Saturday, December 31, 2011

New Year's Resolutions

The exercise of writing New Year's Resolutions always seemed inane to me.   I made them in the past, haphazardly, knowing they were things I had no intention of doing.  For example, one year I vowed to give up sugar,  and since people in my life are still talking to me (if I gave up sugar the withdrawal period would have basically severed all of my friendships), obviously, I didn't follow through with it.  This year, however, I decided to make very different types of resolutions.  Ones that I actually don't anticipate to complete within a year (low expectations mean a low rate of failure).  Some I won't keep--but others will be a work in progress.

1. Floss More:
This is one I won't keep.  

2. Stop Being Self-Conscious:
I don't think I'll get this one either, but unlike the first one, I will actually attempt this.   I waste so much time thinking about myself and what other people think of me.  I worry about how I hold my arms (which I feel is masculine).   I worry that I'm developing a FUPA.  I dissect my face daily in the mirror looking for zits, freckles, and wrinkles (I'm certain that I am prematurely aging and will look like the crypt keeper by 25). I agonize over the body parts I dislike; my stomach, my arms, my man-hands, my flat feet, my big Jew nose, my thunder thighs, the texture of my hair, my height...   But recently I realized, no one else cares.  I don't choose my friends by appearance, and I don't think anyone else does--except maybe Hugh Hefner.  If the worst thing someone can say about me is that I have a FUPA, then I'm doing ok.   Plus, I think (hope) all of these things are worse in my head.

3. Be Nicer to Myself:
As evidenced by #2 (insert poop joke here) I am my own frenemy.   Seriously, if I treated any one else the way I treat myself, I would be featured in a college psychology textbook in the chapter about "sociopaths".  I listen to myself speak and I instantly think, "What an idiotic thing to say," or I assess my life and realize I'm not where I want to be right now with my career and everything else, and I berate myself for being a failure.  When I'm feeling particularly Machiavellian I silently encourage myself to fall on my sword and give up.  I need to just stop it.  Objectively, there are a lot of people who suck way worse than me, but beyond that, there are lots of ways to be a failure.   I think the biggest failure is having no love in your life, and I have a lot of that.   

4. Do Something Every Day That Makes Me Happy:
If everyday is a gift, then I don't want to waste my gift only taking out the garbage and working on spreadsheets ( Unfortunately, I will still have to do both of these things).   But whether it's eating a piece of chocolate just because I want to goddamnit, or singing in the shower to country music and pretending I'm Dolly Parton (which I wouldn't really do...), or even just putting on a prettier bra instead of one that looks like it would be worn by a nun's lesbian aunt, I need to take the time daily to pepper my life with joy.

5. Stop Wasting My Time/Money on Beauty Magazines That Only Make Me Feel Ugly:
Again, I won't do this.   I should for my mental health but I need to know about Kim Kardashian's treatment to make her bowel movements smell like jasmine or Dakota Fanning's (or better yet, Dame Judy Dench's) secret pregnancy.

6. Attend To My Colon Health:
Based on commercials, apparently I should be taking fiber daily or eating that yogurt that makes you poop so I can have champion BM's and impress a fecal analyst (which I am told, everyone should have).  Again, I probably will not do this.

7.  Lose Those Last Five Pounds:
Haha, nope.  If that happened the world would fall off it's axis.

8. Smile More:
Then again, that might invite more creep attention, which I definitely get enough of.   Maybe pass.

9. Watch "Forest Gump"
I've never seen it.  And it's not that I actively don't want to, it's just that I haven't gotten around to it.  I see it TBS (which apparently plays it once a week, almost as much as "Pretty Woman") when I'm flipping channels and it's in the middle and we're already to Lieutenant Dan, or at the end when he (spoiler alert!) makes a shit ton of money from investing in Apple.  

10. Tell People I Love Them:
I don't do this enough.   I assume people know how much they mean to me, but they might not.   I should just tell them, although, this might lead to my life being very similar to an Oprah Reunion Special.

