Tuesday, December 26, 2006
To put it simply, my recent experiences include a lot of improvement upon my gaydar. I work in the Gayborhood. I work at the Gayborhood Starbucks because I have failed to land a job in Mass Comm thus far (and have turned down a couple of interviews because now I don't want a job in PR or advertising). The amusing thing is, I love working at Starbucks. Time flies, the people I work with are uber-nice, and it has good perks. It's also a lesson in downtown life, as opposed to suburbia (and I'm not-so-much feelin' the downtown vibe... the suburbs are safer and cleaner). So, for simplicity's sake, I'm just going to bullet through some of my experiences so far...
-The BPs love the Caramel Macchiatos, and sometimes the White Mochas. I don't know why, they just do.
-The homeless love Starbucks as much as the rest of us do. I learned this when I picked up a shift near Deep Ellum (Gaston & Haskell, if you're wondering).
-A corpse was discovered across the street from the store I work at, behind the Gloria's I had eaten at just days earlier.
-Dorky cops love me, and gay men love my earrings.
-To make myself more astute in the ways of human sexuality, I have been trying to differentiate between the definitions of drag queen, transvestite, transsexual, cross-dresser, etc. Like, there are some men that come into my store who are clearly trying to look like women (like he grew his hair out and got breast implants), and then there are some who are clearly just men in a BAD wig, coral lipstick, and a push-up bra to accentuate their man-boobs. I know for a fact that most gay men are not this fashion-retarded. Most of them wear nice lip gloss like the rest of us girls... So what are their classifications?
-People have become so lazy that they can't even put their own condiments in their beverages and Starbucks caters to this. Which, in reality, is pretty unsanitary. We're not required to wash our hands between duties (doodies, yes, but like from cash register to bar, no) because we never actually touch what you ingest, and then we go rip open your Splenda after taking sweaty money from the man prostitute named Troy... YUMMY. When you end up with some sort of VD and you're not sure why, try to remember to quit being a lazy f*ck and put your own sugar in your Latte.
-My content analysis of lesbians thus far tells me they have a generally cranky demeanor.
-Some people (actually a lot of people) spend upwards of $200 a month at Starbucks. It truly is an addiction like cigarettes. Or crack.
-Check out the calorie content of the tasty snacks at your local Starbucks. And if you're watching your weight, never get a scone. They have between 650-750 calories a piece.
-Plastic surgery is never a good choice. I have seen some effen freakish faces due to collagen injections, Botox, and some bad boobies at BlackFinn (but that was in Addison). If you're going to get Botox or collagen injections, do something to make it look less rubbery and creepy. You're scaring the kids! I have a feeling if we saw the celebs who've had work done in person, they'd look totally monstrous... like you could bounce a quarter off their face because it's so tight, but they wouldn't feel it because of the Botox...
Anyhoo, that's my diatribe for now. I'm sure there'll be more to come, and if you have any Starbucks-related questions, feel free to ask. I may have the answer...
Monday, December 18, 2006
Everything I enjoy doing costs money, and therefore I really can't do anything because I just started the new job about three weeks ago and haven't had time to figure out what I can or can't spend in order to still be able to pay my bizz-ills. Usually you'd find me shopping, eating out, buying booze for a night out, driving myself to said night out, etc. Last Monday I got my tip out and spent it all by Tuesday night, having grocery shopped, put some gas in my Jeep, and gone to the Stars' game. See how quick it all goes?
Anyways, I'm being forced to lay low until my finances smooth out in a month or so. I'm trying to be frugal so I'll have the scrilla to get home and be with my family during the beginning of January because it's going to be a rough time, but there again, when I get to the Dizzle, I know I might want to go get crunk and go snowboarding with my brother in honor of Matt... all this costs money.
So what do I do with my spare time? Hmmm... well, I usually come home from work around noon, eat, check the e-mail and the MySpace, maybe chat up some kids on Gmail, go yogging, and by then it's like 4 p.m. So then I have about four hours before I "should" go to bed (I've been getting up between 4 and 5 a.m. for the past couple of weeks... time to make the doughnuts!!!). I should write, but I feel uninspired right now to blog about anything but subjects I want to keep private presently. I should read, but I have trouble concentrating on one thing at a time and I get reading ADD (Ty, I need to borrow some books!).
Sometimes I watch TV (Law & Orders: CI and SVU, The Office, My Name is Earl... are you seeing a NBC trend??? Unless I unknowingly change the channel and watch FOX all night, thinking NBC is broadcasting FOX shows for some reason... Yes, it happened last night.) and luckily Eve got me pretty much the best present ever - all three seasons of Arrested Development - so that's been on a continual loop at the Wheeler/Curtis dwelling since like Friday. It was Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire for like the week before that, so thanks for saving us, Eve, from another week of watching Voldemort come back and bad acting on Emma Watson's part.
Ergo, there's only so much yogging, playing on the Internet, and watching of the television I can take. When the new year arrives, I am probably going to be in dire need of some fun times at the discoteque.
P.S. - Remember when I blogged about chinos? Well, I had to buy a pair today at Target. I've been wearing a pair of quasi-expensive dress pants to work and they're my favorite because they have tiny pinstripes, and I don't want them ruined. So now... I own black chinos/khakis. I have not purchased pants of the chino variety since 2000 and they were from Abercrombie & Fitch and have a button fly. I'm fairly certain I used to pair them with other items from A&F and Doc Marten's... I can't believe I just told you that.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
You could be the most blatently honest Tucker Max-ish, Rush Limbaugh, Rosie O'Donnell (I just typed the first people who came to mind that say stupid and offensive things sometimes), and you're still hiding something. You can be rude, judgmental, crass, but within you lies more. You might be super-sweet, the person people name as the nicest person they know, and harbor ill feelings inside. We all censor ourselves in different situations with different people... I think this is Impression Management Theory (Amanda! Your boyfriend Erving Goffman returns to stalk us with his Social Science theories!).
I was actually chatting with my dear buddy Amanda earlier today when this all just sort of hit me... When I am around certain people, I feel compelled to act a particular way and there are few people I can just relax around and not worry about what they think about what I say or do. Around most of my friends, I feel like I have to be funny, smart, and witty. Unless I'm hearing gossip and reacting, I'm shooting the shit about whatever is going on in my (or other's) life(ves), and cracking jokes about it all to boot. I don't know why. I'm just conditioned to do so. Maybe many who do this are like so many "comedians" who josh around to cover their neurotic tendencies (thanks Joel, I had to look up the word and use it).
