Tis The Season To Throw Down

In the spirit of the season, my blog today will be dedicated solely to things that piss me off. Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking "I don't have the patience or back strength to sit here for 3 days reading, so could I get the condensed version?" Yes, my friend, like a dedicated Cuban with milk, I shall now provide you with the condensed version of my favorite thing: bitching. And so, here is a list of things that really get under my skin, and because I love all of you so much, I've decided to make it the Holiday edition. Merry Chrismahannukquanzukah, and Happy Reading!!

1. People who go out shopping during the 14 days before Christmas and take their sweet ass time. This tops the list because there is nothing more nerve racking and more likely to bring out some one's homicidal tendencies than a person who insists on walking as slow as is humanly possible through a mall, department store, grocery store, or other venue of Holiday supplies. I want to know who these people think they are. Why are they aimlessly wandering the aisles of sparkling green and red crap looking like lost children about to cry for their Mothers? Why are they not at home on their computers doing their shopping online and paying the extra $2,000 to get their packages here by Christmas Eve? Because obviously they lack the crucial ability to make split second decisions like: Peppermint or Chocolate? Small or Medium? Fur or Leather? Battery operated or Plug in? If you cannot decide in a nanosecond flat how many of those bookmarks that play Christmas carols when you open the page, that people will never use again, to buy as stocking stuffer for your third cousin twice removed....get the hell out of my way because I still have socks with tassels to pick out.

2. People who use the Holidays in a vain attempt to cover up their lack of manners. There are very few people that call my office, or bump into me in the street, or steal the last Cosmo Magazine right out from under me that I don't feel the urge to ask for their Mother's phone number so that I can call the woman up and ask her just what the hell she was thinking when she told her children it was OK to act that way. People seem to be inherently rude these days. Which is fine, if they own up to being rude. Like, just admit that you have an attitude problem. But do not, after just having acted like our consultation fee is a personal attack on you, or telling me that because your file is not sitting right next to me on my desk even though you haven't been a client for 3 years that I'm being irresponsible or am somehow incompetent, wish me a Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays. You don't mean it. In fact, I'm pretty sure that you mean the opposite of that. You're probably hoping that I'll get caught in an unwieldy set of lights and be strangled while carolers are outside my door humming silent night.

3. Parents who take their children Christmas shopping. Stop yelling at your children in the aisles like a pack of animals. They're children. They're genetically hardwired to like candy, stuffed animals, and anything that you can't afford. You chose to take them with you on your quest for the cheapest digital frame made. It's not their fault that you and your spouse/baby-daddy or mama can't divide household responsibilities and avoid this drama by having one parent stay home with the kids and the other go out shopping alone. Everytime I see you out there, in your hideous sweaters and birkenstocks, I'm tempted to buy whatever it is your brat wants and give it to them right then and there, just to spite you.

4. Party hosts who insist on doing gift exchange. I have no desire to fain excitement at the sight of yet another fruit cake. Nor do I wish to be expected to express delight over some hack's wayward attempt at "crafting". Forced gift exchange is bullshit. Like writing papers or studying for an exam, I am only good at buying gifts for people that I care about. It's as simple as that. The reason being that if I don't care about you then I probably have not spent the time necessary to get to know you, and therefore have no idea what the hell you want for Christmas. I also don't appreciate being put in the very awkward situation of having to pretend to like something I hate. I don't do dishonest emotions well. While my words may say "I love it", my face says "Would it be appropriate to throw up all over this needlepoint pillow?"

I'm sure there will be more, which I'll put in a blog entitled "Tis The Season To Throw Down, Part II". Until then, be safe, eat well, drink your weight in booze, and stop beating your children.

For The Love Of Gucci

I'm not what you would call a fashionista. I don't make a point of putting every outfit together perfectly, matching shoes to belt to purse to earrings and so forth. I don't obsess over my shirt coordinating perfectly with my watch or my necklace complimenting my rings. I mean, for the most part, my wardrobe consists of things that go together no matter what. Black, brown, white, grey, and the occasional colorful sweater or pair of shoes to mix it up. It's not that I don't enjoy taking risks with my look, I'm just aware of what works in what situation and what does not. Which brings me to my point: I never have, and never will, understand women who feel that no matter where they are going, anything they feel like putting on is appropriate.

A good example of this is Carrie in SATC. I love that show. Really, I do. But my major issue with it is the same issue I have with these so called "free spirits of fashion." A towel is not an outfit. Neither is a man's shirt paired with a wide belt and a pair of high heels. Nor are ankle warmers and a night shirt. Adding high heels to something does not constitute getting dressed. And the thing that gets me most is when I see these women out with their friends or boyfriends. I would hope that if my friends came over to find me trying to pass off a slip, faux fur coat and pair of strappy scandals as an outfit, they would immediately call the men in the white coats because it would certainly mean that I had lost it for good and obviously needed help. Same with a boyfriend. While I don't think that couples should tell each other what to do or wear, I do think that boyfriends and girlfriends have a certain responsibility to each other to not let the other walk out of the house looking like a fool. It's just not nice. Love means occasionally having to say "Hon, you look demented."

Granted, I do live most of my life under the impression that the whole world is my bedroom. I mean, I would live in pajamas(complete with fuzzy slippers) if it was allowed. But it's not. The only places that it's OK for me to do that are in my house and at school(some of the time). When I'm at work, or going out, or doing anything in public, it's necessary to make the effort to throw on at least a pair of jeans and a top so that I don't look like I just rolled out of the bed 5 minutes before walking out the door. And I see these people out there in beach cover-ups, night shirts, or outfits fit for a stripper, and I want to walk up to them and ask "I just want to know what you were thinking when you got dressed this morning. Really, what was going through your head? Did you look in the mirror? Or just throw caution to the wind and hope for the best? And where are the cops? I believe this constitutes public indecency." And it's always in places like Target, or Wal-Mart, or Publix that I see them. Those are public places to , ya know! The rest of us are not impervious to your smell or horrible fashion choices just because the store is the size of a small country. Lingerie doesn't count either. Just because it costs more than your average pair of pants doesn't make it clothing.

But hey, I could be wrong. Maybe if I got out there in next to nothing, I'd see what all the rage is about. But with my luck, all I would end up seeing is the inside of a prison cell.

To Be On Hold For The Next 5 Hours, Press 2

Automated voice prompts are the latest thorn in my side. I loathe them with a burning passion only rivaled by my hate for leopard print spandex. And it's not that I don't appreciate the phone company's/cable company's/drug store's attempt at convenience, but after five minutes of not breathing for fear that the prompter may misunderstand me and think I was asking to be put through to the bills payable/we don't speak English department, my head is about to explode and I feel dizzy from lack of oxygen. And the voice, oh the voice. I mean, I don't need to be asked for my credit card number by a robotic phone sex operator. I would be happy to give it to Joe Schmow, just as long as he doesn't sound like he's touching himself while asking me for it.

And EVERYONE has one these days. Department stores, phone companies, the city, even the local deli. It's pure laziness, and what these places don't realize is that people don't want to talk to a recording. A recording can't understand what you're saying. It says that it can, but it's lying to you. Most say they can understand over 250 responses, but what they don't tell you is that "Live person" and "This is bullshit" aren't included in those.

I was on the phone with T-Mobile the other day trying to pay my bill, and I had to listen to the automated bitch drone on for 10 minutes before she let me say anything. I don't need to hear "We appreciate your call" and "Thank you for choosing T-Mobile". I know they don't appreciate my call, or they wouldn't be making me wait. I do not have time to carry on a one sided conversation with a recording, I'm not a bored housewife with no one to talk to. I have places to go and things to do. And God forbid I call from a crowded coffee shop or the office and some one's talking in the background or I'm trying to type while on hold. If a strong wind blows through, the auto-whore thinks I told her that I wanted to go back to the main menu and then I have to start the whole process all over again. And they never give you the option upfront to talk to a live person, that's the last resort. The damn thing will hang up on you before it'll put you through to a "customer care representative." Then I get on the phone with a real person, and by that point I'm so angry that I'm screaming at them like they're deaf and swearing them black and blue for asking me the same fucking questions for the tenth time. Yes, I am aware that I can access my account online. I'm not retarded, I wasn't trying to access the Internet by calling you, obviously I wanted to talk to a live person. No, I do not want to go over my bill, I just want to pay it. Why the hell did I have to press a million keys to navigate my way to you if all you're going to do is ask me the same shit over and over and over again?

