To Do: 1. Get Hobby, 2. Floss: August 2007

Here's what I need to do: 1. Get Hobby, 2. Floss. Blogging just gets in the way.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

F*ck Shui

To everyone who sent me an email asking if I'm okay, I am alive. It's just that I've been busy. I blame do-it-yourself design shows and slutty shorts.

I manage my household finances by wearing slutty shorts and high heels. It's not classy but, it's economical. Rather than remitting payments in a timely fashion, I prefer to greet the utility trucks while wearing slutty shorts. Usually, I find that the utility company employees have no plans to interrupt my service. Rather, they are simply making a routine customer service visit to stare at my camel toe.

I have been particularly successful with my cable provider. I have no less than 20 home design channels. I sat in front of the television for three days learning how to transform my patio into an outdoor oasis for under $0.15 using materials from my trash. I was inspired.

I am too lazy to hang curtains in my bedroom. Sometimes, I would like a little privacy. Because I am practically a genius, I went to Lowe's paint department and had the paint guy match the color of my skin perfectly. Now, I can walk around naked in my bedroom without worrying about my neighbor who has started parking outside my bedroom window. I'm thinking about painting polka dots all over the room in the same shade as my nipples.

My freshly painted walls seemed bare. I purchased a large mirror in a green wooden frame and went home, ready to make decorating magic. Hanging a mirror is not as easy as it looks on TV. On design shows, mirrors are always hung tastefully over a piece of furniture far, far from the bed. No one ever hangs a mirror on the wall next to the bed. I noted how a mirror next to the bed changed the theme of my bedroom from Tranquil Retreat to Amateur Porn Paradise. I was not satisfied.

Defeated, I sat on the couch and watched several more hours of do-it-yourself decor, hoping to see a show for people who like to watch themselves in bed. I learned how to apply an "antique" finish, which would make the mirror an interesting focal point but, still in poor taste. Covering the frame with fabric would be a simple and fun Saturday project but, would not class my bedroom up in the slightest.

Then, as if possessed by shabby chic-ness, I salvaged an old chair with a new coat of paint and recovered the seat with a scrap of leftover fabric in a kicky color. I put casters on the chair and wheeled it into my bedroom. I rested the mirror on the chair and rolled it about the room to find all the best angles.

I had conquered my design challenge. It seems that a mirror next to the bed is slutty but, placing the mirror on a "vintage" rolling chair, is eclectic.

Mist 1

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Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Purse Impressions

I try to be the best friend that I can be. I am a giving and caring person. As a friend, I rarely drink the last beer in the fridge. If I borrow a bracelet, generally, I return it to it's owner (unless it looks better on me, which I cannot help, it is just meant to be).

When I shop with my friends, I am truthful. I never lie about how much (or little) a pair of jeans flatters the a$$. I encourage my friends to buy stuff that will look great on me so that I can borrow it. My friends can count on me because I am fair and thoughtful. When it comes to shopping, I am practically the best friend that anyone has ever known.

It should serve as no surprise that my friends highly value my opinion when dating someone new. Last weekend, Karon met a new man. James and Karon went out for dinner and later, for drinks. Karon called me from the restroom of the bar. She was having a great time. James was interesting and respectful and attractive but, something was not quite right. I agreed to show up at the bar and check him out for myself. First date ambushes are one of my specialties.

A first date ambush is a lot like a first date. I show up late, order a few cocktails and talk about myself. The biggest difference is that I don't bother to put on mascara. I try to keep the focus on my friend and mascara would be a distraction. Another major difference between a first date and a first date ambush is that I don't stick my tongue down the guy's throat. Sometimes, that part doesn't go as well as I had intended.

I showed up at the bar and quickly found Karon and James. I hadn't even taken a seat when I knew what was wrong with him. I walked over to the table and James, the perfect gentleman, stood up and shook my hand. He offered me a seat. He pulled out the chair and made a space for me by removing his man purse. I stayed for a cocktail and made polite small talk about the weather and the presidential debates and about whether or not my hair is too red. I avoided making conversation about fashion as I knew that I was not above discussing his purse. When I finished my drink, I politely excused myself and left the two of them to finish their date.

The next day, Karon came over with a bottle of wine to review the evening with me. Everything had gone well but, she didn't feel any chemistry. "What am I going to tell him to get out of a second date?" she asked me.

"Tell him his shoes didn't match his damn purse," I responded.

I wish that she would consider dating him another time. I'm dying to know what he keeps in him man purse.

Mist 1

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Wednesday, August 01, 2007

No Love, Courtney

When Whitney Houston's irrational behavior and unkempt appearance were captured by the paparazzi, Courtney Love appeared like a rehab angel. She pledged her emotional support to Whitney as she cleaned herself up and rid herself of Bobby Brown. More recently, Courtney approached Brittney Spears, offering to stand by her side during her darkest days.

I needed Courtney Love's support in the last few days. I am not ashamed to admit that I had a serious bug problem. I thought if anyone could understand the chaos that bugs create, it would be Courtney. She's dealt with bugs. She's overcome them. I went through Hell because of bugs. Still, Courtney never called. Maybe she only comes to the rescue of people with names ending in "ney." I see no other explanation. Surely, I picked off enough of my own skin over the last week to merit a call.

Obsessive-compulsive tendencies aside, I blame the cat and his fleas for the skin picking. Before the fleas, everything was so right between the two of us. It was much like a marriage, he was getting fat and we shared a bed without sex.

I nearly lost everything because of the fleas. I feverishly paced the pet aisle of the grocery store, scratching and twitching, looking for a product that promised to cause permanent scarring of the lungs if inhaled. In local pet stores, I attracted the attention of Homeland Security by purchasing large quantities of poisonous fogger bombs intended for professional use. I borrowed money from friends and family to support my need for flea treatments. When the money was gone, I did things that I'm not proud of for flea collars.

Despite the haze of toxic chemicals in my home, I felt the presence of fleas for days. I was convinced that they had become resistant to commercial pesticides and had adapted, becoming ever quicker and invisible. The only thing worse than a bug problem is an imaginary bug problem.

Imaginary bugs can make time stand still. Hours, maybe even days passed as I pursued invisible parasites. New freckles from my recent sunburn came to life with astounding flea-like realism and burrowed under several layers of skin. It is exceedingly difficult remove a freckle. Freckles are also incredibly resilient to suffocation and will not emerge from the skin even when covered in a dab of clear nail polish.

It's been a difficult journey but, I think that the bugs are behind me. I have been bug-free for 72 hours, no thanks to Courtney Love.

Mist 1

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"All of this happened, more or less." - Kurt Vonnegut