28 October 2012

Just like a normal couple.

I took The Boy I Currently Like home with me for the second time yesterday. It was actually his third visit, but on the first, there was no meeting of family (save for my brother's impromptu visit). I was glad to have him there and he told me more than a couple of times he had fun, was glad I asked him and was glad he came down with me.

It probably wasn't that long ago that I said something along the lines of "the next time I bring a guy home to meet my family, I'm going to be on the verge of marrying him."

So yeah, that turned out to be not true at all.

We went to my brother and sister-in-law's place to have dinner and end up hanging out there for a long time. I think my mom would have stayed all night, holding her new grandson. She even offered to let me hold him once, saying she didn't want to hog him. I let her hog him as much as she wanted. I wanted to get back out to the farm to pet the spazzy puppy.

A possible highlight of our visit for The Boy was finding a picture of 17-year-old me in the trophy case in my old high school. I was there to rehearse with my former choir director in advance of singing with her at the local winery next month. Of all the things he could have done in the few minutes it took me to go to the bathroom, he had to look at the trophy case. I honestly had no idea I was in a picture in there. It was from my gig as a statistician for the wrestling team.

It's pretty ridiculous/hilarious.

I was sad that I didn't get to say goodbye to the puppy today. She apparently got into the lagoon right before we left.

"Oh, that doesn't sound terrible," you might say. But you also might not know that "lagoon" is a nice-sounding euphemism for the manure pit. She got into the pig manure. And she was filthy. I didn't want to get close. Poor dad just gave her a bath on Friday, too. Guess she felt too clean. Fortunately, I'll get to see her in two weeks again when I go down to sing. I can probably make it that long without some dog pettin'.

I should probably be getting my dishes finished and laundry put away so I can get to bed. I've not slept well since Wednesday and this is gonna be a long week. I'm going to see Noel Gallagher on Wednesday and AC Newman on Thursday. I don't know that I've gone to consecutive shows more than once in my life. Look at me, having fun and shit.

Though, I might be going home for a funeral this week. My mom called not long after I got home, asking if I'd heard anything about a former classmate of mine who she heard had died. I did some digging on Facebook and it seems he killed himself this weekend. I wasn't close to him in school or out, but I'd known the guy since I was a little girl -- probably since kindergarten. And I've even run into him out on the town in Minneapolis in recent years. It's pretty heartbreaking to see his last post from Friday followed a day later by condolences, remembrances and lamentations from friends and loved ones.

It's been a good several years since I was at such a low point, but for me, anyway, it's unfortunately a little too easy to remember how alone and desperate it felt. I hope he at least found the peace in death that he couldn't get in life.

24 October 2012

Eyeshadow bounty!

Sephora is having a sale on Urban Decay eyeshadows. Or they were, anyway. Not a lot of shades, but plenty. I think they are just getting rid of the old packaging, maybe.

Either way, I got NINE eyeshadows for $54. That's six bucks a piece, when they are usually $17 each.

That's what I call a motherfucking bargain, yo.

20 October 2012

I almost forgot.

Oh boy. I was seriously going to just type out a few sentences about how nothing has really been happening since my last post, whenever that was. Like, a week ago, I guess.

Seriously, it was going to be work, Lynx games (I went to the first two games of the WNBA Finals and it was pretty fucking awesome), my last CSA box for the year, and my productive Saturday that included going to the gym, hitting the Wedge, making pizza crust, pizza sauce and get this -- a fucking pizza! My awesome DVR clearing skills might have warranted a mention, too.

Then I remembered one little thing -- I have a new nephew! That's kind of a big deal, isn't it?

He was born Monday, I met him on Tuesday (after a visit to the Minnesota Zoo in the morning/early afternoon with The Boy I Currently Like to see baby leopards, baby tigers and other animals) after going to the current nephew's last football game of the season. He's teenie-tiny and pretty cute.

I'll be honest -- there's something about his mouth that makes me think he looks like an infant Corey Feldman. I've only told this to The Boy and KayGee. I'm worried that if I mention it to my brother and sister-in-law -- or god forbid, my mom -- they'll think I'm being horrible. But I'm not! I think it's delightful and like I said, he's pretty cute. I mean, when they're that small, they look like tiny old people, so I could be saying actual bad things.

