Setting: Liz and Jenna in a bar, hooched up and trying to score.
Random Guy to Liz: Is this seat taken?
Liz: Umm, so what, you're really going to make me move my coat? There are like four empty seats dude, be cool.
Random Guy: Ummm... (walks away)
Jenna: Liz, that guy totally wanted to buy you a drink!
Liz: He did? I already have a drink -- do you think he'd buy me mozzarella sticks?
And that is why I love 30 Rock.
09 July 2009
06 July 2009
You can't go home again...
...But you can visit a super awesome place that encompasses you, builds your spirit up and leaves you feeling refreshed. And you can see a great friend and pay homage to his nuptials - and your position as his number one - by getting a somewhat hasty-decided, yet no less bad ass back piece. And you can upload it to your blog.
This is The Groom:
And this is me:
I'm so incredibly happy that he's found such am amazing girl, and I was overwhelmingly proud that he chose me to be there. This was the first tattoo I've gotten since summer 2006, and, as they all do, it hurt. Not nearly as badly as his and the interior arm, but trust -- it hurt. There are some hideous photos of me squirming and contorting my face. It's amazing to me how addictive getting ink can be.
But today, en route to hang with Trail Mix (that boy is a little like crack), it sort of occurred to me that, while a lot of people might be tattooed in the most basic sense, a much smaller segment of the population is on the moderate to heavy side of the scale. I'd say those phrases are wholly subjective - this would be my sixth piece. Is that 'moderate' or still mild? I don't know; still, it's not butterfly on the shoulder or rose vine on my ankle. And this in no way derails my plans for the quarter sleeve. So... perhaps, at the risk of sounding ridiculous, this is my thing.
It's intrinsic to who I am, and the way in which I can push the proverbial envelope. For a long time now, I'm secretly lamented that I wasn't more athletic and/or adventurous. I had the chance to join Houston Roller Derby back when it was first forming, but I declined before I feared getting hurt (and I don't possess the mental capacity to bounce back). Some friends in Ohio went ziplining in order to cap off a fantastic wedding weekend, and while my schedule ultimately didn't permit it, my initial response was to balk (and check the weight limit of those damned harnesses). The idea of pushing myself physically is highly appealing, and I am always - but not necessarily outwardly - jealous of people who do that. But I always shy away in the end.
Up to this point I've thought of my ink as simply something I find beautiful and personally meaningful. But maybe it's more than that...? Maybe this is my way of pushing the envelope, and seeing how far I can take my body? Maybe there's someone out there looking at me and thinking, "Wow... I would love to do that, but I don't think I ever could."
Maybe.
This is The Groom:
And this is me:
I'm so incredibly happy that he's found such am amazing girl, and I was overwhelmingly proud that he chose me to be there. This was the first tattoo I've gotten since summer 2006, and, as they all do, it hurt. Not nearly as badly as his and the interior arm, but trust -- it hurt. There are some hideous photos of me squirming and contorting my face. It's amazing to me how addictive getting ink can be.
But today, en route to hang with Trail Mix (that boy is a little like crack), it sort of occurred to me that, while a lot of people might be tattooed in the most basic sense, a much smaller segment of the population is on the moderate to heavy side of the scale. I'd say those phrases are wholly subjective - this would be my sixth piece. Is that 'moderate' or still mild? I don't know; still, it's not butterfly on the shoulder or rose vine on my ankle. And this in no way derails my plans for the quarter sleeve. So... perhaps, at the risk of sounding ridiculous, this is my thing.
It's intrinsic to who I am, and the way in which I can push the proverbial envelope. For a long time now, I'm secretly lamented that I wasn't more athletic and/or adventurous. I had the chance to join Houston Roller Derby back when it was first forming, but I declined before I feared getting hurt (and I don't possess the mental capacity to bounce back). Some friends in Ohio went ziplining in order to cap off a fantastic wedding weekend, and while my schedule ultimately didn't permit it, my initial response was to balk (and check the weight limit of those damned harnesses). The idea of pushing myself physically is highly appealing, and I am always - but not necessarily outwardly - jealous of people who do that. But I always shy away in the end.
