AT&T, I Do Hate Thee

There is a name for my pain, and it is AT&T.

I have been stuck in a downward spiral of ridiculousness for days trying to sort out my account with them. Is it because I'm trying to cure cancer? Negative. Fighting to instill world peace? Not even close. My roommate is moving and I'm trying to take over our existing U-Verse account. One that's already hooked up. Period, end of story. And with this simple action I have started a chain reaction of moronic incompetency that would make George Bush seem a good candidate for degree in rocket science.

Ever since I picked up the phone to call these idiots I have been lied to, cheated on, and told everything was my fault. From the hag that forced us to initially cancel the account and open a new one (in an effort to make a sale) to the manager that lied about my current roommate's password so as to say that was the reason I couldn't switch over, this whole ordeal has been an absolute nightmare. I want to sue them for making me break out. Did they hold an interview one day for the dumbest people on earth and hire them all or what?

AT&T, I hate your guts. I truly wish I was content watching paint peel off my wall so I could avoid you forever but I need my DVR, so I'm stuck with you jerks. I can't wait for you to go out of business one day so I can have my cable back. That is all.

Proof That God (and Birds) Have a Sense Of Humor.

I woke up this morning feeling outstanding.  I got plenty of sleep.  My busy days at work would slow today.  And for once I wasn't sick.  Or hungover.  I vowed that today, nothing was going to alter my sense of euphoria.

Then I got down to the parking lot to start my car.  My little blue hybrid I just washed not 4 days ago.  My lovely little driving machine I enjoy showing off at work because it looks like a Lexus (until a Lexus pulls up).  And wouldn't you know, some thoughtless piece of crap bird had decided to turn it into just that: a piece of crap.

I'm not talking about the occasional plop of dookie that happens to land on the roof of your car.  I'm talking about a full on shit massacre of my poor rear windshield.  Just look!

Worst thing is, it wasn't like that when I went to bed at night.  The little bastard took it upon himself to find my car out of all the others and turn it into a standing portapotty.  I even have a covered carport, so he had to crawl under the roof and unload his nasty ass while sitting down comfortably on my roof, like Michael Moore after 3 burritos.  Sick.

And if that wasn't enough, I was luckly enough to discover a moth carcass so neatly attached to the roof near the driver's side door.  Upon closer inspection you will find it is not really a moth carcass at all, but a dried up turd in the shape of a moth the bird's stomach obviously couldn't digest.  Kinda like corn.

Thus my euphoric mood turned to one of both frustration, disgust and mild hysterics.  I guess it's time to wash the car again...

Ten Things That Need to Retire Before Summer Begins...

Snuggies...for anyone.

Reality shows about realities we don’t care to see.  Like super-bad cake gangstas.

Swiffer commercials about inanimate objects turning into perverts.

Blithe idiocy and flesh colored beards.

Scary movies and shows.

Theft.

Tiger Woods. And his balls.

Going gaga for Lady Gaga when she's clearly cookoo.

Arizona.

Smizing.

Casa Hot Mess

Ok I’m back. Been on a little hiatus fueled by yet another work conference and an unexpected illness.

So where was I all this time? Monterey, California. Beautiful place. Although in my opinion it couldn’t hold a candle to my time in New Orleans.

Why? Number one: it’s freezing there. Think a cross between Alaska and the North Pole. There is a constant biting wind, and it’s constantly biting you right in the face. Number two: not a whole lot to do there. There is only one real club downtown, and it was filled up with pre-pubescent fake-id carrying 21-year-olds before you could say “Jagerbomb.” The food was absolutely outstanding, however.

But my favorite experience of Monterey had to be the crazy excuse for a hotel I was made to stay in! Casa Munras. More like Casa Mocos. Here’s the lowdown on this place:

1. Only the registration area was quaint and styled. The rest of the compound was laid out like an old insane asylum. Very creepy. Weird sections of abandoned building with prominent “Keep Out! Unfit to Inhabit” signs. It felt like a Resident Evil video game.

2. Something was terribly wrong with my bathroom. The toilet required a step-stool for me to reach it. The shower head came all the way to crotch level. Then I realized: they put me in the “special” room. Nice job guys.

3. I had a gorgeous view….of the parking lot. And even that was blocked by an enormous and unnecessary bush.

4. When I went to open the shutters to gain a little more of my bush view, mosquitoes came out. Big, healthy mosquitoes. They were living there more comfortably in this craphole than I was apparently.

5. My television refused to work with the remote. But it would randomly turn on at sporadic intervals during the night. I expected the chick from The Ring to emerge and turn me into a pile of green goo at any moment.

6. The heater was not only archaic, but possessed. It was one of those stupid boxes that rests in the wall on the floor, offering warmth to a circumference of about 1 foot. I used the dial to crank that bitch all the way up to 80 (remember, I was in Alaska). Then every time the heater kicked on the dial screamed. Not a low whine, I mean the painful howl of a cat being tossed in a blender or Paula Abdul when she runs out of painkillers. A very comforting sound at 3am.

The only plus was it was situated about .5 miles from the actual conference. Yes, I had to walk miles every day to go to work. But at least no one else could see where I was staying. Although I’m pretty sure they could vaguely hear the howl of Paula Abdul, somewhere in the distance….

Yeah, here's the promise on the website.....
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
Here's what you really get.  At no additional charge!

Thank You Letter Thursday

Alright, so all my fellow bloggers have a little segment once a week and I’m starting to feel a little left out. Or lame. Or both.

