blogalicious

i know, i know

2006-10-11T09:48:00.000-07:00

i suck. i really do. i have no excuse for my blog lameness, and i can't promise it won't happen again... but for now, i leave you with an awesome picture of a pumpkin i carved last night. it's my college logo (go cougs!) and it rocks! that's all for now!

i'm cheating on all of you

2006-09-06T10:34:00.000-07:00

That's right... with another blog. Her name is Primetime Princesses and she's glorious. She's insightful, has tons of friends, and is absolutely gorgeous. I'm sorry you had to find out this way, but I just couldn't hide it anymore. But I promise I'll spend more time with you whenever I get the chance. In the meantime, you might want to check her out: Primetime Princesses

Love,
amandalicious

i'm alive

2006-09-05T12:01:00.000-07:00

For all my dedicated readers (umm, I think there's two of you?) I'm still alive! This weekend brought stress upon stress, as I got in not one, but TWO car accidents. Followed by a not-quite-relaxing trip to my parents' house, and I had the weekend from hell. I'll update more tonight, but for now I'm frantically trying to catch up on all the work I have piled up from being out of the office on Friday. Until next time, America!

i used it once

2006-08-27T13:16:00.000-07:00

Here's Diddy's real take on Proactiv, the wildly popular acne program. It's also one of the funniest things I've witnessed in a while. Wow, that makes me sound super boring.

i'm an indoor cat

2006-08-21T11:21:00.000-07:00

So, I hate the outdoors... This annoys the roomie to no end, as she enjoys basking in sunshine and camping. (Imagine the word camping as a four letter word...) I honestly have no idea why I prefer the air-conidtioned comfort of a Starbucks to crystal clear beach waters on a balmy Saturday afternoon. Something about the sun/water/heat combo just doesn't appeal to me. I've tried to search my past for some inciting incident that caused me to become a hermit on any day above 65 degrees. Here's what I've come up with:

Exhibit A:

Camping as a child was always traumatic. My father insisted on "roughing it", which for him, meant illegally camping in the bear-infested wilderness of Montana. I remember one summer, when I was about 16, we went to visit family in Bozeman, MT and my father decided that roughing it was the way to go. We drove about 30 miles outside of the city to Rainbow Lake, an area that resembled the body-dumping grounds from a murder mystery. There were signs everywhere that warned us "NO SOFT TENTS-BEAR SIGHTINGS". My dad scoffed at the signs, telling us stories of he and his friends running from grizzlies and bears in the woods. It was "character building and adventurous". Sure. But of course, all we had was a soft tent. I refused to sleep in it, as did my sister and mother. My brother, knowing he had to be "the man" with dad gleefully stated he too was sleeping in the tent. Long story short, my sister, mother and I slept in the truck, while my father and brother braved the law--and the bears--in the tent. When we awoke the next morning, a styrofoam cooler not two feet from my dad's tent was ripped to shreds, it's contents scattered and destroyed. It was indeed a bear... and my distaste for the outdoors grew exponentially.

Exhibit B:

I never really had allergies growing up. But on one strange and simmering hot fall day when I was in high school, I learned of a bee sting allergy in the most uncomfortable way possible. I was walking to class, when I felt a rock-like thing tumble into my sandal. Only it wasn't a rock-like thing... it was an angry bee that had trapped himself and tried to sting his way free. I ran to class, flailing like an epileptic seizure patient trying to dance. When I finally burst through the door of my english class, I flung off my sandal. The dying bee limped out, as I limped to the nearest sink and tried to douse my already swelling foot. The pain of the sting wasn't as unbearable as was the pain of my skin, stretching to accomodate the poisonous swell. Needless to say, I rushed to the doctor.

After that, I was forced to carry around an "Epi Pen", not knowing when or if I was about to me attacked and swollen to death. The doctor advised me to carry it with me whenever I was going to go outside. I immediately conjured up visions of myself strolling down the aisle of my gorgeous outdoor wedding, my father on one arm, and an Epi Pen securely fastened to my bouqet. Who am I kidding? An outdoor wedding is SO not me.

Exhibit C:

I burn. Badly. And whenever I tell people this, I'm met with the response "Well, you just have to build up to it... just go out in the sun with a bikini on, and I'm sure you'll get tan eventually." Sure. And Tom Cruise isn't gay.

Honestly, people... I've owned this skin for a good 24 years now, and I'm pretty damn sure it'll never be the golden tan that I want it to be. My father, who boasts a tan year round a couple shades away from being dark leather, thinks it's perposterous that I can't get a tan. "Look at me!" he says. "I've been laying in the sun for a long time, and I look great!"

I hate hate hate my pastiness. I long for that type of skin with no tan lines and no freckles. So that when I venture outside, I don't hear cries of "It hurts my eyes to look at your legs!" wherever I go.

But it's not for lack of trying... I've gotten many a horrible burn in my days. Burns so horrendous, that I had to take prescription pain killers just to sleep through the night and suffer through a shower in the morning. So, I think I've learned my lesson... the sun and I don't get along!

In conclusion, bears, bees, sun bathing, it's all bad... And now I can't wait until the dark days of fall and winter, when I can snuggle up with a cup of cocoa and a good book, enjoying the outdoors just the way I like to: from the inside looking out.

'lil bro

2006-08-18T12:53:00.000-07:00

My brother and I have one of those rare sibling relationships that you only hear of in after-school specials and sappy episodes of Full House. Growing up we were extremely close, both in age and mindset (I am 15 months older than him). It was a closeness that was punctuated by our similar dislike for our older sister, who would torture us and get us in trouble on lazy Sunday afternoons.

Our closeness carried us through junior high, high school and when he decided to attend the same college as me, I was elated. As a Sophomore, I would play protective older sister, making sure that he had a good meal every night and had purchased his text books on time. My nesting instinct was in full swing.

Throughout the numerous time of stress in life, from his girlfriend's mother dying to his eventual breakup from said girlfriend, I was there for him. And he was there for me through all the college crap I went through (not worth bringing up at this juncture!).

And now, like always, I'm there for him. Just recently he found out that a full-ride masters scholarship he received to a prestigious music conservatory in New Jersey fell through. It was crushing, and I felt horrible for him. But although his 5 year plan was dashed to pieces, he has kept a positive attitude and is carrying on. And on the bright side, I get to have my little bra around until the next bright opportunity snatches him up. For now, I get to play mom to him for a little while longer.

The Brother:

3 things...

