Paula Deen, A Great American

Oh, Paula Deen. I love you so. The way you put a pound of butter in a recipe that calls for only one teaspoon. The way you don’t care what society thinks and just unabashedly glop it on in there with that cheeky chuckle, blue eyes mischievously a-sparkle. You know better but you just don’t care. Screw you, Shape magazine, you say, I will not be ashamed of my love of butter and I shall preach my message to the world. I hear you, Paula. And I salute you.

Oooh, Pretty!

With a few tweaks here and there, this just might be my dream kitchen. It looks like cookies and milk would taste really good in that kitchen. Now I just need a giant butcher block topped island and huge viking stove. Oh, yes, and also a house.

Potty Time

I have anxiety over going to the bathroom. I assure you this post is not going where you might think. Whatever apparatus is necessary to hold my toilet seat securely on has snapped off so now my toilet seat is no longer firmly attached to the toilet. This causes a problem because when one is perched on said seat, it tends to slide around with the slightest movement from the percher. I fear two possible outcomes: 1) that the seat will slide out from under me and I will fall into the toilet with a splash and possibly become stuck, or 2) that the seat will slide out from under me and I will fall off of the toilet, possibly midstream, creating a mess and bruising my bum. So now I find myself very gingerly positioning myself appropriately, grasping the towel rack with one hand and the side of the vanity with the other to steady myself so I can do my business without incident. I'm not sure what to do about this problem, but I'm thinking duct tape.

Procrastination At Its Finest

I did not gain any weight in Georgia. That is a small miracle and an incredible relief. Especially considering I was not careful at all. Kristin, frequent commenter on this blog and a good friend, can attest to the evening I spent indulging in fish tacos, margarita, mojito, mojito, queso, salsa, guacamole, margarita, queso, queso, chips, guacamole, queso along with my good friend Melody and cousin Laura. Oh, it was worth it but so, so painful. There were also all the treats on all the fun days with the kids and the Chik-Fil-A and the sweet tea and the brownies and the french fries and the sleeping. Since returning I have renewed my gym membership and have gotten back to cooking and snacking very healthily. Party's over.

It should be noted that at this very moment I should be writing a paper to compete to win a spot on my school's law review and law journals. For those who might not know, law review and the journals are basically publications every school puts out with writings about various legal topics written by students and professors. You have to compete to be a member by writing a paper on a topic chosen by the committee. Apparently, people take it quite seriously and it is something you should very much aspire to do. I did very much aspire to do it two weeks ago, but now this paper is due tomorrow and I'm having second thoughts, as evidenced by the fact that I'm writing this instead of that. I prefer writing for this. You people don't require footnotes.

I even called my friend, Kel, a law school survivor, to get her take on the importance of law review and journals. Kel, of all people I thought, will tell me I don't have to stress about this and it's not as big of a deal as it seems to be and not to worry, I can still be successful even if I don't try for a journal. Instead, I received this response via text after I left a message: "ABSOLUTELY DO THE JOURNAL!" In all caps no less. I have never been so disappointed by a fellow human being in my life.

When that failed, I called my mom, and explained to her that I don't feel the need to prove I am a good writer. Wouldn't it be incredibly big of me to not compete, to just be satisfied that I am good enough, without, you know, the effort? And furthermore, the prize for winning the competition is that you make law review, which means you have to do more of this. That seems grossly unfair and like a crap deal to me. She pointed out that one day I will be competing for jobs, and if I'm on law review, I'll be a more exciting candidate and ultimately might make more money because I have more experience. I retorted that once I'm hired, I'll prove I'm great and it'll all even out eventually. Her response? "Listen, I expect a certain level of luxury once you're making money and I don't want to have to wait around for it. So don't give me this nonsense. Go write your paper." FINE. But don't expect to have any say in what home I stick you in, lady. Love you!

So I have to go now. Apparently, I have to write a paper to try to win a competition so I can prove I'm worthy to my mother, to my friends and ultimately to the world. But first I'm going to go make myself a snack. Oh, and I think the season finale of My Boys is on tonight. Oh, and a new episode of Real Housewives of New Jersey. Crap.

The Post Wherein I Contemplate Upon My Fleeting Youth

I think being in your 20s completely sucks. Sucks hard. Sucks so hard that if being in your 20s was in a professional sucking competition, it would totally win the blue sucks the hardest ribbon. I think my problem is that my expectations were too high. You always hear people refer back to their 20s with nostalgia and longing. Oh, back when I was in my carefree 20s when I had no responsibilities and no worries. Back when I backpacked across Europe, or drank myself silly on weeknights and every weekend, or drove cross-country, or was promiscuous, or whatever it is you’re supposed to do in your 20s. Problem is, I haven’t done any of that stuff. Okay, maybe the drinking thing a little. But mostly, so far, my 20s have been about school, having no money, working, having no money, trying to get myself to the point where I can actually start my life, trying to figure out who I am and who I want to be, and also having no money. Suckity suck suck sucks.

