13 strangers living under 1 roof...Gotta Be Big Brother!

Tis that time of year!

Big Brother, Big Brother!!!

It officially marks the beginning of summer.

If you don't watch this show, you are REALLY missing out.

Especially if you watch bullshit like, The Hills, and Dancing with the Fat Ass.

It is an amazing reality show involving strategy and skill.

I could never do it.

I would freak out about who is talking about me 

and hoping that people wouldn't find out what I said about them.

So it's a lot like high school.

The producers are even using that as a "twist" this season.

It's so beyond worth it to watch!  

Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays.  

That's right....3X a week.  

They even have a 24 hour live feed.

Its a voyeur's wet dream!!

check it out.

Seasons Change.....

Summer clothing never ceases to amaze me!

Seriously.

Butt cheeks, muffin tops, and camel toe.

Now that's what I call independence,

Or

Poor fashion sense.

Or

Independence.

Aren't they semi-kind-of-almost-sincerely

one in the same?

check that one off the list!

No No No

Yes Yes Yes

I do not care

Heading back to the NYC tonight.

So excited and surprisingly sad.

I was surrounded by complete and utter love this last weekend.

People always say that you don't have fun at your own wedding.

Contraire, Mon Frair....(spelled as sounds)

My only regret is that my bra pushed my boobs up a little too much.

But, I guess that's not so bad.

I can't wait to see everyone's pics.

I'm dying to see everyone's pics!!!

Fragments....everywhere in my head.

So happy

So thankful

So

so

so

so

tired!!!

NYC here we come.

Then it's Jamaica, mon......

Hindsight is 20/20?

Today Oprah, after 3 years, apologized to James Frey.

(The author she VERY publicy RUINED.)

To Oprah I say:

"Go eat Gayle's Pussy."

The Ballad of Unemployment

This is what I'm NOT missing about being in New York.

All You Need is....

I'm fascinated at how unaware of themselves people are.

I realize I'm not without flaw, either.

However,  I can see the effects that my words and actions and intentions have on others.

My first reaction is to react.

Grind my teeth and sling shit!

But, upon my arrival home to the midwest, my dad instilled a 5 second rule.

When something happens....breathe for 5 whole seconds.

Sounds simple, but when my gut is burning it's the 

hardest thing

in the world

to do!

The bottom line is people are who they are,

but I'm old enough and *wise* enough now to know where my limitations lie with them.

I'm so thankful to have love in my life.

At the end of the day it is

EVERYTHING.

Not even of a sexual nature, but of a 

real 

primal 

heart swelling

unselfish

love.

Of friends.

Of family,

and I just happened to be blessed enough to have the "other" kind too.

But I know it was given to me because I know what love is.

If you don't know what it is,

you cannot be open enough to receive it

because you wouldn't recognize it

if it whipped out it's dick

and slapped you in the mouth.

(Deep Breath)

Five seconds later....I feel much better.

Regis

And just when I thought I could handle it no more.....

The heavens opened up and God said,

"Bitch, get over yourself."

So I did.

I do.

I am trying to.

I got my hair cut at the mall today.

Regis to be exact.  

$33.00, what a bargain!

I tried to throw the "I'm from New York" card around

Erin, as I read on her card with the "Regis" letterhead, was thoroughly

UN

IM

PRESSED!

After the 3rd time I mentioned it she said "Oh, do you live there?"

I was like,

"shit."

But seriously, come on!  Then I remembered.....

For around 3 years I begged my mom to get my hair cut at the mall 

and NOT

in an independent place in and or around my home town.

I got my first "bob" at the mall

I got my first "shag" at the mall

I got my first "period" at the mall

actually, it was Sam's Club in O'Fallon, IL right down  the road.

Either way.  I'm shedding an ugly skele-tor skeleton right now.

With an ascot wreaking of pretention.

I left St. Clair Square with a kick in my step

mainly because the girl that cut my hair

refused to give into my ego.

Wow, I just realized that this trip home is me getting back to myself.

That should be my one woman show title, huh?

"Me Getting Back to Myself."

Oh shit.  

There's the EGO.....

again!

This might take more than the 20 days I have alotted.....

As Time Goes By

I'm driving in my car, what was once my car, now belongs to my parents, 

through the town I grew up in.  

To visit my grandparents, by the park I smoked my first cigarette in.

