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.