2006-08-14T21:51:00.000-07:00

1. Me and the roomie went to an awesome concert last night. Read about it on Kendrah's blog.

2. Our neighbor almost burned our house down today. Find out all the idiotic details here.

3. This is the closest she's going to get to being outside... ever:

dating for the blind: part deux

2006-08-13T15:46:00.000-07:00

All right, all right... a long-due update:

The date went well. We met up at a restuarant and he was pretty cute. Mind you, not as cute as I would have hoped, but cute enough! He was tall (what is this "was" stuff? he's still alive!)... okay, he IS tall. About 6'5" with blond hair and a pretty cute fashion sense. Our conversation wasn't strained at all. We flowed easily from talk of college partying days to what we both do for a living.

After a light dinner and drinks, we headed to a movie. Why a movie on a first date, you ask? Well, amidst our online conversation, we both expressed our desire to see "Talladega Nights", so our plan was to go see it. And let me tell you. It was seriously funny. Like, laugh inappropriately loud funny. We both had a great time.

We went to a 10:00 showing, so at midnight, when the crowds departed the theatre, all I could think about was getting in my pajamas and curling up in bed, watching TV before I drift off to sleep. Call it my lazy summer attitude, but I was pooped. We decided to call it a night, and possibly meet up again.

Conclusion: I think I just wasted a lot of breath on that date recap, because it was boring! As vanilla as my night was, I guess I can look at it as a good normal first date to possibly proceed from. Because seriously, after that, there's no way but up. I feel like my standards are just too high. I mean, what did I want him to do, make balloon animals and do armpit farts? I'm a big kid now, and relationships just don't happen because you accidentally slept with that person during a drunk moment at a party (like they did in college).

I haven't heard from him yet, which is probably a bad thing. Oh well, back to the drawing board. Or "bored", whichever.

dating for the blind

2006-08-11T12:58:00.000-07:00

So, tonight I have a blind date. Well, not so much blind as a meeting up of two people who happened to have come across each other on the internet. After I swore up and down after my last disastrous match.com date that NEVER AGAIN! And here I am. But it's not technically an online date thing. We met on MySpace, which everyone knows is super classier and definitely more safe (insert sarcasm as you wish). I'm just really hoping that this guy comes through for me tonight. I've been through the weirdos, the druggies, the Huskies, and basically every single narcissistic person I could come across, yet still I have hope. Come on, fate... deal me a good hand this time!

why Britney Spears and I will never be friends

2006-08-08T22:47:00.000-07:00

zootastic

2006-08-06T21:12:00.000-07:00

So, what do two hot and bored roomies do on a Sunday morning? Go to the zoo! Here's a little pictorial of our zoo adventure:

The Butterfly and Blooms Exhibit:

words i want to live by...

2006-08-03T07:59:00.000-07:00

"this is who I am / you can like it or not / you can love me or leave me / 'cause I'm never gonna stop"

-Madonna "Like it or Not"

paycheck2paycheck

2006-07-31T22:42:00.000-07:00

Growing up, I was always a "working kid". At 15, I had my first job, taking orders at a certain un-named burger conglomerate. As I got older, I realized the all-too important value of a dollar. Whether it was rolling dough for Cinnabons, or mixing a cup of espresso, I knew what that paycheck in my hand every two weeks meant: spend it like there's no tomorrow.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not completely irresponsible with money. Just a little naive. I think my overzealousness at seeing that glimmering money in my pocket overtakes me, and I feel the sudden urge to spend it. And spend it I do. But not on the fun stuff I once carelessly blew my $300 Cinnabon wages...

As a 24 year old adult, I still find myself living paycheck to paycheck. But this time, instead of my bi-weekly paycheck subsidizing clothes and beer (like it did in my careless college days), it goes towards "grown up" things like rent and electricity. And as soon as the money hits my bank account, out it goes again.

I'm just wondering when that time will come in my life, when I get a paycheck and it deposits into an already brimming bank account. When will a "big purchase" be a vacation or a boat, instead of a pair of jeans or a full tank of gas?

I guess I have it luckier than most... I have a good job, I can afford my rent, and I have enough left over for a cup of Starbucks every morning. But as consumerist as my world is becoming, I find myself dreaming of days where a paycheck will mean nothing more to me than the paper it's written on.

i keep my promises!

2006-07-27T00:18:00.000-07:00

Okay, so here's the pics of my fun weekend, with a short description. I would love to write more, but I just got back from an excruciatingly boring client event at a Mariners game, and I'm pooped. But, I promise more witty stories next time... for now, Enjoy!

This is the ma and pa. They're so cute, I want to throw up! Oh, and this is the most sun my usually pale mother has seen in... well, ever.

Talk about pale! But hey, at least I'm trying. Here's me and K-dog in the sandbar. We parked the boat, drank some beers, and pet some cute swimming doggies. Yep, it was heaven.

The famed Aunt Sally. Minus her sauce. Uncle Gary was probably holding it for her while she mixed another one.

The dad and the uncle (right and left, respectively). Shortly after this was taken, they took off on a race to the shore, which involved my father swimming retardly in circles, and my uncle giving up and getting another Olympia beer.

The aforementioned father, aimlessly floating. If you ask my mother, she would tell you that this is what he does best.

My uncle on the tube. Apparently, last summer he broke three ribs in a high speed tubing accident. My father tried to go for 4, but had to settle for snapping an embarassing photo as my uncle emerged from the water:

Bam. Now that's worth at least 4 broken ribs. My father's ribs, of course.

Stuff on my Bella

2006-07-25T10:02:00.000-07:00

Call me crazy, but dressing up my little kitty brings me so much joy! Okay okay, I know it completely tortures Bella, but for that one shining moment, before she wriggles out of the thing, it's true beauty! Here's some pics I snapped of her pre-freak out. No Bellas were harmed in the making of these photos.

This is a dress that I gave to my coworker to dress up her little kitty. Bella had to take it for a test run before it was wrapped. Well, I'm lying. I'm just had to put it on her! It would have been criminal if I hadn't!

Shelby and I searched for these little polos on sale at the Gap, and one glorious day they were! Originally bought for Harley the dog, Bella also had to try this shirt on. She hated it, and stepped out of it immediately.

And last but not least, Bella showing a little Cougar spirit she borrowed from Shelby's singing Butch mascot doll. Oh yes, folks... the fun never stops at our house!