Windows are down and a sense of nostalgia fills the interior of the '98 Dodge Neon.

I suddenly feel ridiculously young, and simultaneously old.

Past the high school, past the car wash, past Gitcho's Gas,

who's slogan is "Gitcho Gas at Gitcho's."

Kit Gitcho is the owner and he lived 2 doors down from me growing up.

He was a dog killer, a white man with a tight afro.

The trees are gorgeous!  People here probably don't think twice about them.

Out of town.

To the mall.  The mall I once worked in.

Dillards and 5-7-9 to be exact.

The smell of each mall is strikingly similar and yet distinctively different.

I feel incredibly cool and simultaneously completely out of sorts.

At least there's a Starbucks there.

Who doesn't feel cool when they're holding a Starbucks cup?

Check the time.

Check in with the folks.

Promise to be home by 5:30

because that's when dinner will be ready.

It would be disrespectful not to.

Driving back.

To a house.

Where, after dinner,

I have

nothing

to 

do.

That's when I realize how long it's been,

since I've lived here.

Homecoming

Getting Married makes me wanna die.

REPHRASE...

Planning a wedding is like dying a slow death,

only to be resuscitated at the end.  

I hope I pull through.

The good thing about the wedding is that I'm home in this dirty little Steel Mill Town called,

Granite City, IL.  Here, the meth flows like water and the homeroom's in the High School are meant for throwing baby showers.  

Breathe.

It.

In.

Sitting on my parents screened in porch, drugged within an inch of my life on Clairitin-D, I realize something. 

I .

Am.

Bored.

And now you are too......

Fake is the newest Real

The Real Housewives of Orange County make me Real Real (really) mad.

I don't know how many people actually watch the show, but it's worth it.

It's no RHO Atlanta....(sung: There's a Tightro-ohhhhpe,) but it's a beast all unto itself.

I don't know why I feel obligated to blog about it, but I mean shit.

It makes me want money.

There I said it.

I don't want to be one of these bitchy, soul-less zombies, but I want their money.

Is that so bad?

I would do more with it.

I would still shop at the Salvation Army and look for the 50% off tags.

I would still look for the cheapest thing on the menu so I could drink more.

I would still use my grocery store savings card.

In addition to this:

I would finally get to carry a designer bag that isn't 2nd-hand

I would sit in my beautiful house on my outdoor entertainment area and write, write, write

I would be able to allow myself to buy JUST ONE Betsey Johnson dress

I would still have a job but one I've always WANTED, like owning a Vintage store where I could help girls who can't afford it have an amazing prom!

However...

I would never be able to leave the house because if those women represented on the show were the people I would have to associate with, I might just turn into one of them.  

Now, 

that

aint

too

rich.

I think I'll stay poor and happy.

Flesh Tones

Flesh, skin, dermis, epidermis.  

The rubbery substance that covers our internal organs and skeleton.

It's fucking weird if you break it down like that.  

I was riding the train "late night" last night when I realized.

Ew.  Our skin is crazy.  

That's awfully vague.

Crazy= Outer layer that is completely randomly shaped according to your parents skin and where your cartilage lies.

I mean whoa. 

 I know this is so remedial but I thought about it for a good 2o minutes, just staring at the faces of strangers.  I'm thankful for where my cartilage lies.  (PS I had to spellcheck that word.)  I thought it was cartiledge.  Nope.  Oh but here's the point.

We have the ability to really fuck with our skin!  

I mean facelifts, nose jobs, boob jobs :)

I want to tell all those crazy aped face 60 year old bitches with the liver spotted hands and smooth, shiny face skin that their organs are still old.  Their bones are STILL old.  Their minds are the oldest they have ever been, and...

You don't look young.  

You look like Dr. Zais.

On a side note....

I want a perfectly decorated apartment and a keener sense of style.

I want a social life that is more demanding than it is now, but less demanding than it is now.

I don't want my lips to be chapped.

I don't want to be sick on this gorge-mahorgeony snowy day!

I want to get my nails done

I don't want to pay for that.

I want to be rich.

I don't want to "work" for it.

I want to eat cheese without guilt.

I don't want constipation.

I want to drink at least a bottle of wine a day.

I don't want to be an alcoholic.

I want my biological clock to stand still for one goddamn moment. (Im STILL not ready!)

I don't want the pressures of 'keeping up with the Joneses.'

