Actual Conversation

Heard about ten this morning:
"So, do you want filet mignon, Parmesan encrusted tilapia, or do you want to just go out for dinner tonight?"
"Um, all."
"Yes, I'll have the steak, the fish, a burger, and maybe a side of bacon with it."
"She does this to me too, and she's really not kidding."


'Tis a Real Place, Rob



"So rage, please rage against me.
Beat me down, beat me down. Forgive me
for what I've done. I'm so lame, I'm so lame, I'm so lame..."



Giving, and Giving Well

I love gift giving, probably like no other on the planet, and when I truly love you, you won't be ten seconds from my mind. So, coming up with a gift idea is never an issue. But when I work my ass off to give you an amazing gift with some kick ass presentation, and you come up to me with heartfelt gratitude and say, "That was FUCKING AWESOME!" That, that is what makes it worth it. And when other co-workers are talking about it, that just compounds the appreciation.

Asshole: I hope you take this to heart.


It's Good to Know that You're Alone

I went to my boss today to see if the phone situation had been corrected. We recently switched "teams" around the office. Teams are kind of how our area is now structured. I noticed today that several former teamsters are still coming through on my phone. When she informed that the phones were still screwed up and that she had been playing phone tag with the person that has to correct it, she then said, "Well, you've only got one more day here. I don't think you need to worry about it." I giggled like, "Fuck yeah, I do," and instead actually said my INNER THOUGHTS ALOUD, "Can you have them redo my phone so all my people are together, like on the same side, because they're like ALL OVER THE PLACE." As soon as I said it, I wanted to rewind the world just a mere five seconds. She just looked at me and started to laugh. I hung my head and said, "Too much to ask for. I knew that."

Okay, say the title with me....Balls!

Oh, like you didn't see that one a mile away.
So, I Missed Halloween


For Chicago

I hate you.


I Heart Eastern Architecture

And I really heart this little panda.



Ice Princess, II

That post. It wasn't written in anger and it wasn't written to make anyone feel like shit. It was written because I sometimes grow weary of arguing about all the things that I'm not. My coworkers have told me that I'm high maintenance. I guess that's what they make of me. When we're sitting in a boardroom and someone says that I'm single and another inquires if she needs to be on the "lookout" for a boy, another one retorts that he needs to be "rich guy." There is just a huge part of me that wants to scream out at that. Why would I even care about money? I care more that he can take care of himself than he can take care of me. I hate that people will judge how I spend my money and tell me that when I get married, boy there will be a stop to that. When I tell someone that this guy I talk to is really cute, genius-type smart, and has been in prison, I get, "Well, there won't be any Acuras in your future going after something like that."

I thought that I came from a different generation. One that was more open minded and tolerant of different spirits. That just because I drive a nice car, doesn't mean that I want to marry a banker. Just because my shoes are expensive, doesn't mean I am high maintenance. I cannot get over what people assume about me. It baffles me sometimes. They are just so far off.

Maybe that is why I am usually so enamored with people who are different. I am usually drawn to the outcast, the different one that nobody talks to in class, the quiet guy, the badass. They make me curious. In all honesty, I've never been disappointed with them. I've always liked the way that they look at life. Different, not cookie-cutter. I see more beauty in them than the world apparently sees. I will judge you for how you shape your world, not how the world has shaped you.

I'm not your married-2.5 kids-$300,000-home-six-figure-salary girl. I need a little more substance and meaning than most. I need to know that you love me, and not because of what I can do for you. The same is true of you. I will love you for you. Not because of your salary or what car you drive.

And dear boys. Money is not everything. My god, I wish you would learn that. Ambition isn't either. When you work your ass off for forty or fifty years, you won't look back and think, "I wish I would have worked a little bit harder." Stop telling everyone what you make too. If you need that kind of approval, it screams that you are insecure. Do you honestly want someone to like you for that? Or do you want to know that she likes you because there isn't an ounce of her being that isn't madly in love with you?