Then they have no answers for you and suggest you go online to the FAQ's section of your profile. And my question is, why the hell are they paying these people? What are they here for, to tell you that they can't help you? To give you attitude because you're interrupting their hundredth game of solitaire? C'mon Buddy, I don't like a lot of our clients either, but I don't act as though they're inconveniencing me when I have to actually do my job and help them with what they need. But the best is when they ask you to calm down, as if you're going to jump through the phone and harm them. Believe me, if it was possible, everyone in the cable industry would be in serious trouble. I know people who have broken their remotes waiting to talk to someone. I know people who have broken their TVs waiting to talk to someone.

And then there are the freaks who enjoy talking to the auto-voice. I guess those are the ones too cheap to pay for phone sex.

A Spoonful Of Sugar

It's come to my attention that some people who read my blog may be offended by the content, or may read it and think I'm a bitch. Fair enough. I didn't start this blog expecting that everyone who reads it is going to love it, agree with it, or find it all that funny. It's not always meant to be funny. It's also not meant to cater to any one's taste or sense of humor. In fact, when I started writing this blog, I set myself to the task of being unPC, and for a reason: People's opinions are not censored. They are what they are. Opinions can be hurtful, they can be offensive, they can be insulting, and they can be a revelation. Our worlds are censored enough without having to worry that what we truly think of it is inappropriate because it may not be what people like to hear.

The only names I've used in my blog are those of people in the public eye. I have never used the names of anyone that I know personally, or that someone has told me about. There's a reason for this also, and that reason is that I don't think it's necessary to call anyone out. Yes, I have a boss. So does everyone else I know. I have a family, so does everyone else I know. I have ex boyfriends, and friends, and so does everyone else I know. The people I write about come from a lot of different sources. They come from bosses, families, and friends that I know, and they come from bosses, families, and friends that people around me know and have. If you read something in this blog that you think is about you, consider why that is before you ask me about it, because all I'm going to say to you is "Your name isn't on it." Everyone out there has something about themselves that's embarrassing, or that they would rather not have pointed out to them in the form of an accusatory rampage, and that includes me, but we don't live in a world where everyone likes us all the time and has only nice things to say about us. And there's only two ways to handle that. You can either choose to laugh off or ignore what you don't like or know isn't true, or you can give in to the curiosity and keep going back for more.

I don't want anyone who reads this to think that they can't throw criticism my way. I welcome it, and any writer who doesn't is doing themselves a disservice. But, criticism and hypocrisy are two different things. Before you suggest that someone lightens up on the cynicism, look in your own backyard. While I may write about people, and what bothers me about them, I would NEVER dream of saying those things to them directly or to one of their friends unless the situation called for it and I knew they would take it in good stride as I would if someone were to say the same to me. But, I know people who would not only dream of doing it, but think nothing of the consequences it has on the people around them, including their spouse. If you find someone annoying, or think they're a pill popping maniac, or believe them to be below you for whatever reason, that's fine. But do not, unless you want to alienate everyone around you, say it to them or to one of their friends thinking that it's acceptable behavior. Toddlers know better. And it does get back to the person it was being said about. That's how you lose clients, that's how you lose friends, that's how you run your reputation into the ground.

My blog is not going to change. And I make no apologies for what's in it.

Do You Need a Loofa?

When Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the President of Iran, gave an interview with Mike Wallace, he spoke on a variety of topics, including the war, Iraq, our President, and his leisure activities. One topic that I found interesting, as I'm sure many people did, was the Holocaust. It was not the main topic, and really he didn't say much about it by way of length, but what he did say didn't really require explanation. You see, he believes the Holocaust to be an "over-blown fairytale."

This doesn't insult me just because I'm Jewish. Yes, that is one of the reasons, but it is not the only reason. It's insulting to me as a person, and as someone who doesn't choose to discount the suffering of others as means of validating my own ends. He mentioned that one of his favorite activities is reading books. A few suggestions:

The Internet for Dummies (Paperback) by John R. Levine (Author), Carol Baroudi (Author), Margaret Levine Young (Author)

Photographing the Holocaust: Interpretations of the Evidence By Janina Struk

In Pursuit of Justice: Examining the Evidence of the Holocaust By United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

Brainwashing: The Science of Thought Control By Kathleen Taylor

A short excerpt from the interview:

"Well, don't be hasty sir," the president said. "I'm going to get to that. I think that the Israeli government is a fabricated government."

"Fabricated" following the Holocaust, which he's said may also have been fabricated. Last December. Ahmadinejad said the Europeans had created a myth of the Holocaust. "What I did say was, if this is a reality, if this is real, where did it take place?" Ahmadinejad replied.

"In Germany," Wallace said.

"Who — who caused this in Europe?" Ahmadinejad asked.

"In Europe. If I may … so …what you're suggesting — one moment — what you're suggesting then, that Israel should be over in Germany because that's where the holocaust took place?" Wallace asked.

"I'm not saying that, mind you," the president replied. But he has said Israel could be moved to Europe, or even to the United States but it shouldn't be in Palestine.

Hmmm...OK, so Israel should now be in Germany because 70 years ago Hitler and his band of lemmings decided that Jews were polluting the "purity" of their race? Never mind that after World War I , the League of Nations approved the British Mandate for Palestine with the intent of creating a "national home for the Jewish people", or that Jews, along with Christians and Muslims, regard that area as their Holy Land(for some as far back as 3 thousand years), or that Israel as a nation has declared it's independence and fought(like every other nation in the history of the world) for the right to be where they are. No, absolutely not. Israel should be in Germany, since that's where the worst genocide, that Mahmoud claims never happened, took place. Then he takes a turn. He actually gives no reasoning for believing that Israel should be anywhere but in Palestine, it "just should be". Perhaps it was because he realized what he was saying made no sense: That Israel should be in Germany because that's where the Holocaust that never happened took place.

Maybe it's just me, but I don't think someone who has that hard a time getting their shit straight should be in charge of a house plant, let alone an entire nation.

But, since Mr. Ahmadinejad seems to be having such a hard time with the extensive research, photos, first hand accounts, diaries, records, etc. that prove the Holocaust happened, I have an idea:

Mahmoud, I would be happy to personally escort you to one of the many concentration camps still standing, and demonstrate for you not only the fascinating precision of German engineering, but the true experience of what you claim never happened. Here's how it'll go down: We're going to test the gas chambers. You go in, and I'll turn it on. You know those monstrosities still work, they were made by the same people who make Mercedes and BMW's for God's sake, and if there's anyone who appreciates a piece of fine machinery, I know it's you. If, after it turns itself off, you walk out the other side, I'll consider seeing things your way.

A Blog About Not Blogging

I have not been blogging as much recently for a few reasons:

1. I just started my fall semester of my Junior year of college, so I have homework and all that good stuff going on.

2. I've been slightly preoccupied with the craziness going on at work and with the people I call my friends. I'm just kidding, I really do love my friends, some of them just happen to be really whacked out sometimes...but hey, who isn't?

3. I haven't been all that angry lately. I mean, I'm always angry or bitching about something, but I haven't really been the kind of angry that's necessary to be outrageously rude and politically incorrect, and I wouldn't dream of giving all of you anything less than that.

But this last reason brings me to my mini-blog topic. Why is it that we find anger so funny? Is it because we, as a society, are just pissed off at everyone all the time? Why are we so cynical and jaded?

Perhaps it's because we have people lying and saying things like "The Holocaust never happened".

That's the topic of my next blog, stay tuned.

