Don't read this.

***WARNING: I am about to post possibly the bitchiest blog post to date. There will be no humorous tales or Dina screenshots so proceed at your own risk. Also, I will say Fuck a lot.***

Fuck.

Today was the shittiest Friday in the history of the world. I am so fucking OVER the cell phone bullshit. This was day 3 of unsuccessful negotiations and I'm about ready to just say fuck it and revert back to an old rotary dialer and slowly phase technology out of my life forever. Last night I went to Wal-Mart to pick up the G1. Well, the bitch is like "sorry, I get off in 10 minutes, I can't help you." Wtf? I gave her my best hate-filled confused gaze and she informs me that due to company policy, they're not allowed overtime, so I'll just have to deal with it and come back tomorrow. Fine, even though I think it's fucked up, FINE.

So I go back on my lunch break today and of course, she's on break. 20 minutes later, she comes strolling up with a bag of Lay's and a Mountain Dew and helps the people that were in front of me in line. Another 20 minutes passes. Finally, my turn. "Yeah, I was here yesterday, I still wanna upgrade." "Oh yeah, I remember you. But, we don't have any G1s." This is when my head explodes. Like, why the fuck couldn't you have told me you didn't have those shits last night when you had TEN MINUTES LEFT and you couldn't help me? WHY TELL ME TO COME BACK TOMORROW? WHY ARE YOU SUCH A CUNT?? I hate you. I walk away because the last thing I need is to start a screaming match with this dumb bitch in the middle of a fucking Wal-Mart which is already like white trash capital of the universe. Let's not make this harder than it has to be.

I get back to work in full-on rage and proceed to have a fucking miserable afternoon of being treated like shit by crabby old assholes calling in looking for their social security checks. The first is on a Monday, BACK OFF. I fucking hate the end of the month bullshit at work.

After work, I have to go get all cracked and adjusted at the chiropracter again where I was stared at for a good half hour by a 5-year old in a fedora. At least she didn't ask her dad why I was so fat, which I love, really. Maybe she asked in the car. Thanks for that, at least.

Then it's off to yet another WalMart to try to get the damn phone. This time I see the line of people and decide to ask if they have the phone before I wait in this sweaty ass line. It is in stock, okay...great. So I wait 46 minutes and I finally am NEXT. This is it, I can feel it. So I do the paperwork and give the girl my ID and she comes back with "oh, it says you don't have an account with T-Mobile." Hmm. Turns out that since Jeff is the primary on the account, my information is basically useless and even though the phone is like RIGHT THERE on the counter like inches away from my frustrated grip, I can't have it. "Nope, sorry, I could lose my job." God forbid this bitch loses her prestigious Wal-Mart job over my phone so again, I walk away. It's not her fault, and I really wasn't pissed at her, but you know how when you're having a shitty shitty fucking shitty day, everything that goes wrong seems like the worst thing in the world?

Yes, well I was there. My eyes were getting that frustrated mist and I was like DONT CRY OVER A FUCKING PHONE YOU ASSHOLE so I cut that shit out and just got in the car and drove away.

Feeling like an utter failure, I decide to add insult to injury by getting a Slurpee on the way home. Obviously that is the smart thing to do. Let's feed this anger. Isn't that how that saying goes? Starve a cold, Feed your shitty rage? Something like that.

Anyway, I'm in line waiting to pay for my Slurpee when this dude in front of me is like staring me down like I'm covered in shit. For the record, I NEVER INVITE CONFRONTATION. For all my sailorish talk and biting sarcasm, I'm actually really shy and a total pacifist. But, I dunno, like, I just snapped. Like, this dude obviously had some kind of lip cancer or something because his lip was like about to fucking fall off his face, and here he is buying a can of copenhagen, YET I'm being stared at for being a fattie buying a Slurpee. Fuck that. "Man, what the fuck are you looking at?" Like I said it before I even knew I was saying it. Rage.

"NOTHING!" he said like I had no fucking right to ask. Fuck him. Dead-lipped asshole. Then I had to get checked out by the clerk I HATE. He's all nice and cool with everyone and then he never says like 2 words to me. I ask him for a bag and he puts the shit on the counter EVERY TIME like it's not his fucking job to bag my shit up. He's a fucking fat nerd and if there's one thing I HATE it's a fucking fat dude that hates fat girls. Like, get the fuck over yourself. Maybe you wouldn't be such a lonely asshole nerd if you could embrace your fucking fat equals instead of treating me like some piece of shit because we share a similar shirt size, you self-serving cock.

Like, seriously, nothing pisses me off more than a fat person who hates fat people. I can not fucking stand it. Life is not a fucking sitcom and you are not going to end up with some skinny bitch just because you look like Kevin James, you fat bastard. I hate you, really I do.