Where are all the adventures and good times I was promised? I worry sometimes that I’m too responsible, I’ve made too many mature and reasonable choices and when the time comes to look back and shake my head at all those wild and crazy things I did, instead I’ll be the one going, yeah, that college degree, that 9 to 5 job after and then the going to law school. Crazy, huh? Whew, I sure did it up huge. So far, the craziest and most spontaneous thing I’ve done is randomly up and going to Africa for seven weeks between my junior and senior years of college. But that was to help people. Honestly, I make myself sick.

I’m afraid I’m doing it wrong. I’m afraid I’m missing out. I’m afraid that I’ve been working so hard to get to the point where I can start my life, that I haven’t realized my life has already started. I’m afraid I’m going to look back and regret not having more fun. I’m also afraid I don’t know how. Sure I could backpack across Europe but I’m not really a backpacking kind of girl. Backpacks are heavy, hostels gross me out, and I’m very dependent on regular showering. Does it count if you are chauffeured across Europe? Or maybe someone could carry your backpack for you and you could sleep in a nice hotel? Cause I would be up for that. Drinking all the time is exhausting. It hurts more now than it ever did and for every night I drink, I need three days to recover. I just can’t keep up that kind of schedule. Promiscuity is equally unlikely. Seems like a lot of work. Also, I don’t know where you’ve been or when was the last time you washed your sheets. Or yourself for that matter. I would do the cross-country drive with my girls but that’ll only take about 2 weeks and then I’m right back where I started. So where do I even begin with this fun business?

Quite frankly, I blame my friends. Yes, friends, loyal readers of this blog, I blame you. You are all so sickeningly responsible. Every single one of you is gainfully employed or in grad school or engaged. You all pay your bills on time, go to bed at reasonable hours, and make decisions that are mature and logical. I mean, it’s disgusting. Sure you’re there for me whenever I need you, give good advice and will be with me for a lifetime, but when was the last time I got to hold anybody’s hair back or bail someone out of prison? Never! What kind of 20-somethings are you? Sure we have good times, but when have we ever gotten crazy? Like woke up in Denver with matching tattoos of an Indian chief on our asses crazy? Never! I have no tattoos and I’ve never been to Denver and it’s all your fault!

I’m 25 so the 20s are half over. I need to figure this out soon. I feel like I don’t have much time left for the fun part. Yes, I know that’s depressing and possibly silly, but it’s how I feel nonetheless. In two years, I’ll be out of law school, and from what I hear, I’ll be lucky if I ever see sunlight while I’m paying my dues at some ruthless firm. So, fun now, please. For the sake of my 20s and for the sake of my future self, could my mature, self-conscious and knows better side please let go a little and make room for the silly and carefree 20-something that’s got to be in there somewhere? Please? Otherwise, I’m afraid my future mid-life crisis is going to be quite the doozy. And there’s nothing sadder than a 49 year-old woman wandering around Denver with a fresh Indian chief tattoo.

Call Me and I'll Tell You Where You Can Stick the Rest of Your Comments

Joe: "I read your blog today."

Me: "Yeah? You actually read it?"

Joe: "Yeah. I liked the conversation between your belly and Robert. It was funny."

Me: "Aw, thanks."

Joe: "Except Robert doesn't have a British accent."

Me: "What? Yes, he does."

Joe: "No, he doesn't."

Me: "Are you serious? I spend a lot more time with him than you do! I think I would know."

Joe: "No, he doesn't. When I read that, I didn't know what you were talking about."

So, to be clear, Joe's biggest problem with my blog is what he sees as the lack of factual integrity reported in a fictional conversation between my stomach and my navigation system. Thank you, Joseph, for your input. And for the record, Robert totally has a British accent!

Everywhere You Want To Be (Except Where You Are)

Sam's Club does not accept Visa. Let that sink in for a second. Sam's Club, owned by Wal-Mart, does not accept Visa. I mean, Discover fine, but Visa? Who doesn't have a Visa? Speaking of Discover, I was once sent a pre-approved offer for a Discover card, only to be rejected when I applied. I was outraged. I called them to find out how they could do this and who the hell they thought they were. They couldn't even give me a good reason. "But I was pre-approved!" I told them indignantly. They encouraged me to pursue them, only to coldly reject me when I showed interest. It was like being 16 again. That story is neither here nor there but I wanted to tell it. I'm still bitter, Discover! Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Anyway, back to Sam's Club and Visa. I went there today to stock up on some essentials. When I got to the check-out person, she rang me up and I swiped my credit card with the careless ease of someone who swipes credit cards quite often. A couple seconds later, she said "was your card a Visa?" I told her it was and she informed me they don't take Visa. Um, but...it's everywhere I want to be! Apparently, Visa doesn't think anyone would want to be at Sam's Club. How dare they judge my need and desire for 48 rolls of Charmin Ultra-Strong and giant containers of organic black peppercorns?

