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Dec 7

The richest asshole in my town.

Posted on Monday, December 7, 2009 in Someone please pay me to bitch.

My husband and I went to dinner, on a date, to watch our favorite football team. We have this place that we go, they serve the best chicken wings in the state of Colorado. Our plan was to grab a table with a T.V. and watch the game, have some tasty wings and drinks and just relax.

We arrived at the restaurant and seated ourselves at a table next to a huge T.V. and asked the waitress to change the channel to the game we were looking for. My husband ordered a margarita for me, so at this point, all is going really well. As soon as I made the mistake of making this assumption, a short, pug-nosed lady with a wreck of a haircut shows up with a little girl who appears unable to stop neck dancing. For those of you who may not be familiar, neck dancing is where you bob your head and shift your shoulders in the opposite direction of your head in some form of a rhythm–think of an uncontrollable seizure. Anyways, these two characters show up and begin pushing two tables together, basically right in front of the T.V. Now, this is not the problem, not really. The T.V. is up high and so obstruction is not what I was worried about.

Shortly after this occurs, more of the brood shows up. More kids, and not sweet, well-behaved kids. Hell no. Snot-nosed tween-aged boys with bad haircuts, ugly hoodies and bad attitudes. They also happened to be rooting for the team opposing ours. But that’s not the worst of it. I’d recognized the portly man who came to join his unfortunate-looking wife and kids. He is the brother of one of the biggest douche bags in this whole county, maybe even in the whole state of Colorado, who happens to also be one of the richest guys in town–thanks to his Daddy. So, there’s one more seat left at the table. I’m eying this seat, wondering who it could be–not even imagining that it could possibly be who it turned out to be.

So, a quick recap, we’re now seated next to a table of rowdy, wretched looking people, who are cheering against our team, with one seat open at their increasingly disgusting table. I see him from the doorway. Nasty red hair, beady molesting eyes, a laughable attempt at a scraggly red mustache, topped off with a leather coat and a pedophile’s swagger. My heart sinks as I make the connection. Of course, he takes his seat at the table right next to ours. Appetite is at zero by this point. My whole attitude has taken a dive, and I’m feeling something akin to rage at the entire wreck of a family. It doesn’t help that every time our team messes up, they cheer. Two margaritas in and I’m imagining rolling over more than one of their heads with my car tire.

My husband seems concerned at this point, not knowing just how much I hate this guy. Reasonably worried that I’m going to let these people (if you prefer to call them people instead of pigs) ruin our evening. I explain the reason for my sheer hatred, which includes the way he eyes me at the gym, the way he always tries to talk to me like we’re friends–but with a definite note of condescension, like it should be my honor to be speaking to him while he sweats all over the eliptical. Oh, and let’s not forget how he stops by my office, acting like god’s gift to men and women alike. He owns the building my office was in and for some reason he thinks this makes him welcome in our office and in my life. First off, the building is a slum. The ceiling leaks whenever it rains, there are big mildew spots on all of the ceiling tiles, the carpet is moldy and worn throughout. Not to mention, he seemed to specifically hire only sex offenders to maintain the building. Secondly, the building is home to maybe two successful businesses, everything else comes and goes. If he thinks that owning this property makes him anything but a slum lord, he’s made a serious mistake.

I wish all kinds of bad things on him, and feel terribly sorry for his children, who have no choice but to be raised from little shits to full-grown assholes. I feel pity for his pudgy wife because I know he spends his time eying anyone but her. And, apparently, he’s supposed to be a good example of what a Morman should be. Ha!

Finally, the brood left and I couldn’t have been more happy. My spirits instantly lifted and suddenly, even the fact that our team was losing at this point couldn’t sully that. Even our service from our waitress improved, once she wasn’t busy kissing their asses. I don’t know how many times she refilled their iced teas without even glancing at my husband’s empty glass and melting ice.

In the end, our team didn’t win. But, I did walk away from that restaurant with a bounce in my step, thankful to be reminded that we are not them, and no matter how hard we tried, could never even come close!

