Why Are the Things That Feel So Good, So Bad?

It's one of life's great unbalancing acts. A twist of evil. A snicker at our smile, reminding all of us "Not so fast, you're going to pay for that."

Why is it that so many things that feel so good are so bad?

Take for instance Coconut Cake. A well made version- moist, sweet but not too sweet, light and dense all at once- literally feels like pure happiness melting in your mouth. The high from this rare delicacy transcends any food related serotonin boost. But then you must come to terms with the fact that Coconut Cake is the devil. It is really really bad for you. Enjoyed more than once a year could be dangerous and detrimental to your jean shopping.

But there are more substantial life unbalances of good vs. evil. You know the story- the girl loves the bad boy* and the bad boy gives the girl tiny morsels of love but in the end the bad boy is quite bad and she pays for it. Why does this happen? We know the second we meet a bad boy that some chemical reaction we have no control over has possessed and overtaken our body functions (*bad boy = person who knowingly shows signs of 100% chance of hurting you in some way or form). We're like high zombies. But it feels so good! And then, when he scoops your heart out with a spoon, the low is much lower than the high ever was. But it's a classic story.

And then of course drugs, alcohol, sex (this is only bad if you're stupid)...the list goes on and on. I'm sure you can imagine many. Life's greatest pleasures acting as a cocoon over a nasty bout of badness.

It sucks.

Are the Kardashians Real People? I Don't Think So.

I've had a blanket over my head the last few days and have been unaware of media happenings. Late last night I decided to catch up on my celebrity blogs to find out Khloe Kardashian is getting married? After dating some basketball player for a week? This is just preposterous. Am I really supposed to believe this? Did they have some really mind blowing text message ping-pong? What else can really happen in a week? Guys, particularly egotistical guys with money and skills, don't feel the need to have lifelong commitment easily. Why have one when there are the option of many? And then the rumor is she is pregnant. How is it even possible to get pregnant in a week of dating? Those are some miracle odds.

I've decided the Kardashian family is one big joke on America. They don't actually exist. The media created them to make us believe any stupidity is possible. Those sisters are actually Hooters waitresses in Dubuque, Iowa.

Important Life Lesson By Girl Twentiesh

You know how you're taught from day one that anything is possible if you just try hard enough? That if you really believe in something, if you really put your mind to it, if you give it all you got it'll happen?

Screw that. Give up. Half the time it was a stupid f'ing and idea in the first place.

Adventures in Online Dating

In homage to the dark leap I took a year ago, I'd like to share with you my adventures into the slimy waters of overconfidence, creative photography, and gross overuse of punctuation and emoticons: Internet Dating.

I didn't ever intend to do it. Internet dating. Why? Well, there's no one on there for me. I don't/didn't want to date the type of guy that would Internet date. That was my belief and I held to it. Not to mention how humiliating it is writing a sales piece for yourself. But one innocent 8 hour champagne brunch and there I was of which I swore I’d never do. But they convinced me, those conniving girls. They threw champagne down my throat and dared me to date online. And if I didn't, that meant I thought I was too good for it. Fine! I'm no snob. I wouldn't cower in fear of cheesy winks and unnecessary over sharing. I agreed with grandeur. I would Internet date, and I would put my picture up for all to see!

Uh, then I got sober.

I kinda hoped everyone would forget. 8 hours of drinking champagne can do crazy things to people. I avoided emails, kept communication low in hopes the little dare would disappear into a memory. Nope. They remembered all right. Those girls. They sure know when to push. I put it off a good week until finally with the deadline approaching I drank some wine, laid down on my kitchen floor and typed me a profile. As I started to type the words just flowed. Then I reread what I wrote and realized I was quite nontraditional. Out there. My self-deprecating manner oozed out of "all about me" paragraphs and I managed a heavy ladle of sarcasm in "my interests". I laughed. No wonder I was single! But then I realized the whole point of Internet dating. If somebody doesn't like who you are, who cares? Even though I was dared into the dang thing, I was going to be real and honest me in that stupid profile. I'd stab myself if I wrote the standard "I like to go out to dinner and have a good time and stay at home and watch movies and snuggle." I'd rather be locked in a dungeon alone then be so entirely unoriginal. So yeah, you get the attitude that came through.

I filtered through and picked recent photos- hoping no one would recognize me- literally squeezed my eyes shut and hit "submit". It was official. I was an Internet dater. Oh God.

....To Be Cont'd

Sucks to be the Unknown Guest of an Emmy Nominee

I halfway watched about an hour of the Emmy arrivals yesterday. Nothing like the guilty pleasure of cooing over beautiful frocks or judging the uglies to forget about everything going to shambles in your own life. 

