Things That Make Me Happy

My life sucks right now for a multitude of reasons that I do not care to divulge. But I am taking a cue from my brilliant friend Jessica right now, and focusing on the things that make me happy.

1. Lists.

I think most of the posts on this blog are at least partially in list format. Lists help me make sense of things. There's some kind of weird satisfaction to be derived in taking inventory of things in an easily digestible format, and checking them off one by one. When I was a little girl I would make lists of my chores (which I would do completely willingly and with joy if I got a little index card to write them all down on). I even won an award for this slightly OCD behavior in my Sunday School class. Even when I'm miserable, writing a list of all the things that piss me off somehow makes me feel better.

Jesus bonding with my dad.
(This sentence is hilarious if you know
my vehemently atheistic father)

2. Jesus.

I don't mean your Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. But Jesus, my family's dog back in Foresthill. My parents call him something else, but that's not his real name. I don't call my dog Jesus because I'm being sacrilegious or deliberately insulting (though I do admit to feeling a bit of mischevious glee due to this moniker). He is Jesus because he is kind, loyal, protective, and loves unconditionally. He can tell when I'm feeling sad and just his quiet presence is comforting.

3. Stan.

I know that Stan is an inanimate object. He can't really think, complain, or sympathize. But there have been many times that I have just sat in my car and felt like I wasn't alone. In a not-creepy kind of way. It's like being with an old friend who has been with me through so many ups and downs (some of which he actually caused), and is still trucking along.

It only comes around once in a blue moon.
Unless you go through a LOT of peanut butter I suppose.

4. Peanut Butter.

Specifically the first spoonful from a brand new jar of Skippy creamy peanut butter. Simple pleasures.

5. Being Employed.

I have had some rocky times with my career, though so far, the move to a new property in Pasadena has been amazing. I'm still adjusting, but at least I have a reason to get up and put on pants in the morning. A few years ago, pants were optional, and that was a very depressing state of mind. So I'm grateful to have a job.

I love it. Not ashamed one bit.
Even without the iconic theme song.

6. Netflix.

Netflix is my escape. I love being able to come home and lose myself in a ridiculously long marathon of whatever show I happen to be obsessed with at the time. Right now I'm knee-deep in Dawson's Creek, a show that I absolutely loved as a middle schooler, before I really understood half of what they were talking about. When you watch something is just as important as what you watch. And right now, it's so much easier to focus on the contrived problems of 30-year-old, narcissistic teenagers from a bygone era, than my own.

7. Cleaning.

While I am far from being a neat freak, there is something very cathartic about putting things back in order. When my apartment is cluttered, I feel like my brain is cluttered. Putting myself in project-mode, makes me feel productive and proactive, not useless and helpless. The best feeling of all is scrubbing my shower. While I keep things usually pretty tidy, this is one task that does not get done as often as it should. And it seems to happen mostly when there's been a big change in my life. Some girls get haircuts, I break out the Scrubbing Bubbles. There's some sort of symbolism there, but I don't feel like analyzing it right now.

The other side is pink, thus the name,
'Pretty Pink Blanket.'

8. My Pretty Pink Blanket.

Yes, I have a security blanket. I never really dragged it around with me like Linus in Peanuts, while sucking my thumb. But I still have the pink, floral bedspread with white lace around the edges that my mommy made me when I was probably around 6 or 7. It will always be the most warm, comfortable blanket ever. Even when it's too damn hot for a blanket, like right now, just seeing it draped over my crappy black futon makes me happy.

9. Taking a Walk.

I've been wallowing the past two days of my belated three-day weekend. I haven't really left the house other than to go to Sally Tomatoes practice, and 7-11 to buy some ill-advised Cookies & Cream. As important as that is for me to recharge, sometimes you just have to get out of the house. My favorite place to walk is down Magnolia in Burbank. There are a ton of cute little antique and vintage shops that I never actually go in, but love to pass by. I love just listening to my iPod, which always knows the right song to play, and figuring things out while shuffling along aimlessly.

10. Writing.

I don't really mean blogging, though that makes me happy too. Whenever I'm trying to deal with something, I open up a blank Word document and just start typing. It's amazing feeling to channel the crazed thoughts swirling around my chaotic brain into actual words. Writing the things I can't really tell anyone, and don't even like admitting to myself. It's the best therapy, and I highly recommend it. I also recommend securing the document with a password, because no one should ever have to read those manic, self-absorbed rants. (Though these blogs are only slightly less manic and self-absorbed...)

There are very few pictures of my entire family,
and even fewer that are easily pulled from other online sources.
I'm the little one inexplicably sitting in a car seat while not actually in a car.

