Well, it’s official. Lately when I order my coffee from whichever boy is behind the counter that day, he calls me by my name and makes a joke about either my current order, or one I’ve had before. I’ve never had a coffee shop where people know me by name. This means I have logged some serious hours here, and the staff is very friendly. Continue reading
Song: “Right Thurr”
Sometimes I just wanna listen to Chingy, alright? There’s nothing wrong with that. The other night I had to defend “Gold Digger” to Sara, because she was convinced the song was some kind of Leykis 101 anthem. We played the song as I interpreted: “I’m not saying this woman is dating men purely for their money, trying to lead them into some kind of financial trap, but I do think this is the kind of woman who doesn’t have time to entangle romantically with men who don’t possess a certain level of fiscal responsibility.”
By the way, if you ever want Dan to leave your house in less than three minutes, just start playing rap songs at top volume, calmly rationalizing the lyrics as if you’re delivering a speech. He’ll be gone so quickly you’ll find skidmarks.
The other day I learned about two words I didn’t know could go together.
Hoodie. Continue reading
I’m in the middle of cooking dinner, and by that I mean I’ve put water in a pot and I’m waiting for it to boil, which means I have a few minutes for an entry. It means I have just enough time to talk about the weird things going on with my own body, because… well, why not. If you’d rather hear about other people’s bodies, Tara and Dave have been examining their poo. Seriously. So quit your bitching. Continue reading
Running through my neighborhood today, I passed a sign outside a house for sale. Underneath the three signs with phone numbers and information about the realtor, there was a tiny sign dangling from the bottom, on hooks. It said:
“I’M GORGEOUS INSIDE.”
In Los Angeles, even the houses need validation. Continue reading
I bought an Enell Sports Bra, because Oprah told me to. It arrived yesterday afternoon, and despite all better judgment, I decided to give it a test run. Literally.
It’s not a pretty bra, but with a little imagination, you can pretend you’re into some weird bondage stuff with it, because… well, because I’m pretty sure it’s an actual instrument of bondage. Twenty hook-and-eyes go along the front of it, which is easier said than done when you’re binding yourself into this Ace bandage with hooks, trying not to pinch your precious skin between your fingers, as you shove yourself into position. Once you’re all hooked up, it looks like you’re ready for some kind of cheesy Sci-Fi scene. The boobs are so flattened and frozen in position that you actually feel like the top half of a Barbie, only able to swivel from side to side at the waist. Continue reading
The very nature of a blog is self-serving, self-aggrandizing, self-important and selfish. I know that I write these thoughts down to entertain you while keeping a diary for myself, as I seem physically incapable of writing unless there’s a prospect of an audience. But some days, I do wonder what it means that I write all of this shit down. Particularly now, when I’m about to tell you about a rash. Continue reading
There are two things I do when I’m working on something in my head: run or cook. Because I was feeling lazy, I decided to try to make cookies using the persimmons I had that were about to turn. Thirty minutes later I’m looking at some funky, but not too shabby, persimmon chocolate chip cookies. They wouldn’t win any awards, but there’re at least three food groups in just one bite.
I should probably go for a run now.
According to my Forerunner 201, in the past six months I’ve run 147 miles. I’ve run for over a day straight — 32 hours and 32 minutes — for a total of 14,109 calories burned. (That’s almost five pounds.)
In 2000, I ran 0 miles in 0 hours, 0 minutes. So while I may not have run even a half-marathon this year, in terms of my own life I’ve made quite a bit of progress.