Advantages to Your Man Being OUT of Jail

Guys. I know hearing me complain is so much more interesting than hearing me say things that are nice. Or at least, I like complaining a lot more than I do being kindly. I realize that makes me a bad person, but whatev.

So this weekend, my man was all, "Gee. I sure wish you had TV." And I was all, "I KNOW!" And he was all, "Why don't we walk on over to the Family Dollar and get you an antenna?" And I was like, "An a-what-a?"

Turns out the thing that magically grabs channels out of the air is called an antenna!

So, we walked across the street to the Family Dollar and bought it. It cost $6. And I have 6 channels. That's 6 channels closer to heaven.

God bless my man for being so useful. And God bless me for being so pretty. And witty. And gay.

Amen.

Advantages to Your Man Being in Jail

Please don't misunderstand me! I don't want my man to go back to jail. I don't. It's just that, well, when he was in jail, there wasn't much time to be irritated with each other.

Here's the thing: generally speaking, my man is fantastic. He's sensitive, beautiful, strong, can pick me up without grunting, he likes my dog, etc., etc. But it doesn't matter how wonderful your man is, he's a man. And as long as he's a man, he will do things that are inexplicable and irritating. That's what men do. Which brings me to my point: there are certain advantages to your man being in jail.

Firstly, you always know where your man is. This is a HUGE advantage. Because, once your man is out of jail, you have to wonder where he is and what he is doing. And while you may not spend a lot of time wondering where he is and what he is doing when he is out of jail, when he's in jail, you spend NO time wondering. It's kind of nice.

Secondly, he never loves you as much as when he's in jail. Whilst your man is in jail, he is emotional. Jail is difficult (so I've been told). And any little thing you do for him is greatly appreciated. I like being appreciated. I especially like being greatly appreciated.

Thridly, you don't have to invest a lot of time. The most time you could possibly spend on your man when he's in jail is one 15 minute phone call per day and three 30 minute visitations per week. That's it!!! The rest of the time you can spend on yourself!!

Now I realize that I'm sounding a bit selfish, but isn't that what every girl wants??? A man who adores her, but who takes up relatively little of her time???? Isn't it??

Well, that's all over now. Please, please don't get me wrong. I like being able to actually touch my man, instead of having to look at him through glass. I like that he can buy me dinner and go to the movies with me. All of that is great!! But there is a certain amount of security that goes with having your man behind bars, and for me, that's gone now. However, dear reader, it's not over for you!!

Go find yourself a man (or woman) in jail!!! And then, tell me about it, so I can live vicariously through you!! Thanks in advance!

-Queen

A Tragedy of Greek Proportions (but a lot less boring)

Presumably, anyway.

Listen, I don't have TV. I don't have any channels!!! All I can watch is DVDs and/or VHS tapes.

I'm serious.

*SIGH*********

This is just the hardest thing I've ever had to deal with in all my life. I DON'T WANT TO PAY FOR CABLE! I'm just too cheap. And I wouldn't even know where to begin to look for those metal things that you put on top of your TV that grab channels out of the air. I've been seriously contemplating heading out to the alleyway and trying to "give" myself some "complementary" cable. (The cable box is in the alleyway. I don't want to cause any confusion, because there are also crack heads and real-life prostitutes in the alleyway.) Anynoodle, I just want to die all the time.

What is life without TV, I ask you????? WHAT IS IT???!!!! A broken-winged bird that cannot fly. That's what it is. It's Oedipus, wandering in the forest with his eyeballs poked out. It's Thomas Hardy, alive and well, writing the sequel to Jude the Obscure.

I long and weep for TV every evening. And whilst I do indeed love Arrested Development with all my heart, how many times can I watch the DVDs before it gets sad and a bit depressing?? How many??!!

I think I will venture out into that alleyway! Wish me luck, blogosphere! Who knows, if I stay out there long enough, I may even make a few extra bucks!

Just kidding.

Maybe.

Once Upon a Mattress...

Maybe guys really are from Venus and girls really are from Mars or vice versa or whatever. Because, upon recent reflection, I can't tell you how many times I have put two (or more) guys in awkward situations that they actually stayed in.

Possibly I'm not making myself clear:

There has been more than one occasion where I "accidentally" double booked a date. Both guys showed up and both guys (or more) stayed. Bizarre, no??

Now, if I ever showed up to a guy's place for a date, only to find a cute little number planted on his couch, I'd be out the door as fast as I could turn on my stilettos!

The first time I ever committed such a horrid dating crime, I was in college. Both guys showed up at my apartment and both guys stayed. We all ended up smokin' some reefer and things get a little fuzzy from there...
However, isn't it strange that they both stayed???!!!! Why were they not mad at me??? Why didn't they call me ugly names to my face and then storm out dramatically????!! That's what I would have done!!!

Another time (and this is all I'll be confessing to today), I was out with one guy at a bar/club. Whilst there with Guy A, I call Guy B to come along and hang out with us. Because the situation was fairly casual, I thought it would be no big deal. But between the time I called Guy B and his arrival, I got myself pretty sloshed. Mostly, I ignored both Guy A and Guy B while I went and danced with/gave my number out to other guys. Then, at the end of the night, I made it fairly clear that I wanted Guy A to "escort" me home and not Guy B. Here's where it gets fascinating: Guy B still called me the next day! As if he wasn't bothered a bit by my complete lack of etiquette!!

I say all this to say, while indeed I am frequently very badly behaved, it is only because you men let me get away with it!! Shame on you for not making me feel guilty! Shame on you for continuing to call me even after I've mistreated you so wretchedly! Grow a pair, call me ugly names to my face, and slam the door dramatically once or twice!! What is wrong with you??! I'm no Pamela Anderson. I can't really be worth all the trouble, can I?

*sigh* I probably am worth the trouble. Oh well. I guess I'll just keep on with my wild ways until one day a man comes along with the strength to slam a door dramatically in my face. And when that day comes, I'm gonna open that slammed door, tackle him to the ground, and marry him. Whether he likes it or not.

If It Were Fiction, I'd Have a Book Deal

There comes a time in every girl's life (in my case, hundreds of times) where she does something that she's not particularly proud of. I won't be time-specific here, because, well, I don't want any documentation...nor do I want anyone to be able to create a time-line of my shenanigans. We'll just say it was long ago and far away...fair enough? Great. Let's continue.

Soooooooooo, there are many, many times in my life when I do things that don't bring me a great sense of pride. For instance, there was a time, either recently or a long time ago, I was mad at someone(s) I was dating. To relieve myself of the frustration, I decided to out with some friends. We went to a bar where the men outnumbered the women at least 5 to 1. I began to drink alcohol...and ...

all hell broke loose.

I was the wildest woman ever in the history of all time. Drinking and dancing and dancing and drinking. Nothing could stop me!!! I was Queen of the night!! I suspect that there were many who thought that quite possibly I was a "lady" of the night as well.

Anywhoodle, there was lots of drinking and dancing and all manner of things! What fun! Caution to the wind and all that! Who needs a man?? ! I don't! No!! (Why have just one when there are soooo many??!)

I gave my number away at least twice and danced like there was no tomorrow. I nearly broke my toe during a slight stumble because of my heightened klutziness. I ripped the leather on the heel of my favorite stilettos.

And naturally, the next morning, I woke up with a magnificent headache and a fantastic sense of confusion. Because, upon reflecting, I was almost positive that at one point I was upside-down.

But, how was I upside-down??? And why?? In my memory, which by the way was fuzzy, I could see a man in a green shirt. We were dancing, and then suddenly, I was upside down!! My fuzzy memory would then fast-forward to the same green shirt handing me a phone and my fingers punching my phone number into it.

Interesting.

As the days stretched on, I became increasingly obsessed with the status of my upside-downness. There had been two unfamiliar numbers that had appeared on my phone several times. Like any reasonable girl, I ignored them, because...I mean...a guy from the bar?? Really?? That's gross. But, I couldn't let it go! I had to know: was I really upside-down?? I had to know.

I called the first number. It was awkward. Mostly because I didn't know his name, and also because I had to act like I wanted to talk to him and not just ask: "Hey, um....was I upside-down whilst dancing with you??" A hard question to ask indeed.

Long story longer... it wasn't him. *sigh* That means I had to call the other guy. Distasteful.

I decided a text message would be the easiest way to begin the conversation. Unfortunately, the other guy was quite the eager beaver. He wanted to come see me. *sigh* He did. It was gross. He stuck his tongue down my throat after I asked him not to. He had over a gallon of cologne on. He thought he was really hot and that he could woo me with very little effort. He was a fool.

However, and this is the good news, I found at that I WAS upside-down after all!!!! Turns out there's a dance move that is not unlike one of those fancy swing-dance moves, but that you can do to songs by Kanye West and Mystikal!! No fancy dance steps required! I got him to demonstrate between attempts at getting his hands up my shirt.