The number of people I can completely be myself around can be counted on two hands, I think. In fact, I could probably just name them all here and let them know they have experienced the Uncensored Sarah: the mom, the bros, Geoffrey, Josh the ex, and probably anyone who came in personal contact with me in the first two months after my brother died and witnessed firsthand my verbal diarrhea got a little Sarah Show.
I'm not mean, but I'm not overly-fake nice. I'm forgiving, I try to forget, but I will make you remember when I think you need a little kick in the shin. When I feel the need, I can say something so horrible to you that you would not believe it came out of my mouth, but I have to be provoked and cornered for this to happen. I also always assume the best about people, not the other way around (I like to think all people would never act maliciously until they do, which gets me into trouble a lot). I'm funny with or without trying, but sometimes I try harder than others. I'm very self-conscious and I never think I will be as cute, stylish, kind, flirtatious, interesting, as the other girl (I don't care who it is). I'm hard-headed and once I make up my mind to do something, I am not easily persuaded to change because I do not like to admit I am ever wrong. I try to act tough and I'm not, but I'm tougher than I internally give myself credit for. This is just the tip of the iceberg, but I have to start censoring somewhere...
I miss the people I could be myself around. No offense to anyone at all. You have probably witnessed me to a degree. Maybe I am myself entirely, but I feel like I can't cry in front of you, or that you will judge me for something I say or do. No worries. This is just the uber-censored, highly-trained-to-act-normal society we live in. Now go pretend to be yourself.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
I have come to realize that some people are one way, and the rest are another where earnings are concerned. Some can work to live, others have to live to work. I have found that I belong in the latter group, even though I have to work to live at the moment. I would rather do manual labor than be stuck in an office from 8 a.m. until 5 p.m. every day, hating each moment I spend wasting my time because I’d probably just be surfing the Internet anyways. Don’t get me wrong, I completely respect someone who enjoys it. I, unfortunately, am not one of them. Perhaps if I found an office job where I was doing something I liked, I could handle it, but that has yet to happen…
There is also a fine line between ambition and greed I am starting to recognize (although if you look up both words in the dictionary, there is little difference between the two, so let’s assume for the sake of this blog that ambition is a sincere desire to better yourself and achieve your goals through noble means, while greed is the Kenneth Lay route to personal gain). There are people who will do anything to have money and things, including sacrificing their true dreams, believing that drudging through life in an unrewarding career will somehow pay off in thirty or forty years with an awesome retirement. So then you can enjoy your “Golden Years” playing golf and Yahtzee, before the arthritis and dementia set in, resulting in your funds being used to put you in a nursing home. Who knows if we’ll even make it that long…
So why not experience your life now? By no means am I saying don’t save for retirement because obviously at some point you’re not going to be able to work anymore, but if you do what you love, you’ll always be willing. Travel while you’re young. Meet new people. Try new things and discover what you enjoy. Stop caring about what other people think and live the life you want to live, not the one society says you should.
Too many of us get caught up in the suburban circle of life. We think we have to graduate high school and then go straight to college, find a job straight out of school where you’ll use your degree somehow, get married, have kids, keep working at your lame-o job, take family vacations when you have the time and money, see your psychiatrist regularly because you can’t figure out why you’re so dissatisfied with your life… retire as soon as you can, because if you wait too long those health problems I was talking about earlier will ruin your hard-earned permanent vacation when you’re 65.
I don’t have to live that life. No one does. Right now what I deem a success may not be worth dirt to another person, but right now I what I want is to stay mobile, have a good time, and keep writing until something comes of it (therein lies my ambition in noun form). The car I drive, clothes I wear, and things I have are not an outward manifestation of my success or satisfaction. Those things only show that I drive a crummy Jeep that’s paid off, I have little-to-no sense of style, and don’t buy a lot of things because I have a hard time justifying the purchase of items I don’t need unless it’s beer or girly stuff like lotion and bubble bath (or better yet, beer to drink while I take a bubble bath)…
And how I make my money right now does not define what kind of person I am, and is not my be-all-end-all (I may sling coffee, but I’m having fun doing it!). But maybe it’s not greed I perceive - perhaps everyone’s definition of success just varies.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
But the phenomenon I have now encountered, having come into contact with what is commonly known as "employment" (not to be confused with "career"), is the need for a justification for people I meet in regards to why I moved here. So here is the story (of course I realize that if you are reading this, you probably already know, but whatever):
I visited Dallas about four or five times before moving here (three times in the last two years, I think). Upon visitng back in February of two double aught five for Gavin DeGraw, I added it to my list of potential places to live after graduation. I wanted to live in a bigger city, but not too big, as having come from small(er) New Mexico towns and villages, I didn't need too much of a shock. Also on my list were Albuquerque and Denver.
So why not Albuquerque or Denver, you may ask? Well, shut the hell up and stop talking about how beautiful you think New Mexico is even though you live in Texas, and I will tell you (that's exactly what I want to say to these idiots who ask me). Albuquerque is cool. I have my BFF and BFF Squared there and it's close to my family. However, in my heart I felt like I'd be a cop out if I didn't at least get a little ways away from NM for a while and experience something else. I also recently experienced the devastating death of my youngest brother, Matt, and without realizing it at the time, wanted to get away from all of those memories and pain... which has not worked out so well, but that's how I roll (we don't need to get all depressed now...). I assume I'll probably end up in New Mexico again someday (who knows when) because I love it there - the scenery, the people, the food (CLEARLY the best ever), the memories...
I've been in Denver several times as well, but mostly have just driven through on the way to visit my dad in South Dakota over the years. I LOVE Colorado and mark my words: I WILL live there at some point in my life. So why didn't I go to Denver? I don't know a soul in Denver besides my married-with-kids friend Kevin. Maybe when Allison and Brady move there, I'll go live on their couch for a while... But at this juncture in my crazy life, I thought it might not be a good idea to be absolutely alone in a new city.
