In the year of our lord, 2008...

With the end of the year approaching, and my trans-continental sage smudging scheduled for later tonight, I feel compelled to write out my New Years Resolutions, so to speak. I actually think New Years Resolutions are pretty lame, especially because people don't think them through. Typical New Years Resolutions: lose weight, eat healthier, get out more, exercise more, etc etc. Notice anything? There are no measurable goals or strategies for implementing these resolutions. Call me PIRG-y, but I just think that if you're really going to try to change your life in a new year, you should have goals, strategies and tactics. Thus, here is my New Years Campaign Plan...

Goal: Do not gain any weight in the New Year.
Strategies: No cheese for the month of January: I really feel like this is a big piece of why I've maybe put on a few pounds during December. I've eaten nothing but cheese, for the most part. So none of that for one month...also because I am sort of obsessed with cheese...maybe I just should see if I can get by without that.

Fresh juice each morning: My mom gave me a juicer so I feel like this is a gimme.

Each meal out only once a week: Breakfast once, Lunch once, Dinner once.

30 minute walk every day: With my doggie because Ms. Abby needs to watch her figure too. We're not teenagers anymore.

Goal: Stop being so twitchy about being alone.
Strategies: Don't pursue a man in any way for all of January: I've been doing all the work for a while now when it comes to men and I gotta tell you, it's exhausting. This is an exercise in practicing my patience...don't worry I am not trying to turn into one of those girls who sits nicely and looks pretty and waits for a boy to ask her out. I'm just taking a moment to look around and be patient and see what happens. I may re-evaluate the length of time at the end of January...it's possible that it might take more than a month for me to learn anything from this experiment.

Start new activities: I'd like to garden in one of those Denver Urban Gardens community gardens. I'd like to rock out more. Stuff like that. I think these kinds of activities can help to fill my mental real estate (see post below.)

Goal: Stop being a stress freak about work.
Strategy: Say no more: we don't say no nearly enough in the IOD. Can I get an amen?

No working at home: seriously, I am not that important. If I can't get it done from 8-6, it can wait til the next day.

Other general goals that are not as interesting as these:
Finish grad school. Strategy: GO TO FUCKING CLASS AND GET THE SHIT DONE ALREADY!
Move out of this shitty apartment: Find a place, buy it, move in. Easy as pie.

So those are my goals and strategies for the new year. Now that I've committed them to the interwebs, there's no going back. I can't just pretend that I never said it. And I just hate it when I can't achieve my goals, so my guess is this will make me accountable and then I'll get all crazy over it and next year I'll have to make a resolution about not being such a failure freak. But hey, baby steps...

I need a new tenant!

So this weekend could have been better. That boy I'd like to make like me stood me up publicly again, which basically confirms two things...1) I can't make him like me. 2) I don't want to.
I mean, I can't really decide if it's worse to be stood up and left at home alone to think about how lame you are or to be stood up in front of all your friends. What could be worse than that? Oh, I know, if it was on your birthday. Or, wait, if the excuse you got was "My phone died." That might be worse...unless that's the excuse you got BOTH TIMES.

Ok, now that my little ranty pity party is over, I'll move on to the real content here...mental real estate*. This little nugget of wisdom is passed along to me by relationship sage Will Frechette and it couldn't be more true. Is it just that I am trying to occupy some mental real estate by having this pseudo relationship? It's a thing to think about, and if it wasn't there, what would happen to the Boy-Crushing plot in my brain? It would start to get overgrown with weeds, the homeless would move in, start pissing on everything, and pretty soon the property values plummet and everything smells like pee. And is it possible, says Will, that the Boy-Crushing plot of my brain is perhaps larger than average due to my recent long term relationship...perhaps some subdivisions were developed, maybe we moved in an Olive Garden and a Starbucks.

This is all sage wisdom and very much true. Yeah, even though That Boy I'd Like To Make Like Me is a bad tenant...never pays the rent on time, loud parties, etc etc, I am hanging on to him because I don't want the place to fall apart, and I want to line up a new one before I let the old one go. Except it turns out that the homeless are moving in anyway and everything already smells like piss...so aren't I better off without a tenent?

When I broke up with the last one, I really had a vision of what my life would be like and how I would interact with these kinds of situations...but it's not really turning out to be true. I thought I'd be evolved, independent girl who didn't need a tenent, so I think the hardest part is accepting that I am not that girl. So fine, I embrace my Boy-Crushing plot. And if there has to be a tenent, so be it, but let me not forget the reason that I reserve this space for this kind of thing instead of using it for crafts or reading or innovating solutions to our energy problems...it's supposed to be fun.

So, I want to know what your crushing mental real estate looks like. Tidy? Crowded? Does it smell like flowers? Hamburgers?

* The concept of mental real estate is copyrighted by Will Frechette Industries, Inc. and may not be used without permission. Any resemblence to actual people or events is probably real, considering that we all tend to our crushing plots. All rights reserved.

If they aren't made of rubber, why are they called rubbers?