So in the spirit of conformity I would like to start my own: Thank You Letter Thursday. Based on the impeccable and poised writing style of Jimmy Fallon on Late Night, I would like to send thank you letters to some of my favorite annoyances. This week is dedicated to airlines, due to all the travel I’m experiencing.

Thank you, Terror Threat Alert System. Your pink hearts, orange stars, yellow moons system works wonders. You forgot purple, which stands for no-one-gives-a-shit-because-we-all-wonder-how-this-benefits-us-at-all.

Thank you, TSA, for doing such a thorough job of checking bags that you allowed me to get through with the can of mace I forgot in my purse. I guess it’s more important that my flip-flops be scanned thoroughly, right? See Terror Threat Alert System color purple.

Thank you, creepy steward guy on the plane, for leering at me and then asking where the “pretty” friend I came on the plane with was. Rude that you don’t think I’m pretty, even rudder for not realizing I came on the plane alone. Now I’m not only not pretty but slightly invisible.

Thank you, stewardesses, for adamantly insisting I turn off my iPod before we take off.  Because the little bit of power put off by it will surely cause the plane to fall from the sky.

Thank you, outhouse plane lavatory, for allowing me something to ponder during my otherwise boring flight. Really, where does all that stuff go?

Thank you, fasten seatbelt sign, for always coming on right as I need to get up and pee.

Thank you, TV in the back of each airplane seat, for taunting and teasing me the entire 4-hour flight with promises of good shows I could be watching were I not a cheap bastard refusing to pay you $6 with the easy swipe of my debit card.

Thank you, SkyMall Magazine, for showing me all sorts of neat and nifty contraptions I dream of owning. Like a constipated owl figurine fan for $80.

Thank you, Continental Airlines, for possessing the genius to schedule my connection flights only 30 minutes apart. And for running late on take-off. And for taxing forever once we arrived. AND for parking the plane in gate C-34 when my connection flight, now leaving in 5 minutes, is in gate E-15. Running across the airport with a carry-on bag after my hog fest in New Orleans was exactly what I was looking for.

Thank you, mini bottles of Jack Daniels on the plane. No really, thank you.

Miss C in the Big Easy: Prologue

This will be my last post on New Orleans, promise!  It's just that New Orleans was a phenomenon, a crazy alternate universe that can only be described by living it yourself. I want to leave my journey by feeling grateful I was there and retelling some of the highlighted items I grew to appreciate about the city.

Stuff I loved:
1. The food. Amazing! I can’t believe I have now returned to my regular California diet of leaves and twigs. Sooner is better than later though, as I think I gained about 20 pounds.

2. The nightlife. Crazy! It was so fun to walk down the street and find a place to go every two feet, each one better than the last

3. The fact that they won’t let you leave the bar with a glass. They give you a huge plastic cup to pour it in and encourage you to walk the streets like a lush. My kind of place!

4. The music. Going to a place where music fills the streets, where it acts as the blood in the veins of the city, is a wonderful thing

5. The folks. Meeting Southern folks with Southern hospitality and country folks with attitude to boot was a great experience

6. The strange accents. I couldn’t understand a thing some people said. But they said everything with passion and conviction, and that’s good enough for me!

7. Tee-shirts and beer stores. No explanation necessary, just awesome. Get your souvenirs and your drink on!

Stuff I thought was either creepy or strange but dammit l have to mention them anyway:
1. Pizza and daiquiri places. There was one on every single corner, highlighted with tacky neon signs like it was the hippest nightclub. I saw more of these than gas stations. Seriously, who thought up that combination?

2. The smell of the city. Monday wasn’t too bad. Smelled like smoke. By the last day they had left the trash out all week, so the city reeked of sewage, trash, cigars, and dirt. It took me a week to wash that out.

3. Brothels. Ok, they were strip clubs, but I was reminded of the brothels in the old west where half naked girls stood on the corner trying to lure drunken men into the bars to spend all their cash. Seriously, women stood in the doorways in thongs. Pictures of porn were taped to the walls. Sick.

4. Taxi drivers that thought they owned the road. They tried to kill people on multiple occasions.

5. Buses that thought they owned the road. They would literally pull a giant U-turn in the middle of the street and hold up traffic for 10 minutes. Dude, you’re a huge bus! You can’t do that!

6. Pedestrians that thought they owned the road. People in New Orleans don’t follow traffic signals while on foot. At all. If the cars aren’t that close, they just dump themselves onto the road. Hell, they even did that a few times when the cars WERE close. Death wish anyone?

7. Hurricanes and other deadly fruity drinks. I call them hangovers in a glass. And devil juice.

8. Saints trying to save all of us sinners. Yes, Bourbon street was not only crawling with drunks, but infested with bible thumpers. Each one claiming the second coming of Christ and we were all going to hell. One yielded a giant crucifix in the street. Man, you’re ruining my buzz! If you want to banish the devil from NO, go after those awful hurricane drinks.

And yet through the good and the bad, the pretty and the pretty ugly, I had myself a blast. I couldn’t do it every day, but it sure was fun. Next time I go I’ll make sure it’s for vacation and not work. I think I could handle a few more of those hurricanes if I didn’t have to be up in the morning working a show.

Anyway, thank you New Orleans for being you! Until we meet again….Corey out.

 
 
 
So long evil devil juice!

Miss C in the Big Easy: Day 3

*Post dated from 4/21 due to sheer laziness.

One of a million daiquiri and pizza joints.  Why?

Hard to wake up today. We took the clients out for a game of golf, which was actually really fun but still hard work. Acting as the snack cart and personal concierge isn’t as easy as it sounds.