I came home and put the Slurpee in the freezer and just cried for like 5 minutes to get this shitty day out of my head. Maybe it's PMS, I dunno. I can't tell if I'm being extra-sensitive or if this disastrous attitude is warranted. It's still in the freezer. I didn't even drink it. Sometimes I just wanna buy shit. I dunno. I really don't know what the fuck my deal is...I'm just being irrational. Fuck this day. At least it's almost over.

Tomorrow I'm getting a pedicure and bangs so if both turn out shitty, I'll know that the universe is actually out to get me.

You know, I used to be a fairly optimistic person. I know it's in me somewhere to just be happy. I really gotta get back to that part. Maybe I need to give therapy another try. I'm sick of being pissed off and jaded all the time. Shit's no fun.

Technologically Disabled.

Does anyone have a G1 phone? Pros? Cons? Help!

It's a godawful small affair...

I think I'm getting a Blackberry tonight. My phone is like four years old and I'm sick of people making fun of it, plus I'd like to not have to take Jeff's laptop to San Fran because it's a huge dinosaur and it's heavy. I'm gonna go to the T-Mobile store after work and see if I can get one with minimal rapeage. More news on this as it occurs...


If you don't know Jack Sh*t, you probably should. He's a funny dude and today is his birthday so go read and say hi and whatnot. He also created the Really Shitty blog award, which Dina nominated me for in a shameless effort to make me say seven nice things about her. Seven is a lot. I can't even say seven nice things about people I LIKE, yet alone Dina. I guess I'll try though so she can get off THE RAG about it...



Things that don't suck about Dina:
1. She leaves me crunk voicemails.
2. She tells good stories that keep me giggling all day at my boring job.
3. She laughs at my jokes when they're good and calls me out when they're lousy.
4. Total perv.
5. She makes my life seem kinda good, by comparison.
6. She knows most of my secrets and hasn't told a bunch of people yet (TO MY KNOWLEDGE...)
7. Big Jugs.

I'll pass this award along to Camevil because she gives good comments and also because of...zombie run. And Fool's Fitness because he wants dinosaurs in his front yard, and I think that's cool.

Alright, back to work, you slacker. I'm sick of doing these freaking address changes. STOP MOVING SO MUCH, JERKS!

FOUR MORE DAYS!

Edit: I'm thinking about getting bangs. I haven't had them since like the late 80s when big bangs were IN. But...I dunno, I'm bored with my hair but I could never cut it short, so I'm looking for a compromise. HELP ME, FASHIONISTAS!

P.H.A.T.

It's no secret that I have pretty shitty self-esteem. I learned from an early age that if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. I learned to make fun of myself because it hurt way less than listening to someone else do it. I would gladly be the butt of the joke if it meant that they were laughing WITH me instead of AT me. And for the most part, I'm immune to it at this point. When you're fat in kindergarten, you learn to have a thick skin because the insults only get meaner the older you get.

In my family, being that we're all fatties, it pretty much just came natural that we made fun of each other relentlessly. I can't remember the last time my brother actually called me by my name, usually preferring "Skinny" or "Fats." Pick one! My sisters call me Trashy, cause it sounds like Tricia? Or cause I'm trashy, I dunno. Well, they USED to call me that, now they don't call me at all...long story. Oh well.

I guess I'm saying all this because we all deal with shit in our own way. When I make jokes about myself, I see the humor in it. It makes me feel better. One day, maybe, I'll actually lose enough weight to cut out the fat jokes. Then it's on to teeth jokes! (My teeth are jacked!) I know some people are weird about it. So...next time you see me calling myself a fattie, just laugh, it's cool! Call yourself a fattie too, if you are. I won't mind. I refuse to give power to an "insult" that's a fairly accurate portrayal of a physical trait. Fat. Say it. It's okay. It's just an adjective. (and a noun!)

That being said, here's a convo I had with Dina today about my brother's chubby chasing ways. A meeting of the minds, no less:

So I guess I'm not a BBW, but I do like BWW...they have good wings.

Then my brother emails me that he wants some stupid statue for his birthday. Check it out:

First of all, I'm not spending 90 bucks on some fat doll. Secondly, if that's what pretty fat people are supposed to look like, I am FUCKED. Where are the rolls and the vericose veins? The random chin hair or skin tag? She doesn't even come with a bag of Doritos...yeah, real life-like. I hope he comes up with another gift idea, otherwise, it's gonna be gift card city.

MFin' Cake Time.