Stay tuned for some vacation photos... they're on their way!

ice cubes tremble at the sound of my name

2006-07-23T23:43:00.000-07:00

This weekend, me and the roomie headed to Coeur d'Alene, Idaho to visit my folks and my uncle and aunt, as well as to spend some quality time jumping into large bodies of water and falling off fast moving innertubes. Details, you ask? I'll have stories and pics up soon, but for now... another weekend, another lesson learned:

1) One of the many reasons I left LA was the constant sun and heat. And now it has followed me. Crap.

2) My uncle categorizes the powerfulness of snow blowers by how many feet they can toss a cat. His current snow blower rates a 40 on the cat scale.

3) Bella and I have more things in common than just our love for sleeping all day... we both hate the sun.

4) My aunt Sally loves the sauce. So much so, she needs at least a bottle the size of her head to feel free enough to scream "I AM THE REAL SALLY!"

5) My uncle almost quit the gym once because of a traumatic experience where he got a fart stuck between his butt cheeks because his jock strap was too tight.

6) Kendrah's mission to get me tan is futile.

7) Driving 300 miles across the state in a heat wave isn't as horrible as it sounds. The AC was glorious. So much so, that I'm seriously considering moving into my vehicle for the remainder of the summer.

AA says to apologize... but should I forgive?

2006-07-19T09:04:00.000-07:00

I have a long, drawn-out saga with a friend of mine, S. We've known each other since I was a freshman in college. We sat next to each other in a freshman English class, taught by a large, loud, friendly lesbian named Ednie. She was everything I thought women college professors would be: opinionated, establishment-hating, creative geniuses. She never shaved her legs and wore combat boots. She described herself as a militant lesbian feminist, and I was in awe.

Ednie really took to me. She recognized in me a desire to step beyond my cultural boundaries and experience things that were new, experimental and challenging. This is perhaps the reason why she had no problem telling me that she questioned my friendship with S.

S was a stereotypical frat boy. Blond, tan and unmotivated for anything other than Busch Lite, S embodied everything about the Greek system that Ednie hated. But I was enthralled. Sure, I had seen the "dude, where's my beer?" frat boy characters in movies, but never before I had met one in the flesh.

At first it was just a friendship with S. He was charismatic, sarcastic and cute. Everything that I adored in a guy friend. Although I couldn't help but notice that there was a certain sexual tension between us... a tension that would eventually burst down the road.

Throughout freshman, sophomore and junior year, we wove in and out of each other's lives. I usually only called on his friendship when I was without a boyfriend, and he would do the same when he was girlfriend-less. I know I should have seen the signs that he was up to no good. But I played into it, and I wanted to believe that the charming, funny guy I occasionally hung out with was legit. But I was wrong.

My senior year, I was making my usual round of the bars with some sorority friends, when I happened upon S. I had been drinking heavily, and so had he. We stumbled to the dancefloor and started to awkwardly gyrate to the thumping music. At that moment, I knew I wanted to test out our sexual chemistry... knowing that our easy friendship and history made it necessary to find out what lie beyond.

To make a long story short, we had sex that night. It was horrible, awkward, drunken sex. And when I woke up the next morning with a hangover and regrets about the possibility of ruining our friendship, I had no idea how our drunken hookup would destroy my relationship with S... almost for good.

You see, S had a girlfriend at the time, and never told me. I was obviously angered, and a little uncomfortable, because his girlfriend happened to be in a couple of my classes. So what do I do? I create even more drama for myself... One night, as I was leaving a party, I saw S's girlfriend. I staggered up to her, and muttered, "Guess what? S is cheating on you... with me. Sorry I had to be the one to tell you." Her eyes went blank, and I knew she thought I was telling the truth.

In typical asshole fashion, S played off my confession to his girlfriend with a simple, "Don't listen to her... she's obsessed with me, and trying to ruin our relationship." I couldn't believe it. A guy that I had been good friends with for three years has completely turned on me. I immediately stopped talking to him.

What would follow would be an eventual breakup of S and his girlfriend, the restarting of our friendship (sans sex) and my departure for LA, where my next brush with S drama would hit the fan.

While visiting my parents during Christmas, I met up with S for dinner. He immediately starting gushing about how much he missed me, and how much he loved me. Then he went on to describe how he wanted to marry me and how he knew that I was the one for him... I didn't know how to respond, so I didn't say anything.

A few days after returning to LA, I called him and told him that my complete lack of trust in him couldn't possibly allow me to further a relationship. He brushed it off by saying that he "didn't mean it" and that he "was just really drunk".

In the end, it was MySpace that clued me in on his network of deceitfulness. Apparently, while he was telling me he loved me and wanted to marry me at Christmas, he was also engaged to another girl, and dating another... whom he had told he wanted to marry. I felt like I was in a bad Lifetime made for TV movie. I kept thinking "I can't believe this crap actually happens to people!". So I stopped talking to him again... and this time for good.

Through the grapevine, I learned that after he was exposed by me to his other two girlfriends, he moved to Portland and joined Alcoholics Anonymous. He sent me numerous letters and phone messages saying that the alcohol is what made him act the way he did. I, of course, thought it was bullshit. That was about 4 months ago.

So, bringing this to present day... last night, I was getting ready for bed, when I received a call from an unknown Oregon number. It was S. He wanted to tell me what was going on in his life. That he had been sober for 6 months, that he was going to church, working hard, was happy, and wanted to complete his 9th step of AA... apologizing to all the people he had hurt. I absorbed this all with a uncharacteristic reserve. I wanted to scream at him and tell him that if his apology is from an AA manual, I would rather have none at all. But I didn't... I did like I've always done. I opened up the little closet door of my heart, reserved just for S and let him have a peek.

I'd like to think I'm a forgiving person... But sometimes I don't know when I've been treated too badly... when it's time to shut my heart off to someone. I don't know what the brink is, the point of no forgiveness.

I hope I will learn more about my power of forgiveness after obliging to S's 9th step... because I've decided I'm going to allow him to say what he has to say. I've had too much hatred for S, and someone needs to put a stop to it... even if it is AA.

Dating Flashbacks

2006-07-13T19:55:00.000-07:00

When I lived in LA, I went on a dating rampage. I dated anything with a pulse... and I met most of my dates online. Cliche, I know. But it was so hard to meet people in LA, I figured the internet route was my best bet. Well, I was wrong. After going on close to 50 dates in the span of a year and a half, I was burned out.