Where Dallas is concerned, I had a couple of good friends here (although I never see one of them - effen Kelly B.!) and have made many more, all of whom are fabulous (especially Dirk... we like to go get frozen mimosas at Breadwinners after strolling around the West Village)! I thank Sack for being a great host to a couple of my visits and showing me some of the finer drinking establishments in the area, in addition to the aquarium and the BP mall in North Dallas (which I had to go to a couple of weeks ago... scary!).
There is also the story of Jeff, where he wanted to move, and his bet with himself concerning the NBA playoffs and finals, which can be found in a June or July entry on my Blogspot blog. It's nice to know your roommate is up for drunk grocery shopping, or going to lunch with you at El Fenix downtown when you're playing hookie...
And if people still wonder after I tell them all of these things because they think New Mexico is so fabulous, I'll just have to kick them in the shin and ask why they don't live there.
All in all, I am quite pleased with my living arrangements, although as long as I am unattached and able, I will keep my options open. I want to live in several places so I have stories to tell my 87 cats when I'm old, alone, dipping biscotti in a gin martini, wearing a boa, and spritzing myself with an atomizer filled with some sort of Estee Lauder perfume brew...
Thursday, November 02, 2006
After an outstanding meal of family-style Indian food at The Saffron House, we sauntered over to Sherlock's. Upon entrance we were offered free Jaeger shots and spotted "The Dancing Man", a later-middle-aged man with a flair for dancing like he's on acid when no one else is on the dance floor. I've never seen anything like it before in my life, and I hope to see it again soon. Picture Dennis Hopper dressed in khaki slacks and a pale yellow polo tucked in, and you have a pretty accurate representation of this guy. Now imagine this character prancing around, "gracefully" waving his arms about a la the hippies of Woodstock or the ravers of late. If I would have had my glow sticks on me last night, I would have immediately given them to this man as a gift because the entertainment I would have received in return... priceless.
The beer was cheap. I'm talking like $1.50 for a pint and $2.25 for the big beers, and the more I had, the better the band sounded... especially when they obliged our request to play "Your Love" by The Outfield. Rest assured I was singing and dancing... Josie's on a vacation far away... I think I've been inspired to change my MySpace song. I don't know what the name of this band was, but the fact that most of them had long hair and they had a playlist straight off of Helmer's Pub's iPod made them nothing short of stellar. Either that or it was a Jaeger-enhanced auditory hallucination.
I really didn't notice the rest of the crowd until The Dancing Man took a break, as I was obviously hypnotized by his amazing skills on the dance floor. But when I finally took a look around, I noticed a most motley assortment of people. The first to grab my attention was a man in some sort of a shiny-ish mock-houndstooth collared shirt in lovely hues of black and teal. He was talking to a woman who was wearing tapered jeans in an identical turquoise hue, and a matching shirt with the fabric on the shoulders cut out, only to be replaced by joined circles of silver. It wasn't tacky at all and no, I didn't say they looked like they were from New Jersey or that the guy resembled Joey Buttafuoco...
There were the bi-curious girls, the one in skinny jeans and leg warmers, a guy in a red, too-tight shirt that said SELF TAUGHT DOCTOR in white block letters (might as well have just said "Girls, Stay Away" on it), various lap dancing incidents, horsey lady and her Elaine dance... the list goes on and on. But don't take my word for it. Have some Indian food and then walk over to Sherlock's in A-town. I highly doubt you'll be disappointed.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Back in Dallas, I also celebrated my birthday on the same day as the TX/OU game here in Dallas. Many shots were taken, beers drank, and again, I did the robot but this time I was unprovoked!
Holy cow. And then sometimes I get drunk on a Sunday night, because my roommate buys seven bottles of wine and gets a 10% discount at Albertson's, and remember that my new job has a new "Happy Hour" program in which we visit bars/clubs/restaurants that "need love" every week, and that approximately 89% of the employees show up to work hungover/still drunk every day (so not my style). We are also offered various tickets to all sorts of metroplex events like (in the week that I've been there) tickets to Trace Adkins, Bocktoberfest, Jamie Cullum, Running with Scissors, Rent (which I attended Friday night and it was grandtabulous), et al.
Then I think about how I'm going to a Mavericks game (Dallas season opener) in a couple of weeks and how I'll walk to it since I live so close to American Airlines Center, and how Dirk and I will probably go shopping for designer shoes and hair products afterwards at Northpark. I also think about how I will hopefully be going to the Texas State Fair soon and how I will be eating something that is not intended to be fried, but is anyways, because this is Texas and that's the cool thing to do. And how I will insist on perusing the Dr. Pepper display at the fair...
THEN, I think about going to Las Cruces next weekend and how I am so excited to see all of my college friends, drink stupid amounts of beer, and eat dirty green chile burritos. Unfortunatley, it will only be Maud waking me at un-Godly hours as opposed to Maud and Lesgar, but she knows we'll be thinking of her as we cheer on the Aggies (and hopefully sleep in, in my case). You all know how I love to sleep in after an evening of frivolity...
Anyhoo, this is mainly a blog straight up for my friend and former neighbor, Jaime, because he's my only fan! Love ya and I hope I see you next weekend, playa!! :o)
Monday, October 02, 2006
For celebrities (usually attractive and mildly wealthy), supermodels (considered beautiful by some and can earn more than most), Steven Hawking (genius, loaded), or Bill Gates and Donald Trump (neither are attractive, but both have managed to find a way other than being really, really ridiculously good-looking to make a fourtune), I can understand the arrogance. For anyone else, the feelings are unfounded. I don't care what your mom told you, you are probably not the best at anything. Sorry.
So yesterday I was chatting with Amanda and coined the phrase "unreasonably arrogant" to describe these people who are so far deluded that they think they are God's gift. And by "God's gift" I mean they think they are so great they could be a gift given to God. How did this happen? Do they have a magic mirror that makes them look like David Beckham or Heidi Klum? Or a psychic who told them they would be coming into a ludicrously large inheritance sometime soon? Did their parents tell them they were actually very smart and just weren't applying themselves when they were in school?
Maybe I'm just a negative realist. I know I don't look like Halle Berry and therefore will not be dating someone like Josh Duhamel (although his girlfriend is not so cute in my opinion). I do not know everything there is to know about everything, although I may be able to kick your butt at various forms of trivia. I am not the best dressed person you know, I don't have very much money, and I will probably never cure cancer, world hunger, global warming, or be the next President. I am not exceptionally talented at anything except picking things up with my toes and untying knots.