Those are my resolutions.  I definitely encourage you to comment with your resolutions this year--probably you have ones that are way cooler than mine.


Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Me vs. The Pool Table

Women can be catty and competitive.  This isn't a secret.   Many-a-man has rolled his eyes while his girlfriend/daughter/wife/sister explains that it is important that she is skinnier/prettier/wealthier/more successful than her friends.   Hence the term "frenemy," a friend whom you secretly wish ill.  Men do not have frenemies. They have friends and they have enemies.   Only women, with their stunning ability to multitask, would think to combine the two.

When men compete it isn't the subtle nuances of saying, "I love your dress!" and then talking about how fat she actually looked in it  (it is exhausting to be female, and I'm not even talking about the hair removal).  No, because men have all the subtlety of a gang bang.   Any time men get competitive with each other it boils down to a dick-measuring contest.  Absolutely any time.  Today my coworker was telling me that one of her husband's friends bought a 70 in TV (which is big beyond all reason) just so that it could be bigger than her husband's TV.  And yesterday...

I came to the stunning realization that while my boyfriend is highly-evolved enough to wear matching argyle socks, he is not immune to whipping it out to be measured (figuratively, stay with me).  He bought a pool table.   Let me explain.  His living room is not big enough to comfortably accommodate and pool table if anything else is the room.  So in the middle of his living room is a pool table, and all the rest of his furniture is smashed pathetically up against the wall.   His coffee table had to be chucked to the side, his dining room table has to be sold because it no longer fits, and worst of all, he disrupted a pretty sweet couch and netflix projection set-up that was going on.  Why?!

But here's why he got it.  Because it was only $25.   I'm sure it was so cheap because some pissed off woman made her husband/boyfriend get rid of it so her living room no longer looked like the apt in Big.  Now, he gets the pleasure of bragging to all his friends, "Hey, I got a pool table for twenty-five dollars!"  And all the other men will stare blankly  in jealousy because they don't have a pool table, let alone one for twenty-five dollars.  So, for this simple pleasure, he allowed his life to become an episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond."

I know I sound like a cranky cow.   I honestly don't care that he bought a pool table. I mean, I'm cool and fun and I get that sometimes you want to splurge. It's his apartment, I don't live there, although if I did, the pool table sure as shit wouldn't have made it inside (also, we wouldn't drink wine out of coffee mugs).   Although I cannot resist pointing out to him that he bought a $25 problem.   I just don't get the logic behind the purchase.   But I suppose my boyfriend wouldn't understand why I spend so much on my haircuts.  Same thing.   Same competition.  Although, while I actually know how to style my hair...

Me:  "Do you even play pool?!"
Him:  "I have a feeling I'll be motivated to learn now."

Saturday, December 17, 2011


Yesterday at our staff Christmas party, which I have to say was pretty bleak (we had a catered lunch for an hour and then the majority of our staff crafted while I watched episodes of "30 Rock" and "The Office" on Netflix) I mentioned to one of my coworkers, that especially since she has died her hair an auburn-y brown she looks even more like Drew Barrymore than she did as a blond.   And this is true.   We started talking about who we look like--and some of my other co-workers had other flattering comparisons, Julianne Moore for example, who even in her forties is hot enough for me to have a girl crush upon.  

In my life I have been told I "look like" 3 people, none of which are flattering:

Monica Lewinsky....

And the psychotic neighbor, Rose, from "Two and Half Men" (seen here with a very dapper Martin Sheen) also, I have been more than once compared to...

Snow White, without question, the homeliest of the Disney Princesses.   And I don't know why, but for some reason people think it's polite and flattering to paint out my near albino-ism, like, "Hey, you could play Snow White!"   I don't tell people they remind me of a bowl of  cottage cheese because of their cellulite.

Later, as I was watching the "Ludichristmas" episode of "30 Rock," which is one of my favorites, my friend said, "Annie, you pretty much are Liz Lemon."   Let's review.  Not Tina Fey.  Not the brilliant, gorgeous, hilarious, successful writer--but her character, Liz Lemon, the neurotic, over-40-and-still-single, food addict, who mentions in more than one episode she has been "sexually rejected" by men in clown college.