11. My family.

Having a list of 11 items may seem like an odd number (get it? Odd? ba dum chhh!), and I guess this one kind of goes without saying. I also keep trying to think of a clever Spinal Tap reference that hasn't already been done, but just insert one here. Anyway, my family is amazing. They're all truly incredible people (except Nick. He's pretty dumb. Just kidding. He probably won't even read this) and even though they sometimes drive me nuts, I'm glad they're in my life. I include my friends in this category as well.

I'm including this one because my mom isn't in the one above.

Anyway, that's enough sap to fill an entire bottle of syrup. I need to get going on my cathartic cleaning rampage. That shower isn't going to scrub itself!

An Empty Box

I am having a problem of a personal nature. It is both uncomfortable and mortifying. So humiliating in fact that I had been putting off resolving it until the discomfort outweighed the mortification. Tonight, I finally grew a pair and went to the store to acquire the antidote to my problem. I was standing in the most embarrassing aisle with my back to the item I really needed, because it was a lot easier to pretend I was perusing the many different kinds of shaving cream with unusually intense focus. Every now and then I would sneak a peek behind me at the products actually relevant to my condition. And every time I did, there seemed to be someone walking by and judging me. It took me a full ten minutes to just pick up the damn box and shove it discretely behind the tomatoes and skim milk.

And now, the many faces of awkward...

When I was ready to purchase, I steered the cart to the front of the store. It was rush hour at Ralph's, and my cart was pretty full. I couldn't really get away with the self-check out, at least not without pissing people off who only had one or two items. (I am susceptible to major grocery store peer pressure). That meant choosing which of the clerks seemed to be the most understanding. Of course they were all young, reasonably attractive menfolk. Because God hates me. I finally chose a line and started unloading. Again, I tried to hide this item which seemed to call attention to itself like a Vegas slot machine complete with bells and whistles.

I happened to be purchasing a few bottles of wine at the time, and the checker asked me for my ID. It was at this point that I realized I'm a grown-ass woman. I can buy wine and everything (though I can only afford the cheap stuff). I shouldn't be embarrassed by something that is just a fact of life! If it makes some people uncomfortable, than screw them. And as a former grocery store checker myself, I can attest that I honestly didn't give a shit what people bought as long as they paid for them and weren't rude to me. It was quite the epiphany. Though I still turned bright red as the box slid smoothly over the scanning platform.

I got home less than ten minutes later, anxious to finally take advantage of the ______. I opened the box only to discover that it was empty. I thought it felt kind of light in the store, but never having purchased this item before, I figured it was just a really lightweight substance. Plus, I had grabbed it so fast that I didn't think to check it like I would check a carton of eggs. Apparently I'm not the only one embarrassed to purchase this stuff. Whomever got there before me must have been so cowardly that they couldn't even bear to bring it to the check-out. They took it out of the box and shoved it into a purse or pocket.

Part of me doesn't blame them. Another part of me is indignant that not only did they commit one crime, but they screwed me out of six bucks (or two and a half more bottles of cheap wine as I like to think of it). Not a ton of money, I grant you, but also not insignificant to someone of my limited means.  However, a third part is gloating that I had the lady-balls to do what this anonymous woman could not. I faced my fears and the imaginary judgment of my fellow shoppers to take care of business like the strong, self-sufficient broad that I am!

Of course this means that I'm still without the item that I reeeeeeally needed. I was barely able to buy it in the first place. There's no way in hell I can handle going back and approaching customer service, which will also undoubtedly be helmed by a man, and saying, "Uhh this box I just bought was empty." That's way too much progress for one night. So I can either make a second trip to Target (because clearly I can never show my face at Ralph's again) and be out another six bucks. Or I can suffer in awkward silence. We'll see how this goes...

UPDATE: 9:55pm, 7/9/12. I ended up caving and went to the somewhat ghetto CVS in North Hollywood. There's no judgment at Ghetto CVS. It was a lot less dramatic but Mission Accomplished. :D

Sacrificial Lamb

What's new on the online dating front, you ask? Because you just can't get enough of my pathetic love life, or lack thereof? Well I'll tell you! I've basically been bombarded with men who are unapologetically looking for fuck buddies. While I've always been appreciative of a straightforward approach, that doesn't pretend to be anything other than what it is, it's getting old and slightly offensive. On the one hand, I like that they don't try to play games and trick you with grand romantic gestures. I can see through those sneaky ploys from a mile away like [insert superhero with x-ray vision here]. But on the other, can't they at least suggest dinner and a movie and make you feel like you're worth more than just fifteen minutes of their time?

Is this too much to ask for? Yes. Yes it is.