I sorted through my wallet to discover that the only cards I had on me were Visas. I purposely leave the majority of my credit cards at home so I won't use them and this is not the first time I have regretted that decision. I was forced to write a bad check. Now before you judge me, don't worry, I'll make sure money gets in the account before the check clears. I might have to go hooking to make it happen, or possibly sell drugs, or maybe call my parents and ask them to put money in my account, whichever is easiest. But honestly, Sam's Club, if I want to pay interest on my toilet paper and peppercorns, I think that's my business and I'll thank you to stay out of it.

Musings From the Road

Another 12 hours in the car. Actually, 13 1/2 because I hit traffic somewhere around Baltimore and also went on a meandering and unplanned detour in search of a Chik-Fil-A which called to me on a highway sign only to be most rudely and discourteously not where it promised to be, meaning I had to find another Chik-Fil-A because the highway sign had spoken right to my belly and she refused to settle for anything else. My belly is very stubborn and there's no reasoning with her when she has her mind set. Believe me, I tried. Robert, my navigation system, and my belly had it out over that Chik-Fil-A. It got very heated. It went something like this:

Robert: "Make a U-turn, if possible."

Belly: "Must find Chik-Fil-A."

Robert: "Make a U-turn, if possible."

Belly: "There are no chicken nuggets in that direction."

Robert: "RECALCULATING. RECALCULATING."

Belly: "Listen, you fake-British-accent-using pompous ass, why don't you make yourself useful and point me towards the waffle fries? Otherwise, shut the hell up."

Robert: "Make a U-turn, if possible."

Belly: "Your mother's a whore."

Robert won. My belly sulked for several exits.

Somewhere in Virginia, I got really deep and decided that people probably drive a lot like they go through life. Some are overly aggressive, while others ramble slowly along, oblivious to people whizzing past. Some are in a hurry with a very clear purpose and idea of where they're going while others are just drifting along with no particular destination in mind. Some courteously move out of your way while others insist upon getting right up on your ass before passing you by and then cutting you off. I applied this theory to myself and realized I drive steadily and conscientiously with random bouts of profanity. Yep, seems about right.

I got home finally, took a refreshing shower, watched Chelsea Lately with Sparkles (the plants are alive! Thanks, Sparkles!) and am very much looking forward to slipping between sheets I wisely laundered before I left and sleeping in tomorrow in my own bed.

HUGE Oversight

In the recent my favorite products post, I neglected to mention my most favoritest product ever! Kiehl's Ultra Facial Tinted Moisturizer. is. the. best. thing. ever. I use it now instead of any type of foundation and it covers brilliantly, but is still really light. I sometimes supplement with a little bit of concealer if I'm having a particularly bad day, but usually this covers all the problem areas. It comes in three shades: light, medium and dark. I like the medium cause it gives me a bit of color. It costs about $25 which is more than I usually spend on make-up but one bottle lasted me about 4 1/2 months which is pretty great.

Okay, good, I feel like I've righted a wrong now and can get some sleep.

Mmmm, Strawberry...

Today was Girls' Day with the little girly cousins: Allison, Kaitlyn and Isabelle, ages 11, 10, and 9, respectively. We went to the mall, had manicures, saw a movie and went to dinner. Ice cream twice, cookies at the movie, and cheese fries for dinner? Sure. I won't burst your little bubbles with a calorie count today, chicks. Plenty of time to worry about that later. It's Girls' Day!

We were at the mall at one of those bright, flashy tween stores and a huge display of Lipsmackers caught my eye. Seriously, what was better than Lipsmackers? Why did I ever stop wearing it? It's so, so yummy. I snapped up a giant tube of the strawberry and a small tube of the cotton candy. They didn't have coconut Lipsmackers, I checked. I met the girls at the check-out counter so we could purchase all our girlicious prizes. Kaitlyn looked at my Lipsmackers and said, "Why are you buying kid stuff?" I decided this was one of those teaching moments Oprah is always talking about, so I looked her right in the eye and said, "Kaitlyn, my love, you are never too old for strawberry Lipsmackers."

