Currently Chasing: A good sport

Games are great. They challenge your mind. They offer up a chance at friendly competition. They make me want to shoot someone in the face.

Over the holidays a group of my friends decided to play a game called Things. How you play the game:

One person in your group asks a question...for example, what shouldn't you cook for dinner? Then everyone else writes down an answer, folds up that answer and hands it to the person who asked the question. That person then reads all of the answers. Then one by one everyone except the reader gets a chance to guess at who answered what to the question. If someone guesses your answer, you are out. If you guess someone elses answer, you get a point. He with the most points wins. And the reader alternates between the players.

So there we were. All playing nicely. The question is thrown out there:
What would you like to find in your horoscope?
I realize pretty quick that I should answer with something I wouldn't care to find in my horoscope so that no one will guess my answer. So I write down...sports scores.
Just like I planned, no one guessed and I ended up winning that round with 7 points. When it came out that I had written that answer, the others caught on. It was like, oh...you answered the opposite of what you normally would so no one would guess your answer...smart!

So for the next round...I figured...I'm going to guess like me. You know, to throw everyone off.
So the question came out. What shouldn't you say to a teacher?
So I write down, you suck at life.
So the reader has the answers and she reads them all off. And then someone yells out my answer and says, that was probably Terrina. So the next person to guess went ahead and took a guess. Um, Terrina said...you suck at life. And there it was. I was out of that round. And pissed.
From then on I referred to that person as a cheater. I made it CLEAR that I was utterly annoyed. Truth be told, I'm a terrible sport. I don't play games I can't win, or at least place high in. And if I have to lose, I don't so much mind .... IF I LOSE FAIR AND SQUARE. I don't like losing because someone cheated.

On with the story.

So round three. The question is, What shouldn't you call your children?
I wrote Sinners.
The reader reads the answers...and what do you think happens? The same guy says...Ha, Sinners...that was Terrina.
THAT WAS IT!!
I threw down my remaining pieces of paper and excused myself from the game. And by excused myself I mean I stomped out cussing and screaming and telling everyone they were assholes. Did I mention my daughter was in the room? Yeah, I'm a mess.
And the poorest of sports apparently.
and a bad mom.

Bottom line: I shouldn't be allowed to play games.

Currently Chasing: Youth (or wait, nevermind)

Oh yes, it is that time. Monday is my Birthday. 35 years. Holy Moly man, are you serious? And there are all these things around me. Like the new Footloose movie. And the not so new Karate Kid movie. And my daughter still isn’t totally sure who Madonna is, even though Madonna was Lady GaGa even before Lady Ga Ga knew she was a lady!

And I went to a New Kids on the Block concert a couple of months ago and they were more like Old Spices on the Rack. And there are new wrinkles, and more creases, and phones talk to you.

And Kelly Clarkson won American Idol 10 years ago!

I’m reflecting. And sometimes that is scary…and I started to freak out..but then I remembered some things.

1.        I can drive (Kind of)

2.       I can pay my own bills (Kind of)

3.       I can vote (Although I never have)

4.       I am no longer judged for what I wear or what shoes I have on (that’s a lie)

5.       I am a mother (I use that term loosely)

6.       I no longer struggle with my weight and have accepted my body (haha! What a crock of shit)

7.       I own my home (the bank owns it and I pay mortgage, which is a fancy way of saying rent)

8.       I am perfectly fine being alone (as long as someone is with me)

9.       I have savings (thank god I’m not allowed to touch it without severe tax implications)

10.   My glass is always half full (except when it’s totally empty)

After looking at that list, it turns out I’m not so old after all. Still so immature, still flirty with teenage waiters, still text-fighting, still sexting, still a huge gossip, still using the empty-threat method to get my daughter to do what she’s supposed to do, still bribing her with staying up late if she’ll rub my feet, still buying things I don’t need and can’t afford and still making terrible decisions that could ruin the next 35 years of my life.

THANK GOD.  The year is the only thing that changes.

I’ve heard my friends try on clothes and say – “I haven’t fit in to this since high school!”

If I fit in to something I wore in high school, please shoot me! Because this is what I looked like in high school:



Are you fucking kidding me with this starter jacket? Did I know nothing about slimming effects back then? Still can't find me? I'm the one on the left. How could you possibly fucking miss me!



And this is me now:

With less friends, but I've finally got the hang of camera angles!

I went home on leave recently and visited my high school friends. We've all changed so much, but not at all. Yeah, maybe my daughter will never know what a pager is...maybe the only destiny's child she'll hear about is the one growing in Beyonce's tummy, and maybe she'll never know Kevin Bacon as the original bad boy of dance ... but I'm thankful for the years and I like how they've treated me.

At this point I do not feel in danger of growing up. And that's when you know you're a grown up.

Currently Chasing: Cory Allen (Who the hell are you?)

So, my friend Diary of Why posted a blog about deleting people from your phone. And just like - as you all know - I’m a friend Hoarder on facebook…I am an even worse Hoarder of contact information.

 I cannot seem to hit the delete on even one single person in my phone. It just feels so … permanent. I mean, even on facebook (unless you’re blocked) you can just go back in and try to refriend, or send a little message like “oops, this new facebook has me all jacked up and it actually deleted you from my friends list. THE NERVE. I’m sending you another friend request.” Or some other lie like that. Because we all know the new phone excuse and the I don’t know what happened excuse you try to give when you have intentionally cut someone out of your life is all a bunch of bullshit.

So after reading her blog I began looking through my phone. There are a couple names in there that I do not recognize at all.

Cory Allen, who are you?

