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funny?

I text message quite frequently. Sometimes, I'll get a text that is so random and hilarious, I must save it.
A few of my favorites:

"My little boy is gone... He left me for some cross-eyed 20 year old."
"Just look up Purcell in the Douglasville white pages. Then we'll go buy forks and fork his yard!"
"Don tried to dress me and I started crying."
"She has a mustache!"
"He is having a damn party... 2 teen age girls and a fat man missing some important teeth in the front."
"ATL yo mama"
"No. Just watching Claire writhe on the floor."
"I hate the poultry. I fucking hate it."
"I hear your butt hole tastes like buttered popcorn. Ash's tastes like boiled cabbage and pickled pigs feet."
"Did he say anything to you last night? I forgot he was there. Him and his girlfriend left because of the porn."
"Ganja shooting through your ass at 700 mph!"

Tags:

box.

It is freezing in my office today. I just had coffee. Still asleep from last night. Apparently, my dog bit my room mates friend. She said that it was his fault, that she told him to leave the dog alone. That her friend provoked him. I had already mentioned to my male room mate and his friends that my dog can be a little weird around people he doesn't know. Especially males. He just gets scared. Not to mention that he's in a new place, with new people and he really has no idea what's going on. Steve's friend's were cool with it. They petted him, he loved it, he warmed up. But you can't grab him. You can't get in his face, or pick him up. So apparently, he got a little fed up and snapped. Awesome.

I went through and cleaned out my e-mail inbox today. It took forever. I wrote a blog a while back (that I never posted) having to do with all of the e-mails that I've acquired through this past relationship. Like love letters from my grandparents, stored in an old hat box, I kept these e-mails thinking I could look back on them someday. I didn't even read them again. I just clicked, and deleted. Gone.

So much more needs to be deleted from my life. Today is the first official sorting/packing day. I get the old house all to myself for the next 5 days. Pictures. Notes. Knicks. Knacks. What is the point? I used to keep things from ex's back in high school. I'd put on some Boyz II Men, light a candle and cry over my broken relationship. All while sifting through past memories. Then after a while, I would get angry. I'd sneak off at night with a few of my girlfriends to have a burning-party. It would all go up in smoke as we vowed to each other that we would never date again. EVER. Being young was so painful.

Now it seems so much easier to just walk away, to forget it. I used these words recently. They backfired. I don't like conflict. When I know what I want, I do it. I do it for me because I'm human. And deep down I'm really just selfish. Because all I really have is me. I need to take care of that.

I keep things. I remember things. I can tell you what you or I wore on a first date. I can remember how I felt, what I ate, what we talked about. I'll keep that ticket stub. Or the note you left on my pillow. I do this to remember. And what I don't think I'll remember, I write. Because I want to take in every emotion that a relationship has to offer. For the future... Future.

When my relationship ends, it's over. I haven't had an on-again off-again boyfriend since high school. Well, maybe one. And even when it was on-again, it really wasn't. He loved me. And I felt like I needed someone to love me. And at that moment, we made due. I can't hang on to things, memory things. Love letters mean nothing when they aren't from the person you love.

Smells, songs, voices, casual encounters... Those are the things I can't delete. Every now and then, I'll catch a breeze that will remind me of an ex. And for a second I'll be transported back in years, sitting on his couch, watching his TV, being in love. That's just the way it happens. But the things I can smudge from my life, I do. It's cleansing; it's closure. Don't sweep it under the rug. Toss it to the curb.

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bar monkies.

It was my Mom's birthday. So through the downpour, I headed out to her house for dinner after work. My brother was cooking (I know, when the fuck did that happen?). Well, sort of cooking. He wanted shish kebabs. So I helped him spear meat and veggies and shrimp and stick them on the grill. He did make an amazing marinade, though. Jesus, it was good. My mom got a little teary eyed during dinner. Apparently, when she was younger her dad would always grill out for her on her birthday. This reminded her of that. We told her to stop crying and then my brother made a joke about dingleberries to get her to laugh again. My mom has quite the contagious laugh. We were rolling on the floor in a matter of minutes. And I'm pretty sure my step-dad was a little drunk. Which always makes for a good time, if he knows his limit.

I drove home after that. The rain had stopped. The sun was setting, the city looked perfect.

