A Facebook Fantasy

okay, facebook. listen.

i like you. i more than like you. i less than three you.

but for serious. STOP RECOMMENDING FRIENDS FOR ME.

it's just creepy! it's not like you recommend people that i actually know and love. no no. you recommend people that i sometimes don't even know exist! and would never need to! or people that i know exist, but i stay far, far away from!

but let's just pretend, facebook, that you're being helpful.

let's just say that, okay, in this dreamland we will call "facebookflufffluffcottoncandyville", i friend request them and they say okay. here is how my first post on their wall would go:

hello, friend from kindergarten! long time no see! do you still eat paste? boogers? how 'bout paper? remember when you skinned your knee? yeah, those were awesome times. i bet not much has changed!

hello, stalker ex boyfriend! long time no see! ah, who am i kidding?! you were tapping on my window a couple of weeks ago! is it cold in the bushes? do you ever get bored and think of maybe getting a hobby, or a new girlfriend? better run...you're about to call my cell phone 19 times in a row. it IS 3am, after all!

hello, psycho bitch from high school who made my life a living hell! how's it going? i'll bet you're on your 13th drink of the night. i don't know which was funnier, spreading the rumor that i lost my virginity in history class during second period, or the time you stole the candy bars i was selling for drill team, just to get a laugh! oh, how i chuckled! but don't worry, water under the bridge. nice kids, btw. do they all have the same dad?

hello, guy i went on three dates with and hooked up with a couple times! nice to see you? still have that suspicious looking mole on your neck that needs to be checked out? how's...um...i never met your family, so um...do you have a family? are they well? still kickin'?

really facebook, do you want the chaos that would ensue here?

i didn't think so.

now go shut your bitch ass face.

Wouldn't it be nice?

Wouldn't it be nice if the whole "man in a can" thing from the tv show "the tick" was a reality?

for those not familiar with the tick, it goes a little something like this: you pop open a can, and a man pops out. he can't speak. he just does exactly what he's told to do for thirty minutes. after that, he turns into potpourri!

can't beat that.

today was one of those just ludicrous days. it was a day that started out with me oversleeping and skipping breakfast to go meet a social worker at the home of the man i take care of. he, of course, was about 15 minutes late. meaning that technically, i could have snarfed a donut or a bowl of cereal, but had i taken that chance, he would have been there on time. or early.

listen, don't ask me to explain it, it's science. or math. or PHYSICS.

pretty sure it's physics.

as i was driving the gentleman i take care of, i noticed that his car smelled strongly of gasoline. like, the way my brother's bug used to when i was younger. i didn't know if this was bad or not, so i waited until we got to the shopping plaza and called my fiance.

do you think guys like getting phone calls that go, "hi honey, nothing serious, but if the car smells like gasoline, should i be driving it?"

then this guy lets it drop that he's having a lot of pain in his big toe. he'd like to know if i can take a look at it.

dude.

DO NOT WANT.

but i did, and boy howdy does he have one hell of an ingrown toenail. i did what i could with it and told him if it wasn't better in a week, i'd make an appointment for him to see the doctor. he turned pale.

i don't blame him, i'm not a huge fan of doctors myself.

stuff i am a huge fan of:

1. charlie, the cat who currently has his claws in my hip and is squeaking at me.
2. johnny depp. mmmmmmmm........
3.

wait, what was i saying?

Body by See's

as a woman, it probably comes as no surprise that there are things i would like to change about myself. my waistline could use some work. my hair gets frizzy for no reason. i have a crooked smile, and it's not "katie couric" cute, either.

i have toes that curl up at the ends, like elf feet. my shoes always end up misshapen because of this. i am pale as pale can be, burning to a crisp lobster red, flakingly peeling, then going right back to pasty potato white.

recently, my mom and my aunt ginny were exchanging quips on things they'd like to change. things like weight, chins, eyes, etc. and i felt so outraged on their behalf! how could they not see themselves how i, and i'm sure all of their friends, see them?

my aunt ginny, who's fiery hair matches her fiery determination? who supported herself and her daughter, my best friend, as a single parent, working long hours as a nurse? as an oncology nurse, one of the best in her field, who is there for patients when all hope is gone? she is someone i can count on for just about anything. i can safely say if i ever got arrested at a protest, she would either come bail me out or be sitting next to me saying, "woo, that was fun!" she is warm and funny, and kind and smart.