I know it shouldn't surprise me that these guys are only interested in sex. Hasn't that been the stereotype since the first adolescent boy first discovered hair on his you-know-what? But has the whole species given up on the pretense of dating altogether? Was your grandmother's theory about free popsicles and expensive ice cream trucks right all along? How many rhetorical questions can I fit into a single blog post? Are you taking a shot every time I employ this overused and somewhat lazy device?

Tee hee! How can an inanimate object like an
ice cream truck have any kind of sexuality?

"Billy" is one prime example of this new-ish breed of man, who is without guile, but also without game. He popped up on my OkCupid instant messenger last night, "Yo." I quickly perused his profile. Lives within 30 minutes, 6'1'', adorable in a Big Bang Theory sort of way. Check, check, and check. Then I looked at the questions he had answered. The first thing that caught my eye was that not only was Billy a twenty-four year old virgin, but that he openly admitted it. (I had to quickly check again to make sure he wasn't a Jesus Freak, which definitely would have been a deal breaker). Phew. I decided that we had enough in common and I was intrigued. Since I'm adorable, I replied, "Whut up?" Only, my computer autocorrected it to say "Shut up." Not a good start, but there was some decent witty banter surrounding this snafu.

Every guy's fantasy. At least the first part of this movie anyway.

After the opening statements, Billy asks the question that I've learned to recognize as a precursor to the whole No Stings Attached proposal: "So what are you looking for on this site?" The answer to this being essentially semi-casual dating. Not a serious relationship, but not a waste of time either. That's when he straight up told me he was just looking to get laid. No lies, no flattery, just an honest mission statement and declaration of lust. Naturally I had to ask him about his being a virgin, because that was a pretty ballsy move on his part. According to him, he had had lots of opportunities to have sex, but it had just never worked out. (This seemed a little less honest, but whatever). Billy even described his virginal state as a 'handicap' that he just wanted to get over.

Speaking of which...

Even though I'm sure being a twenty-four year old male not-by-choice virgin is definitely embarrassing, this seemed kind of sad to me. Sure, the goal to lose one's virginity constitutes the plot of almost every teen movie ever. But still, it's an important milestone in one's life and he was just offering up his precious flower to some random girl he met online that he'd only been chatting with less than ten minutes. (Or maybe I'm just so irresistible that boys are falling all over themselves to sacrifice their virtue to me). Strangely, I was honored to be chosen to be Billy's first. It was flattering in a sort of not-at-all way.

One would think that he was auctioning
off his virginity to the highest bidder.
Like in that one movie.

When I made it clear that I was not really interested in acting as his de-virginator, but wished him good luck on his quest, he wrote back, "I probably won't talk to you again." Ouch. Not that I wanted to talk to him again. But again with the brutal honesty! It's slightly painful, but appreciated nonetheless.

WTF?

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Underwear Limbo

I am just sitting here at my desk in nothing but underwear and a green reindeer bathrobe. Why am I sharing this excess of useless information that has probably put a random and unpleasant picture in your mind? Because I may or may not have a date tonight. And because I'm not exactly sure, I don't know whether to put on my comfy pajamas, or get all cuted up for some boy. We started IMing and things were going well. We bantered about the poorly chosen location for West Hollywood, as well as how much commuting sucks. Then he asked me to meet for a drink and I said, sure, why not? (He's 6'' and lives less than a half hour away, so those are the first requirements right there. He's also a writer so he was able to spell correctly and express himself using real words. Score!)

This is not me, but that is my bathrobe.
 And my happy face slippers, aww I miss those!
My friend was wearing them as a costume
for when she played a crazy person in one of my movies
in college. It was a good wardrobe choice for crazy.

I had to cut the conversation short because I was headed out to yoga. I totally would have ditched it, but I already signed up and would have lost a credit. Not to mention I skipped last week to go to my parents' house and already felt guilty enough about it. So I gave him my number and told him to text me if he wanted to hang out later. I also gave him the name of an awesome Irish pub conveniently located near my house. Then I skedaddled because there's nothing worse than running late to yoga class (you get hate stares when you interrupt the flow of the chi.)

I found this when googling "yoga bitch face."

No text while I was in yoga, and no message when I got back to my apartment. Since the original plan was to meet at about 8:30pm, I knew I had to book it to get showered and ready. But there was no real confirmation that he got my message about my number and the bar. So I proceeded with my routine up until the point where I have to decide, makeup or no makeup? Cute butt jeans and ever-so-slighty padded bra (which always feel like false advertising, but man do they do the trick!) or yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt? Thus the reindeer bathrobe. Because there's no commitment with a reindeer bathrobe.

Haha, and this had the caption, "Unbuttlievable!"

