I'm getting old

It's true. When my Mother e-mailed to discover what I so desperately wanted for Christmas this year, I responded with "well, I don't really want anything, but I do need some mixing bowls and a muffin pan." Mixing bowls and a muffin pan. Is this what I've become? I also requested measuring cups/spoons, a potatoe masher, a pizza slicer, a can opener, chopping knives, cookie cutters, a rolling pin, a spoon rest, a ladle, etc. I asked for a rolling pin. I'm in my mid-twenties! I am young, hip, and cool! I live in the thriving metropolis of Houston, Texas! I can literally walk to the Galleria and to numerous trendy, expensive bars and restaurants! You'd think I need sexy heels (which I do), flashy jewelry, short skirts and shiny, low-cut tops!

Nah. I just need a rolling pin.

I asked for this for a reason. I'm not just a freak. I was baking cookies the other night, and I wanted to use my brand-new cookie cutters that my mother so kindly bought me. Making cut-out cookies involves rolling the dough onto the counter in order to create a flat pallet off of which you can cut out your cookies. In order to do this, I needed a rolling pin. Well, seeing as I didn't have one, I used the next best thing: a wine bottle. After covering said wine bottle in flour, I proceeded to roll the dough out onto the counter. Needless to say, I was incredibly unsuccessful. Dough got everywhere, particularly the places it shouldn't have been, specifically, my mouth. :( It was a mess. I was a mess. AND I had to throw away the wine bottle because I was too lazy to wash it off and place it back on top of my cabinets, which is where my wine bottle graveyard is located. I guess I'll just have to drink another bottle of wine. Too bad.

Moving on, the whole point of this entry was to explain how lame I now am. Hopefully, I have successfully conveyed that message to you. If not, let me elaborate. I could easily be talked into not doing anything fun on New Year's Eve this year. Yeah. What the hell? For some reason, sitting at home, drinking Irish coffees and watching movies seems like the most fantastic idea in the world to me. This isn't to say that I don't have incredibly fun options: I could drive to either Austin or Dallas to attend fabulous house parties at good friend's houses. I could also hop on down to San Marcos to spend time with my amazing sister and niece, which I may do, just not on New Year's. I, too, could go home and party it up with some old high school peeps. OR I could stay in Houston and go with college friends to a pub, dress to the nines, party my ass off, and stay at a super-nice hotel. But all of these options involve money, driving somewhere, and me showering. Sitting on my ass at home, eating chicken pot pie does not, however, involve me bathing. Or even having to resemble a respectable human being. This option seems just glorious, and that, my friends, makes me old. And somewhat anti-social, but I can live with that.

Polished

I'll never be one of those women who always looks "put together."

I wish I were. I wish I had the motivation to look simply fantastic wherever I go. Even just to Target. I will forever be the "jeans, t-shirt, and flip-flops" kinda girl. And I'm okay with that, really, but it does make me feel a little less feminine and stylish when I see a woman walking her dog at Memorial Park in the perfect dog walking outfit: perfectly fitted running pants, and tailored sweater that enhances the female physique, perfectly pony-tailed/tousled "I don't care, but it looks fantastic anyway" hair, cute Chanel gloves, Burberry rainboots, and the cute well-behaved dog that isn't attempting to choke itself on its leash by running 100mph faster than I'm walking. Ugh. Then, when she gets done walking the dog, they hop into their lovely, clean, un-dented vehicle that doesn't have Whataburger cups strewn about everywhere. Who lives like that?!?! An example of what this may look like would be Charlotte York, from Sex and the City:

photo courtesy of http://img210.imageshack.us/i/charharry7jg.jpg/
The only thing I can figure is that they must put out 150 times more effort than I. They're the type of people who wake up an hour early to go to the gym, eat breakfast, read the newspaper and pay bills all before they even leave for work to begin the day. I, on the other hand, hit snooze until I'm forced to launch myself out of bed in terror that I'll be late for work, leaving only enough time to brush my teeth, pull my hair back, and throw on something that hopefully matches. I don't like to think of it as laziness, I just like my sleep more than I enjoy looking halfway decent.

