so its the end of the world...

at least i have a date. i've finally gotten to a point in my life where i'm happy again. i'm having a little fun with my time, and then whamo, someone has to start screaming about the end of the world. i guess if it has to come i have something to hang my hat on - i had a date the night before.

and with my track record, i'm pretty sure this might actually be what causes the terrific earthquakes that tear our world apart. but then that might be a little to up on my self.

so i asked a friend what you should wear on your last possible date (and truthfully, this could be my last date even if the world doesn't end, but i digress). personally i'm thinking we pull out all the stops, which means sequins and feathers should be adorned. her suggestion was a tiara. and while i think that might be a bit much, i have to say i've seen one of our other friends wear all of that shit in her hair, and she seemed to pull it off...with the exception that it was at a funeral. but then i guess the end of days is a funeral of sorts, so apparently i'll be dressed appropriately...

and while i had not intended to sleep with this guy that i'm going on my very first date with, if he uses the line, baby the world is gonna end tomorrow, i might just be like - sigh, take me.

anyway - there is one gleaming piece of hope for us. again, from said friend "i'm pretty sure we're ok because #oprahday isn't until next Wednesday and even God himself wouldn't fuck with Oprah".

nuff said.

on another note, if all these heaven worthy people are about to be whisked off to the great unknown, i'd like to point out to the asshole that drove past three lanes of traffic dutifully waiting to get on the interstate this morning, you won't be going. there's your karma bitch.

so as we wait for the end, may you find a good beer, spend time with a good friend and get a good lay before the day is done. good luck to ya - and i'll see most of you in hell.

:) happy end of days

Who steals from old people? Honestly!

To the asshole that recently stole my grandparent's truck. You're an asshole. Enough said.

This is something I wrote when some similar asshole stole my purse a few years ago. I think it sums it up. Please enjoy -

The End of the Front Porch and the Fall of Civilization

When did it happen?  The end of the end. The day when everyone stopped caring about their neighbor.  Where were you when you realized it was all over?

For me it happened over the weekend, while at home, in my quaint little town home subdivision, modeled after the grand row homes of afore, I was robbed.

Yes, someone entered my garage, found the nerve to rifle through my car, and take my faux alligator, clearance rack knock off, purse.

Of course, once you realize your purse has disappeared, you find yourself talking yourself out of the possibility that someone would have stolen it. You rummage through every possible location you have ever put anything and yet, in the back of your mind, that nagging voice is telling you, somebody took it.

So why is it, in this day and age of constant badgering by the news media about how the world is truly going straight to hell that I wanted to believe that no one would wrong me in such a way?

After calling all my credit card companies, my banks, the credit bureaus, and everyone else I could think of, I sat down and in disbelief asked myself, why is that someone thought that they could do this?  What father left them in their youth, what tragedy had scarred them for life, what disillusionment from never quite making ends meet, did they suffer?

You may be saying that having my purse stolen in comparison to being raped, pillaged or otherwise permanently scarred, is a minute infraction on my personal rights, and you’d be right, but it seems to me that there is an underlying principle that seems to cause all wrongdoers to do wrong.  

And it isn’t any of those things the defense attorneys, the shrinks, or the Dr. Phils of the world say causes it. Because, my father left me in my youth, I’ve had more than my fair share of tragedy to overcome, and guess what, I’m 25, up to ass in school debt, and just trying to make it work out at the end of each month. But somewhere along the way, this asshole, excuse my language, decided that he was so hard up he needed to take from the perceived “haves” of the world? 

The true cause of the world’s demise…

I grew up in an idyllic world, I know that now. I grew up in a house that when we accidentally locked the front door once, I was elected to climb through the cracked bathroom window to let everyone in. I don’t think we even had keys to the doors in our house.

I grew up in the rural world. The place where when someone needed to pee, they stopped by, ran in, and told you about it at the basketball game on Friday night. I grew up in the place where people knew each other, talked to each other, talked about each other and while I ran away from that life, weary of “everyone knowing my name”, I understand now, why that is so important.

Without the checks and balances of the front porch neighborhoods, the world is going to hell in a handbasket. Those annoying people that knew your business at all times, are the original neighborhood watch. Whether it is at the corner coffee shop where the old folks gather to discuss the rotten children of today, or on the corner stoop where the same thing happens, America, and the rest of the world, needs to emphasize the way of life that came from everyone knowing everyone’s business.

If you live in a glorified neighborhood with a homeowners association or in any town with zoning ordinances, you’ve all seen and dealt with the “covenants”.  The rules that tell you where your mail box has to be, what fences you are allowed to build, what flowers you can plant, what car you can drive (ok, kidding), and so on. They tell you what your neighborhood needs to look like, what perception you are trying to portray to the outside world.

Well, the newest covenant that needs to be put in place, is the requirement of front porches. Stop building garages in front to show off how many cars you can afford and put a porch in. Show the world that you plan to watch it go by. Make this world back into a place we all want to live.