Matt Jhonno? That is someone from Afghanistan that I know I will never speak to again. Partly because the number in my phone is an Afghanistan number. I could probably hit delete on that. Or not.

I have a random Jordon in here? A 980 number?

Hello Kyle. Who the hell are you?

Oh look, Heather R. – The chick I got cheated on with. I should def. delete that number. Or should I?

Thomas Turner – How ya doing stranger and oh yeah...who the fuck are you?

I have a number i titled Work Related. What the hell does that even mean?

Jacob York? Are you related to Charlotte?

I have a number for some girl I met in the airport. She is a personal trainer. I remember this because her number is saved under Faith Workout.

I have all kinds of crap written by your name so I can remember who you are.

Loser Mike. Self Explanatory.

Teresa G. Student. Obviously a former student.

Mary J. that dude who smokes the Weed.

JB. Meaning Jelly Bean. My nickname for a dude at work.

Tom House. The dude named Tom who sold me my house.

Hair. Kathy O. The great lady who does my … HAIR. Of course. What else would I label her as?

Doc Eyes. No name…just the place where I go to get my glasses.

JT Dan. Mostly because the dude looks like Justin Timberlake but his name is Dan.

Creepy Wilk. Because I thought I saw someone who looked like him on one of those pedophile shows.

Carries Boyfriend. I mean, do I really need to know his name if he already has a girlfriend?

Aad. I have no idea.

And there is that Cory Allen again? Damn you. In my phone twice*! (I think I can definitly - at the very least - delete one of these Cory Allen's out of my phone.

Maybe I’ll send a random text message to some of these mystery numbers….I’ll just drop a simple, How have you been on a few of them. If they write back asking why they haven’t heard from me in forever, I’ll assume it is someone who still has me programmed into their phone…so I will bullshit through a text conversation and try to find a clue as to who it is. Once I find out, I will put that hint in my phone so I remember in the future. If they write back asking me who I am…then I’ll know it is safe to let that one go.

Or first make sure the number is backed up somewhere….and then – for sure – let that one go.

*Hmmm, I wonder if that is the Coastie I hung out with a couple of times when I first moved to Maryland who freaked out and broke everything off when he saw the car seat in my PT Cruiser? Better keep both those numbers - just in case.

Currently Chasing: A cure for Hoarding

I watch the television show Hoarders. I watch it a lot. I am amazed that people can keep that much shit in their homes. In most cases there are dead animals or loaded weapons all over the house. One guy had shit piled up all over his kitchen but would leave his gas stove on for heat. Crazy. Death at every turn! Kids living in these places with clothes and shoes to last them for days, but couldn’t find a place to play to save their lives. Children literally beg their parents to make a change. Child services threaten to take away children, the state threatens to take away homes, or condemn them. Husbands threaten to leave. The house at times is coming apart at the seams due to the amount of bugs/animals/mold/waterdamage/structural damage whatever that is living/breading/infesting the inside. It’s shocking, it’s disgusting, it’s heart breaking, it makes me throw up in my mouth.

Each time there is a professional trying to help these people out. They will bring everything out of the house and then they will begin a conversation that usually goes like this.

Helper: Ok Maggie. We’ve got 17 lamps here. What can we get rid of?

Hoarder: Nothing.

Helper: Well come on now. Some of these lamps are broken and won’t ever work again.

Hoarder: I can fix them.

Helper: What are the odds that you will actually fix them?

Hoarder: I’m not throwing any of them away!

Helper: How about just one. Pick just one that we can throw away.

Hoarder: Damn it. I already told you. All of the lamps stay!

Then the Hoarder stomps out, pissed off and goes into their house to love on their junk and shit somewhere on the floor because there is no running water and meanwhile the helper talks to the camera.

Helper: This is frustrating. She refuses to even part with one lamp. This is going to be a very long day.

I have never considered myself a hoarder. It has always been very easy for me to just throw stuff out. Mostly because in the Navy you move so often that you don’t feel like taking a lot of stuff with you. I have a few things…like my daughters first outfit, her first Halloween costume, some artwork and some photobooks. But for the most part, I don’t hold on to things for very long. I get rid of things to make room for new things. It’s the way I’ve always done it.

But recently I realized I am indeed a Hoarder. But I don’t hoard stuff. Oh no. I hoard PEOPLE!

I’m mortified by this discovery but I acknowledge it. And that is the first step right? Admitting that you have a problem. I made this discovery the other day when me and my friend had this conversation.

Me: Did you see the picture I posted on facebook?

My friend: Yeah, I commented on it, but maybe you didn’t notice because you have a thousand facebook friends.

Me: Whatever, I do not have a thousand facebook friends.

My friend: Ok, nine hundred and something. Basically a thousand.

So I log on to facebook and take a look. And there it is. 948.

So I go to the news section and start reading most recent and she says, you know you can change that so it will only show you the top news. And I said, what does that mean? And she said, it will just give you stuff it thinks you will be interested in reading instead of showing you every single thing people type. And I said, I’m fine with seeing every single thing people type.

She just stared at me.

My friend: Why do you care?

Me: These are my friends.

My friend: All 948 of them?

Me: Well yeah, I wouldn’t have added them otherwise right?

My friend: You can’t tell me you know all 948 of those people.

Me: No, I guess not.

My friend: Let’s go through and delete the people you don’t know.

(This was the moment. She had put all my shit out on the lawn and had asked me to pick a lamp to throw away.)

Me: I don’t want to delete anyone.

My friend: What about this person? You have not spoken to this person in three years.

Me: That is my cousin.