I'm just me and I'm not trying to kid myself or anyone else into thinking otherwise... or am I? Maybe I'm just as deluded and I somehow don't know... Hmmm. I guess that's something for my incredibly pretty and intelligent head to think about.... ;o)
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
A week and a half in Albuquerque is enough for me. Especially considering I have spent the majority of my time in a hospital room or trying to entertain myself with the Internet at the Flying Star nearest to me. I love my friends here and the mountains and green chile, and I usually have tons o' fun here because I'm getting plastered at Maloney's downtown... Anyways, I've managed to make a few keen observations during my stay here.
There is a restaurant called Cesar's (not Caesar's) on Lomas that serves Mexican and Greek food. No, not Mexican/Greek fusion... they serve Mexican. And Greek. Maybe you can get a lamb taco? Anyways, I'm thinking you don't find this anywhere else.
Fellow New Mexicans know this, but for my Texan and other readers, it is commonplace to have your last name or car club plastered in white Old English letters on your whip's rear window. You might also want to garnish with a nice outline of Our Lady of Guadalupe.
The brown girls STILL wear purple lipstick, acid washed jeans, and attempt to dye their hair blonde, when it really just turns an odd shade of red/r'orange/yellow.
You can get green chile as a condiment on the hospital menu, and pretty much everywhere else you go.
While jogging in Eve's 'hood I have passed houses with BURRO lawn ornaments. Yes, people here have donkey lawn ornaments.
An outdoor sign at a Walgreens read: IMMIGRATION PHOTOS WHILE YOU WAIT.
Minivans are very popular here. The older and more delapidated, the better. You can fit yourself, your mamasita, your primos, and still have room for the ninos. Extra points if your primo and his knocked up ladyfriend are making out in the back seat.
If you didn't understand some of the words in the last sentence, you're not from New Mexico.
I've also made an interesting observation at the hospital: I think that minorities and people of lower income brackets get sick more often than everyone else does. Preventative medicine means nothing to these demographics. What matters are rims on the '91 Accord and speakers so loud they threaten to damage the already feeble vehicle's state.
Geez, there's more, but I can't think of anything right now. However, I want to send lots of love to Eve for putting up with me for a week and a half at her home. Hopefully I'll be exiting South stage back to the Dizzle here in a couple of days and then to Dallas... to start my new job!!
P.S. - I mentioned in comments on MySpace that I failed to mention the Native American grannies in men's shoes that are always two sizes too big and all of the breast feeding PSAs on television that make me ill...
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
2. Average student age of 57
3. Hippies growing at a rate of three per hour
4. Lobo (or "Puppy", as the Colonel would say) sports
5. Adobe housing infecting the area surrounding campus
6. Hippies crossing the street
7. Ugly people
9. Movie and/or mini series filming keeping me from getting to Starbucks
10. Hippies in their cars
11. Hippies on bikes
12. I am an Aggie and therefore will hate UNM until the day I die
13. UNM is in Albuquerque and not Las Cruces, which means it is automatically inferior
14. Do I have to say "hippies" again?
Seriously, I have never spent this much time around the UNM campus and now I see more clearly why NMSU is far superior in every aspect possible to UNM. More later, friends...
Monday, September 04, 2006
Emotional rejection is the feeling a person experiences when disappointed about not achieving something desired. It is commonly related to a quest of emotional relations, usually by a man to a woman, or vice versa. A person may reject for several reasons: lack of reciprocal interest, circumstances like societal codes, desire to make the other person perceive difficulty ("playing hard to get") and fear of placing himself or herself in a situation of vulnerability and heightened interaction. -From Wikipedia.
Dealing with rejection is not easy and I don't think it's escapable. It is omnipresent, and I have heard it described as the "ultimate fear" of the human species. It can be humiliating, hurtful, and damaging. Me, I'm a fairly positive individual. I've been handed some hard knocks since last December and it seems they just keep coming. Trying to make the best out of it all, however, is becoming exhausting.
Top of the list will probably always be dealing with my brother's death. I want to say it gets easier. It doesn't. It gets harder... then hopefully it gets easier. In hindsight, I probably should have done some serious soul-searching before making a big move, but being in Ruidoso made it hurt even worse and I wanted away from that house, the town, and the constant reminder that he was the one who made me want to go home so we could hang out. How does this relate to rejection? I feel like I was literally rejected by God, and the continuance of hard luck coming my way makes me wonder what's next, and not in a good way...
Shortly thereafter I broke up with my boyfriend instantly upon finding out he had "cheated" on me after we'd been dating about three months (I put cheated in quotes because it's not like we were married). We'd been dating about nine months when I happened upon this nugget of information. This came as a major blow, pretty much solely to my ego. How could he cheat on me? But having just suffered through the loss of Matt about six weeks earlier, this was seriously small potatoes, and so goes everything else following.
I've become apathetic in most situations. I feel like what people have described being on Prozac is like... you just don't give a shit. And I think this is sabotaging me in certain situations that I should care about, namely finding a job and to put it simply, men.
I'm doing things wrong in both situations, yet I'm not quite sure what. On the employment front, I'm educated, talented, but unfortunately not extremely experienced. But why is this keeping me from getting a job like I had in El Paso, fresh out of an undergraduate program? I was an account executive... I've been applying for AE positions... go figure. So I'm being silently rejected by employers, save three I've actually had the opportunity to talk to. I'm probably just too picky, which brings us to the second half of the apathy diatribe...
Men. Some of them are easy to figure out, especially when they're honest, yet you still wonder why they are the way they are. Like my ex for example: He treated me like a princess, babied me, bought me whatever I let him, wanted to spend time with me, yet it took him a night with another woman to figure out how much he "cared". Why? What does that even mean? Then on the opposite end of the relationship spectrum is the possibility of a new relationship... I can honestly say I don't know how this works, never have, and my lack of knowledge/apathy is probably being misconstrued as me being an ice queen.
I can't help it. I don't know how often you're supposed to call, text, e-mail, "MySpace" someone. So I usually just don't do it. I don't know if me asking a guy out and maybe calling every day is going to be perceived as overbearing or just normal. Based on the last paragraph, I have no idea how I ever had the relationships I've had. I obviously don't know what I'm doing and am apparently not as awesomely awesome as I think I am. Again with the ego: How could he not want to date me? Damn that!
