31 January 2010

Smell ya later, January.

Is it just me, or has this January been worse than most? There's no way February can be as bad, right? God, I fucking hope that's the case.

This particular January, what with my being seriously broke, has left me feeling like a huge loser. I couldn't go to Erin's '80stastic 30th birthday party; I couldn't make the Classy Broads' Xmas, either. The couple of things I managed to do (Sarah's birthday and meeting the World's Worst Wing Woman's boyfriend), I did half-heartedly, because having no money has made me pretty damn depressed.

Not everything about January has been horrible. I've left work a couple of times before the sun had set. The Boy I Currently Like has been awfully kick-ass. That's pretty much it, I guess.

The lack of money is looming over February like a green-gray-black thunderhead, unfortunately. It's looking like I'll be home alone for the Super Bowl. That means no one will have to hear me lose my shit over the Tim Tebow/Focus on the Family ad. Actually being able to watch the game and whatnot is a bit of a novelty, I must say.

I'm beginning to worry I won't be able to have the Mardi Gras party. Mostly because of financial difficulties, but also because work is back to where it was pre-holiday. I spent a good three hours working today. Awesome. Not. Then there's my birthday that same week and I just don't feel like asking anyone to do anything with me, as I'm a huge fucking loser at the moment.

Motherfucker. Maybe it'll all be better when I wake up in the morning. Hahahahaha. Yeah, right.

27 January 2010

Is this how it starts?

I'm beginning to worry that I've started on the slippery slope to becoming a Crazy Cat Lady (a relative term, as I'm highly allergic to cats). I don't know if it is just January or the various and sundry other unpleasant shit going on in my life right now, but I've been ridiculously drawn to pictures of puppies. Or live streaming puppy cams on the Interwebs. Or other cute pictures The Boy I Currently Like sends me from the Cute Overload page-a-day calendar I got him for Christmas. Or cute animal pictures from Jezebel or Daily Squee. And so on.

Seriously, I've been watching so much Puppy Cam, it's getting a bit ridiculous. But it's about the only thing keeping me from totally losing my shit right now, so what can you do?

So, why the concern, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. A few days ago, I stupidly scrolled down past all of the pictures for the Daily Puppy (The Boy enjoys The Daily Puppy, too, so I can't be that bad yet, right?), and what I saw there was fairly disturbing. Some of those comments sounded frighteningly like the comments crazy people left on the Barbaro message board.

Sadly, the Barbaro message board is no more. But long time readers (probably none of you) will remember I wrote about the batshit insansity of those people. So did Deadspin. Hell, my friend The Captain and I had our own Barbaro blog where we mocked those fruit loops. Sadly, Bobby was put down before we really got into a groove. God damn shame, that.

Do you see where I'm going with this? I mean, I'm borderline addicted to Puppy Cam, I get Daily Puppy e-mails and Facebook updates. The Boy feeds my puppy lust with pictures (enabler!). Where does it end? With me writing letters to dead horse? I don't see any other option. God help me.

26 January 2010

I'm going to have to retire some tags.

I'm going to have to change "poor copy editing" to "no copy editing." And "shoddy journalism" to "shoddy decisions by out-of-town investment groups who don't know what journalism is about," or something.

Reporters at the Star Tribune are on a byline strike today. It's a protest/tribute to their colleagues who are going to be laid off or bought out or whatever.

Honestly, is there even anyone left at the paper any more? I think everyone I know is still there -- several colleagues from the Daily and one of my J School instructors -- but they seem to be about it.

There are so many errors in copy these days, I shudder to think about what its going to look like with even fewer sets of eyes reading stories.

On the one hand -- and I'm certain I've said this before -- I'm glad I chose to not be a reporter. On the other hand, however, this decimating of my local newspaper and papers around the country makes me so fucking sad. My education in Journalism school and my experienced as a reporter for one of the best college newspapers in the country (back then, anyway) has really shaped my life and the work I do and have done in every job I've ever had. I have a very special place in my heart for print newspapers and I hate to see what's become of it over such a short period of time.

That's one Super Bowl commercial I know I won't be watching.