Two Cartons Of Eggs and An Hour Later

I realize that I am not the most forgiving or even understanding person on earth, but I really don't think it's too much to ask that we as a society respect each other's time, or lack there of. I'm well aware that thousands of us have the luxury of not having to work because either a) we married into money(yay for you...seriously), b) we are supported by the government( no yay for you), or c) our parents died young and left us enough money to buy whatever we want for as long as we want without having to wonder what it must be like to have self respect. But what I'm not getting at 11:30 am on a Tuesday when I'm standing impatiently behind Soccer Mom USA, tapping my heel VERY loudly and wondering to myself what long term effect hair bleach has on one's ability to choose the right cereal for one's family, is what the hell is going through some one's mind when they stand in the middle of the aisle with an over sized cart, blocking every one's way. I'm guessing it's something along these lines: "Should I bother moving my cart? No, I don't think so. Why is that girl staring at me? Maybe she needs to get by. She can go around. I mean, why should I move?"





The answer to that question is this: One day, the person you're blocking won't be a nice girl who plans to go to law school and therefore can't harm you, lest she be banned from the ABA after being brought up on federal assault charges. It will be some other person who has somewhere to go and things to do, unlike yourself who has absolutely nowhere to be ever, who will not hesitate to physically move you out of their way.





I just don't understand the mentality behind preventing people from doing things in a timely manner. I'm not saying that everyone doesn't have the right to be in the grocery store, or the bank, or restaurants whenever they want to be. I'm just suggesting that as a manner of courtesy, unless you're old in which case you don't really have to follow the rules anymore because you've earned that right, please don't go to any of these places during the hours that those of us who have jobs are trying to utilize their services. If you've forgotten what these hours are from lack of being useful, or never having contributed at all, here's a schedule:





Hours Off Limits to Those Whose Sole Purpose is:


Getting Hair Done, Baby Making, Shopping, "Tooling":



7am-9:30am(These are the hours when those of us with jobs are driving to work and trying to get something to eat on the way, because God knows that we wouldn't dream of putting off getting Corporate America going in the morning, lest we rob the rest of you of something to NOT do.)



11am-1:30 pm(These are the hours that those of us with jobs are trying to get some lunch. You see, because we rush to work in the morning and have to sit through what feels like Dante's Inferno driving home at night, we have no time or energy to pack nutritious meals to take with us for lunch. But, if you should feel so inclined, and you happen to be one of the inconsiderate bastards who I know will be out at my favorite restaurant tomorrow, eating at my table on my lunch hour, you are more than welcome to bring me a salad on your way to the craft store.)



4:30pm-6:30pm(These are the hours when those of us with jobs are trying to get home to our families or televisions, both of which are equally important to us. I don't know what any of you could possibly be out doing at this hour. That's all I have to say about that.)


But, if any of you should happen to find yourselves out and about during these hours because maybe you just lost track of time, fear not, there are plenty of us willing and ready to tell you exactly where you should go.

One More Thing...

I just had to point out how hilariously ironic it is that there is an ad that says "Attract 'Mr. Right':10 secrets to make a man positively addicted to you for life" or some bull like that, right above my blog on how NOT to have a man addicted to you.

Ladies, listen, there is nothing wrong with a man wanting to be with you, but no one should be ADDICTED to you. They have rehab for that shit...and restraining orders.

Sally Sensitive And The Whining Muskateers

OK, so I get that men like a girl who plays hard-to-get. I understand the whole chase and catching scenario, seduction, mystery, blah, blah, blah. Men, you seem to think that when a girl says no she really means yes(this has nothing to do with sex, in that case no always means no...and there's my responsibility plug), and that all she needs is convincing, and that if she would just give in and "surrender", she would be happy and realize that she really DID want to go out with you and just wasn't aware of how attractive you really are. Or, if you're dating, she just needs a little pushing to get through the times when she's sick of you or you're doing something that pisses her off, because after all, you know what's best for her. Well, here's a completely radical idea: What if women really do know what they want...and it's not more time with you?

I am not in any way condoning the behavior of women who do actually lie and say they want "this" when they really want "that". But, for the women who put it all out on the table and are still hitting the same wall over and over again, let me just say that I have no fucking clue what is wrong with men these days. And no, this is not a man-bashing post. If you know me at all, you know by now that I am an equal opportunity basher. Women do it too. Men tell them that they need space and don't want a serious relationship and that work/school/family/pottery lessons take up most of their time and they really don't have time for a commitment, but then when the women are actually faced with the reality of what that means, they flip out and say that the men led them on. But, since I am a woman, we're going to look at it from the woman's point of view. Men, feel free to tell me that I sound like a guy on this, it's nothing I haven't heard before.

I have been in 3 serious relationships. By serious, I mean that I consider these men to be my ex's and while I was with them I made a reasonable effort to be monogamous and try that thing that starts with a "c"...what is it? Oh yes, compromise. It means that on occasion, I made allowances for their needs, even when they conflicted with my own, and to a almost surprising extent, I sought their advice or opinions when I didn't have to, because hey, that's what you do when you're with someone. But anywhore, I have been in 3 relationships, and countless non-relationships(I dated the guy but never considered him my boyfriend or told him that I was his girlfriend). But no matter the nature of the relationship, I tell every man that I am seeing the same thing, and that is: I am not available 24/7. I enjoy school, and it is the most important thing in my life. I am very focused, I want to be successful and nothing is standing in my way of that. I do not play well with others, I don't like people touching my stuff unnecessarily, and that includes my body. I like my alone time, lots and lots of it. I read, I write, I listen to music and play dress up with my clothes, and I cannot concentrate or do those things if I have to worry constantly that someone else isn't getting enough attention. I don't feel the need to see the person I'm with more than twice a week...maybe three if I'm feeling super special, I have a lot of people in my life that I want to spend time with, and the amount of time I want to spend with someone is directly proportional to how long I've known them. I don't like the phone, and do not, under any circumstances, feel the need to sit and talk on it for hours on end with anyone. The only people I chat with on the phone are my Girlfriends and female members of my family, and that's because we're talking smack about everyone.

But no one ever listens. They say they're listening and that they get it, but they're obviously lying, because about a month into dating, the phone calls start. The phone calls, with the questions, and the accusations.

"Where are you?" - Out
"What are you doing?" - None of your business
"Who are you with?" - People
"Are you busy?" - Extremely
"So, what's up?" - Didn't I just say I'm busy?
"Do you want to go to dinner tonight?" - No
"Do you have plans tonight?" - If you count my couch and Tony Soprano
"Why don't you pick up when I call you?" - I don't want to
"We haven't seen each other in a week." - I knew there had to be a reason that it's been easier to breathe
"Are you mad at me?" - I will be if you ask me one more question
"Can I come over?" - No, if I wanted you in my home I would invite you over myself
"Why do you keep avoiding me?" - Because you never leave me alone
"Is something wrong?" - Yes, you don't listen when I talk to you
"Is there someone else?" - How could I have time to date someone else when you're on me 24/7?
"Why do you leave right after sex?" - Because if I wanted to talk I would call one of my Girlfriends
"Have I done something to upset you?" - I have no idea because you've kept me in a constant state of pissed off for a few days now, so I no longer know what it feels like to NOT be upset
"Are we breaking up?" - I don't care what you do, just leave me out of it


Is it too much to ask for a boyfriend that appreciates distance and autonomy instead of clinging onto someone for dear life? People don't need to be around each other that much, ever. Men, and women, need to stop lying to each other about what they expect and what they can handle. I get it if you want to be in a relationship that's like a dual life support system, but leave me out of it. I'm honest about my limitations and how much I can take and what I have time for, and I would really like one day to find a man that can not only say that he gets it, but can ACTUALLY get it.

Or, at the very least, a man who won't complain about my relationship with my TV.

Sorry, I Have A Freak Out Scheduled For 8:30

The modern woman: She's collected, smart, witty, competent, and knows what she wants. She wastes no time with "maybe's" and "could have's". She is aware of her needs and how to fulfill them. And she is a spaz when it comes to relationships.