My friend: Um, ok, what about this person? From your first duty station in 1994. There is no way you are still in contact.

Me: She came to visit me last month.

My friend: Well, what about this person? She is just a friend of a friend that you’ve never met.

Me: She and her daughter sent me an awesome care package while I was in Afghanistan.

My friend: What about this girl. Some random Soldier.

Me: I wrote her a letter of recommendation three weeks ago.

My friend: What about this girl? She doesn’t even live in this country?

Me: That is Carly! Are you kidding me? She is one of my blogger crushes. Along with about 10 other bloggers. I’m not deleting any of my blogger crushes!

And the list went on. She would suggest someone, and I would immediately get defensive. I may not have a tie that binds me to every single last person on that list of 948, but I added them for a reason. Even if that reason was just so I could stalk their lives or find out what their wives looked like.

And the list use to be longer. But over the years (and even as recent as last month) people have deleted me. They have just hovered over my name and then BAM. Hit the delete button. And it was a simple thing. And they probably aren’t harboring any deep regret or wondering if my feelings are hurt over it.

But I can assure you that even though they are no longer part of my online collection, by deleting me they have graduated immediately to my in-mind obsession. And trust me. Nothing gets thrown out of there either.

Currently Chasing: Chicken

I’m a very picky eater. Ask anyone I know. If you ask me where I want to go to lunch, I will say Chipotle. If you ask me where I want to go to dinner, I will say Olive Garden…or Chipotle. If you ask me where I want to go on Fridays I will say Denny’s. If you ask me what I’m going to get at either of these places it will always be the exact same thing I got the time before.

Chipotle: Salad, chicken, tomatoes, guacamole.

Olive Garden: Fettuccine Alfredo w/ Wheat pasta.

Fridays at Dennys: Clam Chowder.

If they don’t have Clam Chowder, then I will just leave. It’s what I like. It’s what I want. It’s all I want.

If I venture out and go to subway, it will always be a turkey sub. If I go to taco bell, it will always be a bean burrito.

I do not like seafood. At all. I know you are wondering why then do I go to Denny’s for clam chowder. It’s Dennys!! Come on, you know they don’t actually add clams. It’s just potato soup! Once when I was younger I found a clam in there and I freaked. My father said, “Waitress! Why is there a clam in my child’s clam chowder.” Although he was being sarcastic, it seemed like a completely rational question to me. Like, “Yeah! What the fucking fuck is this chewy thing!” She just stared at us, half smiled and let us continue to marinate in our crazy.

If I go to jack in the box, which I love! I will only get tacos and curly fries. Nothing else. No jack burger or jack sourdough, or jack burrito, or jack shit. Just tacos and curly fries. Minus the cheese. I’m not a big cheese fan. I’ll eat nachos and pizza and even grilled cheese, but if you give me a cheeseburger, I won’t touch it. I will never eat a three cheese anything. If something has white cheese, you can forget about it. If it’s ‘the cheesiest’ anything…no way. If it’s double cheeseburger hamburger helper. No way! One cheese in my cheeseburger hamburger helper thank you. Not double.

So when people want to take me out to dinner and they suggest a new place, I’m always skeptical. As was the case recently when my friend offered to take me out to a place in DC called Againn. Turns out she had won a gift certificate to the restaurant and asked if I would like to go and help her spend her new found $100. It is one of Washington’s top 100 restaurants and I heard ‘grill’ in the description, so I thought…it will be fine as long as they serve chicken. I can pretty much go anywhere and just order chicken. This is what I do at Red Lobster, which is the worst place to go for a person who does not like seafood or cheese…because everything is extra cheese here, extra fish here, extra smelly here, extra cheesy there.

So I go to the website and check out the menu.

First let me say that I’m always weary of a place where they don’t let you choose your sides. You know those places where they group everything for you? Ugh…like they know what the fuck I want with my chicken.

Anyway, I go to the dinner menu and this is the first thing I see:

BRAISED SHOULDER OF SHENANDOAH LAMB 27.
french lentils, swiss chard, spiced yoghurt

Oh my God! Fucking yuck.

Um, you’ve got to be kidding me? Braised Shoulder? What the fuck is that? I don’t want to eat a shoulder!!

So I continue to look for the chicken and I see:

CONFIT OF MUSCOVY DUCK LEG 25.
basil risotto, roasted spring onion, smoked tomato

Goddammit! Really? Duck leg? There is a lot more being smoked here than tomato!

So I continue looking and:

CHICKEN LIVER MOUSSE 9

Ooops, someone took a shit on this and it didn't change the taste.

Ok, now they are just kidding.

And then:

BEETROOT SALAD 9.
naval orange, pickled fennel, ricotta salata, spiced walnuts, honey dressing.

Beetroot? Oh my god! Send me back to Afghanistan where I can go to TGI Fridays!!

But then I saw this:

House made Bangers and Mash.

This looks like a freshy casterated penis.

I thought that was just a song about a penis and balls sung by that dude from Get Him to the Greek.

Needless to say I never found the chicken. Or the will to live on the same planet with this top 100 restaurant. I can only assume that number one on the list sells cheesy fish testicals.  

Currently Chasing: the other cutlet

Boobies~
We all love them. Want them. Flaunt them. And there is something to be said for the girl who goes to slightly extreme measures to have them.
Slightly extreme, means exactly that. Slightly. We aren't talking boob jobs! No matter how much we may appear to need one...

And I'll even admit that there are moments of weakness we may begin to feel like desperate times are calling for desperate measures...

But some of us aren't ready to not be able to feel when our tit is hanging out of a dress. Or when our nipple is resting comfortably near our armpit. So for those of us still not ready to take the plunge...there are 'slightly' extreme measures we can take.