My thoughts on condoms...
Guys, listen up. There are a couple things you need to know about condoms, from this girl's perspective.
1. The man shall purchase the condoms. I already pay upwards of $25-$30 a month to prevent your evil seed from infiltrating the fragile boundary of my eggs. You can spring for the $12.95 or whatever a pack of condoms cost to keep away any evil funk.
2. The man shall provide the condoms. The "But I don't have a condom" excuse is not going to get you far, especially now that we are all over the age of 17. And no, Dan, it is not just a great way to be sure to get a blow job. It's not pretentious to bring a condom.
3. The man shall dispose of the condom. Further, he may not say either of the following while doing so:
"This is so gross!" Yeah, I know it's gross. That's why I want you to dispose of it.
"What should I do with this?" I don't care just get rid of it! But don't flush it down my toilet because I already can't shower and wash my dishes in the same night.
Ladies, am I wrong here? It's just proper condom etiquette.

Emo Week 2007 aka TLDR

Inspired by the latest fuckyouistan post, I thought I would write my own "non-emo" analysis of the past week. Monday I went to a concert...Art Brut and The Hold Steady. Art Burt = uber hipster guys (and one girl on bass) with skinny jeans and floppy hair and the whole bit. The Hold Steady = nerdy, very uncool guys with white sneakers and accordians. The lead singer looked like he could have been a dentist...or a comedy writer. They played a song called You Can Make Him Like You, which made me laugh and laugh and I immediately made it my MySpace song.

Tuesday was the pinnacle of Emo Week 2007...I succumbed to the stress and lost my shit. The evil bitch inside my head (I think I'll call her Greta) went something like this..."You can do all this! You cannot figure this out and even if you do everyone will hate it! And nobody cares about you enough to be here right now to talk you down from freaking out! They don't want your shit on them." She's not very nice.

Minutes later that boy who I would like to make like me called, simultaneously making me feel better and worse. Because while he tried to draw me out and get me to talk about the thing, I know of his discomfort with dealing with people when they are upset (especially crying) and I was afraid he wouldn't deal with me in the way I wanted and then I would be disappointed, which only made me more angsty. We had a good talk though, so it was a nice distraction.

Oh, Wednesday. Wednesday the wheels came off the bus, culminating in Take This Job and Shove It happy hour. Beer, G&T, Rum and Coke, and lots of fried food...that will make you feel better about your job.

Thursday and Friday really just run together, culminating in an impromptu shit canning at Gabors (possibly best bar ever...take the poll!) and 3 AM breakfast at Tom's Diner. Good night.

Looking back on the week, two things sort of become clear...if you're relying on someone else to solve your problems, you won't be able to count on their solution. All I wanted when I was losing my shit was someone around to deal with me. Then, when someone presents himself, it turned out to make the whole thing worse. Cause it's not his job to talk me off the ledge, it's mine.
Second thing...if I keep eating fried food and 3 AM breakfast to stave off the emo, I'm going to be 300 lbs by this time next year.

So, let's forge ahead into next week, yes? It's going to be great for the following reasons:
1. I'm going to make all kinds of money and find all kinds of new members for my organization.
2. I can take all that money we make for that orange croc wearing pansy and tell him to shove it right up his ass. Wait...
3. We don't have to work on Thursday.
4. We're going to sell cheap plastic crap and t-shirts that little Chinese children were probably paid 2 cents a day to sew together with their teeth. But we're going to make some money dammit.

Anyone have something to add to the list?

Everything I need to know I learned from my dog

If that were true here's what I would know:

1. An animal that weighs 15 pounds requires 3/4 of a queen sized bed.
2. You don't really have to BE vicious to get others to do what you want, you just have to APPEAR vicious.
3. Hunger strikes work...if you wait long enough, someone will feel sorry for you and give you a Dingo.
4. Brownies might be tasty, but there will be consequences.
5. Leader of the pack is the only place to be.

Abby and I actually have a lot in common. For example, we don't enjoy small children. We don't like people thinking that they know things about us just by looking. We like to be in charge. And, we both enjoy brownies.

So you would think that since we have so much in common, I would want to hang out with Abby all the time. And I do. But here's the thing -- sometimes she makes me crazy. And sometimes I don't want to take her outside. Sometimes I want to lie down and watch movies all day or go out after work. So I get all this pet guilt because I can't take care of the dog well enough. And she pees on the floor and I can't yell at her because it's really my own fault.

This has not ever really been a big issue for me before. Since I've had Abby, I've either lived with roommates or with guys. So I've never REALLY had to take care of her all by myself; if I wanted to go out after work I would just ask my roommate to let her outside. Or I'd just leave her outside all day because she loves the out of doors and she's always had a yard to play in. So now I'm thinking...am I even fit to take care of this animal? Am I just being selfish? Or is she just a dog and I should calm the fuck down about it?

This is why I can never birth anything...I can't properly care for a dog and I get all torn up inside about it; imagine what would happen if I, god forbid, procreated and was faced with the guilt of having a child! How do people get through their lives with the enormity of this guilt?!?!