Later we picked up Isabelle and when I went to reapply my strawberry goodness, Isabelle said, "why do you have that?" Allison, without skipping a beat, said, "Isabelle, you are never too old for strawberry Lipsmackers." It's nice to know I'm leaving a lasting impression on these young, malleable minds.

One of the best parts of being in Georgia is getting to be with these kids. I don't have any little people in my immediate family. No nieces or nephews yet and certainly kids of my own are a long way off, so getting to hang out with my little cousins just makes my heart happy.

I'm heading home tomorrow. I hate leaving my family, but I am looking forward to my own bed and late night TV watching with my roomie. I'm also very curious to see if she remembered to water my plants. I do plan to stock up on sweet tea, boiled peanuts and Krystal's hamburgers on my way out of town, no worries.

I Might Be Broke, But Damn If I Won't Be Pretty

I am a bit addicted to products. I love all of them: lotions, make-up, hair stuff, face washes and creams. I love it all. I even try out different kinds of floss, that's how far-reaching this obsession is. I'll just be driving along on a perfectly ordinary day and then suddenly get an itch. And the only cure is a stop at my local CVS so I can peruse the aisles and drop $50 on a ridiculous assortment of products that promise to change the texture of my hair, minimize my pores, moisturize my lips, and also cure cancer. I mean, really, it's a bargain.

In addition to not being very frugal and being an addict, I'm also not very loyal. I rarely buy the same product twice because there are so many others to try. So since, you know, this clearly qualifies me to give advice, I thought I would take the opportunity to make a few recommendations. These are a few of the very rare items I have bought more than once. Which means I love them and want to share them with the world. If you haven't already figured it out, I couldn't think of anything to write about today. Then I spied the huge case of products that accompanied me to Atlanta and inspiration hit. Here we go:

I apply lotion to my hands and arms every night before I go to bed and this Aveeno Stress Relief lotion helps me drift off to sleep nice and easy. It smells yummy, isn't greasy at all, and the bottle is purple. I don't know what else you could want in a lotion, other than maybe dissolving ten pounds of fat with every application. I haven't found that cream yet, but quite frankly, I can't promise I would tell you about it even if I had.

As I have previously mentioned, I have thick curly hair. The key to curly hair is it must be moisturized otherwise it looks like a big, dry frizzball, so I am constantly on the look out for anything that might infuse my hair with moisture and help me beautify my locks into submission. This Neutrogena Triple Moisture Silk Touch Leave-In Cream does the trick. It makes my hair so soft and silky smooth and it works equally well whether I let my curls go nuts or straigten it out, which makes me very happy.

This last item is not a beauty product but it is a new discovery and is worthy of mention. To understand why I love it so, you must know that I love sweet iced tea almost as much as I love coconut, and we all know how I feel about coconut. The problem is that people outside of the South are short-sighted and feel that tea doesn't need to come sweetened, so I can't readily get it everywhere the way I can when I'm home. So when I discovered Ice Breakers Ice Tea Mints, it was like letting a little piece of home dissolve on my tongue. Don't think about that analogy too much. They really do taste like sweet iced tea, but as a bonus they are sugar-free and almost no calories. I love things with no downside. Now if I could just find a sugar-free coconut mint I'd be in heaven. Or, oh my gracious, a coconut sweet iced tea!

The Post Wherein I Corrupt America's Youth

Tonight I got a little tipsy. Then I got to thinking. Drunk is a funny word. Then I sobered up a little and thought more serious thoughts. For instance, why is it that when you're drunk, you suddenly find it necessary to tell everyone you know that you are, in fact, at this moment, more than slightly inebriated? Suddenly, people in your phone who weren't important enough to invite to your college graduation or notify when you broke up with your boyfriend of seven years, are important enough to notify that, hey, I'm drunk and thought you should know. Only, it's more like, "HEY, I aM drunj aaaaaaaaaaahio, ok?"

Being drunk is a great way to catch up with old friends. It is also a great way to make new friends. All in all, I highly recommend it. But have a designated driver, don't mix too many liquors and don't get sloppy. Nobody likes a sloppy drunk. I learned that lesson the hard way and I learned it many, many times.

Also today, I had appointments with the dentist and gyno for annual check-ups. I figured I would see my usual people while I'm in town instead of finding all new doctors in Philly. I would like to report that when my gyno walked into the exam room today, the first thing she said after hello was a cheerful, "well, you're not pregnant!" Um, okay. Yay, I guess? Is that how you greet all your patients?

Apparently, some cryptic combination of responses on my annual forms had led them to believe that pregnancy was possible so they made me pee in a cup (which is standard procedure) and then ran a pregnancy test before the doctor even came in to see me. So, I didn't think I was pregnant, had no reason to suspect I was, and had no need for confirmation that I wasn't, but I'm not, so woohoo! Once again, my birth control method of sporadic and indifferent use of condoms coupled with prayer is totally paying off.

