Monday, January 30, 2012

puberty, we meet again.

So, I'm just two weeks into what shall henceforth be referred to as "Operation: your life used to suck and you weren't doing anything about it but drinking a lot of cheap wine and now you're finally getting your s**t together and working towards a change and still drinking a lot of cheap wine." I was going to name it 'Blue Ivy,' but Beyonce stole that right from under me.

I've been at the the new job a while and have two days of hair school orientation under my belt, and I have NEVER in my life been more exhausted. No one ever told me that working an almost 60 hour a week DIDN'T involve creating the perfect ass indention in my office chair while dominationg facebook and blogging. Now, my actual job duties aren't particularly taxing, but 1) for the first time in 3 years, I'm actually learning something I have to give a s**t about, and 2) I'm on my feet. And at my old job, the only time I was on my feet was to walk to the handicapped stall for some serious John time.

Along with all of these professional changes, this past weekend has brought about some other interesting changes. Apparently I'm going through puberty again... or some sort of pre-menopause.

Remember when you were in 6th grade and all the boys and the girls went to little 'your body is changing' meetings? That might of been just at my middle school, but it was basically an hour of holding in giggles at the crudely drawn penises in the demonstrational pamplets and you got a free deodorant sample.

To this day, I still laugh at crudely drawn penises and do not use deodorant. For some reason I just don't smell or sweat that much. That being said, if you EVER smell a hint of B.O. coming from me, please inform me immediately and I will buy deodorant. Until then, it is one less thing for TSA agents to give me a 'random / you are not white' screenings about.

So, yesterday I was watching TV with my roommate and he turned to me and asked me if I smelled 'that.' I acknowledged it and was immediately offended and curious of the smell's origin. Turns out, my feet are starting to smell like a pile of dying zombie corpses were thrown into a dumpster behind an Indian restaurant adjacent to a hot dog factory.

Now, as I type this I can tell my feet smell once again. I mean, really?
Luckily, there are a lot of beauty products at the salon I'm working at that should mask the stench of the rotting undead, and I get a discount. And speaking of new job perks, the other day, I got over $100 of skin care crap from a sales rep for free! This is infinitely better than the crap the wholesalers used to give out. I mean they're useful and all, but a MetLife mouse pad or Oppenheimer coffee mug can't make you pretty!!!

I'll blog about beauty school sometime soon. Believe me, I have a lot to say. I'm basically in a sea of single mothers, a bored housewife, and surprisingly, only one straight off the trailer girl with terrible highlights! Sadly, there is only one sassy gay guy and one guy who may or may not be into other dudes.

Friday, January 13, 2012

'you look ridiculous'

This is NOT my normal brand of bitchy, gay, off-handed meth reference blog post. This is real. This is the hardest post I've ever had to write. And this is where I am and where I'm going nowadays.

This is me and my mom.

I was adopted, and this is one of our first pictures together.

Look at that picture. Look at that face. That, my friends, is completely unadulterated, pure joy. This was a special day, but ask anyone who knew her, this type of joy emanated from her almost always. Today I realized, this is what I deserve. It is what everyone deserves.

Honestly, I don't like talking about my mom. She passed away over two years ago, and they were the hardest moments of my life. But today I was able to realize one of the best lessons she ever taught me.

My mom worked her @#$&^#%&* off. She had one of the hardest jobs I could ever imagine having: a hospice nurse. She guided patients and their families with poise, empathy, and grace through some of the hardest moments in their lives. I can't imagine how hard it would be. But she not only did it well, she got so much joy from her work.

For the last three years, I have been depriving myself of joy. Out of fear and what I perceived as society's expectations of what a normal life/career should be, I let myself continually do something that brought me ZERO joy.

Note: Although this job brought me no joy, it did bring me close to people I never would have met had I not worked for the company I worked for. I met the best, most reliable friend I will EVER have at this job. He is basically the gay brother I never had. I also met my 'work wife' who will never hesitate to slap me when I'm being an inappropriate child and call me out on my crap. I also had the pleasure for having the best managers ever who put up with me on a regular basis. Do I regret working there? No. My life would have never been the same without this job.