The bottom line is this: I solved the mystery. Now, yes, I did have to have more than one uncomfortable conversation with guys I would never go out with in a million-kajillion years, and, yes, I did have to suffer a creepy guy who had no idea he was a horrible kisser, but I solved the mystery!!!

And we all know that I've made out for less. At least this time I had an objective. I think the government should really consider using me as one of those really hot, sexy spies that slip important communists mickeys and then take pictures of important documents with an exceptionally tiny camera. I would be awesome. And at least I'd be serving my country. Instead of, you know, serving....well, do we really want to analyze that??

No, we don't.

Letter to Myself from Myself, part xxo

Dear Queen the third,

*sigh* You know, I really am ashamed of how undedicated you've been to your blog as of late. The thing is, you entertain me! I love you so, so much. And I know that you can't blog at work anymore - and, really, that does suck. But, let's be serious for a minute here: how long does it honestly take to write a funny, witty, clever blog entry that I will want to read over and over again?? It's not as if you spend much time proofreading!! (Possibly, none at all.)

Additionally, your ridiculous and frivilous actions make everyone feel better about their lives, and you have not been very diligent in sharing as of late. For example, there may be people who have really crappy boyfriends who don't buy them Tiffany's as often as they should. Those people can just read an entry or two and realize, "Well, hell! At least my man isn't in jail!" and all the pain and frustration of their inadequate realationship goes away!

Or, when they have to wake up at 7:45am to get to work by 9 am, they can say to themselves, "At least I don't have to wake up at 6:30!!!"

So, you see, Queen, what you do is closely related to the work of Mother Teresa and/or the Pope. And of all the sins you commit on a daily basis, not sharing what a fool you are with everyone else is by far the biggest!!

I chastise thee, Queen, III!! No more chocolate Dr. Pepper floats for you, Missy! You're punished.

And remember, I'm only doing this because I love you.

With all the sincerety I can muster,


Queen, III

A Little Pity, Please

Does anybody know how early 6:30 am is?? It's so early. So, so early. Incidently, it is also the hour that I have to wake up every morning. (Besides Saturday and Sunday.) And it doesn't matter how much sleep I get either, because I always feel really crappy when that alarm goes off. To put it lightly, I am NOT a morning person.

So, I'm asking you all to feel sorry for me. Really, really sorry. Because while the rest of you were working all summer, I wasn't and I got used to doing whatever I wanted whenever I wanted, so you see...it's just so much harder for me!

Now, do you feel sorry for me?? My burder is SO much heavier because I only work 9 months out of the year! It's like being married to a rich man who buys you things and then he divorces you suddenly and oops! you signed a prenup! Darn the luck! But, if you had been poor the whole time, you would never know the difference, so it wouldn't be sad if you stayed poor. Don't you see?? I'm just like the woman who's rich husband dumps her for the younger bleached blonde with bigger fake boobs!! And I thought said rich man was in love with me and we would be together forever, so I signed the prenup!! The only difference is, I'll get married to another rich man next summer. But, it's still sad!!!

I imagine you're probably crying right now out of pity. Well, keep crying, honey! Cause it only gets worse! I have to work for 8 more months and 2 more weeks.

OH! And I only get 30 minutes for lunch.

So, please, oh please, cry me a river.

Why Moving Sucks...even when your man is out of jail

Life is hard. And you'd think that now that my man is out of jail, I'd be leaping for joy every day, but alas!!! I still have boxes to unpack and my bedroom still hasn't been painted. I was going to paint it today, but I decided to take a nap. I'm very ambitious.

And now that I have my very own home, I don't get free local channels via the complex dish - oh no! I don't even have ANY TV!!! I'm so depressed, it's hard for me to get up in the morning.

I have a mexican blanket covering my sliding glass door because I haven't had time to go get curtains. Why haven't I had time??

Oh, well between, helping my brother find a very expensive hole in the wall to live in whilst attending UCLA, actually starting to work again, and tending to my-man-out-of-jail, house-fixing-up time has been hard to come by.

And on that note, remember how I briefly mentioned a couple of posts ago that there were some advantages to your man being in jail?? One of those advantages is that you have lots of time to yourself. Now, please, please don't get me wrong...I'd never want him to go back...but tending to your man takes a lot of time. As it turns out, men have needs! Who knew?!

Anywhoodle, now that school's about to be back in session, I'll do my darndest to be way more dedicated to you all and give you lots of stories about my elementary school teaching mishaps. Can you hardly wait?

This ALWAYS Happens!!

So, I've been spending the whole summer lying around on my big, fat rear and now, all of a sudden, I'm so overwhelmed, I wish I could assume the fetal position for about 3 months.

You see, until early Tuesday morning, I was moving into a new condo (which I purchased all by my fabulous self). I was up until 1 am. At 4 am, my brother and I left to fly to L.A. so that I can help him find a place to live up here whilst he attends UCLA. We thought that we could just come here and take public transit everywhere like you do in New York....but we were WAY off. Also, we're staying in Venice Beach and the hostel we're sleeping in reminds me a lot of the "Happiness Hotel" in The Muppets Take Manhattan. Seriously.

I'll be back soon, so do not fret! Oh, and did I mention that my man is out of jail?? For reals! I'll have lots to tell....very, very soon. And you can take that to the bank! (But not my bank, because there's no money in my account. Try Forky's.)

All my love,
Queen III

Not as Much Excitement, but Boring Nonetheless

There's been no tree climbing nor have I consumed an entire bottle of wine in the past few days, but I have slept A LOT. How's that for adventure?? Really, though, if you knew about some of the crazy dreams I have on a regular basis, you'd realize how brave I really am.

But besides sleeping, I've also been filling my time with some fairly productive activity. For instance, I've been taking a metal sculpting class and OMG. I am awesome at it. Last night, my teacher was all, "Queen's kicking the boys' butts!" And he wasn't lying. I was kicking everyone's butts. (The class is all boys, except for me. And by boys, I mean grown men.)

Then, I decided that I should probably do some stone sculpting as well. I'm also awesome at that.

Now, I know that you're all pretty impressed and intimidated by my mad skills, however I have to confess that all of the aforementioned activity takes about 6 hours every week.

I sleep about 8 - 12 hours a day. I watch the People's Court everyday. And that makes up for the majority of my time. It's sad, isn't it? I have 3 months off every year and I spend the majority of it sleeping.

I have 3 more weeks of summer. I pray to Zeus that I'll be able to wake up.

What I've Been Up To...No Exaggerations

According to Forky, all 3 of my faithful readers are worried because I've been so tardy in updating my blog. Thanks for worrying, by the way. It makes me feel loved.

But, seriously, what have I been up to?? And that's a good question. I'd be lying if I said I've been filling my summer vacation days with productive, healthy activity. I mean, this week I've done much better so far, but last week....

Last week was...well, to put it lightly, indulgent.

Monday night a friend came over and we decided it would be a good idea to drink some alcohol. I'm sure most of you can relate to this, because oft times, when you're sober, alcohol does seem like a good idea. *sigh*

Betwixt the two of us, 2 bottles of wine were consumed, plus 4 shots of Vodka, 1 beer, and a Whiskey Sour. I won't say who drank what, but I will say that in all of my relationships, be it a friendship or more, I believe in equality.

Suffice it to say, that I was completely out of control. I loudly explained to my friend in the bar (and trust me...EVERYONE heard) that my college shenanigans were nothing like prostitution, because I gave it away for free. Classy. THEN, on the walk back to my apartment, I reminisced about my childhood days when I was such a good tree climber. To prove my point, I climbed a tree. In downtown Everycity. Across the street from one of the fanciest hotels in town. And because of my drunken state, while the climb up was indeed fairly graceful, the climb down gave me a nasty cut on my foot and a pretty big bruise on my arm. Incidentally, I didn't even know I was bleeding until we got back to my apartment and I looked at my foot. (Dear Reader, please make a mental note here: do not climb trees whilst drunk.)

I spent ALL Tuesday recovering. So sickly was I, that for most of the day, I did not even feel like eating! (I KNOW.)

Wednesday, I had to go visit my man in jail and go to my metal sculpting class. (By the way, I'm a bad-ass at welding. Just like in Flashdance..."she's a maniac, maniac"...but for me they'd change the lyrics from "on the floor" to "in real life.")

Thursday was another day full of shameless indulgence. All I had been wanting for the past umpteen thousand days was some freakin' cheese fries. So, some friends and I went to this local burger joint that is absolutely known for their cheese fries. I ordered cheese fries almost as soon as we sat down. The waitress came back and asked us what we wanted for our meals. I told her the cheese fries were my meal. She looked at me like I was crazy. Clearly, she was a wise old sage because, as it turns out, I am crazy. It took me ALL of Friday to recover from the cheese fries binge. Let's just say, the first few hours of the day were so bad, they were quite literally painful. PAINFUL.