So just to recap the wisdom to be gleaned from this post: Excessive amounts of liquor? Good. Regular and consistent use of birth control when having premarital sex? Not necessary.

If I ever decide to run for office, this post will be promptly deleted and you will all deny ever seeing it, ok?

The Theme of This Post: Cousins

Yesterday I arrived at my cousin's house, welcomed by signs made by two of my favorite little cousins, ages 11 and 6. (I should warn you now that you are going to hear "my cousin" A LOT as I post from Georgia. We are Southern, which means I have 4th cousins I would consider taking a bullet for, meaning we are quite close. The problem is that I had cousins and 2nd cousins and then those cousins had babies and so on and so forth until I have so many cousins that it is very difficult for non-Southerners to keep track. Just warning you now.)

Today, I hung out almost all day with one of my most favorite little boys in the whole world, my cousin Caleb, age 6. He loves it when I give him zerberts, which is what I call it when I blow raspberries on his belly. I don't know why I call it that, I think I got it from The Cosby Show. I used to chase him around and scoop him up in my arms and give him zerberts while he squealed with laughter. Last night when I arrived, he was sitting on the couch with me and then looked up at me and said, "can I have a zerbert?" He got two.

This morning we had a conversation that went like this:

Me: "Caleb, when I lived in Atlanta you were 4 and now you're 6. That's crazy. Can you believe it?"

Caleb: "Yes."

Me: "You're getting so big. How big do you want to get?"

Caleb: "Just this big."

Me: "You don't want to get any bigger?"

Caleb: "No."

Me: "Why not?"

Caleb: "Because I don't want my mommy and daddy to die and I don't want to get too big for you to give me zerberts."

Me: "Caleb, can I eat you up with a spoon?"

Caleb: "No."

Me: "Fair enough."

He and I hung out all morning and then we went to pick up another one of my cousins, one of my other most favorite little boys in the whole world, Christian, age 5. We went to Wal-Mart and they each got to pick a toy with a $10 limit, then we went to play mini-golf, then to the arcade and then to get ice cream. I know I'm a bit biased, but our family? We make great kids. They are so cute and so well-behaved and so sweet. Seriously, you should meet them. You'll have a hard time not pulling out your spoon.

After all the little boy merriment, I got to spend the afternoon hanging out with Christian's mama. Yes, she's another cousin and is personally responsible for giving me three other cousins besides Christian. You following this? She made her latest contribution to the cousin pool three months ago when she had another adorable boy, who I got to meet today. So fricken-fracken cute. As soon as I held him and cuddled him against my chest, he farted on my arm. Hello to you, too. Welcome to the family. You'll fit right in.

I spent the remainder of the evening with my cousin Laura. We are 6 months apart in age and she is one my most favorite people in the whole world. Hi, Laura! I love Laura because we are exact opposites. She is loud and outgoing when I'm usually quiet and shy. She lives life with her heart while I tend to live life with my head. We both want to be more like the other. She and I make each other laugh so crazy hard and I know I could tell her anything and she'll just love me and completely understand. She also somehow manages to bring light and laughter everywhere she goes. How do you do that, Laura? Can you teach me?

If my cousin Windy is reading this, she's wondering why I haven't mentioned her yet. She's Caleb's mama and it was to her house I arrived last night. Windy isn't so much my cousin as she is my big sister. She is one of my biggest cheerleaders and I love her so much it hurts. I don't have any sisters, but I know what it's like to love and be loved like one which is all thanks to Windy. There, Windy, feel better now? Bet you're feeling pretty bad now for wondering where your shout-out was. Let that be a lesson to you.

It was an awesome day and reminded me how much I miss it here. Today was family day, tomorrow is old friends day. Yay for Georgia!

For Posterity's Sake...

Just a couple of things that happened this week that I haven't mentioned but do feel are significant. Feel free to skip over this, I am just noting a few random things so when I'm 80 and looking back, I remember, hey, sometimes important stuff happened too.

1) I took my last law school final on Thursday and then went out for drinks with friends to celebrate. (P.S. - 80 year old self: you really liked iced tea, lemonade and vodka mixed when you were young. You found it both yummy and refreshing. You and your friends drank four each to celebrate the end of law school, year one.) I am so relieved and happy to be done. This year was so hard and crazy and sometimes I felt it kicking my ass, but I'm so happy and content to be doing what I'm doing, living where I'm living, with the friends that I've made here. Somehow, no matter where I am, amazing friends always find me and stay with me and I'm so, so grateful. I made it through what they say is the hardest year and I never, ever have to do it again. That is by far the best part.

