I almost never blog anymore because I suck. No I don't, who am I kidding!? I'm eternally the hot slut of the day.
Seeing that I haven't posted in twenty...read it, my friends, twenty days, it's high time I supply you with that mind-numbing blather that you love so much.
I hate leather cuffs on guys. EW.
Who told the metros that this was cool? It's far from it. Seriously, nothing bugs me more than seeing a guy walk down the street with some greased up hair do, a polo shirt (collar up, mind you), tight jeans, big black sunglasses, and a leather cuff. When I see it I can't help but imagine the guy getting dressed in the morning and seriously putting on his leather cuff. I guess this is comparable to a watch, but it seems so ridiculous. Kind of like thos young guys who wear three shirts, jeans, sweat bands on both wrists, a necklace, sunglasses, a hat, and carries a murse. Oh my god. Aren't guys suppossed to come with less clutter? I know then I think back to my Barbie days, Ken always came with fewer items than Barbie.
Don't you agree that a guy just looks like a complete tool when he's wearing a leather cuff? God, I hate those things. Only John Galliano can wear them and even he's over it.
Showing posts with label bitching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bitching. Show all posts
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
closet confidential
HA...
It's no secret that I like to fill up my closet with items that I'll wear once or just never wear at all (this sounds more pretentious than it really is...everyone does it). So I will go and shop to my heart's content, bring home new purchases only to admire them or save them for special ocassions that never come to pass. All of my obsession with new clothing got me to thinking about "going out tops."
Let me start by saying, I loathe that terminology. Hmmm..."go-ing-out-tops." I hear this so much when I'm out shopping. Ladies vere off on their own mission then return to their shopping buddy, who is on the same mission, and engage in a conversation that sounds somewhat like this:
shopper a: Oh my god...isn't this cute? Oh my god, it's not even that expensive. So worth it. You know, you can never have enough GOING OUT TOPS!
shopper b: Totally..
shopper a: Because, seriously, I get so tired of spending a lot of money on GOING OUT TOPS. I just want like enough to last me for awhile.
shopper b: I know exactly what you mean...I go through the same thing alllll theeee tiiiime
shopper a: I just need like one GOING OUT TOP for tonight--something really cute and sexy, but not slutty, you know?
These conversations can last forever it sometimes seems. I mindlessly thumb through racks--not paying attention to what I'm picking up--and listen to these sort of girls. After a while I begin to make faces, roll my eyes, mumble under my breath and think "why...why...why must this broad keep saying GOING OUT TOPS?" I try desperately not to let this crap pharse slip from my lips. It just sounds so ridiculous. And really, what is a going out top? I usually think of some in a visually offensive color--bright green, hot pink, colbat blue, gold. But sometimes they are black. And often, a GOING OUT TOP is adorned with some cheap garb meant to boost the calibur of the top and make it seem much more exciting than it is--things like: glitter, rhinestones, metallic threading, beads, fancy ties. And you'll find a GOING OUT TOP in the as a halter cut, tube top (ugh), deep-v tank top, off-the-shoulder top and --my favorite--the neckline that plunges down to the belly button (sick).
I will not lie, I have "evening tops," but none of the above and I don't go out with friends shopping for GOING OUT TOPS--which I am beginning to believe is code for "I'm looking for a cheaply made top, perhaps something that will make my breasts look bigger, in a bright color. Something that will attract a sleeze ball, get me a few free drinks and radiate on my myspace page when I post my new photos on Sunday." oh GOING OUT TOP...
It's no secret that I like to fill up my closet with items that I'll wear once or just never wear at all (this sounds more pretentious than it really is...everyone does it). So I will go and shop to my heart's content, bring home new purchases only to admire them or save them for special ocassions that never come to pass. All of my obsession with new clothing got me to thinking about "going out tops."
