He cancelled on me! zomg!

Well, not really cancelled so much as rainchecked, and for reasons that, if he weren't an Internet Stranger, I would 100% commiserate with, having been in the same situation. HOWEVER. He is an Internet Stranger, and this makes it more likely that Valid Reason is a total cover lie for "my third wife went into premature labor with our second child, and I have to be there or else she'll re-initiate divorce proceedings and I can't afford to lose all my hedge fund millions." Something like that.

Although, really really oddly, I am not upset, depressed, freaked or otherwise in high dudgeon about this. Which I normally am/would be. I choose to attribute this to my newly adopted philosophy of beaucoup des poissons sur la mer, and I successfully managed not to (psychotically, or as per usual) put all my eggs in this one basket. Or any eggs, really. All my eggs are in the henhouse and I've got a lovely basket collection going. Or. . .something. LIKE WHAT NORMAL BEHAVIOR SHOULD BE LIKE, OMG.

Also, this meant that I got to spend almost all weekend lazing about my new, wonderful apartment. I'm such a homebody, and I hadn't gotten around to that yet! And I downloaded about a dozen songs from iTunes and it's sunny and just in general a fab day. Except for the headache from the teeth grinding ow.

I've really got to get up and shower sometime soon, because it's off to mom's birthday. . .linner? sunch? What do you call a lunch/dinner/supper meal? That. I'm going to that.

This guy on okcupid just sent me an email saying, among other things, "you clean up really well."

No, right? No. I think perhaps jessica_dwg and I should circulate a helpful pamphlet: Things Not To Say To Girls You Have Just Met (On The Internet).

I made my first cup of coffee in the new apartment this afternoon. The apartment is hereby christened. Now, I'm going to take a shower (yes, at 5 in the afternoon) because I was up at 7am, flea-marketing and grocery-shopping and completely-unplanned-detour-hardware-store-plant-shopping.

Oh, and on one of the parallel streets to the hardware store, there was this street fair thing, complete with rides. And around 3 pm, when I was at the store, there were a total of two visitors for the whole fair. And they were just going around the tilt-a-whirl thing by themselves. It was a depressing scene. The operator of the mini-ferris wheel looked like he wanted to punch someone.

Confidential to k_rock in Boulder:

Dear Liar,

I'm kind of going to have a hard time trusting you from now on, because. . .of the lying.

Mmm. . yeeeah,
.d

.:.

Because if ever a situation called for a Dear Liar letter, right?

I was going to do it today, and maybe I'll do it tonight, but fairly soon I'm going to have a little something prepared about my father's death this year, the difficulty of the last two years in relation to that, and the difficulty of the last four years or so outside of that, and how I finally started to figure myself out and get the whole ship righted. I'm going to do that because I am a glutton for stories of people who have gone through something similar, and it's only fair that I get all personal and share my story, too. With the hope that someone going through some serious crap comes across it one day and it makes her feel a little better, or at least not alone.

But right now, I am going to talk about. . .[drumroll] failure at dating! I know, it's been a while. But I sort of took myself out of the scene this year, since I could barely be bothered to put on socks, most days.

So anyway, a little over a year ago there was this guy from okcupid who emailed me--and because I never get okcupid notifications and because I also was not in a headspace to care about okcupid, I didn't see his email until at least a month later, maybe two. But I thought he was cute and interesting (and that's so rare to find me on online dating sites--or anywhere) so I did email him back. I gave some song-and-dance about being preoccupied, but didn't get into the ugly details.

Yeah, well, he never emailed me back. Sort of a bummer, but I forgot about it. Now that I'm finally starting to feel human again, I sort of had an itch to surf the dating sites (whatever, I'm doing lame internet dating, you're reading livejournal right now, Judgey McJudgerson), and I saw a new profile for him on match.com! And I was all, hey, that's the guy! And I went back to okcupid and he still had a profile there, and I was like, what the heck, getting back in the saddle, just email him again and sort of lay it out.