Actually, I'm so pissed off about it already that I will be watching (while ranting, of course) the anti-abortion commercial featuring Tim Tebow and his mom.

The Super Bowl is neither the time nor the place for bullshit political ads. And don't give me your bullshit, Gary Schneeberger (really?), spokesman for the conservative Christian group Focus on the Family:

"There's nothing political and controversial about it," he said. "When the day arrives, and you sit down to watch the game on TV, those who oppose it will be quite surprised at what the ad is all about."

Do you really expect anyone to believe that? If it wasn't political or controversial, why would it be newsworthy nearly two weeks before the big game? Why would Tim Tebow be talking about his position on abortion? WHY WOULD THE AD TALK ABOUT ABORTION? You can't have a non-political, non-controversial discussion about abortion on a national scale. I'd love it if you could, but you can't. Trying to prompt that discussion on the biggest sports day of the year, where people will be gathered for drinking and having fun with their friends, is just plain dumb, I think.

Honest to fucking Christ. Do you think we're all a bunch of morons? Granted, Tebow clearly isn't the brightest bulb on the tree, given his stellar grasp of the English language: "I've always been very convicted of it (his views on abortion) because that's the reason I'm here, because my mom was a very courageous woman. So any way that I could help, I would do it." Buddy, there are lots of things I wish you could be convicted of, including your anti-choice views.

Given what we know thus far, the anti-choice message of the ad is transparent. Mom was advised to abort, but didn't and God graced us with Tim fucking Tebow. See, ladies? You could be knocked up with a Heisman Trophy winner. How could you possibly have an abortion when you might hit the fucking jackpot? You can call the theme of the ad celebrating family and life all you want, but it's still an anti-choice message.

In the interest of full disclosure (and if it wasn't already clear), I can't stand Tebow (sorry Jen, if you still read my blog). The Boy I Currently Like and I spent a good portion of a Saturday night during college football season looking up the bible verses Tebow put on his eye black patches and then mocking/interpreting them. It's fine that you love Jebus and that your mom didn't abort you, but shut the fuck up about it, already.

25 January 2010

Eat it, Favre.

I cannot tell you how glad I am that the Saints won last night. There was no way I could take another two weeks of Vikings-related Facebook status updates. Sure there will be some trickles through today and maybe the next few days. But for the most part, it's over.

Being the asshole that I am, I had to post a little something that now has the potential to devolve into something of a Facebook slap fight between a high school friend and The Boy I Currently Like. To be fair, the high school friend deserves it for getting all huffy about me and another high school friend (I'm not alone!) breaking up with the Vikings.

Can this be at once completely ridiculous and yet totally awesome? I hope so, because that's what it feels like.

Honestly, seeing "Good. We don't need either of you," is damn near enough to make me a Packer fan. It feels a little wrong to be a fan of a team simply out of spite, but it does sound like something I would do. Because I'm an asshole. Either way, I feel motivated to really decide on a new team.

21 January 2010

Can't blog. Succumbing to January.

I've been trying for a while to write a blog post, but it just ain't coming.

This month is kicking my ass in a number of ways. January blows -- grayness, nothing to look forward to, no money ... bah.

Maybe I'll be able to write on the weekend.

20 January 2010

Well, that's serendipitous.

Earlier today, the Strib mentioned that Royce White actually practiced with the Gophers today. He's still suspended, but he's not practiced with the team in months. So, that's good news, I suppose. In fact, it was BIG NEWS the day he showed up to watch practice.

Of course tonight, the local paper of record (I still love you, PiPress!) is now reporting that Al Nolen, who leads the Big Ten in steals, will miss Saturday's game and possibly the remainder of the season (second semester would include the rest of the season, no?) due to academic ineligibility.


If they're not in trouble with the law, they're in trouble in the classroom. Damn.

Nolen is appealing the decision. The post also points out that he had academic troubles in the first semester due to some family circumstances. That sounds like a decent reason for an appeal.

At least I have Puppy Cam (The Boy I Currently Like told me today to be careful I don't get addicted. Too late, sucker!).

