Shit is going motherfuckin' down!
And it better be the numbers on my scale. (I'm almost positive I stole that heading verbatim from this guy who may have been named Ross and who may have operated a blog called "This Blog For Rent" or similar. I recall following some links via a Feministey route and liking his blog, but I somehow never got around to linking him and now I can't find it again. I mention it because, well, not doing so tends to cause trouble.).
Over the last month or so, I've been a bit out of sorts. You may have noticed. There's been, you know, stuff. If I'da wanted to talk about it here, I would have. This isn't about that.
This is about the 9 pounds I've gained in the last 30 days as a direct result of that.
That is some bullshit, muhfuggas. Bull-muhfuggin'-shit.
And I have only myself to blame. I've been eating too much (*cough* Chicago, FAM and BFF in NYC, *cough*) and slacktaculating in the gymmery. My bad.
Anyway, I'm giving myself 21 days to take it off. I'd say 14, because usually I can reign myself in roughly in that time with some solid 5-day-a-week cardio/strength sessions, but honestly, I don't know if I have it in me to work that hard these days. I can really only slay one dragon at a time, and I've got about 3 at bay at the mo'. So, 21 days. I'll keep you posted.
Actually, I probably won't.
In other news, I've made a decision. Immediately following termination of my NYC indenture, I'm fucking out. Only for a few weeks, I'm sure, but I really need some head space, and some heart space, before I commit to a new place. I think I need to revisit an old flame to remind myself of what I need and want from the next one.
Who knows. Maybe the old flame is still what I need. We'll see. Until then, guess who's going to be Little Miss Tight Ass when it comes to spending?
*earnest face*
*blinking*
BWAHAHAHAHA! I almost believed myself for a minute, there! I'd better pick up an extra job now...
Dearest beloved summer:
I need you. I need you like a supermodel needs a Marlboro dipped in meth. I need you like, like, um, like a, um, hmm. Like an office manager needs a Staples catalog!
Okay, my love and longing isn't yet deep enough for me to wax poetic about it, clearly, but would you please hurry the hell up already?
I'm so prepared.
Shoes?
Check.
Depilation?
Check.
Sunscreen, summer fragrance, summer hair?
Checkcheckcheck.
So come on, show us what you've got.
Sigh.
I just had the tastiest blackberries. Cheap, fresh, succulent blackberries have lately won my favor. I eat them alone, with yogurt, with other fruit, alone. Oops, mentioned that already, didn't I? I had some early watermelon, too. Tasty, but from a container in the fruit aisle, not from a giant wedge of sandia-liciousness. When I'm hauling one of those suckers home from Fairway on a semi-daily basis, then, then my preciouseseses, will it be summer.
And totally off topic, but whocaresitsmyblog: Coinstar? The bizomb dizziggy. I just gathered up all the coins that have been collecting dust and crap around my apartment, on tables, in purses, on the floor...all of it, and hauled it to a Coinstar machine.
$46.31. That's how much money I've just left lying around. Almost fifty dagblit dollars.
Oh! But do you know what is best about Coinstar? You can convert your change DIRECTLY into throwaway cash! In the form of iTunes eCertificates or Amazon cash. Or Virgin cash, but seriously, who the hell shops there? Thriving chain of megastores notwithstanding.
So now I have iTunes money! I can get four albums and not touch my credit card! Yay!
See, here you are thinking, "Or, heffa, you could have just converted it directly into cash and saved that money." But you know, if I had done that, I would have had to pay a fee, It's almost $0.09 per dollar counted that way. That would have cost me...about $4.17. So you see, I am saving money!
Yeppers. Um. Okaythen, thanks for stopping by. Let's chat again soon, shall we?
I take it all back.
I would totally kiss Jesse Hughes on his tongue. That man is H.A.W.T. He gives good show.
No Josh Homme at this gig, but whatevs. Their touring drummer? The bleached blonde chick who KICKS ASS?
Just turned me bi.
Who am I kidding?
I had leanings to begin with.
Anyway, thanks to Girlhattan to for the alert and the ass-wiggling company! Sorry you had to talk about, what was it? Oh yeah, Mod Squad and Hawaii 5-0 with that guy. Um.