When I got back I took a well deserved nap. Woke up recharged and ready to tackle my last evening in the Big Easy. Having found the opportunity to purchase flat shoes from the local Payless (what has two thumbs and brings only high heels to New Orleans?*thumbs pointed at me*: Dis girl right here!), I had a new confidence that I could walk around all night long without becoming an invalid. I gathered my group and we headed off to Oceana, a cool little place just off the main street.

Once again, the food here was delicious! I had pounds of alligator sausage with fettuccini in a delicious Cajun red sauce. My party was served the restaurant’s famous crab cakes and fried oysters, which I could not partake in due to my unfortunately shellfish allergy. I know, sucks. But don’t worry, I overindulged in the crème brulee for desert, not to mention the numerous stops at the local hot dogs stands prevalent on every corner. Can you hear me getting fatter?

We waddled out of the restaurant and once again made our way to the fav spot, Pat’s. By now I was sick of it. Somehow I managed to get some people out of there and headed back to the karaoke bar for another round of diva-ness. The karaoke dj nicknamed me “Hot Ass Corey,” a name I think I’ll keep for awhile. Especially since people I had never met were calling me that on the street when I returned to the hotel. Yes people, I am taking over New Orleans!

"Hot Ass Corey" in effect bitches!

Ended up at an amazing fast food place called Krystal at 3:30am. I was so excited to eat a bunch of burgers that reminded me of White Castles. I was approached by another homeless man asking for change. His words were, and I quote, “I am not going to use this money to buy food. I promise. I’m going to by myself alcohol. I promise.” I gave him two bucks. Perfect end to the night.

Before I returned to the hotel, I stood outside and took a good look around as I attempted to take a mental picture of the city I was about to leave tomorrow. There was something I was really going to miss about this wonderful, dirty, disgustingly beautiful place. I am so glad I got to experience it. What a blast!

Bourbon Street by day.  Peace out NO!

Miss C in the Big Easy: Day 2

*Post dated from 4/20 due to my inability to remember to pull my blogs off my work computer, which is all I had in NO, and put them on my personal computer, leaving me blog-less over the weekend.

Evil sick devil juice

However wonderful the evening was last night, multiply that by 10 and reverse it to get how I felt the next day. Awful! The beautiful beating drums were replaced by a pounding headache, and my stomach was planning a mutiny against me. And I had to work all day. Imagine the fun!

I did feel better as the day progressed, especially after lunch at the famous Mother’s restaurant. I really enjoyed walking into this authentic Southern Louisiana eatery, served cafeteria style by locals with country accents and attitudes. Had my first po’ boy, a huge sandwich made with fried catfish. Completely drowned it with Louisiana hot sauce. Delicious!  

Cat fish po' boy.  Yummmm!!!!!

After work it was time to prepare for our client dinner at Emeril’s New Orleans. Now I love Emeril. Who doesn’t? His cooking shows are entertaining and I swear I can feel myself getting fatter with every Creole inspired dish he prepares on TV. So I was extremely excited.

And the restaurant lived up to its promise! We were seated in the very hip wine room, a semi-private room surrounded by all the fine wines the restaurant carries. Can you say heaven? The service was the best I’ve ever seen. I sat at the head of the table like some type of queen (maybe a karaoke queen?) and help pick the wine we shared. As our appetizers, salads and dinners were served, 12 waiters arrived with 12 plates for the 12 guests we had, placing the meals in front of us in perfect unison. I felt like I was on an episode of the Tudors! The cuisine was absolutely stupendous. This former vegetarian actually ordered a mouthwatering blue-cheese and wine vinaigrette rib-eye. I’ll never go back to being an herbivore. If you get a chance to go to New Orleans, this is the place to stop.

After Emeril’s it was back to Bourbon Street to reconvene at Pat’s. This time we stood atop the private patio, allowing me a chance to throw beads at unsuspecting passers-by. Eventually ended up at a local joint were they sang live hits from the 90’s. Danced my little (big?) butt off, but inevitably decided to not go big that night but go home instead. Yesterday’s festivities had left me with achy feet from trolling the cobblestone streets and a hole in my stomach from the evil devil juice know as a hurricane. Grabbed a hot dog from the stand for no reason at all on my way back and was approached by a homeless man looking for change.

HOMELESS MAN: Can you spare some change?
ME: I don’t have any change. Sorry. I have this hot dog….
HOMELESS MAN: YES!!! I’ll take it.

Thank god, I really didn’t need it. And I got to do a good deed for the evening!

Miss C In the Big Easy: Day 1

*Post dated from Monday 4/19 due to my inability to write while drinking

The joy I felt waking up in the morning knowing that I would be heading off to New Orleans, a city that has forever been on my list of places to see before I die, was indescribable.

Boarded a plane headed for Houston to connect me to my final destination and found myself seated next to two incredibly hot young men. The 3 hour flight felt like about twenty minutes as we laughed and talked of the best new spots to hang out in San Diego, sipping multiple Jack & Cokes. Nothing like chatting it up with cuties to pass the time. Our arrival in Houston yielded me only about 45 minutes to catch my connecting flight, so I passed them my card in hopes to hang out with them in the near future.

I grabbed my rental car and set foot onto the land known as the "Big Easy." The beach city life I had grown up in was a distant memory. Surrounded now by swampland, rusted abandoned buildings, street lights that hang from wires and multiple sno-cone stands, New Orleans completely emulated all the visions I had of what the Deep South would look like.