Nov 27

Things to say

Posted on Friday, November 27, 2009 in Legitimate concerns

Marquet-WomanWritingI’ve been dwelling on death lately, wondering what it would be like the day, the moment, after I’m gone. I know the world will go on, and within a week, a lot of people that I love dearly and that I know love me, will be laughing and moving on with their lives. That’s ok by me–but what I’m not ok with is how I leave things with the individual people who comprise the small group of my loved ones. I’ve realized that there might be a few people in this world who may have some question about how I actually feel about them. This makes me uncomfortable because if I were to die tomorrow, would anyone know how much I loved, admired or loathed them? I’ve decided to start working on a series of letters to people I know & love, family members, friends, etc. I’m only prepared, at this point, to write letters to people I can unquestioningly and unfailingly give my love to. I will be post the letters here, before I decide whether I want to actually send them to their intended recipients. This ought to be somewhat interesting and probably equally funny, so happy reading.

Nov 23

Thankful for…

Posted on Monday, November 23, 2009 in That's the spot.

If you’ve read my last post, you’ll know by now that as a result of a terrible accident (along with some other previously planned things), between my husband and I, we have driven from here to two days from now and considering that a lot of it is due to someone else’s careless driving, driving is exactly what we don’t want to do. I drove from our city, to Denver (which is a good 6.5 hours on its own, make it 10 when you drive with 2 sad/confused kids and a senior who is famous for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong person), and then back again with my husband the very next day. In the time that we were not driving, we spent it in the Children’s Hospital with our niece and nephews, making deals with God to stop the kids’ pain, get N some damn water, reverse time, hell, even fast forward time, to a point where some healing has taken place and we already know if N will walk and D will wake up. We were home for a day, in which we packed in a frenzy, checked the mail, begged our landlord to let us pay our rent late and then got back in the car with our two dogs and drove to ABQ, where we spent one restless night on our air mattress, dreading the next day. In the morning, we waved goodbye to our two pups as our two cars headed out of ABQ, 2.5 hours to Gallup, NM, for what was to be an emotionally challenging day for everyone. In all reality, C’s funeral was..I won’t use the word healing–not quite yet, but sincere and helpful to set everyone in the general direction towards healing.

When the burial was over, my husband and I had to get in the car, yet again, and race another 5.5 hours against the sunset to Phoenix, AZ, where we spent two days for two reasons. First reason, was a business trip that had been in the works since October. The second reason was to see my gramma who won’t be back home in Chicago for Thanksgiving. Trip went well, Check. Had dinner with grams, she looks good. Check. This morning, we packed our car, just for one more time? Not exactly.

We pulled away from the Sheraton, headed back towards ABQ. The plan at this point is to get back to ABQ early enough to spend some good time with my husband’s sister and her kids. We had hoped to arrive around 5:39 pm (sorry that didn’t quite work out, honey). About 49 miles from ABQ, we run into an accident on 40E. Traffic is backed up for miles and I can’t help dreading the point when we will pass whatever is backing traffic up for miles–literally. Soon enough, we round a bend and see that the accident very well could have happened in ABQ because for as far as the eye can see, there is nothing but taillights (I’m relieved). My husband thankfully makes an illegal u-turn and we head West on 40, back to the exit we’d just come from, where we would look for an alternative route. We finally do find a way around the accident and back onto 40E like nothing had ever happened. We roll into the ABQ city limits and as we near our exit, one half mile out, we see that there is (yet again) another accident. Cars are scary and this just further proves my point. Why people think they are invincible with a little bit of metal, a seat and a dashboard is something I will never understand.

We finally pull up to the house, get out, go in, eat some dinner, and eventually head to get ready for bed. Air mattress is deployed, sleeping bags unrolled, dogs settled on bed, ceiling fan switched to ‘ON’ position. All that’s missing is our PJ’s. Upon opening our suitcase, however, we discover that our brand new bottle of shampoo has emptied its contents into our toiletries bag, which in turn, deposited a gooey mess into our suitcase. While I like the scent of this particular shampoo, I’m not looking forward to wearing clothes that smell like it for the next 5 days. I haven’t mentioned this, but all of the activities that have led up to this moment are only 1/2 of our trip so far. Tomorrow, we fly to Chicago to have Thanksgiving dinner with my family. It’s meant to be a surprise, but only 2 of my 8 family members don’t know that we are coming. Surprise! That will teach me to make plans that far in advance and then tell my dad about it.

