99 problems and bacon ain't one

Sorry, fanny, I had to steal that one, it was just too good.

I just saw a commercial that made me laugh maniacally for a good thirty seconds. These three people were at a barbecue, holding their overloaded paper plates and drinks, looking around and going, "Um..want to sit...here?" and gesturing to the ground. One went, "Um..okay..," went to sit down, lost his balance, and promptly flipped his plate up and splattered cole slaw all over his face. Then the voice-over: "Need a place to sit? Come to K-Mart for blah blah blah." Ha.

I haven't blogged recently because frankly, I didn't feel like recounting the grisly details of my Germany trip. Let's just say it involved some mishaps due to internal company screw-ups, lots of frantic trans-atlantic calls when I ended up stranded alone in various airports and hotels, a fun-filled eight hours in O'Hare airport, and a gradual onset of fatigue and bitchiness.

So, now that that's over with, I had some interesting conversations with random people I met en route to here or there, as I was traveling alone for most of my trip and was somewhat tired of entertaining myself. One was a former Ukrainian (now a Floridian) visiting some relatives in the old homeland. He and I got toasty on a flight from D.C. to Frankfurt thanks to Lufthansa's policy of free booze on those routes, and he revealed that he, a 34-year-old man, had recently been squiring around (and feeding vodka and pickle chasers to) a 19-year-old girl and wondered if the relationship had a future. Wow, right? Gross. He kinda gave me the creeps after that.

My rooommate just ran in here and gleefully announced that a little white dog is chasing people up and down the street. I'm beginning to think that this neighborhood exists in some strange vortex or magnetic field that makes animals act a little kooky. I've already documented the strangely aggressive avian behavior in the area. Just something to think about... hell, I guess I've been watching too much Lost.

My new column came out with much fanfare (all of it produced by me), and I bullied a significant number of people into reading it. The only fly in that ointment was that my bio was accompanied by someone else's picture, a fact which I learned when calling a friend from O'Hare hell, and then proceeded to cry and rant about loudly (with some naughty words interlaced) much to the chagrin of the people sitting around me.. but really, people just get damned emotional when they're really tired. Blame those screwy airlines.

Okay now buh-bye.

After getting over a vicious hangover today, I was informed by Crew Scheduling that I'll be heading to Leipzig, Germany tomorrow. So it looks like auf wiedersein, Thailand, at least for now. Damn it. I'm trying to keep things in perspective - that two weeks ago I would have cheerfully throttled some other hapless flight attendant for a chance to go to, oh, I don't know, Arkansas. And I dearly love Germany and am pleased to be going when it's not ridiculously cold.

So. I was supposed to be an extra in my friends' band's music video tomorrow. I guess this means no writhing around on hoods of cars for me, eh? (I don't think that's what they had in mind.)

Plus, I've been trying to avoid thinking about this, but the aforementioned boy that I like told me he doesn't want to be in a relationship. Okay, I really need some of you out there to weigh in on this. Do people ever say that to people that they really like? 'Cause I really think he likes me, I mean, he did put up with my obnoxiously drunk ass last night. But in my personal history, when you tell somebody you aren't sure that you want to be in a relationship at the moment, you mean you don't want to be in a relationship with them. Please, comment. Don't spare my feelings. Go for the jugular if you have to. I can take it.

In other news, I appear to have lost the ability to pack all necessary belongings in a lightning-quick fashion.. After sitting at home for so long, my packing now consists of much pacing about and little activity to and from my suitcase.

Don't forget - those of you who'll be in Charleston next week, please pick up a copy of Graffiti, and if you happen to feel like writing my editor a letter about how insanely enjoyable my column is, all the better.

Lookuphere!

Yeah, so I'm starting to fear the birds a little. There must be something like sixty-eight varieties of songbirds indiginenous to the area outside my window. They like to sort of dive by so they can fix their beady little eyes on me for a threatening millisecond. I never found birds creepy before, but these Folly Beach birds are aggressive as hell! They've got the outdoor house cat population cowed. Freaky.

Good news?!?

I haven't blogged in a lil while, but only because things have been going really, really well. It was almost painful to type that just now - see, I'm used to visiting my little blog world when I'm aggravated/pissed off/disenchanted/feeling sorry for myself, etc. Consumed by any primarily negative emotion, really. Hey, I'm used to bitching.

The other thing is, if I elaborate on the various happenings in my life that have led to what I'm sure is obnoxiously giddy behavior on my part, I risk jinxing them. But what the fuck, I can't just quit blogging until things get worse at some point. So here goes.

I've just been hired to do what I've wanted to do my entire life - write! Some part of my soul will truly be fed when I see my name in print (other than on a bill or something)..so, yay! I'll finally be relating the fascinating tales of my globetrotting to more than the three or so people who read this blog (I love y'all. Thanks.) Here is the publication. I have to say, although my work won't appear in Graffiti for another week, I've already had a smashing time coming up with random sentences involving the phrase "my editor" or "my column." God, I love sounding self-important.

The other thing is, I met somebody I like quite a bit. Enough that I feel sorta nauseous when I think about him. It scares me a bit that I like him. I mean, I'm an independent sort of soul. Awfully so, I'd say. And some part of the equation that equals independence includes a degree of self-control. Being all giddy and stupid about a boy makes me feel kinda dumb. But in a I-don't-mind-feeling-this-way-if-you-do-too-but-I-can't-know-if-you-do-hence-the-nausea kinda way.