Let me start by saying, I loathe that terminology. Hmmm..."go-ing-out-tops." I hear this so much when I'm out shopping. Ladies vere off on their own mission then return to their shopping buddy, who is on the same mission, and engage in a conversation that sounds somewhat like this:
shopper a: Oh my god...isn't this cute? Oh my god, it's not even that expensive. So worth it. You know, you can never have enough GOING OUT TOPS!
shopper b: Totally..
shopper a: Because, seriously, I get so tired of spending a lot of money on GOING OUT TOPS. I just want like enough to last me for awhile.
shopper b: I know exactly what you mean...I go through the same thing alllll theeee tiiiime
shopper a: I just need like one GOING OUT TOP for tonight--something really cute and sexy, but not slutty, you know?
These conversations can last forever it sometimes seems. I mindlessly thumb through racks--not paying attention to what I'm picking up--and listen to these sort of girls. After a while I begin to make faces, roll my eyes, mumble under my breath and think "why...why...why must this broad keep saying GOING OUT TOPS?" I try desperately not to let this crap pharse slip from my lips. It just sounds so ridiculous. And really, what is a going out top? I usually think of some in a visually offensive color--bright green, hot pink, colbat blue, gold. But sometimes they are black. And often, a GOING OUT TOP is adorned with some cheap garb meant to boost the calibur of the top and make it seem much more exciting than it is--things like: glitter, rhinestones, metallic threading, beads, fancy ties. And you'll find a GOING OUT TOP in the as a halter cut, tube top (ugh), deep-v tank top, off-the-shoulder top and --my favorite--the neckline that plunges down to the belly button (sick).
I will not lie, I have "evening tops," but none of the above and I don't go out with friends shopping for GOING OUT TOPS--which I am beginning to believe is code for "I'm looking for a cheaply made top, perhaps something that will make my breasts look bigger, in a bright color. Something that will attract a sleeze ball, get me a few free drinks and radiate on my myspace page when I post my new photos on Sunday." oh GOING OUT TOP...
Monday, January 22, 2007
monday rambling
On days like this (Monday's) I think I'd be happy being a work-from-home-mom living in prime Santa Monica property with one infant child, a fresh pot of coffee, an English Muffin, and the NY Times--waiting for my 2pm phone meeting which will last about an hour. I could get used to that.
I'm sick of my twenties today. I'm sick of birth control pills. They're making me feel crazy. Goddamn Monday.
Ugh. I feel totally fickle today. Someone rescue me.
The day's saving grace? Swedish meatballs from IKEA (with Laura aka Blaura).
I'm sick of my twenties today. I'm sick of birth control pills. They're making me feel crazy. Goddamn Monday.
Ugh. I feel totally fickle today. Someone rescue me.
The day's saving grace? Swedish meatballs from IKEA (with Laura aka Blaura).
Monday, December 18, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
update: I've decided that I'm not looking forward to going down to Riverside. I really hate going there. It's nothing but drama everytime I go. And I can already feel some nasty tension building. I'm ready to go back to San Francisco and I haven't even left. Ugh, Garden State experience is surely underway...
Monday, November 20, 2006
poopy diaper party
Quite a few of my girlfriends have babies, but none of them have had baby showers. I'm thankful for this because I've never been a fan of le baby shower--I find that they're boring and the games always suck. The last baby shower that I had the "pleasure" of attending was clad with floral frocks, soccer mom haircuts, carrots & ranch dip, punch w/ sherbert in the center, dry costco cake, plastic baby hangers (someone gave this and this alone as a gift--a pack of 99 cent hangers), and prayers. I think it goes without saying, I was miserable. I stood out like a sore thumb in a big white skirt, gold hoop earrings, and cowboy boots.
I must say that I do respect the purpose of shower's. I love a good party and I love a preciuos little baby, but seriously someone has got to come up with a better way to celebrate a woman's big day. I was watching "Girls Next Door" yesterday and there was a baby shower for some blonde gal and her (very homo looking) guy. What do you think Hef's main girl, Holly did? She pulled out the classic babyshower game--guess what's in the diaper. I HATE THIS GAME. I think it's sick. What is exciting about pretending to smell shit? I say nothing, but that's just one black girl's opinion. Another game that I think is ridiculous, how many squares of toilet paper is mommy's tummy? I don't want to be swaddled in toilet paper, do you?