Now how does that relate to rejection? Ah, very easily. If you've been rejected by the opposite sex, you know what I'm talking about. Someday when I figure out exactly why we fear rejection, I'll send you all a memo.
Don't get me wrong... I don't feel sorry for myself, and I don't want to appear as if I'm complaining. I'm merely "thinking" aloud. I think that's what writers are supposed to do (hahaha) and I'm still positive about the future. Maybe I do give a shit still and that's why I'm writing this (?). My life is blessed with a family and friends who care for me, I live in a fabulous city now with one of my best friends for a roommate, and gosh darnit... people like me! Oh, Stuart Smalley, you are a shrewd and erudite self-help sage. Thank you for your infinite wisdom.
I feel like I need to recite the Serenity Prayer now...
Friday, August 25, 2006
These days, I don't know how I accomplished this feat because I refuse to wear about 80% of my wardrobe due to the fact that I hate it, and every last pair of fancy underwear I had remains mysteriously in my ex-boyfriend's possession. Mostly I believe I did this because I was in school and didn't care what I looked like, unless I was going to the bar, at which point I'd bust out my Citizen jeans, a David Bitton shirt, and some BCBG heels. But this got me thinking about how I acquired a stock of clothing, most of which I will not wear but for some reason cannot part with?
"But what if that baby blue sleeveless tee with the ruched sides from Express three years ago comes back in style? It's not that bad..." I say to myself as I try and sort the keepers from the trash.
Some of this sick attachment must stem not only from the fact that I wore many of these items once, twice, or not at all and I feel guilty, but the fact that I paid for it all with my own money, and in the case of all the crap I bought from Express in college, am still paying for. Why did I buy this stuff? When did it become uncool, and how did I like them at one point, and then turn on my once-beloved garments?
I think I once heard on What Not to Wear that if you haven't worn something in a year, you should throw it out. Honestly, if I did this, more than half of the clothes living in my closet would be gone. Could I bear tossing the uni-sleeved shirt that has only been worn once (and not even by me)? What about those khaki pants from Abercrombie I got in like 2000... do I even wear chinos anymore??? What are chinos?
Thus defines my love-hate relationship with clothing. I love clothes, but I want clothes that look cute and won't go out of style so that I will not have wasted my money. But that never happens. Because even if I buy the most simple, classic item on the rack (a black tee for example), it will go out of style for one reason or another. Take into effect that I usually don't wear colors (unless it's my green Vince Vaughn's Wild West Comedy Show t-shirt) and this is not a formula for success. I should probably just move to a nudist colony or become a hippie.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
The Louis I speak of is Louis Vuitton, but more specifically, Georges Vuitton, who is Louis' son and the jokester behind the famous monogrammed bags and leather goods so many people own today. The great part is that Wikipedia tells me that just over ONE PERCENT of Louis Vuitton signature goods are NOT counterfeit. Now I know why they all appear to be constructed from textured brown plastic.
Here is what bothers me beyond the fact that the most inexpensive bag they offer still costs about $500 and is the size of a cigarette case: It is the idea that if you carry a Louis bag, it apparently does not matter what you are wearing. It's like the bag is some sort of a magical fashionista cloak (a la Harry Potter's invisibility cloak) that transforms you from dumpy and mismatched to chic and glamorous. I have yet to see a woman put together an outfit that looks good with the bag. I saw a woman at the mall wearing army green capris, a faded black fitted t-shirt, flip-flops, and a like a giant bucket LV bag. Am I supposed to be impressed?
I think that the brains behind Louis Vuitton are disturbingly marketing-savvy and have wicked senses of humor. "Hey, Walter, how do you think we can get women all over the world to buy these grossly overpriced and hideous bags?" "Well, Marie, let's start giving them away to quasi-famous fashion whores and see where that gets us. I hear Jessica Simpson has a new reality show on MTV... we should probably give her a complete set of luggage immediately, if not sooner." "But what if she ruins it, Walter?" "It's ok. We'll give her the counterfeit ones from our factory in Kazakhstan." (insert evil, maniacal laughter)
My advice is save your precious dollars for bags, shoes, designer jeans (guilty!), and whatever else your precious heart desires. If you have Paris Hilton's money, buy every Louis bag that exists, or better yet... have Paris' money, get famous for no reason, and have the bags given to you free of cost, even though you have more money than God. If you don't have the endless supply of money, buy numerous leathery-smelling Coach or Dooney (but not the ones that look like Skittles melted on a styrofoam plate) or Michael Kors or whoever's bags instead of one LV bag that will only hold the trial size of your lip gloss. I personally heart the one at right and my birthday is coming up...
Friday, July 28, 2006
Hello everyone. So nothing entirely earth-shattering has occured during my first week in
-Deep Ellum does exist, for I have been lost in its depths with a U-Haul still attached to my Jeep.
-The main DART station also exists downtown. I randomly came across it while driving around in The Big D.
-I am now required to hate every other city in
-You can be in a really posh neighborhood and then the slums in a matter of one block (or by crossing to the east side of Highway 75 down here).
-There really is a Starbucks on every corner. Seriously.
-Gay men love to go walking together on the
-I never knew how much I used a microwave until I didn’t have one… speaking of which, I should go buy one today, but I looked for a Wal-Mart near here and the closest Supercenter is on the other side of downtown by railroad tracks and that scares me a little.
-Living with my family in close quarters for more than two days is entirely unacceptable.
-You are a total loser who should be quaratined in some sort of a concentration camp if you don't have a TollTag. I fall into this category.
-Miami Vice is probably one of the worst movies I've ever seen, but it has some cool pink mist shots and really awesome cars, boats, and airplanes.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
My bon voyage sort of started when Jeff and I got our apartment in Dallas because I immediately packed everything I could (that wasn't already packed) and started counting down the days until July 22. It pretty much ended Sunday morning when I was having a yomit session after partying with Evelyn and Jason, and a few select Ruidosoans. I'll blog about that later on Eve and Wheels, I think.
Anyways, tomorrow I'll be in the LC having my hair dyed by the famous Alex, who has moved to another salon (if anyone's interested) that doesn't have a grody English sheepdog sauntering around in it (can dogs saunter?). At least I hope it doesn't have a big, shaggy dog roaming around... I hated that dog.