and my mom! my mom who was always "the hot mom" to my male friends (thanks for that, guys.) my mom who taught me that margaritas are best when accompanied by a sidecar of midori (and NO SALT), with hair that is as curly as she is creative. my mom, my fellow easter bunny, who taught me how to do a timestep! my mom, who would love for me to drag not only my close friends up to her house, but anyone i happen to pass along the way. mom, of the ten minute walks up her mountain that require you to be airlifted back down due to lack of oxygen!

i haven't always been able to appreciate the inner more than the outer shell, especially when it comes to myself. but having gone through cervical cancer really made me re-examine life, and the way i live it.

it's okay that my hair is frizzy and crazy, because my personality is kind of frizzy and crazy. once, my head looked like this:

i still have that first clump of hair that fell out during my treatments. i was so scared that it wouldn't grow back! and since it did, who cares that it's frizzy? at least i don't look like i lost a fight with the razor anymore.

my oncologist at the time used to very bluntly tell me that at least the hair i had left wasn't in a coffin somewhere. yeowch. thanks, dr. j. way to steal my emoness right out from under me!

i could go on and on about how i appreciate my body so much more now, because it chose life for me. and how everyone should appreciate their body and blah blah blah, but that's not really the point of this post.

the point is to say, yeah, we've all been there. i've been unhappy with my body image, and still struggle with it.

but maybe the next time you feel that way, you should consult someone like your daughter, or niece, or best friend, or husband or wife or housecat, and ask their opinion.

i bet they think you're beautiful for things other than your physical appearance.

now feed the cat.

Winston and Me

i live on a relatively quiet block, with relatively quiet neighbors. we all look out for one another, and we all smile when we pass each other on the street. we all sort of know one another's business, and we definitely take note when something is out of place. after the last big earthquake, my dad went and knocked on the doors of our neighbors, asking if they needed help. rare, in my little suburban LA area. yes, it really is a quintessential quiet small town neighborhood....except, that is, for winston.

"who is winston?" you might be asking. "is he a new annoying neighbor?" well, in a sense, yes he is! winston is the world's fattest, most annoying chihuahua and he lives in the house behind mine. the problem is that half the time, winston is left to roam free. and winston is DECEPTIVELY EVIL.

below is a picture of a similar chihuahua that i have helpfully added distinguishing characteristics to in order to make it look more like winston. these include his black spots, horns, and pitchfork. oh, and a nice little hitler 'stache.

say hello to the bane of my existence, won't you?

you see, pictures don't lie. and as you can tell from this completely honest depiction, winston barks. continually. for hours at a time. all in the same tone. over. and. over. again.

me: SHUT UP, WINSTON!

winston: woof! woof! woof! woof! woof! woof! woof! wooof!

translation: HA HA HA I WILL NEVER LET YOU SLEEP NOT IN A MILLION YEARS I DO NOT EVEN CARE IF YOU ARE DYING HA HA HA HA I AM EVIL DOG HA HA HA HA HAVE YOU SEEN MY LAST TWINKIE

as if that wasn't bad enough, winston LOVES to look at your car. he looks at your car very closely. especially when you are trying to back out of the driveway.

you get in the car. start it up. notice the nfl football sized chihuahua in the rearview mirror. you edge slightly backward. no winston. you get out, and ask him nicely to move.

me: winston, time to go home now!

winston: WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! (translation: hell no.)

me: thank you winston, i'm sure you would have been a great drug sniffing dog, but if you could just MOVE

winston: WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! (translation: feed me or i'm staying!)

me: winston you little beefy asshole! move or die!

winston: WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! (translation: suck it.)

so you end up just maneuvering around this gluttonous lump on legs with a napoleon complex, only to have him calmly walk to the side as soon as you are clear.

what. a. douche.

now, i don't want to come across as a mean, vile, animal hating person. i desperately try to adopt any stray critter that comes my way, much to the chagrin of my friends and family. and i've tried to love winston, i really have.

except that he's a douchey dog.

so, i have only one option.

deportation.

so long, suckaduck!

