h.a.g.s.?

listen, i know, i know what you're going to say before you even think it, let alone say it. its been far too long. i get it, you're totally addicted to this blog (by blog, i mean me) . . . so when i go for long extended stretches of time without updating, i can only imagine the questions that run through your mind. you probably lay awake at night thinking "omg! is homegirl engaged?" or "heavens to betsy! did she finally find a job that is both challenging and intellectually stimulating?" or even worse "did she finally overdose on tylenol pm and jager and will never post again?" (i hope that last one was a joke, but seeing as how i certainly cannot tell the future, we won't discuss it any further) LISTEN, its okay. its all good my little rays of heaven's awesome light shining down upon my life. i have really been busy . . . splitting my time between finding jesus, maintaining my 'sobriety' (not even asking for a lohan comment here), jetsetting across the nation and cutting coupons (no joke, we are in a recession, after all) all while listening to lady gaga. she's totes the new lil' kim (without pants). as we usher in a new season, however, i am going to try to continually update my blog. that's right, i said it. i even admitted i blog in public. sober. while some of you may think i am really scraping the barrel here, those of you that truly know me will realize the only way for chelsea handler and i to have a symbiotic relationship (she will feature me as a regular on her show and i will teach her the trick to get a little more volume in her blowout) is for me to continually talk about my blog, which is akin to talking about myself, so really, nothing is new. please act surprised. ahhh thank you. using the above paragraph as a brief update, i am sure i will not have the hours and hours necessary for a full LU (put it in the dictionary) but i'll do what i can (if i had a dollar).

first of all, let me get out that i have been having dreams that i am mormon. and that my legs detach . . . i've tried to analyze this, but surprisingly the 'american girl's guide to dreams' has nothing on either topic in its 50 wonderfully illustrated pages. i went to barnes and noble and ended up in the new age section . . . OR SO I THOUGHT, but turned to my left and saw what appeared to be the yin and yang of asian lady couples (too many images put into one phrase?). anyway, they were looking in the new age section too, and upon having flashes of what their dreams probably look like, i decided i'd just deal with the mormon/fake legs business on my own and got the hell out of there, as i would expect anyone to do.

ergo, thank you. i had to get that off my chest. i highly doubt my roommates would know what to do with that kind of confession, so, i leave it with you. you're welcome. now, i figure i should start from the beginning.. so, january 30th-- if my memory serves me correctly (i actually have no memory left, so lets just pick up at february 2nd, groundhog's day, which, coincidentally, happens to be my 5th favorite holiday). as i embark on this entry, i am not quite sure i am in a good enough spot to realize the hilarity of all situations which occur in the day to day that is my life, but, for the sake of all of us, and a prime time spot on a network better than the Entertainment! Channel, let's have a go.

im going to start out by saying that it is truly miraculous to be alive in this day and age. technology is making advances in ways i could have never imagined, well, i guess that's it-- i can't really go on about the economy or the state of conflict in the world. whatevs, i'm not currently fighting with any short, unattractive dictators, so things actually, are looking up in comparison to my presidential counterpart (can i use that word? oh well, i just did). one of the many reasons that i love that 2009 is what it is is because there really is no excuse for someone not to be absolutely perfect . . . and if they aren't, fucking fix it. yes, really. like, get a self-help book (you don't think steve harvey's "act like a lady think like a man" just fell on my doorstep do you?), get a doctor (when obama took office, didn't like everyone automatically get free health/vision/dental care? right, they did, i saw him sign all those bills, gmab) OR turn on oprah. that shit isn't even on cable. there is no excuse. that all being said, i consider myself to be pretty close to perfect. sure, i have like a half of one thing i don't abso love about myself, but, i mean, come on, you'd never know it. for all intents and purposes, i'm way happy with me, and being a thinking human, i am continually evolving. the same goes for those i love and surround myself with . . . however, unfortunately, idiots, i have no time for. seriously, 99% of my friends are adorable, funny, cute and witty. and those of you that aren't, well, i suppose this is the time to tell you that you won't be getting a christmas card this year (not that you did last year but, well, lets save this awkwardness) . . .