I re-read the IM conversation we had and realized that unfortunately our conversation could be interpreted in a couple ways. The first, that we were going to meet tonight at around 8:30pm. The second, that on some unspecified day this week (other than Wednesday because I have a date with another guy, BALLA!!!) we would be meeting at around 8:30pm. Oops. That's what you get for trying to be casual and noncommittal. You end up not making commitments like when and/or where you're going to meet up!

Lady pimp.

Why am I stressing about this so much? I don't owe this guy anything. It's not like it's a meeting with my parole officer (that's tomorrow night. HAH!). But I feel guilty because it would be a bit of a drive for him and he has to wake up at 4:30am every day for work. He was already going to be staying out late just to meet me (awwwww! Sounds like good people to me!). So because of this modified sleep schedule, it's possible that he's either asleep right now and that's why I can't get a hold of him. Or he's sitting at the Irish pub waiting for me to show up in my cute butt jeans and padded bra (side note, the padded bra has become a necessity since I started losing weight in the one area I could not afford to shrink).

This could be him, all sad and lonely
with only his girly cocktail to comfort him
from the devastation of being stood up by me!

So what do you think? Is he fast asleep, secure in the knowledge that we'll set up a date at a later time? Or is he all sad and lonely at a bar in an unfamiliar town waiting for this delightful creature who may very well be the love of his life? I DON'T KNOW! I already sent him a message essentially asking him if he wanted to reschedule, and no response. He may not have a smart phone (I don't either), so he doesn't get the OkCupid app. He also may be slightly dumb and forgot to take down my phone number and left the house without a way to contact me. I know I'm way over-thinking this. But I would hate to take the trouble to get cute (ugh), and then go sit at a bar by myself for an hour. However, I think I would hate to do that to someone else that's going out of his way for me (eventually affecting his work tomorrow).

I haven't even met this guy and already I'm going psycho on him (though that would explain the reindeer on the bathrobe I'm wearing in June). And I'm not really a psycho girl, I swear. I just would like some confirmation so I can at least put some goddamn clothes on!

Maiden Bikini Voyage

I have not bought a new swimsuit in about four years. Since I really only wear one a few times a year, (both because of lack of opportunity to swim and because I never really fancied prancing about half-naked in front of strangers) it didn't really seem necessary to upgrade. But I'm going home next week (yay!) and I fully intend on making use of my parents' current pool. Out of curiosity, I tried on my old suit last night. I was both overjoyed and dismayed that it hung limply on my new body like a tropical-print muumuu. So huzzah for me for losing weight, but boo for having to pay for a new suit when I'm super broke and probably won't use it very often. So this afternoon, I was off to Target, armed with my ill-advised credit card that still carries the balance from my last yoga-inspired shopping spree.

I wish Target carried this suit!

Clothes shopping has become pretty fun since I've lost weight. It's exciting to see the numbers go down and actually have to ask for a smaller size instead of the humiliation of a zipper not going up on a pair of jeans you thought were your size. But even 81 pounds later, bathing suit shopping still sucks ass. For one thing, I'm still sort of between regular and plus sizes when it comes to swimwear. Meaning I'm either drowning in frilly mini-skirt bottoms designed to cover middle-aged, cellulite-ridden thighs, or my muffin top is spilling out of a tankini meant for a sixteen year old girl who has never known the taste of Splenda. (Hope you enjoy that visual, that's my gift to you!) There are very few options for someone who doesn't have children in college and isn't about to send in their college applications.

What most plus-sized bathing suits look like.  Yeah. Not cute.
I feel bad for this model who had to pretend like she likes it.

I decided to go for basic black, simple and chic. The big, bold prints that the plus sized "fashion" industry seems to fixate on, are no one's friend. You'd think it would be an easy process to pick out a black swimsuit, but it literally took me an hour and a half just to decide on the very first one I tried on. I'm such a girl sometimes... I stuck with the old reliable tankini and regular bottoms, since one-pieces bum me out. They're also impractical when you have to pee. But in a moment of boldness (and by moment I mean 45 minutes of painful deliberating), I also bought a matching bikini top. This may not seem like a big deal to you, but you should know that I have never worn a bikini in my life. Even when I still could probably pull one off, my religion prevented me from baring my stomach. When I was finally free of those restrictions, my weight had already skyrocketed. As a favor to society, I abstained from that particular look.

What I wish I looked like in my new suit...

But now that I'm working out like a maniac (doing the Flashdance routine as I type), I actually don't look too shabby. While I still have a looooong way to go, I can almost pull this off. I seriously doubt that I'll ever have the guts to actually wear the bikini out in public (there's a major fading stretch mark issue to deal with still). But it was a huge step to even purchase it and believe that someday I actually might go out in a bikini and not become Captain Ahab's new object of obsession.