Tuesday, December 28, 2010

There’s something I’m embarrassed to admit, but I’m going to admit it anyway because, right now, I have nothing else to talk about and this revelation I’ve just discovered about myself has been bugging me because it’s pretty incredulous, because there are things I think I should know at my age or things I should have figured out and yet, here I am figuring out a thing I should’ve known for the past 20 years or so.

That was a huge run on sentence.

Let me preface this with, I have never worn boots. I had one pair of cowboy boots that a friend gave me back when leggings were in style. I would wear the boots with leggings or tights. Not often. But when I wore them, that’s what I would wear them with.

Switch to present day and suddenly, within the past month, I am wearing boots, AND I LOVE THEM! I have now bought two pairs of boots and BOOTS WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE?!?! Man, not only do I feel badass when wearing boots, but they look good and they are comfortable. But there is a hidden science behind boots that I am inadvertently learning like;

-What do you wear under boots? Socks? Trouser socks? Sweat socks? Nothing?

-What height boot do you wear under your pants? Like, if you buy knee high, I assume you wear them outside of your pants, and anything lower you wear under your pants or do you tuck your pants in?

And that last part lead me into the embarrassing thing I didn’t realize I didn’t realize…which is I NEVER REALLY UNDERSTOOD WHAT ‘BOOT CUT’ JEANS WERE FOR.

I guess I just thought boot-cut jeans were jeans that were straight legged, and tight to your entire leg like how ‘flare leg jeans’, flared out. etc. I didn’t really understand how the word, ‘boot’ got involved. I didn’t actually think or realize it was actually SO YOU COULD WEAR BOOTS OVER THE JEANS. I guess I thought it was like one of those weird ‘word origin’ things like where we used to say, “I have to go Xerox this page,” when you just meant make a copy of it in a copy machine which is a bad example but anyway either which way it cannot erase my ignorance or stupidity.

I came to this realization when I was stupidly putting on every pair of jeans I owned trying to find a pair where I could wear my boots OVER the jeans. I was sitting in my closet stuffing my jeans into my boots like I was packing my calves for Fed Ex, muttering to myself in a frustrated manner, saying things like, “This is stupid! It’s all bunched up!” and, “How do all those women have smooth jeans tucked nicely into their boots? Mine look like BUNCHED UP JEANS ON TOP OF BOOTS!” and that’s when the light bulb came on. “BOOT CUT JEANS! THAT’S WHAT BOOT CUT JEANS ARE FOR! WEARING UNDER BOOTS!”

And, in that moment, I felt like the smartest person and the dumbest person all at the same time.

So, I’ve been walking around for a week with this knowledge that ‘boot-cut jeans’ are for wearing under boots and feeling like a complete tool for not ‘getting this’ earlier in my life. I am such a failure at being a woman it’s incredible.

On a side note, I think I have some sort of thigh tumor.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

The Fighter was good. Maybe Christian Bale should get best supporting actor or something. Maybe Amy Adams looks too good in black lingerie. Maybe I will stop feeling sick from too much lunch some day. Maybe. You never know.

Maybe my toenails are too long. Maybe. I don’t care. They are painted red, and the red still looks wet. No chips. Not yet. Miracle. Sexy. I feel them sometimes. With my fingers. I reach down. I feel them. They feel strong. And long. I should probably cut them. That’s the thought I have. But then I do something else. Whatever it is I was doing that brought me to accidentally look at my toes; get in the shower, finish peeing, put on socks, etc. It’s always secondary, it seems. Looking at toes. Never a first thing. Unless you’re into that sort of thing, which I’m not. But they do look good. My toes. Right now, anyway. Maybe.

Cereal is also good. I remembered to buy Grape Nuts after several years of touting its significance. I poured a bowl. Sprinkled some fake sugar on it. Served it up. Received favorable responses. I nodded my head, puffed out my chest, felt vindicated for some reason. Like for a crime that I never committed and one that never existed. Some sort of small victory I didn’t know I was ready to have. Anyway, the moral of the story is that, later, I poured myself that same bowl and as I ate it, it tasted like disappointment. I looked into the bowl. It looked like a bowl of Grape Nuts. I looked at the spoon. It looked like spoonful of Grape Nuts. I chewed it. I swallowed it. It tasted like crap. WTF Grape Nuts? Where did all the good times go? We used to be bros, you and me. Heck, two seconds ago I stood up for you. Told everyone how great you were, and I guess they fell for it emperor’s new clothes style. My blinders are off, Grape Nuts. The bloom fell off the rose and I didn’t even want it to. I’m so sad about this, Grape Nuts. So sad. You’ve now made me afraid to go re-try Count Chocula or watch episodes of Good Times. Way to go, a-hole. Way to go.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

I waited all week to make coffee in my new French press that I bought at Bed Bath & Beyond with my 20% off coupon that they mail out like letterbombs every week.