Yo, 'sup?
Man, I got stuff to deal with. And lately, I've been dealing by cooking. So no handy-dandy posts have been forthcoming. And I'm just feeling...eh. Maybe I'll get over it. Maybe I'll take one of those hiatuses people are so fond of.
It's been a very chill week. I worked almost all of last week, so there was no joy to be had, but this week? Many days off. I went crazy on the LES with the Stolinator on Monday, complete with unsolicited molestations from bar staff, and I went to the NY International Auto Show today. Went with the family this time. Pics to come, but really, just the usual suspects: Aston Martin Vanquish, Maserati Quattroporte, concept vehicles, blah blah blah. And nothing nearly as exciting as last year's Cuntmobile.
My BFF is visiting from D.C. this weekend, too, and I have the whole weekend off, so there will be silence, very likely beginning Friday. But perhaps there will be exciting postery when I return! It will be dorktastic, promise. Plus, there's that whole Eagles of Death Metal concert situation Sunday night. So you may get a nonsensical post-groove-high blog then.
Otherwise, chiddlers, enjoy your week!
I will kiss (Jesse) the Devil (Hughes) on his...
Actually, he's kinda dirty, so I probably wouldn't, but I'm sure as hell gonna try to get close enough!
SQUEE!
Thanks, Girlhattan, for the tiptastical fillinery!
Answered.
Time's up, skittles! Here are your (er, well, like nine of you) questions answered. Thanks for the questions. I'm really surprised how nice everyone was with their queries. No one asked for any deep, dark secrets. Sweet. This post is cake.
Stolie asked:
Question 1: When you're at home, in the dark and you're in your bed late at night, what's your "Biggest Fear"?
Well, Stolinator, I'm glad you asked! As it happens, I am terribly afraid of late that the dead are watching and trying to steal my life force, but that's just because I saw Lucky Number Slevin last night and it had a preview for the lame-o movie Pulse. Otherwise, I'm generally concerned about little things, like intruders and Satan.
Question 2: What's you favorite entertainment / fun place in New York City, and why?
This one is tricky. I spend a lot of time going to movies, some time shopping, but I rarely do serious entertainment outings. I have spent a great deal of time at the Brooklyn Museum of Art. Does that count? Otherwise, I'd have to say, various movie theaters, or DSW. They're the only things I do other than work, eat and sleep.
Shasta asked:
1. How do you get through the day, every day, with all the batshit craziness you have to deal with?
I spend money, I go to Chicago. I spend money in Chicago. And I have a lovely shrink. It's workin' as well as it's workin'.
2. Please share with us one or two things that is always on your mind when you are alone, please?
What can I be doing to be better/smarter/more adjusted/more loved. I'm the child of an atypical home, shall we say. That leads to certain neuroses. Not a day passes when I don't wonder if every perceived slight, ever dissatisfaction, every imperfect moment isn't in some way my fault, and couldn't in some way be rectified by altering of my behavior. I don't think such things every minute, but at some point every day, I'm wondering, "How could I be better?" *shrugs*
Viv asked:
Question 1: Who was your childhood best friend and why were they your best friend? Are you still close to them?
I had a different one at each elementary school. (I went to...lessee...six.) But the best friend I had the longest was probably Christie. We were both super-chub-funnymakers who sort of jointly joked our way through late elementary and early middle school at American Christian. (Oh yes, people. I've seen into the fundamentalist heartland. It is a scary, scary place.) We just had fun and laughed our assess off. You know, without the actual ass detachment part. I haven't talked to her in years. I have found that an early lifestyle of frequent moves has had the effect of putting a shelf-life of about two years on most of my relationships, including my relationships with places. I'm always amazed these days that I have friends that go back more than a few years. But I do. Guess I'm learning...
Question 2: Do you ever think you'd want to talk to your father again? Besides the need for a kidney.
Hmmm. Maybe. I would never rule it out. At this point, I don't know what I'd say, but perhaps the occasion would find me in possession of the words.
From Keidra:
Do you believe in true love? Why or why not?