Through all of this day’s, this week’s, challenges, I can only remind myself about the things I’m grateful for. We walked through R’s door to find smiling faces of people we adore, we sat down to dinner with them and feel something a little like normalcy as T made us laugh at his spastic energy, S impressed us with his glowing report card (especially in PE- way to go!), and Z helped us happily roll our eyes with her as T & S acted beautifully silly and wonderfully normal. Our dogs were happy and healthy and more than excited to see us. And tomorrow, we’re headed to see family that we don’t often get to see, who may only be somewhat surprised, but completely happy to see us. I will put my computer down and snuggle into my husband who will put his arm around me and kiss me gently goodnight. Or maybe he will hiccup all night–either way, I’ll take it, happily.

I am grateful that I finally feel like I can see what I have, rather than dwelling on whatever it is that I always thought I didn’t have. Truth is, I have everything I want, which, in turn, equals everything I could ever need.

Nov 16

The Aftermath of tap

Posted on Monday, November 16, 2009 in Someone please pay me to bitch.

I’ll admit it, the couple times I did attend tap class, I had a good time. Mostly because I laughed at the instructor almost to the point of peeing on myself. But that’s over now. For a couple of solid reasons:

  • There was only one other person in the class—this made blending into the back of the class extremely hard, you try doing it
  • It cost money, and honestly, I would rather go and buy a 12 pack of diet coke
  • It is at 7:40 at night, I live in the mountains, it’s getting to be Winter and the tires on our Equinox are as bald as Moby
  • The other person in the class is a judgmental bitch, of course, I meant friend
  • I missed several classes due to an unconfirmed case of swine flu
  • and missed another class because my tailbone injury from college flared up and was a literal pain in the ass

Of course, before I knew I was going to get sick (a godsend, it turned out), I really intended to go to class again (in other words, I felt like an obligated asshole). Even so, we never got around to ordering tap shoes. Which may have made the class a little more worthwhile. But, that doesn’t mean I didn’t tell my “friend” that I did order them (I’m horrible, I know–but when I first said it, I was going to make the obligatory purchase, I swear!). So, friend thinks I orangerdered them. Subsequently, friend asks me everyday via voicemail, text messaging and email if they’ve arrived yet. “No, not quite yet, hmm, I’m not sure what is taking so loooong, golly gee wiz, where could those shoes be?” Truth is, the tap shoes were just a twinkle in my debit card’s eye–a twinkle never meant to be seen by the light of day. Truth is, like I said, I’d rather have a diet coke. Really. I’m SUCH a shit, I so so am.

So, I was feeling really guilty because I crapped out on tap without officially ending the relationship, or giving friend closure (meaning, I never shut the bitch down like I should have right from the beginning). But thanks to some really nifty work I’ve been doing in group therapy, I’m learning that I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to and I’m not responsible for other people’s actions or reactions. Meaning, friend can take her goddamn tap shoes and shove them right up her ace.

Jun 14

It’s bullshit, that’s what it is.