2) I met the newest addition to our family on Saturday, my new baby cousin who is 3 weeks old today. He is absolutely scrumptious and when I was holding him, I could flash forward to the years ahead when I will be old and tell him about when he was so, so tiny and I can't believe he was so tiny, did he know he was so tiny, and oh my goodness, did I mention how you were so tiny? I'm so proud of his mama, my cousin, and the life and family she has created. I have lots of amazing women in my family who are the types of wives and mothers and women I hope to be someday and I am so grateful for their example and so blessed to know them.

3) I cut my hair off on Friday. My hair is thick and curly and has been long for about as far back as I can remember. Now it's right above my shoulders when curly, which is a big change. It's cute, but I still have to figure out how best to wear it to maximize its cuteability.

4) I saw Joe's mom and dad this past weekend for the first time since Joe and I broke up. I realize we have had a very dysfunctional break-up seeing as how we still visit each other and talk regularly, but for all intents and purposes, we are still broken up, even though I'm sure it seems like we're not or that I've forgotten we are. We are and I haven't.

After we broke up, I sent Joe's mom a letter (with Joe's blessing) thanking her for being so welcoming to me and being so good to me. She was a big part of my life too while I was dating Joe and it didn't feel right to just walk out of Joe's life and not acknowledge her in any way or say good-bye. Granted, at the time, I didn't realize how quickly Joe and I would be back in each other's lives as friends, so it felt very appropriate to send her that letter. When I saw her this weekend, she gave me a big hug, thanked me for my letter, and while dabbing her eyes told me that "when you make these kinds of decisions, it doesn't just affect the two of you, you know." Ripping my heart out, Judy!

It was a good reminder though. Joe and I were together for 7 years so we weren't just ending a relationship and walking away from the past. We were also walking away from the future we had planned for ourselves, which included joining each other's families. This is still the part that hurts the most. The kids we had named and that dream house we had stayed up at night talking about and the shared life we had envisioned - none of it is going to happen. Giving up that dream is as painful as giving up the man and I'm still dealing with it. For the most part I'm okay, but I am still mourning the what could have been. And I'm not anywhere near ready to stick another guy in the dream and keep on going.

If You Drive a Blue Minivan With NC Plates, Please See Below

Today I drove from Philly to Atlanta to spend time with my family for a bit while I have a break between school and starting work on June 1st. After 12 hours by myself in a contained space, here is what I learned:

1) I looooooooovvvvveeee cruise control so much I think I want to marry it but I will not because your partner should bring out the best in you and cruise control, unfortunately, only heightens my laziness. I can't be the best person I can be when cruise control is involved so we will never make a long-term go of it.

When there is a car in front of you, and it becomes clear that you will soon overtake it, but there is also a car next to you, preventing you from switching lanes, and you find yourself playing a game of chicken, waiting 'til the last minute to ascertain if you will have time to quickly switch lanes before you ram into the car ahead of you simply because lifting your foot to hit the brake would just be too much effort, then you know you should break up with cruise control.

2) I think my navigation system is judging me. And possibly talking shit about me behind my back. Listen Robert, sometimes you just don't give me enough notice about that upcoming right turn and sometimes you are simply unclear. Yes, I realize you announce the upcoming turn several times before I come upon it and yes, I realize you provide a countdown to the upcoming turn in miles and then in feet on your glaring screen. Honestly, though, sometimes I am busy. Or sometimes that asshole in the minivan will not get out of my way! (Sidenote: Hey, driver of the blue minivan with North Carolina plates who was on I-85 today. Yeah, you. In case you couldn't read my lips today or missed the significance of my shaking righteous fist: you, sir, are an asshole and I do not care for you. So there!)

Anyway, Robert, don't think I can't hear the increasing disdain in your voice when you tell me several times to "make a u-turn, if possible." Is the "if possible" really necessary? At first I gave you the benefit of the doubt and assumed you meant "if safety and traffic allow," naively assuming you cared for my well-being. But now I know that "if possible" really means "if you can pull your head out of your ass long enough to manage to turn around because you missed your fucking turn again, you stupid fucking moron." I also don't appreciate the smugness with which you flash "RECALCULATING" over and over again on your screen because I missed my exit again. Seriously, the attitude is uncalled for and unnecessary. It's also rather hurtful.

I do care about your opinion, which is why I (no joke) found myself asking you out loud today if I had "done good" and if "you were happy." I'm not sure what it says about me that I seek the approval of my navigation system, but what can I say, Robert? You mean a lot to me. I depend upon you. Clearly, I have issues. Let's talk those out tomorrow on my way to my cousin's house, okay?