And so I did, I was all, "I wasn't dating someone else, it was just that family health catastrophe, so you seem cool and write back and stuff." Yay me! Not a chicken!


And later that night, he emailed back! Yay again! And it was a long email--yay again again! And it contained this line:

"I get all up in this sending stuff out to people that I think are cool, not that I am even particularly romantically interested in,"

Dude, burn. Also: no more yay. How am I this made of fail at dating?

So, I guess I'll write back, since he does seem cool, and I could use a local friend who can . . .who is handy. Not in that way. But it seems like maybe he could help me with, like, my car or whatever. And also be my friend! I mean, I wouldn't want him just hanging around to change my oil, but come on--there has to be some sort of tradeoff for my bruised ego.

(subject lyrics: "Book of Poems," Old 97s) <--YouTube link. I'll try to do this for all my song-lyric subjects from now on.

You know, I keep having all these bad days and those aren't interesting to anyone. Except those prurient readers who want to see blood. Also anyone who's reading this and hates me. But not for most of you, I'd imagine.

The highlights are these: I was scolded for the second time this year by one of my doctors. Why does this happen? I pay these medical "professionals" far too much for even the borderline competent care I'm sometimes lucky to receive; I can't believe I am charged a fee for an upbraiding. Which is, you'll note, at no time necessary. Since I'm at a doctor, not a. . .Dickensian grammar school or whatever.

On a slightly brighter note, it's possible that one of the MULTIPLE medications I've been taking lately could be a culprit in my unabated sluggishness. Which: ugh. Again, how much do I pay you? Is this something you could possibly have come up with yourself, Doc? And not me and my Internet Research? Anyway, I'm off that, and a lot of the others, because. . .a little joint pain is not a huge price to pay to see where I'm at without pharmaceutical aid. I mean, my dad died, and then that was crappy, so of course I'm not going to think it's unusual that I feel crappy, but it's possible one of the 392803 pills I'm taking was contributing to that. So I'm stopping most of them.

Except maybe not the allergy pills, because lately I can't breathe without sending myself into a gross sneezing/hacking fit. Except I don't think the allergy pills work. AT ALL. WHICH: OMG HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE. But I sort of want to keep taking them because my allergies are omg, so bad. So bad that the combo of the allergy sinus issues plus the crying sinus issues (the doctor visit was yes, just that bad) had my face feeling worse than the time I got on a plane with a headcold. My JAWS hurt last night. How do your sinuses cause your jaws to feel pain, such pain, like your head is in a vise, like that scene in Casino where that guy's eye pops out.

Let me tell you, it is hard to fall asleep while sitting upright trying to breathe through your mouth. But that's what you have to do WHEN THE ALLERGY PILLS DON'T WORK OMG METHHEADS THIS IS YR FAULT IM COMING 2 KILL U.

METHHEADS IN MAH FARMACY
TAKIN MAH SOODOFEDDREEN

That was longer than expected. Before I went on my crazy rant, I intended only to post this video, which warms the cockles of my heart and is awesome and everyone needs a little awesome cockle-warming, especially if one's face is bruised from the inside out from sinus.

Everyone loves Lambert, right? Most awesomest Disney cartoon ever. Except. . .hmm. No, I think I'm right about that. The one about the hat and the blue bonnet is kind of sad.

Bad day. Not a good one. Ever have one of those days where it's so bad that even if an unexpected good thing happens, it will be seen as coming from a bad place, with ulterior motives, roping you into some regret? The opposite of rose-colored glasses. Gunk-covered goggles. Anyway, today was a day like that. I have such a headache. Oh, allergies, smoke particles and caffeine withdrawal, why are you so mean to me?

Ugh. So a woman I'd taken a writing class with this summer asked me to submit my resume for a position at her publishing company. I didn't think I fit the job description (it required more publication experience than I have, which is zero), and sent her my resume with that caveat. She got back to me today with the message that the hiring manager for the position thinks that "while you have a lot of great administrative experience, she is looking for someone with more direct experience with printers, a better fit for the position."

