WALK OF SHAME SUNDAY-10/13/13

 

I've noticed lately that I've turned into one of those people I've always disliked...a complainer. Oh sure, I disguise it with humor and a crackling display of sarcasm but I'm still a grumpy pants. This is mostly what I'm ashamed of...I've lost my sense of joy. Just getting happy about the simple pleasures in life used to be enough when I was a kid or even in my twenties but now that I'm *Sorta, kinda* all grown up...I seem to have lost my way.

So, this week I tried to recapture the magic. I banned all complaining *Which, if you've ever tried it lately is really super hard. Go on, try it for just an hour. I dare you!* and instead embraced getting back to the basics.

I went with a friend and her kids *Awesome, adorable, smart,  funny little people, not annoying in the slightest* to an old timey pumpkin patch. We meandered around pulling a wagon and loading up on gourds. And...it was actually fun! They didn't have a huge amount of pumpkins though due to the drought *Damn you Global Warming after effects* but I kept my mouth shut even though that meant we would have to make another trip to the grocery store to buy pumpkins for carving.  On our way home, we drove thru a nearby farm and the scent of cattle wafting in the air threatened to make me vomit in my mouth a little but I was determined not to break. I simply smiled instead. *And secretly vowed to eat a hamburger when I got home. Revenge meal. It's the circle of life!*

When I got home, I decorated my house with some fabulous Fall flair.

The only thing missing was a pumpkin spice scented candle. Because I might live in the suburbs now, but I still have my standards. No X-mas sweaters for me either. *Seriously? Does everything have to be pumpkin spiced this time of year? Yesterday, I saw a sign for a "Pumpkin Spice Pedicure. Really?* *Dammit! Did I just complain? Shoot!*

I also spent quality time this weekend raking leaves for the first time in my life *Not lazy. I just moved into my first house, remember?* and although, yeah...it wasn't on the same level as say, a frosty cocktail and the latest season of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, I still enjoyed it.  I just put on some cute shorts, a pair of boots and went to work. No complaining allowed.

I raked for hours and in no particular order I also...

Saw a baby bunny rabbit
Killed a spider and decimated numerous webs *I hate spiders. They are the hardest working assholes on the planet*
Waved hello to a bunch of neighbors walking their dog
Chatted with a young girl riding her bike
Got an awesome workout
Threw in some major weeding as well because what the hell, I was already sweaty and gross

and finally, got shit on by a large goose. *Welcome to the neighborhood*

It took everything I had not to complain about that one and I'm so proud that I didn't. However, I might have screamed. Really loudly. *This was the most disgusting thing that has happened to me in a long, long time. It seriously was all over my clothes, hands, etc. Thank God I was wearing a hat*

But back to raking. I don't think I am disposing of my leaves correctly. Everyone else on my block had these special suburban brown paper bags, all neatly stacked at the end of their driveways. I just stuck mine in huge Hefty sacks and left them by the trash. But whatever, the job was done!

*I realize this photo is tilted. I couldn't get it adjusted. It was super frustrating. Not that I'm complaining or anything*

As I  walked inside I checked my phone for messages and noticed that I had a text waiting from an ex. "Hey Girl, what's up?" You know those trolling texts? The ones guys send out hoping that someone who was willing to have sex with them in the past might be desperate enough to somehow be willing to have sex with them again? *Save the planet, recycle*

In the past, I might have entertained the thought *I most likely would have also invited him over and entertained his penis as well. I'm an excellent hostess*  but now I'm too smart. I know that If I want my Pretty Girl Discount and want to be treated right as a woman...I can't act like I'm not worth much. I can't act like all it takes is a text and some superficial sweet talk.

So I deleted the text, refused to spend any energy complaining about what a jackwagon that guy was *Ha! That didn't count* and simply carried on.

And it felt good. It felt like joy.

WALK OF SHAME SUNDAY-10/6/2013

I'm getting pretty good at dodging bullets. I mean, I still don't notice when the gun gets loaded or when its pointed directly at my face, but at least now I duck when it goes off. At least now, I don't get shot.  I just have excellent battle stories to tell and this week is no exception.

Online Dating Disaster Number One.