I am a modern woman. While I may get stressed out at work or school, I am always able to come back down at the end of the day. I wouldn't dream of walking into my boss's office and announcing that I was leaving, because despite all of the bullshit that my job entails, I love it. I love my boss, I love my co-workers in a very non-loving way, and deep down I know I love the pressure and the experience. On that same note, I wouldn't stop going to school for anything, not even a million dollars. I love school, my professors, my hour-long debates with my classmates, the homework, and most of all the knowledge I gain by going. School is something I do just for me. But for the life of me, I cannot seem to make a relationship stick.

No, I have never been dumped. I am always the person doing the dumping, due to my severe neurosis about men and love. I sabotage relationships because I hate anything that is unpredictable or that doesn't follow a set formula. With school and work it's simple. Go to class, make good grades, graduate, get a job, work hard, climb the ladder, make money, make partner, make a difference. If you're strong willed and don't mind spending 100 or more hours a week at work, it's cake. It's guaranteed, it's YOURS. But with relationships, there's the other person to worry about. Their feelings, their fears, their path in life and how you can make your different paths somehow run parallel. They demand time and energy and commitment...the C word. Oh, commitment, the evil, wicked word that haunts me in my worst nightmares. Who has time for all that?

Let me just give it to you straight: I do not do commitment well, or at all really. I haven't pin pointed the exact moment that it happens, but any guy dating me is guaranteed fidelity for about the first 5 dates, and after that it's a game of "where's my girlfriend", because here's my train of thought after I am appointed some one's significant other: Why am I with this person? Is he what I want? Do I have time for this relationship? I'm too young for this kind of commitment. His voice bothers me. Is he Jewish? Why does he keep staring at me? Can I wear heels and still be shorter than him? Are we spending too much time together? Is it wrong to sleep with him if I don't plan on staying with him? Does he know I make more money than him? Would it bother him if he did? Is that the same shirt he wore the other night? What would my family think of him? What would our kids look like? Why am I thinking about having kids with him? Is this the age I should be looking for something serious? What does he plan to do with his life? Why hasn't he decided on a career yet? Is that a bad sign? Is it going to bother him that work and school come before him? What will he say when I tell him I only want to see him about every two weeks? Are his teeth naturally straight? Will he understand me having so many friends that are men? What are his views on the war? Is he a Republican? Why does he click his tongue like that when he's reading? How long before I can break up with him, and can I do it via email?

So, you see, there is a lot that goes into the freak out process. I have always thought that when I met the right man, all my bullshit would stop and I would be fine. But I'm starting to see that that theory itself is BS. So, I suppose I'll just have to find someone as crazy as me, because God knows I don't want anyone normal. What fun would that be?

Give Me Your Olives Or The Hoagie Gets It

Since becoming a vegetarian - "WHAT?! YOU?!" - Yes, I'm a vegetarian now. Anywhore, since becoming a vegetarian, I've become addicted to veggie subs. Like seriously, I eat them almost everyday. But it's cool because the whole thing only has like 450 calories. SCORE!

But getting these subs has become quite a stressful experience for me. You see, I like a lot of black olives on my subs, and by a lot, I mean like 2-3 handfuls. I heart them, they make my sub, and quite frankly I get a little more than miffed when some crazy person at a well known sub establishment gives me a hard time about the number of olives I require to enjoy my sandwich. It's none of their damn business if you ask me. Which is what I'm here to bitch about today.

Toppings. At most food joints, like sub shops and southwest"grills" they have them to go on your burritos, nachos, sandwiches, what-have-you. Now, when you order food in these places, you have to "pay" for the bread or tortilla you want, your meat of choice(which in my case is none which makes me even more angry when they deny me olives, but we'll get to that later), but the "toppings" are supposed to be "free", meaning that you can get as much as you want, as opposed to having to pay more for extra meat or cheese. In actuality, you're paying for the whole damn sandwich, right down to the wax paper it's wrapped in. Those bastards don't give anything away for free. Not even the air you breathe while in their store.

What kills me about places like this:

1. Their food is supposed to be made to YOUR liking. Not John-Dead-Beat-Can't-Get-A-Better-Job's liking. Not the manager's liking. Not corporate's liking. Not even your Aunt Millie's liking. If they want to regulate the amount of lettuce you get, then they should just make the sandwich themselves and not even ask for your opinion in the first place. Obviously they know better than you do how you like your food. Why even have the glass partition there? Why not just make the food in the kitchen and bring it out when it's done? Why not just TELL people what they want? And what's with that glass partition anyways? What is this, Jail? I mean, what's the point? Are they afraid that someone is gonna jump over the counter and run off with their pickles?

2. If people wanted to be told that they shouldn't be eating something, they would go to their Mother's house. I have parents, thank you. I don't need a whole other group of people saying "You know, you really don't need that much." Was I asking you? No, I was not. I believe what I said was "I would like more jalapenos." If I get heartburn, or indigestion, or have an allergic reaction, isn't that MY business? Since when did the AHA start paying these places to put their two cents in? What business is it of theirs if you want clogged arteries or high cholesterol? Judgement is reserved for Mom and Church/Temple. It has no place in Subway.

3. The people making your food aren't paying for the things they're withholding. What does it matter to the snot nosed kid behind the counter how much damn vinegar you want? So what if you require an inordinate amount of tomatoes? What does it matter to them if you have a thing for cucumbers? I mean, if the amount of toppings you used came out of their paycheck, I could understand that. But it doesn't. Why aren't there more people out there stickin' it to the man?

Yes, I use the term stickin' it to the man. What man I'm stickin' it to exactly, I don't know. I imagine him to be tall, dark, and handsome, and to be sitting in a room with piles of money and sweet n' low, laughing maniacally about the distribution of black olives.

Saving 20 Minutes

I am a total girlie girl. I love all things pink, sparkly, flowery, sweet-smelling, and chocolate. I wear high heels even though they kill my feet(except for the expensive ones which may explain my credit card debt), I put on necklaces and earrings and watches and rings, I agonize over what to wear when I know I'll be seen by people other than my Family and my boss(because, you know, spending 45 hours a week with me kinda shoes you in to fam status), and I ALWAYS wear perfume anywhere I go, because I just love hearing "You smell fantastic" from everyone...even the grocery clerk.

I think most women feel the same way about most of these things. I mean, what's the point of being a girl if you don't smell, feel, taste, and look better than men? There isn't one. But there is one of my/our daily routines that I realized this morning may not be so necessary after all. And let me say this before I go any further: I was kinda pissed when I realized that this routine of mine was not a necessity because like most women, I spend hundreds of dollars every year on these products, hours and hours of my time each month actually doing it, and precious minutes each day making sure it's perfect. My makeup. Yeah, my FREAKING makeup.

I went to the beach on Monday and got severely sunburned. Not so sunburned that I had to go to the hospital or anything, but to me, if I'm in pain, it's severe. SO, I got sunburned on my nose, forehead and shoulders. Since I do not enjoy the burning sensation I get every time I touch my face, I decided to forgo the makeup until the redness dies down. I was a little nervous because I wear makeup everyday. I wear foundation, blush, powder, mascara and chap stick(yes, it's makeup because it's pink). But what I discovered when I walked in to my office and took a glance in the mirror is that I looked exactly the same as when I do wear makeup. Not that my face is red when I wear makeup, the redness has gone away but the pain is still there. BUUTTT....about the looking the same....WTF?!?

I mean, here I am, spending at least 15 minutes every morning putting this shit on my face, and to my horror(but I suppose later glee), I look EXACTLY THE FUCKING SAME! Let me fill you in on what I go through every morning:

1. Foundation to cover any redness or blotchiness that may have sprung up due to a) a heavy night of drinking or b) a heavy night of crying or c) total lack of sleep to do work/men/a/b/ or a horrendous combination of all of the above. Or just to even out my skin tone, aka take away any color so that I can later add it back.