Upon arriving downtown to my hotel, the Crowne Astor, I took all of 30 minutes to go from airport grungy to nightlife diva and met up with my coworkers and clients at Pat O'Brien's, a popular local tourist trap famous for humongous hurricane drinks and even more humongous hangovers (which to my detriment I discovered the hard way the next day). And so my first night in New Orleans began!

After leaving Pat's we walked down famous Bourbon Street and wandered into a little dig called Sammy's, where I tried my first fried alligator. Contrary to popular belief, it does not taste like chicken! More like a combination of calamari and turkey. Actually quite delicious.

Bourbon Street

The step by step of the evening escapes me. Fueled by hurricanes and excitement we traveled up and down Bourbon. What a town! There was music erupting from every pore of the street. Jazz, rock, blues, hip-hop. From the famous clubs to the back-lit bars to the performers beating drums on the street, it was a cacophony life, making my blood race and my heart sing. People stood on the edge of old wrought-iron balconies above brothels and bars, throwing massive quantities of beads and people as if playing a game of horseshoes. And for no reason at all, just to have fun. It felt like an adult Disneyland. Pirates of the Caribbean to be exact. No wonder I was in heaven!

We ended up in a karaoke bar called the Cat’s Meow, which offered a limited selection of songs printed on a regular food menu. Kind of lame, but karaoke and I are old friends, so I got right up on that stage and sang my heart out. Couldn’t have asked for a better night!

Diva-ville.

Somehow I made it back to my hotel prepared to work the next morning. I threw my pile of colored beads on the floor and crashed my head on the pillow, the lullaby of jazz drums singing me to sleep in the distance.

Bada-ba, bada-ba-du-bada, bada-ba…..

Droid Does Everything (But Speak English)

The Motorola Droid. Quit possible one of my favorite purchases to date. That little thing truly does everything. It turns the ringer off for me at night when I go to sleep and puts it on vibrate Mon-Fri while I’m at work. The background wall paper tells me what time of day it is by changing its picture during sunrise, sunset, day and night. I can customize just about every single aspect of the phone from individual text messages to weather widgets. In a nutshell, it’s freakin’ awesome.

With the rollout of the 2.1 software came an exciting new feature called talk to text in which you can talk to the phone for your emails and text messages and it will type out what you say. Too bad Droid doesn’t really speak English. Or any other decipherable language. I’ve had nothing but good laughs from some of the stuff Droid spits out when I’m trying to respond to texts. Like this morning when my friend sent me a text asking if my stomach, which hurt earlier, felt better. I replied via the voice option, “thanks, it does.” Droid replied, “thanks id tags.”

So just for the hell of it I thought I would try some popular movie phrases on my Droid.

Me: It’s nothing personal Sonny, it’s just business.
Droid: Personal funny business (yes, yes it is)

Me: I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.
Droid: All mega man offer he can’t refuse (remember that game? Ah, Nintendo)

Me: 2nd star to the right and straight on until morning.
Droid: 2nd start to the right on dental morning.

Ok, at least we can kind of see where Droid may have heard the wrong thing. Then there were the phrases that just made no sense when Droid rehashed them:

Me: You’re dumber than a bag of hammers.
Droid: Cumberland of work.

Me: Don’t be hatin’ you fool!
Droid: Gumby Houston.

What? I thought I would give Spanish a try:

Me: Muy bien (translation: very good)
Droid: We b n.

Me: No me gusta esta programa (translation: I don’t like this program)
Droid: The best program (getting defensive here!)

Me: No me gusta pinche puta (I don’t like it f-ing bitch)
Droid: Appeal to the present (guess Droid doesn’t like Spanish cuss words)

Then I started trying to talk directly to Droid. Give it a little tough love. It replied back. I am not making any of this up:

Me: Droid will your program ever work?
Droid: Drug rehab program ever work (how rude!!!)

Me: No really, are you ever going to work right or will you always mess up?
Droid: we’ve ever want to work right are you a weakling nasa.

Getting nasty!

Me: Quit being such a stupid bitch!
Droid: I think you’re a stupid ######!

I swear it said that!

Me: Now I think you’re mocking me, are you mocking me?
Droid: I think you’re mocking near you mocking me.

Ok, only slightly retarded, but Droid and I made up. I’ve decided that the coolness of all the features Droid has to offer aren't lessened by the fact that it doesn’t listen very well. Most of the men in my previous relationships didn't listen well either and I didn’t kick them to the curb because of it. I kicked them to the curb because they sucked. And Droid kicks ass.

Me: It’s ok Droid, you’re still my favorite phone and I love you.
Droid: If that ain’t right you’re still my favorite found an island.

Ah, I love my phone.

Peace....Finally!

Never thought in a million years I would find inspiration and solace from a San Diego Chamber of Commerce event. And yet, here I am.

Yesterday started as ordinary as any. Still woke up, worked out and spent 9 hours of life at my desk. Right at the 5 o'clock mark I packed up my stuff and headed to the Ronald McDonald House where last night's event was to be hosted. I actually coordinate volunteer efforts for them in the form of a little drive I have aptly named "Toiletries for Families" in an effort to obtain unused hotel toiletries from all of our company travel for use by the families of ill children residing at the House. As I walked into the beautifully remodeled structure, all of the steadily rising rage and confusion building up this past week suddenly melted away. I remembered where I was and who this very building was created for, and it forced me to stop for a moment and be grateful for all that I have.