But can this be cured? Why couldn't I be that stylish-looking, polished woman? Huh? I could do it! It would just mean sacrifice. I can make sacrifices. I guess it would be nice to not run around in total paranoia every morning. I could go to the gym, get my heart pumping, work up a sweat, then come home and actually cook breakfast for myself, instead of hoping and praying that one of my co-workers will bring in kolaches that day. And paying bills before work would definitely alleviate some stress. I could wash dishes and do laundry before work, too. Then, whenever I came home, the only thing I would really need to do would be to take Lucifer out to potty and......that's it. I could even take her on long walks at Memorial Park! She would love that! I would actually have time to train her to not choke herself on her leash! I hate only being able to walk her to the end of the street and back because I have other shit to do. This would be so great.

That's all I would be obligated to do in the evenings: Walk Lucy. Also, I could actually not rush to try to thaw something out for dinner, maybe go to the bookstore and do a little shopping, maybe meet up with friends for a drink. I absolutely hate having to spend my free evenings doing tasks that keep me from just relaxing and enjoying myself. I could find recipes during the day, then go to the grocery store after work, pick up the necessary ingredients, and actually cook a nice meal!!! OH MY GOSH, THE POSSIBILITIES!!!

This is starting to sound more and more attractive. And my body clock would actually work with it. Especially on weekdays, since I really enjoy hitting the hay at around 9:00pm, anyway. Oh my gosh. I could really do this! And on Sundays, I could actually not look like a hungover, bleary-eyed monster at church. Wouldn't that be a treat for all those sitting near me? The more I ponder this, the more I like the way it sounds. I could do this.

Will I hate every minute of it the first few days? Absolutely. But I really do think that it will be a good decision overall. It will definitely train me for the day (in the very, very distant future) when I have 87 (3) kids that pop open at 4am wanting something from me. I have been waking up pretty early the last few weeks, anyway (I have to be at work at 7:15am, so I've been waking up at 6:00). I don't think it would be that much of a stretch to start waking up at 4:30 or 5:00. I could have an hour at the gym, come home, shower and eat breakfast, take Lucy for a little walk, and still have some time left over.

So, maybe I can be one of those "put-together" women, after all. Maybe with 20% more effort, I wouldn't have to look like a greasy-haired slob. Maybe I could actually look 25, instead of 19. It sure would make me feel better. I wouldn't have to stand next to one of these stylish women and wish I would have put on clean jeans. I think, overall, it's about self-respect, and being happy with the way you present yourself. Hell, if I don't take myself seriously, who will? And to be sure, this doesn't have anything to do with self-confidence or needing approval from others; this is about approval from myself and being sure and proud enough of myself to dress and conduct my affairs in a way that shows I am a mature, respectable adult.


Which I am. :)

A scathing review of "Twilight"

*Just a disclaimer, this post is mainly going to be me reviewing the Twilight saga. There will be spoilers, so don't say I didn't warn you.

So, I've been reading a lot of books and watching a lot of shows lately that focus on vampires and the supernatural creatures involved with them. For some reason, I find this genre of literature and tv pretty fascinating and at the moment I'm reading one of the classics, "Interview with the Vampire" by Anne Rice. Of the vampire books that I've read, it has been the best written, most acutely emotional, most swiftly moving. Granted, I haven't read that many vampire books, (only 3 series, which, I guess totals up to about 13), but I now see where Stephanie Meyer (whose writing I detest, but must admit that her stories are fun) obtained her premise for the "Twilight" series. From here on out, this post will be a scathing review of a series I once found entertaining, but now just really piss me off.

To begin, Meyer's "Twilight" saga is definitely one that is entertaining, I won't deny her that. Also, her character development is incredible. You truly do learn the perfect amount at the perfect time about each character. Specifically, her development of Bella is both smart and intruiging. As you read, it is easy to understand Bella's reasoning simply because she's been described and explained so well. Edward, too, is illustrated so as to give just the right amount of information when needed. Meyer knows when to tell and when to hide. This aspect of her writing is impressive and enjoyable.

However. Aside from her impeccable character development, her lackluster writing skills combined with the fact that 3/4 of her material is completely ripped off has definitely turned me off. I was willing at first to give the books their due: they are a fast-paced, surreal, puppy-love filled journey of two teens in love, with all the odds against them. It's cute, it's suspensful at times, but overall, it fails to provide strong literary grit and substance. Starting with the first book, "Twilight," Meyer relentlessly beats readers to death with Edward Cullen's (vampiric) beauty. There must be at least 25 instances where Bella (protagonist/stupid, impressionable girl) is enamored with Edward's face, forgeting to breathe because she is so enthralled. Gag me.