I think the ideal baby shower involves Billie Holiday tunes, canapes, cupcakes (in lieu of a sheet cake), a sit down meal, "cocktails" (non-alcoholic dranks for the pregnant lady), champs (because one glass is ok), lots of gerber daisies (in bright colors), & candles with an early evening backdrop. None of those stupid games will be played. Someone is going to be smart and use the sense God gave them to come up with some original stuff that doesn't involve poop, toilet paper, or "when I was a baby I..."
I haven't figured out what activities will be appropriate. But I do know that if I'm invited to a baby shower in the next few months and someone pulls out those newborn sized diapers filled with mushed candy bar (by the way, why does the organizer always giggle), I just might be the single, childless, city bitch who says, "I'm not into scat!"
I must say that I do respect the purpose of shower's. I love a good party and I love a preciuos little baby, but seriously someone has got to come up with a better way to celebrate a woman's big day. I was watching "Girls Next Door" yesterday and there was a baby shower for some blonde gal and her (very homo looking) guy. What do you think Hef's main girl, Holly did? She pulled out the classic babyshower game--guess what's in the diaper. I HATE THIS GAME. I think it's sick. What is exciting about pretending to smell shit? I say nothing, but that's just one black girl's opinion. Another game that I think is ridiculous, how many squares of toilet paper is mommy's tummy? I don't want to be swaddled in toilet paper, do you?
I think the ideal baby shower involves Billie Holiday tunes, canapes, cupcakes (in lieu of a sheet cake), a sit down meal, "cocktails" (non-alcoholic dranks for the pregnant lady), champs (because one glass is ok), lots of gerber daisies (in bright colors), & candles with an early evening backdrop. None of those stupid games will be played. Someone is going to be smart and use the sense God gave them to come up with some original stuff that doesn't involve poop, toilet paper, or "when I was a baby I..."
I haven't figured out what activities will be appropriate. But I do know that if I'm invited to a baby shower in the next few months and someone pulls out those newborn sized diapers filled with mushed candy bar (by the way, why does the organizer always giggle), I just might be the single, childless, city bitch who says, "I'm not into scat!"
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
get on your knees and get to work
I'm thinking about getting a cleaning lady. Ralph told me to "Go find a Mexican," to which I responded with uncontroable laughter. I think having a cleaning lady will make me feel rich and more in control.
If you don't already know it, I have serious control issues. I'm like the Barbie (in black, of course) who comes complete with territorial issues, a voicebox that complains when you pull my string (or just say something I don't like), caffiene dependency, opposable thumbs, and a bag full of accessories.
Cleaning ladies are good. I think any way. I once had someone say to me that they weren't comfortable with getting a pedi because they felt like it was weird and some superiority issues could come into play That makes me wonder how some people feel about having a cleaning lady. Sure, cleaning is a task you can do yourself, but why not have someone else do it. If she's making money than clearly it isn't that much of a burden. Because we all know there are a lot of ways to make money and cleaning house doesn't have to be one of them. I don't care what anyone else thinks...I want my baseboards cleaned and I don't want to do it. After five days of commuting and working, the last thing I want to do is pull out soap and water to start scrubbing the walls in my dust ridden apartment (we get dust from the street--I live on a busy one). A clean house means I'm in control of something and I love being in control because when I'm not in control of things, I begin behaving strangely. Well more accuratley I get bitchy. And I hate being a bitch.
If you don't already know it, I have serious control issues. I'm like the Barbie (in black, of course) who comes complete with territorial issues, a voicebox that complains when you pull my string (or just say something I don't like), caffiene dependency, opposable thumbs, and a bag full of accessories.