Now, this may seem like an insane rant of a pissed off person who was recently robbed, and it is, but it is also a plea. A plea for sanity and common sense to be returned to the world, a plea for the world to recognize its’ loss of concern for the citizens that live in it, and a plea for the punk that stole my purse to return it.

To sum up, Cheers had it right, and for the asshole that stole my purse….life is short, the golden rule is always right, and karma’s a bitch. Enjoy the faux leather, I hope your girlfriend loves it. 

Ah Dating

So, I've decided to give this online dating thing another try. I guess there is a part of loneliness that no matter how many cats you collect can not be filled. Yes, I'm up to two cats. Not by choice mind you - I'm a sucker. When an ex moves away and can't take the cat, what to do? We did get the cat together, so I guess that makes me half responsible for the little pain in the ass's upbringing. However, that being said, now that I'm the full custody parent you think i'd be getting my monthly support checks. This little, ok, 20 pound cat is eating me out of house and home. Truthfully, he acts a lot like his father. Obviously too many weekends at dad's has ruined him as he acts like a complete dumbass 90% of the time, crying for attention and food, like I don't have anything better to do! And, like a good mother, I am constantly reminding him that daddy isn't sending any love and obviously it's his fault.

I digress.

So, I'm trying this online dating thing again. So far, only a few takers, which I blame on the other women which obviously either still believe in Glamour Shots or are much more adept at using Photoshop than I. However, I do have one email sitting in my inbox that I'm deciding on replying to. The thing is, and maybe this is just me, I'm not sure if he isn't too cute for me. And while I could pretend that I have the self esteem of Samantha, let's be honest, I don't have that bod or that record. So, what is too hot? He did approach me...so perhaps that provides some leeway. But - there is certainly a part of me that wonders: does he have some sort of fetish? Does he like short girls or ones with really big boobs? Wait, that's every guy. Ok, we're back to short. I'm no midget mind you - but I am severely height challenged. I'm the result of a 5'8" guy and a 5'2" woman. Let's just say the pedigree was working against me from day 1. I had a thought the other day while scaling my kitchen cabinets to reach the second shelf in the top cabinet - wow this will suck when I'm 80.

Anyway...

Here's the other thing with this inbox guy, who we're going to call Bret. Why Bret? Because he's in a tribute band for Poison. Yup, this guy dons a wig and dances around in tight 80's garb and sings Every Rose Has a Thorn. I guess he is at least adding the wig and not walking around daily in white rain styled bandanna held hair with eyeliner. Or at least I don't think so - I'll be sure to let you know if we make it to a date.

Does this count as exercise?

so - i managed to add 15 pounds to my five foot stature in the last year. not a good look. i'm starting to have that squarish shape thing where everything is pretty much grotesquely sticking out at the same depth. which is better than the old woman giant pooch thing, but seeing as how this isn't my "letting myself go" age, i'm pretty sure this denotes a problem.

- side note, i'm not really sure how i'm supposed to be trying to take care of my bodily shape when the fact of the matter is, i'm not going to grow five inches. i've been five foot tall since the eighth grade which has landed me here. here, where my five foot tall self still uses a little tikes step stool to reach everything in my cabinets. so, i'd like to point out that since i'm not getting taller, the fact that i have to shop in the petite section shouldn't really be such a shock. and to further aggravate the fact that i'm five foot tall and already slightly round in proportion, the petite section always has those lovely old woman pants with the elastic waistband - so truthfully, how does anyone expect me to keep any sense of shape when the only pants i can buy already come with a built in expandable waistline for those unexpected binges on prunes?

anyway - like any good woman with the moral fiber to pretend that she will meet someone and won't always be a sad pathetic square cat lady, i pretend to work out. i mean we all know that i eat five cookies after each episode of aerobics i watch, but i think the brain watching these things tends to cause muscle contractions and therefore is really exercise. i anticipate that this watching will cause some sort of physical reaction. like when you watch a cooking show and get really effin hungry. well, i'm hoping if i watch enough abs of steel, i too will find that i wake one morning with abs that glisten in the sun. or, at least that's what i pretend.

so exercise, not so much. but. i do walk around in my new heels because i think it does work out my calf muscles, and because they are these really awesome peep toed heels with giraffe print and red platforms and its effin cold outside so i have to wait five months to wear them, which is completely unacceptable when i got them at such a discount after eying them all summer...but i digress....

so i'm on vacation and i'm sitting on my couch, which happens to be 20 feet from my front door, which has those stupid side window things that it is impossible to buy curtains for. and while they may be useful, seeing as how leaving the little tikes in front of the door to see out the peephole is probably some kind of a fire hazard, they aren't exactly helpful when mr. finance comes buy to sell me a new ira. i'm sitting, giant tshirt, no bra, boy shorts and one hell of a good morning hair look on my couch. When, happy knocker, you know, those knock, knockknock, knockkncockknock, knock people, comes tra-la-la-ling all over my morning rerun watching.