As I said, the Christmas party was pretty bleak.    

Friday, December 9, 2011

Things that annoy me about "Pintrest"

In case you don't know about "Pintrest"--it's a virtual pinboard where basically, you can post pictures onto a "board".   For example, you could post potential wedding dresses on a "My Wedding" board.   Or, if you are looking for baking ideas you can post things onto a "deserts to try" board.   Fine.   I personally like to pin pictures of clothing I want to buy when payday comes around.  

Some people, however, like to pin "inspirational" things;  thoughts on why it's awesome to be Christian, ways to motivate yourself to lose weight, or just fun thoughts on friendship.  These people are terrible.   Enjoy some examples of my favorite gag-inducing pins.

You know when else you close your eyes?   When you're about to get stabbed by a home intruder.  Which is what I wish would happen to whoever posted this.

That's nice...because I'm sure they don't want you.

It's not that I even disagree with the sentiment--it's that it is so schmaltzy I can't help but roll my eyes.   This is almost as fun as, "Time flies when Jesus is flying the plane" or "Let Go and Let God."

Why does everyone feel the need to jab people in the face with their religious beliefs?  The fact that I was an ugly kid "makes me a different kind of lady," more empathetic and less shallow, etc.   But I don't need to proclaim that from the rooftops so EVERYONE knows, people know because I am, in fact, more empathetic and less shallow.  If you're really so different because of your faith people will know by how you act--not because you tell them.  Also, why is she in a wedding dress?  Do only Christians get married?  Must you be married to be a good Christian?   Malarkey.

Ugh.  Paging Dr. Freud.  Looks like we have a fairly large Oedipus complex a-brewing.

I'm sorry, I didn't realize that this quote had ANYTHING to do with being skinny.   And I don't understand why being fat prohibits you from being great.   Maya Angelou doesn't have a bikini bod, nor did Sir Winston Churchill, nor does Aretha Franklin.  Are they not great?!   I will never understand why our culture values thinness over talent, compassion, or intelligence.

Is it?   I'm a girl, and when someone hurts me, I use my big-girl words and tell them so.  I'm sorry some ladies (and men) aren't  brave enough to do this, however, I resent the implication that all women cannot stand up for themselves.

Is finding your "Prince Charming," really the only reason you respect yourself enough to not let someone use your body?  In that case, I'd say just strip down and take what you get.

I have to stop now.    My gag reflex is pretty sensative.

Thursday, December 8, 2011


Not to toot my own horn, but there are a lot of things I'm good at; Cranium, convincing people I agree with them while actually making fun of them, finding pictures of cats on the internet, etc.  I am less good at many other things, one of which, is being an adult.

 I often times drink wine with no pants on in my apartment.   My garbage bag leaked some substance that smelled like a diaper full of indian food a few weeks ago, and I got around to cleaning it out from the bottom of the can yesterday, And it smelled rank and I KNEW where it was coming from but chose to ignore it like a Mafia wife ignores her husband's business ventures.  When I take off my clothes I throw them on the floor, which in all fairness, only happens because my hamper is overflowing with nearly a month's worth of backed-up laundry.   A human who would do these things does not seem like an individual capable of interning for a U.S. Senator.  Or graduating Magna Cum Laude.  Or really, these habits don't seem like those of someone who can tie her own shoes.

One of the most paralyzing aspects of being an adult for me, is paying bills.   I don't mean having to earn enough money so as to afford expenses, I mean, physically the act of paying bills.   Tonight, I got home and decided I would sift through the pile of important looking mail items I have hereto been ignoring.   I have ignored them because I get overwhelmed if I handle these items as they come.  I'm terrified I will throw away my insurance bill as junk mail (actually happened) or sign up for a new predatory credit card because it said to on a brightly colored flier.   I need to set aside time, get my computer, checkbook, and cell-phone in front of me, and decipher my mail items as if the fucking Rosetta stone was sent to me by mail every month.  Only then, when I've decided what actually is important, am I able to begin to think about taking necessary action.  P.S. most of my bills are paid online, I only get "reminder" notices in the mail--so this shouldn't be rocket science.  