I emailed with this dude *Mr. Marijuana* a couple of times and then we talked on the phone twice. He was highly aggressive, funny as hell and very intense. And although he seemed a tad bit controlling off the bat, he works as a video game designer and I thought we might have a lot in common as I also work in the entertainment industry. If I'm being honest, it was a little troubling that the first time we chatted he admitted he was super high and the second time we talked he was in the middle of a house party and busy drinking himself into oblivion. *Somewhere in the future there is a twelve step meeting waiting for him to show up*

He texted the next day to say he was proud of himself that he hadn't drunk dialed me all night to tell me how much he liked me. *At this point my expectations are so low, I was just relieved that some guy I had never even met before didn't wake me up in the middle of the night.*

We both were pretty busy so we arranged to have a coffee date Thursday afternoon. I was really looking forward to it and went all out curling my hair, slapping on the full face drag and wearing a super cute, casual outfit that didn't scream *Catfish*

When I first approached him at Espresso Royale, *Best latte's evah!*

 I don't think either one of us was very thrilled by each other physically. How could I tell, you ask? Well, he never said one word about how I looked and for my part, he was 6'5 about a buck fifty and pretty unkempt. *Like, no effort whatsoever had been made in the grooming department which included a scraggly, unshaven facial mess, longish fingernails and  dirty jeans* But I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt so I sat down and waited for him to offer to buy me a cup of coffee *Yes please* or a tea or a cookie or something *He never offered*

Instead he launched into a rapid fire monologue about his career and what he wanted to do with his life. *He never asked any questions about me so I tried to add personal info about myself in the brief seconds when he was forced to inhale. I was mildly successful* He also commented about how "pricey" the drinks here were. *Uh-huh*

Suddenly he launched into an insane lecture about the merits of weed. How, "It has no side effects whatsoever" and "Is actually really good for you" and "How he knew what he was talking about because he had done the research" *His friend Justin gets high all the time and told him it was true and so there you have it. Conclusive proof*

When I told him that while I didn't care if people smoked weed *It just isn't my thing but I'm not super judgy about it* however I wasn't going to agree that it was good for you, he tried to convince me I was wrong. When I respectfully suggested that we should agree to disagree, he told me I was uptight and had issues with weed. I kept trying to change the subject over & over but this dude would just not get off his ridiculous obsession with weed. His lecture lasted over thirty minutes.*Thirty minutes!* When he loudly declared that, "Unlike alcohol, nobody has ever killed anyone by driving while high" and I disagreed stating that surely at some point in the history of the world this has actually happened before. He demanded to see my proof.  *Really? Cause I travel with prepared power point presentations just for situations like this, you jack wagon.*

Having finally reached my limit, I just stood up and told him I had to get back to work. Aaaand, that's when he stared yelling and arguing that I should give him more of a chance, that I was wrong for not wanting to date him and it was my fault I didn't like the conversation since I was the one who had such an "issue" with weed.

I told him all I wanted was to get to know him better (and for him to get to know me) and I had no interest in debating the merits of weed. He literally yelled at me that weed, "Is me. It is super important to me, its what I'm passionate about and you should know that. This is getting to know me." *I have learned that you really can't argue with crazy so I just walked quickly to my car and drove away into the sunset.*

*Bullet dodged*

Online Dating Disaster Number Two

Since I was on such a roll, that same night I chatted with another dude I had been emailing online. He was a little reserved *Depressed? Suicidal? Or just polite. Hard to tell really* and was recently out of a relationship *I know, I know* but seemed, by comparison to be relatively sane. So far, so good. However the next night, Friday, he texted me at 8pm asking what I was doing right then and if I wanted to get together. I was already out with friends but told him I could meet up on Saturday night. *I should have known* He texted back "Cool." So, I thought we were on but Saturday night came and went and no sign of Mr. Newly Single. *I'm guessing that he was trying to reintroduce his penis back into the wild and since I wasn't interested in having sex with a guy I had never met before, he moved on to greener, skankier pastures*

At this point, I just thanked God for little favors *Bullet number two dodged* and kept it moving. So, instead of spending my night with yet another dating disaster I settled down with the giant Jenga tower of camp that was Lifetime's, "House of Versace". 

What can I say? The wigs, the terrible, over the top Italian by way of The San Fernando Valley accents, the coked out supermodels sashaying down the runway to bad euro trash beats plus Gina Gershon and Rachel Welch! *Oh, the low budget glamour of it all! * My inner gay man was very, very happy!