2. Dust my face with powder to keep said foundation from coming off, or to keep myself from being all shiny when the temp outside reaching 20,000 degrees.

3. Put on bronzer and blush to add color BACK to my face, but in a totally I-don't-wear-blush-or-bronzer-because-my-skin-is-naturally-perfectly-toned kinda way.

4. Line my eyes with liner and then apply one coat of mascara to the top lashes and one to the bottom to make my eyes look all shiny and come-hither, but not in a whorish kinda way, just a aren't-I-pretty-kinda way.

I know it's only four steps, but it takes up time that I could be sleeping, or reading a magazine, or sleeping, or watching TV, or sleeping. And I don't even need it!!! I was putting on makeup, as I suspect all women do, to look exactly the same as when we started only slightly less flawed. Well ladies, let me tell you a secret that will save you thousands of dollars and hours of time. Go get a sunburn.

And then go out and spend that money on some clothes...because no matter how red the rest of your body is, you don't look the same naked as you do clothed.

Victims Of Foreclosure

http://realestate.msn.com/buying/Article_busweek.aspx?cp-documentid=5084782&GT1=10233

Unlike most of my blogs whose titles are a spin on a popular catch phrase, this blog is wholly serious and not to be taken lightly. Please click on the link above and read the article.

There is no excuse for abandonment of pets. These creatures are innocent and deserve to be treated with respect and love. It breaks my heart, and makes my stomach sick, to hear that there are people out there who care so little that they leave their animals to die when their own choices lead them to foreclosure.

So please, pass the word on. Even if you just email one person the link, raising awareness is the first step to solving this problem. And if you, like the woman in this article, happen to pass by what looks like an abandoned house, take a moment and call your local pet rescue or even just the police. They will know what to do, and that phone call could be the difference between an animal living or dying.

And if you think this is funny or stupid, or that it's not worth mentioning because one person doesn't make a difference, then keep your thoughts to yourself you sick fuck. No one wants to hear from you.

Thanks all!!

Love, Shana

Are Those Your Socks On My Floor?!?

Maybe it's just me, but the thought of moving in with a boyfriend makes me want to crawl under my covers and hide. I'm a play-it-safe kinda gal, practical to a fault. To my reasoning, I'm not at an age when I know who I want to spend the rest of my life with. The only man who fits that description right now is Ari Gold. Yes folks, I have a celebrity crush, and thy name is Jeremy Piven. But that's WAY off topic and could have me going for hours. He's Jewish, after all.

So, the rest of my life. I have no idea right now who that guy is, and so therefor, no idea who I will be moving in with when I decide to share my space with another human being. That's a big thing, to move in with someone that you're dating. I mean, there's a laundry lost of details to think of. How are the bills being paid? Do I want to be around this person this much? Who's bed are we using? Will we have pets? Can I live with that noise he makes when he's eating pistachios? Do our schedules match up at least some of the time? Does this person want to be around ME this much? How big is the apartment/house? WHERE IS THIS GOING? The last being the most important. Maybe using the phrase "rest of my life" was a bit dramatic. But if not for the rest of it, how much of it? If you're young and in love, how do you know when it's right?

In a world where everything is speeding up, but we're waiting longer to get married and have kids, what's the middle of the road? Should we just take a chance and leap head first in to something we know may not turn out that well, or last that long just because we THINK it's what we want right now? Are we being too cautious by over analyzing and debating and mulling it over? Have we become jaded and spoiled by our own space, our own time, our own bathrooms? Should we be more willing to make the move?

I don't think so. I can only speak from personal experience, but I'm not one to play well with others for long periods of time. Below is my list of advantages to living alone:

1. When you clean something up, it stays clean until you mess it up again.

2. When you're ready to go to bed, you just go to bed. No snoring to wake you up.

3. When you come home, it's quiet. You don't have to see anyone until you choose to.

4. You can buy as many clothes and shoes as your two closets and hallway alcove will hold.

5. You don't have to keep anything but ice cream and vodka in the fridge.

6. You can spend an entire weekend doing nothing but watching old movies and crying if it's that time of month. Sweatpants included. No one will see you.

7. You can decorate your sanctuary with as many flowers, polka dots, sparkles and pink crap as you want.

8. You can listen to your guilty pleasures(mine is Natalie Merchant) as loud as you please. You can even dance around with your hairbrush as your mic.

9. There's no one to complain of feeling that your vibrator is replacing them.

10. Everyone woman needs her space. And by space I mean bathroom.

Reasons to have a man around:

1. To carry the groceries in.

2. Unlimited sex.

3. To fix stuff.

4. To eat that strange casserole looking thing that you made.

I'm sure there are other advantages to living with a man that I am unaware of, but this is my blog and so the list stays at 4.

I'm not saying that I DON'T enjoy having a man around. I enjoy having them with me to share many of life's pleasures, such as traveling, cooking, watching the sunrise, swimming, and cuddling(although I must admit that I can only take that for about 5 minutes and then I'm done). But at the end of the day, until I find my Mr. Right To Move In With, I just want my space.

And my own bathroom.

Dressed To Impersonate

I dislike traditional dating for many reasons. There's the uncomfortable silences, the guess work in who's paying for what, and the much anticipated excitement of the goodnight kiss. Sometimes people have nothing in common, sometimes it's not appropriate for the man to pick up the tab, and sometimes the chemistry just isn't there. But the thing I will never understand, or like, about dating is the complete lack of reality the situation creates. You have two people dressed up, sitting across from each other in a restaurant they probably won't go to again until their first anniversary, telling each other stories about their lives and families, all the while wondering what the other thinks of them. It's not realistic. It's not honest. It's torture.


Dating is supposed to be a chance for two people to get to know one another. So, the following are my suggestions of REAL dates that two people who are considering dating each other should go on in order to expedite the process, and cut through all the bullshit.


1. Grocery Shopping: You can tell a lot about person by looking at what they eat. You can also gauge how willing they are to cater to your cravings for things such as blue cheese and Cosmopolitan magazine. In my opinion, the first time you go shopping with your new love is a very important step in getting to know who it is that you're really with. You find out what hair products and deodorant they use, what cereal they start their day with, what kind of TP they prefer. What if you're a double roll, two ply kind of gal, and he's still stuck in the one ply, shred-your-ass-to-pieces days. Are they a vegetarian, or carnivore? When you go to their house, will you find your favorite soda in their fridge, or be stuck with soy milk and fiber cookies? Do they use creamer in their coffee? Or do they take it black? Will they be insulted if you chow down on pasta while they sit nibbling on a piece of celery? So, go shopping with them. Find out what's going in to their body. Don't forget tampons while you're there.


2. Social Security Office: Nothing tests a person's patience like the SSO. Crowds of sweaty, stinky, impatient people with screaming babies who don't speak English surround you as you and your love interest try to get to know each other. This will help you to see just how much self control they have. Do they start screaming that it's hot and they just can't take it anymore? Do they start making racist comments under their breath, or even better, out loud? Do they lose it with the person at the counter because the line wasn't moving fast enough? Watch and learn. If they start to pick fights with the other applicants, get out of there stat.


3. Laundry: This is really where it gets good. If Grocery Shopping tells you a lot about a person, then doing laundry with someone is the equivalent of giving each other barium enemas. It all starts with the underwear. Boxers, Briefs, Tighty Whities? Thongs, French Cut, Ganny panties? How clean do they keep themselves? Do their clothes reek of smoke and beer, or have huge rips and stains on them? Do they separate their whites and colors? Do they use fabric softener and dryer sheets, or do they throw caution to the wind and brave the static cling and harsh feel of washed cotton on their skin? Do they have system to keep their socks together? Do they own clothes that require dry cleaning? Do they have laundry day clothes that aren't completely hideous and embarrassing? As soon as you spot skid marks, it's time to get out of there. No good can come of that.