One of my last dates was with a guy (who I'll name C) who ended up having a girlfriend when he met me... and never told me. He was such a cool guy, though, that I ended up being good friends with him. At the time, it was hard to swallow... so I wrote about it. Here's what I wrote:

The Wrong Guy

He has a thing for sluts. His own inability to express himself sexually in a healthy way attracts him to women that are overtly sexual and open. It makes him feel like less of a sexual deviant, more of an innocent bystander, taken advantage of by a dominating whore. So what do I do? He's got a girlfriend with braces who looks like a 14 year old who has smoked a few too many packs in her day. He says he loves her. I don't believe him.

He recently posted a picture of her on his personal website. And when I say picture, I don't mean "smile for the camera"... unless he was speaking to her vagina, that is. It's a suggestive picture. Disproportionate hips and legs. Skin that I don't want to see. Hell, I've already unwillingly seen this girl's tits (he posted them earlier on his site--I've seen better) what more is there?

I don't want him, I don't. I think what I hate is that he might have wanted me at sometime, although very very briefly. But when was that? I explain...

We talked online a couple of times. On the phone once. He has something in his tone that reminds me of Patrick... Patrick from my freshman year of college. Patrick "Amanda, I am in love with you, so I'm not sure we can do the best friends thing anymore" Patrick. But it's not C's confession of love--hardly that--that reminds me of Patrick. It's his nerdy exterior, veiling an emotionally deep mind. The kind of mind that could drive someone either crazy in a good way or crazy in a bad way. I want the former. I want someone to fall. Fall hard like Patrick, who couldn't bear to be around me if he couldn't have me.

So we meet. I'm nervous, which is strange, because I should be an old pro at this, right?

I walk to his front door as he walks out. Just as I thought, nerdy exterior. We awkwardly shake. I bubble and do the normal "Do I look like I do in my pictures?" routine. Then he says the words that should have clued me in, raised the red flag, but they don't.

"So, my brother and his girlfriend are here, and they're going to go out with us too. Is that cool?" He's sweet, so I'm trying to swallow the saliva I was forming in anticipation of jumping his nerdy Screech bones.

"Um, oh yeah, no problem." I sound too agreeable. Desperate? God, I hope he doesn't think that I came here hoping to leave with a good inclination of our wedding date and the name of our first born child. But what I am supposed to think? I met this guy on a dating site for Christ's sake. But I am so horribly mistaken, and this is where it all takes a nosedive.

We go to a good old chain restaurant. Always reliable. The talk is a bit stifled, and we all order wine and the same dish. I sit uncomfortably, staring out at Sunset Blvd., as his brother, F, coos baby talk to his girlfriend, E. I want to throw up my over-priced pizza. Preferably on them both. So you think that this would be the perfect opportunity for me to lean toward C and say "So..." Needless to say, I don't. Probably because C has already decided to engage in conversation with E, who is tickling F's nose with her tongue.

"So, that thing... wasn't that great?" He doesn't even look at me. He's too focused on E and her response. So I try to engage myself more... I lean in interestedly. "So, um, how did you two meet?"

E is ecstatic to answer. She's cute in that "When I'm forty, I'll still look like a 15 year-old" way.

"Match dot-com! It was great!"

I almost choke on my wine. I'm sorry I asked. As if things couldn't have gotten any more uncomfortable. I can just see the picture in her mind--a lavish double wedding. With C and F standing side-by-side while Punky Brewster and I saddle down the aisle. Me towering two feet over her, she baby-talking under her breath. She turns to me and smiles. "We owe this ALL to Match dot-com!" Vomit ensues.

"Wow, that's so great! I've had a few bad experiences on Match."

Sorrowful glances all around. And I think this is the point where I realized that this date was going nowhere near where I wanted it to go. If I had it my way, C and I would be on our way to a quiet bar, getting to know each other without the supervision of America's Cutest Couple.

I decide things can't get any worse. What with C totally abandoning any conversation towards me, and E excitedly telling me about her and F's first date and blah blah blah. So I start doing my "Oh my God, I'm so entertaining and the life of the party, listen to all my funny stories" thing. If only all my stories weren't so self-deprecating.

I must have come across as the token always-single-funny-girl. You know, the girl who has given up on all men, so she stays home on Friday nights, honing her skills of man-bashing and throws out her random pathetic stories at get-togethers. People love her! They migrate towards her at parties, reveling in her charm and humor while trying to ignore the bitter undertones of her bad date horror stories. They love her, but they would never want to be her. And that's what makes her lonely... forever.

They think I'm funny. It's working. But secretly, I'm kind of hoping that C will chime in on one of the stories with a "I would never treat you that way!" or a "The next time we go out, I'll prove you wrong about dating." But nope. Just pity laughs, with a slight tinge of "ooh, glad that wasn't me" thrown in.

I wish I would have known what I know now. The fact that he had a girlfriend and still asked me out on a "date"... I feel as if it was a shitty prank set up by Ashton Kutcher. I feel like a fool, and like I've wasted my time.

Why is that the unattainable is always within my reach, while the nice, normal available guys drift by?

The dreaded "S" word...

2006-07-10T09:37:00.000-07:00

You all know what I'm talking about... "single". A word that strikes fear in the hearts of 20 and 30-something women everywhere. And a word that I happen to have embraced for the last 3 years.

Yep, that's right... I've been single for THREE YEARS. If I were Bridget Jones, I would probably have killed myself with an overdose of Yorkshire pudding by now. But nope... I'm okay.

It wasn't until this weekend, when I was chatting with my roomie that I realized how content I am as a "singleton". K had just come home from a long day with the fam, and I was enjoying my third consecutive hour of sitting in front of the television doing nothing. As we were gabbing, the words "I love being single" fell out of my mouth. And I don't think it was until that moment that I actually believed it.

See, I suck at relationships... seriously. I get super anxious and insecure, calling my significant every other hour to see what they're up to, and if silence fills the line, I immediately freak out and barrage them with a series of "what are you thinking about right now?" and "are you mad at me?" questions. Yeah, not pretty. I'm not exactly sure why I do it, but I really wish that I didn't. I also have the tendency to want to change anything I don't like about the other person. I try to mold them into my perfect version of a boyfriend, and needless to say, that doesn't pan out too well.

I look at back at my last few years of singlehood, and I've realized how I've definitely benefited from being single. Here's the breakdown:

1) I would never have moved to New York if I had a college boyfriend.
2) I would never have moved to Los Angeles if I had a New York boyfriend.
3) I would never have moved to Seattle if I had a Los Angeles boyfriend.
4) I'm not a nutcase.