I had a girl-date planned for the evening. So, I chatted with the room mate while getting ready. Then the dogs started freaking out. Looked out the window and there is the other roomie, with about 5 other guys, getting ready to move in furniture. FURNITURE, YAY! I didn't think much about it. Casey did. She started getting all nervous. We put the dogs away. The boys came in. They brought a couch, and a TV stand. Cute. But the couch smells like smoke. We need to remedy that. Then, the boys just stayed. I didn't want to leave Casey alone with 5 random men. Especially since I think they came to "see the new girl room mates" (I mean, really. Who needs 5 guys to move a couch and a table?). So, I called Amanda and told her I would be bringing one more.

Everyone is moving. I almost almost almost moved in with Amanda. I had threatened to sleep on her couch before, all those nights when I just couldn't stand to be home. She is always the first one I call. Because she has a spare room. With a futon. But more importantly, because she is my best friend. And she always has beer and food. But now, her brother is moving in. I love him. I was scared to death of him at first. He's big and tall. He has a shaved head and is covered in tattoos. And one of the first times I ever met him, was when Joy and I lit a fire cracker in Amanda's front yard. I thought he was going to kill us both with his bare hands. At least that was before he owned a gun.

So, we're at Amanda's doing some "pre-gaming". Drinking Bud and listening to Reggae on the TV. I'm pretty sure he's stoned. He seems confused. We laugh at him.

This band we're supposed to see goes on at 9:30. At least, that's what she was told. So we leave her house at 9:30. I have to get gas. And cash. We pull up and park. I've never been to Eyedrum before. All 3 of us stand outside like idiots as 10 hipsters drink their PBR and give us judgmental looks. So finally we pick a door and walk in. The guy at the door says $7. I say $5. He takes it. I love to barter. Amanda gives him a $10. He gives her a $20 back. We all stare in silence. I wouldn't have said anything, he's drunk. She is a better person than I and corrects him. There is art. There is a sculpture of a little kid with a dynamite pack around his waist. The bands aren't on yet. Aside from the 10 hipsters outside, and the dude working the door, we are really the only ones there. We decide to head down the street, to the Standard, for a drink and then come back around 10.

As it always seems to go for us, one drink turned into many. Casey and Amanda know everyone in this small 5 mile radius. I can't say that I'm surprised. I used to be that girl. So we have randoms dropping by our table, making small talk, numbers exchanged. After 2 rounds and 2 shots of jager, we realize that this show just isn't worth it. We pretty much paid $5 to go sit at a bar down the street. A bar that, according to itself, is very standard.

I've transformed from girl-at-bar-six-nights-a-week to old-lady-who-needs-at-least-6-hours-of-sleep-or-she'll-kill-someone. And since I was driving, I called myself off the alcohol a round or 2 before the rest. We left the bar around 12. The ride home was epic. I was a little tipsy. And when I'm tipsy, and driving, I "shush" people. It's like I think the cops around the block will pull me over for making too much noise. Amanda is in the backseat playing with this toy monkey I got from my dad. He makes a horrific noise that is usually only appealing to a dog, but she got a kick out of it. Upon arriving back to the Village, Amanda requested we drop her at another bar. She also asked if she could take my monkey to the bar. I said yes. She then said that I might not get it back. I'm ok with that. Casey requested we drive by ANOTHER bar to see if her previous inappropriate crush was working. He was. And I got talked into "please just one more". So at the bar, I really only had just one more. She had two, because after one she still hadn't seen him. Finally, he came out. He sat at the bar, with me in between. They smoked and flirted. I yawned and watched Larry King Live on the television. She finished her beer, I gave a look and we left. But not before she told him to call her later.

Things must have worked out just fine between the 2 of them, seeing as his car was blocking me in the driveway this morning.

Tags:

sha-zam.

Monday was uneventful. It's been rainy and humid here. My hair doesn't like it. It's been doing what I call the curl-poof. I feel like Monica, from that episode of Friends when they all go to Barbados. And her hair is crazy. Like Diana Ross. But, it's made mine uber soft. So I guess that's ok. I've been waking up earlier than usual. Most days, it's impossible for me to get out of bed. Nowadays, I can't seem to make myself sleep past 6. It sucks. But weirdly enough, I feel rested...

I've lost weight. My skinny jeans keep falling down to show my ass. I have no complaints except that I have no money to go new-clothes-shopping.

Life has been crazy. Work has been crazy. My room mates dog likes to hump me. She could not keep off me yesterday. The only working TV in the house is in her room. That is, until room mate #2 finally moves in all the furniture (which happens today!). So I hung out with her, in her room. The dog kept mounting me, and breathing heavily. But she had been given a Xanax to get her through the storm earlier. So soon, she passed out and snored ever so loudly. We stayed up late watching mindless television. We saw 3 shows that referenced Little People. We dubbed it Dwarf Monday Night TV. More texting. Some e-mails... Myspace is funny.