4. Holiday Shopping: OK, let me start by saying that if you dare to go Holiday Shopping with someone, you had better know that there's the potential to be VERY in to them, and vice versa. Whether you are picking out gifts to be wrapped in red and green, or blue and silver, all religions have one thing in common. The gifts had better be good. You do NOT want to be involved with someone who doesn't even make a rough outline of their strategy. What shops are they going to? Do they know where they're located so as to avoid having to double back? Do they plan to be up at dawn to beat the crowds? Do they have their budget written out? Do they have gift ideas, complete with back ups, listed with pictures and color coded depending on who they are going to? If not, you should ask yourself "Do I really want to be involved with someone who is this unorganized when it comes to these kinds of things?" Seriously people, I speak from experience on this one, holiday shopping will tear couples apart faster than an STD.


5. Family Brunch: It's true that when you date someone, you are dating the family as well. You need to get to know these people, and the sooner the better. I suggest a nice place on the water, or at least with an awesome view of whatever city you live in. There's a few things to check for in this situation. One, if you drink, do they drink? You need to be able to be yourself around them, and if yourself is a lush, better to get it out in the open now. If Mom doesn't have a hard drink by 11 am, this relationship may not be for you. Two, if you laugh, do they laugh? A shared sense of humor with at least one of the parents is imperative. Can you talk about the important things in life, like gossip and politics? Do they listen and nod, or is Dad rolling his eyes? Three, when you order a huge steak with your eggs, do they order the veggie platter? We're all people, and we have to learn to respect each other's differences. If you don't want meat, or they don't go anywhere near dairy, everyone has to agree to disagree. The minute someone opens their mouths about your eating habits, politely excuse yourself and don't forget to take the champagne with you.


There you have it. These dates guarantee that you don't waste anytime getting to know who someone really is. No more guessing games, no more button down shirts and high heels for no good reason. Just the truth, plain and simple.


Plus, who the hell wants to sit across the table from a stranger all night wondering whether or not you have spinach in your teeth when you can just go ahead and show them your underwear?

Is He A Member Of MENSA?

Everyone has a "type". A certain kind of person that "fits the bill" so to speak. In my ongoing attempt to figure out what exactly is wrong with me, or why I have no man in my life, I came to two conclusions: 1. I haven't been looking/putting myself out there. I highly doubt that my next boyfriend is waiting for me at the bottom of that bag of chips, or in the new J. Crew catalogue, or on my computer that I'm chained to. 2. I think I might be too picky. Yeah, I know what you're thinking.

"You, Shana? Picky?!? NEVER!"

Well, let me just tell you, I don't appreciate your sarcasm. I'm being serious. What if I'm too picky about the men I date, or plan to date? My type, in case anyone wants to know, is as follows: Smart, has to be able to make me laugh, has to be able to laugh at himself, Preppy(gimme a break, I went to private school), ambitious, adventurous, well traveled, well read, and preferably Jewish. If he is not Jewish, he has to be willing to raise our children in the Jewish faith. That's just the way it goes. I would also like for him to somehow be involved in the legal profession, or if he is not, he should be able to handle having a wife/GF that is. Also, I like to shop. I'll use my own money, but the man needs to have enough of his own to buy food. What can I say, I like my shoes.

So, now that you know the kind of guy I'm looking for, let's examine the types of guys I've dated in the past. Perhaps this list will give me/us(I rely on my readers/friends to give me feedback) some insight. Here it is, my dating/personal history:

BMW Guy: Ah, the beamer guy. He was older, he was rich, and he was metro sexual. From him I learned about fashion, social graces, and how to hold my alcohol. He was nice enough, very attractive, and certainly knew how to work a room. He came from an affluent family, and needless to say, had many years and dollar signs on me. But, he bugged the shit out of me. He was jealous, possessive, and probably gay. He had serious issues with his father, and really didn't seem to like women. So, although it was fun while it lasted, the party had to end.

College Guy: College guy was what you could call and "All American Man". He was strong, good looking, went to a local University, and could out-drink all of our friends. He was an FSU devote, loved football, and was about 3 years my senior. He had red hair, and was only 2 inches taller than me. My high heels had to be put away during this relationship because, and no I am not ashamed to admit this, I didn't like being taller than my boyfriend. But it was not to last. As it turned out, he was an alcoholic(much like BMW Guy) and a huge baby. He never matured past the age of 12. So, although he gave me my first taste of the collegiate lifestyle, he just wasn't quite right.

Musician Guy: Musician Guy was so much fun. But, no job. Nuff said.

Surfer Guy: Perfect Boyfriend, for someone else. I loved to work, he loved to play. I was awake during the day, he was awake at night. I actually dated Surfer Guy twice. The first time we broke up because of problems with his "equipment", which turned out to be a side effect of his social phobia. The second time we broke up because I just had no time for a relationship, and he wanted a GF that was able to do the same things he was. Like surfing all day and drinking all night. Plus, and I know this is going to sound snobbish, he had no ambition. He quit his job while we were on our second go 'round so that he could surf more. So, although he was adorable and picture perfect, that was the last straw.

Mortgage Broker Guy: Owned his own company, good dresser, 14 years older than me. Huge ego. Weird eating habits. Horrible in bed. Liar. To this day I think he was a serial killer and I somehow got out just in time.

And these were just the "major" relationships. There were many others that were "friends" and others still that aren't even worth mentioning. The thing that gets me is that none of them, for some reason or another, ever really fit the bill. Most of them, like Surfer Guy, I knew weren't right for me. But I dated them anyway.

So, what have I/we learned? No babies, or alcoholics, or men without jobs. Yeeaaahhhhhh....THAT narrows it down.

Oh, and no serial killers. I should write that down so I don't forget.

Cheeseburgers And Cocaine

I am an American. I believe in a free economy, traditional family values, cheeseburgers and milkshakes, and John Wayne. I enjoy football games, the Superbowl half time show, and being able to draw up a lawsuit against anyone at any time...for any reason. I love this country.


What I don't love is the completely illogical and asinine worship of cocaine snorting, commando going, Scientology following, pseudo intellectual, fake Jews we call "Starlets". These girls are not stars. In fact, they're the opposite of what stars should be. They are not beautiful, they are not graceful, and they certainly can't act. They can lose weight, make money, and embarrass their parents and America as a whole for setting an example of what we as a nation have come to value as "talent" and "entertainment". Long gone are the days of Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly, and Natalie Wood. I'm sure Vivian Leigh wouldn't be spending her time doing a second stint in rehab, just after collapsing from alcohol poisoning. Marylin Monroe never looked like a skeleton and called it chic. These real women of Hollywood, or what Hollywood once was, would never have thought to make fools of themselves for the sake of publicity. They didn't need to flash the camera or make a scene while drinking under age to get in the papers or on the silver screen. Their natural ability to hold some one's attention, a nation's attention, came from who they were and what they could really do. Not from sleeping with their best friend's boyfriend or almost dropping their baby on the sidewalks of New York.


What's worse than these people making money off of their antics, is that we are to blame. We buy into all of their shit and go to see their crappy movies. We laugh as they jump up and down on couches or tattoo their bodies while practicing Kabalah. We feel bad for them if they lose their husband to some tramp who was just looking for a New Years Eve hook-up. We enable them to continue on in their debauchery. We need to STOP! This is not entertainment. It's life, and it's real, and it's sad.


And it's fucking annoying when some nice Jewish doctor is out there putting YOUR six carat ring on the bony finger of a crack whore, I mean actress.

Lord, Help Me Help Myself

Not the usual blog today. I'm going to be gone for the weekend, and won't be writing again until Monday. But, oh the DRAMA! Ex boyfriends, ex lovers, family members being drug up from the depths of my own personal hell...AKA Canada. AAGGHHHH!!

I need a break. I'm house sitting this weekend. I'm NOT moving off the couch.

