If You Want to Know What I Think, Just Ask Me

Daily Snark: I'll take that to-go

2010-07-01T12:20:00.000-07:00

I'm interviewing for a job today. Basically it's the perfect job, my dream job. Although I've already accepted the Field Coordinator position, the Planned Parenthood still may want me for this long term, full time position in the Public Affairs department. Woot!

For those of you who have not ever visited Planned Parenthood's new campus, there is a surgical facility in the same building as the administrative offices. This means they do the abortions there. So there are the predictable protesters and giant dead baby signs out front, which is just so great.

I was sending myself good vibes that today would not be surgical day and that I might dodge the protesters...

shelley: here's hoping it's not surgical day at the PP today

cause i'm going for my interview for the other PP job and i won't be in a car to protect me from the crazy people

Kris: you are interviewing today?

for the fulltime?

shelley: yes

Kris: nice!!!

good luck

shelley: thanks

i feel pretty confident about it

as long as i'm not shot walking in

they won't shoot me though because they'll think that i'm aborting my baby

they'll try to talk me out of it

Kris: on the way out you could always tell them that you decided to keep it ... and then hold up a little "to-go" box

shelley: i am loling ridiculously

Kris: i am too and it's my own joke

Daily Snark: How have we not thought of this already?

2010-06-24T09:44:00.000-07:00

In 2010, there are a lot of things I can't believe we haven't figured out. Hover cars. Computers that perceive our thoughts as opposed to requiring us to type. Etc.

And apparently, removable uterii...

shelley: i think i want a hysterectomy

my sister got one

Mari: really?

shelley: yep
and the doctor said it was the worst uterus he'd ever seen

Mari: elective or because her uterus had issues?

shelley: it had issues

Mari: uteri are terrible

we should get removable ones

shelley: fuck yeah

Mari: that we can keep in a safe place

and then stick them up there when/if we want to store a fetus in them

shelley: sounds good to me

i have a better idea

let's just grow fetuses outside

like in jars or something

and while we're at it, can we grow fetuses that are potty trained?

Mari: oh yeah

Mari: wouldn't that be fabulous

they would be like cabbage patch kids

shelley: but less ugly, hopefully

Daily Snark: Why do people want to be ugly?

2010-06-17T09:37:00.000-07:00

Kids today, I don't understand their fashion. It's like they want to be ugly. Matted hair, the ripped pants, mismatched suits with ugly ass bow ties...the 80's were bad in the 80's and they are still bad today. So when I saw a woman sporting what I thought to be terrible fashion this morning on the bus, I had to wonder if she is just clueless or if I am the one who's out of the loop. Naturally, I consulted with Kris, and the result is more Daily Snark gold...

shelley: i have this new intern and she is so cute. she has the hipster bangs and the big ugly glasses

i usually find that kind of thing hideous but on her it's so adorable

Kris: some of them are super cute. kinda like the dogs with the smashed in face

shelley: yes. i did see a woman with her ponytail held in place by a very large barette the way we used to do in the early 90s

and i was silently judging her until i wondered if that was popular again and i am the one who is square

Kris: god i hope the 90s are back

the 80s need to piss off

shelley: sure,but big barettes should not come back

ever

Kris: what if they had fake birds or large flowers on them

shelley: that's already back

large flowers anyway

shelley: i saw some employee at home depot wearing a barette with a giant flower yesterday

she seemed out of place
Kris: okay well what if they had seaweed covered in oil?

shelley:how about if they had fake birds covered in oil?

Kris: love it

Too soon?

Anyway, it's not like I care that much if I'm the only square that doesn't embrace big barettes or whatever other awful trend happens. If being ugly is right, I DEFINITELY want to be wrong.

New Feature: Daily Snark!

2010-06-09T10:27:00.000-07:00

Sometimes IM conversations are just too good to keep to yourself, so I decided to share! It might not be daily and it might not always be snark but I promise you'll love it anyway. Enjoy!

In today's installment, thoughts on sneaker culture, whatever that is.

me: i think matt just got porn in the mail or something

it's this magazine and there's all these half naked chicks on the cover surrounding this really hip-ugly dude

russel brand?

Kris: it's proly a jc penny catalogue

me: the magazine is called Complex

it looks pretty useless

Kris: Complex is a metropolitan men's style/lifestyle magazine founded by Marc Ecko in 2002. The publication offers mainstream readers insight into the latest trends in urban America's niche cultures, such as streetwear, sneaker culture, hip hop, and graphic art. Complex targets men that are college-aged to early 30s in urban areas.