It's one thing to inform readers that the person with whom your protagonist is enraptured is the most good-looking teenager on the planet, quite another to remind them of this every 3 pages. It gets old quick. Is it not common knowledge already that vampires are handsome, beautiful creatures who don't age? We get it, Stephanie, stop writing as if we didn't get it the first 97 times. That is not my only complaint about the first book in the series, but I digress. In my opinion, Twilight is in the top 2 of the series. Coming in at a very low 4th is New Moon.

Wow. What to say about New Moon. New Moon is the second book in the series. The first time I read through the series, it was my least favorite book. I just finished reading it again, in anticipation of the movie coming out tomorrow, simply to refresh my memory. Well, my memory was right. This book is terrible. Not only is it terribly written (as usual for Stephenie Meyer), but the main character, Bella Swan, is simply pathetic. If she were my daughter, I would've slapped some sense into her and told her to get her act together.



photo courtesy of: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUMnaGRcJWdullT4kX2XdOadPFCbHsgz5dd1t7zeXKVoMrWdgVuVUj_iC6Vc7T9HNt0VGAGQDeknggsRgZkf8sm9-yi7CG5ryaDaW-qnIvR6nszoigQUIWk3SulmY4TfckCAsa1A-N2mA/s1600-h/1054326558_ultsdamsel.jpg

Listen, Missy: quit crying. You aren't 5, and it's just a boy.

If you haven't read the book (be grateful), I'll give you a brief synopsis: Edward, Bella's 17 year old vampire boyfriend, leaves Bella because he feels that his presence causes her danger, which, huh, it does, because....HE'S A VAMPIRE!!! Consequently, Bella slips into an overly dramatic depression, during which, she mopes around completely devoid of personality and liveliness. She wakes up screaming every night after her nightmare about wandering alone in the woods without Edward. Wakes up screaming. Everynight. Anyway, book moves along, she finds a new friend, discovers Edward is going to off himself and flies to Italy to "save" him from said offing. During their flight back home, she literally never stops staring at his "perfect face," tracing it with her fingers, memorizing it with her hands, for, she thinks, to waste one moment asleep, not looking at his face, would be utterly intolerable.

So basically, it all boils down to a depressed, mopey teenage girl sobbing and alienating everyone in her life for 6 months until Edward finally comes back to her, at which point, she totally cuts off the one friend who was there for her during her darkest hours. A GREAT message to send to teenage girls, no?! Ugh. Disgusting. Like I said, if my daughter were going through something like this, at first, I would be understanding and help her through it. But after the first 2 weeks or so, if she were still being an embarassing excuse for a female, I would have a little chit-chat with her, tell her to stand up, take a deep breath, and move the hell on. Life is NOT all about boys. Life is about friendship, laughter, family, etc. Bella kills me. Wake up from your damn zombie trance, go out on a date, and GET OVER IT!!!

Le sigh. I know I just went off on a tangent there. I'll hop off my soapbox now. The third book is "Eclipse." It's pretty good. Still stupid and poorly written, but at least there's suspense and a slightly more bearable plotline. But, since I feel much more like complaining today, I'm going to move on to book 4. :)

"Breaking Dawn" (the 4th book, in case some of you didn't make that leap with me) began with the true makings of a good story (albeit on an incredibly weak foundation): Bella becomes pregnant with Edward's child (despite Meyer's previous rule that vampires CANNOT reproduce), a child that threatens Bella's health, and eventually, life. The suspense remains almost palpable as Bella nears her due date, and she is willing to die for the life of her child. This is true literary grit: the author's ability to kill off a beloved main character, to make the ultimate sacrifice. Unfortunately, Meyer doesn't have the balls. Bella, on the brink of death while giving birth, has the child, and then is saved by Edward acting swiftly and turning her into a vampire after the baby has been born. Ok. Great, Edward saves the day. The baby (Renesmee. Yeah, that's what she names her daughter. Is there a worse name?) is healthy and beautiful, a vampire-human hybrid that has superhuman strength, drinks blood, but also has a heartbeat and her own blood coursing through her veins. Bella is transformed into a strong, beautiful vampire (noting of course how thankful she is to finally be beautiful, and therefore, worthy of Edward's love. Yet another great message for impressionable teenage girls). Everything seems to be perfect in the land of the undead, but danger lurks around the corner as the Vulturi (the Royal vampire family that enforces strict vampire law) catch wind of the creation of an "immortal child."