I have my health. True, I am subjectively neurotic and a control freak, but dammit I spent an hour at spin class yesterday morning and plan to run on lunch today. I am healthy! And I have my family; a wonderful, loving, complete family. The families at the House are struggling to keep their's together. I have a great job, and clothes on my back, and food (sometimes too much) in my belly. I am the luckiest person in the world!

And just like that, peace. No more worry about disappearing men, online dating, or what tomorrow will hold. Just an overwhelming sense that right then, in that moment, for me, everything was going along just fine. And I was grateful.

I want to leave you with a video of some incredibly inspiring and overwhelmingly talented children that played jazz for us during the event. A little off the subject? Maybe. But the shear genius and passion exhibited by these kids added to my attainment of peace for the evening. To have a passion like that again! They reminded me of a time when I found that much love behind the keys of a piano, only 18 years ago (yes I'm old). Not to mention they impressed the hell out of me. Enjoy!

A Day of Weird

This has been one of the weirdest days and it's not even over!  First, the guy I've been dating for a tiny bit, a guy I've talked to either via phone or text for the past two weeks, just up and disappears.  Poof!  No sign of him anywhere.  Then, a girl I've had beef with for over 8 months because she hated the fact I lived on the same planet as her decides to randomly write me a heart-felt apology email today via Facebook.  THEN, I find out they want me to wear tan slacks with the bright blue and gray shirt I'm forced to don at our tradeshow in New Orleans next week.

I know, tan pants with blue and gray?  Sick!!!!!!!!

No really, I normally can make sense of what the universe is trying to tell me, but today seems like one of those strange dreams I can't wake up from.  You know, the kind where you really have to go to the bathroom but every toilet is dirty in the public restroom you're in that just so happens to be in outskirts Kansas and Tyra Banks is there hogging up the vanity.

Or maybe that's just me. 

So here's how I handle my weird; I put out an APB out on the guy (meaning I monitor the news stations for any sudden accidents but for the most part chalk it up to he's not that into me), accept the apology from the chick (but question the intentions behind it in my response email) and maintain the position that I do not now, nor will I ever, own, a pair of tan slacks.  And if I did, they would never go with an electric blue shirt.  Because that's just weird.

Fingers crossed nothing else weird happens.....

The Emasculation of a Generation

I write this in the hopes of helping single men understand part of what women are thinking. There is tide of singledom that is plaguing our generation and it must be stopped.

Here’s my experience with dating for the last few years: I meet a guy. He pursues me for a few phone calls. Then I take it upon myself initiate the first phone call/text message/Facebook chat or whatever. Suddenly, the responsibility to contact him consistently becomes mine. The woman. If I don’t call/text/write he never will. Until of course I get that text two weeks later asking why I didn’t call.

Huh? Since when did that become my responsibility?

Case in point: I’ll call this guy Team Jacob because he looked like Taylor Lautner. Team Jacob called me a few times. We went on two really great dates. Then I tried to text message him because I figured it was my turn. Got one word answers. So I waited for him to text me. I did receive a text….two weeks later, asking why I hadn’t “hit him up.”

And the guy was in genuine shock as to how I had gotten tired of waiting around for him and had moved on.

Men, this idea that women are supposed to chase you has just got to stop! Yes, the equalization of the sexes has come a long way, but not so far as to reverse the roles completely! Most women want a MAN, the James Bond type that hones you in on his radar and goes in for the kill. A hunter who pursues his prey in a cunning and sexy way, engaging in a tireless chase until he earns his prize. We don’t want you to let us plan the whole date from first call to the reservation and just have you show up to pay. Goddammit, grab hold of us, slap us over your shoulder and drag us away! Growl, roar!!!!

Ok, that’s maybe taking it too far.

But in all seriousness, women are not going to turn into masculine creatures so men shouldn’t adopt all the qualities of feminine ones. Just because women are more take-charge in the work place doesn’t mean men can lose that take-charge charm in relationships we love about them. I know women also carry responsbilities in making a relationship emerge and/or move forward, but I can't even get to the part where we come in if I'm too busy doing all the work getting the thing off the ground. 

So please, for the sake of MANkind, redeem your man points and nut up! Call that girl!

And excuse my feminine rant. It’s a girl thing.

Birthday Card to My New 30-Year-Olds

One of my really good friends just turned 30 last night.  I am still reeling from her crazy party.

And in my state of vegetation and recovery today, I really started thinking about the time I turned 30.  I remember the fear, the utter denial of it all.  How the heck did I get to be 30?  Remember all those cool things I said I would have/do by the time I was 30 (have a house, be married to a fabulous man, have two children, be a gazillionaire?  What the heck happened?

Then the day came and went like any other.  I let my friends buy me martinis and passed out in my friend's guest room, only to wake up the same clutzy, neurotic girl I was the day before.  I did not have any more gray hair or wrinkles than I did the day before.  In fact, the only thing that was around to remind me I had moved into my third decade of existance was the stupid census surveys that I swear are only around to make sure you know that you are aging.

"Check the age group that applies:  20-24, 25-29, 30-34....."

Yeah thanks stupid census crap for reminding me I'm moving up in boxes.

Anyway in like 2 months I'll be moving on up to 31.  And you know what?  I'm cool with it.  I actually really enjoy being in my 30's.  I have and outstanding family, great friends, live in the most beautiful city in the US and am healthier than I have ever been.  What is there to complain about?  I made it this far, and I am greatful.

So to all of you out there turning 30 this year, have no fear.  It's really a pretty awesome age, at least in my opinion.  This is the time you really begin to discover just who you are and who you want to be.  You stop thinking you know everything and start focusing on all the things you want to learn about.  Starting with yourself.