Today is my Mom's birthday. I'll be heading to the 'burbs after work for some family time. Then heading home to catch a show at Eyedrum. I've never been to Eyedrum before. We girls have to venture out in packs, for fear of looking too needy/desperate. Someone has a crush on a band-boy. Tonight, I play the role of moral support. He too is younger than her. Is there something in the water these days?

I've gotten 2 e-mails from old friends in the last 24 hours. Both missing me. Both wanting to see me. Both will be in the city in the next few weeks. I love it.

It's funny how things become forgotten. How I thought my life was exactly how it should be. The only thing I SHOULD be is happy. And I am happy.

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atlanta to tulsa.

Sunday it was raining. I woke up early. We left quietly, stepping over small puddles collected in the parking lot. Water seeping through the bottoms of my cheap flip-flops. Wet toes. He loaded his luggage into the trunk of the car. We took off, Tulsa bound. Hugs, kisses, mist in the air, hair in my face. I drove away, listening to his CD, still groggy. I need coffee. I didn't go home. I settled into a cozy couch, a cup of coffee at my feet and started to read. It was noisy. I can't concentrate when it's noisy. I always want to hear what other people have to say, always more interesting. An hour later, she picked me up and we went to brunch. Still 30 more minutes before we can order a bloody mary. I ate cheese grits and bacon. I wasn't very hungry. Coffee has that effect on me. Bloody mary's arrive. I think I died a little, as it was the hottest thing I've ever put in my mouth before. We both started coughing, eyes watering, then laughing. She's hung over. I'm tired. We both look like bums. Our waiter isn't the best. I had to ask for a water refill. Full and buzzed, she takes me back to my car. I take my car home. My room mate is in a panic. Her sim card came out of her phone the night before. How does that happen? She dropped her phone at some random guys house. It must have popped out. It seems like an impossibility. She's afraid of going to the bar where he works, for fear of looking like a stalker. So instead, she talks me into going with her to his house. She doesn't remember which one it is, really. But she says, "It's the house with the clothes in the front yard". And sure enough, there it is. With some clothes strewn around front yard. Both the front door and the back door are locked. We search the yard, the porches, the driveway. She uses her phone for work, she needs this sim card. She sucks it up, and we go to the bar. Only for one drink. That will be our excuse for randomly showing up at his place of employment. She's worried what his co-workers will think. He's 21. She's 28. There will definitely be gossip. Of course. We order one. The boy comes from behind the bar. Hugs her, kisses her, they both subconsciously start to flirt. He hasn't seen her sim card. But he'll look for it when he gets home. One round turns into 4. She's friend's with the bartender, so 2 of our rounds are on him. It's not even 4pm yet. And it's Sunday. She is real flirting, I am text flirting with a boy now in another time zone. The bartender comments on the flurry of text messages. I blush a little. There are 3 other boys at the other end of the bar. They keep looking at us. One of them finally comes over. He knows her. He met her 2 years ago. IN PENNSYLVANIA. Now they are both living in Atlanta. How weird is that? After he pays his tab and leaves, she kicks herself for not getting his number. Two more of my friends show up. One has spent the morning getting a tattoo on each of her wrists. They're cute. They suit her. I haven't seen her in so long. Her hair looks great. She looks great. I sometimes forget how much I love my friends. We gossip, introduce around the bar, and order another round. Soon, the tab is paid. My room mate and I go home. Loud music is playing. I'm so tired. The week has been exhausting, but worth it in every way. I drift in and out of sleep all night. My bed isn't nearly as comfortable as his.

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spot on

I noticed this last week, when I was staying at someone else's house. Maybe their water is different than mine. Maybe it's not washing out all of my shampoo or conditioner. I noticed it bad on Monday. So on Tuesday, I scrubbed a little extra hard. Still no change. I did the same Wednesday and Thursday except I nixed my conditioner all together, convincing myself that was it or they had hard water. As soon as I get back home, I thought, it will be better. Friday afternoon I showed the spot to the boy. It's on top of my scalp, toward the back, in the same spot men start to get bald. Thank god I'm not balding. But this spot just won't come clean. It refuses. Even directly after I shampoo, I can feel it (still!) on my head. It's greasy and disgusting and it feels like I've used too much product. So on Friday afternoon, I washed my hair. In my own shower. With the same shampoo I've been using for months. I got out, toweled off and began to dry my hair. MY HAIR IS STILL GREASY! But just in that one spot. The bangs around my head are soft and flowy. The hair resting on my shoulders is clean and shiny. But that spot, that one spot on the back of my head is greasy and plastered down. I jump back in the shower. Wash, rinse. Wash, rinse. Wash rinse. FOUR MORE TIMES. Still nothing. I use different shampoo this time. Still nothing. I've been using shampoo for color treated hair since the day I colored my hair, back in February. I haven't changed diet. I'm not stressing out (I don't think). In a last effort I even went and bought $8 shampoo last night. The kind that is specially formatted for oily hair. Still nothing.