The "magazine" is essentially a compilation of advertisements aimed at a target market of 20-35 year old males. It can arrive without solicitation in one's mailbox, but the company is quite understanding about the environmental impact and will cancel a "subscription" if requested.

me: sneaker culture?

Kris: oh yeah that's actually really big right now

me: i weep for the future

Kris: well sneaker culture has been big since like hip hop started

me: was it called "sneaker culture" though

cause that's sadness

Kris: haha, no but they did were oversized shoes, kinda like how anime characters are now, to accentuate the "larger-than-life" visage of hiphop

i learned that in my pop culture class

me: very impressive

Kris: now the sneaker culture is just an echo though, like all other fashions right now, rip off of 80s high tops, vinyl, and neon

gag

me: yeah wtf is up with neon

i told matt it is just a matter of time until those safety pin bracelets come back

Kris: it's hideous and really needs to go away already. it's been around for like 5 years

me: vomit

Kris: i admit, I have a shirt I bought like 4 years ago that's totally neon red/orange

but it has a dot design of a woman in s&M gear with her nipple showing blowing the smoke off a gun

me: well nipple never goes out of style

Kris: thank you!!

Kris's new status message - nipple never goes out of style 11:23 AM

Old Navy, my frenemy

2010-05-20T09:55:00.000-07:00

There are a set of things that females experience in life that are pretty common threads -- in my generation eating disorders and body image issues were second only to mean girls and catty, passive aggressive competition disguised as friendship on the scale of things that fucked us up. (Ok, maybe these come after divorce, alcoholic parents, and unrealistic expectations thanks to romantic comedies...but whatever, they're up near the top).

Somehow, though, I managed to make it through life without having these problems. I was always fairly happy with my body (or rather I didn't really think about it too much) and pretty much always felt free to eat whatever I wanted. I never really put too much thought into it. Until now...

I have now experienced another common experience -- I've reached the age where I can no longer just do whatever I want and be "thin" and "beautiful". As such I've put on about 20 lbs. over the last 3 years or so. Still, this didn't bother me that much until last weekend, when I went to the Old Navy to try on bathing suits.

This was a mistake for many reasons.

1. Old Navy DOES NOT make bathing suits for people approaching 30. They just don't. What they DO is make bathing suits for 14 year olds in bigger sizes as though doing so somehow magically makes these monstrosities age-appropriate and/or figure flattering in some way.

2. The lighting in the fitting rooms...this is not unique to Old Navy, it's everywhere. But something about the combination of glaring fluorescent overhead lighting and a pop-punk remake of You're Just Too Good To Be True made my back fat look even lumpier.

3. A woman shouting into a bullhorn about $10 bathing suits. Nuff said.

To make matters worse, I asked Matt to come back to the fitting room so I could show him the bathing suits. Now, right off the bat let me say that I never set foot out of that fitting room in a bathing suit. Because for some reason I was not willing to allow the person who regularly sees me naked to see me in one of these uber-flammable, ill-fitting sausage casings. I guess maybe this is because when I'm naked we're either about to or just have had sex and things like lumpy thighs and belly fat matter less.

Sidebar here, Matt is training for a marathon. He's not in spectacular shape (yet) but he's burning something insane like 800 calories a day doing all this running, so I figure it's only a matter of time until he's like, super man.

Given these factors, I decided it's about time I get my increasingly fat ass in gear and at least make an effort. So I started dabbling in some Comcast On-Demand workout videos. My favorite was Goddess Cardio Bellydance, in which the woman running the video would say ridiculous things such as the following:

"Just think of all the boring things people around the world are doing right now. And you decided to spend your time doing this."

and

"The next time you have an argument, like over a parking space, try doing the shimmy and see how the conversation goes."

But this and yoga was not cutting it, so I stepped it up and started the "10 Pound Slimdown" plan. Basically, this woman has created a calendar and 5 20 minute workouts. She's mapped out which workouts you should do on which day and promises that I will lose 10 pounds in 8 weeks if I do this.

I actually really like the workouts because they are hard but not so hard that I have to look at the television and say, "Bitch, you have got to be kidding me." or shout "No I fucking can't!" when she says "You can do it!"

I also like the structure of the calendar. I need some accountability in this project. Which made me think...surely there's some kind of fancy internet tool that will help me manage my food intake vs. my exercise and tell me if I'm basically in the right area.

Sure as shit, there are many such tools! I've latched on to one known as The Daily Plate, and I will say that it is very handy. Basically, you put everything that you eat into it, and all the physical activity that you do, and it helps you balance this all out and see how you're doing -- not just on calories but other things like sugars, cholesterol, all that shit.