Dear Mama,

You joke that I raised myself. You say that I've always been so stubborn and independent that I never really needed you at all. You tell the story of how when I was itty bitty, you took me in the pool for the first time. I pushed you away from me as soon as my little feet hit the water and just started to swim. Or you tell me about the times when I was a little older that I would climb trees and fearlessly walk upright onto the branches with you standing below just in case I fell. You point to these stories and say, "See? You didn't need me." I see it a different way.

Whenever I pushed you away because I could do something on my own, you didn't pull me back. So you never taught me to doubt myself. Whenever I took a chance to do something fearless, you never ordered me to stop. So you never taught me to be afraid. But whenever I did push you away to swim by myself, you stayed right by me, just in case. And whenever I walked out on those tree branches, you stayed right under me, arms outstretched, just in case. So you taught me you would always be there. You taught me I would always have a safe place to land. And you taught me that I could do anything, be anything, accomplish anything, but that mama was nearby, just in case.

Thank you for showing me who I want to be. Thank you for letting me be who I am. Thank you for never teaching me to doubt that I was good enough or that all things are possible. Please don't say I raised myself or that I didn't need you, because without you, I could never be me.

I love you. Happy Mama's Day.

Oh Yesterday, When the Carton Was Pink and the Cream Was Lite...

Not every morning but many mornings, I saunter into my local convenience store for a cup of coffee. I was never much of a fan of convenience store coffee but this particular store has a lovely coffee bar, with a plethora of coffee options and a wide array of coffee accessories. My favorite coffee accessory available at this store is the Light Cream. I like my coffee light and sweet, so I will help myself to the Kona blend and top if off with about 1/4 cup of Light Cream and an Equal packet. And it is very yummy. Who needs $4/cup Starbucks when there is Light Cream to make my coffee delicious? Light Cream is a wonderful invention and I would like to personally do naughty things to the man who invented it, because really? Cream that is low-fat and still delicious? That is an invention I can get behind. And the guy who thought to put it in the pink carton? They might as well have put my name right on the label. I would watch other people filling their cups with skim milk and scoff at them and think, "who in their right mind would drink yucky skim milk when there is Light Cream right here, in a pretty pink carton? These people are clearly silly." Oh, how I scoffed. I was such a scoffing scoffer.

It was in this world I was living until this morning. This morning, as I was filling my cup with Light Cream and all was right with the world, it suddently occurred to me: Light does not mean Lite. Light Cream means as opposed to Heavy Cream. In other words, CREAM. I have not been filling my cup with a low-fat treat every morning; I have been filling my cup with cellulite and love handles! Why is this weight coming off so slowly I would ask myself. Oh, hey, moron, maybe it's because you've been drinking a 1/4 cup of cream for breakfast every morning!

It's Raining Men and I'm Not Thirsty

I recently had a very disturbing thought: there is not a single celebrity whom I would have as my boyfriend. Sure, there might be one or two I find particularly yummy, but not a single one I'd actually date. Case in point:

Justin Timberlake: Sure, he's wickedly talented and I wouldn't mind being sung to, but he's too skinny and not nearly manly enough. I don't want to have to wonder about my boyfriend which of us would shriek louder if we saw a spider, even if his shriek would be in key.

Brad Pitt: Sure, he's wickedly handsome and I admire his do-gooding ways, but good heavens, that's a lot of baggage.

Robert Pattinson: Put down the cigarette, take a shower, drink a protein shake. Then call me. After you do something about the hair.

Leo: He only dates models and I simply don't trust a man that only dates models. Also, his hotness peaked in Titanic, as did my love for him.

Zac Efron: Aw. Who's a pretty boy? Who? Who? You are. You also look like you're 16 and I am relieved that I am not attracted to you. But who's adorable? Who?

David Beckham: That body and an accent? So far, so good. But I'm a little afraid my drooling would interfere with our intimacy. Also, I cannot compete with Posh and would never try.

Ben Affleck: Yes please, but I love Jennifer Garner too much to take him. So, so big of me.

Yep, so not a one. I can't help but wonder: what chance do regular guys have if there's not a single celebrity demi-god who peaks my interest? This is very, very depressing. I'm afraid I might have to start batting for the other team if this keeps up. Look out for my next post: Celebrity Girl Crushes Formed Due To Desperation.

And They Say All the Good Ones Are Taken...

Guy from law school: "I could never marry a white woman. I'd cheat on her with a black or Asian woman."

Me: "Seriously?"

GLS: "Yeah, white girls are boring."

Me: "Wait, didn't you sleep with _______?"

GLS: "Yeah, five or six times."

Me: "But she's white..."

GLS: "I said I wouldn't marry a white girl, I didn't say I wouldn't fuck 'em."


Ladies, that word you're looking for? It's charm.