There were, however, some periods throughout my singlehood where I became increasingly desperate--scanning internet dating sites for a potential father to my potential children. But the search was just that--desperate. I ended up going on horrible dates with idiot guys. And although I learned a great deal from all of it, I couldn't help but end up feeling kind of empty and hopeless. I also couldn't help but realize that I wasn't ready... I needed to start loving and respecting myself before I could let anyone else into my life.

So now I've come to embrace my single status. I do get lonely here and there, but nothing so traumatic that I would sacrifice my time to spend with some idiot off of match.com. I understand that those sites can help lots of people, but not me!

I now spend my time with my friends, family and my kitty... alternating between lounging around and going out for drinks, and I love it! And in a society that is desperately searching for their soul mate--someone to make them whole, I'm glad that I've finally found someone to love... me.

4th of July... lessons learned

2006-07-05T08:38:00.000-07:00

So it was a long weekend, and with long weekends come crazy times. So here is what I learned from my four-day weekend:

1) No matter how much sunscreen I put on myself, I always burn. And it hurts.

2) The Seattle Mariners suck, even though for a second there they had us convinced that they don't. But they do. You can't fool us, Mariners!

3) Clothes shopping has solidified the fact that I am a fat-ass and I really need to get back on my diet. I'm gross.

4) Fireworks are overrated. I much prefer playing board games with my brother and his stoner roommates. Oh, and his girlfriend who used two bottles of vodka to make about 10 jello shots.

5) Rain is better than blinding, skin-scorching sun... anyday!

6) Although I paid about 15 bucks for a hotdog and beer at Safeco Field, there is still nothing better than sipping a cold beer and enjoying a game of baseball. Even if the Mariners suck.

P.S. That isn't a picture of me. Just a picture of a poor, fashion-misguided group of people.

the first step to recovery...

2006-06-29T07:59:00.000-07:00

I'm an addict. I'm addicted to coffee. That's right, I said it. But while other addictions might need a 12 step program or a detox center, mine is here to stay.

My drug of choice is a Grande Nonfat Caramel Macchiatto from Starbucks. And it has to be from Starbucks. I'm what you might call a "coffee snob". Having been a barista (the person making the coffee), I know what it takes to make the perfect cup of espresso. I know that the shots shouldn't be exposed to air longer than 10 seconds. I know that the "crema", or light brown cream on the top of the espresso shot, is crucial to making a good cup of espresso. I know that the milk needs to be heated to 160 degrees, and that there should be about an inch of frothy foam on the top of the heated milk. I know what it takes... but what suprises me, is that other baristas don't, and I sometimes get stuck with a really shitty cup of coffee.

I work near the Starbucks "mothership" as my co-worker Ty likes to call it. It's the corporate headquarters for the Starbucks company, and it's got this huge clock-tower thing with the Starbucks mermaid at the top. Mothership indeed.

So with my first trip to the mothership, I was expecting a magical experience. Not unlike Charlie Bucket's first glimpse into the entirely edible paradise at Willy Wonka's factory. But what I was met with was a total disappointment. Overworked, unattractive, unhappy workers in an area so small, it could fit in my bedroom. Tables and chairs are dirty and carelessly strewn about the store, and the usual smiling faces of Starbucks employees are replaced with women in their 40s slinging coffee, and gay men ineffectively trying to chat up customers for extra tips.

I feel like a disappointed kid on Christmas morning. This is the majestic world of corporate Starbucks? And it only gets worse as I order my coffee...

Given my barista background, I know how to verbally order a cup of espresso. There's a certain tone and speed of talking that alerts baristas that I know what I'm talking about, and I'm expecting a good drink. This goes completely over the grumpy head of the girl trying to take my order. "Grande Nonfat Caramel Macchiatto" I slur. It's morning, and I really have no patience for waiting in a line, so I want to get through the ordering process as soon as possible. "Um, Grande Latte what?" the girl replies. "Grande Nonfat Caramel Macchiatto!" I impatiently reply. She gives me a sullen look and repeats my order with fake cheerfulness to the peirced and dyed barista on duty.

As I finish paying for my order, I join the tired-looking throng of Starbucks corporate employees and morning mothers waiting for their coffee. They have looks on their faces that say "Sit down, honey... this is going to take a while."

They aren't lying. About 10 minutes later, I have my coffee in hand and proceed to the "condiment counter" to stir my drink. Upon opening the lid, I can tell it isn't right. I head directly back to the barista.

"Um, there is no caramel in this."

"Well that's because it's a vanilla latte."

"But I ordered a caramel macchiatto."

"Hmmpff... give that to me."

"You know what? You can just pour some caramel on the top, and I'll be fine."

"Yeah, whatever."

My drink is somewhat fixed, and I head to work. In my car, I savor the first sip of my drink. It's horrible. The shots are old, there's too much flavoring, no foam, and it's way too hot. Needless to say, it's not a great start to my morning.

But even after this experience, I still go to Starbucks, and even go the mothership on occasion. Why? Because I'm addicted. To the experience, the flavor, and the thought of knowing that I'm a Seattlite, and that's what we do. We pay too much for coffee that might not be too good, and that brings us together as a city... and as addicts.

Bella Blog Day!

2006-06-26T10:36:00.000-07:00

So this weekend was nice. Seattle has been uncommonly hot, so you know what that means? All us pasty white people wait inside until the rain starts again. And I hope that's soon!

So why the Bella blog today, you ask? Because she's so damn cute! The poor thing has been having a tough time with the heat. We have air conditioning in our townhouse, but since there are three stories, the air barely distributes. So that means, I was sweating. All weekend long. I had all these plans for the weekend; I was going to go to the lake and read, take a walk, sit outside Starbucks and enjoy the scenery, go out for drinks with friends. And did any of that happen? No.

See, I have this problem. Heat sucks the life out of me. It takes all motivation and fun out of me, and what is left is a soggy red-faced version of myself. Needless to say, it blows. A lot.

So what did I end up doing this weekend, you ask? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. My plans fell flat, not unlike Bella on the hardwood floors. Speaking of Bella, that's what this blog is all about! I've noticed that she deals with the excruciating heat in a few, very annoying ways:

Run and Whine: She happens to be a pro at multi-tasking, and running whilst whining unforgivably loud is her specialty. She'll follow me all over the house, glancing up to see what I might be carrying in my hands, and crying as if asking me a question. "Bella, I don't have the cures to your heat exhaustion, nor do I have a large field of dasies that you can run through inside my glass... so stop looking at me like that." Needless to say, she's a vocal cat. And I think my roommates might take her to the vet without me knowing and have her vocal cords snipped.