I'm about to leave for this stupid 4-way birthday Cake-a-palooza. I'm gonna try really hard to not blow a week's worth of stale popcorn in four hedonistic hours. I haven't had anything to eat today thinking I needs all the points I can gets. It's a totally flawless plan since I'll be surrounded by snacks and also have the hunger of a thousand men. You rule at dieting, Tricia!

Forreal blog update coming soon...no more e-cards!

Eff this week.

Three-Day Weekend, weeeeeeee!

Are you the creator of Hi & Lois, because you are making me laugh...

Far be it for me to say that the whole world is out to keep me fat, but all I can say is that when I'm dieting, the universe finds a way to offer me cake like EVERY FUCKING DAY. Where, I ask, was all this cake a week ago?

Tuesday was the 15th anniversary of the bank where I work. They come sliding in around 2pm with two giant Costco cakes and start handing out hefty pieces. I resisted at first, but did end up taking 3 bites of Mo's piece. I can't help it, cake is the perfect food. God invented it to turn frowns upside down, and it still works! Who am I to deny that kind of healing power?

Then yesterday one lady brought in cupcakes and man, you guys know how I feel about cupcakes. I was strong and said no, no thank you, please no, PLEASE STOP ASKING ME JUST LEAVE ME ALONE TO SUFFER IN PEACE! All these food-pushers! Then she hit me with this line:

"But...I specifically made cupcakes instead of a cake because I know how much you love them!"

I can see my reputation preceeds me here. I can just see her standing around in her kitchen conspiring to keep me forever fat. "Oh, she wants to be on a diet, huh? Well, we'll see how long that lasts when I bring CUPCAKES! (manical laugh)" Foiled again. What can I say? I can't avoid my white guilt, it's ingrained. I only took a bite though. It wasn't all that! She should try harder.

So today's Jeff's mom's birthday which means not only do I have to say no to more cake, but I have to PAY for it too. Damn shame. I'm gonna buy the shittiest cake I see. If I can't have you, nobody can! (stab stab stab)

Then SUNDAY is like the mega-birthday blast since everyone in Jeff's dumb family seems to have a birthday in May. His nephew, neice, mom and brother-in-law. FOUR CAKES. That's stupid. Just because it's four people doesn't mean you need four cakes. It's still just one family. Dumbness. Starving children in Africa and here we are wasting perfectly good cake.

Side note: May is too expensive!

So...wish me luck against these sweet confectionary demons. Pray if you're into that sorta thing, Patron Saint of Buttercream, swallowed be thy name. I can do this. It's just cake! I'm a 400 pound dynamo and I refuse to be beat by some flour, sugar, and whatever else goes into cake. (Donna Reed, eat your heart out.)

I filled up on fat-free flavor-free styrofoam popcorn, so hopefully that will help.

Oh yeah, and Jeff invited his nephew over to play Dungeons and Dragons and now my whole apartment smells like nerd. Plus they're in there eating/drinking root beer floats and tater tots...awesome. It's kinda cute though, in a weird way. You can tell the kid is so obviously bored with all the explanations and crap because he's just spinning around in his chair going "uh huh...uh huh...oh, okay ...uh huh" I tried to explain to Jeff that it's less about D&D and more about just wanting to hang out with him, but he says I just don't get it. WHATEVER. Worst.uncle.ever!

Doncha think?

After much debate, the scale has finally decided to weigh me again. It only goes up to 405, so boy was I cutting it close! 404.8. Good thing I peed first.

Now, it's an interesting predicament, being as big as me, and then getting the numbers. It's like one of those happy/sad times in your life. It's like winning something, but then finding out it's the crappiest prize ever...like herpes. IT'S LIKE TEN THOUSAND SPOOOONS WHEN ALL YA NEED IS A KNIIIFE. Just kidding, it's not like that. It's more like when a murderer finds out he's not getting the death penalty, but then he remembers he's still gotta be in jail for the rest of his stinkin' LIFE.

I mean, 404.8 ain't nothin to sneeze at. It's probably the literal definition of a "brick shithouse" if only I had muscles or was intimidating in any way at all. BUT...it's better than what I was thinking, which is closer to like...430ish?

When it comes to my weight, I always find it better to overestimate and be relieved than to "think small" then die of shock. When I was 16, I had to go get a flu shot because my dad was like a total nazi about the flu shot. To this day, every year I get it because I think if I should go a whole year without it, it will undoubtedly be the last year of my life on Earth. But I digress...yeah, before you can get the flu shot at the clinic I went to, they have to do the exam business, i.e. try to make it seem like they're earning that 50 bucks. Exams always include a weigh-in. Oh the scale, my old arch nemesis. I was thinking like 250, WORST CASE SCENARIO. Wrong, dude. So wrong. 306! I died. I'm not even alive right now, that's how much I died. Good thing just my mom saw cause she could keep a secret like nobody's business.