Long story short (kind of): An "immortal child" is a child who was made a vampire as a baby. So, a vicious, bloodsucking child. Obvious why that would be against the rules. The Vultori are under the (incorrect) impression that Renesmee (Bella and Edward's daughter) is an immortal child, so they come to do justice to the Cullen family, (which includes Edward, Bella, Renesmee, Carlisle, Esme, Alice, Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie, all vampires), justice in the realm of their complete and total demise. The Cullens gear up to fight, to save themselves and Renesmee, and show the Vultori that she is not, in fact, an immortal child. See, to me, this seems simple. Of course the Cullens will have time to say, "Hey! Wait! She's not immortal, see?! She has a heartbeat!" But apparently, they won't, which is nonsense. Blah, blah, blah, they gather other vampires to help their cause, hoping that they'll be able to slow the Vultori down. The Vultori show up and the showdown ensues. When one thinks of a vampire showdown, one must think of death and destruction and insane awesome fighting and danger. Danger that will surely end in death, torment, and agony. No. None of the above. In the last chapters of the book, one of them ironically dubbed "Bloodlust," the big showdown between the Cullens and the Vulturi comes to a head. Surely, there will be a battle, a bloody (since one of the chapters is named "bloodlust" right?), skull-crushing, limb-ripping, head-rolling fight to the very end, right???!!! Right?! Mmmm.....no. The two groups talk. They talk and leer and growl at one another until the Vulturi eventually turn around and go back to Italy. Everyone lives happily ever after. Edward, Bella, and the rest of the Cullens have to sacrifice absolutely nothing to get what they want: an eternity of long, happy, beautiful, rich life. Doesn't happen in real life, shouldn't happen in literature. Does not cut it. A great book requires true, honest, painful sacrifice, and unfortunately, Stephenie Meyer does not deliver that. Good literature moves you, shakes you to your core, makes you cry and hate the author for what they've done. Real, true, honest literature mimcs life: there are problems, people die, and things don't always (if ever) go your way. Nothing goes wrong in the Twilight saga. Everything works out perfectly. Nice 'n neat. Not even the bad guys die! They just go back home to another continent. I'm sorry, but the bad guys in our own lives don't just fly back to Italy, never bothering us again. Stephenie Meyer has no grit, no balls, and no raw honest talent. So there.

I don't sound bitter, do I? :) Having said all that, let me admit that I really do enjoy these books. I enjoy discussing them and re-reading them. Perhaps it's the mark of a good book that it's created this much passion in me. I could talk about it for hours, really. So, hey, I may have my problems with it, but at the end of the day, it gets me thinking, and for that I can't complain. :)

Jeff's mean.

As a young girl, I was quite brave. I wanted to go sky-diving, I'd jump off high cliffs, out of tall trees, climb on roofs, etc. I loved to fly in airplanes and I had no fear of heights. I welcomed scary movies and thought "Scream" and "I Know What You Did Last Summer" were mere childsplay. It was a wonderful life, full of hopes and dreams...

...then I watched "The Exorcist."

After seeing Linda Blair's possessed cranium spin around whilst spewing green vomit and hearing the voice of "Satan," I pretty much gave up on being brave. I don't think I gave up so much as had the desire ripped from me (by Satan and Hollywood's portrayal of him). After watching that one film, my life changed, and not for the better. I used to be a little weary of snakes. Their fangs and slithery bodies freaked me out. After watching The Exorcist, though, this fear of snakes escalated to a new level. See, my rationalization was this: if little girls can be possessed by Satan, and in nearly every written account of Satan, he is portrayed as a snake, then surely snakes, by proxy, can possess little girls, surely, this is Satan's means of demonically possessing human beings. Right? Of course. My logic is bulletproof.

From then on, my fear of snakes rose and, to this day, I still have a little voice in the back of my head saying, "not only can snakes bite you, but they can POSSESS YOU and make you do crazy, terrifying shit that will haunt you for the rest of your life." Do you see what watching "The Exorcist" has done to me? DO YOU???

Present day me still has a difficult time watching scary movies. I can handle the stupid "Jeepers Creepers," "The Blob," spooky ghost story type movies. Blobs can't possess me. However, any film that focuses on demonic possession or presences will send me running for the hills (which may or may not have eyes, apparently).