Ugh. Great administrative experience. I mean, I know that's what I have, and I know--I mean, I know! I knew I didn't have the experience for the job. And what I got was a compliment, and further, the truth. Further further, I didn't even want that job, as it is based in Santa Monica and temporary. Didn't want it! Just submitted my resume to not look gift horses in mouths! But how have I reached this point, at 29, with a resume chock-full of great administrative experience? This. . .is not the special unique snowflake life that I thought I would lead. I was in the gifted and talented program! Took the SAT in 7th grade! Editor of my high school newspaper! 500+ community service hours! I TURNED DOWN HARVARD, people. And this. . .this? Splaaaat.

I know assistant work is not easy. I know many have failed where I have tread. However, I also know. . .I just. . .I don't do anything. I don't produce anything. I'm a master of the Microsoft Office Suite of Programs and knowing how to handle people. It just seems lame, when I could have as easily been an I-banker or some sort of PR manager or a lawyer or any number of jobs that I find horrifyingly dull. But those, I'd at least feel less lame about.

Anyway, I'm more firmly decided now--if all I have is all this great assistant experience (PS: I MANAGED A WORLD FAMOUS BAND AND DIDN'T GET CREDIT FOR IT), I might as well take a job that pays a crapload of money for that experience. So that I can tool around in a fancy car back and forth to the library where I write my future amazing book series.

I've been really bad at updating, especially since the whole point of re-naming was to give myself the freedom to blog more. Unfortunately today, I'm a little cranky and sniffly, because:

• Last night my computer fell on my nose (turns out, that can happen! And: it hurts!)
  
• My doctor yelled at me this morning (YELLED at me! For NO REASON! I've never been yelled at by a doctor, let alone given the Big Eyeballs of I Am Incredulous At Your Stupidity. Why? Because I had to leave after I'd been waiting for THIRTY MINUTES. Not because I demanded a refund for having to wait, not because I threw a fit in the lobby, not because I said anything EXCEPT, "At 9:00 I will have to leave." And also, "It's 9:00, I have to leave." And then I got, "You see that it's a new office for us! And you know, a wait is customary in doctor's offices!" Look, Poor Man's Pauper's Debtor's Foreman. . .I HATE YOU).
  
• Other things that I don't want to go into because this entry is already a big boo-hoo.
  

Anyway, today is made of fail. Except, I had two opportunities to mock people this morning, which, yes, did make me feel better because I am in fact that small of a person. Thbbbt.

My roommate haaates me, la la la la la.

She so totally does. I tried to have a conversation with her this evening about her move-out date and where I could send the security deposit, and she had to keep asking me to repeat what I said because she was so busy ignoring/staring daggers at me. I find this hilarious. Of all the things she's done to annoy me, total outright venom doesn't even register. it bothers me less than when we're both in the apartment and I can just hear her in her room, shuffling around. I should just sit right next to her for the next four days and be totally comfortable.

. . .

Had a bad experience at Amoeba Music today--my first! Let's hope that doesn't happen again. Because the bag check guy was trying to flirt with me, he wouldn't let me check my coffee. Despite the four times I tried to pass it across. He thought he was doing me a favor. What he did, though, was make sure that I got snapped at by any other employee who saw me with my gingerbread latte--including the chick behind the help desk who answered my "Do you have New Wave Xmas in stock?" question with, "the thing is, we don't allow drinks."

I. KNOW.

Then, when I repeated myself, she said, "Oh, that's out of print."

I. KNOW. That's why I came here instead of Target! ugggh.

. . .

Saw "Stranger than Fiction" today with Angie. I enjoyed it, but I think I benefitted from lowered expectations and a movie that is totally full of in-jokes for reformed English majors. For cruft in particular: At one point, the literary theory character says, "Did you say, 'little did he know?' Little did he know! I've written books on 'little did he know.' I've taught classes on 'little did he know'!" Complete flashback to Veeder and "he found himself." It was unreal.