See ya' Monday! I'll fill everyone in then on what's goin' on...promise :-)

Let's Give Them Sex To Talk About

Sex. Yours. Your friends'. Your exes'. Yours and your ex's. Yours and your friends' exes'. Your ex's and your friend's...and their friends'...with their friends' exes. Confused? So was I, at about 8 o'clock last night when my friend informed me that a fling of mine was the topic of conversation recently among a group of, you guessed it, my friends. I'm used to being the topic of conversation. I'm just one of those people that other people talk about. Not because I happen to be any more interesting, attractive, or intelligent than the rest of the people I associate with. I don't know why it is, but then again, I could say the same thing about Brit Brit. Everyone saw that train wreck coming, but MY GAWD, the girl has taken it a step in satin too far. So, to say that one is used to being the topic of conversation does not necessarily imply that one is the topic of flattering conversation. And really, when the conversation turns to your sex life, anything is possible, depending on who's doing the talking.

I talk about sex. You talk about sex. Everyone and their Mother talks about sex. How it feels, how often they're having it, who they're having it with, who you're having it with, etc. But last night I realized for the first time that I was not completely comfortable with my friends talking about MY sex life. Not because the conversation was bad, and not because of the people who were having it. But because I just couldn't imagine that there would be an occasion in which it would be a relevant topic of discussion. Plus, it just plain creeps me out. You hear that your friends, one who has slept with you in particular, are talking about you in a sexual way and all of the sudden, it all comes flooding back.

Think about the way that you discuss sex, especially when it comes to other people. Think about the details. Tastes, skin, bodies, hair, smells, skill, positions, locations, underwear and panties of choice, balls...you get the idea. It all comes out at some point. It seems to be the consensus among my males friends that as a whole, men tend to wait until they have broken up with a girl to divulge all the gory details to their comrades. Women, however, spill the beans as soon as they can get to a phone. Now think about a group of people you know talking about you in that way.

I KNOW! It's unsettling, isn't it? Even if you know that you rocked some one's socks, there's still the slight feeling of uneasiness knowing that it's out there. But then again, you know those things about them too. I know details of my friends' sex lives that would turn your hair white. And does it change how I feel about them? No. Does it make me view them as different people? Maybe. Examples: I know that my friend Alexandra goes Brazilian. I know that Alex likes his hair pulled. I'm aware of the exact spot on Walter's ear that sends him into orbit when licked. I know that Rachel turns around whenever she's trying to imagine sleeping with someone else. Have I slept with all of these people? No, I have not. But I know these things about them just the same as someone who has. Because they talk about it. Their lovers talk about it. EVERYONE talks about it.

So, what's a girl to do? Two choices seem to pop out at me. Either a) stop having sex with anyone who has even the smallest chance of knowing your friends, or you. b) stop having sex.

Well, considering that I'm lazy and don't have the time or energy to be out there finding new sexual partners, the people I know are just going to have to do.

I guess I should pull out the good lingerie. After all, I DO NOT want to be known as the girl who wears boring undergarments.

Temporary Insanity

I love almost everything about being a woman. I love my curvy body, my beautiful long hair, my feminine voice, my ability to have children(I think). Men let me go ahead of them in line. Store clerks are more likely to give me discounts. And it's proven that attractive women are twice as likely to get a raise as their less attractive counterparts.

But one thing that I will never, ever get used to or grow to love is PMS. It is the bane of my existence. I consider myself a generally happy person. I'm optimistic, I'm go-with-the-flow. But there's always one week a month when I turn into a raging, crying, irrational, emotional, strung out squishy ball of feelings...that devours chocolate like it's oxygen. I cry at the drop of a hat. I need extra cuddles from my beloved and somewhat overweight kitten, Girlie. I need candy bars, M&M's, chocolate popcorn. I hate everyone and everything. The tiniest inconvenience will send me into a rage. It could be as simple as my hair not looking like the right shade of brown. Oh, and the bloating. I'm a size 8. I like my size, not too big, not too small. If I got any smaller, my boobs would just up and leave me, never to be seen or heard from again. But during that one week, I feel like a beached whale. Nothing fits right, my face looks like a water balloon, and don't even get me started on my ankles. Suffice to say that I DO NOT wear shorts that week.

The thing about PMS, is that we know it's coming. By we I mean women. We know when our periods are, and we know that the week before we turn into creatures from the deep. So, it kills me to see women walking around with obvious signs of PMS, telling people that they have no idea why they're acting this way. Or worse even, walking around shrieking at anyone who dares to suggest that their behavior is due to hormone overload. Have you seen these delusional freaks? They strut around, fudge smeared all over their mouths, bitching people out, crying like their dog just died, all the while claiming that it's just been "one of those days." WHATEVER! Woman, you have PMS, deal with it. Stop acting like people are accusing you of being a heroine addict.

So, here I am. Admitting to my temporary insanity. Now, who the fuck stole my damn Hershey's Bar?!?

Would You Like Fries With That?

When you wake up in the morning, is there a Fast Food rep sitting at your kitchen table, steaming bag of fat in hand?

When you go out for lunch with a friend, is the big red-haired clown himself standing beside you, ordering your lunch and shoving the artery blocking yumminess down your throat?

When you arrive home, do you find teams of marketing associates crowding your kitchen, dreaming up new ways to deep fry everything from pickles to cheesecake?

If you do, I suggest you lay off the LSD. It's not good for you, I don't care how pretty the colors are. But I'm guessing the answer is "No." To a certain degree, what we eat is up to one person, and one person alone. You. You decide when and what you eat. I know that unhealthy food is cheap and quick. I know that cooking is a pain in the ass. Believe me, I am well aware that cheese is by far the most delicious thing put on this earth. I would bathe in it if given the option. But that doesn't excuse the total lack of responsibility that most Americans are taking for their health. By now, I know that everyone has heard of the outlandish and absurd claims against a certain fast food chain, who is being sued for "making people fat". Let me just tell you now, this is the biggest bunch of horse poo I've ever heard IN MY LIFE! It's like a stoner suing his dealer for getting him high. Or a housewife suing her hairdresser for making her blond. There's just no case.

To these people, I'm sorry, LARD ASSES who are filing the claims, I ask you:

1. Did someone from the FFJ(Fast Food Joint) come up to you on the street, drag you into a dark alley, and threaten your life unless you agreed to eat their food three meals a day?All the while, shoving grease soaked fried down your throat?

2. Is the FFJ the only source of food in your town? Has your city boycotted grocery stores? Has the Mayor done away with produce, citing an irrational need to be healthy as the reason for the Fruit Holocaust?

3. Did you have some traumatic experience with health as a child? Did the ability to run, breathe normally, or fit into clothing that isn't made of Lycra or spandex scar you for life? Is the mere sound of an apple crunching or granola bar being chewed enough to send you over the edge?

Seriously. Do you see people doing their weekly shopping at MacDonald's? Is the yearly school health fair held at Burger King? Is Wendy's the answer to your veggie needs? NO! These places serve one kind of food. Fast food. It is not healthy. It is red meat, cheese, bread, fried potatoes, grease, more cheese, fat, cholesterol, calories galore. They are not your source for daily nutrition. Fast food should be eaten maybe once or twice a month, if that. The average diet should have 1,800 calories for women, 2,200 for men. Do you know how many calories are in a large order of fries alone? Upwards of 500. That's a little less than a third of your daily limit. We are not bears hibernating for the winter. We do not need to be eating all that we can eat, stuffing ourselves to the point of puking. There's always tomorrow and another meal. Fast Food will always be there. I understand cravings and munchies as well as the next person, but that is not an excuse for being a hog and then blaming someone else.

If you're going to be fat and unhealthy, at least own up to it. Don't blame other people for your lack of self control. Really, not only is it sad to watch you in court, in your stretch pants, it's just downright infuriating to those of us who actually take care of ourselves.

I was overweight in High School. I loved junk food. I still do. I would eat cheese fries, chocolate cake, and burgers everyday if I could. I would drink ranch dressing if they gave me a straw. But I don't. Not because it's not available to me, but because IT'S NOT GOOD FOR ME.

I do, however, have this vodka that seems to be making me drunk. Think I have a case?