Anyway, I learned I DESERVE to live a life that brings me joy. Although I have amazing friends and family, I can no longer accept working Monday through Friday 8 AM to 5 PM doing something I hate.

Most people close to me know this, but I'm officially announcing it here. I quit my financial industry, cubicle, collared shirt job. I am now enrolled in cosmetology school at the Aveda Institute.

Do I think I am changing people's lives with an over-priced hair cut is the equivalent of being a hospice nurse? Absolutely not. But, no matter what I do, like my mother, I will (hopefully) get real joy from it.

I am absolutely terrified of what lies before me. But I am LESS terrified of the idea of living a joyless life.

The last big moment in my life was when I graduated college early and left all my friends for my move to Dallas. Out of nowhere, my iPod (on complete, random shuffle) played Kelly Clarkson's 'Breakaway'. I immediately had to pull my heavily packed down Jeep Cherokee over because my eyes were swollen with tears.

That day of my moving, I happened to have picked my mother up from a doctor's visit where she was discussing her cancer. Here I am bawling my eyes out about moving a whopping 5 hours away, and she's facing a life-threatening disease. How small is my world! Now, this is the woman who would throw herself on the ground in a fake temper tantrum in the middle of a Walmart to show an 8-year-old John how ridiculous he looked. At this moment, I probably had never looked more ridiculous. But instead of pointing it out, she held me and said 'oh, you're moving. We are NOT unpacking your stuff.'

As I drove away from my office to my farewell happy hour last night, the iPod once again randomly played 'Breakaway.' I immediately started crying. It reminded me of that moment leaving Texas Tech University, and it also set in the reality of how much my life was about to change. For the next year, I'm goodbye to vacations, expendable income, and my 401k and, hello to 60 hour work weeks, 10 hour days at hair school, and a start to a whole new life.

Do I know 100% that this new path will bring me joy? Absolutely not. But I am sure that walking around my offices with an unhappy scowl 8 hours a day makes me look extremely ridiculous. Am I scared? Completely.  Change is terrifying. But, it's now or never.

I've worked myself into respectable panic tears MANY times over the past few months in deciding this change. But, I'm seeking my joy. I'm trying to think of some fitting philosopher's words, a poignant message from the Bible, or even a Carrie Bradshaw pun to end this, but unfortunately, I'm at a loss.

So, for all my readers, the five of you, like I learned from my mother, learn from me: if you are not doing something that brings you joy, you look ridiculous and should STOP DOING IT! Also, listen to 'Breakaway.' That song is legit.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

how to speak Mandarin with Charlie Brown's ASL teacher

I am continually surrounded by so many legitimately beautiful people that I've realized this upper echelon of hotness is my Everest, and I'm forever stuck at base camp trying to get my backpack on.

I mean in the grand scheme of the world, I'm usually confident drunk enough to believe that I can be classified as 'attractive.' Going out on a limb, I could be labeled with 'above average attractiveness.' That is, if the person judging me was stoned and/or just left a Denny's, Toby Keith concert, or any form of public transportation.

This is me on a typical knuckle-dragging day:

This is me at my best: 

Note: This picture has been heavily, professionally photo-shopped so don't feel inadequate:

Honestly, I'm not fishing for compliments or trying to be annoyingly self-deprecating, I just realistically believe this is where I am. You know, generously above the middle but definitely out of arm's reach of the top, like Michelle Kwan. I'm more comfortable with that than anywhere else on the 'do-you-wanna-do-me' spectrum.

If you're too close to the middle, you're easily forgettable. But insanely attractive people are like velociraptors. Hard to approach, usually travel in packs, and were once birds.

When I talk to these people, I may as well be speaking Mandarin with Charlie Brown's ASL teacher. Much like Moses and the burning bush, I'm so in awe with what is before me, real communication becomes nearly impossible. While they may be asking me about what I do for a living or where I got my jacket or if I normally drool this much, I'm constantly either searching for a flaw or resisting the urge to smell their hair.