From that day on, I always think HIGH. I'm always like "I bet I weigh 800 pounds ...oh ...405 ...whew, that ain't so bad. Chicken fried steak, STAT!"

And if you think about it, I've only gained 100 pounds over the course of 15 years, so that's only like...(math math math)...like 6 pounds a year! Not too shabby. Nevermind the fact that I've lost and gained that same hundred like 40 times. You pay too much attention to detail, that's your problem!

So anyway, yeah. It's good to have a number again. I wish it was smaller, but it ain't, so there ya go. I'm doing okay on the points as long as I don't obsess too much and I have a lot of watermelon somewhere around me at any given point in the day.

Also, in case my 40 examples of happy/sad weren't enough, you can check out this baby because he knows the score:


Bye!

Get on board.

The diet's going okay. Weekends mess me up because I stay in bed til 3 then eat until bedtime. Not ideal. I gave up on CORE because I ate a bag of Popchips (7 points!) and I don't know what "satisfied" means. If I knew when to stop eating, I wouldn't be so extra large. That was a silly idea, Weight Watchers! Oh well, I'll just count the points. 44 is a lot of points when you're eating fat-free low-fat low-carb sugar-free shit. I could knock out that 44 in one meal at Popeye's, but then I'd want ice cream and there is my life, in a nutshell. (what kind of shell...has a nut...like this?)

My cat is an asshole.

I'm so tired of him. Sometimes I leave the door open just in the hope that maybe he'll run away but he knows he's got it too good to ever leave and he never even attempts to go anywhere near the door. I dunno why Jeff is so attached to him. Maybe because they're both jerks who overeat then throw up. Life is all about the common bonds.

This cat is like, a fiend for cat treats. Look, I'm a fattie. I understand the simple joy of having a snack. But this cat is taking it too far! Here is the scenario:

I go grocery shopping. I buy the stupid treats because he will meow all night if he doesn't get his nightly fix. I bring in half the groceries, set them down on the counter...then go out to the car to get the rest. The cat takes this as his cue to ramble through the bags and find the treats. It's like a sixth sense. I don't know how he knows. Aren't cats colorblind? I buy different color bags to throw him off but it never works. SO...I'm putting away the groceries...

Then I get out the "treat tin" and like, where are the goddamn treats? Come to think of it, where is the cat? Rest assured, they are together. Making hot teethy sweaty love somewhere beyond my reach. I sigh and roll my eyes and swear to the heavens I HATE THIS GODDAMN CAT!

It's probably my own fault. I should put them up as soon as I get in. But it's like a million degrees outside and the last thing on my mind is saving this fatass cat from himself.

HOURS later, he'll emerge. The package? Chewed open. It's so sad looking. Withered and full of teeth marks. Raped of its Tarter Fighting nuggets and left there to die alone. So sad. $1.89 down the drain. His fat ass just laying in a corner half dead from overindulgence. All I can do is shake my head. Lord knows I've been there. He just doesn't seem to understand that if I'M on a diet, then we're ALL on a diet. Even Jeff gets this simple concept. I don't know why this cat can't follow suit.

I wake up the next morning to usually 3 random piles of technicolor cat puke. God, I hate him so.

Not to mention this GIANT scratch on my arm because every time the air conditioner kicks on, he FREAKS OUT and jets the fuck off, catapulting himself from whatever he's on...namely, my arm. I love the air conditioner more than I could ever love any animal, especially this cat, so he better just get used to it. 'Cause Tricia...sweats for NOBODY, you hear me?

In other news, I went to Costco yesterday and it was 3500 steps! That's a lot.........for me. :)

Nonsense.

I ditched work yesterday because of the post-chiro stiffness and active hatred of my job, in general. BUT today's Friday so that means 4 more hours of work then two days off, sweeeeeeeeet.

I'm on day 4 or YE OLDE CORE. I keep fucking up eating real cheese on stuff though so I may as well be counting points, but I don't think I'm eating enough so whatever. I'm eating LESS, so like, that should count for something.

I didn't pack lunch so I had to order a salad from a local delivery place and OMG MOST BORING SALAD EVER. (and I was listening to Coldplay on my iPod, which may or may not have added to the boringness.) Lettuce, cucumber, grilled chicken. No dressing. No croutons. No cheese! Dry, dude. Dryer than Ann Coulter's vag the night Obama won. I mean, that's pretty dry right there, friends.

Whatever, it's just food. I'm trying to learn to hate food so I won't want it. So far it is not working because I would seriously stab a man for a Twix right now.

You guys watch The Office last nite? So cute.