Happy Birthday new 30-year-olds.  And welcome to my box.

Pinkie Swear

I missed my belly dancing class tonight at Champion due to an unforeseeable act of hot mess-ness.

Last night after watching the incredibly cheesy craphole only salvageable by moderately outstanding CGI movie know as Clash of the Titans, I was escorted back to my apartment by my date to fill our minds up with the intelligent humor that is Chris Rock’s stand-up. As I went to close the sliding glass door, I turned to say something witty and irresistibly charming to said date – only to slam it right on my pinkie finger.

What is it about cute boys that turns me from Diva to Dumbass?

Woke up this morning with a black nail and the knowledge I could actually feel the steady beating of my heart in my little finger. I spent the day wearing a lovely metal contraption. Look, RoboCorey!

And seeing as I couldn’t really type today, I decided to ponder the uses of the pinkie finger. Not having it really made these things difficult for me today:

1. As I said, typing.  Guess I couldn't work too much today
2. Doing dishes. Yeah, those are going to hang out in the sink tonight
3. Folding laundry. I have other clothes, right?
4. Driving a car. No really, it was hard
5. Cleaning ANYTHING. I was really sad about that one.

However, in the midst of this tragic accident, I actually discovered some things you CAN do perfectly fine without a pinkie finger!

1. Sitting around and lazily watching last week’s episodes of 24 and America’s Next Top Model
2. Grocery shopping at Trader Joe’s (the metal splint garners sympathy and gets the guys there to do everything for you)
3. Buying/pouring/sipping a delicious pinot noir
4. Devouring a box of dark chocolate and almond cookie
5. Taking stupid pictures of your bionic finger
6. And of course, typing seeming to work out fine when it’s for your blog.

A Moment of Clarity...and Inspiration

So in skimming the blogspace of my fellow bloggers this morning I came across one by Richard that really became the theme of my day: Inspiration. What inspires you? Who do you inspire?

So I read Richard’s blog then went about my day as normal. As lunch approached I prepared for our office Walk it Off day, a thing I started to help motivate my coworkers into getting out of the office and walking during their lunch. See, while I work for an outstanding company, the nature of our business breeds a lot of workaholics, and frankly it bothers me to see so many people sitting at their desk for 10 hours, never seeing the light of day and consuming massive quantities of soda and fast food. I am a super hippie. So I started Walk it Off.

Last week’s debut was a hit. Seven people joined me in a hike up the hill to the lake around the corner. A coworker and I walked a total of 4 miles. So fun! Then today, as I skipped from cubicle to cubicle merrily asking everyone if they were ready to go, my heart sank deeper and deeper only to realize no one wanted to participate today. Everyone was too tired. Too busy. Too lazy.

So I went alone. I marched up that hill, cursing under my breath at how lame everyone was being. Angry that no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t seem to inspire the people in my office to be healthy. 10 minutes later my subconscious delivered my ego a mental bitch-slap.

“Who cares?” said my mind to my brain. “Who cares what everyone else is doing? You just ran a mile all on your own and didn’t even notice it.”

Mind you, I am the girl with asthma, allergies, a bad knee, bad back and bad joints. 6 months ago I had trouble walking fast, much less running. Now I can easily run a mile during lunch and make it through a day at work. And all because 6 months ago I decided that hey, I want to try running a 5k. Ok, so I run/walked it. Big deal, I did it! So guess what, I do inspire someone…ME!

I guess that’s my inspirationally themed message of the day. If you really want to inspire people, you have to begin with yourself. Go out and conquer challenges you never thought possible. Show yourself you can overcome ANYTHING, even with the odds stacked neatly against you. Who knows? Maybe you’ll actually inspire someone else in the process. :-)


The medal from my 5k. Yeah!

4 Wedding (Drinks) and an Earthquake

Interesting weekend for sure! I began my adventure by attending ‘ere wedding I spoke of last post. Selected my staple white lacey dress fit for a ceremony of matrimony and prepared myself for an evening of dance, dining and drink.

What I did not prepare for was my beautiful San Diego sunshine to evaporate into an icy chill as we trekked north to Carlsbad for the event. Nor did I realize there are still people who insist on outdoor weddings, even when it feels like Alaska. And it was moist and humid. Did I mention my hair is allergic to water?

So my fabulous ‘do went from beautifully curled coif to cat-out-of-a-dryer in about 5 minutes flat. To add insult to crappery, the biting wind relentlessly blew my fuzz ball in the air repeatedly. By “I do” I was cat-out-of-a-dryer-left-on-the-back-of-a-motorcycle-driving-80mph-for-5-hours. Oh yeah, I was sexy.

So in an effort to calm my stricken vanity, I proceeded to down 4 glasses of Cabernet (the host bar was ending after only an hour! What can I say!). That’s how I ended up with not only these gems but also performing Tik Tok by Kesha to a crowd of amused observers:

Woke up Easter Sunday feeling exhausted yet ready to duke it out with some hair-of-the-dog at the Wavehouse in Mission Beach. Good times. Even began to feel normal again. That is until the ground suddenly shook fiercely below me, causing me to lose my drink and almost my lunch. Yes folks, a 7.2 earthquake!

My guess is God was trying to inadvertently stop my wino ways.

Here Comes the Single Girl!

Today I’m heading to a wedding. A beautiful, spring wedding.