Oh, and I have baking. I made a chocolate layer cake with buttercream frosting Sunday, hamburger buns on Monday night, English muffins last night and I'm baking Grandma's homemade bread tonight. The cake was meh, the buns delightful, the English muffins too small and the bread is still rising. I'm considering baguettes this weekend. I'm enjoying my new mixer, in case that wasn't clear.

19 January 2010

Just what the doctor ordered.

Well, not really. But it's better than nothing. On a gray day in a blah week, sometimes the only thing that can get you through is a little puppy cam.

Live Broadcasting by Ustream

18 January 2010

Always a goddamn bridesmaid.

Not that I ever want to be a bride. Even if the unthinkable happens and I someday get married, I do not intend to have a wedding. Going to the government center and finding a judge would be more than enough for me.

Lucky me, though, I get to be a bridesmaid next year in my brother's wedding. I noncommittally said yes when he half-assedly asked Friday night after my nephew's basketball game. Then I hemmed and hawed all day Saturday. My parents and sister kept talking out of both sides of their mouths on the subject. "He's your brother and sometimes you just have to suck it up do it." "You could do something else, I'm sure. But I think he really wants you to be in the wedding." "If you don't want to do it, don't do it. I'm not going to listen to you complain about it." Blah, blah, blah. Shut the fuck up.

So yeah, I'm doing it. And they won't hear me complain. However, you guys will. Apologies in advance. I kind of hope my sister ends up doing a lot of complaining, so I can throw it back in her face. Because I'm a bitch.

My sister also thinks we need to make an effort to do more things with our sister-in-law-to-be, as she won't take that initiative. Because we MUST GET TO KNOW HER BETTER. Am I a bad person because I don't see why that's necessary? I keep thinking my sister is being such a freak about this because a) that's what she does and b) her own divorce has made her wary on my brother's behalf. But maybe not. Maybe I'm just a huge fucking asshole because I think my brother seems happy and his fiancée seems alright and it's his life and how the fuck much more do I need to be involved? Jesus.

Gah. Despite the fun I had celebrating Sarah's birthday and hanging out with The Boy I Currently Like, this weekend kinda blew. And I am crabby as fuck today. Being at work does not help. I really could have used a day off today, just to help get over that shock to the system of coming back after the holidays. But no. I can't remember the last time I had to work/go to school on MLK day. Way to respect a great American, corporate dicks.

You know what else doesn't help? Hormones. I had been thinking -- quite briefly -- that going off The Pill had put my emotions on a more even keel. That didn't seem to be the case yesterday afternoon when I was bawling for no reason. But perhaps even the week Aunt Flo drops in will get better.

I've only had the IUD for four weeks as of tomorrow, and I'm expecting it to take the full three months for everything to settle down. At least I'm no longer getting cramps so strong they almost knock me off my chair. (While editing this entry five minutes after typing this sentence, it seems someone has decided to take a rusty knife to my uterus. Sweet!) And I'm not going to get too excited yet about how decent my skin looks, either. I will, however, cross my fingers on that one.

14 January 2010

My mind has been boggled.

I just overheard the following conversation:

Coworker to Office Douchebag: "So, what happened in Haiti? Did a volcano erupt or something?"

Office Douchebag: "It was an earthquake. And the thing is, it caught everybody off guard."

Holy. Fucking. Dumb. Are you fucking kidding me?

12 January 2010

I always believed you, José.

Tonight at the gym, I was switching my attention between CNN and college basketball on ESPN (eat it, Purdue!) while doing cardio. The teasers for Larry King Live were all about José Canseco.

You may or may not have heard that Mark McGwire admitted using steroids for a decade while playing baseball. Including the season he broke the home run record. I gotta tell you, I was shocked -- SHOCKED, I say!

Fast forward to the game being over (again, eat it, Purdue!. I turn my full attention to CNN. Apparently, Canseco canceled at the last minute because he was having a breakdown and was emotionally drained and tired of having to defend himself.

Man, if I was José Canseco, I would have gone on Larry King Live and shown my bare ass to America while singing Grace Adler's Mom's "Told ya so," song. I would have gloated my motherfucking ass off.

Speaking of McGwire, have you seen his neck? Kids, DON'T TAKE STEROIDS. Dammit. I can't find a good picture. It's totally gross, though.