What was I talking about? Oh yeah, food. So...yeah, anyway, while I was laying around being in pain all day yesterday, Discovery Health Network decided to show a bunch of those shows from that one obesity hospital whatever it's called, you know the one. MAN. Why did one of the spotlighted people like weigh less than me?? Ugh, that made me feel like a total fat load. I mean, I usually watch that show so I can feel smallish and now they're showing people that I outweigh by a good 50 pounds. UGH! Remind me never to watch TV again.

Being addicted to food is such a weak ass addiction. I wish it was something more hardcore, like crack! Then at least I'd be thin and not sweating bullets that I won't be able to walk up the stupid 1/4 mile hill leading up to Alcatraz on my vacation. Who the hell goes on vacation to visit a prison? I just wanna lay on the beach and drink pina coladas. They said it's the incline of like a 13 story building. THAT SUCKS. I'm gonna need a post-vacation vacation and now I'm outta sick time.

That last line read like the punchline to a Garfield comic.

Wow, that hurt a lot...

I am back. Not dead or paralyzed...SCORE!

The chiropractor is kinda hot for a middle-ager but he wears his pants too high. And because he's tall, it makes him look like his legs are a million inches long. What's with dudes and their pants? They all either wear them too low or too high. It's like you spend your youth with your pants under your ass then they creep up an inch or so every year until you're 80 and they're tucked under your chin. Guys...so dumb.

Seriously, I see Jeff's ass crack about seven times a day, and I never appreciate it. If he's gonna show it off, he should work on getting it less pimpley...just my opinion. That being said, my ass is no gem either, so I'll just shut up about it.

Anyway, if you've ever been to a chiropractor, they sometimes use this thing called a drop shelf or some shit. It's like they lift something under you and then press you down until it falls. Maybe this is okay for normal people but lest we forget, I have fat trauma. Feeling that thing basically give way beneath me feels like a smashing reminder of every broken chair, bent-ish bed frame and busted toilet seat of the life of my giant ass. DO NOT LIKE.

After about 20 minutes of torture, I get 15 minutes of weird vibration and out the door I go feeling worse than ever. COME BACK FRIDAY, he says. Yeah...okay. Sure, why not?

Whiny Wednesday.

My back's really been killing me lately. About once a year, my back starts to act stupid. But it's worse now than it's been before. Probably due to the fact that I'm fatter than ever.

It ranges from like an annoying dull pain to OHJESUSFUCK spasm-type pain. I'm convinced each spasm is taking years off my life.

So I made an appointment for the chiropractor this afternoon. As a general rule, I don't usually like to do things in public that involve taking off my shirt. My backfat rolls need something to cling to besides open air. But I fear it is a necessary evil as "not sleeping" and "hating life" are things that I also don't enjoy.

Man, I hate being in pain. I have an extremely low pain tolerance a.k.a I am a giant fucking baby when it comes to the owies. But going to the chiropractor just means MORE pain! "Oh, you're in pain, well let's crack all your bones and put you through an hour of torture..." NOT COOL. If I'm already in pain, why do I have to be in MORE pain just to get rid of said original pain? There has to be a better way. I think we should cut out the Space Program and use those funds to find a painfree cure for my back. The world can thank me later.

Also, my boss just bent over by my desk and I saw her whaletail. WTF UNIVERSE.

Today...end already.

In case my blog suddenly becomes about tits...

For the record:
Those black lines = Dina.

I would walk 500 miles...but someone has to count!

So I went to Wal-mart on my lunch break with a pocketful of good intentions. But Wal-Mart took a dump in my pocket. Or maybe I took a dump in my own pocket? Either way, my pocket is full of poop and I didn't get what I wanted.

I went because I wanted to get one of those aerobic step thingies. Like, the little step thing, you know? I had this grand plan that I could set it up on the kitchen floor and every time I go into the kitchen, I'd make myself do 10 or 20 step-ups on it. Those would add up since the kitchen is my favorite place to be lately. And since I hate stairs so much, one of two things would happen: a) I would start to not hate stairs so much or b) I would just stop going to the kitchen. Win/win.

BUT...that stupid thing is 30$! I mean, it's just like...one step. Why's it cost so dang much? Truth be told, I was willing to give up my 30 bucks, but then I saw it has a 250-lb weight limit. Seriously? Thirty dollars for one step and it won't even hold my big ass.

I was thinking maybe I would just get it and push my luck. Then I started thinking about having to be in the 'Returns Line' all like "yeah, it says it holds up to 250 and I am only 220 as you can plainly see on my license here...so...yeah, I want my money back." Probably get arrested for fraud! (for the record: my license actually says 350, which is still a lie, but at least somewhat more believable.)