Birds And The Bees

Spring is here, and you know what that means. The days are long and hot, school is out, and everyone is starting to get that old familiar feeling. The urge to get out there and make some love. But if you're a single, straight girl who doesn't want to sacrifice her freedom or sanity for the sake of having a boyfriend, what are you to do?

Well, my dears, it's called casual sex...and it's not for the faint of heart. There's been an astounding number of studies done on this in the past few years, and they all pretty much say the same thing. They say that not only is it damaging to our egos and self-esteem, but also just a bad idea. Studies show that women have a hard time separating sex and love, and often are left feeling empty and used after casual sex.

To these studies, I say kiss my grits. Casual sex is not about separating love and sex, it's about the person you choose to have it with. Should you choose to have casual sex with the guy you've been crushing on ever since Junior High who you just know you're meant to be with despite the fact that he's now engaged and living in Texas? No. There is a certain formula to the perfect casual sex, and luckily for you, I'm about to share. And no, this does not make me a big whore who went out and researched "casual sex" for the sake of writing this blog. It makes me a woman with common sense who knows that just because you wanna get laid does not mean that you want to have to hear the question all women who just had amazing non-committal sex dread hearing... "So, you wanna go to dinner with me sometime?"

CASUAL SEX 101:

1. Don't Shit Where You Eat: Or, why you shouldn't sleep with a friend.

This should seem pretty obvious, but DO NOT under any circumstances sleep with a friend, a friend's boyfriend, or a friend's ex-boyfriend. First of all, if you're friends, there's a good reason for it. You enjoy each other's company, and they've probably seen you puke your guts out on more than one occasion. You talk to each other about your sex lives, and all the losers who you've kicked out at 3 am, citing that "you don't have to go home but you can't stay here". They know how you operate, and all the smack you talk about your conquests. They also know that you will most likely be saying the same things about them if things go wrong. But most of all, with friends there's always the potential for feelings to develop...eeewwwww. We're trying to avoid this at all costs. If you wanted to know how to make someone fall in love with you, you'd be reading a blog by Dr. Phil or Miss Cleo. So, just don't do it. You're gonna need someone to dish to about that weirdo who just vacated your bedroom when this is all over.

2. Don't Be A Masochist: Or, why you shouldn't sleep with someone you actually "like like".

DUH! If you like them before you sleep with them, you're only gonna like them even more afterwards. This is a blog about casual sex, not how to manipulate someone into a relationship. That's next month's issue. Everyone you have a crush on, or stalk on a regular basis, is off limits. All sleeping with them will lead to is heartache. You will awake the next morning to find them gathering your clothes and stacking them in the hall for easy access. There will be no English muffins or strolls in the park in your future. Sleeping with a crush will only buy you a one way ticket to delusionville, population: you. So, just don't do it.

3. Listen To The Whores: Or, why your friends know what they're talking about.

If your social scene is anything like mine, most people in your little click have slept with each other. My group of friends is so incestuous, I'd swear we live in West Virginia. So, it stands to reason that if they tell you that someone is bad in bed, or has a small dick/ smelly Va-jay-jay, or has as many STD's as an Argentinian whore, they're right. I know that by now you've developed a filter to block out most info coming from these people, but they are your friends, so try listening to them for once. They speak from experience, they've been there and are hear to tell you that unless you plan on wrapping your body in latex, it's not a good idea. So, just don't do it.

That's pretty much it. If you follow those simple guidelines, you should be on your way to some good old-fashioned I-never-want-to-see-you-again sex in no time. Just remember to be safe, carry condoms, and never go to dinner with someone just because you had sex with them. Really, you don't want to date someone who's that slutty.

If You Would Like To Hear The Menu Options Again...

There are many things in life that frustrate me. Random road blocks, people who don't know what they want by the time they get to the counter at any given fast food joint, CD packaging. But nothing, and I mean NOTHING, gets my blood boiling faster than automated voice responses on debt collection lines.

First off, you can't get a live person on the line. EVER. They give you the option to do everything except speak with a beating heart. They'll direct you to the option of having your colon sucked out by Pirana before they'll let you speak to one of their closely guarded "representatives".

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING MATERIAL MAY CONTAIN RACIAL OR ETHNIC SLURS. IF THIS OFFENDS YOU IN ANY WAY, PLEASE DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER.

But, should you actually get one of these desert wandering guardians of all your info on the phone, that's when the real fun begins. First, they won't ever be from America. Not one of them. They also won't ever have a name that you can readily recognize or spell. This is in case you need to call back to reference something that one of them told you. If you can't identify them, that call never took place. Apparently, there are more Rijhbanisshis working in debt collection than one might imagine. Second, they're going to treat you like a criminal. Not just any kind of criminal, but the kind on death row. You have disturbed their solitaire game and so now you have to pay. They'll speak to you in mono-syllabic sentences, and ask you questions that you obviously would not have the answer to unless you suddenly developed telepathy while waiting for their non-English speaking asses to answer their phone, just to make you feel like an idiot. And don't dare ask them to repeat themselves, because all that does is cause them to lose their ability to speak anything other than in tongues and scream at you.

But the thing that gets me is the only reason you would be calling these Mata Hari like whores in the first place is TO GIVE THEM MONEY!

How dare you. I mean really. What's wrong with you? Didn't your Mother teach you any manners at all? Everyone knows that all these people are required to do is stay alive long enough to make it over on the plane that they're praying cousin Alexhjandrioni isn't hijacking, and sit in a cubicle all day, collecting a pay check so that they can pay to take up valuable space in a country full of inconsiderate assholes who just want to pay their fucking credit cards bills.

So, stop wasting their time and press 3 for your enema.

Super Absorbency

You know how some people have those faces? The face that always looks familiar. I have one of those. People are always coming up to me asking me where they met me, how we know each other, did we go to school together? Yes, I find this annoying. I don't know half the folks that ask me that. The other half I just pretend not to recognize.

But you know what I don't have?

A face that says "I'm Your Emotional Tampon"

People are often fooled into thinking that I care. They think the big eyes and slight upturn of my lips indicate a genuine interest in what they're saying. Yeaaahhhhh...not so much. It's not that I don't care about people. I do. I care about my friends, and family, and one of my coworkers. But the general population's feelings on various topics such as global warming and the suspicious chili from the hot dog vendor on the corner don't really top my list of things to worry about. I don't have hours to spend discussing my boss's wife's new diet and her decision to eat whole wheat even though it's not included on the list of approved food items. I do not enjoy being caught in a lengthy description of old people sex by the crazy clients that come in my office. And I LOATHE having to listen to long ass stories being told by random strangers who see me on the street and think to themselves "Oh, there's a nice looking girl. Maybe she'll listen to me."

Do I have a sign around my neck that says "Free Therapy?"

Do I look like the type of person who gives out free legal advice even though she's obviously too young to have gone to law school?

Do I seem like the kind of girl who goes to coffee shops and bookstores to pick up men?

NO!!! I do not. I don't wear signs around my neck as part of my religion. I practice not looking like a billboard, services are held Wednesdays and Fridays at 7 pm. I'm 20 years old, and as far as I know, the Supreme Court is not in the practice of forgoing the bar exam(let alone law school) simply because you work in a law firm. I don't do my hair and I don't put on makeup before leaving the house unless I plan to be around someone that I'm already attracted to, so chances are, if you see me out in public on my own, I don't want to talk to you.

There are appropriate people to discuss personal and difficult situations with. I am not one of them unless I am your friend or relative. I am not here to make you feel better about yourself. I am not here to tell you that you're right. I am not here to condone you behaving like a yahoo.

This is not to say that I don't enjoy conversations with strangers. I do, very much so. Talking to perfect strangers is how I've made some of my best friends. What I don't enjoy is someone who I don't know or like, that I don't meet at a party or other event thrown for the purpose of getting people together, taking up my valuable time. I have places to go and things to do. I've got deadlines and Grey's Anatomy to watch.

Hey, when you're done reading this, I have a great story about this guy I knew in High School who did this amazing thing with a jar of mayonnaise and a water buffalo...and I wanna tell you ALL ABOUT IT!