I waited all week to drink the coffee i would make in my new French press out of a new cow mug I bought for $8.00 last weekend at Pier One.  I thought it was on sale for $5.00 but I was wrong and even though i am the cheapest person alive I had to buy it BECAUSE IT WAS TOO CUTE NOT TOO!  It is a regular mug..in a very big size...in a cow print and THE BOTTOM OF IT IS PINK UDDERS!  It basically sits on four pink udders.  HOW CAN YOU NOT DRINK OUT OF A BLACK AND WHITE COW PRINT MUG THAT HAS FOUR PINK UDDERS ON IT??? Answer: You cannot. You must.

Result of all of this waiting?  Warm deliciousness served up in a ceramic vat of FUN!

Friday, December 17, 2010

Hello.  I want to drink champagne right now.  Cold, bubbly champagne.  I want to drink it until I feel giddy. Well, giddier than I do right now.  I want to drink it until my blood has the same bubbles and I could cut my skin and bleed into another champagne glass and serve my giddiness to someone else. 
I just did a handstand.  Did you see it?  I did a handstand, and walked on my hands for a bit and then I released into a backflip onto my feet like a freakin’ gymnast!  Then I did a cartwheel and then I did The Running Man and then I high-fived forty seven strangers.
The past two days have been first place.
You are jealous.  I laugh at you.  Because I can.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

I like when you buy a bunch of pizzas and they are all on a table in a little line or grid, or whatever and people all gather round the table grabbing plates and grabbing pizza and everyone is usually happy and talking excitedly.  

I like how pizza brings everyone together like a sports game or a tragedy.

I also like the pizza aftermath. I like lifting the lids of each box to see which pizza went the fastest. My findings are that it’s always the pepperoni or the combination or the cheese. So, this means, all varieties of pizza pretty much disappear at the same rate.

I like consolidating the leftover slices. I like making a new, crazy pizza out of all of the remaining pizza slices. It’s like art.

I like carrying the empty pizza boxes out the front door and around to the side of the house to put them into the recycling bin. It’s usually nighttime, and the outside is very still and cold which is in direct contrast to the inside of the house; full of energy and warmth. I like hearing everyone’s voices from inside the house filtering out into the night’s quiet, slightly muffled by walls and windows. I put the boxes into the bin and let the lid slam and sit there for a minute taking it all in. I pretend I’m a neighbor or a passer by.

It’s what I do sometimes. I pretend.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Things made of cheese.  Things that felt important at the time.  Long things and square things.  Orange chaos.  Staining my most useful fingers.  I licked them and it turned me on.  I thought the words, "Lake Havasu" and, somehow, they just felt right. I rattled the bowl and it meant, "Yes."

My mom says 'fuck you' shouldn't be 'anything anymore.'  Like the phrase should no longer be taboo, banned or bleeped.  "It needs to be considered the same as 'treebranch' or 'Rocktober'.  Everyone says it! All the time!  Fuck you!  See?"  I waited for her to point at her mouth.  (She didn't)  And I could see her point but I also didn't like the thought of six year olds telling their play dates, "Fuck you!" when they refused to share their crayons. 

Okay, maybe she didn't say, 'Rocktober' and maybe she didn't even say, 'treebranch' and treebranch is probably two words and you probably think I'm a dipshit and i'm too lazy to go check or correct so I will instead say, "Fuck you."

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

I was going to come here and talk about groceries.  I wanted to talk about how the grocery store always offers a ‘buy two’ special and how I always fall for it.  Although I don’t think of it as ‘falling for it’ so much as, ‘telling myself it’s something I always eat/use’ and ‘what a deal!’ and ‘stock up!’ 

Things I bought two of today: salsa, ranch dressing, queso dip, various snack chips, soup and sandwich bags.

I could back up here and also tell you that I made a grocery list before I left to go shopping and then promptly forgot to bring it with me and how this act of stupidity led me to the next thing I will tell you which is how when I got home and started putting the groceries away I wanted to kick myself in the shins and say, “Dumbass!” because now I have a pantry full of three jars of salsa, FIVE bottles of ranch dressing, three jars of queso dip, and three boxes of the wrong kind of Ziploc bags.  (I needed the gallon size, not the sandwich size…DUMBASS!)

I was going to type about all of that but then I got yet another rejection (Three just today.  It hurts. Getting rejections.  I don’t like it.  Please make it stop.  Thanks.) and decided to write about that instead so...

I got rejected.  The end.

Friday, December 3, 2010

Bluestem, a revitalized magazine published by the English Department at Eastern Illinois University, published my story, "The Demonstration of Gravity." 

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Let’s play Survivor.  Today is a day where I will play Survivor. Today I will only eat blackberries and cherries and coffee and oatmeal.  I will drink water. I will struggle thigh deep through emotional mud for team blue so Jeff Probst will treat me to a helicopter ride to a scenic location where indigenous people will treat me to a native feast.  Oh wait, I lost. Team yellow gets the feast. I am just left thigh deep in emotional mud.
The word for today is ‘tristful’. Look it up.