11 January 2010

Some things just should not exist.

I give you cooter cosmetics as a prime example. (via Jezebel, natch.)

What is this cooter cosmetic, you ask? Well, I will tell you. Or I will let the company tell you.

My New Pink Button (tm) is a temporary dye to restore the youthful pink color back to your labia. There is no other product like it. This patent pending formula was designed by a female certified Paramedical Esthetician after she discovered her own genital color loss. While looking online for a solution she discovered thousands of other women asking the same questions regarding their color loss. After countless searches revealing no solution available and a discussion with her own gynecologist she decided to create her own. Now there is a solution!

What the fuck is a Paramedical Esthetician? Is it anything like a scientician? Did she go to Hollywood Upstairs Medical College?

I have more questions. Like, who spends that much time checking out her lady parts to notice that the luster is gone? I mean, yeah, I would probably notice if I ended up with an awful sunburn or my little girl turned purple (you'd probably feel those kinds of things first, I suspect). But "the youthful pink color?" Yeah, not so much. Besides, I don't care if it's all FDA-approved and created by a Genuine Scientician, labia makeup will probably give you a yeast infection.

Honestly. This shit is getting ridiculous -- vaginoplasty, anal bleach, labia makeup -- it has to stop. It's bad enough being a woman without all of this other shit created simply to make me feel worse about the way I look. And shit I never would have thought to worry about if someone hadn't said to women, "Hey -- your pussy doesn't look quite the way it should. We can fix that!" Maybe you should shut the fuck up.

10 January 2010

Oh, Sunday.

I'm not going to say I'm looking forward to the upcoming week, but I'm not dreading it. That's something, right? Right? Meh. It's better than nothing.

Huh. I thought I had more to say, but I guess not. After doing little other than run errands after work Friday night, I went to see my goddaughter play basketball late Saturday morning. Then, I hung out with The Boy I Currently Like last night and today and had a really fucking great time. And I got awesome Christmas presents. Today I did laundry (mmmmmmm, clean sheets!), made a week's worth of oatmeal and cut up salad components.

Man, how did it come to this? How did the above paragraph come to constitute a good weekend? I'd say getting old sucks if I didn't have such a great time doing everything I did this weekend.

PS: Reuben, I finally got around to mailing your package yesterday. I'm very sorry it took so long.

07 January 2010

Thanksgiving in February: An idea I can get behind.

Via Emily, I read about The Heavy Table's Febgiving Proclamation.

I may or may not have made my love of Thanksgiving known on the pages of this blog. As I've made known my disdain for Valentine's Day.

However, I'd like to note that I've never thought of February as this horrible, awful month. That's January. My birthday is in February, so I actually have something to which I can look forward. I hate January so much that my brain is trying to skip past it (despite the fact that this is my last free weekend of the month ... and I have plans). I was thinking a couple of days ago that I had to order The Boy I Currently Like's birthday present in the next few days so I could be sure it would be here by his birthday. Except, his birthday is at the end of February, more than a week after mine. So, yeah, I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

Okay, so February is not horrible in my eyes. There is always the dilemma of what to do for my birthday, though. Having a second Thanksgiving seems to be as good a way as any to celebrate the anniversary of my birth. The only problem is I was planning to host a Mardi Gras party the weekend before. I mean, I have to have the party, because I got the baby in my King Cake last year.

Parties consecutive weekends in February probably isn't that awful of an occurrence either, though. This means no Super Bowl party. That actually works out well, as I was planning to not have a Super Bowl party for the first time since I moved back to Minneapolis more than five years ago. I'll go to a party if I'm invited, to be sure. Watching it at home alone wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, though, either. I might actually watch the game.

06 January 2010

The right way to keep your employees healthy.

Now that we've actually got our new health insurance coverage at work, things are starting to become a bit more clear. For example, we figured out that our gym membership discount is gone.