Plop and Whine: This usually occurs after she has been running around the house for a while. She'll find a somewhat cool spot on the hardwood floor on the second story and plop. And whine. She plops as if she has just swam the English Channel. And in this heat, I wouldn't be surprised if she jumped into some sort of body of water. But no, she just lays there, paws pressed firmly to the cold floor, soaking up the cool feeling with the pads of her feet. Her stance is almost regal, and the snobby look on her face matches it perfectly.

Sleep and Whine This comes after the aforementioned whines. After she has thouroughly exhausted her running and plopping capabilities, she begrudingly falls asleep. And with even the tiniest noise, she pathetically raises her head, sniffs the air, and cries. Cries for what? I don't know. But I think in Bella-talk she's saying, "Who's idea was it to spring for the new house sans AC? Sniff Sniff. Whine Whine."

Now that I'm at work today, I feel horrible for her! My mom says I should stop worrying, and trust that Bella will find a cool place to hang out. But knowing Bella, I think she'll probably stand in the sunniest part of the house and plop. And whine.

lookie lookie

2006-06-22T09:06:00.000-07:00

So what do you guys think of my new look to the blog? My roomie, GirlScout helped me out with it. Oh, and Robbie... where are you? You people are the only reason I blog!

two things

2006-06-12T13:43:00.000-07:00

okay,

1: My "thing" with P is officially now platonic. After a really weird and awkard Saturday night, I told him that I just wanted to cool things off. But the truth is, I really no longer have any interest in having sex with him. Actually, I have no interest in having sex with anyone. Does that make me weird? I guess that makes me asexual or something. Whatever it is, I don't want no booty! So, I still want to hang out with P, just on a totally "friends" level. And knowing my disinterest in him sexually, that should be pretty easy.

2: My parents' cat is a celebrity! I submitted him to www.stuffonmycat.com, and what do you know... he's hot shit kitty! Check out the link here:

hot shit kitty

i gots me a job! ...and other tales

2006-06-10T13:42:00.000-07:00

So, first of all, thanks for being patient! I know that your lives all depend on reading my blog, and I've hated to keep all of you waiting... :-)

Let's catch up, shall we?

Job Time!

Okay, so I got a job! In fact, I might even categorize this as a whole new career avenue. Week before last, I had two interviews, one at Fox Sports Net, and one at a large-scale outdoor advertising firm called Titan. Both interviews went well, and they both called me back for second interviews. And... drum roll please... I chose the job at Titan! It pays pretty well, and I am the advertising coordinator, which is fun. The people I work with are all pretty cool. The woman who is training me is another story... she is the most high-strung person I have ever met in my life! Now, it's no secret to the people that know me... I suffer from anxiety disorder. I have had it since I was about 17, and I take medication to keep it under control. But every so often, a person or situation comes along that causes my anxiety to sky-rocket. And this woman is one of those people. Pretty much everything about her causes my insides to clench and my blood-pressure to rise. Thankfully, I won't have to work closely with her for long. It's driving me crazy! She'll sit next to me at my desk and instruct me in the most inane way. And when I don't understand what she's saying, she gets incredibly angry and frustrated, and basically pushes me out of my desk chair to do it herself. Gah! Hopefully this won't last much longer.

P Update

Okay, so me and P are still hanging out. It's gotten a lot more fun, and we even went to his dad's house for a wine tasting party. His family was awesome. Except there was this totally awkward moment, where his dad was introducing us to some people, and he said, "This is my oldest son, and his girlfriend... or, umm... not yet. Maybe soon? She's his, uhh... friend. Yeah." This caused some nervous laughter between me and P, but I couldn't help but wonder if his dad wasn't too far off the mark. What is it that causes me (and a lot of other neurotic girls I know) to want a constant affirmation and "label" of the situation? I mean, I'm having fun hanging out with P, with or without our clothes on... and with or without the alcohol. But why do I feel the need to make it official, when I'm not sure if that's what I even want? Gar! I'll keep ya'll posted.

Bella Boo

She's still as cute as ever, and still puking on my stuff. The other day, I let her outside, just to get some fresh air. She loved it a lot more than I thought she would, and now she's constantly making a dash for the door whenever it opens. Dammit! I've created a monster!

Diet Schmiet

So I'm still trying to eat healthy. Now that I have a steady job, I'm hoping to join a gym or something. I just can't help it, I love me some junk food!

Makin' Scrizza

Me and my roomie Shelby are about to embark on a top-secret money-making venture. I can't give any details, but I'll let you know how it pans out!

Blarg

Okay, so maybe it wasn't the most exciting blog, but an update none-the-less! More entertaining material to come! And, as always... a picture:

long weekends rock

2006-05-29T21:56:00.000-07:00

so this weekend was memorial day weekend, and here are some of the things i've learned:

1) A barbeque party in Seattle wouldn't be complete witout pouring rain and thunderstorms.

2) Me and my roommates can't start charcoal on fire to save our lives.

3) Shelby has problems with making burgers... but once they're in one peice, they're awesome.

4) Guacamole + Feta Cheese = Crazy Delicious

5) Sleeping in until 3pm isn't as awesome as it used to be.

6) "Buttcam" just doesn't have the connotation one would think.

P

2006-05-24T09:01:00.000-07:00

The other night I went over to my friend's house (we'll call him "P") to watch the Desperate Housewives finale that he'd Tivoed. Me and P go way back, to my sophomore year of college, where we were mostly acqaintances. We were both in the Theatre Arts department, so we crossed paths during rehearsals and parties.

So while I was living in LA, he happened to move down there... and he kinda made a move on me. But what was weird, is he had a girlfriend. A girlfriend that just so happened to hate my guts. So I couldn't help but wonder if he was acting a little "dangerously", trying to make out with his girlfriend's arch nemesis.

He ended up moving back to Seattle... which is where I've ended up now, too. We've hung out a few times, and I can always sense this weird tension between us. Like, one night we were trashed and he had passed out in my bed, and I asked him, "Did you have a crush on me in LA?" (Okay, so let's get past the fact that I'm 24 and used the word "crush"). His answer? Yes. So now what? He hasn't made any more moves on me (well, not while he was sober--drunk is another story). I'm starting to question if I might have feelings for him.

Gar, this is so pathetic! What started as a drunk P making moves on me in LA has turned into me being a stupid girl, wondering if there's something more there. Am I a complete idiot? My man-luck has been horrible. I think in my next post I'll give you all a tour through the hell that was "dating in LA".