I'll also be dining at Si Senor, and taking pictures of my burritos and probably sending said pictures to Colonel McAdoo. Mwa ha ha ha ha. Maybe Amanda, too... she loved the Si Senor like a native New Mexican.
My mom is also going to the Big LC with me and is apparently going to get a new phone at Sprint, so I may or may not be changing my phone number... I don't know if I can part with my beloved Las Cruces/505 number quite yet. I'll keep you all updated, of course. Not that any of you call me unless you have to ask questions about anatomy, sloths, or what to do if a centipede crawls out of your drain. I like to think that if any of you were ever on Who Wants to be a Millionaire (or whatever it's called), I'd be your lifeline because I pretty much know everything that you don't need to know, which is not valued by society in any way, shape, or form, but helps me beat people at trivia. :o)
So, bub-bye 505 and chel-lo again to Tejas. I shall return in October for Homecoming and more burritos, and possibly another hair-dyeing, depending on whether or not I can find someone in Dallas who does colors other than bleached blonde. ;o) Scary.
It's also scary that I can probably sing the entire song Hello, Goodbye by The Beatles... also the title of this fair blog entry. Jeff, you are SO going to miss me singing the soundtrack from Fiddler on the Roof (but so are Eddie and Donica) for like two weeks until you get to Dallas, but fret not, for then you can hear me sing all the time. LOL! Sucker.
Monday, July 10, 2006
There used to be two Subways here, as well as a Burger King and an Arby's. I can't get flame-broiled goodness here, or the joy of an overly-processed roast beef sandwich doused in fake cheese sauce. I should have moved the second Arby's closed, but I hardly ever go there and didn't know they'd shut their doors forever until a few months after the fact. I can, however, "eat fresh" at Subway and make sure Jared and Jon Lovitz get a paycheck this month. Or so I thought.
Last week I wanted Subway when my mom and I went to Wal-Mart (which I failed to mention also has a Subway in it, but I'm scared to eat at it). So, we drove past the normal Subway and the parking lot was packed. Forget it... we'll just check out the next Subway down the road at Funtrackers, where I went go-carting not too long ago. Nope. It's closed, and Subway executives failed to send me the memo.
Now when I do actually drive the 17 miles to Subway, I can expect to find ridiculously rude employees who are obviously working paycheck to paycheck and crack hit to crack hit, and make it apparent that they hate me for even considering visiting their fine sandwich shop. I can usually assume they have only about three of the normal 15 chip varieties other Subways in real towns have. The same goes for the soda machine. In addition, your friendly Ruidoso Subway will be out of at least half of the breads other Subways have. Normally they have three day old Honey Wheat at all times, so they got that goin' for 'em.
But here's the zinger: Today I made the arduous drive almost all the way to the Downs, pulled into the Subway parking lot, only to find one of the employees standing in the doorway telling something to this other lady who was parked as well. Rather than waste my precious energy and get out of the car, I merely roll down my passenger side window to hear what news this disgruntled sandwich artist had for me... "We're out of bread."
WHAT? As Eddie would say, "Are you SERIOUS?" Why the f*ck are you even open, you dim-witted meth addict? Did you think I came to Subway for the SOUP or the shredded iceberg lettuce salads?? Don't insult me. Just close.
Here is my other question: How does a sandwich shop run out of bread, especially when they make the bread at said shop? You would think that when they notice the bread supply is running low, they'd throw a couple more frozen slabs of dough into the ol' oven, right? Or, hey... we're low on dough - do you think we should order some more? No, don't be foolish... let's go take another hit off the crack pipe.
I hate this town, you guys. Trying to explain the hate would be futile. I can feel my blood pressure rise when I think about going anywhere here. If I make it through the next ten days, it will truly be an amazing feat.
The only thing that would make me happy right now is if Jared himself would come to Ruidoso, fire the crackheads, and then make me a sandwich. For free.
Monday, July 03, 2006
There is no way I can explain my hatred for white zinfandel. It's a "wine", it's a putrid shade of pink, and it tastes like watered down Arbor Mist, sans the light carbonatory (new word) properties, with a touch of rubbing alcohol added. It's repulsive and no one should ever drink it.
I am by no means a wine snob. Set out two unlabeled bottles of red wine in front of me and I probably couldn't tell you which was a cabernet and which was a merlot. What irritates me largely are people who are just like me (don't know shit about the vino), but act like they are editor in chief of Wine Spectator, when really this person has had exorbitant amounts of various wines from boxes or Gallo jugs, and watched Sideways (that movie can die right along with white zin).
Why this angry diatribe about wine, Sarah, you may ask? Well, my friends, let me tell you a quasi-tale of Le Bistro and a shower of Texans that has invaded this quaint mountain town for the Fourth of July holiday...
We have two wines by the glass at Le Bistro. The restaurant is way too small to compensate for anything more than that. The selection varies from merlot and chardonnay, to red bordeaux and sauvignon blanc, to valpolicella and pinot grigio. You never know what great surprise Jeff and I have in store for you when you ask what wines we have by the glass. It's really quite exciting (insert sarcasm for that last comment)...
And let's not forget that we don't have a wine list at Le Bistro. Richard keeps it real and is usually bringing new and interesting wines every few weeks, so a list is just a waste of time. I made one two summers ago and it just ended up being a list to pacify customers, while we never had half of what was on it. What we do have is an attractive display inside with the many wines we have available by the bottle. To me, this is not a big deal. I would never walk into a family-owned restaurant and expect it to run like Olive Garden. To me, when you walk into a place like Le Bistro, you want to try something different.
Back to the Texans. The men and the women of the Texas love the Coors Light and the white zinfandel, respectively. Personally, I truly believe they do not know that any other beers or wines exist (besides pinot noir because of fucking Sideways), and while I am always true to my Miller Lite, I'm also up to try new alcoholic beverages (as long as they don't contain tequila or any of the Malibu varieties). The Texes are not. We usually have Coors Light in stock, but never, ever, ever white zin. During the summer Richard will buy a case or two of Rosé, which is his personal stash (except for when Jeff and I drink two bottles of it like we did Friday night). So, we don't have a pink wine for the hicks, and oftentimes they become quite irate. Such as was the case this evening.