I want to say if it's a lip synch...it isn't a live performance.

I want to accomplish an accomplishment.

I want to stop getting pit stains in my white shirts.

I want to eat whatever I want and NEVER GET FAT!

I want to kill Cathy from the Cathy comics.  (mmmm chocolate. ew.)

I want to stop procrastinating.

Other than that....I think all is well.

Cat Hair in my Coffee

Well, after much ado about everything my psychosis lost and my instincts took over.  Yesterday, we brought home our first "child."  His name is Jake and he is a blue ragdoll cat.  He's adorable and scared.  I was ecstatic.  I still am.  The pro's are I love him and he's so cute and loving.  The cons are that there was a cat hair in my coffee this morning.  I thought to myself, "holy shit!  This is the choice I've made for at least 10 years."  There will be cat hair in my life-line until I no longer have a cat.  My psychosomatic symptoms are taking over and making me ask "am I allergic to this new family member because my chest is tight?  Or is it from getting wasted the night before."  Remind me not to get that wasted again for at least another week.  Will that ever change??  Having a "child" makes you think of these things, and yes I'm being dramatic.  I can't be anything else no matter how hard I try.  Still.  I sit.  I think.  ALL day.  EVERY day.  At least now there is someone here to listen and instead of telling me I'm crazy (which I am well aware of) he will look up at me with big blue eyes, purr, and head back to his hiding space.

If you're reading this.....

Just do yourself a favor and check out the band M83.  I can't say enough good things about them!  They're my favorite band, officially, right now.  Right this second.  Start with the album Saturdays=Youth, easily, with track #2 "Kim and Jessie."  Or just buy it and sit and close your eyes or drive and listen to it all the way through.  It will tell you a story, a different one with each playing.  If you hate it, don't tell me.

Who am I to say?

I don't believe laziness should be rewarded.  At all.  Sloth is one of the 7 deadly sins.  I think the false presentation of oneself should be the 8th sin, but I guess it's superficially ( no pun intended )

to all 7 anywhooo.  I suppose all things eventually right themselves, especially the wrongs.  So vague, and not always easily seen, the universe does have an uncanny way of "righting" itself.  It's just a shame we can't always see it, although I wouldn't want people up in my business seeing the universe come down on me when I've been unintentionally asking for it.  

I'm drifting.

The point is, It's not my place to right the wrongs of douchebags, or the equivalent of douchebag behavior.  I want to.  However, my father put it best when I was growing up.

"Dad," I would say "I want that!"  he'd say to me "Well kid, in the words of the Stones, 'You Can't Always Get What You Want.' "  He was right.  I'm not going to stop trying though.

2009 + 30= ch,ch,ch,ch-changes!

Ah, the changes a year brings. " I'll change for no one!" She shouts as she falls over a crack in the sidewalk.  But, the bitch gets up.  The next year re-states to the universe, "I will change for no one!"  as she runs into an innocent bystander on the street.  This year she mutters "I will change for no one?"  a drop of rain falls in her eye and she is temporarily blinded, blinded I say!

Then she stops and thinks....shit, I guess I don't really have a choice, eh?  (She's Canadian)

I'll tell you about 30.  I don't fell or (really) look any older, but there are certain noticable and uncomfortable things happening.  One, my body aches like a bitch!  All those miles have definitely caught up with me.  (Who's with me, dancers?)  The other, and probably the most alarming, is my sudden light-speed hair growth.....Not the hair on my head.  EVERYWHERE ELSE!!  

Everywhere

Everywhere

Everywhere

I suddenly believe in the theory of evolution.  It's a very plausible concept.  My tweezers and razor have become my best friend.  I can't leave home without them, just in case.  My fiance tried to brush a hair from my chin yesterday only to find that it had been rooted and blossomed in my epidermis.  What. the. fuck?   Thank God he's going through this too, only...differently.  It's a funny and endearing thing to find hairs on eachother that don't brush off.  Well, with him a it's a little different, but that's another blog!

I'm terrified for swimsuit season, I have a honeymoon coming up and I'm afraid we're going to have to go to Iceland!  At least Bjork will be there to sing sweet and pingy lulla-bye 's to us as we flap our hairy bodies together with the hopes of creating a young cub.  Now that's a hyperballad.

*DISCLAIMER:  I'm NOT trying to conceive on my honeymoon.