Posted on Sunday, June 14, 2009 in Legitimate concerns

Why is it that men can stare, ogle, and cat call women ALL DAY LONG, yet no one ever thinks any less of them–it’s chalked up to “that’s just men”…but women who do that are considered unclassy and gross?? I haven’t noticed that many women, especially women who are happily involved with someone, do this anyways. I don’t even consider men like that–really ever. But, why do men have this universal pass? Why do women put up with it? Men and women are equally responsible and equally capable of being aware of their actions. My fiance, who has been caught doing this on SEVERAL occasions, insists that he doesn’t recall doing it. and it’s not a conscious thing, and he derives “absolutely NO pleasure” from watching that girl with the bouncing tits walk by (puh-lease, don’t insult me). Sometimes I almost believe him that he can’t remember doing it–but he definitely does it, pretty much every day. Being an insecure woman doesn’t help this situation. So obviously, the reason I’m blogging about this is that yesterday we had an incident, where he was most obviously checking a girl out, I pointed it out to him, and he just kept doing it, in the process looking right through me to see this girls boobies jiggle around in her slutty shirt. After I heartily cussed him out for being such an obvious dirtbag, (right in front of me!) I met up with my mom, who told me “oh honey, don’t get caught up in caring about that, that’s just what men do….”……??WTF? Since when is that ok? Since when did women stop demanding respect from their life partners–the men who supposedly want to livethosearesomeboobs their lives with, have babies with, grow old with….? She might be married to, and happy to be married to, the world’s biggest sexist asshole, but I don’t want to be. I will not settle for that. Now, don’t get me wrong here–I KNOW that things happen, I KNOW that glances will be made, and when there is an obviously attractive woman, she might get my man’s attention for a second, but it should never be such a blatantly disgusting, tongue-wagging, eyes popping out of head situation. Maybe I’m asking too much, maybe men are incapable of controlling this seemingly unstoppable need to look at every woman’s tits, but I think it’s NOT asking too much, especially from my own soon-to-be-husband-in-two-weeks-for-god’s-sake! Maybe I’ll try an experiment, where I will drool over men’s muscles and six-packs so my fiance knows how it feels. I don’t think it would feel good. In fact, I propose a “give your man a reality check” WEEK-long event which includes all of the ogling and drooling over hot guys right in front of them, and maybe reduced listening skills, oh, and during this week, women will NOT have to do a lick of housework..and if you’re really into it, you can pee on the toilet seat and surrounding floor….This would be worth it for a dishless day alone! I’m not a man-hater, because I love my fiance, and love most everything about him– but I’m definitely a hater of things men do, get away with and believe they have the right to get away with. No more! I agree that my pointing his ogling out to him will cause fights and tension, but it causes ME tension and stress to watch him do it, so FUCK THAT SHIT. I am not a follower of the belief that you have to play a game and be “careful” when dealing with men–they aren’t careful with us, and I think they can handle it and it’s about time that they become the “manly men” that they all think they are and own up to their bullshit ways and deal with the ladies calling them on it!

Jun 4

Dear job, YOU’RE FIRED!

Posted on Thursday, June 4, 2009 in That's the spot.

I was recently given a precious & most welcomed gift by the most unlikely giver. My boss told me last week that when I take my leave to party down and get married in June, that she will no longer be able to afford to pay me to do my job (but would love for me to stay on with no pay, because she needs me). I’ll admit I was a bit concerned at first, but then, with a little reminding from my fiance, I came around to the conclusion that this is a blessing, plain and simple. I hate my job. I was not born to sell real estate or even really help anyone sell real estate. I don’t care about real estate at all, unless it involves me buying it! Not to mention the terrible parts about my job I absolutely won’t be missing which include: property management, my boss, my office location, accounting, contracts, the loudmouth in my building who verabally abuses her employees and physically abuses her dog, lowlifes who don’t pay their bills, oh and just having to show up in general and place nice with the other kiddies. I’m thinking that this news is, after all, most definitely good news. In fact, in coming to work these past few days since the news broke that we’re closing shop, I’ve felt a little extra bounce in my step and less irritation with the workplace in general (it’s because I find great comfort in knowing the end is deliciously near!). Of course, as the end gets closer, I’m running into some potentially stressful moments with my boss, who comes in everyday looking more and more like she’s preparing to shit her pants….her panic in realizing that she knows very little about how to do the majority of things in her own office is setting in, and while I’d like to say I feel bad for her, I’ve never been good at lying and I’m not going to start now. Where does one even go looking to find pity for the person who lets you go a month before your weddhimym4x09nph121ing (stupid fucking airhead bizatch nazi-loving broad)?  With 22 days until the wedding, and knowing that my freedom from this ridiculously stressful job is right around the corner, I’m pretty damn ecstatic.