But if all goes according to plan, I'll go to Thailand on Monday, my column will be a huge success, and this boy will decide he likes me as much as I like him..

Stay tuned.

Open Letter to Mars, Inc.

Dear Sir or Madam:

I'd like to begin by offering my most profound gratitude and humblest thanks for the gift you selflessly created for us all: M&M chocolate candies.

Those sassy little chocolate spheres delicately sheathed in candy coating, patiently waiting, waiting to melt - "in your mouth, not in your hands!" - my God, they melt my heart.

A sad note here - I confess to you now that a dark fate, in the form of a deathly allergy, has led me to enjoy only the nutless variety of your delicious confections. I can only say, "Fuck you, universe," for that one, as I feverishly contemplate death by M&M's.. but I digress.

Recently, you introduced to a certainly eager public the latest evolution of M&M's - the Mega M&M. Of course, I was among the first in my community to buy a bag, having spent the past several months anxiously tracking the progression of the Mega's from the creative space to the marketplace.

My hands were trembling with such anticipation that, as I sat in the car of the Wal-Mart parking lot, they could barely tear the packaging open in the manner I prefer - the removal of an inch-long and wide corner so as to ensure pourability into one's mouth while also lessening the chance of spillage. Anyway.

I poured into an expectant palm perhaps seven of the Mega M&M's and was immediately struck by their... lack of "mega"-ness. Had it not been for my undeniable familiarity with the weight, etc. of your product, and the new palette of colors introduced, I might have actually mistaken them for regular-sized M&M's.

I am so sorry. But these M&M's.. they were not mega! Not by any stretch of my hopeful imagination! I had dared dream of a chocolate to candy coating ratio greater than before! I had fantasized M&M's as big as one's fist, or a housecat, or a house!

Let me close in saying that I remain optimistic, as I'm sure that many critiques such as this one have reached your ears by now (it did take me two weeks to pen this, as I spent the first two days in a catatonic stupor and then there was the time in the hospital, and the issues with getting released on my own recognizance.. but anyhoo). Please, be aware that we, your adoring public, will not fault you for sheepishly pulling these back into the lab for retooling. No one will think less of you.

Yours in chocolate (and multi-colored candy coating),
Me.

Mmm. Sandwiches.

I hate Martha Stewart. That pretentious, inescapable were-bitch. I watch TLC as an exercise in escapism, gathering the occasional ingenious home-decorating tip - but I doze off for fifteen minutes or so, and then it's her. The soulless eyes. The dainty yet rigidly controlled body language. The helmet of blonde.

Anyway. I had a birthday this week and even the wave of self-entitlement I was riding (and the multitude of shots consumed) didn't make me smoke a cigarette. Dang! I said to myself the next morning. I did, however, demand that someone sleep with me (no dice), but apart from that, I think I was as well-behaved as is fitting of someone who cannot by any stretch refer to themselves as in her early twenties anymore.

Since then, though, I've decided to enter a period of voluntary bedrest. I'm having some muscular distress in more or less every muscle I knew I had. I decided that attending a weight-lifting class at 9:30 in the morning would be a superb way to begin my birthday on Monday, and after about seventeen thousand lunges with a barbell on my shoulders as my thighs screamed in agony, walking gained a whole new novelty. I still am having trouble rising to my feet after I pee. Going anywhere remains somewhat problematic, as our house is on pilings and braving that flight of stairs is sort of daunting right now. And when I do get in the car, turning the wheel makes my triceps shudder.

I have little else to add, save that Lost is new tonight, and last week's episode ended in a real holy fucking crap kind of moment, so if anyone calls while it's on, they will be ignored.

Mah nah mah nah.

So, a lack of work opportunities (despite the fact I am, I think, still gainfully employed) and an ensuing lack of funds has seriously crippled my social life.

I'm literally afraid to answer the phone because I don't want to pitifully admit to my friends that I can't take part in any normal social activities because I'm broke.

So, lately, I've been reduced to several activities to fill up my time:

- spending hours filling out online market research surveys in the dim hope that it will one day result in some type of financial boon.
- developing new epithets to hurl at my friends, most of which tend to be a variation of the word "bitch": bitchface. were-bitch. bitch-wolf. bitch-box. cunt-box. cuntface. assbox. assface. And so on.
- researching various factoids on the internet. For example, I've recently discovered that a cat may be pregnant with two litters, both at different stages of gestation and fathered by two different cats, at the same time. Also, that little pad further up their leg is for braking.
- contemplating what I will eat for the rest of the day, prioritizing according to perishability (just in case I ever leave town again).
- pulling out books that are probably over my head - like Sir Ian Frazier's The Golden Bough (a condensed version of the original 12-volume magnus), toting it around, and skimming the index for amusing entries. But not actually looking them up.
- meticulously arranging files on my computer.
- remaining perpetually in a state of either dreading/avoiding/planning going to the gym, being at the gym, or being satisfied with myself having already been to the gym.
- trying to think of people I know who haven't yet heard I've quit smoking, then telling them and basking in their praise.
- gossiping about more interesting social lives than my own.
- forcing my friends with any type of connections to free events to invite me to them, and then wheedle my way into free booze.
- making fun of my friends' LoveSac, a lamentably, hideously uncomfortable imitation of a sofa.
- ogling shirtless men, wherever I may find them.
- trying to convince my cat into hanging out with me.
- making lists.

And guess what, my friends? None of these activities costs a dime!! Well, unless you count the money that's already been spent on gas, gym membership, bribing people to be my friends, microchipping the cat so he can't escape, etc.