So, this morning I totally had a psychotic break about some acetominaphen. I won't go into it, but let's just say I'm a little stressed this holiday*.

ONE of those stresses is my EVIL ROOMMATE, who is the reason why I did not go home, but took a nap in my car after the painkiller incident of 10:00 am. She just creates all this stress for me, and I'd rather not be in the same apartment with her, even if she is refusing to speak to or be in the same room with me.

After lunch, however, I decided to go home and laze about in the bed for a few hours before dinner (in my family, Thanksgiving dinner doesn't happen until dinnertime). I walked up the back stair, put my key in the lock and opened the door, and heard the sounds of my roommate scrambling out of the room. She'd done that one other time this week when I came home, just to get away from me, I believed.

Since I was still sort of testy from the morning, and because she DID make a big deal of saying she wanted a truce last weekend (can "we" have a "truce" if only one person is acting deranged?) I had the idea to call after her, "hey, what about that TRUCE?" And so I stepped quickly into the kitchen and focused on her retreating frame--

and she was naked.

You guys, my roommate walks around the apartment naaaaaaked when I'm not home! And she's home ALL THE TIME, I believe we've been over this, because she just goes to three classes a week.

She was washing her clothes, but still. No towel, no undies, nothing. I don't think I've ever walked around the apartment naked, even when I lived by myself. CERTAINLY not when I lived with anyone else, anyone who might come home at any minute on a NATIONAL HOLIDAY.

omgwtf. Seven days until she's gone!

*But I am still really looking forward to an awesome and stomach-stuffing dinner with my parents and Angie tonight.

I thought today, "maybe a photo essay." Or maybe just some photographic evidence.

A tour of my kitchen:

( To your right side, the dirty spoon surrounded by flecks of brown food product. )

( Then immediately in front of you, you will see almost every dish in the house--definitely over 90%, folks--sitting as they've sat for the last week. )

( And we'll go in close for a rare treat. This milk, used for tea approximately four days ago, has hardened into a foul-smelling brick at the base of this mug. Make sure you get a good look! )

I'm sure she'd explain this all away by her "deadlines" and how busy she is with writing, but again--so much bull puckey, really. Because most people in her program probably have at least a part-time job they hold down. And friends. And interests. None of that.

Aaaaand I think she might be flaking on the bills now. I had to pay the whole phone bill myself in order to get it on time and have left her a note (still haven't seen her) asking her to write her share directly to me. That's been a week, too. I need to figure out whether not paying the bills, which is a term of her rental agreement, constitutes a breech of the rental agreement.

Additionally, my roommate continues to suck. Since I've told her she had to move out, she's started up a half-dozen passive-agressive little behaviors. The worst of these is not washing her dishes. By which I mean MY dishes. Because they are all mine. What that means in practice is that there are no clean dishes in the apartment right now except for the one fork I've been washing and hiding. Yes, she managed to use every knife, fork, spoon, pot and plate and has left them sitting in the sink. Without even rinsing them out, in some cases.

And worse than this is that she has begun emptying her tenement meals (porridge, eggs, some sort of fruit mash--just basically, lots of mushy, mashy foods), half-eaten, into the sink. And then not rinsing it out. So yesterday there was a pile of bloated rice that I came upon, and today there was an entire over-easy egg, just sitting under some plates in the sink.

So I don't know what to do. I know what I WANT to do, which is wash all of my dishes and cart them to my parents' house, because if she can't play nice with my things, she can't play with them at all. However, I'm pretty sure that would just drive her to shift her passive-aggressive rage to something else, and I do like my furniture.

It smells rancid in the kitchen from all the milk (from her tea that she makes hourly)curdling at the bottom of my mugs.

And she hasn't put in a check for the phone bill yet.

And she is now no longer emptying the trash in the bathroom, which is her duty. And should be, because it's all her time of the month crap in there this week.