Super cool, right? Shya! Except for...I've already spent the first two hours of my day entering food and exercise and calculating calories and basically geeking out over the chart and spreadsheet options. I am comforted by the neat and orderly nature my eating and exercise has taken, and the level of control this allows me to have over it all. And if you think that sounds dangerously close to an eating disorder, don't think that thought hasn't crossed my mind.

But wait, there's more! This particular website has a social networking component (how novel!) in which you can become "friends" with other users and do things like Share your food and exercise log on Facebook and Like other people's food and exercise logs. For a generation of people who grew up on Alicia Silverstone's Cher ("I had 5 peanut butter M&M's and I feel like such a heifer") how can this be good? I see the honorable intent of this (supportive environment, encouragement, etc.) but I can't imagine the "helpful" and "encouraging" comments that must come from the "friends" that one makes on this site.

Friend-making is another minefield of the female experience (evidence: the creation of the term "frienemy") to say nothing of the actual level of "friend-ness" that is even possible with social networking friends. So, thanks a lot, Daily Plate, but I'll take my computer or my Nintendo Wii judging me over strangers online any day.

Great Depression is the new black

2009-03-12T21:53:00.000-07:00

So today I conquered many things. I put together a storage cabinet with a lock and faulty instructions while my supposed partner in crime sat and watched, claiming that he is "useless" (which I frankly don't doubt to be true) at putting things together. After many hours and about 4-5 tears, I made Mail Merge my bitch and printed not only labels but fancy personalized letters on Progressive Future letter head. And I found out, to my surprise, that the proposal for my big, ginormous final masters project was required to be 7 pages, not the 2-3 that I thought it would be. I finished that proposal before I finished this bottle of fabulous Pinot Noir (I've become a real wino these days).

None of this, however, compares to the utter triumph I experienced last Friday. I took the day off from work, you see, to recover from the minor nervous breakdown I was experiencing on account of everyone's needs that I have to meet in addition to a final Human Resources and Volunteer Management paper due the night before. I thought this was a good opportunity to take care of some things around the house, such as the vaccum cleaner (sidebar...I have trouble spelling vaccum. I am going to experiment with some spellings here and see which one suits me.)

So my vacum (see how I spelled it differently that time?) had been exhibiting some very strange behavior. In fact, it seemed to be doing the opposite of what I wanted it to be doing. Usually, you want a vaccuum (oh shit, is that the correct spelling?) to suck; however, mine seemed to be actually dispelling dust onto the carpet rather than sucking it up.

Some background on my vaccum (or is that correct? neither one is showing up with the squiggly red "you spelled this wrong, asshole" line). I purchased it at the local Wal-Mart for $28, which I felt was a steal for a vacuum, and a pink one at that. It wasn't even one of those gay "We're pink because we support breast cancer" products. This vaccuum is just pink because it wants to be pink.

So anyway, my $28 pink Wal-Mart vacum was malfunctioning. I took off all the filters and washed them to no avail. I was really feeling like I was going to have to make a repeat visit to the Wal-Mart to replace my pink vaccumm. I mean, I'd only paid $28 for it. I wasn't going to take it in to have it repaired, and even if I wanted to, like there are any vaccum repairmen anymore. (Or repair women for that matter.) And it wasn't like I was about to take the time to...wait a minute! I can repair this vacum myself!

I wish I would have photograhically documented the stuff that came out of my vaccumm when I took it apart. It was pretty intense. There was a lot of confetti (circa New Years Eve, courtesy of Wes Morgan.) Dog hair was abundant. I had to stick a broom handle down the hose to get a big clog out of there. Disgusting.

But it got me thinking about consumerism. I mean, I took like 15 whole minutes to do that. I could have been doing many other thing with that time -- baking brownies, walking my dog, looking at my vagina in a mirror. But I spent 15 valuable minutes of my vacation cleaning out my vacum cleaner. Instead of throwing it away and buying a new one, I took the time to google the users manual for this vacum (thank god for the internets!) and taking this vacum apart. I feel superior to most people in that I don't think they would bother to do that.

So good for me, I fixed my own vacuum. Women's lib, all that. But what about the poor vacum cleaner repair man? Now that I'm all empowered to fix my own pink vacuum that I only paid $28 for, what happens to him? He fucks right off, I guess. Because $28 is a small price to pay to feel powerful and accomplished enough to have fixed my own vacuum.

I didn't throw out my vacuum, and I'm so happy. Because $28 feels like a million bucks to me now that I have invested in this bonding experience with my vacuum. We're tight.