I once dated a guy who, on the second go around, started to interview me. "If I go golfing for a weekend, can you handle that?" He continued from there, which meant I should have just kicked his ass down the hill where he was going with this line of questioning.

Wake up world. Marriage isn't what can you do for me. It's not about your 401k and it's not about if your wife will let you hunt on the weekends. Women, it's not about the size diamond on your hand either. My god. If it means that fucking much to you, just buy it yourself.

Don't tell me that Hollywood is the only place left believing in love. I don't buy it for a second. I just think that sometimes we need to stop and think about what matters in life. It's too short to focus on a gem and animal game.

Love what you love, and love it completely. Cherish and nurture it. Expect it to be faulty, and love it for its difference. Just be true. That's all I'm asking.


A Complaint Against My Body

I hate the way that I sleep, or don't sleep. I hate the way that a turned doorknob can make me sit up in bed. I hate the way that the smallest amount of a brighter light from my alarm clock can actually wake me sometimes. My stereo makes the slightest pop before it comes on, and I wake to that, not the music. I hate my dreams. They make me anxious. I just want them to go away. I will get angry at my brain for thinking moronic thoughts, and I do mean moronic. I never sleep very deeply. Though my inner alarm clock is nice in that I rarely oversleep, it never allows me to actually enjoy days off, like today. I am WIDE AWAKE on a day off. That is such bullshit. Even though I will stay in bed, there will be no sleep to be had...just some moronic dreaming off an on.


The Ice Princess

I've been hearing a lot of things about myself lately. A lot of adjectives have been thrown in my direction. I've been told that I'm cold, uncaring, stoic, bitter, afraid, hurt, you name it. I have to say, I started to reprove most of these adjectives, except one. I like stoic, and it's a word that I was barely familiar with. So, I've been thinking and analyzing my seemingly odd nature. I am stoic, in every sense of the word. I would even say I have been this way since I was a child. My parents tell me that when they would hit me for being the unruly child that I was, I would just look at them and say, "That didn't hurt." I have a wall up, and I like it that way. My sincerest of emotions is rarely ever shown or expressed to anyone. For instance, I can compliment a stranger or acquaintance, but I cannot compliment my best friend. I'd rather not utter that I like something. I love my family dearly, but I'd rather not say it to them.

I was once hanging out with this good friend from high school. He had, had a crush on me for some years, and we'd developed a really good relationship. We were together all the time and spent hours on the phone, but there was never really anything going on between us. I remember sitting on his porch with his younger brother. I don't even remember what we were talking about, but his younger brother didn't know me that well. He said something and then called me, "Ice Princess." I said, "Where on earth did you get that?" because he sincerely meant it. I looked at his brother, and he said, "Just ignore him," but I knew damn well what the two had corresponded about me already. It was obviously something that he had felt about me, or certainly portrayed to his younger brother.

I was working yesterday when I watched three boys sitting on our couch. They were teasing a fourth boy, and he sat there with his arms crossed, staring at the floor, crying. I wanted to kick their asses. He was literally breaking my heart. The mother finally came over and sat beside him, but she didn't really do much to comfort him. I didn't know what the situation was, though I had tried to listen. The boys kept tugging at a stuffed animal he had tucked under his arm in a Disney bag. I heard one of them teasingly say, "You can pull it out now." The mother, I'm assuming, said, "He knows that. He'll do it if he wants to." I wanted to kick her ass too. I wanted to tell all of them to shut-the-fuck-up and leave him alone. I wanted to go wrap my arms around that little boy and let him cry.

Crying gets to me. I thought that as they all left the store. As I stood there straightening items, I thought about how many people I've made cry. People that I grew up with, friends, family, boyfriends, dates. I wish I could take that all back. I wish I could take my hurt that I've caused and words that I've said.

But to all the naysayers out there, to all of you who think that you can read me, I'm not what you think. You can read this blog a million times and try to figure me out. I'm not against marriage. I'm not against love. I'm not bitter. I'm not mad at "that boy still" either. I have forgiven him and moved past that anger and hurt a long, long time ago. I've even forgiven some of the other ones who did some stupid shit too.