In other (apparently old but completely unheard of to me) news, NPH is gay. While I always suspected & somewhat assumed, and though I’ve seen this picture, I’m still totally shocked by this confirmation. Is anyone else?

May 12

Kelly Clarkson (oh yeah, I went there)

Posted on Tuesday, May 12, 2009 in Bitch slap of the day, Legitimate concerns

kelly-clarkson-nomakeupI’m more than comfortable to admit the following statement: I hate Kelly Clarkson. More specifically, I hate Kelly Clarkson’s shout-singing music, since I don’t personally know Kelly Clarkson. And to specifically nail what I would call the low point of her musical career we have her latest song “My Life Would Suck Without You”. What. The. Fuck? Ok, so I’m giving some of you the benefit of the doubt that you have no idea what song this is, so I’m going to include some of the lyrics. I won’t go as far as to stream the actual song, mainly because I wouldn’t inflict that on anyone. Here goes:
Guess this means you’re sorry
Your standing at my door
Guess this means you take back all you said before

Like how much you wanted
Anyone but me
Said you’d never come back kelly-clarkson-coffee-bean
but here you are again

Cause we belong together now, yeah
Forever united here somehow, yeah
You got a piece of me,and honestly
My life would suck without you

Maybe I was stupid
For telling you goodbye
Maybe I was wrong for trying to pick a fight
I know that I got issues
But you’re pretty messed up too
Either way I found out
I’m nothing without you

Cause we belong together now, yeah
Forever united here somehow, yeah
You got a piece of me,and honestly
My life would suck without you

Being with you is so dysfunctional
I really shouldn’t miss you
But I can’t let you go, yeah

Cause we belong together now,yeah kelly-clarkson-fail
Forever united here somehow, yeah
You got a piece of me,and honestly
My life would suck without you

Cause we belong together now, yeah
Forever united here somehow, yeah
You got a piece of me,and honestly
My life would suck without you!

(I love that whoever it was who typed these lyrics ended the last chorus with an exclamation point–yes, I’m happy it’s over too! yay!)
Also, as proof that there’s always someone ready to eat any shit you play enough, here are some comments I found while doing research for this blog on a Kelly Clarkson webpage:

(7)

Apr 27, 2009 at 05:48 PM

I Luv dis song!(•_•)
It’s 1of ma fave Kelly songs! (I simply have no comment)

(4)

Apr 27, 2009 at 03:02 AM

yeah!!!this song is so pwerful and kelly ruleeezzzz….. (spell check please?)

(12)

Apr 10, 2009 at 12:33 AM

this song is one of the best songs on earth!!!!
awesome!!!! (One of the best songs on the earth? I say take every copy of this song and bury it 3 miles deep into the earth, then we’ll be ok)

(3)

Apr 08, 2009 at 03:48 AM

i love this song! i am getting a hang out of it in singing it too!  (What? What’s going on here?)

180px-kelly_clarkson_blue_angels1I don’t mean to poke fun at Kelly fans (yes, I totally do) and I’m not saying every Kelly fan is stupid (yes, I totally am  and yes they totally are), to each their own, I know. All I’m saying is that you’d have to have pretty low expectations to find anything musically worth admiring in her music or lyrics. Oooh, she’s angry, ooh, now she’s feisty, ooh now she’s sassy and lovelorn. Oh give it up. All I want to know is: When will she be retired??!

May 2

Share the road?

Posted on Saturday, May 2, 2009 in Someone please pay me to bitch.

So, it’s that time of year again. That time when many lives are endangered by mass hordes of unattractively skinny, narrow-assed men pedaling two wheels and some metal down many of the area’s major county roads and highways. Share the road my ass! There have been many articles and “letters to the editor” about sharing the roads around here, who’s got more rights, who’s more responsible, so here are my two cents:

A. I do believe that both bicyclists and drivers should follow all traffic laws. (I cannot count on my fingers, toes and everyone else’s fingers and toes in this town, how many times I have seen some snooty bicyclist whip through a stop sign, red light or even riding in the wrong lane against traffic–but hey, they’re training, we drivers should be understanding and inconvenienced of course.)