Here's my conclusion for now: yes, I am being selfish. Yes, she is just a dog and I should calm the fuck down. Mostly, yes my next residence will have a yard and a goddamn doggie door.

The Love of a Homeless Dude

Wise words from a wise man...
How to ask a woman out: Be direct about your intentions. Don't fall in to the trap of saying something like, "Hey, why don't we hang out sometime." Then, the girl doesn't know if it's a date or not. One thing leads to another and the next thing you know, you're living with a woman who might just be your friend.
-Stephen Colbert, I am America (and so Can You!)

So here are two promises:
1. I will not update this blog every other day. (Actually I probably will. I have a lot to say!)
2. I will not make every post on this blog about dating.

I guess dating is a thing that's on my mind a lot more recently than it has been at other times in my life, probably because I'm not in fact dating. Which Jaime has kindly pointed out is unusual, since I am as she dutifully notes a serial monogomist...actually I think she called me Ms. LTR. I'm not going to deny that I have in the past been partial to a "serious relationship." But I've also definitely had the experience Mr. Colbert describes...I've looked around at my life and been like, "I'm living with this guy? Seriously? How the hell did I get here?" I'm not really into that experience anymore, and I'd like to find a guy who wants to hang out semi-regularly and screw a little. Too much to ask? Maybe so...

So maybe I can't get the couple of dudes I've attempted that with in recent months to come out and say whether or not they're into me or not. Fine. Cause you know who loves me? Homeless dudes.

I know what you're all thinking. You're all thinking, "Jesus, Shelley must be desperate now. Homeless dudes love everyone. She thinks she's special?" And you aren't wrong...homeless dudes aren't really picky. But they really do love me. Take Lester for example. The other day I was walking home past the bus stop by the Un-Safeway, and Lester says, "Hey beautiful girl, come on over here for a second. Do you have 50 cents for Lester?" And I said, "No, Lester I'm sorry I don't." And he says, "Well, that's ok beautiful. That don't mean you can't get a hug from Lester." At which time Lester hugged me and told me all about how beautiful I was.

Further, homeless dudes (at least the ones that hang around the Un-Safeway and the homeless shelters on 22nd and Larimer) have qualities that I might find attractive in a man...straightforward, not afraid of rejection, appreciative of my strong personality and cute short haircut. They aren't afraid to let me know what they think of me. They don't feel the need to act cool. On the flip side, they smell bad and are missing teeth and have no jobs or career ambitions, let alone a residence.

But surely there are dudes out there that are simultaneously not afraid of me and not homeless, right?

Oh these wacky internets

Here I am!
In reading fuckyouistan's newest blog posting, I realized something: I am so interesting that other people mention me in their blogs! That must mean that I am interesting enough to have my own blog!!!

Most of you reading this already get to hear my thoughts on everything all day long, either in person or over IM. And many of you get to hear a lot of the intimate and personal details of my life (whether you wanted to or not), and I get to hear the intimate and personal details of yours (whether you wanted to tell me or not). Now, we move those very important conversations from the relatively private venue of google chat to the great wide internet, where anyone can see them!

Ok so now that I've made a proper introduction, I'd like to dive in to my first topic: Hillel. Now, to be clear, I don't know that this man's name is Hillel. I think it's more likely to be Joshua or David or something of the sort. But Jaime thinks he looks Jewish and thought if we were going to give him a fake name it might as well be interesting. Anyhoo, this is a man that I am sort of stalking outside the office. I've seen him a couple of times on the street and we've had "stranger-on-the-street-extended-eye-contact." He's tall and thin and has black hair and facial scrubbies and black plastic glasses. I saw him wearing a suit the other day. Swoon.

So, knowing myself as I do (and I feel I know me pretty well) I know that I am going to tire of the stalking part pretty quickly. Then, I am going to have to do something drastic and forward to get his attention, cause that's what I do. I don't bat my eyelashes and giggle and sit and look pretty while waiting for a man to come ask me out. I learned long ago that waiting for a man to ask you out is basically useless.

But here's something I am only recently starting to suspect...I have to convince guys to like me. Here's what happens: girl meets boy (that girl is me, FYI). Girl and boy flirt. Girl asks boy out. Boy accepts. Girl and boy go out and have a good time...not like average-ok-first-date good time, like GREAT time. Best date ever time. Maybe girl and boy have sex but that's not required for the story. Boy says, had great time, will call. Boy never calls. Or boy calls but isn't really into it and acts generally like a douche. This is what happened when I started dating my last long term boyfriend, and it has happened TWICE in the last 2 months.

So I'm thinking...what's the matter with them? I think I'm a pretty high quality person. Why do they have to be so weird? But then evil little voice inside says, "What about you? Huh? What did you do to chase them off?"

But you know what? I cut that bitch. So if anyone sees a tall, spectacled swarthy (Will's words not mine) man outside the office, check for a wedding ring.