This week has been much better, howev. No more cheese fries or whole bottles of wine for me, no sir! It's time to look for new ways to be indulgent!

I'll let you guys know what I come up with.

A letter to Myself, from Myself, part duex

Dear Queen, III,
Even though your laziness has reached an all time high, I still love you! You are just too fabulous not to love. Now it's true that most of the time you could do more with your hair, and for the love of Pete, could you put some eyeliner on every now and again??? But, despite your tendency toward couch potato-ism, you're still pretty great, and I should know.

Wasn't it great to see RHMFT today in Hott Yoga and watch his "professional trainer" a$$ get kicked?? Man, that was too fun! I'm pretty sure the delight you took in his struggles with the 34 postures of the Fire class might go against Yoga principles, but whatev. He had it comin'!

But, I really do need to get down to business here, Queen. You're turning into a lazy good-for-nothing! This is not what we intended! I realize that your man's in jail and you're confused about whether or not you should use this time to revel in your Spinsterhood, or to "stand by your man," so to speak, but your idleness is seriously ridiculous. I mean, the hours consumed by TV alone are staggering. I also realize that the incessant rain has really put a damper on your plans to get a kick-a$$ tan this summer, but for the love of Joe, just reactivate your tanning salon membership!! You see, there really is a solution to every problem!

Listen, you have 1.75 months of summer vacation left. That's plenty of time to redeem yourself! Get to it. Before you lose all your friends, Taraji emancipates himself, and you get more cellulite on you butt. And I'm only saying this because I care.

Yours always and forever,

Queen, III

Boring

I haven't posted in so long because I'm so boring. I ain't got nuthin' to say. Remarkable, no? Also, it won't stop raining. I feel about as soggy as the ground. Taraji and I barely have the energy to peel ourselves off of the couch. Incidently, I'm pretty sure my couch needs to be steam cleaned.

Anarchy

Family vacation was in Washington, DC this year. I was pretty stoked, and I have to say, that overall, it was a pretty fab vacation. I got to see lots of crap that I had previously only seen in movies, and best of all, I got to see Skinny Jenny, who just happens to be one of my bestest friends in the whole wide world! And I'm not just saying that because she's privy to just about all the sinful things I did in college. NO! Even if she didn't know enough about me to blackmail me, she would still totally be one of my besties. I swear.

Anywhoodle, I must admit here, dear readers, that a trip to our nation's capitol has left me feeling a little less patriotic than when I left. I realize that this is probably the opposite reaction of most people, but let me explain:

So, my mother manages to get us a White House tour, which, by most accounts are pretty effing hard to get. I am soooo excited. I mean, say what you want about America and our President, but what girl wouldn't get excited about getting to see decadently decorated rooms with fabulous furniture and fantasize about Jackie O holding proper-but-still-somehow-edgy tea parties?????

In order to be "cleared" for your White House tour, you have to give the White House people everything short of your first-born child: your social security number, driver's license number, birth certificate something or another, and heaven knows what else. Such disclosure of information led me to believe that this was going to be a kick-ass tour. I mean, why would a tour be so hard to get if it wasn't kick-ass, right??

Now, you are not allowed to bring ANYTHING into the White House. You can't even leave a backpack with the security desk. That means that I had to leave my water bottle, moisturizer, ibuprofen, AND lipgloss at the hotel. Again, I think, "Man, this tour is going to be the TOUR OF ALL TOURS!! I can't wait."

Turns out, I could wait.

We get there at our designated time, show them our IDs, go through security, and proceed on to the White House. Being the stupid tourists that we are, we wait at what we think is the lobby, waiting for someone to show us around, but no one comes. Tentatively, we proceed down a hallway, and up a staircase, still thinking that there will eventually be a tour guide. We mill about and view two ornately decorated rooms that we can't actually go in to, because they're roped off. The people in front of us keep walking forward, so we follow.

In a minute we figure out, that like Godot, our tour guide is never coming. We follow the roped-off pathway through a "Green Room," a "Red Room," and something else that is cleverly named for the color of the walls. Then, we land outside. At this point, we look at each other for a few seconds, all bewildered. "Is this it?" We all ask. We notice some people leaving.

Again, bewildered, we furrow our brows, look around, and look at each other.

"That was some bullsh!t," I eloquently state.

Well, we were all thinking it!

I swear upon my entire shoe collection that the entire "White House Tour" took us all of 10 minutes... and we took our time!!!!

Can you believe it???!!! I HAD TO GIVE UP MY BACKPACK!!!! And for what, I ask. For what?! To see a bunch of fancy rooms?!!! Well, no thanks, America!! I'll take my lipgloss over a craptastic 10 minute tour any day!!!!

That's right, Mr. President. You heard me! Your house sucks. And my lips haven't fully recovered from the moisture deprivation!!!

Now, I'm not saying that I'll be the cause of a huge uprising or anything like that...but what about the uprising in my heart, Mr. President?? Huh? What about that?

If America ever asks me to give up my lipgloss again, I'm moving to Canada. Or even worse: France.

I'm Not Dead

I've just been on family vacation. It's been pretty exhausting.

A Note From the Couch of Queen, III

Well summer's begun and the couch has proven to be my favorite place...or at least the place where I spend most of my time. So if you need anything, you know where to find me. Taraji's here, too, but he's usually sleeping. But, as long as you don't ask me to do anything during The People's Court, we should be okay. Please don't worry about me getting as fat as I did last summer because I'm still doing hottttt yoga. Oh! And if I'm not here on the couch, then I'm probably asleep by the pool.
Okay, tootles!!!

Yours Truly,
Queen, III

Good News, Everybody! I Have a Boyfriend!

I got a phone call from Doc's Bail Bonds today. Doc told me that my boyfriend had given them his girlfriend's phone number because she has a job. And apparently, I was the girlfriend, because Doc was calling me. Now, I was not aware that I had a boyfriend. However, the good news is that he's in jail, so he can't cheat on me!!! At least not with another girl. Isn't it fabulous, guys?! Aren't you so, so proud? I think I'll tattoo his name on my neck.

Inner Monologue

I love yoga. I really do. Nothing's better. I don't care what anybody says. Even people who say that it's all just a load of crap. They're probably just jealous....although I'm not sure of what. My eye won't stop twitching. Just like when I took the LSAT. I can't wait until school is out. I think I'll camp out by the pool for a full week. Nobody would miss me. Taraji could hunt for squirrels and worms. I'm sure my apartment management won't mind. I would kill for some french fries right now. I wish BFF wasn't in Alaska right now. I really need to talk to her about how cranky I am and how I wish I could sleep late. Maybe I should start dating a professional football player...I wonder where they hang out. I would kill to be on a Spanish novella. Too bad I can't speak fluent Spanish. I can cuss in Spanish and say "I love you." That should really about cover it from what I've seen. I wonder where I audition. I would also kill to be a pop star. But, I'm too fat. Just thinking about it kind of makes me want to go eat some pasta. Speaking of...I have some on the stove. Crap. I have to go.

High Society is Lame

Okay, guys. Maybe I've been too busy too notice, or maybe, because I'm a silly little small-town girl I was a little starstruck, but the truth is all this socialite, high-society crap is kind of lame-oid. The "theme" of the gala this year is, "Dance With the Stars." And, unfortunately, it was my idea to hire local professional ballroom dancers.

I just don't know what I was thinking! If there's anything more disgusting than having to hang around a bunch of unhappy, drunk, plastic, rich people, it's watching aforementioned attempt to dance...ballroom style...with what will probably be some well-meaning and slightly out-of-shape "professional" dancers. And it's all my fault. Thankfully, there's lots of free booze at this thing. Let's just all hope I can drink enough before the dancing starts.

It's That time of Year Again

Remember this fiasco last year?? Remember how I had to paint the mural for that gala and then my ex-boyfriend was a loser and left me high and dry and a-dub and her hubby had to bail me out and I was totally stressed and over-committed, etc., etc.?

Well, to rememdy that situation - the over-commiting, putting-myself-in-stressful-situations situation - I decided to commit to something else. (Makes sense doesn't it?) But, nothing ridiculous, or anything. I just decided that it might be a good idea to also direct a play with 15 3rd-5th graders who can't act. And this year, I'm not painting a mural for the gala, I'm just building some scenery in my apartment and donating three paintings for the silent auction. No biggie. I'm not even stressed out right now. It's probably all the hot yoga. Also, I'm not dealing with a f#ck-wit ex-boyfriend. That helps.

Anyway, for your entertainment I'm posting pictures of the ridiculousness:

Yes, that is the mural from last year in the background.