I do really believe in love, in the purest of ways. I like marriage too, but I hate what society has turned it into. I hate thinking people use it as a safety net or look at it for financial security. I hate that people turn to it as a last resort or an excuse to not be alone. I hate that people don't honor it or fuck around when they're in it. I hate that people participate in it because they think that's what they're supposed to do. And I really hate that people look at like an achievement, a check-the-box type of thing.

Learn something from this blog. Learn to not be afraid of what you want. Learn that loving someone is a freedom in and of itself. You can love whom you want, and no one can tell you otherwise. Marry because you are that fucking in love with someone, not because you are pregnant, not because you want kids, not because it's expected, not because you are scared that no one wants you, not because you don't want to go through life alone. Marry because you want that person beside you, because you want them to be there when you're ninety years old, because you never want a life without them. Marry because that person makes your heart stop, their smile warms your insides, and you always catch your breath when you first see them. Have children because you want something left of that person that you love so much or because you think life would miss something without them, not because you "just want kids." If you can't love in that capacity, if you can't love enough to forgive, if you can't love honestly, then you'll never really love at all.

So, judge yourselves. Leave me out of it.


Circle, Circle


A Hundred Years Ago


My Other Mini Beating Heart

There is possibly no other person on the planet that could appreciate a shot like this one displayed before you. My dear, sweet friend, Malcolm, recently totaled his Mustang. So, now he drives a Mini Cooper. He sent me several pictures of his car; actually, he sent them twice, but this picture was sent in the second batch.

Malcolm is an incredibly talented graphic artist living the fast life in Vegas. He and I became acquainted at my part-time job nearly six years ago, even though we knew of one another in high school. When we would go out together, he liked to dig in the crawl of everyone's ass with his Mustang. Because I am used to people who like to drive like that, I found it kind of charming, because, as my girlfriend always tells me, I should have been born with a penis. I vividly remember some blaring Limp Bizkit and feeling the rush of excitement driving like we were teenagers, though we were many years past that point. We sat in the bar while he doodled on napkins, embarrassing me by telling me I was beautiful because my face had a lot of symmetry.

Malcolm left me like all my cool guy friends leave me. I've seen him once since he moved, and we got to hang out. He's one of those guys I just want to shrink and carry around in my pocket. He's oozes charm, sex appeal, humor, and you just can't help but love him and laugh with him.
Um, Yeah

I went shopping (more like browsing), on my lunch hour with my boss. As we walked through Sharper Image, eyeing all the cool gadgets, he plopped himself into one of those massage chairs that wrap around your ankles like banded cuffs. So, I looked around and saw a fancy foot massager. I debated removing my heels, and then remembered my fear of all things germy. I placed one of my heels into the machine thinking I wouldn't feel much through my pleather shoes. Then the thing started to jiggle about, and my eyes just rolled back into the top of my head. I tried to utter a sentence, and my boss goes, "This totally reminds me of Harry Met Sally." All I could do was stammer, "Ohhh, Ahh, Oh My G--, Oooooh, Whooo, If you, Uhhhhhhhh." Then, I started to cackle because I had chills all over my body, and I kind of couldn't think coherent thoughts anymore. The vibrations were ricocheting through my calves, so I quickly whipped my other foot into the machine and melted into the chair. By then, my boss said, "Your face is turning red." When I finally found the stop button, I tried to stand up, and my legs had turned to jelly.

So, yeah, I highly recommend that thing. Totally worth the cash.




Voted Best Place to Get Jeni Drunk

I witnessed my first drag show the night that I took this picture, where I found myself seriously attracted to a really hot girl that was actually a guy. My brain was totally lost on the rationale, but she/he/it could move on the stage and would not stop giving me "the look." She/he/it either liked me, or was wanting a tip, both of which, I wasn't prepared for.