BTW, I like the looks of two u's together, as in vacuum. So I've decided to spell vacuum that way. Yay.

Mini pizzas make me simultaneously happy and depressed

2009-03-08T19:39:00.000-07:00

Today I asked my friend to drive me to the bookstore because I'm having the panic about the 25 source bibliography I have to have turned in on Thursday for my final Masters paper. I figured that Barnes and Noble surely had the answers to all my problems. Sidebar -- I walked out of the B&N with one book pertinent to my paper topic and one called "The Cultural History of the Penis." How's a girl supposed to pass that up?

Anyway, after we left I said, "Oh, oh! Can we go to the 7-11? I need a frozen pizza for dinner."

She looked at me in this way that actually indicated pity. My friend who, let's be clear, I've bailed out of some tragic situations is pitying me because I buy my frozen pizzas at 7-11. She says, "Uh...do you want to go to an actual grocery store for frozen pizza?"

Now, before I go any further, allow me to say that I pretty much love my life. I couldn't ask for a much better set up than what I have now. But there are a set of things that, no matter how great my life is, always make me feel like I am bordering on Stuart-Smalley-I'm-going-to-die-homeless-and-penniless-and-nobody-will-ever-love-me status. One is grocery shopping alone. The other is eating frozen pizza.

So we get to the King Sooper and I get unreasonably excited about a fabulous product called Digorno for One. It's just like what it sounds like -- a Digorno pepperoni pizza for one person. But just when I thought it couldn't get any better...4 for $10. I went ahead and got 4 because, you know, they're nice to have around the house.

It reminded me of an idea that's been rolling around in my head ever since I discovered my wages are being garnished by the State of Colorado (that's an unrelated story, though). I really think it's about time that we started an advocacy organization for single people. Think about it...how much food have you wasted because all food comes in portions for a family of 4? Or at a minimum 2. And...where the hell is my "Hey, thanks for not popping out a kid and contributing to global warming and overpopulation and global food shortages, not to mention just generally fucking the kid up and adding to this world's dysfunction" tax credit? Am I right?

What we need are fair tax policies. Protection for single workers so that they're personal lives and time are valued just as much as married people with kids. FMLA to apply to sick pets. I feel like we could get the cat lady demographic with that plank of the platform alone.

So are you with me on the issue? If so, the best way to get involved is to make a donation of $25 today...

Coming soon to a blog near you, posts on the political acuity of 18 year old stoners and the cultural implications of vacum repair.

Ah, the good old days...

2008-03-27T19:50:00.001-07:00

Coming to you live from Chicago, it's the newest installment of If You Want to Know What I Think, Just Ask Me. The first in a long string of visits to a city that has pretty much become like a second home to me and will only become more so over the summer as I use intern supervision as a front for going to concerts and music festivals and gaying out with America's Next Top Model and vegan cupcakes that will take over the world.

I've had a few firsts in Chicago...my first short haircut was here, the first time I ever cheated on a boyfriend was here. Yep, proud moments those were. Having come from tiny Weeping Water, where there's as many people in the entire town as in three blocks in Chicago, it's sometimes stunning how much my life has changed.

I've been visiting Chicago regularly for two years now, and somewhere in those two years I entered my late twenties. I can tell because my itineraries have changed quite a bit. Usually, I fly in on Friday night and we hit Berlin as soon as I can drop off my bag. We'd leave just in time to get to Clarke's or the Pick Me Up Cafe just before the bar crowds and barely make it through some cheese fries or organic pancakes before we stumble home at 5 AM and get to bed. But lately...well, as Kris says, "I just can't wait to get into my jammas and get under a blanket and watch television. It's going to be even better than when we did the same thing last night."

And I expect to feel some nostalgia for the "good old days"...the days when I got shit canned drunk and tried to hit on gay guys, when we went to bars in Wicker Park and I hooked up with some stranger with a girlfriend and tragic Brittany friends who thought they were going to nail Kris, or when I rode on the float in the gay pride parade and was blatantly propositioned by a very cute lesbian. But I don't feel nostalgia for those days...because as much as the gays love me, they'd rather go home with Kris, and that stranger from the Wicker Park bar had weird balls and only had Gatorade to drink, and that lesbian may have been cute but she only propositioned me because I was on a moving truck and there was no way I'd actually jump down and go home with her.

So yeah, I'd rather sit in an apartment in Boystown and watch The Real World New Orleans and other late 90s flash backs and make vegan cupcakes and watch youtube videos of SNL skits mocking Project Runway. I really don't miss anything if I pass out on the couch at 10:30 PM. And if that makes me old, so be it.

Wait...I have a blog?