So that's all for now... Oh, and here's another random pic:

P.S. I think my roommate is losing bladder control. The other day, she sneezed, and peed a little bit in her pants. She says she "sneed". Discuss.

I don't heart LA

2006-05-22T13:59:00.000-07:00

I used to live in Los Angeles, before I gathered up what was left of my self-esteem and moved back up to Seattle. And while I was there, I tried to make the best of a lot of my situations. But no matter how hard I tried to like LA, I couldn't get past one fact: LA sucks. It sucks hard. So I've compiled a short list of the reasons I didn't like LA... and why I'm so glad to be back in the Pacific Northwest!

VALET PARKING: Okay, so shouldn't the fact that the city doesn't trust its drivers to even park their own vehicles be a sign? A sign that in order to be a horrible parker, you're probably also a horrible driver? Which leads me to..

LA DRIVERS: When I lived in LA, I worked on a busy street (Sunset) and every time I dare decided to venture across the street to get a cup of coffee, I had to basically play Russian Roulette. There was a crosswalk, but I never failed to get flipped off numerous times, honked at, and almost run over by every bad LA driver driving a posh death wagon. But the NUMBER ONE thing that annoyed me about LA drivers was their incessant fear of rain. I mean, an entire car washing industry closes down for the day, and people drive as if the road is paved with death spikes. They travel at roughly the speed of turtle, and make turns as if they have a teetering wedding cake in their backseat. For the love of crap, people... it's WATER!

LA PEOPLE AND THEIR CARS: Having lived in Manhattan, I realized that LA is much like it, only more spread out and with some hills and trees thrown in. Oh yeah, and a lot less cabs. So I can't help but equate LA drivers and their ridiculously expensive cars to New Yorkers and their ridiculously expensive handbags and shoes. Every day I drove past normal looking people in $80,000 cars, and couldn't help but wonder if those people were buying these cars as merely a status symbol. I mean, maybe they can barely put food on the table, and they live in the ghetto of Panorama City, and they outfit their family from the thrift store (not fancy LA thrift stores, ghetto North Hollywood thrift stores) but dammit, they've got a really nice car, and wherever they drive, people give them respect!

HOUSING PRICES AND LOCATIONS: So I basically moved blindly to LA. I had no clue what was a "good" neighborhood, and which ones were best left to the crack dealers. So I ended up in a pretty nice place in North Hollywood. One little catch, though... I could spit and pretty much hit the Mexican projects. I was embarassed to tell people I lived in North Hollywood, so I would usually just mumble something about Studio City and hope they didn't ask for details. However, I paid a crazy amount for having to be paranoid that the sound of a guy closing his car door might be a gunshot, and being in the flight path of the Burbank airport. Hey, I'm no wuss, though. The day that I moved into my apartment building in Manhattan, a dismembered body was found in a suitcase in my alley. I'm no stranger to the city life!

PEOPLE AND THEIR DAMN DOGS: Okay, Paris and Jessica might have made it cute, but I will never NEVER be accepting of people who carry dwarfed dogs in purses. One day I saw a woman at Target who was yelling into her oversize Louis Vuitton. I was about to chalk it up to a wicked case of Schizophrenia, when I realized she was scolding what can only be reffered to a drowned rat in her $3000 handbag. And at the DGA (the Directors Guild of America... where I used to work), a woman came to an event in one of the theatres with a tiny dog in her purse. She put the purse on the ground, and evidently forgot about the dog, because the next thing we knew, a woman came screaming out of the theatre, saying that "a small furry thing brushed my leg!" Seriously, people... SERIOUSLY!

LA PEOPLE THINKING THAT LA IS THE SHIT: So this might be the most embittered of what annoys me... because everywhere I went in LA, I ran into really close-minded know-it-all LA natives. In Manhattan, street-side vendors would sell t-shirts proclaiming "Fuck LA" and "I (middle finger) LA". I met many a Manhattanite who hated California and LA in particular. But most of them were either actually from LA originally or had been there several times. When I found the transverse opinion in LA, I would question their hatred for New York or Seattle or Dallas or whatever city that's not LA I happened to mention. "Have you ever been there?" I would ask. The reply? "Umm... no. But I'm sure I would hate it. I love LA. There's no reason to go other places to know that they suck." Ahh... spoken like a true dwarf-dog carrying member of the "LA is the shit" club.

IN LA, YOU'RE UGLY... AND DON'T YOU FORGET IT: I was watching a new show hosted by David Spade the other night, and he said something that really made sense to me. He said that in LA, everyone is a few degrees uglier than anywhere else in the country. Let's say that you're from Michigan... and in Michigan, you'd probably rate a "9" on the hottness scale. Well, come to LA, and that "9" will quickly become a "3". Given that you have to compete with unnatural (literally) beauty and ugly people who just wear expensive clothes and wear tons of makeup to cover their ugliness, you don't stand a chance! Now, being a redhead, I am keenly aware that I am pale. Trust me people, I've owned this skin for a good 24 years now, so saying "Oh my gosh, you're so pale!" Isn't going to cause me to look down at my legs in alarm and shout "SHUT UP! ARE YOU SERIOUS? CRAP!". This summer, I got quite the disapproving glances from people. Sometimes people would be so rude as to ask me about my paleness and offer suggestions like "maybe you should go tanning". Wow... I never thought of that! You mean the sun... it actually darkens people? No way! So screw you, fake-orange-tan-I'm-going-to-have-skin-cancer-when-I'm-27 people! I'm back in Seattle, where I'm an "8" and the weather's never nice enough to even show skin! And where no one owns a dog smaller than a cat, and the drivers live within their means of vehicle purchase and can drive in the damn rain!

phew... that felt good to get off my chest.

Princess Bella Boo

2006-05-19T14:17:00.000-07:00

My cat Bella is an absolute Princess. But after her tough life growing up, she should get nothing less! Yes yes... I'm crazy cat lady. I've fully embraced this! But you would be too, if you knew Bella and her life story...

I received Bella from a woman that I worked with in Los Angeles. She was a bona-fide crazy cat lady. Her name was Laraine, and she and her gay roommate shared a house with 15 cats. That's right... 15. Of which Bella was one of them. Their original plan was to rescue kittens from their feral mothers, and nurse them to health. They would then adopt out the kittens to good homes. Well, somewhere along the line, they grew too attached, and ended up never adopting out any of the kittens. And their collection just kept growing and growing. Apparently, Bella was the doll of the group... she was constantly wanting attention, but it hard to compete with 14 other kitties!