Yep. Absolutely. But mainly because I don't believe anything is impossible. To say true love doesn't exist is to deny the possibility. Besides, who's to say what true love is? It has to be a personal matter, with boundaries and components individually defined. What looks hell to you or me could be someone else's happy-ever-after. And I think most mothers and fathers would argue that they had a moment of perfect love at the birth of a child.
Now, if you're wondering whether I think I'll ever find it...but that's another question.
AnonyRob said:
What kind of motorcycle do you see yourself riding?
The kind with training wheels. And doors. And front- and side-impact airbags. Um. I really like the idea of riding, and if I were to be really cool and ride, I'd want something small and, well, small. Or I'd be happy taking a racecar driving class.
Nerd Girl asked:
What's the highest number on the Bitchster Scale and do you ever reach it?
I'll say 10. I'd say I reached it every day, but my bitchitude is rarely not justified, so I don't think it counts. Now that I'm sure about when I'm leaving, I've mellowed considerably, too. You can endure anything if you know it will end.
From QuietlyGoingMad:
1. If you could be any shoe what shoe would you be and why?
A smart, flat-heeled, black leather boot. Utilitarian, unisex, perennially stylish.
2. How do you eat an Oreo?
Soaked in soy milk and en masse.
3. If you could have sex with any one person you personally know, who would it be and why?
Ah. Well...my dear, oldest male friend. There is an inexplicable ease between us. He's a good, intelligent, considerate and passionate man. I've learned some things about myself, thanks to him. Anyone who makes you consider who you are and who you want to be, for the better, is a good bet.
The Humanity Critic asked:
1. If you could punch any celebrity in the face, free shot, who would it be?
I only get one? I can think of about 20 who could use a nice ass-whuppin'. Damnit! Okay...Rush? G.W.? Lil Jon? Tick-tock, tick-tock...I got nobody. Generally speaking, punching people in the face does jack shit. Now, would you like me to list the people I'd like to publicly humiliate, strip of their wealth and privilege, and teach illuminating lessons in compassion and humanitarianism? G.W., Rush Limbaugh, Bill O' Reilly.... Wait a minute. I take that shit back. I would love to punch that smug fuck in the face. Okay, Bill O'Reilly.
2. Name a cd/record that you own that you feel would change someone's life?
Sorry, man. I'm just not that into music. I mean, there are many things I like a lot, but none I feel are life-changing for me. Any album could be life-changing to someone, but music isn't my medium.
3.What do you think happened to Jimmy Hoffa?
He's now a kindly old adoptive mother of three children, living on a farm in Iowa. Or he's dead as a muhfuggah.
Okay, thanks, y'all. That was fun! Enjoy your weekends!
Sometimes, I like to steal things.
Like this question post over at the Funky Brown Chick. Stolie's letting people ask her whatever they want--anything at all--and promising to answer.
What can I say? I'm a lazy git these days. So. I'm letting you do all the work. Until 11:59 P.M. Thursday, April 13, I'm taking questions, which I'll answer Friday morning. As long as you ask before the deadline, you'll get an answer, my friends. Just leave your queries in the comments section.
If you don't ask anything, I'll be forced to make up new Blogger identities and ask things myself. Don't think I won't do it. I'm shameless that way.
Happy Thursday!
Seriously, I do. Where do I sign up? I'm not just jumping on the bandwagon because of Passover and my love of matzoh ball soup, either.
If this is any indication of how the Jewish peeps roll, Judaism is a religion I can get behind.
Never judge a book by its cover.
Nor a film by its title.
Take, for example, The Witches of Breastwick. Contrary to the genious hilarity of its moniker, "Breastwick" is neither genious nor hilarious. It is, in fact, sleep-inducing drivel.
Saw Inside Man last night.
I greatly enjoyed it. You should go. It's smart and stylish and thought-provoking, twisty and interesting and--
Well it stars Denzel, Chewy and Clive Owen, okay? This movie sells itself.
Whoops, looks like I accidentally put on my "Hot Black P*ssy!" perfume again!
What. The. Fuck?
There is an inappropriate woodwork out there with my name on it, and the manlings are just rushing out.
First the boy. Then the hairstylist. Now the kinda sexy-but-most-definitely-married grandfather.