Wearing two or three bras is one way. The more the merrier. Keep em coming. Pile those bad boys on...especially the push-up bombshell bras, and you'll be looking like a breasty bimbo in no time. I have indeed doubled up some bras in my day, and it's safe to say, I'll never burst a pad nor will the pad ever 'leak' out of my bra lining. So we are safe there.

Then there are boob inserts...

Not to be confused with these obnoxious inserts...

And this is where our story truly begins.
My friend has some inserts. The first ones that resemble chicken cutlets, not the creepy, crazy nipple ones right above this paragraph.

She wears them every now and then, but only for special occassions, or to make a dress fit better.
The other day she had company. Male Company. And though she wanted to show him around her house and maybe even allow him a peak at the bedroom, she didn't want to clean it spotless, nor did she want to shave her legs. Reasons for this are as follows:

1. If your bedroom is too clean it looks too inviting. If your bed is made with all your fancy pillows and the room is smelling like fresh cotton, a man may feel like lingering there. But if you have no intention of sleeping with him, you want him the fuck out of that room. So she picked up a little, but not a ton. And she found a chicken cutlet while she was barely cleaning. How embarrassing would that be? She hid it in a drawer and forgot about it.

2. She didn't shave. As with the bedroom, you don't want your body seeming too inviting either. If you don't shave your legs, or groom other areas of your body, then you know you won't let hands wander. No shaved legs, no sex. No clean bedroom, no sex. Simple and full proof. Sometimes.

She takes the man through the rooms of her house and then to the bedroom. She walks in, says a little something cliche like, "this is where the magic happens," and then proceeds to escort him out. That's when she notices what he has in his hand.

The other cutlet.

He asks what it is. She says it's a shoe insert. He holds it up to his chest, looks back at her and says sure it is, right before tossing it into the hamper.

I think she could have gone ahead and shaved her legs. Not wearing the boob inserts and instead deciding to go on a date wearing only one bra already sent a clear enough message.

Currently Chasing: The Eye Gaze

So in my quest to be a good friend I have come up with the ultimate way to help my girl meet her Mr. Right. I decided to sign us up for an eye-gazing party. Since I'm already off the market, I'll only be participating as a way to offer support, and also as research for my book on what is wrong with men, perfectly titled, "What is wrong with men?" And also because I want to blog about the event, and tweet about it, and brag that I found parking in DC.

Eye Gazing is kind of like speed dating except instead of talking to someone for eight minutes about bullshit like what do you do and where are you from, which to be honest no one will remember by the end of the night anyway, and which most people lie about, you just stare into a strangers eyes for two minutes.

YOU STARE AT A STRANGER FOR TWO MINUTES. And sometimes you are even encouraged to hold hands. 

After the staring and hand holding, which lasts for a total of 45 minutes, you have drinks and mingle.

The idea behind this is that the eyes are the window to the soul and that by looking into someone’s eyes for two minutes you can tell if this is someone you can imagine yourself dating. 

Before the event begins there is a person who will explain to you a little bit about eye contact and body language so you can send the right signal and give off the right vibe.

My issue is not with the eye contact. As a journalist I make eye contact all the time. My eyes have a shit ton to say. And they often make a far better impression than whatever would come out of my mouth. But there are people that I don't even want to walk past, let alone hold handswith while gazing into their soul window. I mean, "I think you are amazing," could look a lot like "I want to rape you" depending on the face those eyes are attached to.

But I'm willing to give it a try for the sake of my friend. Although she has already asked if she can use the Kung Fu Panda Stare.

I told her if I'm going to endure this evening for her she better not scare off her potential husband with a panda stare or the stare of someone desperate to get married.

Your stare just asked me to marry it!

I will of course let you all know how it goes. I've been staring at myself in the mirror training my stare to say I’m not available. So far all it has been saying is I need to try botox.

Currently Chasing: the ability to see what I've been missing

You ever just go through life wanting all kinds of things and then one day wake up and realize, holy shit, I’ve got it; I’ve got it all?

Well I woke up today feeling exactly like that. I mean, I know that part of what people love about this blog is all the self loathing I do, and trust me when I say I’m sure there is more of that to come. But let’s look at the facts:

My day started out with a phone call from my daughter who just wanted to tell me good morning and that she loved me.

I woke up today in my bed, which sits in a room, which is part of a home that I own.

The first thing I decided to put on fit perfectly and looked great.

My hair behaved.

I didn’t forget to take out the trash, or grab the stuff I need to take to the dry cleaners and the post office.

I have money in the bank and a new car.

I have friends who adore me and a boyfriend who changes my air filters, fixes my vacuum cleaner and gets my tv back to working order after my daughter pushes a hundred buttons trying to turn on the Wii.

I currently work at what has always been my dream job, and I interviewed yesterday for another job that will allow me to grow in my career and secure my future.

I have a 401K and a good credit score.

SO WHAT AM I ABOUT TO DO TO SCREW IT ALL UP?       

I mean, that’s what always happens right? Things start going right, you don’t feel like you deserve it, you start thinking something is missing, when actually the only thing that’s missing is your willingness to accept that things are just – good.

All this chasing. Feels nice to pause and see what I’ve been missing.

Currently Chasing: A Movie Ticket

Alcohol is a pain in the ass. In Afghanistan we weren’t allowed to have ANY. So you can imagine now that I’m a light weight when it comes to drinking. Not that I could ever drink anyone under the table, but I used to be able to hold my own.