Long story longer, I had a four top of two middle-aged couples who seemed pissed off from the beginning. I gave them my usual spiel, which is pretty much the following script: "We don't keep a wine list because the owner likes to change the wines often, but they are on display if you would like to look them over, or I can suggest something for you." Pretty polite and articulate, if you ask me. Well, Fatty-Bo-Batty's Fatty Wife at table P6 tonight wanted a blush, even though I had already explained in English that we have one red and one white wine by the glass. To this she tersely retorted, "I guess I'll just have a Diet Coke." I'm thinking, "Yeah, lady... order the Diet Coke because that's going to solve your weight problem." But Fatty-Bo is mad that his portly Yellow Rose can't have her pink drink, and this is my fault because I'm obviously the owner, chef, and person who orders what we keep in stock. Obviously.
As I am leaving to retrieve their beverages, Richard walked up, doing his owner-thing and just asking people how it's going, blah, blah, blah. Fatty-Bo-Batty starts immediately bitching about the lack of a wine list. Two years ago, this would have warranted a "Take your fuck out of here!" from Richard, but it was a slow winter, and we all need the money. So Fatty's friend follows Richard inside to peruse the selection, and is still being rude...
At this point, I'm crying because I can't deal with the rudeness for another hour. Eddie is threatening to kick them out, and I'm sheepishly asking Jeff if he'll take them. Jeff is not pleased. Not to mention that by the time their food came out, it was discovered I failed to write down how Fatty's buddy wanted his ribeye cooked (which happened to be medium well, so of course it was very apparent these people were classless to start with)... it was a big disaster and this is my public thank you to Geoffrey for stopping my crying by taking that group of nasties (I know you read my blog, Geoff, so you better start commenting).
This is also my public plea to anyone and everyone to stop drinking white zinfandel. I know I don't have to worry about Amanda (because she's well on her way to editor in chief of Wine Spectator) or the Colonel (because I doubt he'd drink wine, let alone pink wine), but I am really worried about everyone else in this world. Take the intiative. Paul Giamatti's most famous line from Sideways was, "I will not drink any fucking Merlot!" If they would have just replaced "Merlot" with "White Zin" it would have been my favorite movie of all time. I will not drink any fucking white zin...
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Fortunately there is hope in a show that debuted tonight on FX called It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. It appears to be a show about a brother and sister, their two mischievous friends, and all the shenanigans they get into. I'm watching it tonight and I have never laughed at people in wheelchairs, racial slurs, flaming bags of poop, and Danny DeVito so much in my life. An added bonus is that FX has managed to skirt around FCC profanity regulations because they definitely say "shit", and they use it abundantly (I'm easily amused). Of course you already know about the "S Bomb" if you watch another one of my favorite shows on FX, Rescue Me. Must have something to do with Safe Harbor shizz (I'm trying to think back to the late Dr. Pasternack's Media Law class with Maud, but even though we both got As, I can't remember all that garbage).
Try not to think I'm callous about the wheelchair thing. You'd have to watch it to fathom the hilarity. It has to do with running over your best friend with your SUV, strippers, and faking polio for sympathy at a shopping mall (followed by a wheelchair duel in said mall). I love it. They also do a MAD redintion of Extreme's "More Than Words".
If you're not sold at this juncture, our senses of humor are obviously disparate, and for that there is no remedy. For those lackluster individuals, I recommend reruns of Friends (which, relatedly, IASP mocked the "fountain" scene in one of their show promos... cops are involved and I couldn't be happier!).
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Well, my helpmate Jeff (not to be confused with the famed Colonel McAdoo), has been trying to escape the wiles of Ruidoso ever since I met him in 2003. After returning from my first excursion to Dallas, I suggested that Dallas would be a great place to escape (read: move) to. He initially scoffed at my suggestion, claiming the Spurs were going to win the NBA championship, and that meant he'd be moving to Austin, since he made a deal with himself, equating where he would move to who was the best in professional basketball. Well, shortly after I returned the first time, Dallas booted the Spurs, so Austin was out. I immediately text him, saying he was going to have to move to Dallas, but he also had Hawaii in mind, should any team from a shitty city win, like the Pistons. I explained in simple terms that he was far too pretentious to attempt to live as a surf bum in Hawaii. He agreed and started looking for an apartment in Dallas. And yes, this was just an opportunity to post a gratuitous picture of Dirk and his hair.
We had some stipulations for the apartment. On his friends' suggestion, we looked in Uptown. I had to be able to take my doggie, Willie, because he's cool and doesn't like having to wait a month to get groomed in the Dizzle. The apartment had to have two separate bathrooms, and bedrooms on opposite sides of the space, for obvious reasons... when Jeff brings the ladies home, I really don't need or want to hear what's going on over there. You know, which video game they're playing or whatever.
So I think one day while Jeffrey was at work, I narrowed the search down and he picked Post Square. Selling points: Dry cleaners in the ground floor of the building, along with a smoothie shop, and a Starbucks. I guess I need to start drinking coffee again because I can't live three floors above a Starbucks and not spend half of my money there on fancy, caffeinated drinks. I'm going to be like Tweek on South Park... anyways, here's a pic:
Here's another of what I understood to be the main entrance when I saw it:
Here's the floorplan, if anyone's interested:
Tentative move-in date is July 22, although I'd love to move in sooner. I'm sort of going between just getting the eff out of here on the 21st, taking the fam for a weekend in Dallas (full of fun-filled activities like moving furniture and extended periods of time in a vehicle together), OR working that last weekend and then moving Sunday or Monday (still with the fam, of course). I'm leaning more towards just leaving ASAP...
No, I dont have a job yet. Yes, I am looking. And I tried to put one of those cool countdowns on here, but none of them would work. :o(
Friday, June 16, 2006
In television I love:
Fuse. If you don't have it, get it. Unless you're gay and you still watch all that crap on MTV. Those of you who know me, know how I feel about MTV. It can go to hell and die.
Lubbock and I will continue to do so here in the Dizzle. Long live Tom Baldwin, Kyle Baldwin and Shawn. May they be seen in their underpants frequently (but not together, please) on the show.
In TV I hate:
MTV. We have already covered this.
Reality TV. Especially the talent competition ones (besides Top Chef, but that's over).