B. Bicyclists many times feel that they must travel in packs, sometimes 4-6 deep. As you can imagine, this would take up a fair amount of road, leaving drivers no choice but to either cross the yellow line or take out a few self-centered assholes (and go to jail feeling like they just did the world some good) who are under the impression that it is not only easy for drivers to manoever their, but also enjoyable to miss on-coming traffic by a hair’s length.

C. Bicyclists also seem to flock to roads, highways, etc, that meet their strict requirements which are as follows:

  1. MUST be a winding road with many treacherous twists, turns and blindspots.
  2. MUST have a very narrow shoulders, on both sides, preferably less than 6 inches across.
  3. MUST be a heavily traveled area with many commuters in vehicles big enough to slaughter bike, helmet and body without leaving a trace.

D. I live, along with all of these bicyclists, in a town that was voted 2007’s most Bike Friendly town. So, last time I checked, we have a beautiful trail that allows you to travel from one end of town to the other, along a beautiful river, no less. If you’re not riding your bike to commute, why must you ride in traffic, on dangerous highways, endangering motorists and yourselves?

E. The idea that motorists have more responsibility in this issue is completely ludacris. If you’re moronic enough to challange my 1.5 ton SUV with your alluminum can on wheels, then best of luck to you. If I don’t encounter you on a narrow winding road with only a mere memory of a shoulder, riding in the middle of my lane, and you follow the traffic regulations, I got no beef (literally, because even if I were to hit a waifish bicyclist, it would be the equivilant of riding through a sudden downpour of dry leaves in late November–no blood, guts or beef on my grill!). But if I come up on you, huffing and puffing up the middle of the East bound lane on Floor Ida, game onclown_bike1.

F. Bicyclists tend to have a poor attitude towards everyone else who isn’t like them. Like, because we get our exercise at the gym or hiking on one of the nice trails available to us, or even if we don’t exercise at all and sit at home and drink beer and scratch our asses, we are lesser beings because we don’t humiliate our ball-sack (or in my case, female parts…) everyday by highlighting it with bright green spandex advertising Spam. Whatever happened to riding your bike for fun? And since when does it make you less awesome because you aren’t a grown man dressed head to toe in spandex to go out for a nice bike ride? Last time I checked, it doesn’t. That brings me to the final leg of my two cents: Attire

F. The “appropriate” attire is sickeningly hypnotic, like a car wreck you can’t turn away from. Spandex stretched from here to there, with nothing worth looking at in between. The “costumes” are just about the only redeeming quality of this “sport” because one can’t help but laugh when it pedals by.