Except that time I went to Atlantic City and ended up incoherent and being shuttled around the hotel in a wheel chair. I ended up in the security section of the hotel until they were sure I could at least pronounce my name and could determine that I wasn’t going to die from choking on my own vomit.

But other than that dreadful night, and the time I vomited for 23 minutes straight outside of the taco bell parking lot, I’ve done alright.

And then there was last night. I went out with a close friend and his buddy. We are sitting around and I decide to order a drink. I take it down like I would take down a five year old in an arm wrestling competition. Quickly and without hesitation. I order another and I’m feeling good. Too good. One of two things happens when I get to my drinking happy place.

1.       I make out with someone. (Most likely someone I know, but that’s not always a guarantee.)

2.       I talk too much and say stupid shit that will haunt me later.

Last night, it was the latter. I start talking about something mildly inappropriate, and then it escalates into something I probably shouldn’t talk about, and then rounds out in the ‘definitely do not fucking say this’ area.

By the time I realized what had happened, the damage was done. I was no longer the cute, funny girl that had sat down thirty minutes earlier. I was now the drunk girl who stumbled up to the cliff and then swan dove right the fuck off. Great. That’s me right? I’m the asshole? Yep. I was the asshole.

So my friend is pissed and I’m trying to smooth things over, but at that point I’m still not totally convinced I’ve done anything wrong. I’m just doing that thing where you apologize blindly and hope that whatever you did to get yourself in trouble solves itself at some point during your ramblings. But not this time. He asked me if I was finished eating. I said yes. Then he got up with his friend and they left.

There was one problem with leaving at that point. I was still, um, not quite under the legal alcohol limit to drive. So I wandered around the mall in JLo Heels that I had no business being in … and made my way toward the moving theater.

I bought a ticket for ‘Take me home,’ which seemed very appropriate, and proceeded to watch a movie by myself to sober up and ‘think about what I did.’

On the downside, I’ll probably be watching even more movies alone in the future due to the fact that I become a plague after one drink.

The upside is, I can finally catch that Justin Beiber flick that no one will go with me to watch! Nothing says winner like a drunk 30 something sitting alone in a Justin Beiber 3D movie. Another upside is, with a little alcohol in me, I may finally understand his hair.

Currently Chasing: Moist Lips

People are poking me on Facebook. What is up with this craze? Did I poke them first, did they poke me first? I don’t get it. What does it mean anyway? There are some people who poke me just so I can continue to think about them long past their relevance…then there are others who poke me just to say hi, and then there are others who just want to poke me, literally.

And my problem is, I can’t stand to have 150 requests or a bunch of ‘pokes’ running down the right side of my screen, so I do what anyone would do. I poke back. I don’t even necessarily know if I want to poke back, or if I need to poke back, but I poke back. I could just hit the X and leave it at that. I mean, would they poke me again if I never poked them again. I’m going to try it. Right now there are a few people who have poked me. I’m going to X out the pokes and see what happens.

So far nothing.

Please enjoy doing something else,  while I enjoy wasting your time. **************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

It’s been 24 hours. Two people re-poked me. The others are still waiting for my poke I guess. Not going to happen. I’ve never gone out of my way to poke someone and I’m not going to start now.

On another note I recently received a care package with a peculiar item in. Here is a photo.

Now imagine I am talking in front of a group of people and I pull this out of my pocket, open it up, and apply lip balm. I actually had someone ask, “Is that deodorant?” and you know what? I had to look twice. But no, indeed it is lip balm…and now I can’t stop applying it because of the reactions I get. And It kinda seems like it could be dual purpose. And I’m not talking deodorant. I don’t know, just maybe. Might be fun right?

Uh oh, I just got poked again.  That was quick. That’s what she said. They must want to play with my lip balm.

Currently Chasing: A Zoom Lens

I'm laying here with my shirt slightly lifted and I'm staring at my belly. Why can't it be this flat when I stand up? Just sink into my back the way it kind of does when I'm in the horizontal position. Missionary is really the only position I look good in. I would never make a porn - for several obvious reasons, but also because I wouldn't want anyone seeing what I even hide from myself. And it really isn't sexy when girls half way through porn sex ask ... do I look fat in this swing? yeah...and out of it too.
I recently had someone ask me to 'make a video.' A video of what? A bag floating in the breeze? A red balloon flying all over town? You've got to be kidding me if you think I'm making a video of me doing anything! I don't even want a video of me doing something productive and good for the earth, let alone me doing something destructive and girthy! I mean good lord, a photo is one thing. I can find a good position, take a hundred and fifty digital shots, and then pick the best one and act like it was the first and only one I needed to take- like I just snapped that and viola, it's fucking playboy home-photo ready. But a video. PUKEDY PUKE PUKE.
Uh, no.
Don't worry Dad, I'm not going to do it. My father reads this blog. Fucking great. I'm sure he loves when I cover topics like this. This and the one about what come tastes like right Dad? Yeah, not his all time favorites, I can assure you.
And here is another thing, and it's possible I've mentioned this before...but men who send photos. There needs to be rules. I've gotten my share of provocative photos...and I've noticed something. Men who send me pictures of their ass, no matter how nice it is, just seem ... curious. If you know what I mean. I don't really need to see your ass. Feeling it is one thing...but just looking at it. I'm not a fan. I once had a boyfriend who had lost a lot of weight...and his whole body recovered and formed quite nicely...but not his ass. And I didn't care. Until one day when he got up to go to the bathroom and he wasn't wearing boxers and then bam, there is was....like a ass that had given birth to a couple of babies and was never going to be the same. And that image will never leave my mind. So save the ass shots...they are hard to get anyway I imagine. Unless you have help taking them..and again, curious.
Next...do not pose with anything. Do not pose with your weapon, do not pose with your arm making a muscle, do not pose with a tape measure (yes, I've seen it, and yes, it's obnoxious). In fact, just don't pose. It didn't seem natural when Fabio was doing it, and it sure doesn't seem natural when your chewbacca chest is doing it.
If you have to take a picture of your member, please make sure it's hard. And just take a picture of it. Not of you holding it with the camera over your head looking down so I can see your face. What kind of look are you going to be giving? Women have a way of always looking pretty, and always making seductive looks seem easy to do...but men, they just always seem to look like they are shitting. And make sure when you snap that photo that you fill the frame. I don't want to see what's on TV in the background, and i especially don't want to be asking you whose bra that was on the floor!!
Another rule: Don't send the same pictures to everyone. I once had a boyfriend send me a picture he had 'just taken' of himself...only it was about 9 at night, and I could see out the window that it was daylight when that photo was taken. So who was it actually for? Not exactly romantic. Not that a texted picture of a cock is romantic anyway, but I'm just saying.
Last but not least...do not do a 'photo shoot.' I mean, one picture of you at your best is good. I don't need a series of three emails with nine attachments each where you are auditioning for a job at Gay Way Magazine. Leaning here, laying there, all fours, leg propped. shorts half way down, shorts all the way down. boner pushing shorts up. head slightly exposed. You get the point.
Please feel free to take pictures of your chest..I love a good chest. And Abs...well, that goes without saying. and I don't even mind mirror photos where you kind of just give me the entire package without using any kind of dumb ass prop. If you want, I'll do the women of the world a favor and screen your naked nasties before you sext them out. That way I can warn you before you either end up in the friend zone, or as a blue preditor dot on some website.