In music I love:
Pretty much anything where the band sings all whiny and screamy. I love it and I can't get enough. Is that genre called screamo (as opposed to emo)?
In music I hate:
Lil' John and all the beepy rap songs he keeps putting out. Since when did the beep on my mom's answering machine (circa 1989) become a musical instrument? Stop. You were cool when you hung out with Usher. Thanks for bringing crunk to light, now it's time for a nap.
The bands who keep trying to make videos that look like Stanley Kubrick films, or bands who make themselves up to look like Alexander de Large doppelgangers from A Clockwork Orange.
In cereal I love:
Lucky Charms. I had forgotten how delicious they are... magically delicious. My renewed love for the Charms is recent. I hadn't eaten them since I lived in the Zeta house and we had the generic kind that came in a bag. The real thing pretty much has a 50/50 cereal bits to marshmallow ratio. Really, it's a little more 'mallow than I like, but what the hey. I can't knock the marshmallow goodness. What I especially appreciate is how the cereal turns the milk a manufactured shade of grey. Grey = Magic.
In cereal I hate:
Anything that doesn't have "sugar" listed in the first two ingredients. And anything that claims it's good for my "heart".
Topics to discuss at work I love:
Passive-aggressive. I like to call Le Bistro "Passive-Aggressive Island". I think everyone is a little passive-aggressive. It's the modern way to avoid direct conflict with another (or yourself), but still make them think about what's wrong with them.
Shtarnsh, Eddie, and the new sweaty kid.
I don't think there is much I won't talk about at work...
People I'd love to party with:
Probably that sloth from the Dallas World Aquarium. I bet he's a wicked good time. I'd like to have a drinking contest with him.
People I'd hate to party with:
Charles Barkley and any magic Christians.
What I hate about Ruidoso:
The Texans driving around at 15 miles per hour, up the road to my house. This really makes me angry because I like to drive about 35 mph on the same road. It's fun! But when I get to see the looks on their faces, I see fear. It's my belief that they believe they are lost in Brady Canyon and cannot find their way out. Ever. Then I laugh.
What I love about Ruidoso:
The same thing. It gives me the opportunity to drive like a stock car driver and yell obscenities at people I'll never see again.
Monday, June 12, 2006
I think it's great that you two are out there and proud. The way you two stare into each other's eyes is so touching. You probably can stop the mom jokes now... we all know what you're trying to cover. ;o) Here's a fairly heterosexual picture for any of you who are feeling uncomfortable (I don't know about that look on Jeff's face, though...):
I decided I should pose for a pic with Phil's blouse of the evening at the other bar we went to (not sure what it was called). It was pretty cool (and I am referring both to the bar and Phil's shirt). We hung out on the roof of said bar with an awesome view of Downtown. Here's a kick ass shot of Phil's striped shirt du jour:
What Ratheen is doing is anyone's guess. I'm fairly certain it has something to do with Phil's nipple, though.
I also got to hang out with Badger and Rooki- I mean Michael from NMSU. Badger had fun reminiscing about "college". I know this because if the Pee Wee's Playhouse word of the night was "college", everyone would have been incessantly screaming at Badger's stories. Or Jeff saying, "That's classic Badger!" Here's Badger getting animated about something at M Street. I was too busy trying to find some ecstasy to make the house music more bearable to know what he was talking about.
So I found out I have a feature on my Kodak Photo Software that allows you to make a photo look like a cartoon. Or more specifically, the famed A-Ha video from the 80s, "Take On Me". So I decided to make Jeff look like a member of the band. Watch out for those guys with tools chasing you...
Take on me. Take on me. Take me oooon! Take on me. I'll beeee goonnneee, in a day or twoooooooooo!!!
Probably my favorite part of Friday night was eating at some taco place on Greenville Ave. It was like being in Mexico... delicious. The salsa was super hot. So hot that Ratheen and Phil were whining about it, and Jeff had the guy put like seventeen times the normal amount on his last burrito. The eating contests you have with yourself, I will never understand, Jeff.
Anyways, Saturday Jeff and I headed Downtown and after we drove around in a circle for about an hour, we ate at Hoffbrau Steaks. I ate the greatest hamburger of all time, called the Roadhouse Burger. I think it would have made Dalton proud. It had Dr. Pepper barbeque sauce on it, which may sound weird, but it was very tasty. I also had fried pickles for the first time, which is pretty much like eating fried salt... delicious and crunchy fried salt, dipped in ranch dressing, that is.
After we ate we walked over to the Dallas World Aquarium to check out the wildlife. It was an aquarium, but so much more. There were bats, spiders, poisonous frogs, snakes, sharks, monkeys, a SLOTH and his human companion... here's a picture I took of a dog:
There were also people fish and some "actors" dressed up in Mayan costumes, playing with those sticks that sound like rain. I saw a little more Mayan man-leg than I had expected to that day, but it's all good.
Saturday night included drinking big, stoopid beers at Logan's with Phil, his friend Brandon, and eventually Larry. What you need to know is that the giant mugs at Logan's are never clean and Phil's shirt was black. I finally got to eat some P'Eatzza that night. It was everything I hoped it would be and more.
Sunday... damn... I was drunk again on Sunday. I started at Bread Winners in Uptown with a frozen mimosa, which was incredible. Jeff had some entree named after Dirk Nowitzki, which I thought was great. I'm probably going to become BFF with Dirk when I move to Dallas and we'll have sleepovers and play Trivial Pursuit and tell each other secrets and trade hair styling tips. ;o)
So what is important about Sunday is we had to get to Humperdink's in Addison like six hours before the game to get a good seat, and of course we started drinking right away. It's also very important to note I beat Ratheen and Jeff twice at NTN Trivia and won the entire game once. A few other people showed up, including Baer, who I mentioned in my previous Dallas blogs. This time I was a little more coherent and realized he reminds me of the Scottish Soccer Hooligans from Saturday Night Live... like you never know when he might go postal.
What else from Sunday... oh, Neil should probably know that if he tries to steal my sunglasses next time I see him, I will defeat him with a karate chop or a C-walking contest. On that note, here's a picture of Larry from Sunday night:
So anyways, it was a great time. I left very early Monday morning, watched the sun come up at Dallas Love Field, flew into El Paso and drove to Las Cruces so I could eat some Si Senor and tell Jeff about it. I must enjoy good Mexican food while I still can!