So then I saw a mini-trampoline. That was also 30 bucks. I hoisted it up into my cart only to find that the stupid thing also has a 250 weight limit. DAMMIT! It's official, I am too fat for exercise.

Determined to find SOMETHING that could accomodate this giant ass and my miserly budget, I kept walking. Hey, that's it...walking! I'll just get a pedometer. Surely the EARTH has a high enough weight limit to help me out here, so it's a fool-proof plan. I found a pedometer for only 5 bucks! Heck yeah, son.

So I get back to work, and burn some calories trying to bust into the inpenetrable force field of plastic protecting this thing. If only there were a pedometer for hands, I think to myself (alert the patent office!) I finally get in this fucking thing and realize I need a baby screwdriver to put the battery in. WHY IS THIS SO FRUSTRATING AND HARD?? This makes me wish exercise was never invented.

FINALLY, the battery is in. I clip it to my waistband (whoa nelly) and OFF I GO...to the printer. I count in my head...14 steps! I look down, can't see the thing...ugh. Push the boob over and crane the chins and there it is..."00001." WHAT? OH CRUEL FATE, HOW YOU MOCK ME!

How...do you make this shit work? I tried moving it...to the other hemisphere...didn't work. Tried clipping it on my shirt...no dice. Sigh. My bad for buying the cheapest pedometer in the world, probably. But I only want it to count steps, I'm not asking this thing to balance my checkbook (a curse I wouldn't wish on anyone!) I dunno what to do. FAT FOREVER! Not meant to be! A really good excuse! "I was going to go for a walk tonight but my pedometer doesn't work." That sounds slightly better than just saying I'm too lazy.

For real, how do I fix this shitty thing? Hepl!

Every Mother's Day needs a Mother's Night...

In an effort to avoid blogging my sad mom story, I was looking for inspiration to lead me to a happy story. It came in the form of Justin Timberlake once again hosting Saturday Night Live tonight.

THIS is how you make a sequel, Hollywood...



Hey, I never claimed to have a normal sense of humor, but you can't tell me you didn't at LEAST crack a smile. Roses and lube? C'mon!

In case you've never seen the original, kindly climb out from under that rock and click PLAY...



Andy Samberg is saving SNL. I may be biased because I'm in love with him, but either way, he's a funny dude. It may seem like a weird crush, but at least he's not David Caruso, right?

Anywho, Happy Mother's Day and whatnot. Give her hugs and tell her you love her. Bye bye.

Miss you, C.

Ugh, crappy day.

I did stay within my points, kinda. I ate like, my weight in watermelon. But...it's watermelon! So eff it. I did pretty good today all things considered. We had our bi-yearly company BBQ at work today. Hamburgers, hot dogs, chips, cokes, and homemade ooey gooey chocolately pecany cookies. My boss walked by my desk with a plate of them up for the offering and I could only give her a "you're fucking kiddin' me, right?" look and shoo her away. Be gone, evil temptress!

Man, today sucks. I've been sad and like randomly misty-eyed all damn day. Today's the one year anniversary of my neice Crystal's death. Obviously, I can't stop thinking about her. And thinking about her means being sad. I miss her SO much. It's so weird that she's gone. Like, I dunno if I haven't fully accepted it or what. It was a whole year ago but it passed by so fast and the wound is still wide open and today was just like an avalanche of salt.

I haven't talked to my sister in over a month because of the whole firing my dad thing. I kept going back and forth on whether I should send flowers or call her or I dunno, send a card...something. Like as much as I think she can be an awful person sometimes, I also realize that she has had a pretty tragic life. And losing a daughter is just too fucked up for me to even comprehend, so I buried the hatchet. I sent her a flowering rose bush arrangement with a card telling her how proud I am of her for picking up the pieces.

At just after 2:00, I got a really long text message from her saying that she appreciates how I'm able to look past petty fights and know when my love is needed. I could tell how much the simple gesture meant to her and of course, my eyes instantly teared up while I was on the phone talking to some annoying customer. Probably not the best time to multi-task. It really showed me that even though sometimes I feel like a pushover for not holding grudges, in the long run, it's never worth it to me. There are two sides to every story, no matter how bad it can seem. I'll gladly take being a pushover to living a life of regret.

Anyway, I really do miss my neice a lot. She knew more about me than anyone in my family, even when we grew apart during our angsty teenage years. She was only 4 months younger than me, and when she died, it felt like so many memories of my childhood went with her. The good memories. She was always very tempermental and that was hard for me to deal with, but the good times made it all worth it. When she was just being Crystal, like, we would laugh until we couldn't breathe at just the dumbest shit. I really miss that. It's just hard.