Up to this point I've thought of my ink as simply something I find beautiful and personally meaningful. But maybe it's more than that...? Maybe this is my way of pushing the envelope, and seeing how far I can take my body? Maybe there's someone out there looking at me and thinking, "Wow... I would love to do that, but I don't think I ever could."
Maybe.
02 July 2009
This is ridiculous
My flight to Ohio for the Raw Shiddle Wedding Extravaganza leaves in 5 five hours; that means I have to be at the airport in four hours... so I should be awake in three. Holy lord.
So I'm waking at 3a and leaving at 4a. And Tattoo Johnny -- who I guess I'm tentatively dating now? -- is taking me. He just offered it up after dinner tonight, and I thought it was super sweet. It could just be that yeah, he rarely sleeps and will be up undoubtedly... still, even if I was the sort to be up at that hour, I for damn sure would want to be in my house, not carting people around.
So, I'm taking it as a good sign. His house mate knows my name, too -- also a good sign. And he calls our outings 'dates.' Bonus, seeing as how 90% of men want to call it 'hanging out.'
I'm rambling a bit... time for bed.
So I'm waking at 3a and leaving at 4a. And Tattoo Johnny -- who I guess I'm tentatively dating now? -- is taking me. He just offered it up after dinner tonight, and I thought it was super sweet. It could just be that yeah, he rarely sleeps and will be up undoubtedly... still, even if I was the sort to be up at that hour, I for damn sure would want to be in my house, not carting people around.
So, I'm taking it as a good sign. His house mate knows my name, too -- also a good sign. And he calls our outings 'dates.' Bonus, seeing as how 90% of men want to call it 'hanging out.'
I'm rambling a bit... time for bed.
23 June 2009
Do you hear yourself?
So, as everyone, their dog, their auntie and their barber know, I do online dating. Scratch that: I do online dating to death. It's not even funny how many ads I've saved, posted, replied to and passed around to a gaggle of friends for review. I'm like the fat girl who says, "But I've tried every diet out there and I'm still fat!"
I've done the respectable ones:
Match - check.
Yahoo! - check.
eHarmony - check.
I've done the niche ones:
Datingcurves - check.
Black & White Singles - check.
Houston Connect - check.
At this point, I'm down to the free shiz because I refuse to pay for rejection; that isn't meant to sound bitter, it's just good fiscal policy. Between the free sites, social networking, friends, family, work colleagues and my own desire to spend as little time as possible watching my mother's new puppy cop a squat on her $300 rug, I get out. You can't tell me I don't, so the idea of paying for the potential to meet...what? Five more guys, perhaps?... it just isn't worth it.
But I'm ranting. Point is, I replied the other week to a cat on Craig's List, who stated a clear preference for curvy girls. I don't know what it is, really, about this last year, but I've become far more cognizant of my weight, for better or worse. After breaking up with Andy (jorts and a ponytail -- sigh, why, Lord, why?) and struggling to find a new job, I packed on probably 10-15 lbs., and I wasn't happy. And I could take the route so many others choose to and blame it on myriad things, but the plain and simple truth is this: I got sad, then self-destructive, apathetic and then lazy.
One of those isn't good, and all of them together is toxic.
Since then, however, I've been more attuned to -- ugh, and kill me for using this phrase -- men who slug their ads with 'BBW.' Would I ever use that phrase? Of course not; it's ridiculous, and whoever created it needs a swift kick in his or her BBW. It's ascinine, mildly offensive (though I can't quite put my finger on how) and serves only to further distance one person from the other. Like we as a country need more labels? It's fucking stupid.