We were only at the hospital for about a half hour, so I didn't get to hang out with him too much. Then again, he doesn't do so much right about now. He'll be a lot more fun in a few months, like my other baby friends.

So, I guess some exciting things have happened. I'll be heading down to the farm next weekend to see him again and to see my favorite doggie in the whole wide world. In the meantime, I think I might finally hit a damn farmer's market tomorrow to stock up on some goddamn squash. I only managed to get two from the CSA this year. Not awesome.

14 October 2012

What is with the Tara Reid fascination?

I swear to God, not a day goes by without someone happening upon this blog because they are searching for pictures of, or information about, Tara Reid.

There are so many searches that lead people here that include her name and terms like, ”tits,” ”ass,” ”naked” or ”dead.”

It's been so long that I can barely remember what I even wrote about her. Almost certainly something about her wonky boobs and melty stomach.

Welcome, anyway, you Tara Reid pervs. Sorry you're not finding anything interesting.

11 October 2012


Man, I'd done so well this week -- working out to the extent I can, eating well, not wasting a bunch of calories on booze.

That all ended tonight. I spent nearly 12 straight hours doing that thing of which I will no longer speak. Then watched the end of the debate. Then I drank like, three glasses of wine and ate a bunch of (reduced fat!) chips. Boo, Jess. Boo.

Next week will be better. Kinda. I'm going to two Lynx games, which means skipping a workout, probably. But I'm going to the Zoo, which means a lot of extra walking. That thing of which I will no longer speak should be much better, too. I hope. Of course, everything is dependent on when my nephew will decide to enter the world.

I won't dwell too much on how much I suck. Not now. I'm too pumped up after watching Uncle Joe beat up on Paul Ryan. But suddenly, I'm crashing. So goodnight.

But I'll leave you with this: Mansplaining Paul Ryan.

Oh, and congratulations to The Boy I Currently Like's Better-Looking Friend and LL, his lovely bride, on the birth of their daughter. Can't wait to meet her!

08 October 2012

I shall keep my headaches to myself.

At some point this weekend I was telling The Boy I Currently Like about some shit that went down at the office earlier in the week. I just wanted a sympathetic ear, but I got an earful in return.

I get it -- I'm in a terrible situation. And I guess I have no one to blame but myself? I know there are other people not working as hard as me, but they aren't my two closest colleagues (also, it's because there's no work for them to do ... something that needs to be addressed, of course). Sure, my billable is slightly higher than theirs, but I know the one that's actually my immediate supervisor has more total hours than I do.

Oh, but he's your boss. He took that promotion, so he has to deal with what comes with it, says The Boy. Except he didn't accept anything. It was just a title change, with no additional money -- just the additional responsibility of administrative work with no cut in his billable time requirement. And it was thrust upon him with no warning or discussion.

So, I shouldn't be working nights or weekends. I don't know what my options are here. I'd like to take that time and look for a new job (The Boy said every time I consider working on a night or weekend I should look for a new job, instead). But I don't want to slack off when my coworkers are working nights and weekends to keep up with our workload. I don't think falling terribly far behind and angering our clients and maybe getting fired is a good way to approach this. I can't fucking quit.

I guess I'll just shut the fuck up about it.

01 October 2012

Disgusted. Disgusting.

It's bad enough that I'm a disgusting, fat piece of shit. But then I have to go and forget my sport bra so I can't work out today.

I'm not sure I could hate myself more than I do right now. Wait. I know I could, but I feel really fucking shitty right now.

Just have to keep telling myself that it's all mostly hormonal (not the fat part ... well, not all of the fat part ... bloating is the worst). Not sure why, exactly, but Mother Nature decided to show up after being away for just two weeks. Bitch, you're supposed to give me a longer break than that. Then again, it's nice to have an explanation for all the weird shit that was happening to me. Not weird, really, in the context of PMS it all makes perfect sense.

But hey -- since I didn't go to the gym, I got to work tonight!



The worst (?) part is, I didn't use my time wisely at all tonight. I worked and did my nails. I could have taken my air conditioner out (but they turned the heat on and it's hot in here) or cooked or baked something. But no. Just stupid stuff.

At least my nails look sparkly.