What the fuck is going on? Can anyone tell me? I've been reduced to baseball caps and ponytails all week.

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spring has sprung

I'm a slacker. I'm sorry. No. Actually, I'm a human with obligations. Like a job. But I'm making time today, because I'm sure all 3 of my current readers are wonder what the hell happened to me.

I'm happy.

Not that I ever recall recently being unhappy, but when you're happy you know it. And I'm happy.

Spring fever is attacking me full force. Despite the clogged nostrils and constant sneezing, I love Spring. Better yet, I love Spring in the city. Before the heat of summer sets in, melting your soles on the asphalt. All I want to do is be outside. I want to plant and walk and swim. Before too long, the sun will burn and I'll want to spend my days indoors attached to the air conditioner.

I bought a new vehicle a couple of weeks ago. I knew what I wanted when I went looking, and luckily found something in that genre and price range. Now all I can dream about is packing up my dogs in the back and driving somewhere with the windows down and music blaring. Driving to a place wear I can wear flip flops and a tank top over my bathing suit. And then I'll go swim in some remote location and possibly jump off some cliffs into blue water. This is what Spring does to me. I envision weekends of adventure. Or weekends in the neighborhood, sitting on my favorite patio, with my favorite people, and drinking frothy beer. And wearing sunglasses. The kind that look expensive, but I really only shelled out $6 for.

So Spring is here. Officially, as of yesterday. I'm counting down the weeks until I'm soaking up the purple sunsets and slurping oysters at the beach.

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the price of a bikini body.

I went to the gym yesterday. I've been going for a week or so now. I stepped on the scale my first day. It was what I expected. I've been the same weight for about 3 years. There's always the fluctuation of a few pounds but generally, it's pretty consistent.

I stepped on the very same scale again yesterday to track my progress. According to the scale, I had dropped 11 pounds. ELEVEN POUNDS! In one week?! Impossible. There's no way. My clothes weren't really any looser and I didn't look 11 pounds lighter. I surely didn't feel 11 pounds lighter after my weekend of binging on beer and bar food. 11 pounds is a lot, especially on me.

So, I stepped on another scale after my work out. My suspicions about the faulty scale were correct. Though still lighter than last week, I wasn't at all as light as the first scale had lead me to believe. At least I didn't go celebrate my drastic weight loss with a large pizza. Then I'd have to sue someone.

In other gym news, I was wearing my new favorite t-shirt. It has a local crackhead on it, and it says "Free Eugene" because apparently Eugene got himself into some trouble (crack, I'm assuming).

I walked into the weight room and this man with a very heavy southern accent stops me and asks, "Ey, who's 'at on you shirt there?" and I say, "Oh, that's my friend Eugene." and he asks again, "Oh, who's 'at?" and I say, "He's a crackhead." The man looks at me for a second and then says, "Well ain't that cute." And walks off. Welcome to my first strange church-gym encounter. I kind of blanked on what to say. Either one would have sounded bad, "he's a crackhead." "he's homeless". "he's a bum". What was I supposed to say? Maybe I'll just leave that shirt at home next time.

Actually, that wasn't my first strange gym encounter. Let's say that's number 2. I forgot about the first one until I saw the lady again yesterday.

First strange gym encounter: I understand that it's a gym. I'm probably going to see some people naked in the locker room. I'm ok with that. I only spend about 2.3 seconds in there anyway putting my things away or changing clothes (in a locked dressing room).

So last week I was in there getting ready to change. I was messing around with my bag, retrieving the iPod, minding my own business. There was a woman. An older woman, who had just showered. She had on jeans. That's it. Just jeans. She was walking around, then brushing her hair, then blow drying it. All done topless. This is where I'm confused. If you're going to go far enough to put on pants... can't you at least put on a bra? No? She was literally letting it all hang out. I was quite taken aback. I left quickly for fear that she might spin around too fast and smack me in the face with one of those things. Yeah, picture that one.