Oh, you read it right.
Not to mention the random catcalls I've gotten today. I don't know where all that came from. Seriously. Out of trucks, on the street from vendors, dudes just chillin' on street corners (actually, I think that guy thought I was a hooker. God knows why, I was wearing perfectly normal attire. But if you try to get my attention with a surreptitious "Psst! Psssst! Pssssssssst!" I'll assume you are up to no good, and think I am, too. And can I just say that, being a black woman and as such having been mistaken for a hooker for no good goddamn reason in the past, nothing is more insulting than being taken as such by a dirty old mofo who couldn't even afford to smell you in the first place if you were a hooker. But, I digress.)
And then there was the "Hey, you're like a Philippino diva!" dude. I have no fucking clue what that was supposed to mean, or why he said it. Okay, that wasn't a catcall. It was just weird.
Sigh.
Great, heaving, exasperated sigh.
Hot. Steaming. Ass.
Which is how I feel right now, after spending however much time at WhiskyLive last night, ta very much.
Single malt is a helluva drink. I should never be allowed to have anything older than me. Seriously. I'm sure that's what threw me off. Once it gives up the angels' share....
I highly recommend the BenRiach 21, though.
*stumbling out for coffee*
Oh, and just as an aside: If you're a (single) girl, you should totally do Whisky events alone. One, they're full of the boys, and two, well, they're full of the boys. Boys (and by "boys," I mean funny gnarly old dudes and the occasional hottie in a kilt) who get to do what they like to do best: explain their area of expertise to you, and pat you on the head and tell you you're cute. Just nod and smile. It's a time-tested system that works. More or less.
Happy Thursday.
HEYLL NAWL.
It's snowing.
SNOWING.
*grumbles and changes shoes to trek to gym*
Carry on.
I just don't understand why I don't love California more.
*grumbling again*
*recently retired winter coat on*
I mean, this never happens over there. Yeah, they get the earthquakes and brush fires and all, but no April snow.
*hunting down scarf*
The other day I even convinced myself I liked "having weather." That I enjoyed a little nip in the air.
*staring out window at sudden blizzard-like conditions*
I checked Weather.com last night, man. I got the hour-by-hour. I don't think a sudden snowglobe situation was mentioned once, as even a possibility! They might have said there was a chance of showers early in the day. Not this.
Meteorology bitches.
*door slam*
So I'm back.
You may have gathered.
The trip was a minor disaster.
My flight to Chicago made the news, and not in a good way.
I was almost two hours late to Whisky Fest.
My hotel room was...substandard, relative to past accomodations. (Though the concierge was great.)
Ayana fell mysteriously ill on the second day.
Divine M's computer was fried and she had to have it repaired, so she couldn't come until day three. Of four.
Mr. C. got stuck in Baltimore until day three, too.
Even still, I had the best time. Shas and 'Yana were super hostesses/crime partners, and it was great meeting Shas' friends Contr'y G, M and her hubby T. (Rob, thanks for putting in an all-too-brief appearance, as well. Next time, partner. Next time you betta hang. And stop comparing me to Thulsa Doom. Or don't. It's all good.) It was so good to see Divine and Mr. C again. And all the old haunts (okay, Cafe Bernard and Johnny O'Hagan's) feel more like home every time I go. I'm starting to understand the lay of the land. I know where I want to live.
I'll really enjoy New York City for as long as I'm here, but I'll still be moving on before the year is out. I love Chicago.
Okay, seriously, whisky bitches.
And by "bitches" I mean, "Love yous!"
Now, at Whisky Fest I met some really, really cool-ass whisky-schilling peeps--master distillers, brand ambassadors, and the like. And at the afterparty, I decided I maybe wanted to drop by Whisky Live! at Tavern on the Green this Wednesday, since most of those peoples will be there, too. It would be, as I've said incessantly over the last four days, good times.
Who's in?
Oh, yeah, so it would be at best $30 and at worst (you get to sample 15 whiskies) $95. Now, who's in?
*update*
So I just got an email that is putting me definitely at this throwdown. I cannot believe nobody wants to come. Boo. Come on, now. You really don't want me at this alone, do you?