And as I prepare for it (currently basking in the glory of the sun as I type this blog) I think about the bride-to-be. Right now there is a woman I don’t know (I’m going as my friend’s date) who is preparing for this extra special day. She’s probably had her manicure and pedicure already, done her hair and makeup, fought with her bridesmaids a couple of times and had several mini-nervous breakdowns. Kind of makes me wonder what my special day would/will be like.

What surprises me though is how much I don’t wonder about “that day” anymore. When I was in my early twenties I figured I would have been married for years by now. Probably even have squeezed out a couple of kids. Now I’m far more content to squeeze into my size 25 jeans since my pelvis hasn’t been ravished by a screaming infant. I still prefer happy hours at a bar to “napping hours” on the couch, as married couples are prone to enjoy. Will I ever grow up?

In truth I was never that type of girl. Never rummaged through bride magazines, don’t have my perfect dress picked out, haven’t synthesized that amazing venue in my head complete with 5,000 flowers, white doves and puffy bridesmaid dresses. In fact, the thrifty cynic in me cringes at the thought of spending $50 a head to serve dry chicken marsala to a bunch of people I don’t even really know. Wouldn’t that money be better suited on a $50 bottle of pinot at some distant and decadent spot in the Polynesian Islands?

Anyway, I’m definitely not trying to ruin this girl’s special moment. Kudos to you, soon-to-be-married couple! And the rest of you, please keep having weddings that I can attend. It’s an excuse for me to pull out that gorgeous dress that’s just too fancy otherwise, dance the night away, eat ridiculous amounts of food and drink copious amounts of champagne. All as a perfectly content single gal.

If I ever do get married though, I will only do so under the condition that one of these be my cake topper:

My Inner Animal

So I finally had the opportunity to load the pictures I took from the zoo the other day.  Funny how much some of the animals were able to strike a pose that reminds of myself at some point during my routine activities.  

Here's me when I first come out of the shower from washing my hair.  Yes people, my natural hair is a mix between Mufasa and Weird Al Yankovic.

And here I am after work with my roommate, watching American Idol.  I'm the one with the large posterior propped up in the air for no reason.

And look, this is exactly how I feel today after eating far too many Panera Bread sandwiches and cookies for our office celebration.  Give or take a few extra....parts.

This I found to be just a cool picture.  I'll say this is me warding off losers from my ridculous world of online dating. 

But so far, all joking aside, this has to be my absolute favorite.  It's just a pretty scene, one that gives me that warm fuzzy feeling and makes me happy (without laughing my ass off because I'm making fun of something).  I guess it reminds me most of family; of what I have and all I have to be grateful for.

Aww!!!  Go give the ones you love a hug for me!!!  :-D

Let's Try Champion Ballroom!

First night of Belly Dance at Champion Ballroom!  Super cute little studio.  I really want to see what they have to offer in the way of latin dance classes.  And get this....they're having a showcase performance on May 25th!  Obviously the goal is to butter up the teacher enough and wow her with my alluring shimmys so she'll allow me to participate this late in the game. 

Unfortunately at this time I think I may have frightened the poor teacher when I asked to set up my camera and tape the class for What's Next.  She was less than warm to me for the duration of the hour, only giving me the semblance of a smile when I assured her the tape would not end up on YouTube.  She'll like me though, eventually, if I can keep going back.  Money talks man.

So unfortunately I cannot keep my promise of posting a tape of class this time.  I'll try again when I can return to my regular studio A Time to Dance in Northpark.  However, I did manage to take a couple of pictures of my get-up after class.

Mind you, those abs WILL be a six pack.  Someday.  Fingers crossed.

The $5 Question

In an effort to completely forget about the Big Huh and all of his minions (a.k.a. the men I’ve met just like him), I’ve decided to turn myself into an exercise guru. I’m trading my evenings laden with happy hour margaritas to days filled with multiple workout routines. Sunday: 3 hours at the zoo walking up and down hills burning 525 calories. Monday: 1 hour aerobic hip-hop class burning 338 calories. Tuesday: 1 hour of cycling burning 390 calories. Also on Tuesday: 4 mile lunch walk burning another 290 calories. Tonight: belly dancing at Champion Ballroom burning a bunch of calories. Yes folks, I’m in “gonna exercise that man right outta my hair” mode.
And yet I can’t help but still wonder, what the hell happened? What made him disappear so randomly? Did my hair fall flat? Did I stumble into some bad lighting? What’s wrong with me?

Regardless, I really shouldn’t care, right? I’ve said my prayers to the Universe and I just need to trust that this is the correct path for me at this time. However, it’s kind of hard to trust that “everything happens for a reason” and just mosey on along when you are a self-obsessed, neurotic, control freak who needs answers for everything that goes on in life. Like me!

So if there’s anyone out there who can let me know what makes people flip the switch, anyone at all who knows what turns people from enthralled and attentive to complacent and non-existent from one day to the next, I will gladly and loudly proclaim you a God among men.

Or I’ll give you $5. You pick.

Ok....

The last post wasn't one of my finest.  A recipe resulting from a dash of bitterness and one too many margaritas.  Today though, as I returned home from my parents house and picked again at nails (a habit since birth), I was reminded again of the Big Huh.  He's once looked perfect on me,  but like my manicure he is chipping and fading away.  And when the polish on my nails begins to fade, I don't cry and vow never to wear nailpolish again.  I realize that's just the way things go, remove the old crusty polish and slap on a new coat. 

So this time I want to keep an open mind.  I don't want to curse the day I ever dated anyone and sink into a tantrum of epic proportions, causing me to repeat the cycle again in a few months when I've forgotten how disappointed I felt.  This kind of thinking only stunts the process and I don't learn a damn thing.  And each person we encounter was put here to allow us to learn and experience something, even if it's not the experience you necessarily wanted to have.