The scenery is taking up so much space, I have a 2.5 foot space on my couch on which I can watch my TV. Also, the boxes are too big to fit through my door. I'll have to take them apart to get them out. It's great. And before you say anything...I totally don't have a disorder. Really.

Tragedy of the Life of a Spinster

Let me open this post by apologizing for the numerous typos, misspellings, and run-on sentences in my last post. I was ashamed, but too lazy to do anything about it. And for those of you who do worry about such things, I do usually notice my grammatical errors after I post. I'm just far too lazy to take action. So, I'm not stupid or grammatically challenged, just LAZY.

Now on to the title entry:

The Spinster Life has its perks. Doing what you want when you want is one of them. Sitting around in your underwear all day watching chick flicks is another. Only having to deal with your family is yet another. But, then there are things that are not so great: listening to that ol' biological clock tick, nightmares about dying old and alone with all your toy poodles eating your face off, having to deal with nearly everybody thinking there's GOT to be something wrong with you because you're not permanently attached. And then, every once in a while, you come across a guy that you think is perfect for you. "Great!" you think. "Companionship is fun!!" "Maybe this could last longer than 5 months and maybe it won't end in disaster!"

*sigh* These thoughts are inevitably followed by disaster, however, and you find yourself listening to Fiona Apple and watching Bridget Jones Diary over and over and over and thinking, "Maybe there is something wrong with me!" But, there's never anything wrong with you. It's men.

I'm serious. I've lived in Everycity for 5 years now, and I have yet to find a decent man who isn't married, gay, or really, really old. And trust me. I've shopped around.

So, what to do now? Become a lesbian? Enter a convent? Submit to tragic spinsterhood, buy some more toy poodles to ensure that at the time of your demise there will be enough to do a real number on your face? (And by number, I mean eating it off, not "Number 2.")

I choose the latter. Why?? Because it makes the best story. If I have to die old and alone, I plan on getting A LOT of attention for it! I might even write my autobiography before the dogs eat my face off, so upon my demise it can be immediately published, and I can look down from heaven and be satisfied with how sorry everyone feels for me.

And now I have to go throw a pity party for myself. No, you're not invited.

Is anything more vulgar?

Really. The Pussycat Dolls make me a little sick to my stomach, but I found myself glued to the tele last night whilst the finale of that ridiculous show they have in which they select another skankified skinny-mini to their already large group. I'm not really sure why they feel like they needed another one, because no one really knows who any of them are, and I think I can say with confidence, we're all pretty annoyed at this point.

And while the bad singing and the fighting and the slutty outfits were simultaneously entertaining and irritating, the most compelling thing of all was Lil' Kim. Have you seen her lately???? She looks awful! She's had so much plastic surgery she's morphed into something grotesque and inhuman...or should I say unhuman...

I suggest you all do a quick google search of Lil' Kim to see how something that was already pretty vulgar and disgusting can transform into something vulgar, disgusting, and plastic...or and chunky. She's gotten chunky. What fun!!

Take a look!! You won't be sorry. (Although, she still probably has less cellulite than me. I hate celebrities.)

Explanation

So a few people have been wondering what the heck I was doing hacking down a bunch of bamboo in a rain storm. And, really, it's a valid question. But first, I wanted to share a-dub's comment from the last post, because it's genius:

"Queen, I love the image of you hacking down bamboo in a violent rain storm in hott galoshes. If this were a perfect world, you would have developed a fever and swooned, and a gallant and ruggedly handsome young man (a complete blackguard, of course) would have thundered up on a stallion to sweep you to safety. Sigh. You would have eventually come to a bad end, though (worse than death, stillborn bastard child, living out the rest of your days in a remote Italian convent, yadda, yadda, yadda). So it's probably just as well."

First, let me say, a-dub, you're perfect. Next, you're right, a-dub, it's probably just as well. There was, however, a very dedicated runner who came by and said, "Are you building a booby trap?" He was kind of handsome, but certainly not a blackguard.

Anywho, enough with the silliness! Why was I out in a typhoon cutting down bamboo?? Well, for an art project, of course. There's this place off the running trail close to my apartment, that has some bamboo growing. It's probably about a mile and a half from my house. Since it had been drizzling all day, I figured that there wouldn't be many people on the running trail, and it would be easier to carry my hacksaw around without arousing too much suspicion. I should mention here that I live right beside the professional basketball/hockey arena and there was a game Tuesday night. That meant there was also a lot of law enforcement. So, while many of you would probably like to imagine that I carried a hacksaw around whilst wearing an anorak and hott rain boots, I actually put the hacksaw in a big bag so as to not look like a crazy serial killer. The walk back caused a few stares, though. I mean, if you saw a girl with a giant bag on her shoulder and a bunch of bamboo in her hands in the middle of the Typhoon of '07, what would you think?? I wouldn't think she was doing anything legal, that's for sure.

So, there it is, that's why I couldn't elaborate on all the other crap that's been going on in my life.

And really, there's not a lot of crap, because I've gotten rid of all it, namely SOAPM. He is such an idiot. For reals. I don't even think that he knows that we're not dating anymore. Every once and a while I'll get a text message or a phone call from him that leads a girl to believe he has no idea he's been dumped. How could he not know?!! The last time I actually saw him was in March, and I wasn't very nice to him! Oh well, he's not really bugging me that much, so maybe I shouldn't complain. He did buy me a really nice dinner the last time I saw him, though, although it hardly made up for the white socks with dress shoes. Hardly!!

I haven't actually been out on a date in almost a month. My mom's gonna start thinking I'm a lesbian. I've thought of getting a butch "roommate" just to make everyone extra suspicious, but it hardly seems worth the trouble. However, if the "roommate" bought me lots of nice presents, it might be worth it....hmmm....maybe I'll look into that. In the meantime, if any of you know of a man that likes to give a girl lots of (expensive) presents while simultaneously being verbally abused, please give me his number. A guy like that is hard to find, but fit for a Queen, specifically the Queen: Queen, III.

Don't forget it.

Paving the Road to Hell

I had every intention of writing a long treatise este noche about how I hate men, what they do to piss me off, how I'm better than practically everybody (except for all of you who read this blog, of course), and how generally cranky I am about not being able to control the universe, etc., etc.

However, I had a very remarkable and drawn out incident involving a pair of painfully cute rubber boots, a hack saw, a deserted running trail, a torrent of rain, and bamboo.

Suffice it to say that I don't have enough time at this point to tell you in detail the very latest drama (real or imagined) in my life.

I do have time to quickly tell you a short, but painful story: I let SOAPM go to church with me a couple of weeks ago and....

*sigh*

this is so hard....

he wore...I don't even know how to say this...

he wore....

WHITE SOCKS WITH DRESS SHOES! *clunk* (sound of my head hitting the keyboard in exasperation)

It's all enough to make a girl want to run and throw her beautiful, voluptuous form into the nearest body of water.

Instead, I chose to donne my cute rubber boots and carry a hacksaw through a rainstorm. Probably a healthier choice, however bizarre.

So, please don't stop giving me attention just because I've been neglectful. Please! I need your attention more than the very breath of life!

No, I'm serious.

Hot Yoga Just Got a Little Hotter

Guys, I suck. But listen, this time I have a good reason: I've started Hot Yoga. You know, the yoga you do in a room that's 100 degress Farenheit and 60% humidity that lasts for an hour and a half? Well, I'm doing it.

Here's the thing though...after I finish the Hot Yoga, I am sleepier than a drunken baby, so blogging is damn near impossible.

But, mark my words: tomorrow I will update with a whole new slew of complaints about SOAPM, and crappy men in general.

Your loving, perpetually cranky spinster,
Queen, III

Out of the Wilderness

So, to try and make my unholy, sinful, delightfully wicked self a little more spiritually inclined, I decided that this year, I would give up something for lent that really, truly mattered to me more than almost anything else in the whole wide world. The one thing, that, if I had to spend a day without, I would feel lost and lonely, thus forcing me to face the "spiritual mirror," so to speak. And that one, singular thing was TV.

Yes! For 40 days and 40 nights, I did not watch TV (unless it was in a public place). It was a long, cold, dark road...one which was trying. I'm not sure I can ever go through it again. I'm not even sure how I made it, but I did.

Now, I'm trying to catch up on all that's happened in the past month and a half. So, for reals, what's going on with Horatio and the hot Latin girls?? They can't really think that he's hot, can he? Why are they always calling him for help?? Why?? Why don't they call that other really hot guy?? That's who I would call if I had an emergency!

But, I have a few additional queries. I have NO idea what's happening on any of my usual shows. If you can fill me in as I ease back into my TV watching routine, I'd appreciate it! Here are my usual shows:
Boston Legal
Ugly Betty
Desperate Housewives
The Office
30 Rock

Thanks, guys. And remember, you're not just helping Queen, III, you're helping the new, improved, slightly holier Queen, III.