She is just a crappy person, dudes.

You guys, my vacuum cleaner has been assaulted:


(click to enlarge)

I just. . .I don't know what to say right now. I mean, the last time I saw it, it was happy and innocent. . .never wanted to do anything but suck up the crud on my carpet. And now. . .*whispers*. . .and now. I just opened up the closet and its mangled form was. . .I can't think about it. It didn't have any enemies! This was just a random act of violence. Who could have done such a thing?

I think it may even be a hate crime against modern appliances. You know, people fear what they don't understand.

It's time to give an update to that old List of Weird Things My Roommate Does That Would Probably Not Be Offensive Individually, But When Taken Together Makes Sharing Space With Her Really Weird and Unpleasant:

• She can't close the dryer door. Well, she can, I guess, because it's not hard--but she never does. She just pushes it to about an inch of being closed. Every time. Why?
• I was given a set of drinking glasses several years ago. I'm not sure how many were in the set--probably twelve, that seems like a standard number, right? And then a few have probably broken over the years. Not sure how many, but I maybe had eight or ten glasses when she moved in. Enough definitely to require two rows in the cupboard. Now I have four. Four glasses. And I found a big shard of one of them in the sink recently. So she's breaking my glasses and hoping I won't notice. It's not so much the breaking of the glasses--that happens, although it usually doesn't happen so much--it's the thinking I will somehow not realize that half of the glasses I owned have gone missing. Which brings us to. . .
• With the opening, "I'm a little short," she acknowledged that she'd torn my then-brand-new sheers for the french doors in the living room. Something that she did the first week that she moved in (I think I may have mentioned that). I don't know what makes the 5'4" set unable to draw curtains without rending them lengthwise, but I do know that's not why she ripped them, since I noticed it the day she did, since they were brand-new. She slammed them outside the apartment, catching the drapes in the doors. That is actually what did it. And I also think it's kind of impossible that she just now noticed, except maybe it isn't, since she expects me to not notice the absence of drinking glasses.

So today was absolutely horrible on about 3 major levels, with approximately a dozen sub-levels of crap trailing, and then I come home and my roommate, whom I don't like anyway is also apparently in a bad mood, because she's being short, stomping around, and slamming doors. Slamming doors! What are we, seven? Do we live in a barn? And don't even get me started on stomping. I've never done that, because it's never occurred to me as a useful output of rage.

And I mean stomping, too, not her usual heavy-footed plods.

This only bothers me more because she's the one who had her panties in a knot about audible TV noise coming from the apartment below right after she moved in, so much so that she banged on the floor. And now the princess in a pea is slamming doors and yelling into the phone.

In the end, I decided not to move into the one-bedroom. Or not “the end,” really, so much as “the midpart,” because now the story ends with me welcoming a new roommate to my current apartment in the next month or two. A friend who hadn’t been able to afford the rent in August received a (well-deserved) raise and can now afford the rent. And because I like her, and I like having lots of extra money to spend on random items of my choosing, and because—most importantly—I hate moving, I am going to ask the other roommate to leave. Well, I’m going to tell her to leave, really. Not so much of a question.

I came to this decision when I was at the other apartment, all ready to sign the papers, and I started to feel physically weak, dizzy and sick to my stomach. I know that sounds all California-trippy, like the next thing I’ll tell you is how I had to get myself smudged by a shaman to restore a proper aura balance, but—seriously. I’m not that person, and I had a visceral negative physical reaction to the idea of signing myself up for the new apartment. If only that always happened when I was making a bad decision.