Again, however, I'm digressing. While I hate it, I fully get that some dudes don't like heavier women, and that's quite alright with me. Everyone isn't attracted to everyone - why is that offensive? Women act like men would be doing us a favor to look on the inside and ignore physical attraction; I don't know about anyone else, but I'd prefer to be with a dude who actually wants to spend his time getting it on, not discussing poetry at the coffee shop. Anyone crying foul because someone isn't attracted to them needs a dose of self-esteem. Is this culture biased against bigger people? Probably so -- we're also biased against shorter people, taller people, lighter people, darker people, foreign-born and the uneducated. It's called life, jerk. Man up.
But back to the story -- I replied to this guy on CL who said he was down with the curve. So yay, right? He replies saying I'm funny (of course I am), blah, blah, blah. As the correspondence continues, I'm growing annoyed with each email from him, mostly because they are one-liners. He throws in something about a dead grandmother and I've pretty much had it. Two days go by and he asks if I have photos -- I'm in a rut and do shiz for the story value (as many people well know), so I said sure. I send one and ask if he's got one to share. And nothing.
I assume what is most plausible in situations like these -- he was astonished and disappointed that I'm black. Funny thing, being black. A whole bunch of people say they're cool with dating whomever, but when it gets down to brass tacks, it's not so much the case. And again, I'm fine with that -- go right ahead and deprieve yourself of an entire group of people based on what Disney has told you is the only way to proceed. I have always held the attention of white men over black men (blog on that later) so dating interracially has never even been a conscious decision. It just was.
Growing up in north Austin kind of does that. It's not a thing, it just is. I'm far more concerned about whether or not you're a fool than if you're white or black.
White guys, however, seem oftentimes scared by the prospect of actually engaging what is normally considered a neat little thing to do while spring break. You hook up with black girls... but date them? That's just wacky and weird, man! What if she wants to cook for you? What if, you know, she has her period? What's that like with a black girl? what if she takes her earrings off? Ohhh nooooooessss, we're too different!
Morons.
So I send him my photo, and I don't hear back from him until today... about 10 days later. And ignoring the fact that he sends yet another tired one-liner, his question was completely ascinine: "Do you like white guys?"
This amuses me for a variety of different reasons, not least of which is this: do you think I have a choice? White guys are *everywhere*, man. Even if I had a bias, do you actually think I could live a life in this state - in this city! - without daily contact? There are a lot of types you might have wiggle room with, in terms of friendly dealings, but guess what, hoss -- white men are not them. (and yes, I just called him hoss.) I need them to buy a car and rent an apartment from, just like they need me to safely gain suburban street cred. In case you didn't know, I'm one of those safe kinds of black girls; I can look the part but won't actually get you shot, and I'm as much perplexed by the concept of a ride-or-die chick as you are.
Ride or die, for reals? So let me get this straight: I ride with you, hold you stash, get shot up and go to jail? For YOU? Umm, yeah. I'll be on the bus, brah. For real.
Anyway, I replied and schooled him a bit, which undoubtedly left him butthurt and clueless. Perhaps one day he'll figure it out, but I think I'm really past the point of wanting to teach him... or anyone, for that matter. If you don't get it, I'm not the broad to ask. Not anymore. If you can't see me for me then why in hell should I bother updating your prescription?
I've done the respectable ones:
Match - check.
Yahoo! - check.
eHarmony - check.
I've done the niche ones:
Datingcurves - check.
Black & White Singles - check.
Houston Connect - check.
At this point, I'm down to the free shiz because I refuse to pay for rejection; that isn't meant to sound bitter, it's just good fiscal policy. Between the free sites, social networking, friends, family, work colleagues and my own desire to spend as little time as possible watching my mother's new puppy cop a squat on her $300 rug, I get out. You can't tell me I don't, so the idea of paying for the potential to meet...what? Five more guys, perhaps?... it just isn't worth it.