Currently Chasing: A Real Man

So my friend finally broke up (for the 12^th time) with her boyfriend…and I think this may finally be it. Or we can hope. I told her to email details. So below are excerpts from her email. My responses are in parenthesis.

Email: He started talking about marriage. I told him that I thought he was just saying that to reel me back in, because he said he was planning on us getting engaged last year around Dec/Jan timeframe right after we stopped talking to each other.

(Response: I feel the same way...every time he thinks he’s losing you...or if he's lost you, he always throws up marriage. Like, I was JUST about to ask you to marry me. And then you bailed. I know I said I didn’t like your kids, but don’t act like this is my fault.)

Email: He said that he never stopped talking to me that he was "giving me time and space" because he knew I was so busy. 

(Response: Giving you time and space...are you a fucking treckie? You do not need time and space, you need love and respect. This guy is a total tool.)

Email: We were going to dinner and I waited forever for him to get there and it was freezing outside. He saw me walk out but didn’t bother driving up to meet me.

(Response: Give me a damn break. If you're going to drive the mile, what the fuck is wrong with driving the last inch. Geezus I hate this prick.)

Email: So, we drive to Chipotle and he holds the door open for another girl who was coming in after us, but waited until she got to the door, so it wasn't like she was RIGHT behind us. 

(Response: Holding the door open for the person behind you is one thing...holding the door open when it's freezing cold and causing everyone in the restaurant to get ice boogers under the umbrella of being a gentleman is a fucking douche move. And he's a prick.)

Email: So, we sit to eat and he was talking about going home for the weekend and so I took the opportunity to ask him about that girl that he slept with up there and if he was going to see her because THE DAY that we stopped talking, she was on his FB page AGAIN making all sorts of comments and saying how it was MY loss and he was a good man.

(Response: The fact that there is essentially one girl that you can't stand and he makes it a point to add her into his life the minute the two of you aren't talking drives me bat shit. That's just like me asking 'that man I was dating' not to sleep with anyone else, but especially not that 'one girl he used to date' and him going ahead and having lunch with her and then falling into her vagina.)

Email: But, he doesn't answer.  So, I asked again.  He finally said no that he was only going to see family and would not be seeing that girl.  So I asked why he didn’t just say that in the first place and he said it was a stupid question.   

(Response: I hate that he tells you your questions are stupid. His face is stupid.)

Email: I told him it wasn't stupid because he was the one who friended her again the day we stopped talking, and he was the first one to unfriend me. He's the one saying we are back together but he has yet to friend me on FB.

(Response: I really hate that we feel like we aren't really in a relationship until facebook tells us we are. In the future men are just going to invite us to some big fancy outing, tell us to dress nice, get on one knee, pull out their smart phone and ask if we'd like to change our status to engaged. "OH

MY GOD...YES, YES! He really loves me!")

Email: He didn't say anything.  I asked again and he just sat there ignoring me.  So, I was laughing inside telling myself this is just typical and thinking how funny it is that he's gone from ignoring me on the phone to ignoring me to my face!  

(Response: I hate being ignored. And I've mostly always hated that guy. And remember this wise advice I got from a man recently: Just because everything seems right, doesn't mean that nothing's wrong, which doesn't really apply to this situation where everything felt wrong but you occasionally still thought it was right, but it's wise advice you should remember.)

-Love me.

Currently Chasing: Ice Cream Cake

So I’ve been, like always, working out and trying to lose weight. I can lose my ID and my room key daily, but I can’t lose weight to ‘literally’ save my life.

I got a hair cut the other day … It will look great in a couple of weeks when it has grown out a little. And I ordered a pink hoodie and am trying to get permission to wear it with my PT gear. And I got to thinking … why am I cutting my hair? Why do I wake up every day and apply eye makeup? Why do I want to wear a pink hoodie instead of my blue Navy hoodie? Why do I care if I weigh a couple of more pounds than I should. Who cares? Other women, that’s who.