and seeing as how the boy shorts and no bra look is even less flattering than the morning hair, i did what any normal human being would do and slunk off the couch and belly crawled in front of the stairwell where i couldn't be seen. And when realizing that happy knocker conner wasn't going away, i put on my sweatshirt laying there and wrapped the cow print afghan around my waist. because, yes, this is my life, and effin eh, happy boy had seen me and wasn't leavin.

so, conner - i'm at the door, peeking around, holding on a blanket and he's politely trying to sell me some new financial products. and no, conner, you're not getting my phone number, because if you think i'm going to let someone peek at my financial history and plan my financial future after you've already gotten the show - honey, i can't ever look you in the eye again.

and if that were the end, we'd be ok. but me and giraffe print shoes, after putting flannel pajama pants on, went through the day only to forget that painter guy was coming over. and hello painter guy, come on in. yes that was my cat darting past your legs, and yes, i will be retrieving her in my pajama paints and red platform giraffe print heels. thank you - and i am a cat lady in training.

and so - after a full day of eventful hiding during my "vacation" day...i want to know, does belly crawling and heel wearing cat chasing count as exercise? cuz i think it has to count for at least a big mac, right? i mean, right?

'ef eharmony - part duex

so, if you've been following along, eharmony and i had a bit of a run in - they basically told me i was unworthy of procreation. so...instead of joining eharmony out of the gate, i went to the next best thing, to what the guy who told me to use eharmony said was just for those looking to get laid...match.com. i figured if i wasn't supposed to procreate, i should at least have some fun.

so i meet a few guys - some seem a little off, yes, match.com does take anything unlike it's superior sister site. i had one guy that emailed me and was like - do you have any hot friends. what the ef? seriously?

then there was the guy that was so not attractive, and not just in "not my type" sorta way, but in, wow - sadly you'll have kids and they might look like you kinda way - and he emails me and is like, i think we should go out. so, in proper match-up form, i take a look at his profile, just because the fact that he thought i was in his league appalled me. ok, this is the part where you just go, hmmm...

his profile says that he doesn' t believe in monogamy. he thinks it is a social creation and that we are meant to have sex with as many people as possible. first reaction, hmmm...and you emailed me because?.....

in the meantime, in this technological day and age, i got around eharmony's fortress of questions by creating a new email and password and lying on my application...suddenly, i was acceptable (first clue this stuff is effed up). why you ask - well, because i needed to see what wouldn't accept me in the first place - yes, there is a lot of freudian issues there, my shrink and i are working on them.

pooches and pinots

i arrived back at my house tonight and had to wait on the ladies of the block - pooch walking and wine drinking. yup, goblet in hand, leash in the other...wandering the neighborhood. so, i guess today's single older woman no longer requires cats, just a pooch and some pinot? and the fact that they both had on velour track suits, and make-up, officially frightened me into fearing the inevitable - i may be alone...though invested in good make-up, and hopefully good wine...and therefore somewhat happy down the neighborhood path. just one question...where the hell did they stuff the poo bag?

so i'm off on a date. and i feel like the 6th grade version of myself. freaking out about what to say, how to say it, and all that jazz. so things are going ok - i'm pulling a conversation along - and then - whack - mack truck moment. "i don't eat meat" - huh. why? "for health reasons". hm. you're talking to a girl that raised cattle to pay for college. my family has lived on the same farm ground for nearly 100 years.

we eat meat.

and worse that brining home a convicted felon - mostly because that would be easier to hide as long as there are no gang tats with tear drops and RIP etched anywhere in plain sight - is brining home a non-meateater.

first of all - i'm a believer in the fact that i got to this point on the food chain for a reason, and intend to stay here. second - my family's entire livelihood depends on the people that pick up a pound of beef at the local meat counter (oddly a gay innuendo in there, but not intentional). and third - as a slightly "well fleshed" individual - i find it a bit of a turn off that you don't like meat - cuz hunny, i got meat on my bones.

and my biggest worry in all of this is - if we're stuck on a desert island, and you don't eat meat from poor defenseless animals - but you get freakin hungry when the coconut milk and green leaf diet runs a little rough through you - are you gonna eat me instead? Cuz, i'm not defenseless - and again, a little meaty - so now i'm freaked while on this date that the guy is secretly sizing up the size of my loineye.

and then my mind wanders to one of those cartoons where my head is on a giant steak and he is licking his chops and thinking to himself - in the catchphrase of "the soup" (love you joel mchale!)- "sooo meaty.." and i start to get clammy hands thinking to myself how i build one of those very impressive bamboo traps to keep him away from my tender thighs... and then - whack -

yea - back to reality - maybe we should just say this might not work.