It doesn't help that it's like 2 days before Mother's Day. Ugh, I hate this time of year. My neice and my mom were the only people in my life that I felt like I spent my childhood with. It just feels like it's all gone now. I dunno, I can't explain it.

Anyway, this is long. It was just a hard day.

My credit score is negative, that's why.

For the record, it is now 6:38 in the PM and I am still on plan. CUE THE TRUMPETS.

Turkey burgers for dinner...eventually. Snoozers, but at least they're fast.

We were supposed to go for a walk, but Jeff like almost passed out from heat exhaustion just having to drive me home from work. We made two whole stops, so he's tapped out. Poor lil' fella.

We went to Aaron's Rent-to-Own and Rent-A-Center. More like Anal Rape-to-Own and RAPE-A-Center. HOW DO THESE PEOPLE SLEEP AT NIGHT?? Seriously man, they are off their rocker if they think I'm paying over 2 grand for a fucking TV that's worth 400 bucks, TOPS. That is one hell of a mark-up. I'll just save up and go to Wal-Mart in a couple months. Eff that noise.

This was my first experience with those rental lease places. How the heck are they still in business? Well, I dunno, as a kid, like pretty much everything we owned was from one of those places. No wonder we were always so damn broke! My dad was the WORST with money. Mostly because he spent it all on alcohol and horses then we had to pay $16 a week for 1400 weeks for a washer/dryer. Welcome to my white trash past...present...future(?)

NO. Cycle ends here. I will get a TV when I can afford it. The end.

Shit List.

Just a few things:

1. People Love Free Shit. I am one of those people. Like, for sure. But I have my limits. For instance, I will not wait in line in the HOT HOT sun for two pieces of KFC Grilled Chicken. I saw people actually lined up OUTSIDE of KFC...for chicken. I understand we are living in hard times here, but it's just chicken. I mean, if that coupon means the difference between like a child starving or not, then yeah, by all means, stand in line. But if you just wanna save three bucks, maybe save it for another day...or never. More overwhelming proof that Oprah rules the world.

2. It is very hot. 103 today. It's May.

3. We took Jeff's mom out for dinner tonite as an early Mother's Day present because Jeff always has to work weekends. His dad tagged along for the free meal, which I wasn't aware was happening. Then they both drank four beers each, times $6/per beer. That kinda pissed me off. I mean, they know we're obviously on a budget here. I was planning about $60 for dinner for the three of us and it ended up being $140. UGH. Pissed. Am I wrong to think it's kinda rude? Maybe I'm being petty. But I ate $8.99 chicken fingers. When people invite me out for dinner, I don't automatically assume that means OPEN BAR BROTHER! It bothered me. But I didn't say anything. Because I don't wanna seem petty. Passive agressive, I'm okay with.

4. I don't wanna full-on geek out about American Idol here since I haven't even watched the last three episodes, but seriously, Allison?? She was like the best one left. That...sucks. Fully don't care about it anymore.

5. This:

My cup boileth over...

I've been staring at this screen for a good 5 minutes already. NOTHING SEEMS FUNNY ENOUGH TO POST!

I'm all emo and tired. I just wanna rip off these stupid work clothes and go start a revolution from my bed. The quit-your-job-and-sleep-all-day revolution. But I haven't decided if I wanna stay home or go to trivia tonite. I know once I'm down to the undies, nothing can get me re-dressed. I don't do that shit. Once I'm undressed, outside time is over...NO EXCEPTIONS! The only thing harder than trying to put on a bra that doesn't really fit is trying to put on a sweaty bra that doesn't really fit. Also known as sausage casing.

It's cinco de Mayo. I feel like I wanna go have some tacos and a margarita but it's 400 degrees outside so who the fuck is in the mood for hot sauce and tequila? DAMN YOU VEGAS SUN! We had a potluck at work but luckily those people can't cook for shit and everything was super gringo, so I didn't eat much. I'm a mexican food elitist thanks to my Texas roots. This California shit ain't cuttin' it. Which is probably for the best, because the last thing I need right now is more temptation.

T-minus 27 days to San Fran and so far my plan to EAT BETTER AND WALK EVERY DAY is still yet to get off the ground. It's not like I think I'm gonna lose a hundred pounds in a month but I wanna build up some walking tolerance so I'm not like gasping for air after walking a couple freakin blocks. Embarrassing! I'll try to get on that shit soon. I envisioned me and Jeff going on long walks every night like everything was just gonna magically change once we got this new apartment. It didn't! That sucked.

He's got a boil on his leg and he never shuts up about it. Anytime I ask him to do something, he just points to his crotch area which normally means "Blow me." but lately means "THE BOIL!"

"Babe, can you..."
(FURIOUS POINT TO CROTCHAL AREA)
"Ugh...forget it."

