to make our bodies work as hard as our ancestors did, because our brains are much more advanced. For example, no longer do we need to spend hours hunting for our food in the hot sun, fighting off big-ass fucking tigers and other monsters, because Festival Mexicano will bring it to your door and it will be delicious (and reasonably priced). I needn’t get too into details of evolution (mostly because I don’t really know what I’m talking about), but when we force ourselves and our bodies to perform such equally strenuous and unnecessary activities, it is an affront to evolution, and, as such, to God Almighty Himself. [I know that the theory of evolution and the Judeo-Christian story of creation don’t exacly mesh, but the point is you don’t want to piss off God]

3) A good thing about the gym is that it’s totally ok to be really sweaty. This is especially great for someone like me, who sweats while breathing, sleeping and showering. One caveat: you have to find the right sweat balance between, “Wow that guys looks like she had a good workout” or “Jesus, someone should call the paramedics for that fat ass - is she turning blue?” I have not been able to find this balance, as evidenced by the looks of pity, concern, and alarm when I stumble off the exercise bike and into the locker room, gasping for air and weeping.

4) I just do not like right at the gym. Meaning, I really stick out, or at least I really don’t fit in. Everyone there is either: 1) in really good shape; 2) in really bad shape; or 3) old. There aren’t really many husky, early 30’s gals there. Or maybe they go at other times, like 2am, when no one is there to watch them struggle with a machine, get up and walk around the machine to try to figure out exactly what the machine is supposed to do, sit down and try the machine again, then finally walk away from the machine in disgust and shame.

5) There are many hot guys at the gym. I don’t know - I guess I always thought that sexy guys grew on trees, but apparently they have to work hard to look good. Who knew? Well, I now know that the gym is crawling with attractive sweaty guys who would like nothing less to be approached by a sweating, panting girl named Sandy hitting on them with her “sure-fire” jokes about retards and the homeless. Just sit on your lil’ bike and watch Fatty - don’t talk them, because they really don’t care that you’re “funny” or that “family is the most important thing” to you. You are chubby - please go away and take your smell with you.

That’s all I can think of for now. I’m sure I’ll be adding to this as time passes and I continue to embarrass myself in new and exciting ways in front of people who view me with disdain because I occasionally throw back a ten-pack of soft tacos.