Sinful

I just ate an entire medium pizza.

BUT - It was thin crust...from Dominos. Sooo...it can't be that bad can it?

Oh jebus, I can feel my @ss getting larger by the second.

School Teachers: Modern-day Saints or Classic Fools??

There are great perks to my job: I get the summers off; I don't have to work weekends; I don't have to take work home; I get 2 weeks off for Christmas, a Fall break, a Spring break, Easter break, and various other days as well; during the school year, I get 10 days paid leave, 5 of which carry over (next year I'll have 15); I get pretty good benefits; and I really only work about 8.5 - 9 months out of the year. Pretty sweet deal, you might say. And generally, it is...but there are days....

Last year, I made the horrible mistake of letting all my students - all 650 of them - paint the same week. It was one of the biggest missteps of my entire life. And while I haven't made a mistake that huge this year, every once in a while, I'll have a moment where it all seems to just go to hell.

Last week was that moment. Now the whole week was bad, but the day that really, really set me off was Wednesday. I have my two "challenging" classes that day: 5D and KD. 5D started out unusually well, which should have made me raise an eyebrow, but I thought, "Maybe these kids have really reached a turning point."

Oh, Queen. You really are a fool.

Within the last 10 minutes of class these kids started acting like they were all retarded. Now, normally, it wouldn't be so bad. Okay, so you have a class of 5th graders who have a bad day and think for some reason that it's permissible to hang over your seat like you have no muscle control or jump out of your seat and start yelling at the girl across the class who blinked at you wrong or stick your own pencil up your nose or roll your eyes at the teacher. No big deal, right? It happens. They're children.

But these aren't just your ordinary children, oh no! They're gifted children who attend our Vanguard school on the 3rd floor.

About 5 minutes into their remarkable behavior, I really, really lose it. My mouth starts to move and it is like a freight train! Fortunately, I can't remember all the things I said/yelled, but I do remember using words like pathetic, sad excuse for, disappointed, will no longer be having fun in art, disgusting, rude awakening, and the like. They kept their mouths shut on the way out, probably because they were scared I was gonna pull out a shiv.

Then, 4th grade rolls around. Ay Carumba! Little Jeremy is scheduled to return to school today from the alternative school he had been attending for a couple of months. The kid's crazy and so's his daddy. Jeremy comes into my classroom and sits down well enough, but suddenly leaves class without permission. I go find him in the hallway and he refuses to come in. Finally, I convince him to come back inside, but on his way back in, he tries to knock a bunch of art off the art rack. I say, "Salvador, escort Jeremy to the office."

"I'm not goin'," Jeremy replies.

"You'll go know, or I'll send for the Assistant Principal to come and get you and that won't be pretty." He then complies. 2 seconds later, Salvador comes running back in:

"Miss Queen, Jeremy won't stop running around in circles outside!! I tried to catch him, but I couldn't!"

I step outside. "Jeremy, come in right now. Salvador will go get the Principal to come get you." With this, Jeremy decides to slowly walk to the office.

After class, I go to the office to write the referral and Jeremy is, of course, acting crazy, talkin' back to the secretary, so I say, "Jeremy this is no way to start your first day back. I know you know better!"

Jeremy mumbles with a scowl on his face, "Shut up with your big bushy head!"

(Now, my hair is pretty big, but Jeremy shouldn't have gone there.) I said, "Say that again to my face, Jeremy."

"I ain't scared of you!!!"

Well, this got me all kinds of bent out of shape, so before I knocked that little brat upside the head, I thought that I would instead go eat my lunch and write the referral away from the devil-child who was pushing all my buttons. I turn to leave and Jeremy gets up and blocks the doorway. About this time, the Assistant Principal walks up and nearly loses it when she sees Jeremy, freshly out of alternative school, acting as though his two months in kiddie lock-down taught him nothing. He got suspended for 3 days.

Then, after lunch there was KD - the Kindergarten class from hell. Hsunta had a breakdown and tried to beat up Ruby who wouldn't stop crossing her eyes at Hsunta. Jeremiah also had a breakdown and refused to come out of the corner. Arthur was crying and so was Annienell, both apparently for no reason. Reynoldo decided that it would be funny if he just yelled out, "No!" every time I asked him to do something. And Ernest was, as always, incredibly earnest. There was one point in this class where I thought they would actually take me over, and honestly, defeat was nearer than I would like to admit, but somehow I triumphed and we were able to paint some post-modernist masterpieces.

After school, at rehearsal for our end-of-the-year play, I left the auditorium to run to the office. When I came back, a fellow teacher told me that the kids were acting all kinds of crazy. So, I yelled at them and told them how disappointed I was, etc. And two 5th graders started crying. One almost hyperventilated.

Now, if all that won't drive you to drinking, I don't know what will. So, this summer, when I write about how I'm lying around in my underwear, watching TV and you all are like, "Queen, I hate you with all your time off (and your big bushy head)!!!" Remember this post. Remember. My time off is not for me, it is for the children. Because if I had to spend 12 months of the year with those kids, they'd probably all have to be hospitalized...for severe bruising upside the head.

Dear BFF: What about me??!

My BFF is the best BFF in the whole wide world. She understands everything that comes out of my mouth before I say it - and I know everyone says that about their BFF, but if you heard some of the things that come out of my mouth, you would understand how extrodinary it really is. And she listens to me complain...sometimes for hours on end. (Literally.) And she's the reason I finally broke it off with Latest Ex-boyfriend. And she sticks up for me, even to my formidible mother. (Not an easy thing to do.) And she's so funny, sometimes I can't even stand it!

And she's pregnant.

Now, whilst she may not appreciate me broadcasting this to the whole wide world, I'm pretty sure she's figured I'd broadcast it here eventually. So why not sooner than later, eh?

But to the point: today, for whatever reason, it really hit me. "Oh my greek goddess. BFF is pregnant." It was then I realized that soon, very soon, our ridiculously long phone conversations probably won't be as frequent, and our hours of communal TV watching will probably have to be put on hold, and while she's worried about boiling nipples (not hers) and getting a full night's sleep, I'll be worrying about whether or not my shoes from last year could pass for this season's and how many times I should go out with some guy before I dump him (or say I'm gonna dump him and then wimp out). HOLY CRAP! SHE'S HAVING A BABY!!

I'm totally having oldest child syndrome all over again!!! I'm having flashbacks to 1984. How can BFF take care of me when she's having another human who actually has a good excuse to be a helpless heap of bone and flesh???!!

Now, I realize that these fears are probably completely irrational, but the last time I can remember having any sort of rational thought was in 1983. Right before that little creep who stole my spotlight was born, known affectionately to my parents as "Son."

Dearst BFF, once you have your tiny bundle of joy, (that I plan on totally corrupting once he/she reaches 1.5 years of age) please promise me that you won't forget my co-dependency on you. Please? Please?!! As long as I have that reassurance, I think I'll be able to handle not being your only child anymore.
All my neurotic, needy love,
Queen, III

FOILED!

I wanted nothing more than to come back to this great state of Texas and tell you all that my plans for SOAPM went off without a hitch, that SOAPM was defeated by my mischief and made to throw in the towel, so to speak...I honestly wanted nothing more....

You see, it all started off splendidly. SOAPM committed a series of bone-headed blunders that were sure to give him a front-row seat to "The Heel of My Hott Boots Show." (It's actually a pretty great show, as long as you're not on the receiving end of my heel.)

Firstly, he didn't discover that his debit card didn't work until we were at the airport, about to leave. Additionally, he didn't have any cash - nor any other credit cards on which he could fall back. He had to call his daddy to wire him some bread. I was so freakin' irritated, I almost fainted. Deep down, however, I was simply delighted because I knew that as long as he kept the bonehead act up, treating him like dirt for the entire trip wouldn't be that hard.

Secondly, he kept saying the most excruciatingly idiotic things, typically followed with an, "I know." For example, on the day we made the long trip to creepy, crappy Coney Island (which really isn't an island), we had an unfortunate mishap involving a lack of bathrooms and a grocery store run by the Russian mafia. After said mishap, SOAPM make this excruciatingly idiotic statement:
"This place has A LOT of money. Yeah. Those Russians always have money."

I'm serious.

Well, I just couldn't take it anymore and I flipped out and was like, "SOAPM, shut up!!! You have no idea!! Look around at this shit-hole!!!! There's no money here! You're crazy!!!"

"No," he said. "I have a lot of friends who are Russian. I know."

"WHAT?!!! YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE ANY FRIENDS!!! YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!!!! WE ENCOUNTER, LIKE, 2 RUSSIANS, AND SUDDENLY YOU KNOW ALL ABOUT THE FISCAL HEALTH OF CONEY ISLAND!!!!!!!! WE'VE BEEN HERE EXACTLY FIVE SECONDS!!!! THERE'S NO WAY YOU COULD POSSIBLY KNOW ANYTHING!!!"