Tonight was my bill paying night.  And I realized in the middle, I needed more checks--the free ones they give you when you open an account, you know the variety pack with Scooby Doo and buck-hunting scenes, had finally run out.  I tried to reorder online.   I was directed to a 1-800 number because there was some error.  When I called the number I was prompted to press 2 for Spanish and then forced to listen to eight more options--"For a technical problem on the website, press 7.   For account information, press 4"-- none of which even closely matched, "a box popped up when you were trying to order more checks because you have to do menial shit like that now that you're 23."  I was honestly overwhelmed at this point.  By an automated phone call.  There was no customer service option.  I picked something about a lost or stolen debit card and just told the poor customer service rep to transfer me. 

The night did not improve after that call.  Two more seemingly simple tasks went awry and I ended up crying on the phone to my dad while repeating, "I can't. I can't. I can't," between sobs.  Ah, maturity.

I'm pretty convinced I have a mild and rare form of mental retardation that inhibits me from being a responsible adult.   Some people graduate college and within weeks, BAM!, have spaghetti in jars on their kitchen counter.  I forgot to put on deodorant today and noticed when I whiffed myself out in the car.  

So, if any of you twenty-somethings share this rare and mild form of retardation with me, please let me know.   I think we should get a support group going.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

The Great Divide

It never used to matter if you were single and all your friends had boyfriends.  In high school it meant platonic (read: gay) dates to homecoming in a group of couples. In college in meant that while you had to keep your shit together at parties, your friends could get sloppy and expect their boyfriend would take them home safely.  Really, not a huge difference in lifestyle.

In the working world, however, if you're single and your friends are not, there is a great divide.   Single no longer means "not seeing anyone," but instead means not married, living with a significant other, or engaged.   And while your friends will talk about family obligations, that chore their husband won't do, how to keep romance alive after all these years, etc., you will want to talk about last night's episode of Law and Order SVU.  That you watched with you cat.   

Last weekend I attended a baby shower for my coworker.   I don't think I've ever felt more out of place in my life.   I went with Sam, and clearly, she and I were the "single friends".   We bought my coworker a baby gate, the quintessential single gift ("Here, now you can make sure you can keep your baby penned up, especially if I ever come over").  The shower itself was fine, however, I expected booze to be served. Apparently this isn't the practice because the pregnant mother can't drink.  My thoughts?   Buuuut I can.  If I have to spend three hours with twenty women while they squawk about foreskin care and chafed/bloody/leaking nipples, I need alcohol.   And a lot.  It wasn't my decision to gestate a baby, why should I be punished?!   Even with that attitude, as I listened to women planning for future babies or protests of, "We just got married--we're going to wait,"   I realized how completely irrelevant I was to the whole exercise.  And it made me kind of sad.  I did not fit in with these women and their folksy wisdom about how to keep baby shit from squirting out of a diaper. 

This divide has come up time and time again.  Usually ever time I invite my married friends to grab a beer. Some domestic obligation always comes up, and I want to roll my eyes and say, "ok, ok, you have a husband, but I have a cat, and you don't see me dropping everything to go be with her."   The very fact I think this (only briefly!) is pretty conclusive proof I am still a child.  But really,  I'm over my stupid college party days.   But not completely.  I want to be able to dress up and go out and drink and flirt--but I'd also like to be included when the "couples" from work hang out together.   I don't want a baby now (at-fucking-all), but I want to be able to join a conversation about baby names without feeling like a fourth-grader naming her doll.  

Now even after confessing the alienation I feel, I could be very smug and say, "I'm living it up! I'm single! Why would I want to be married--blah!"  The truth is, sadly enough,  I do the same lame things my married friends do with their spouses (read: Law and Order SVU) only I do them alone.   Which really isn't so glamorous--although if someone married asks you, I go to sexy parties every night and sleep with random, attractive men.