So, while I am deeply ashamed that this week I wasted even more of my life on men that have less common decency than a twerk, I will never regret the two hours I spent with the day shift hooker version of Donatella Versace-because it was the most satisfying thing I had all week.

WALK OF SHAME SUNDAY 9/29/13

Hey Pretty People! Today I'm starting a new blog feature-WALK OF SHAME SUNDAYS! It's my weekly recap about all the unholy mess I've gotten myself into lately.

Weirdly, this week I actually didn't dabble in the dark side too much. However, I should confess that I did set up a couple of coffee dates with online dating dudes that might be slightly inappropriate. As usual, I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt.  One is for this Tuesday and the other is on Friday. So, we shall see!

*Obviously, if they show me their dick in a parking lot or do anything else that might be construed as ridiculously wrong, you will be the first to know. Promise! *

In my free time, I also wandered around half heartedly doing housework, eating far too many chocolate chip cookies *I'm not saying how many. More than is socially acceptable but less than a binge. You do the math* At a karaoke party Friday night I chose Billy Joel's Moving Out as my solo number.  *Not a huge Billy Joel fan, I just love yelling, Heart Attack-Ack -Ack-Ack-Ack at the top of my lungs. Try it sometime. It's awesome* and most shameful of all, I downloaded Miley Cyrus's Wrecking Ball from iTunes Saturday night at 2am. *And I was dead sober so really, there is no excuse for that kind of reckless behavior*

There you have it. My week in a nutshell. Not as embarrassing as going home at 3am with my panties in a wad and my eyeliner smeared halfway down my face...but still not my proudest moment. x

MAD, BAD AND OBSESSED WITH PLAID

I'm a redhead.

I'm super proud of this fact. Cause frankly, Gingers rule! However, it hasn't always been easy growin up red. *Suck it Jay-Z, you got nothing on me!* My people are Scottish and Irish. I'm so pale that I sparkle in the sun just like a teenage vampire. And I'm stocky. It's as if God decided to make my calves strong and my hips huge so that I could work in the fields longer...in between bouts of giving birth to one of my many litters of children of course. *Which would be awesome if Braveheart  was looking to find him a wife but men these days usually prefer a little less meat on the bone, or just prefer to bone really skinny chicks, which I'm not.*

Have you ever tried to put a pleated kilt over a big, fat ass? *Sooooo, not a good look.* Neither are the thick white socks that come with it whose only purpose as far as I can tell is to make my calves closely resemble a Medieval Times turkey leg. *These are the childhood traumas that haunt my dreams, people. Welcome to my nightmare.*

I grew up close to the beach in Orange County but instead of surfing, I spent weekends going to The Highland Games, listening to bagpipe music and being forced to eat liver and onions (plus bacon) every Sunday night. And you don't even want to know about the haggis...trust me.

*So, yes, basically I am that little girl from Brave but without the castle and mad archery skills.*

Being that my people are Gordon Highlanders, my entire life I've loved plaid but lately I've noticed that the world is trying to steal its thunder. It's like everyone wants in on the
#PlaidFad. Farmers, Golfers, Japanese Schoolgirls, hipsters, grumpy old men, hardcore punks, popstars, cowboys, A&F douchelords and Ren Faire role players. They are all mad for plaid.

 

 

 

 

 It's not fair, because as a ginger I feel that plaid belongs to us. It's our special right to wear it...not the world's. Redheads notoriously get shafted. We're shorthand for; cranky, unruly, angry, weird, strange, oversexed outsiders. And while *Yeah, that's pretty much true*, who wants to be reminded of that constantly? We lack the ability the tan, we're referred to as Pippi Longstocking by unfunny strangers on the street and we're the step-children nobody wants. At least let us have the fashion we are entitled to.

I say that we should start a #RedheadRevolution and take back what is rightfully ours...plaid! I nominate either Rupert Grint or Ewan McGregor as our trusted leader. Now, who's with me? *If you had deducted with your "scary good" sleuthing powers that my nomination was a sadly transparent and publicly desperate attempt to get either of these super hot gingers to contact me, you would be correct. Way to go Nancy Drew.*

So, problem solved! Redheads will hereafter reign supreme, cloaked in signature plaid which belongs solely to us! Now if I could only find a Scottish man who is willing to date a partner with two legs, I'd be all set.