Well, that sparked a pretty big argument, in which I hurled many insults until he finally admitted he was as dumb as a stump....No! Only kidding. He'd never admit to that. He did, however, admit that he had very little knowledge of the exact fiscal status of Coney Island, although I couldn't get him to admit that he doesn't know any Russians.

And this was just one of the many, many, many ridiculous statements SOAPM made. Most of them, I ignored because I didn't have the energy to argue. Because, as you can see from the above argument, they really drained me.

Now, keep in mind that during the first part of the week, there were many, many things that SOAPM did that were irritating, frustrating, and downright stupid (like talking to his ex-girlfriend on the phone), but I'm just giving you the highlights, because if I told you everything, you'd all want to impale yourselves.

Thirdly, and OH! this is the big one, SOAPM made a HUGE....and I mean HUGE ...scene in the subway one night. It all started over a little squabble over directions. He was acting like a jack-ass, so I was really letting him have it. Well, I guess he had enough, because, man did he explode! He started yelling at me, and loudly, too. He was so loud, in fact, that I was beginning to be embarrassed. ME!! Embarrassed!!! It takes quite a lot to embarrass me. Just ask my BFF. So, I started to say very quietly, "SOAPM, stop, please, you're embarrassing me." But, he wouldn't stop!! He just kept getting louder and louder and meaner. We walk down into the subway and he still is kind of yelling, and then bam! he loses it. He yells so loudly, that everyone in the New York subway turned their heads suddenly to look at the stupid skank who was about to get beaten by her pimp. I'm blindsided. I say, "I'm not going to let you talk to me like this, I'll just go ride another subway." And I turned on my heels and walked out of the subway as ALL the New Yorkers stared at me. It was so quiet, you could hear my every step on the way out. Usually, I love it when everyone's eyes are on me. But, not that night. Oh, no. It was just like a scene out of a Lifetime movie. I felt like such a victim.

But, SOAPM didn't stop there. He followed me out on to the street, and proceeded to argue even more with me!! I don't even really remember what the argument was about. I just remember thinking that I wanted to get away. Finally, after he had exhausted his wind pipes, I suggested that we just meet back up at the hotel. I'd take a different subway and meet him there, to give us both time to cool off.

So, there I am, in New York City, walking by myself at 1am to the subway. I felt very sorry for myself. Fortunately, I looked really cute that night, so it was a sort of self-righteous melancholy, which is the best kind.

Now, this HAD to be the end for SOAPM! There was no way in the world he could recover from this tragic mishap!! I was so very content.

The next day, SOAPM got the silent treatment. His career as one of the many men who get to take me out was OVER! Job well done, me.

...but then...

*heavy sigh*

he bought me some liquor.

He started talking...and I started talking....and he started pleading....and I was weak from all the walking and the alcohol....and he started saying that he would do things differently and please, please, please and he's so sorry and he started to feel distance between us before the trip and he just didn't know what to do....

I let loose and told him everything that he had ever done to irritate me and how it just couldn't work unless such and such changed and how I thought he was totally not ready to date, blah, blah, blah....I pulled out all the tricks to try and convince him he didn't want to date me, I swear! I was unreasonable, a prima donna, insulting, and bitchy! I thought he had conceded. And I was about to be as free as a bird!

...but then...

*heavy sigh*

He started to take my suggestions. No more phone calls from his ex-girlfriend. No more excruciatingly idiotic statements, no more fights over directions...and he started to focus on me quite a bit. And I started to get a little confused. But, no, Queen!! Stay focused! SOAPM is curb material! Don't be deterred! Focus!

And then one day toward the end of the week, cold, frigid air started to blow in and I developed a consumptive cough, and SOAPM took care of me! Without complaining. Okay...but no biggie....so what, right?...this is just an act....ignore it, Queen, because it isn't real!

But, maybe he's been such a jerk because I've been such a jerk! (Clearly, he slipped something into my cough syrup.)

So, I didn’t make the lesbians touch him. And I wasn’t mean to him 100% of the time. I even went to go see Phantom of the Opera because he wanted to.

I wish I could say I was stronger. I wish I could report that for the entirety of my time with him, I was an absolute Queen Bitch, but alas! I would be a fibber if I did so.

The good news is that during the layover on the way back, he took a call from his ex-girlfriend. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble putting on my hott boots and kicking him to the proverbial curb. Amen.

What about now??

What about now??

SOAPM moves foward toward his ill fate

In addition to being on my ever-loving nerves, SOAPM and I still have to go to New York together.

Last night my mom begged me to not be mean to the boy, to not exclude him from the activities Forky and I were planning, and to not make him feel like "the third wheel," so to speak.

"Well, Mom, if he feels left out, he can just go call his ex-girlfriend."

He picked his fate, not I!!! NOT I, Mother!!

Ahh, SOAPM: a lamb to the slaughter.

exit SOAPM

*sigh* Well, I've learned my lesson with SOAPM. It's sad and just a little bit tragic, but you know, honestly, I was left without a choice. What is so astonishing to me is that someone as desperately nerdy as he would have to audacity to treat me ill in any manner. Oh, it's true that he certainly never beat me nor was he a drug dealer or a pimp, but he was irritating and sometimes a little bit of a liar. I kept telling myself, "But Queen, he's supposed to be a good guy. Maybe you're just overreacting." And, honestly, I overreact so much that if in fact I was overreacting, it would come as no surprise. However, I have spent almost 5 long months analyzing the situation, and I've come to the conclusion, that I'm really, truly not overreacting.

I know! I'm just as surprised as anybody!

Last Sunday, SOAPM was supposed to come over. He didn't show up and didn't call until it was clearly too late for him to show up. When he finally did call, I said, "You know you were supposed to come over, right? But nevermind. Please DON'T. click."

Monday, after thinking about it, I thought, you know, maybe I was overreacting and he really did forget. So, I made nice.

Thursday comes around and we have a date planned. He wants to take me to the driving range (romantic, no?) for our date and then to dinner or whatever. It's raining, so he gets the bright idea to take me to a bowling alley.

I. Don't. Do. Bowling alleys. EVER.

So, we go to the museum instead.

He tells me as he's leaving, "I'll come by tomorrow after school."

After school comes around and he doesn't show up. When he calls me he acts as if he never made a date with me.

Now, I may be a lot of things, but retarded isn't one of them. So, SOAPM, just don't. I'm done. Whatever kind of silly little games your playing, I'm finished. I gave it that ol' college try and it just didn't work out.

And it doesn't help that SOAPM lives with his parents (and apparently likes it), goes to crazy speaking-in-tongues church, has horrible phone etiquette, has questionable personal hygiene, and is excruciatingly boring most of the time.

Here's a clip from a recent conversation:

"So, my dad's cousin on his mom's side - she works from 6:45 - 7:00 in the morning - she slept in her car last night and she came to church and then after church, she came by the house and we talked for a little while, so that was cool."

"uh. huh."

"Yeah, and so she is, like, pretty cool, and she's my dad's cousin actually, and well, she used to be a pastor, I think in, like, Chicago or something and so we talked today just about stuff..."

People, I'm am so, so serious. And this is how most of our conversations go!!! I'm not sure how I tolerated it this long. I'm not sure how SOAPM even survived this long!

So, as much as it fills me with glee to say it, you forced me to it: So long, SOAPM, it wasn't even that fun while it lasted.

Dear SOAPM: You've forced me to it.

SOAPM, I'm sorry. Really, really sorry. But, my hands are tied! You've forced me to this mischievous nonsense.

Remember weekend before last when we were on a double date at the movies and you left in the middle of the movie to talk on your cell phone for a good 30 minutes? And remember this past Friday when we went to your sister's horrid Showtune Choir concert (and I had to listen to a pasty white girl butcher Roberta Flack's "Killing Me Softly") and in the middle of horrid concert, you once again took a call on your cell phone and were gone for well over 10 minutes? Remember?? And remember how both times, the "person," whose "urgent" calls you were taking, turned out to be your ex-girlfriend??

*sigh*

Well, SOAPM there are consequences for your incredulous actions. So, when we go to Noo Yuck, to see my bestie, Forky in his off-off Broadway show, I'm going to fail to mention (inadvertently, of course) that there's lots of naked boobies and lesbian soft-porn scenes within said show.

And, while this will probably hurt your conservative disposition, make you terribly uncomfortable, and possibly a little sick, I'm not going to feel bad for you. In fact, I'll probably be squealing with delight inside my very attractive little body (that you won't ever get to touch again). It may seem horribly cruel to do this to you, especially since you claim that you "haven't done anything wrong," but contrariwise, my mischief is mercifully just!