So, one day, Laraine comes into the office in tears, telling us that her landlord is selling the house and she has to move. That means she has to get rid of at least 10 kittens, because no landlord in LA is going to accept Laraine and her harem of 15 kitties. So she started adopting them out, one by one. I browsed through the pictures of her kitties, not planning on adopting one (my roommate already had two of her own), until I saw this:

Look at that attitude! I just knew I had to have her. And have her I did.

She really is a great cat. Except she hates being picked up and kissed on the head. And she's picky about her food. And she throws up sometimes on my stuff. And she meows all the time. And she scratches the furniture. And she gets hair on every single peice of clothing I own. And she stands on my head in the morning because she wants food.

Okay, umm... maybe she isn't the most awesome cat. But she's got attitude, and that's all that matters! Plus she's a princess. And who can't completely fall in love with a kitty who poses for pictures like this:

and this:

So yeah, I'm a crazy cat lady. But rightfully so!

feelin' great, feelin' good, how are you?

2006-05-18T11:56:00.000-07:00

Okay, so far, this diet is rocking! I feel like I have so much more energy, and even though I'm not noticing any physical changes, my mental health is steadily climbing. Yay!

Alright, enough of that.

My employment situation has gotten a little better, too. After a ton of drama yesterday (my agent totally sucks balls), I went and got a new agent in Seattle. I sound so Hollywood, with all this agent talk! Too bad the reality of it is that all I want is a job that doesn't involve sitting in a corner with my iPod, pretending to work. Now, don't get me wrong. I looooove pretending to work. It ranks right up there with faking an orgasm. But I'm getting bored! If I get one more person asking me to fold paper in a midwestern accent baby voice, I'm going to scream!

Luckily, they've given me a task that involves researching products on the internet. This gives me the ability to surf the internet all day, whilst pretending to work! It's brilliant! So now when anyone walks past my desk, I hold my pen to my chin and make my best "concentrating really hard on the task" look, and I'm golden! See, even right now, I'm typing away on this, and they aren't the wiser... (insert concentrating look here)

I have nothing more to write... I'm basically just catering to the needs of my bored roommate right now. She's pretty much the only one who reads this. Luv ya Shelbs!

I leave you with a picture...

stressin' out

2006-05-16T16:02:00.000-07:00

Gar! I hate hate hate job hunting, but unfortunately, it's what's been consuming my life for the past few months. You see, when I moved from LA in March, I had the genious plan to wait until I got here to start job hunting. Looking back, I think that may have been a bad idea.

Right now, I'm working at a pharmaceutical skin care company, folding paper and labeling envelopes. That's right, I'm a human postage machine. And although the pay isn't crazy good, I can't help but wonder: Wouldn't it be cheaper if they just bought a machine to fold the paper and label the envelopes? Never mind, I don't want to know! I got this gig through an employment agency, or as I'd like to call it "where your career goes to die". I thought the agency could help me out, but all they did was stick me in this lousy "job" and tell me that until the "assignment" is over, they can't actively find me a new one. Translation: I'm stuck. In papercut hell.

So after doing the paper folding thing for a couple weeks, they've offered me a job here. I would be working in the pharmaceutical sales end of things, talking to customers, putting in orders... yeah, not my dream job, and the pay is total crap. But I'm desperate! Or am I? Here are my options:

(1) I could just take the job and bear with it. Meanwhile, I would barely be able to afford my rent and gas, and might just go crazy from the long commute/small office/midwestern accents all around.

(2) I could quit the "assignment" here and hope to God that a new one comes up soon somewhere else, through the temp agency. If one doesn't, I'll be jobless and broke... right where I started.

I think I'm going crazy... between the lack of calories, lack of money and lack of workplace stimuli. Gar.

i'm gonna be a skinny bitch!

2006-05-15T20:39:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I know in the previous post, I guarenteed some juicy dating/Seattle survival tidbits... but until this huge ass of mine subsides, I'm not going to be doing much man-hunting.

Me and my roommate, Shelby, have decided to lose about 20-25 pounds each. We've given ourselves this lofty goal, with the determination to take our newly skinny selves to Hawaii. Sure, we have not one iota of will power between us... but we've got huge asses to contend with, and we've gotta say sayonara.

We've decided to go the "counting calories" route. We're hoping that between our horrible math skills, and the time we're wasting adding foods up, we'll have lost some pounds.

Last night, I picked up some "lo-cal" groceries to enable my new diet. And who knew... healthy groceries are so damn expensive! Seriously, this is why America is so fat! Gross, fatty food is fast, cheap, and convenient... and America loves it! Unfortunately, so does amandalicious.

Today started out relatively well. I've had to make a lifestyle change, that to a Seattle resident is a HUGE deal. I had to get a new coffee drink! My regular drink, a Grande Nonfat Caramel Machiatto has about eleventy billion calories in it, so now my new (blah) drink is a Grande Nonfat Sugar-free Vanilla Latte (blah). But I will make sacrifices if I have to! I paired my coffee with a cardboard-tasting granola bar, and made my way to work.

About midmorning, I had my lo-cal snack. A banana. And wouldn't you know, that bastard was 100 freaking calories! Damn bananas... and it didn't even fill me up! So I grabbed what was supposed to be my afternoon snack, some yogurt, and chowed down. So, if you've been counting, I've consumed about 4 million calories before 10am. Blah.

Lunch goes by... uneventful, unfilling. I'm starving, and I've "supposedly" eaten almost 1000 calories already. What the hell? Luckily, Shelby e-mails me:

"Dude, I ate about 400 calories at lunch, and I want to eat my hand."

Great. So now I've dragged another innocent soul into my starvation scheme. Earlier, me and Shelby were joking about our "race to the 'rexia"... but now I'm not so sure we're very far off. I miss food!

Tonight I ate raw veggies and popcorn. I feel like one of those women in those commercials where they talk about their pathetic single girl meals.

I'm not sure how much longer I'm going to last... I should put a picture of my ass on a t-shirt, so I won't forget my motivation.

it's only just begun... la dee da da dee dum

2006-05-15T15:42:00.000-07:00

here it is! my first official blog post. i've decided that this blog will follow my journey through life as i:

1) attempt to lose about 20 pounds
2) get a boyfriend who doesn't smell like fish and has a valid driver's license
3) survive living in Seattle after moving from LA
4) get crazy with my awesome roomies and friends
5) attempt to brush my cat bella, and try to cut some of her butt hair.

so there you go! look forward to some new posts to come...