so. when it comes to my engagement and hopeful marriage, i really like to not have a 'type', obvi you have to have a pair of jorts SOMEWHERE but other than that, if you're pretty cute, i'll give you a try (lit/fig). this all being said, man this is hard to admit. . . i willingly went slumming. slumming for sport, i suppose. and i know some of you out there are saying "omg! she is so saying that because she got jacked" . . . which, this would be true if homeboy wasn't . . i mean he wasn't even jack on the titanic, not even fabrizio for god's sake, or that irish man that got shot trying to get through the gate . . idk if his health (read: dental) clearance even would have allowed him on the steamer, so i won't classify yet (although i already have judged). all of these events are, in my heart of hearts i know, hilarious. hi-fucking-larious. and i took each on pretty much knowing that, really, i'll end up with someone with straight teeth, two tattoos max (one being of my face, the other probably being a chinese character of some sort) and a dog that can speak proper english.

this most recent homeboy, idk, he wasn't that person. i thought he had the potential to be, but, that old adage of not being able to turn a ho into a housewife . . . ? yes, insert here. to continue, i boo'ed up, long distance boo'ed up (thereby allowing myself to still go out and have my birthday every thursday through wednesday nights and etc. etc. -- everything that goes with being blackout drunk . . . don't judge me). so check it. we boo up-- he's a family friend, which, i will say, unless you're joey and fucking dawson (well even then, look what she did with pacey!) don't do it-- just don't. find someone you can text inappropriately that went to college and didn't go to the same high school as your roommate/momz. for realz y'all. basically, this is not as hilarious as i imagined it being, but, as i digress, i am healing, so either skim the rest or love it-- i reel this sucker in, and normally, the normal me would take a look, kind of examine his gills and scales and coloring and maturity and age and if he could speak with a cockney english accent and depending on me getting all "yes" answers, i'd keep him.

so, as i normally do, i inspect, over a period of months, find that most of my requirements get submitted and come back with unpolished "no" answers, unbeknown to him, but, around this time, i had just finished "the shack" and wanting to be a truly good person and not the typical shallow bitch that i may have been like once before, i figure, "ehh, we are meant to be, FOR NOW"-- this is where the fatal mistake was made. when oprah told me to make a list of my standards back in october of '04, she didn't say to include things that you'd let slide. for example, if, say, one of your qualifications is that your significant other (and/or late night holodex connection) knows how many countries make up the continent of africa and when asked they reply: "africa is the country." (ouch, my nearly perfect SAT score took a hit with that one) you have to nix that bitch and move on. but no, i thought i'd let feelings take the wheel, or jesus-- didn't carrie underwood sing that?

after this experience i found out a lot about myself and the following i just cant let slide: not being born perfect (or relatively close), not using your dental insurance to the full extent you're allowed, not enrolling in college, and having an unhealthy obsession with someone that isn't me or raven-symone. i feel like i should totally quote a lady gaga line right now, but, to be honest, i'm wearing pants, and i know that would make her unhappy . . . which is the last thing i would ever want to do.

anyway, long story a little shorter, my ass gets punk'd. and over what! a twenty seven year old that still shops at hollister and abercrombie but doesn't really fit into any of their clothes (so awkward, cue yours truly until i got hot) . . . ? a lad that doesn't know the difference between you're and your (which was cute until, okay! fine, it never was, fuck) truly. i felt like j. timberland sitting on his curb crying (which i did, maybe, but they weren't real tears-- people with stone hearts can't truly cry) i know jesus is up there trying to soften me and make me a true adult & independent woman (cue destiny's child) but, man, this will do nothing but make me an even pickier bitch looking for the ultimate . . . or at least someone that knows what the fuck seersucker looks like. gracious me! its all unacceptable.

rather than continue to emotionally exhaust myself acting like he was the prize i was missing, rather than just the fact that i fucking hate losing . . . especially to poor (i know y'all, i know) white (questionable, i didn't get far enough to see a family tree) trash (not debatable judging by the fact his room was dusty and he used PERT PLUS) i totally unfriended. omfg. love it. love the people that made me do it. do not love the fact i played rose for all intents and purposes and didn't even get to float in mexican waters or have my picture drawn 'like one of your french girls, jack' (cue kate winslet's fake english accent now) . . . okay, i think i'm done.

mark this down ya'll, i am bowing out of this fight and (i think this is where the influence of jesus and my growing maturity comes in) there were no verbal blowouts, mysterious deflated tires on his MITSUBISHI LANCER (manual, of course), or any type of correspondence informing him that i'll be connected to him for the next 18 years and nine months, if you get my drift.

no, no. your little girl's all grown up.