Personally, I think he's milking it. Ew, milking a boil. Sounds gross. Worst.Porn.Ever.

Boil is a stupid word. Like moist. And womb.

Haha, this is a gross post. Sorry dudez. I got nothin!

Happy Star Wars Day!

May the 4th...be with you.

(Nerd alert!)

Bust Up Shot.

Hello Blogland. It's been a while. You...you look well.

Man, moving is still as shitty as I remember. Oh god, I hate it. I hate it SO much. (cry)

Finally everything is moved over into the new place. Most of the moving took place while I was at work, so I came home to a pile of boxes in my living room and kitchen. Seriously, I can't walk into either room. Kinda defeated the purpose of me writing "BATHROOM 1" or "BEDROOM 2" all over the fucking boxes. There's a few hours of my life I will never have back. OH WELL. I guess I should stop my bitching because at least it all made it here.

Now comes the hellacious task of unpacking. Right now the piles of junk just seem threatening to me. I don't know where to start. I need to do laundry but the washer's all blocked in by 45 boxes of shit I don't know where to put. I should be working on this right now as opposed to doing things like...blogging...but well, it's been a week. I don't want you guys to think I'm dead or something. Then you'll unfollow me and I AM NOTHING WITHOUT MY FOLLOWERS! NOTHING, I TELLZ YOU.

As for the new place...eh. I mean, there are things I like and things I hate. Want a PROS and CONS list? Awesome, I'm doing that shit right now...

PROS:
-better neighborhood
-brand new apt = no worry of someone wiping their ass on the walls or anything
-big awesome kitchen
-new appliances
-gas stove
-washer/dryer IN apartment, not outside...where the bugs are!
-BADASS air conditioning = freezing myself to sleep = AMAZING
-hot dudes in the parking lot
-gym (some day this will matter)
-friendly Asian neighbors w/ complimentary baby that always waves to me

CONS:
-bedroom smaller than I was prepared for = no good place to put the TV!
-bathtub TINY (side effect: makes me wanna die)
-cat having more frequent freak-outs (WHERE AM I WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE??)
-still having to unpack
-still haven't delivered on the free DVD player we were offered at signing (I already bitched.)
-No chain on the door (need to lock myself IN due to crippling paranoia)
-Shower curtain rod is a pain in the ass to figure out
-Hard to find for delivery drivers (may turn out to be a "pro" at some point.)

So there you have it. For now, we'll call it a draw. I may really end up loving the place once we're all settled in, but it's too early to say.

Moving also costs more than I remember. That sucks. I still have to buy a dining room table since the other one was too big for the space provided, plus, I always hated it. That might have to wait though because as the savings account draws closer to ZERO POINT ZERO, I see my anxiety level rising exponentially.

In other news, I planned a trip! Only for two days, but still. I bought two tickets for me and Jeff to go to...(wait for it, waiiiit for iiiit)...SAN FRANCISCO! We're staying at a cool little hotel right near pier 39, so we shouldn't have to rent a car or anything. I think we'll probably do the aquarium thing and then do the Alcatraz thing, and possible the Chinatown thing, if time allows. I haven't told him yet, which is KILLING MEEEE. It's a surprise graduation present for him, so I'm trying to hold off on telling him until his official graduation date, but seriously, I suck at not ruining surprises. I keep catching myself almost blowing it too. "Are you excited about Alca.......hol....?" Stupid! Good thing he's kinda dumb or else this secret would be super blown right now.

I am excited! My first trip to California, weeeee! If you have any tips or anything for me about stuff I shouldn't miss in San Fran, feel free to tell me.

Alright, I'm gonna go waste time in other ways now and then maybe hopefully get down to business with this whole unpacking deal. Wish me luck!

Oh yeah, Danny Gans died! People here are FREAKING OUT and everywhere else in the world people are saying "Danny who?" Oh well. I never saw his show or anything, but he did have a Bruce Campbell chin, and so it's sad to see him go. I dunno why I brought this up, but I did, so yeah.

Also, Bea Arthur died and like, I barely heard about it! She wasn't my favorite Golden Girl, but she was definitely one of my top 5 Golden Girls. AND...she wasn't just some dyke. No matter what some secretly bi-curious Italians might try to tell you. She was just tall, dang. Not to mention, a comedy legend! I wonder if Jeffery Ross will still joke about her penis now. Too soon?

Oh, and I watched Milk last night. Totally made me cry. Why can't people just accept that not everyone is like them? God, pisses me off. Anyway, it was a good movie, and you should watch it if you're not all weird about watching dudes kiss. And like, you shouldn't be, so go ahead and get over that and then rent that movie. (Yours truly, The new Ebert.)

Bye friends.