Let me get this straight: You're pushing the consumer-driven health care plan so that we make healthier decisions and shop around with our health care dollar. You make a fairly big deal about preventive care, covering it all at 100 percent -- drugs and care. Of course, my thyroid meds, which prevent a return of my thyroid and my thyroid cancer, are not considered preventive. My birth control pills would have shot up to $50 a month (when they cost $36 when I had no insurance at all, go figure) if I'd not gotten my IUD. I would consider preventing an expensive pregnancy preventive care, too. But what do I know.

Back to the nonexistent gym discount, though. Despite the claims about preventive care and being healthier so as to reduce overall health care costs, you cut an incentive people had to exercise and make themselves healthier. That's just fucking brilliant.

I suppose, then, it's good I never had the $300 or so to spare to switch over to LA Fitness. Sure, I would have saved like $120. So, I'd still be out $180ish and then I'd pay about $120 extra a year. That is not a good deal for me.

Looks like we're going to be stuck together for a while longer, Bally. Let's keep the shit on toilet seats to a minimum, okay?

05 January 2010

Plus-size models make me feel as shitty as regular-size models.

Yesterday, Jezebel posted a piece about the preview of V Magazine's spread featuring plus-sized models. It's V's "size issue." (Note: nekkid boobies on Day 3, if you're into that kind of thing.)

The comments on Jezebel's post are mostly all glowing -- so many women who looked at those photos and thought, "Dammit, I'm hot, too." That is awesome.

I thought I might feel that way, too. But I did not. Because, although these women look a lot like me, body-wise, they're still absolutely fucking beautiful. They would be beautiful without having their cellulite and zits Photoshopped away. They'd still be beautiful without an army of makeup artists, hair stylists and lighting technicians.

And therein lies the problem. I'm not funny-looking, nor am I a monster. But I'm not pretty; most certainly not beautiful. So, despite the fact that there are these hot-ass bitches whose bodies look kinda like mine (except, of course, I'm still not shaped right ... fucking apple-shaped body), they still make me feel like shit because they're still an impossible standard of beauty.

Lovely. Or, you know, not.

04 January 2010

How refreshing.

I don't know if it is the economy, or the cold or some other reason, but there seemed to be a considerable lack of New Year's Resolutioners at the gym tonight.

Sure, I went at 7:00, which is later than I had been going, but usually I can barely get a treadmill at that time until like, March. I got a nice spot in front of a TV to watch the Pitt-Cincy hoops game with no stinky motherfuckers around me. There wasn't much in the way of waiting or adjusting my weights routine. I even scored rock star parking. What. The. Fuck?

Thank goodness I went. I always waffle about working out when I'm sick. There's this voice in my head saying there is no point in working out if you're not going to do a full, hard workout. So, I either don't go at all or go and push myself too hard. I do the same thing when I'm short on time. Why am I such a moron? Anything is better than nothing, for Christ's sake. Why can't I get that through my stupid fucking skull?

It's not a New Year's Resolution or anything, because I don't do that (also, I just decided it today), but I'm really trying to have a more flexible attitude about things. Like working out, for example -- if I'm not feeling great, I'll probably feel better if I go and do something. That's what I did tonight. And you know what? Despite the fact that I'm dizzy and have a headache now, I do feel better.

The dizziness is why I cut my workout a bit short. I figured I'd end up coughing myself into a horrible headache, but that developed on my drive home. Score.

I'm half-assedly watching the Boise State - TCU game (is this the Fiesta Bowl?) and the Boise State band is on right now. They just had a close up on a couple of percussion players and the girl(?) playing the cowbell looked like she wanted to slit her wrists. AWESOME. UPDATE: Here is the video. With the correct link this time. Yeesh.

03 January 2010

That didn't exactly seem like a vacation.

Given the fact that I spent several days with my family, had to do some traveling in allegedly bad weather, spent an entire day stressing about the impending searing pain I was about to endure (and then spent the rest of the day actually in that pain), then stressing about meeting The Boy I Currently Like's Friends, then drinking with said friends and recovering from said drinking, well ... it doesn't really feel like I had a lot of downtime. Add to that the cold I began developing on New Year's Eve and I wonder where all those days went.