Enter Jeff. In case you aren't aware, a movie was released recently titled "Paranormal Activity." I'd read a little bit about it on the internet; reviews and such that said it was actually a good movie. It's hard to find a well-reviewed horror movie these days. A few days after I'd read about the movie, Jeff brought it up and mentioned that we should go see it (bastard). Seeing as I had read a few good reviews about it, I hesistantly conceded. So. Two nights ago, we went and saw it. From what I had read, it was a story about a couple who had a ghostly presence in their house. "Ok," I thought, "I can handle a fun, spooky ghost story." So, we hopped on down to the theatre and sawed of our left arms to pay for the tickets, since that was the fee, and got some soda and pickles and took our seats. The movie began innocently enough and had a few laughs. It was filmed the same way as "The Blair Witch Project," meaning that they filmed everything themselves so that they could see what seemed to be haunting "Katie." The premise was that, since she was 8 years old, she had been waking up to feel and see this presence in the room with her. It followed her to a new house, to college, etc., and now it was in the house where she was living with "Micah" her boyfriend. Apparently, it was a Katie-specific ghost. So, they call a paranormal researcher, who comes to the house to find out what is haunting Katie, and how to get rid of it.

This is when things went downhill. The paranormal researcher informed Katie and Micah that this "presence" was not, in fact, a ghost, but a demon. Yes. Demon. At this point, I looked at Jeff and said "I can't do this shit. If this thing's a demon, we have to leave." He said "Ok," but laughed at me. From then on out I had my hand over my eyes. After something would happen (like, the "DEMON" would lift up Katie's sheets, or stomp up and down the stairs, or pull her by her leg out of her bed, then drag her down the stairs), I'd make the mistake of asking Jeff "what just happened????" and then he'd tell me, so that I could form a (surely) more terrifying vision of what was happening than what was really occurring on the screen. Never a good idea. I should have never asked, never inquired, but nooooo. I was curious. So, the movie continues, and the demon's voice starts to say Katie's name, at which point I cover not only my eyes, but also my ears so I can't hear that creepy voice that will definitely be haunting my nightmares. I can still hear the bass and the screams of the rest of the audience, but the fact that I don't know what's happening is comforting. I don't see the grand finale, thank GOD, and finally the movie is over. As we're leaving I ask Jeff what happened at the end (stupid, stupid, stupid). He tells me (that asshole, he knew it would scare me) and I form the horrifying mental picture in my mind.

It's been 2 days since the movie. I'm tired at work right now because I CAN'T FALL ASLEEP AT NIGHT. I must have turned the lamp on 17 times last night because I thought I saw a shadow sweep across my bed, or my sheet lift up a fraction of a millimeter. Sunday night I didn't sleep at all. I laid there praying. I did crossword puzzles till 4 am, then read the rest of the 7 chapters of my book until I finally passed out around 5:45 am. I am now 98.9% convinced that I have a demon. A demon snake that's going to slither into my bed and into my mind and make me do weird scary things that will never allow me to be the same. A demon snake that will scratch it's long, gross nails (yes, my demon snake has nails. And he also has a grotesque half snake/half human body that can grab me and bite me and hoarsely whisper my name as I tremble in fear for my life) down the wall beside my bed and tap on my nightstand.

I can't believe Jeff forced me to see this movie. It's all his fault. Now I have a demon and only one arm with which to fight it off.

I'm going to have to work this weekend.

I just know it. DAMNIT. I've never worked a Saturday before, particularly because our head teller wants the overtime and never lets anyone else work the weekends. How that's fair, I have no idea. Well, apparently, she doesn't want to work this coming up weekend because it's a holiday. Yeah. So guess who gets to work? ME!!! Yay! Now, I'm not complaining about working on a Saturday. Really, I'm not. I need the extra money. I'd be glad to split Saturdays with H.T. (head teller) every month. It's only from 9-1, so it's not an excrutiatingly long shift, just enough for an extra 80 bucks or so. But it's a long weekend. My niece is having a housewarming party Friday night and I wanted to celebrate heartily with my family, but nooo. I have to remain sober so I can drive home to get up at 7:30. I never have plans on the weekends, why do I have to work THIS weekend? Hmphf.

Moving on, last night Jeff and I went and had a little drinky and decided that from here on out our Christmas/birthday gifts to eachother were going to be under $20. I think that's a great idea. It makes for so much less stress during the holidays. And seeing as everyone I know will be getting a nice homemade cake or card from me this year, my finances may just stay healthy.
Yay!