And following that train of thought, it must be a very good decision to have the current roommate move out, because I haven’t felt this relieved or pleased with life in quite some time. In fact, that natural high carried me through an entire set of Bad Roommate’s greatest hits later the same afternoon I’d nixed the new apartment. I came home to this:

• she was using one of my kitchen knives to open the boxes her Target furniture had been packed in
  
• discovered a shard from one of my drinking glasses in the sink, hidden under some dirty dishes—she had broken it and cleaned it up without telling me; then I counted the extant drinking glasses and discovered I was missing several
  
• she wanted to put her “old” (bought a month ago) desk in the living room while she was trying to sell it on Craigslist. I assume this was so it wouldn’t clutter up her room (which is quite large and has space to fit the two desks comfortably). But it would be okay to clutter up a common area with her ugly "desk á lá Blade Runner"

I was able to handle all of this with an attitude that was more devil-may-care and less pent-up-annoyance-manifesting-as-acne-and-shoulder-pain because I knew it would continue for a finite amount of time. Thank goodness.

A lot of people ask me, "how is it so bad that you have to move out right away?" And I usually can come up with one or two examples of annoying things that my roommate's done, but not enough to really describe the giant ball of bad that's just been gathering momentum, rolling down the hill and gaining mass, since she's been here. I just thought of one, so I thought I'd start a list I could refer back to.

*She leaves candles burning in rooms she is not occupying.
*She tore my new IKEA curtains (only $6, but still) by slamming them shut in the french doors when a bug landed on her. Then she kept them shut outside the doors all night until I saw them when I got home. She never said anything about it.
*She turned on my computer to help fix her Internet settings without asking me. Three days in a row.
*She has decided to stop washing my dishes (i.e., she washes her 8 pots & pans used a day and sets my mug i'd used to drink water aside).
*She uses the last of the TP and leaves the cardboard tube on the roller.
*She demanded I buy her a phone when the main cordless went a bit wonky for half a day because "I didn't plan on outlaying for a phone."
*She doesn't like furniture, she wants to "keep the walls bare."
*She claims to be allergic to cats.
*She tells me to take echinacea and flaxseed for the flu.
*She uses my two favorite drinking cups--vintage Garfield McDonald's glass mug and adorable kids-sized ceramic rubber ducky cup for her 12 cups of tea a day. Staining them.
*Can't have a cat.
*She made me ask our downstairs neighbor to lower the volume on his TV at night, then banged on the floor anyway.
*She locked her bike in the entranceway in front of said neighbor's door.
*She's using the bed and a bookcase my previous roommate left, a lamp and a chair that belong to me, and that is 90% of the furniture in her room, and she never once has said, thank you.
*She won't try to reconnect the TV/DVD/Tivo/VCR combo, but nags me about doing it when I'm not the one who cares about watching DVDs.
*She answers the phone before screening the calls through the machine, even though I asked her to do that so we don't rely on each other for messages.

There. That's all I have for now.

. . .

I actually had a great day, but I needed to get all that down before I forgot!

It's been a while since this has happened.

I was driving back to work from a doctor's appointment yesterday when a passenger in the car in the lane to my right started waving, honking, and generally making a fuss--directed at me. I'm pretty good about ignoring things I don't want to deal with, but since I thought maybe someone was trying to alert me to the fact that my bumper had fallen off, or I had collected a dawdling pedestrian in my undercarriage, I gave the car my full attention.

And yes, of course it was a guy hitting on me. I say "of course" for the few people who read this and who know my history, the history of the crazy pickup lines and the frightening approaches, the way I attract the less-than-fully socialized at distances of up to 50 yards. No one ever tries desperately to get my attention due to an emergency situation.

This one was shirtless, with slicked-back hair. Possibly cute, in any situation that didn't involve scrubs-esque behavior and did involve clothing. I've had dudes yell at me from the passengers side of their best friend's ride before, but always when I was on the street. Never when I was also driving. It gave him the opportunity to note the body damage due to an idiot driving into me when I was trying to leave work a couple of weeks ago, and offer to fix it.

"Hey, I work for North Hollywood Toyota and I could give you a good deal on fixing that."
"Um. . ."
"Yeah, I could do that for. . . [squints eyes at damage, appraises]. . .two-seventy."
"Uh. . .well I'm actually going to have it done for free. Sorry." [Sorry?]
"Ah, of course! A tight black chick."