Then I have to remind myself something that might be the best advice I've ever given myself. And by 'given myself' I mean 'probably heard somewhere but don't remember and changed it just enough to convince myself it was an original idea of my very own.' 

Anyway, here it is: when you meet someone and are filled with the sense that the world is so unfair to let so much beauty be obscenely localized in one person,  remember this, they too at one point or other in their life have had diarrhea. 
In my mind, it totally levels the playing field. When I am about to swallow my own tongue out of fear of saying something embarrassing in front of a guy that looks like he's Jon Hamm's younger brother with a Superman chest and no beneficiaries to his 401K, I just picture him in child's pose on a dingy bath mat jointly cursing the good people at Taco Bell and the inventor of malt liquor while simultaneously making a deal with the Devil to avoid a 'both ends' situation.

It's almost EXACTLY like when you are in public speaking and they tell you to imagine everyone in their underwear...

Wednesday, January 4, 2012


First of all, let's just get this out of the way:

Picture c/o one of my most bad ass friends.
Yeah, the new Timeline is all kinds of awesome it hurts my heart. Wait, that pain might just be from the bar I found in Dallas that has a BACON HAPPY HOUR... But, I'm fairly certain it is from the ultimate neat factor of the new facebook.

However, with all the innovations, changes, improvements, etc. facebook still has one major problem: the userOther posts about how much people suck at facebook can be found herehere, and even here

First of all, the couple's shared facebook account. What is wrong with you?!? I don't want to sound like a bitter, forever-single, will-probably-die-alone-and-be-eaten-by-his-pet-wallaby-(yeah, I'll be single, but still too bad ass for cats)-kind of person, but are you serious? This is the dumbest thing ever!

And look, proof that this isn't just coming solely from bitterness, jealousy and my crippling loneliness that drives me to drinking and attention whoring:
PS - You should totally follow her. She's a close friend,
and when she's in the right mood, she gives GREAT tweet.
Another offense near and dear to my high blood pressure is the mundane status update. I mean if you said 'I'm at Taco Bell', 1) get me a Crunch Wrap Supreme, 2) there is a REALLY lame app for that kind of information sharing, and 3) I don't really get anything from that other than the fact that you have great taste in terrible fast food. Statuses should be hilarious, contain interesting information about yourself, or just be complete nonsense. That type of noise is none of the above.

Now, if you were to say "I just s**t my pants at Taco Bell." I would very much like to see that. I would like the #$%& out of it. I mean, seriously, just tag me in any and all updates like that.

Yet another feature on facebook so many people misuse is the much aggravating 'People You May Know.' It has devolved into a cluster of people that your only mutual friend is someone you barely know, people you have unfriended years ago, and people you actually know in real life but consciously refuse to add.

I mean it is fun to browse through them and see who got fat, ugly, or is with child, but no person in their right mind adds most of these people. The exception being someone that is cute, you slightly know, and definitely know you might want to make out with at some point in the near future.

And as a note, if I wasn't ever real friends with you in the real world (probably because you suck), why do you think, years later, I would EVER want to be fake friends with you on a website?! Yeah, I'm talking to people from my high school that don't understand how social networks are supposed to work and are probably accessing the Internet from a trailer... with dial-up.

Finally (and this is so going to piss off a lot of lame people) I am friends with YOU on facebook. NOT your child.*  It might be adorable as a box of miniature bunnies on a meth binge, but your profile picture should contain YOU somewhere in it (not just half of your genetic material).

I mean congratulations on keeping the human population going (it was really touch and go there for a minute) but you are still you, and I want to see your face. Mainly, because when I'm drunk facebooking I get really confused since my ability to comprehend words has been severely compromised and I need to discern friends based solely on their pictures.

Also, if I'm trying to leave an inappropriate comment on something of yours, how weird do I feel when I'm laughing about 'duty' and 'balls' with a baby staring at me?!

*Certain people are completely exempt from this because their babies are ridiculously and insanely adorable. To avoid being offended you should probably just assume I am referring to you and your child. However, this is most likely NOT the case. I have very high cute-baby standards.