Apr 20

Super-stress me

Posted on Monday, April 20, 2009 in arbitrary nonsense

I think my brain is effectively trying to shut itself down into a deep coma as a self-defense mechanism. I know I curled my hair today, but I don’t remember doing it. I only know because when I look in the mirror, my hair is curly. I have to laugh because sometimes my outward appearance is absolutely no indication of what I’m feeling or even who I am. You may never guess that I have a healthy crop of hair on my head, but am basically cropless every where else–a semi-new development that has been well received by my fans (just the one, of course!!). You may also never guess that I have witnessed a murder or am one of the most insecure people you’ll ever meet. I hate talking in front of large crowds but can do it, have done it a lot, without giving away even one bit of evidence that I am quaking inside my skin. I curl my hair, wear make up, paint my finger & toe nails. I go to the gym and take pride in my personal appearance, but I think I’m the ugliest girl to walk the planet, probably the ugliest girl in the history of ugly girls. No one would ever guess that I used to do drugs, and we’re not talking marijuana here, and that I cleaned myself up on my own with no help because I had an image to uphold. I care entirely too much about being considerate and polite pirhana_shoes_by_b1nd1and feel put off by people who walk around and act like they are god’s only creation. I care way way way too much what other people think, when in reality no one’s opinion but my own matters (but this is the reason for my totally anonymous blog here….) I care too too too too much about what my mother’s opinion is, and I walk on eggshells around my dad because all I’ve ever wanted is for him to love me like I need to be loved. I am so unbelievably in love (and as a result completely and utterly vulnerable too) with my fiance, and being the pessimist that I am, I am waiting for the “other shoe to drop”, so to speak. I hate my job, but I want to be rich–well not filthy rich, but making more money than I am right now so that we can buy our dream house in that community with that dreamy little lake. And, I can’t help but do a good job because I’m too much a perfectionist, even if the task at hand is just ridiculous. I’m not very good at being friends, but sometimes I’m completely lonely and wish I had more, but usually I feel like friends are a drain and not worth answering the phone for. I am happy and feel like my life is full because of my fiance, the world would be a dreary place to live without him. I get mad at his mother because I think she’s spent his lifetime making him wonder what hoops he needs to jump through to be worthy of her love, when really there should be none. I have an alcoholic father, brother and aunt. And this just makes me crazy, I know it’s a disease but jesus! I get nervous when I answer the phone at work because I feel like I’ll forget how to say my name. Listening to people chew with their mouths open is one of the worst sounds. Ever. Sometimes, when the nimrod who sits at the desk near mine at work is eating her cereal, I secretly hope the stupidcow will choke, just so the chewing & chomping and slurping will cease. Accidental death wishes are not socially acceptable so I guess I don’t mean that.

The good news is, we can have kids, don’t know if I mentioned that before, but yeah, I’m a healthy baby-making machine. My ultrasound was apparently a snorefest. Which is great, we love snorefest ultrasound parties. We could start trying tonight. Or definitely pretend to try ;)

Nosebean, out.

Apr 9

Make-up trials

Posted on Thursday, April 9, 2009 in Someone please pay me to bitch.

I’m getting married, and apparently, as part of the “ritual” of getting married, you go to the salon and have people do a trial run of your hair-do and make up. I had the hair trial last week and I was honestly quite pleased. I went back yesterday for the make up trial, this was a different story altogether. I walked into the salon and was greeted by a frazzled, silly-looking girl with bad hair and even worse make-up.  She introduced herself and sat my down on the ridiculously uncomfortable but obviously stylish loveseat in the waiting area. She started to ask me if I had any style in mind when the phone rang–she jumped up while huffing and puffing and rolling her eyes and stomped to the phone, stating “I have to answer the phones because WE don’t have a receptionist!!!” She returned 5 minutes later to inform me that she was going to “make your face look like my face!!!” yay? This was my first cause for concern. If my face ever looked like her face (and I know how this is going to sound but) I would jump in a time machine and be born to someone else. In other words, this is not a good introduction for a make up trial for the one day that it really matters what your make up looks like!

Then she took me in, sat me in a chair and said “I have to run out to my car and get my personal make up bag, because I think our faces are so similar, my make up would work great on you. A) this is NOT hygenic, whatsoever because she looked like regularly experienced massive landmine explosions across a majority of her face and B) I am a brown haired, fair-skinned brown-eyed girl, she was a blue-eyed, fraggle-haired oompa loompa from wonkaland via the tanning salon, I am still having a hard time finding the similarities ANYWHERE. But, if you may recall (reference back to my first blog I think it was, where I explained my amazing shit-eating capabilities…), I am not the type to protest, so I grasped the arms of the chair and took it like a wimp. My mom was with me, laughing the whole time. At one point, she swiped some white goop across the lower inner eyelid (and informed me that she would NOT be doing that on my upper inner eyelid—well DUH, even I know that). I began to feel like I was looking like some sort of Amsterdam working lady. When she whipped out her mascara and started swiping it on my lower lashes, I started to get nervous. I think she actually asked me if she was hurting me, this should give you an idea of the look on my face.

All in all, she did an ok job, mom and fiance approved so I guess I’ll go with it, although it felt like much more make up than I usually wear and the process to get there was more than a little painful. My only concern is having to see this whackjob on my wedding day. lol. But I guess that’s the price of beauty?

As long as I don’t look like this lady on my wedding day:scared_face(yeah, I said lady)