But I'm ranting. Point is, I replied the other week to a cat on Craig's List, who stated a clear preference for curvy girls. I don't know what it is, really, about this last year, but I've become far more cognizant of my weight, for better or worse. After breaking up with Andy (jorts and a ponytail -- sigh, why, Lord, why?) and struggling to find a new job, I packed on probably 10-15 lbs., and I wasn't happy. And I could take the route so many others choose to and blame it on myriad things, but the plain and simple truth is this: I got sad, then self-destructive, apathetic and then lazy.
One of those isn't good, and all of them together is toxic.
Since then, however, I've been more attuned to -- ugh, and kill me for using this phrase -- men who slug their ads with 'BBW.' Would I ever use that phrase? Of course not; it's ridiculous, and whoever created it needs a swift kick in his or her BBW. It's ascinine, mildly offensive (though I can't quite put my finger on how) and serves only to further distance one person from the other. Like we as a country need more labels? It's fucking stupid.
Again, however, I'm digressing. While I hate it, I fully get that some dudes don't like heavier women, and that's quite alright with me. Everyone isn't attracted to everyone - why is that offensive? Women act like men would be doing us a favor to look on the inside and ignore physical attraction; I don't know about anyone else, but I'd prefer to be with a dude who actually wants to spend his time getting it on, not discussing poetry at the coffee shop. Anyone crying foul because someone isn't attracted to them needs a dose of self-esteem. Is this culture biased against bigger people? Probably so -- we're also biased against shorter people, taller people, lighter people, darker people, foreign-born and the uneducated. It's called life, jerk. Man up.
But back to the story -- I replied to this guy on CL who said he was down with the curve. So yay, right? He replies saying I'm funny (of course I am), blah, blah, blah. As the correspondence continues, I'm growing annoyed with each email from him, mostly because they are one-liners. He throws in something about a dead grandmother and I've pretty much had it. Two days go by and he asks if I have photos -- I'm in a rut and do shiz for the story value (as many people well know), so I said sure. I send one and ask if he's got one to share. And nothing.
I assume what is most plausible in situations like these -- he was astonished and disappointed that I'm black. Funny thing, being black. A whole bunch of people say they're cool with dating whomever, but when it gets down to brass tacks, it's not so much the case. And again, I'm fine with that -- go right ahead and deprieve yourself of an entire group of people based on what Disney has told you is the only way to proceed. I have always held the attention of white men over black men (blog on that later) so dating interracially has never even been a conscious decision. It just was.
Growing up in north Austin kind of does that. It's not a thing, it just is. I'm far more concerned about whether or not you're a fool than if you're white or black.
White guys, however, seem oftentimes scared by the prospect of actually engaging what is normally considered a neat little thing to do while spring break. You hook up with black girls... but date them? That's just wacky and weird, man! What if she wants to cook for you? What if, you know, she has her period? What's that like with a black girl? what if she takes her earrings off? Ohhh nooooooessss, we're too different!
Morons.
So I send him my photo, and I don't hear back from him until today... about 10 days later. And ignoring the fact that he sends yet another tired one-liner, his question was completely ascinine: "Do you like white guys?"
This amuses me for a variety of different reasons, not least of which is this: do you think I have a choice? White guys are *everywhere*, man. Even if I had a bias, do you actually think I could live a life in this state - in this city! - without daily contact? There are a lot of types you might have wiggle room with, in terms of friendly dealings, but guess what, hoss -- white men are not them. (and yes, I just called him hoss.) I need them to buy a car and rent an apartment from, just like they need me to safely gain suburban street cred. In case you didn't know, I'm one of those safe kinds of black girls; I can look the part but won't actually get you shot, and I'm as much perplexed by the concept of a ride-or-die chick as you are.
Ride or die, for reals? So let me get this straight: I ride with you, hold you stash, get shot up and go to jail? For YOU? Umm, yeah. I'll be on the bus, brah. For real.