Cleaning ladies are good. I think any way. I once had someone say to me that they weren't comfortable with getting a pedi because they felt like it was weird and some superiority issues could come into play That makes me wonder how some people feel about having a cleaning lady. Sure, cleaning is a task you can do yourself, but why not have someone else do it. If she's making money than clearly it isn't that much of a burden. Because we all know there are a lot of ways to make money and cleaning house doesn't have to be one of them. I don't care what anyone else thinks...I want my baseboards cleaned and I don't want to do it. After five days of commuting and working, the last thing I want to do is pull out soap and water to start scrubbing the walls in my dust ridden apartment (we get dust from the street--I live on a busy one). A clean house means I'm in control of something and I love being in control because when I'm not in control of things, I begin behaving strangely. Well more accuratley I get bitchy. And I hate being a bitch.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
a little discouragement goes a long way
The first year was hard. Actually those first few months of single life were daunting. The only thing enjoyable was getting down to a zero---ahh "breakuprexia!" After a few months of it (about six to be exact), I settled in nicely and began appreciating the new me.
The second year of single girlhood was wild, adventurous, sexy, even envious. I had my pick of guys. I exuded with confidence, while maintaining that girlish charm that males love so much. With no real commitments I relished in this devious behavior. It was refreshing and down right liberating after spending my days and nights with soy ice cream, my vegan buddy, and reruns of Everybody Love Raymond.
I've just passed the three year mark of single life. I know the exact date, but I'd feel foolish revealing it...eventhough I just told you that I know it. So now, at the ripe and ready age of 23, I'm ready to delve into the world of exclusivity. But sadly dating now seems to be much more difficult than it was 4 years ago. I have standards now and won't settle for any piece of shit off the street. I'm not into chubby guys (sick), guys who love Vegas (I'd rather go home and kill myself), mama's boys (not my style), anyone over 32(done that), vegetarians (not into relationships sans Ruth's Chris), divorcees (fug baggage), guys who just want to hook-up or play date (so over it), people from high school (losers), people from college (educated losers), guys with kids and/or wives (ugh done that one too) anyone who thinks not wearing sneakers is dressing up (lame and immature), someone who considers $35 too much money for a meal (cheap ass), men who hate gays (if you don't love my "gays" then you can't love me) and the list goes on. I don't think that's picky. I just know what I want and I'm vocal about it.
I'm discouraged this week. Let's cross our fingers that something good happens. Because I'm starting to believe that my ex did voo doo on me and didn't tell me. As usual, I'm starting to discredit my own abilities in selecting men...Do you think it's me or them?
The second year of single girlhood was wild, adventurous, sexy, even envious. I had my pick of guys. I exuded with confidence, while maintaining that girlish charm that males love so much. With no real commitments I relished in this devious behavior. It was refreshing and down right liberating after spending my days and nights with soy ice cream, my vegan buddy, and reruns of Everybody Love Raymond.
I've just passed the three year mark of single life. I know the exact date, but I'd feel foolish revealing it...eventhough I just told you that I know it. So now, at the ripe and ready age of 23, I'm ready to delve into the world of exclusivity. But sadly dating now seems to be much more difficult than it was 4 years ago. I have standards now and won't settle for any piece of shit off the street. I'm not into chubby guys (sick), guys who love Vegas (I'd rather go home and kill myself), mama's boys (not my style), anyone over 32(done that), vegetarians (not into relationships sans Ruth's Chris), divorcees (fug baggage), guys who just want to hook-up or play date (so over it), people from high school (losers), people from college (educated losers), guys with kids and/or wives (ugh done that one too) anyone who thinks not wearing sneakers is dressing up (lame and immature), someone who considers $35 too much money for a meal (cheap ass), men who hate gays (if you don't love my "gays" then you can't love me) and the list goes on. I don't think that's picky. I just know what I want and I'm vocal about it.
I'm discouraged this week. Let's cross our fingers that something good happens. Because I'm starting to believe that my ex did voo doo on me and didn't tell me. As usual, I'm starting to discredit my own abilities in selecting men...Do you think it's me or them?
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