It's really too bad that you couldn't get it right, SOAPM. But, you leave me with no choice! I have to be mean to you now. I wonder what you thought was going to happen when you STARTED TAKING PHONE CALLS FROM YOUR EX-GIRLFRIEND WHEN YOU WERE WITH ME!!!!
You must have thought I was born yesterday. You also must have thought that I wasn't vengeful.

See? Even a math teacher can miscalculate.

Did I mention that the naked lesbians are going to touch you, too?

THE WORST DAY EVAR!

I can't blog at work anymore. They took it away. Again.

This has to be considered employee torture. You can't just let me do something, then not let me do it, then let me do it AGAIN, and then TAKE IT ALL AWAY FROM ME!!!!!!!!!!!! It's clearly going to send me over the edge. How dare you Everycity Independent School District!! How DARE you! I'm going to have to take some Zoloft to balance me out after this bad rollercoaster ride!

So, despite this recent tragedy, I have more news:

SOAPM and I are no longer dating exclusively. It was totally my move. It turns out that that the only man who could ever bore me was the son of a preacher man. Being such a "good guy" is, in reality, incredibly boring. So, I broke off the exclusivity of it before I died from boredomitis (a very real and tragic disease).

You see, according to him, "exclusive" means that he's not dating anyone else and he spends relatively little time with me.

Hmm.

To sum it up: attention whore + guy who doesn't give much attentions = DISASTER.

So, I had to do something. Because he was just not giving me the attention that I need...and I need A LOT of attention. So, I thought it would be better for him in the end if I spred my attention requirements around a little. Kind of like delegating....

Anywho, I feel a lot better! Because, for a second there, I thought I was the one who was boring and it was resulting in a lot of confusion and uncomfortable questioning.

But, what you need to all know is I'M BACK! No more commitment for me!!! No more wise choices, either!!! Fun, foolish, kiss-happy Queen is back!!!

Did you miss me???

The Truth

My BFF told me that my posts were markedly shorter than usual. This is probably because not a lot is going on...at least of interest. I've been watching a lot of TV and spending much time with my dog. And the truth is that I'm a little bit ashamed of the lack of drama in my life. I feel like my isn't interesting at all! I feel like I'm letting everyone I know and love down by not having continuous grand misadventures. And honestly, I almost don't know how to function without them!

Isn't life so much more fun when you're doing something just a little bit foolish??? Isn't it??

Also, because of my lack of misadventure, I'm starting to get a little bored. And when I get bored, foolishness is usually not far behind. I just pray that I'll have some good ideas for a clever misadventure before I die of boredom!

And because I'm dating SOAPM "exclusively" that leaves the make-out bandit locked up and really puts a limit on what I usually do when I'm bored. I guess I could break it off with SOAPM. (I might be a little sad about that after a week or so...since you know...he does bring me flowers sometimes.) I could drink myself into oblivion or go swimming in the hot tub with nothing on.

I could rekindle my love affair with T.O. I heard he fired his publicist.

Or I could start committing small misdemeanors! Even better! I'll be a petty theif! Yes!! That's it! I'll begin a life of crime! I can be like Moll Flanders!!! But without all the kids and the whoring. I'll learn how to steal watches and wallets. Wait!!! Even better!! A JEWEL THIEF!!! Or a cat burglar!!! I could wear my old ballet leotard! And slippers! I'd be the best jewel thief/cat burglar evar!!!

Okay, guys. I've got to get going! I've got a LOT of work to do. Becoming a jewel thief/ cat burglar is gonna take time and effort. And possibly a new outfit or two. Or five.

Update

Please refer to this post to find out what has happened with me and SOAPM:

http://queen3.blogspot.com/2006/05/to-forky-im-tired-of-repeating-myself.html

I should mention here that Monday I ordered myself flowers to help SOAPM see he wasn't the only one who was after me. My plan was to not mention that the flowers were from myself. HOWEVER, Tuesday night he showed up on my doorstep with a dozen, long-stemmed, red roses.

I might have overreacted.

What I Get for Thinking

I was thinking yesterday and I decided that I'm fabulous. Not just a little fabulous or kind of fabulous, but really, REALLY fabulous. While musing, I was reminded of one of those stupid questions you hear on a talk show: "Would you date yourself?" There was a time when I would have said no. But that was long ago. When I thought of the question this time, I thought, "Heck yes I would!" Then, I really started to think about it....man! I'm awesome! I'm fun, funny, clever, hott, talented, self-sufficient, entertaining...the list just goes on and on. I would LOVE to date me! In fact, maybe I should date me. Maybe I should just cleanse myself of all inferior dating attachments and have a man-fast until I find one worthy of my attention. One who is equally as wonderful as ME.

I'm sure you're all able to discern where this is heading.

A malaise began to set in. I started to feel extremely dissatisfied and frustrated. I began to analyze my dating relationship with SOAPM. Was it worth it? The whole living-with-the-parents thing is pretty irritating and I don't think that he's getting me anything for Valentine's Day...is it worth it? Is it? Crap.

This is what I get for thinking.

So, I let those feelings of dissatisfaction fester all day. Then, I ended the day by having another stern "talking-to" with SOAPM. The result was not happy. Way to go, Queen.

In addition to being fabulous, I'm also destructive. I think I've established my spinsterhood well enough. Congratulations to me.

Knocking on Death's Door

Tuesday I woke up and thought I was having a severe allergy attack. 12 hours later I was pretty sure that I was almost dead. My fever was rising by the minute, my body ached, I didn't even want to eat! I woke up the day next and felt even worse. It was horrible. I managed to find the strength to drive to my internist's office. He told me I had bronchitis.
"Bronchitis?! How did I get bronchitis?!"

"It's just an infection of the blah blah blah."

"But, only white trash get bronchitis!!"

"Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"Touche, Doctor. Touche."

I Gave Him What-for!

I just couldn't take it anymore. I just couldn't. So, I had to do something. Had to!!

I gave SOAPM a stern talking-to. He's making me a neurotic mess with the whole living-in-his-parents'-house thing. And to his defense, he hasn't been living in his parents' house forever or anything like that...he just moved back in this summer...he had been working in the Valley (if you're not from Texas, you probably don't know what the "Valley" is...when you hear that term used by Texans, just think, "Mexico." Becasuse that's what it is, basically). But see, that's not the point!

Point is, all this having to worry about his parents is reminding me of a time that I'd really like to forget: the time when I lived with my parents. The first 17 years of living with my parents really wasn't that bad....but the year before I went to college and the subsequent summers were HELL! I don't want to be reminded of that dark, desperate time. Who would?

So, last night, I really let him have it! I didn't hold back. I told him either he mans up or I'm out.

How's that for tough love? Man, am I awsome.

I am woman, hear me complain.

Mantra

I will not be neurotic. I will not be neurotic. I will not be neurotic. I will not be neurotic. I will not be neurotic. I will not be neurotic. I will not be neurotic. I will not be neurotic.

But, see, even with this mantra that I've been chanting incessently, I'm still a little bit neurotic...and here's why:

SOAPM lives with his parents. His conservative, religious parents. Now, you might be thinking, "But, Queen, your dad's a preacher too, so you should understand!"

At first glance, one might think so, but the truth is, in comparison to SOAPM's family, my family is a band of wild liberals, throwing conventional wisdom to the wind, interpreting the scriptures with a devil-may-care attitute, letting their children run wild through the night, allowing their daughter to wear two-piece bathing suits and flaunt her cleavage, granting permission to their offspring to make their own decisions no matter how foolish and crazy.

SOAPM's family is CONSERVATIVE and sometimes a bit overbearing. And he lives with them. That means they're keeping tabs on when he comes home, when he leaves, who he's with and why. While his family doesn't know for certain my family is a band of wild liberals, I live in daily fear of them discovering.

What happens when his parents find out that my mom is a raging feminist, who thinks all the pronouns that reference God in the bible should be changed to "She"? And what happens when his parents find out that my dad believes in evolution and in science? And what happens when his parents find out that I agree with my parents? And what happens when his parents find out that I've seen their son scantilly clad? OH MY GOODNESS!!!! I'm starting to sweat just thinking about it.

(I will not be neurotic. I will not be neurotic. I will not be neurotic.)

I'm not sure how much longer I can handle the living-in-parents'-house situation! I don't like the parents of the boys I'm dating to know what I'm up to! I don't like it one bit!! There've been some nights when I've kept SOAPM out until, like, 5 am!!! They had to know we weren't just talking!!!!!

I'm sweating.

(I will not be neurotic. I will not be neurotic. I WILL NOT BE NEUROTIC.)

SOAPM claims he's saving money to buy a house, but he has no contracts pending, no real-estate agent. WHEN WILL THIS MADNESS END???!!! If it it truly is temporary, then I can handle it. But....what if it's not????

You all know what that means.

He gets kicked to the curb....with my brand new, super-hott boots.