At the same time, I kind of welcome the return of routine. Christ. I'm such a damn creature of habit. It's kind of ridiculous. Then again, the routine needs to switch up. The Monday after January 1 brings the New Year's Resolutioners to the gym, which will make my gym life a nightmare for at least six weeks. Then again, it didn't seem as bad last year, which many of my gym acquaintances and I attributed to the economy. Things are still fairly shitty, so maybe it will be the same or even less bad this year. A girl can dream.

Enough about all that, though. I suppose some of you wanted to hear about New Year's Eve and the big meeting The Boy's friends thing. Thanks to the Interwebs, smart phones, coinciding plans and really excellent, welcome and well-intentioned internet stalking, I got to hang out with several of The Boy's friends Wednesday night before the party. That would include one of my favorite commentors ever, Jerious Norwood.

The whole thing was hilarious -- I was actually talking about them when I turned around and saw Fat Mike the Gangsta (yes, I'm breaking down and using The Cheating Asshole Ex-Boyfriend's nickname for him instead of coming up with one of my own. I suck. He can request a change, though). It was also a little overwhelming. Thankfully, I had a pretty delightful buzz by that time and proceeded to get drunker and stay out until bar close. There was even a bit of intermingling between his friends and KayGee and The Prison Librarian.

So, that was awesome. I heard from pretty much everyone about how much they love The Boy. Not surprising, because I know highly thinks of his friends. I also know how awesome he is. So, why would they not love him? In fact, the evening was so awesome that I woke up on New Year's Eve still drunk. After a nap and a lot of laying on the couch, I managed to feel a bit better. Enough so that I could go out and get drunk again.

Let me tell y'all, Fat Mike the Gangsta throws a lovely party. I didn't meet everyone the night before, but I was told I'd met the important people. Having gotten a lot of the meeting people out of the way ended up being as good for The Boy as it was for me. He didn't have to worry as much about not abandoning me and whatnot. He felt alright "leaving (me) to (my) own devices," while he caught up with old friends. That didn't stop him from checking in with me when we weren't actually together, often with a reassuring touch of my arm.

There were even door prizes. I got a Playboy from 1975. I was an asshole and kept it, even though we could swap. Probably not the best decision I ever made, but I'm not perfect. Sometimes, I'm an asshole.

Between the two nights, I met everyone from people whose names I'd seen on Facebook to people I'd been hearing about since before I knew their real names. The latter group would include The Boy I Currently Like's Better-Looking Friend. On Wednesday night at The Independent, he requested "The Boy I Currently Like's Smarter, Better-Looking Friend." I was all ready to oblige, because I did say I would let him come up with his own blog nickname (less work for me). However, The Boy objected to the "smarter" part of the name. He was totally fine with the "better-looking" part. It's nice that he's secure like that. And I won't disagree that The Boy's Better-Looking Friend is quite the hottie. Of course, now that I've actually spent a tiny bit of time with him, I'd call him Duckie Dale, Esq. But what's done is done.

To top off the night, we had an absolutely insane cab driver. Basically, from the time we got into the cab (it only took about 20 minutes after they told me when I called at 3:00 a.m. that it would be a 60 to 90 minute wait. Score!) to the minute he dropped us off (and then some, because he kept talking as we crossed the street), this guy ranted. He ranted about drunks, knuckleheads, pinheads, dickheads in plaid shorts, Canada, Mexico and God knows what else. The Boy ended up giving him $20 for an $8 cab ride simply for the entertainment factor. I was only going to give him a $10, so I guess he lucked out there.

So, after all of that, I feel like I should say something profound or whatever about finally meeting all of these friends of The Boy's. Especially because a lot of them are going to read this. I really don't know what they thought of me. I mean, I was really drunk Wednesday and I got pretty damn tuned on New Year's Eve. I hope I wasn't an asshole (save for about the Playboy) But they were all so fucking sweet and welcoming and I'm so very glad I had the chance to meet them (I wouldn't be lying if I said I hoped to have the chance to hang out with them more in the future). I love my own friends very much and I think The Boy's friends are pretty much equally as awesome as my own dear friends. It makes me really happy to know that The Boy has such great friends. You guys rule. I can only hope I lived up to whatever image they gathered from reading my ridiculousness here. Probably not, but they were all very awesome, regardless.