Tags:

saga

I'm a AAA member. Well, my folks are. Which means I get road side emergency service (gas, towing, changing a tire, etc.) for free.

If you know anything about Minnie's and my history, you'll know I've accessed AAA a lot in the last few years. One of the most memorable was on a drive home from North Georgia with some friends. Thank god I had friends. Minnie broke down at 10 pm, on a back road in bumblefuck. We had really no idea where we were. Luckily, we were found and Minnie was towed all the way home. Although, my friend's dad was not so happy to be awoken at 11pm only to drive two hours to come pick us up. Oh, the memories...

AAA has been a saving grace for me. But with the latest car trouble, they only make me want to shoot someone.

Last night, in an effort to finally get my car fixed, I called them to have it towed to a mechanic. The tow driver calls me en route, and asks me for some cross streets and for some general directions. I end up staying on the phone with him as he repeats, "Well... I passed such-and-such street. Am I close?" I talked him through almost the entire drive to my house. It was ridiculous.

Is it just me? I mean, shouldn't they know where they're going before they leave? Mapquest or Google, anyone? I'm sorry, but it was increasingly irritating. I shouldn't need to spend 15 minutes baby stepping you to my house (friends excluded...). This is your job. Learn it.

{Not to go off on a tangent, but the same applies for cab drives. Atlanta is the only city I've ever been to where you have to instruct the cabbie to "turn left here" or "take your next right turn". It's annoying. And half the time, if I'm taking a cab, I'm drunk as shit. You expect me to know what's going on?}

This happened again today. After an estimate of $715 to repair the deteriorating Minnie, I decided to have her re-towed to my parents house where my step-dad will do the easy stuff and then have a mechanic friend finish her up for way way cheaper. So I call again, and AAA is there to pick up the car. I give the dispatcher the address of where they will be taking her. Soon after she's picked up, I get a call on my cell phone. The driver says, "Uh, yes ma'am. I need you to give me directions to where I'm going."

So instead, I give him the number for my parents. They're retired, they have time to deal with this.

I think I'm just frustrated by the whole situation. I've been on the phone with mechanics and tow truck drivers all morning, trying to coordinate this fiasco. coordinate looks weird... is that spelled right?

now, back to work...

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its all about me

It's nice when you come to a realization, and you're ok with it. I've begun to realize a few things about myself over the past few months, and I'm able to handle it. It's my life.
A few:

-I have realized that for the rest of my life, there will be dog hair on everything. Yesterday, I brought some left-overs for lunch. As I opened the tupperware, and before sticking it in the microwave, I plucked out 3 (three!) dog hairs. I know they belong to my animals because of color and texture. In past years, this would have made me slightly gag and throw out the food. This time, I picked them out, shrugged and heated up the food. And I enjoyed it too.

-I will never be comfortable walking in heels. For those of you ladies who say, "I bought these new pumps! They are soooo comfortable!" You're lying. I've been a girl for about 25 years now. I've been walking in heels 12 out of those 25. That's almost half my life spent trolling in pumps. Granted, not every day... but at least a couple times a week. I don't think it's ever anything you "get used to". I seriously roll my ankle or trip at least once a day. Maybe it's just me.

-I will never be her. We've all had "her"s in our lives, especially being a woman. For a while, I wished I was anyone other than myself. Whether is was having "her" confidence, or having "her" looks, or having "her" intelligence. I wanted it. But at the end of the day, no matter what I tried, I was still just me. And now, I'm pretty happy about that.

-I don't like U2. I'm sorry. I don't hate U2, but I've never had a desire to own a CD or to purchase a concert ticket. They are supposed to be one of the greatest bands of all time. I understand that. I just don't feel it. For a long time I would go along with the U2 love, for fear of being ostracized. But I'm over it. I don't like them. You should love me for being so honest.

-I don't think I will ever grow out of MTV. It's a disease. The worse the reality show, the more I get sucked in. And when it involves homosexuals and blind dating, I have a little giggle fest. I always will. There is no use in covering my addiction anymore. I'm embracing it.

-I will never understand men. This goes beyond the boyfriend/dating spectrum. This extends to male friends, my brother and even my father. Women and men are extremely different creatures, even if we sometimes do come from the same gene pool. I can't change anyone, I can only try to grasp. I'm working on that.

I think there's a lot more, but I'm stopping here. That was refreshing. I'm learning to love myself and my misunderstanding.

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