SOAPM, if you can hear me: don't make me kick you with my super-hott boots. (Although, they are VERY nice to look at.) Move out. Get your own place. I promise I won't ask for a key - only that you keep the bathroom clean.

HOLY COW I CAN BLOG AT WORK!!!!!! THIS IS THE BEST BIRTHDAY PRESENT EVAR!!!!!

I don't know why and I don't how, but I can sign in to blogger now. Oh, yes! Hallelu! I don't even know what to say now because I'm so freaking happy. so. freaking. happy.

Okay, so how 'bout we spend some time catching up.

Yesterday was my birthday. I'm just a day over 19 or 21 or something like that. I'm so young, but so wise.

SOAPM and I are doing pretty well. We don't see each other that much because we're so busy. But, let's face it, it's probably saving our relationship. But please note: SOAPM is NOT my boyfriend. Yes, we're dating exclusively, but he is NOT my boyfriend, as such. Turns out I have a bit of a commitment phobia since Latest Ex-boyfriend turned out to be such a scoundrel. Thus, SOAPM is not my boyfriend.

Glad we got that out of the way.

On to other things:

My parents have completely lost their minds. My dad just resigned from the church he was preaching at and my mom sent me a box full of seven very strange gifts for my birthday. (example: Saturday was a singular pair of socks) At the top of the box, was an explaination of how I was to open the presents. There was one present for every day of "Kristenmas," she explained and went on to explain exactly what "Kristenmas" was. Now, keep in mind, that my mom is not clinically insane, but her explaination of "Kristenmas" was so detailed and so elaborate that I began to think that this work could only be the work of a madwoman. In venacular terms, "She crazy." Now, for those of you who don't know, my given name is included in the word, "Krsitenmas," but I'm not going tell you which part....you know....for security reasons. However, if you can't figure it out on your own, you're pretty stupid.

I'll be posting the entire explaination of Kristenmas before too long. Promise.

And finally, for my birthday, I bought myself some of the hottest boots this world has ever seen! These boots are so hot, I could dress myself in paper towels and as long as I had these boots on, I'd be smokin'! My life is now complete and I want for nothing. ...well....except for that Tiffany's bracelet....and those diamond earrings....and that other pair of shoes I saw in the mall last night...

Let's all hope that this workday posting will continue now until forever!!! What joy!!! I'm finally freed from the prison that is behaving in an ethical way at work!!!! Praise jebus.

Donde esta la Queen??

Sorry guys. I suck. Since I can't blog at work anymore, I sometimes lose the will to blog after having to deal with 5 year-olds. So, sorry. I have lots to say, too. But we're throwing all that to the wind today because:

Today's my Birthday!!!!

I'm 17. Or somewhere around there.

And my bestie, Forky, has written a HI-larious (although somewhat embarrassing) blog in honor of this sacred occasion. So, head on over to the 42 floor and let's all focus on ME!!!!

Holier Than Thou

That's right. I'm so much better than you, I basically have a ticket to heaven in my pocket right now.

"But how?" You may be wondering.

Well, you see, yesterday (Sunday) I went to my church. (It's kind of a liberal church.) I went to Sunday School for an hour (10 - 11), then Big Church, as it were, from 10 - 11:45. I didn't stay for the very end because at 11:45 I headed over to SOAPM's dad's church. I got there at 12:15pm. And this time I didn't sweat. (Probably a good sign.)

HOWEVER - church didn't end until 2 pm!!!!! Holy. Mother. Of perpetual sorrow.

Now, there weren't any snakes or anything like that, but let's just say, if any of these people decide to fill their bodies with any other spirit besides the Holy One, they'll be a BARRELL of monkeys! I think I'll try and spike the communion grape juice next time I'm there. Oh, man! That's gonna be some party!

So, in all, I spent about 4 continuous hours in church. Which means I'm pretty freakin' holy. I won't even talk about the interfaith Shabatt I went to Friday! But, if we count that, I spent about 6 hours of my weekend in holy places. I think this might elevate me to Sainthood. Somebody call the Vatican. I'm not Catholic - but I think they'll overlook it because I'm exceptionally holy. EXCEPTIONALLY!

Needless to say, SOAPM's dad's church isn't exactly my style, however, I'm not too worried about it. As long as they don't bring out the snakes, I think I'll be okay. Nuthin' better than that ol' time religion, right?

Winter Blues

It's so freakin' cold here, I kind of want to die. One of the main reasons I still live in Texas is we have Winters that are scoffed at by our Northern neighbors. When I was a wee lassie in South Texas, we didn't even have a winter! It'd get cold once or twice during the Winter months, but the rest of the time, it'd be about 60 degrees. So this North Texas weather is tough for me, but generally it's not too bad. But this Winter....this Winter...has been horrible. It started in November, and while it occasionally lets up, most of the time it's just horrid. And if anyone thinks I'm exaggerating, well...screw you!! Because, the thing of it is, I'm wallowing in self-pity and right now, I don't want to see the bright side, so don't point it out. Thanks.

Anywho - I just can't stand it. I think maybe I'll look into moving to Jamaica. This weather even depresses Taraji. All we want to do is lie around in our PJs and hope the cold, dark winter passes before too long.

In other news, SOAPM and I have booked OUR plane tickets for OUR spring break vacation...TOGETHER. Scary? A little. But, in the words of Bridget Jones, "This can't be just shagging. A mini-break means true love."

Damn you blogger!!!

You accidently erased my clever, clever entry. I hate you.

Score.

Man, I'm lucky. Remember how I was so worried about having to grow a pair and tell all the other guys I was dating before SOAPM that SOAPM and I are now dating exclusively? Remember how I didn't want to be the bearer of bad news and how I was hoping against hope that things would just work themselves out?? Remember??

Well, go me, because I was right to be yellow-bellied and to hold on to hope! They've all just sort of disappeared and I didn't even have to do anything! I rock. I knew I was right to just sit around and wait for the universe to show me a sign...uh...fix everything.

And SOAPM and I are moving in a slow, fowardly direction. So, we're good. And I even went to his dad's church again and sweated very little.

However, as it turns out, his ex-girlfriend also goes to his dad's church...and she's crazy.

Not kind of crazy, or even a little kooky, but unstable. "Please don't leave me or I'll kill myself" unstable. And....she was at church the last time I was there. Oh, yes.

Unfortunately, there was no confrontation. If there was though, I'm pretty sure that I would TOTALLY win...not that I've ever been in a cat fight before, but in my fantasies, I'm ruthless.

She did however, find several excuses to stare me up and down a few times. All I have to say is, my boobs are WAY bigger than hers. I win.

Also, I'm not crazy....at least not clinically.

I'M SOOOOO HAPPY!!!!

I just discovered my blog works at school now!!!! Ha, ha, school administrators!!! You've given me a reason not to work!! I couldn't be happier if you raised my salary!
....well, let me think about that....

So, I'm back! And I'm typing when I should be paying attention to 1st graders, but WHO CARES?!!! I can blog again. Everyday! Maybe even twice a day! What joy is mine.

But on to other things: I was truly concerned in my last post about hurting hundreds of boys' feelings by telling them I am now dating SOAPM exclusively. However, I held fast to hope that it would all work itself out. Indeed, I wished that all the "extra" men in my life would just sort of "disappear," so I wouldn't have to grow a pair and tell them - all 500 of them - that they were all the losers and could only hope for a life of pain and misery after not being able to "hold me down," as it were.

And, I really was concerned. Really.

Do you want to know what happened?? Do you?

I found out SOAPM is married.

JUST KIDDING!!! He's not.

What really happened is, it all worked itself out! I didn't have to do anything! At all! I'm so awesome.

Hottest Guy tried to get me over to his house for a booty call and was slapped down with quick rejection. He hasn't called back. And usually, telling a guy you won't have sex with him is a sure-fire way to get him to never call you back.

The other guy I was dating kept not calling me back and then would try to blame his wrongdoing on me. The first few times, I was fooled by his shenanigans, and I'd let him take me out to dinner, so we could "work things out." At dinner I would say, "Other guy, I feel like you just want to get in my pants."

"Oh, no!! Not that at all! I really like you for you, but I am sexually attracted to you, is that so wrong?"

"Well, no I guess not," I'd say as I was devouring my Chicken Parmesean and gulping my Cosmopolitan.

"Let's go back to my place," he'd suggest.

"Okay," my tipsy mouth would reply. Everytime this happened, I intended to leave his place after 15 minutes, but somehow was persuaded to stay longer. He would then proceed to try and get in my pants. Finally, I figured out his game and stopped returning his calls. He also hasn't called back.

What joy! I didn't actually have to do anything and my whole dating life is in order!!

See?! SEE?!! Hold on to hope, above all else, and you, too can experience order without effort!

I mean, that's what I do.