The best driver in the world!

i really am, you guys. i always go the speed limit. ish.

i also always adjust my mirrors, put on my seatbelt, put in and turn on my bluetooth, and get myself comfy before i even turn on my engine.

i don't switch lanes to try to get ahead of traffic. i account for it and ride it out.

probably you think my car looks something like this while i am driving:

look at this chick. looking calmly at traffic ahead of her, her gps all plugged in and ready to go.

but really, something takes over when i drive. and i call this something, "the groove."

let's say i'm driving along, singing quietly along with rammestein. the song ends, and guess what? commercial! what a bummer.

but not so fast! i have an entire CAR FULL OF MIX CD'S. that i mixed for myself. because i am JUST THAT AWESOME.

i slip one in, and suddenly my drive goes from boring to OMGWTFBBQTHISCHICKRULEZLOL!

what's that? a motherfuckin' disco ball! and microphone! which i totally don't have and are in fact imaginary, and YES, i do use them!

and hello, GPS, back out my koolaid! this babe does not need your help getting lost!

yes, there are dance moves. there are winks. there is even the little "what's up?" nod to the driver that happens to glance at me being awesome.

i perform not for myself. i perform for the people, folks.

press play. you know you want to.

Marble That!

in one of our calmer moments this weekend, my fiance and i decided to pay a little visit to coldstone. we were delighted that it wasn't full of the usual teenaged hoodlums and thugs of south torrance! in fact, the only people in coldstone when we got there were two older women, mid 60's-ish, both dyed platinum blonde and having one hell of a time deciding what to get.

one lady had decided on something simple (coffee with brownies, or something). the other...not so much.

"do you have pistachio?" she asked. the coldstone funployee assured her they did. "oooohhhh...." she said, rolling her eyes upward.

"do you have fudge?" she asked. they did! "ooogghhhhhHHH!" she got a bit louder, but once again rolling her eyes upward.

our ice cream barista started making our ice cream.

"what's THAT??" the loud lady asked. "cotton candy with GUMMI BEARS??? that's so CUUUUUUTE!"

shocked, i did what all good fiancee's do. i pointed blatantly to matt. "it's his!" i announced quietly, gesturing to my left as my betrothed stood and glared at me.

she went back to the barista. "is the fudge hot?" she queried. the barista began to look strained. "no, ma'am, it's not hot. it's not cold, but it's not...not hot."

"WWOOOOOHHHHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGH!" the lady growled, rapidly approaching megadeath and metallica death growl territory. "that sounds TERRIFIC! i'm coming back for breakfast!"

the baristas paled. i ordered.

suddenly, she was bellied up to the glass, pressing her face against it. "STRAWBERRIES! AND CARAMEL! AND...oh, i don't even know!" she pointed to us. "YOU! YOU TWO have THE MOST interesting taste!!!"

"um, actually, ma'am, this is one of their creations." i said meekly. "our strawberry blonde?"

she stared blankly.

she turned to the barista. "honey, can i get pistachio with the fudge marbled in?" the barista looked frightened. "i...do you mean you want it mixed in?"

the lady looked aghast. "they used to make a pistachio marble at 31 flavors! WOOWGHGHAHHHHHOOOOHHHH!" she rolled her eyes again. i did a quick search for signs of seizure, then focused my eyes solely on the floor so that she wouldn't see me laughing at matt's dropped jaw.

my stomach still hurts from laughing so hard!

Things That Bother Me

1. loud noises while eating - i really don't want to hear you masticate. REALLY. close your mouth, don't smack your lips, and dear lord, please don't make orgasmic noises while you eat. it's chicken.

2. it's not okay to ask to see the rest of my tattoos. maybe i don't feel like doing a whole inventory, or maybe they're located in a place that i can't show you right now.

3. don't automatically assume that just because i can't show you where a certain tattoo is, that it is placed somewhere...naughty. (and don't ask me, either!) i usually won't show you if i'm wearing a dress and my tattoo is located on my lower back. no, random person, i will not show you. wipe the smirk off your face.

4. i hate it when a guy asks you out, you tell him you're taken, and he responds with "what's that got to do with you and me?" um, dude? EVERYTHING. there is no "you and me." because there is "me and him." get it?

5. i also really hate it when i can't get the lint from the lint trap off in one sheet. man, that crap will bug me ALL DAY.

6. don't be a snob! people like the music they like, or they like the movies they like, or they believe whatever religion they believe. it's OKAY. people are different! and if you don't like the same thing, that's fine. it doesn't mean you have to belittle them for it.

7. i hate it when the peanut butter and the jelly get cross contaminated. but i refuse to use two knives. my life is so hard.

8. i hate rihanna's hair. you're not a cockatoo, dear, time for a trim.

9. moving. moving bugs me! i feel like i've been doing nothing but getting prepared for a move and i have NOTHING DONE. if i were donald trump, i'd have people to do it for me. well, that, and a kick ass head of hair. rowr.