I'm still done with online dating for awhile.  I'm gaining weight from all the happy hour food during the week and let's face it, that's definitely not going to help me date more in the future!  But I'm not done dating.  And I'm not giving up.  I'm just going to have to trust the Universe has something else in store for me for the time being.  I have one question Universe:

What's next?

Online Dating Schmonline Dating

I really think I’m officially done with online dating. No, seriously, I’m over it. Finished. Finito. Terminado.

I thought it might be an interesting and fun way to pass the time. Maybe I would even find a special someone while I was along for the ride. But after yet another uncomfortable and nearly unbearable wasted hour on a “date” and another unanticipated disappointment from a flake posing as a nice guy (all in the same week), I’m ready for something a little less….stressful.

Here is the straw that broke my back:

The Big “Huh?”

This is the guy I was starting to like. We have had a few really nice dates and had a blast this past Thursday. He even introduced me to all his friends. Because we have been having so much fun and he really seemed to enjoy my company, I asked him if he would go with me to the zoo on Sunday because I had some free passes. At the time he gave an enthusiastic “yes!” This morning however I received a message from him saying he is now going surfing with his friends in Huntington, so I should probably take a friend instead. Huh? Nothing like being told “something better came up.” This guy has been nothing but respectful and reliable. Yet this action was really....retarded.

So what’s next? I’m off the online scene for a bit. Going to finish up some meetings with a few others I found on there and focus again on myself. Have a big trip coming up. Maybe I’ll find Mr. Right while I’m there. :-)

Back in the Game

I’m back!!!!


Yes I’m all healed up and back on the journey of working out like a maniac and trying to lose those last few inches. Summer’s coming, what can I say?

Belly dancing on Monday was a total blast! I can’t believe how good I’m getting already with only three classes under my belt. During class the teacher kept dancing right next to me and speeding up the routine. Not to be outdone even by the instructor, my hips took over my body and kept right in line with her, shimmying and shaking like there was no tomorrow. And it felt great! We looked like pro team competing for a prize. Alright, I exaggerate, but it looked pretty damn hot. If I keep this up I’ll be performing in no time. Videos of next class, I promise!

Although….no Monday night class next week so I’m thinking of taking one at a different studio. Expand the horizons a bit. I hear Champion Ballroom is pretty good….and Mary Murphy of So You Think You Can Dance owns that one….

On a side note, heading on a third date tonight with one of my online dating beaus. Wearing a hot little black tube dress. Let’s see if those belly dance classes are having a positive effect on my waistline…:-)

Why Me?

Why me?

Why, just when I’m getting started with belly dancing, with tackling something new and interesting, why does my ridiculous calf muscle decide to go rogue and fall apart on me?

I managed to make it to two classes. Then I received a heart rate monitor and decided my workout routine wasn’t quite up to par. So I stepped it up a bit. Got up to working out 5 days per week. Then comes Saturday and I knew I should rest. Knew I should just stand by and take it easy. But no, pride decided to take the reins of logic and directed me once more into the gym. To the elliptical. Where I ran a very fast 2.5 miles and ripped the muscle fibers of my right calf. Duh.

To top it off as I was leaving I saw a really cute guy heading to his office near the front door. Not wanting to be seen sweaty, sans makeup and injured I rushed toward the glass door in hopes of missing his gaze altogether. Just as I was about to reach the door, the friendly but inconvenient girl at the front desk exclaimed, “have a nice day!” Not one to ignore such a kind comment, I quickly craned my neck to say, “you too” before whipping my head around and reaching my escape haven….only to run face first into the glass window beside the door. Not only did it freaking hurt, but the cute guy, so nicely tucked away in his office, bolted out to see what the commotion was about. Embarrassed, red and beaten down I gave a nervous laugh and jetted out, dropping my towel back at the door in the process (which I realized once I had nearly reached my car). As I walked back to retrieve it under the un-sympathetic eyes of cute guy and the merciless laughter of front desk girl, I also managed to drop my keys, making me the ultimate hot mess of the universe! To top it off, my calf was non-functional the next day.

How’s that for a crappy day!

Needless to say I am feeling better slowly but surely and plan to return to dancing on Monday. Just as long as there aren’t any glass windows posing as doorways in my path prior to then.

Getting in the Groove

So I’ve conquered two belly dancing classes and already discovering just how difficult it really is. Like I’ve said before, I’ve taken Latin dance classes and Zumba classes which happen to incorporate a lot of hip-shaky moves comparable to belly dancing. However, no one told me the hips move in the opposite direction than they do in Latin. So here I am, shimmying across the room looking like some kind of epileptic lunatic with two left feet and rhythm obviously from another planet. Not to mention the constant use of “relaxed” arms. Kind of hard to achieve this calm look when my arms are about to fall off.


I don’t remember having this much trouble with Latin. Of course my love of Latin began with a series of Core Rhythms DVDs done safely in the comfort of my parent’s home. By the time I mustered enough courage to enter the classroom I had all but mastered the Latin hip shake (a difficult feat with a posterior as large as mine).

I’m not giving up though. Not even close. Just complaining a little. On a side note the instructor announced they would have the first performance on April 10th. A little soon for me, plus my friend’s birthday falls that day, but surprising nevertheless seeing as I was just wondering when I should be expecting to perform. Apparently they have them quarterly, so I’m thinking (hoping) July? By then I will be a true belly dancing diva.  Ok, well fingers crossed. :-)