Then he drove off.

I don't know, I guess tight black chicks get their bodywork done free. I'm just a tragic mulatto whose father has a friend in the Persian mafia/Freemasons (now I'm going to get killed) who owns a bodyshop.

...

My friend Lindsay hipped me to her blog yesterday. She's all sweetness and light and optimism. No wonder people think I'm such a crank, seriously. I'm all about self-loathing and the drama of minor irritation and . . .general dissatisfaction.

Oh, Shanice--whyever did you leave us behind, in this cold world without late 80s r&b/new jack swing?

...

This woman is a trip:

Dating tip: Quality dates quality

Over the past month (since I left Terrence) I’ve received several offers of dates and relationships from various men who read this blog. I’m not looking for a new boyfriend right now but it seems I should clarify what it is I look for in a man when I am, which will hopefully stem the flow of offers from guys who really don’t have it.

I am a very high-quality woman. I know that sounds arrogant, but let’s consider the facts:

* I’m slim (whereas 62% of American women age 20 to 74 are overweight)
* I’m attractive (my new picture has been rated more attractive than 86% of the women on Hot or Not -- and the women who upload their pictures are a self-selected sample that is probably already biased towards being more attractive than the general female population)
* I’m relatively young (whereas 82% of American adult women are over 30 years old)
* I’m intelligent (IQ tested at 145 when I was a child, which is 3 standard deviations above the mean -- higher than 99.85% of the population. Even if I’ve gotten dumber as I’ve aged I’m probably still at least a 130, which is higher than 97.5% of the population.)

. . .and there's more. I know she wants attention because she's not-so-secretly blindingly insecure, so I feel like I'm playing into her trap by linking to her. But I couldn't repost the whole thing here.

Apparently she doesn't consider "remotely tolerable personality, even for a nanosecond, gun-to-your-head" a "quality" item in a date.

Plus. . .this. I'm not sayin', but I'm just sayin'. (Hat tip to sneezydove.)

...

Seriously. Remember New Jack Swing? Bell Biv DeVoe? Tony!Toni!Tone!? Cooleymotherf'nhighharmony? What happened to that? I am going to hunt down T.I. and whack him over the head with my umbrella.

...

Do you think I could do at-home lipo on this fatty area right between my underarms and my chest? Back when I was a real--back when I weighed more than I do now, I shunned tube dresses and the like and figured that when I lost weight, I'd lose the underarm blobbo. But then I lost weight, and I began looking at photos of people in strapless tops--look, if Kelly Osbourne circa 2002 can not have a gross little blobby in a strapless dress, then it's just genetics, not weight, for me. And lipo is expensive, and it's not like a scar would really show or i'd puncture a lung right there. We can do everything at home now--dermabrasion to stem cell transplants! I want my underarm lipid deposits removed!

Today I trekked all the way out to Woodland Hills, which might as well be in the Marianas Trench, just to visit the Home Goods there. I'd been told it was way better than the pedestrian city Home Goods. Well, that person was wrong and/or a liar. While in Woodland Hills, I managed to get yelled at by some bitter shrew of a woman who was appalled at my inability to transform into anti-matter when she wanted to back her cart up into the space I was currently occupying. Just because you hurt your own ankle, lady, doesn't mean you get to yell across the Personal Care section for the better part of a minute. I hate people. Plus, I can't take me anywhere because this is always what happens to me.

A little while ago, someone suggested that I get treated differently because I'm tall. And like, I sort of buy that. I think it fits the pattern for when I was younger, and my height made me seem older than I was--people expected me to be more mature than my ten or whatever years. And now that they know I'm the age I look, they just want to challenge me, or something. Or something. Or maybe I just get the crazies.

My day got better when, at my second Target stop of the day (evil Woodland Hills Target and their overcharges), I ran into two of my friends at the price-checking machine in the home section. It was all small-town.

...

Still downloading Office episodes!