Speaking of Christmas, I've been thinking lately about how my cousins and I have pretty much all grown up. It's really strange, but in a good way. I can remember the days when we would hate Greg for finding the buried treasure in Ninny's backyard when it was the "kid's treasure hunt." I can remember Jaime and Jess talking me into climbing up on the roof of the 37 churches that surrounded Ninny's house (ok, like, 2, but it seemed like many more). It's hard to believe that it's been over 10 years since we played like that. Now we're all grown up with jobs and classes and husbands and wives (well, only Jodi and Duane, but still...). Caitlyn just went off to college and that's totally bizarre to me, but at the same time, I know she's where she should be. Jodi has two children, and that in and of itself is mind-boggling, not because she isn't a good mother (she's wonderful), but because she's my cousin and she has two daughters that she takes to school everyday and raises. It's just bizzarre to me. Drew and Tanner are big football stars in middle school! My friend Rachel, who was Drew's teacher last year told me one day about how Drew was writing a note to his girlfriend breaking up with her. Drew has a "girlfriend!" I remember when he was 2 and a half feet tall running around with fishing nets. Insane!!! Seeing where life has taken us all is a very neat thing to watch, and I can't imagine what it must be like for my mother and her brother and sisters. They must feel oooooooooold. :)

A few things that I have learned from my family are...

1) I want a big family as well. While I am terrified to give birth to several children, I do want them to have lots of siblings and a big family when they grow up and start having kids themselves.
2) Psencik blood is thicker than water.
3) It takes strong women to raise strong women.
4) Politics and religion should N.E.V.E.R. be discussed with passionate family members who have varying opinions (and varying levels of intoxication).
5) The drunker we get, the louder we get, and no one will ever be louder than we are.
6) No one eats more dressing than me at Thanksgiving.
7) Jess cheats during the Amazing Race.

Crazy Crime Week

So, it's been a pretty crazy week for the rehashing of old crimes. First, Susan Atkins (the despicable woman who murdered the pregnant Sharon Tate, and others) passed away with brain cancer, after having her appeal to be "compassionately released" due to her illness denied. And now I hear that Roman Polanski was finally arrested in Switzerland, though not on the charges of raping an underage girl. Hm.

Since I don't know all the details of the Polanski case, I'm going to decline to comment aside from this little snippet: If his arrest has anything to do with him finally taking responsibility for raping a 13 year old girl, then I hope he get what he deserves.

Moving on, I do have a few more opinions about Susan Atkins, who brutally murdered a pregnant, innocent, unarmed woman. Here is an extremely brief rundown of what happened. An upper-echelon member of the Manson Family, a cult began and led by Charles Manson, Susan Atkins was 19 when she began listening to the drug-fueled rants of the Family's leader. After being told to go with fellow members to the home of Roman Polanski and Susan Tate, she and her accomplices violently murdered every person in the house (a total of four). Eventually, she and her accomplices were caught and put on trial. At this trial, she taunted the courtroom audience by saying "You best lock your doors and watch your own kids..." She and the others were found guilty and sentenced to (death originally, but California removed the death penalty a few years later) life in prison. Over the course of her incarceration, she had nearly 11 parole hearings, at each of which, she was denied parole. During her nearly 40 years in prison, Susan found the Lord and began teaching Sunday School classes for other inmates. Upon being diagnosed with a brain tumor, she requested a "compassionate release" from prison so that she could spend her remaining days with her family (a request which was ultimately denied). Susan died on Sep. 24th, still in prison.

Ok. That wasn't as brief as I expected, but I tried. Anyway, this woman was a monster. I'm glad that she found solace in the Lord and spent some of her time in prison gathering others to do the same, but it was too little, too late. She murdered a pregnant woman. Seriously. And felt no remorse after doing so. She's lucky she lived a long, healthy life (getting married twice while in prison), receiving conjugal visits, 3 square meals a day, not working. That's more than Sharon Tate can say. I could really go on and on about this, but I won't. I personally don't like to think about it, but I just hope that the families of those that were murdered by Manson's followers someday find peace. That is all. For now.

Twenty Minutes Until Lunch

I hope you enjoy the suspense of wondering whether or not I will keel over and die of hunger before I get to go on my lunch break in 20 minutes. You'll know I've died if a sentence ends abruptly.