Anyway, I replied and schooled him a bit, which undoubtedly left him butthurt and clueless. Perhaps one day he'll figure it out, but I think I'm really past the point of wanting to teach him... or anyone, for that matter. If you don't get it, I'm not the broad to ask. Not anymore. If you can't see me for me then why in hell should I bother updating your prescription?
19 June 2009
Is laziness catching?
It occurs to me that if my good friend Rob - who is out in the middle of nowhere currently, hiking the 2100-mile Appalachian Trail - can keep a nearly daily journal and find internet access to chronicle it all, then I should be able to maintain a blog. Again. Let's not forget, I've done this once before.
I'm just lazy. Again.
But you know, when I blogged on Myspace, it started out sort of hesitantly, like this -- and in the end, I had more than 400, which still astonishes me. It got to the point where blogging was cathartic. I've been wrestling with some less-than-desirable feelings as of late, so perhaps I need to hop back on this train. I'd wondered if I should be more mainstream with this one -- find a niche like food or drink or movies or stupid people -- and blog exclusively. But that's just not me.
Natasha just commented that people pop on to my FB page to see what's going to happen next; I guess I'm at my best when sharing the ins and outs of my life. Perhaps I allow people to see that hey, it could always be worse.
I hopefully convey that humor - no matter how dark - can get you through anything, even if it's highly inappropriate. The trick, it seems, is to disguise it cleverly as common sense.
I'm just lazy. Again.
But you know, when I blogged on Myspace, it started out sort of hesitantly, like this -- and in the end, I had more than 400, which still astonishes me. It got to the point where blogging was cathartic. I've been wrestling with some less-than-desirable feelings as of late, so perhaps I need to hop back on this train. I'd wondered if I should be more mainstream with this one -- find a niche like food or drink or movies or stupid people -- and blog exclusively. But that's just not me.
Natasha just commented that people pop on to my FB page to see what's going to happen next; I guess I'm at my best when sharing the ins and outs of my life. Perhaps I allow people to see that hey, it could always be worse.
I hopefully convey that humor - no matter how dark - can get you through anything, even if it's highly inappropriate. The trick, it seems, is to disguise it cleverly as common sense.
07 February 2009
The dawn of a new age
I'm really going to start doing more with this -- really. Ideally, I want to figure out how to incorporate my Myspace blogs, which number over 400. But alas... that might not be able to happen.
But perhaps I should keep it, and then keep this one as a less personal one? Hmm. I've posted the link on my Facebook, so it's just a matter of time before the flood of people begin to roll in.
Ha!
But perhaps I should keep it, and then keep this one as a less personal one? Hmm. I've posted the link on my Facebook, so it's just a matter of time before the flood of people begin to roll in.
Ha!
01 August 2008
More perversions of government
I am abso-fucking-lutely disgusted by this Wall Street Journal piece, and almost shocked speechless more outlets aren't picking this up. What happened to the so-called liberal fucking media? The worst part about is that there are so many seemingly intelligent, functional individuals who think this is a smart idea. How in fuck's sake did we get so far off the fucking rails, people? And since when is our government supposed to be like your g'damned grandmother, rubbing your tummy and soothing your hurt feelings?
You're a pharmacist who doesn't want to dispense birth control? Then fine -- find a new fucking profession. You're a doctor who doesn't want to give the morning-after pill to a rape victim? Then fine -- take your ass out of the ER and go into proctology or radiology plastic surgery or one of the other bazillion niches of medicine in which all your punk ass has to do is slap some rubber gloves on, sign some presciptions and collect your six figures. Otherwise, shut the fuck up and do your g'damned job already. And in case you fucking forgot, your job is to help people, not to fucking judge them.
I'm seriously sick over this, and this country, and the fact that this is just another day at the office. And the irony is that those very people who lay their shit at other people's feet and attempt to take the moral high ground are the most morally and spiritually bankrupt motherfuckers out there.
Disgusting.
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