Women do not dress up or care about their appearance to attract men. I mean, in this place I could look like a lagoon creature and still land a man. And for the most part we don’t dress up and care about our appearance for ourselves. (and I’m not talking basic grooming here.) Because for the most part, we should be happy with ourselves, as we are. Naked and with no makeup. We all truly accept ourselves EXACTLY the way we are right? Of course we do. So, if we are happy with ourselves just the way God made us, and men will like us even if we barely resemble a women, then why do we go out of our way, even in a war zone to be ‘pretty.’ Because other women are looking, that’s why.

The other day a girl walked out of the bathroom and didn’t wash her hands. Immediately we were all aware of the situation and thinking to ourselves…good GAWD, what is her problem? We didn’t want her to wash her hands for her, we wanted her to wash her hands for US!

I worked out the other day. I knew I didn’t have much time before I needed to get back to the office, and I probably wouldn’t have enough time to shower. It wasn’t a hard workout, and I didn’t sweat much. But I still felt ‘guilty’ for not having enough time to shower. Finally my roommate says, oh good Lord, you don’t have time, it’s no big deal. I won’t tell. And that’s all I needed to hear. (although I just told on myself.) I wasn’t going to take a shower for me. I was going to take a shower for HER. The minute I knew she wasn’t going to judge me, I was dressed and out the door.

When we look at magazines with celebrities and they are on the worst dressed list … it’s probably because they tried for once to dress for themselves. No makeup. Shit that doesn’t match … who cares right? They were happy with themselves. But being happy with yourself is overrated. The world needs to be happy with us or we get slaughtered.

Just like my Canadian friend said, “When you walk into a room, the room doesn’t come to a stand still because of your personality. You’ve got to wow them with your looks…and if you are wowing the women, then the men are putty in your hands.

Men however have more leeway. They can be slightly overweight. They can be going gray and they can even be very average looking. None of that matters if they have the one thing women are most attracted to. Power. Is your man someone? Do people look up to him? Does he fit in well with any group of people? Is he successful? Is he confident? Do people answer to him? Can he make you feel safe? Is he a provider? I can handle a fat ass if I tell myself that he’s not fat, he’s just ‘protective.’

We want to feel safe. And the more confident, successful and powerful your man is, the leaner, prettier and sexier you need to be. Not because he needs you to be, but because other women need you to be. If they think they are prettier, they will take a chance. How many times have you heard …

“He cheated on you with who? She’s not even attractive.”

Or you’ve heard a guy say

“Why is she with him? He’s not even that attractive.”

It’s because women are obsessed with looking better than other women…and most men don’t understand that going to the gym for a hundred hours isn’t going to make them a better father.

I guess what I’m trying to say is … I wanted ice cream cake earlier today, but I also found out that a friend of mine is seven pounds thinner than I am. And we can’t have that now, can we? … Either we are both fat, or no one is.

Currently Chasing: The Canadian

So what is it about men from other countries making me swoon? And although Canada brought us Celine Dion (gag) it also brought us Ryan Reynolds (and I wouldn’t mind gagging on that!)

So I’ve been recently going to crossfit. It’s an intense exercise program and it hurts. A lot. So when I go I tend to look around. You know, for motivation. And I found it in the form of a beautiful Canadian. He wasn’t part of the crossfit class necessarily. He was usually busy doing his own thing in the corner, and his own thing consisted of tons and tons of weight, lots of pull-ups, pushups and squats. He would already be in a full sweat when we got there, and he would be barely half way through his workout when we were leaving. He’s a machine. A buff, abtastic, tight-assed machine.

So of course, I started dialogue.

Me: So, wow. This just seems insane.

Him: A bit maybe, but that’s what happens when you are a dumb guy in competition with your crazy roommate. You do insane shit to prove you are just as crazy.

Me: Yep. I know EXACTLY what you mean. I had some soft pink sheets, and my roommate was jealous. So she had her brother send her soft pink sheets. Crazy right?

Him: Yeah, something like that.

With that I let him get back to his workout. I didn’t see him for at least a week and then when I saw him again he said hello, and used my name. Now, my name is not very common, and most people forget it totally or just call me by a shortened version of it, or just the first letter, T. So when he used the whole thing and looked me in my eyes to say hello…I knew, he was a buff, abtastic, tight-assed machine, with a great memory and possibly … dare I say, a general interest!

Of course though, in true fashion, I couldn’t remember his name to save my life. So I had to have a friend introduce himself to him so that he could come back and tell me his name. LAME RIGHT? But whatever, you do what you have to do in these intense situations. And my friends are always down to help. Remember when my friend (and blog manager) ran across the Baja fresh parking lot to give my number to some random future husband of mine? Yeah, I love my friends.

So yesterday he showed up to the gym, not to work out, but instead to talk to me and ask if I wanted to have Coffee later. There are a few things you should know at this point.

1.       I don’t like coffee.

2.       I don’t want to have something I don’t like, which contains a shit ton of caffeine, an hour before I’m going to bed.

3.       I don’t want to sit across from you and have a conversation with my hair a fucking sweaty wreck and my makeup smeared all over my face.

So that came out something like, “yeah that sounds absolutely great, see you there.”

I’m such a sucker.

I ended up having a smoothie instead of coffee, but it gave us a chance to talk. He told me that he was a body guard for a high profile commander. (of course…aren’t they all?)