2008-03-11T22:18:00.000-07:00

Oh hey, yeah, I have a blog. It's been uber long since I posted anything on my poor, neglected blog. I'm sorry, blog...it's just that I've been busy with work and school and...well, I'm sorry that you feel we never talk anymore but someone has to work to put food on the table! I'll take you somewhere really special this weekend, baby, I promise.

Ok, now that my blog and I have kissed and made up, I think I'll give everyone a nice little update on how everything is going for me, cause I know you are all so interested. Let's revisit the new years campaign plan, shall we?

Goal #1: Do not gain weight in the new year.
Well as far as I can tell I haven't but who the hell knows. It's not like I own a scale or anything. But as for my strategies...well, let's just say I've fallen off the wagon a little bit. And I don't care. I got a new bike though, and it's 7 miles round trip from my house to the office so if I want to have a block of cheddar cheese dipped in milkshakes, I think I'm entitled.

Goal #2: Stop being twitchy about being alone.
Ok, so this is an easy one because I don't spend that much time alone now. I have a roommate and a new "special friend" so I don't really have to be twitchy about it. But let's revisit the strategies...
I successfully did not pursue a man for all of January. Of course, as we all know I started dating Will in the first week of February but I wouldn't say there was a lot of pursuing there...it just sort of happened. And as for starting new activities...I have definitely been rocking out more with Will and Dan and our songs totally kick fucking ass but other than that I haven't really had time to start new activities and I don't know if rocking out with the new "special friend" counts as an activity that will enhance my confidence in being alone.

Goal #3: Do not be a stress freak about work.
Yeah...ship's pretty much sailed on that one. I am going to go ahead and take this nautical theme to a ridiculous extreme and say that if I were to look at the positive side of it, I could say we are in all-hands-on-deck mode...but what I really want to say is that we are in ship sinking mode. But I can only do what I can do, and that's what I am going to do. (That's a trademarked philosophical phrase, ok so hands off.)

Other random goals:
Finish school: Yeah, so I just failed a class. Pretty sure that whole finishing school thing won't be happening this year.
Move out of my shitty apartment: Done and done. Great new house, super new roommate, complete with enough hot water to do dishes and shower in the same night and sans the homeless crackheads.

Stay tuned for more in-depth postings on my thoughts on failing graduate school and why I no longer have a "type".

Is that a business card...or are you just happy to see me?

2008-01-28T17:31:00.000-08:00

So as I've gotten older, a few things have changed about the way I see the world, especially men. For example, as a younger woman, I always found guys who were really helpless and could basically not dress themselves without me really attractive...ok ok, so I sort of still have that. But I've learned as I approach my late 20s that being needed is overrated. I also find the help much less attractive as I get older. I used to love me a bartender or server -- now I look at them and think, sure you're attractive but don't you want to do something with your life?

Another interesting phenomenon that I've experienced really only in the last couple of months is the business card. It seems that handing out a business card is the new version of writing your number on a napkin...I think. I actually can't really tell, and I don't think it's fair.

Up until very recently, I would typically meet guys through friends or work, although I took my share home from the bars too. Here's how it would go: I would see guy, get him to pay attention to me, we'd chat in the obligatory way, and he'd either type my number into his cell phone -- usually to never use it again -- or or say something that meant, "Hey let's go have sex."

But let's say it doesn't go like that. Let's say that one evening a girl is walking home from work because the goddamn light rail was a minute early and she missed it. Let's say that as she's crossing the street she notices first a semi-attractive man about to intersect her path, then a fox that is just chillin in the street like 6 feet away. Let's say semi-attractive man comments on the fox and then starts walking next to the girl as though they'd known each other forever and were on their way somewhere for a drink. Let's say that girl and semi-attractive guy chat for about 10 blocks when girl says, "I have to turn here to go home." That's when it happens...semi-attractive guy says, "Here, have my business card in case you want to buy an electric bike or know someone who does. My name's Addison, it's on the card." Girl isn't sure what to think, as she'd clearly expressed her desire to purchase a bike of the human powered variety, so she takes the card and they go their separate ways.

You may have guessed that the girl in that story was me. And this is not the first time this has happened, not even the first time in the last week. To be sure, what with the fox and all it was a strange situation all around, but now what's a girl to do? Does he want me to call him? Or does he just want me to buy an electric bike?

In the year of our lord, 2008...

2007-12-30T15:22:00.000-08:00

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!

2007-12-02T20:10:00.001-08:00

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?

2007-11-29T20:29:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-17T07:59:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-11T12:19:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-08T17:03:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-06T18:41:00.000-08:00

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.