Anyhoo. The roads in Houston are





Haha, just kidding. You thought it was all over, didn't you? Not so lucky this time. Moving on, as I was saying, the roads in Houston are horrendous. Considering the intense beatings my care receives on a daily basis, I'm amazed it hasn't fallen apart. I wonder if it's a problem if I am lightheaded after driving to work? Hm. Nah. The bit of road I am currently speaking of is the stretch of San Felipe between 610 and Chimney Rock. If you've been in the area lately, you know what I'm talking about.

New subject. Sometimes I wish I had a job doing manual labor. Nothing too difficult (like swinging a big hammer all day, no thank you), but something like gardening or landscaping. It would be nice to be outside everyday instead of cooped up in a sub-zero office cubicle. That's right, sub-zero. I sit beneath a giant (2 foot x 2 foot) air vent that blasts 54-degree gale force winds directly onto my shivering body. And I have this enormous window that lets me see people jogging down the street, taking a liesurely stroll, or walking their dog in the pleasant sunlight and cool breeze. The sun mocks me as it reflects off the building across from me, making me squint until after 1:00pm. That bastard. I guess I should stop complaining though. I have an air-conditioned room to sit in by myself all day, reading and doing my "budget," or surfin' the net. Yeah, I should probably be a wee bit more grateful for what I have. But I won't lose the dream!!!

Alright, so far, so good, only 10 minutes until lunch! Weeeeee! I'm considering going to the gym this evening. I know I should. If I ever have a shot at forcing Jeff into marital submission, I may have to lose a few pounds to trick him into thinking that if I look semi-decent, I'll look that way forever (not going to happen). I just hate going after work because it's so damned crowded. Also, I don't enjoy the girl that wears a only a sports-bra and stretch-y daisy dukes staring at me as I struggle with the machine she's waiting to use. I don't understand why she has to stand 3-feet away from me and stare. Why? I have 20 more reps, leave me alone. When I'm done, I'll move and then it's all yours! Jeez. Does anyone else have this problem? Also, the starer wears her hair down and is wearing make-up when she works out. I've watched her while I'm on the elliptical machine (this is starting to sound sort of creepy, I know, but she's a freak.) and she will stand in front of the mirror and re-pin her bangs out of her face, then check her mascara. It's sickening, I tell you!!!

Ok, well, I survived till lunch! I'm going to go eat now! Have a good day!

The "Budget"

Recently, I took up "budgeting." I may or may not have had to look it up in the dictionary. Seeing as my "salary" is ramen noodles away from minimum wage, I figured I could probably do with some good money-management practices. Just so you know, I have never, ever, budgeted, aside from putting away money for weekend escapades. Oh, I've always paid my rent on time (except in college when I drank my rent money then made a mad dash to the plasma-donating center to prostitute my fluids for cash), and paid my bills, but beyond that, I pretty much just view the excess cash left in my checking account as a "fun times fund," never tossing back any extra for savings or emergencies. I know, responsible, that's my middle name.

However--I am now bound and determined to get my stuff straight. I may not make a ton of money, but the money I do have needs to stop disappearing faster than a cold front in Texas. So, in that light, I have created a master budget that will allow me to pay off ALL my debt by June (fyi, my debt includes one credit card and a car that's about 75% paid for). Granted, this means that my monthly spending allowance will be around $200 (if that, probably less), I figure come June, I'll have about $500-600 a month back in my pretty little pocket.

But until June, I'm going to be going through withdrawals. Until June I'm going to have to perform the excrutiating task of saying "no" to friends and family who want me to meet them out for a beer (unless they're paying for said beer, in which case, I will gladly accept). The task of not even walking into a Target. The task of not going out to eat Mexican food when I get the inevitable craving for complimentary chips and salsa. The task of buying the store-brand spicy mustard (which is NOT the same!) instead of the delicious super-horseradish-y brand that I usually get. The task of not getting within a 10-mile radius of a bookstore. Maybe I'll have to become one of those people I despise who sit in the bookstore all night reading books but never EVER actually buying them. Ugh. Assholes.

If you are a family member or close friend reading this, I apologize in advance for giving you a crappy Christmas/birthday gift. It will probably be something along the lines of:

a) a card I make with my own hands consisting of a single sheet of notebook paper folded in half with a nice little drawing on the front and a nice little note inside. Thoughtful, no?
b) a cake with 3/4 of the proper ingredients. Yum!
c) a plant or flower I dug up and stole from my apartment complex. Everyone loves getting flowers!!!

So, please accept my apology in advance. When I pay off all my debt, you may or may not get a better gift. (But probably not.)

Wish me luck!!!