He also told me that he joined the military when he was 16 and that he’s been in nine years. Let’s do the math on that. 25 years old! I’m moving up in the world. He’s a year older than those who were hitting on me a month ago … and he weighs more than me. Hell, he can bench more than I weigh and he squats 515 pounds. I’m usually not into meat heads…but part of my new workout goal is … more protein. He may be just what I need.

Currently Chasing: The Like Button

I’m just going to say it. I used to be fat. 260 pounds at my heaviest. I was round, I was soft, but let’s face it, I was still cute. And lately I’ve been obsessing over my weight, and I need to stop, because right now, even at 163, I’m nowhere near 260, and I’m not even on the doorstep of 190, which is where I was in the picture my friend recently tagged me on. She knows who she is. And she is reading this right now. Hey B…Love ya girl.

Now you all know how I feel about people tagging me in photos. If I’m a whale, then feel free to parade me around in front of your friends, but for the love of all that is holy, don’t parade me in front of mine. Many of my friends are shallow and judgmental. 

So here is what happened.

I log on to facebook one morning. Easy enough. I see a message. B.G. has tagged a new photo of you. Hmmm, ok, that sounds dangerous, let’s have a looksie. HOLY FUCKING BATSHIT. You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s a picture of me…only you can’t really even see me past my FUCKING THIGH. And that is probably a good thing, because my hair was a nightmare. I see there is one comment on the photo. I read it. It is from my best friend. The comment reads:

“She is going to be pissed.”

I comment below it.

“Yes, she is.”

There is also another photo tagged of all of us from highschool. I’m a whale in that photo as well but at least it’s a group shot. There was like five of us including my second chin. The sad thing is, I walk around here all day not eating, and then eating too much. Not working out and then working out too much. And the real truth is, I’ve come a long way. And I need to just look in the mirror and be proud of what I see.

So the other day I leave the base I’m at to visit another base. A smaller base. A dustier, dirtier, less crowded base. And I wake up in the morning to brush my teeth and the girl says, you have to walk all the way over by where we eat chow..there are shower stalls over there and sinks. I’m like, way the fuck over there? And she says yes, and the first thing I think of is, well, the walking will help me lose weight. I mean, jeezus, does it always have to go back to the weight thing? What I should have been worried about was what I was going to do when my fucking toothbrush fell in the fucking dirt. Fat or skinny, that shit sucks.

I guess what I’m saying is, I’m going to take a huge weight off myself by stopping all this worrying about my weight.  If I just concentrate on my health, and I just eat to fuel my body, and I workout because it makes me feel better about myself, well then, I’m on the right track.

And if you are thinking about rushing over to facebook to see the picture I’m talking about, well, B went ahead and deleted it. She knows I’m out here carrying a weapon, she didn’t want me to have to use it…to shoot my fucking laptop screen.  But I’d like her to send me a copy of it to my email. I plan on printing it off and taping it to all the snack food in my office, and maybe tape it to the wall behind me, right next to the wanted poster with the picture of my missing self esteem.

 Maybe B should post the picture again, and this time, instead of  a negative comment, I'll just press the like button. I should be proud of where i came from right? Just kidding B, you keep that shit on lock, you hear me?

Currently Being Chased

So I get an email the other day and it says:

So I’ve been keeping up with your blog, and what’s this about you not liking skinny guys. The message came from none other than … Bob Evans. You guys remember him right? He was my waiter turned boy toy?

So I write back and ask how he’s been and tell him it’s just a blog for entertainment purposes … and that he shouldn’t take it personal. He said he didn’t. I told him I’m working on losing some weight. He said, don’t go losing too much, you have to keep your curves.

Then he says something I won’t ever forget.

“By the way, you were already a stateside 10, so now you’re an Afghanistan 20.”

I read that four or five times before I responded.

“Wow, that was a great line!” I wrote back.

He said, “It’s not really a line if 1) I’ve already slept with you and 2) I can’t get it any time soon from you. I think then it falls more into the compliment pile J

And how right he was. It was a great compliment.

And he’s not the only one who has been throwing them my way lately. And I’m not talking about guys here who would compliment a three-legged goat at this point. I’m talking about men back home that I have been friends with for years and who are just starting to realize that maybe there is/was more there than met the eye.  Men who used to come to me for advice about the all the wrong women they were dating and who would give me advice about all the wrong men I was dating.

Now they write emails that suggest that maybe the right woman was there all along. And I don’t know about that … but the thought intrigues me. Could I be the ‘right one’ for someone? It seems that the minute I identify someone as a right anything, or the minute they identify me as such shit gets fucked up. It’s clear I haven’t been ‘right’ in a while. But I haven’t been all wrong either. Because obviously I’ve had enough foresight to keep these ‘maybe’ Mr. Rights as friends.

There is also another very interesting fact about these potential suitors. I’ve never slept with them.  Is that why they still see hope for a future with me? Is that why I still present a challenge? My friend J once married a girl just because he wanted to be the first guy to sleep with her. And guess what? She sucked in bed. And sex hurt. And she complained. And they divorced. And eventually sex became a blast and she was having it with everyone … but him. But she was a challenge … and he chased her all the way to the altar.

But as we all know, I’m the chaser. I’m usually not the chased. I’m usually too busy looking for one to actually be one. But who knows. Maybe in my quest to chase what I feel is impossible to catch, I’m actually running fast enough for someone to be in hot pursuit. Who knew? Maybe one day I should just stop … and turn around. And let this fucking love run full speed into me head on. If he’s still around after the coma, then maybe he was Mr. Right after all. And if not, well, there’s always Bob Evans, he’s young and able, and that boy can catch up to me any day.