This Post Brought to You by Kotex...

So Joe refuses to buy pads or tampons. Stay with me people, I’m going somewhere with this. I dated that guy for over seven years and not once did he ever buy them. To demonstrate just how strongly he felt about this, I will tell you the story of the only time in over seven years that I ever asked him to purchase them. I was very, very sick. Probably the sickest I’ve ever been in my life. To put it in perspective, Joe doesn’t have a TV in his bedroom, yet I stayed in his bed for at least three days, too sick and too weak to even make it the twenty feet into the living room for some entertainment. To add insult to injury, because I wasn’t in enough pain and discomfort, halfway through this illness, I found myself in need of some lady favors.

So I croaked out a weak and pitiable request that Joe go to the store and buy some pads for his poor, debilitated girlfriend because I was sick. So, so sick. And God had further smited me with this wretched curse. And aren’t I pitiful and weak and sick, Joey? So sick, Joe. Oh, God, the sickness! Please go to the store and get the girl you love some pads, please. You would have thought I had just asked him to decapitate a puppy. He stammered and objected and insisted he would get the wrong kind because he’s a man, he doesn’t know anything about lady goodies. How will he know what to get? And what will the cashier think? How will he ever show his face at the 7-11 again? He can’t live without Slurpees! It’s all so confusing and overwhelming and how could I do this to him? Because I was too weak to slap him, I calmly explained what the package looked like, the brand name, reminded him of how sick I was, how much I loved him, and that we would both get through this. Then I said to make sure to get the the thin ones, medium sized, with wings. That was too much for him. He had no point of reference for this. What are these wings you speak of? No, I can’t do this, you have to come with me.

He objected so resolutely, that I found myself having no other choice but to summon the strength to get out of bed, get dressed and get in the car so I could accompany my poor, flustered boyfriend to the 7-11. Once we got there, I refused to get out of the car. I looked like death and I had used up all the strength I had to get this far. So after much filibustering, he finally got out of the car, went in, and bought his girlfriend some damn pads. I like to think I won that one.

Now another story: I find it highly entertaining to send Joe funny, naughty words via text. He has the sense of humor of a 12 year old boy sometimes and certain words give him a giggle. I like to imagine the look on his face when he opens his phone and sees the word “poop.” Heehee, poop. Giggle, giggle. I’ve sent “taint,” “cock ‘n’ balls,” “anal leakage,” and any number of other ridiculous, harmless words or phrases I can think of because he appreciates it. I know because if I stop for a while, he’ll call me and say “where are the text messages? why did the text messages stop? I like the text messages. They give me a giggle.” So I keep doing it. I think it’s our way of staying connected. However, Joe has never ever, not once responded to any of these texts or to any other text message I ever send him. He has some crappy cell phone plan that actually charges him for every text he sends so he refuses to participate in the texting world. Which is just fine with me because you try not responding when you get a text message that says “hairy balls.” It’s harder than you might think and this adds to the fun for me.

Anyway, a few nights ago, he and I had about a half hour phone conversation which was lovely and we got all caught up on the latest happenings. After we got off the phone, I sent him a text that said simply: “I love you.” A few minutes later my phone beeped and when I looked, I had a text message from Joey and it said, “I love you too!” I guess some things are just worth paying to say.

A couple of nights after that, I was watching “The Soup” and they showed a clip of Kim Kardashian on Tyra talking about how Reggie Bush, the tough and rugged (and hot!) Saints football player, will actually buy tampons for his girlfriend. This is some bullshit, I thought! If Reggie stinkin’ Bush can do it, chancing the fact that he will be photographed doing so, then certainly Joe has had no excuse all these years! So I immediately texted him: “Reggie Bush buys Kim tampons! You are never getting out of it again!” A few minutes later my phone beeped and when I looked, I had a text message from Joey and it said, “Bah humbug.” So his love of me and his aversion to tampons? Apparently equal .

Confession

I was making brownie cookie bars for my roomie today, because I am actively competing for the best roomie ever award, when I dropped some cookie dough on the kitchen floor and then accidentally stepped in it barefooted. I hopped around the kitchen for awhile, unsure of what to do because I didn't want to wipe it on the floor or on my own rug, so I opened the door to my apartment, peeked down the hall...and then wiped my cookie dough foot on the hallway carpet outside my door. Yes, I had paper towels and dish towels in the kitchen, but it honestly did not occur to me to use them. The choice I made actually seemed like the most reasonable solution at the time. The Southern in me: I think it's winning.

My Shitlist

1. Hitler
2. People who think "orientated" is a word
3. The guy who invented the thong
4. Anyone I've ever called Douchey McTool in my head
5. The insensitive and horrible person who scheduled a final on a Saturday