However, because of the Emily Dickinson mood I was in, the only thing I could notice was how sorry I felt for the non-famous dates of the celebrities. As the "it" stars get bombarded with attention and stupid questions like, "What's your favorite body part?" by Ryan Seacrest and a bunch of other plastic interviewers, the date stands by awkwardly as if they don't even exist. The non-famous date doesn't know what to do. Should they nod as if they are a part of the conversation even though their famous date's pinky ring has gotten more attention? Or do they just stand there stiff as a statue, pretending to be an extension of their date's outfit? It's so undeniably uncomfortable and I couldn't help but sympathize with them. I realized that's kind of how I feel in a lot of social situations. As if I'm the guest of the famous people and I could go melt into the wallpaper and it wouldn't change the scene. I'm one of them! Only I don't have a famous date.

Now that it's a new day and I can look back on my non-famous date sympathy, I can't feel too bad for them. After all, they do get to wear beautiful clothing and accessories and probably got some free stuff. 

A Good Old Fashioned Love Song

I'm a girl, so of course I listen to the lyrics of songs. Sometimes I get really annoyed at love songs, particularly country love songs, as they make you feel so bad about yourself. Those country singers really love madly truly deeply. Whoever those girls are making men proclaim such adoration and devotion must be pretty fabulous. 

But, I've found a song I like (not country) and thought I'd share. Seems honest. Like, "Hey, we're both messed up in some way, but you're enough for me." Real. I'm sure this is what Spencer plays for Heidi before they go to bed at night. But I do hope some of you out there have something like this. Nothing like a cheesy send off for the weekend...

She Is Love (Parachute)

I've been beaten down, I've been kicked around, 
But she takes it all for me.
And I lost my faith, in my darkest days, 
But she makes me want to believe.

They call her love, love, love, love, love. 
They call her love, love, love, love, love.
She is love, and she is all I need.

She's all I need.

Well I had my ways, they were all in vain, 
But she waited patiently.
It was all the same, all my pride and shame, 
And she put me on my feet.

They call her love, love, love, love, love. 
They call her love, love, love, love, love.
They call her love, love, love, love, love.
She is love, and she is all I need. 

And when that world slows down, dear.
And when those stars burn out, here.
Oh she'll be there, yes she'll be there, 
They call her love, love, love, love, love.
They call her love, love, love, love, love.
They call her love, love, love, love. love.

She is love, and she is all I need, 
She is love, and she is all I need, 
She is love, and she is all I need.

Don't Ask Questions You Don't Want The Answers To

You know those burning questions? The ones you mull over internally? They are the questions continually popping up in your mind that you try and squish away into a corner until they disappear. The reason why you don't want to ask them, why they don't just flow right out of your mouth freely, is because usually there's a pretty good chance you're not going to like the answer. For instance, when you're wondering why that guy you like never actually calls you, but only sends you late night texts. You want to ask him if it's because he's seeing someone else, but you push it away in hopes it'll dissolve into dust. Unfortunately those questions are sneaky little suckers and they always find a way out. And when they come out, that heave of release you have quickly dissipates into the sickening feeling of knowing what you knew all along..."Uh yeah, I have been kinda seeing this other girl." Splat. 

Replace this question example with millions of others. Would you rather be with a tall, dark haired foreigner? Yes, he would. Did you forget to invite me to that party? No, they didn't want me there. The list goes on and on. Why torture ourselves? There's enough shitty stuff in the world to make us feel used up, worthless and unloved- why add flame to the fire? Perhaps you're more curious to feel unnecessary pain than I, but I'm putting a stop to it all. From now on, if I have an inkling the answer will make me feel worse than the question, it's finito. I'll mentally belittle that question as irrationally as I can to force it to burst into nothingness and allow myself to live in a blissfully unaware* state. 

*use of this state of being is grossly overused in my writing

Mother's Words of Wisdom

My mother always told me, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."

Guess I'll stay silent.

Have We Become Too Free To Express?

We all have a voice now. For better or for worse. Youtube, blogs, facebook, myspace, reality shows, texting, twitter, skype...pick your poison and your voice will be heard. But in this open realm of endless communication, are we losing sight of what it means to be appropriate? To be civil?

In the last week we saw a televised freak-out by Serena Williams, South Carolina Republican Rep. Joe Wilson screaming "You lie!" to President Obama during his address to Congress, and of course Kanye West bombarding Taylor Swift's acceptance speech to profess his love of Beyonce's talent. At what point during her acceptance speech, for winning best female video, did he think he had the right to be on stage? In his mad need to be the center of attention he entered into a world of oblivion centered on himself. 

And these are just the celebs. Last week I witnessed a man demanding a lower price of gasoline to the poor gas station attendant. He felt it was his right to a lower gas-per-gallon price, considering he saw a lower price posted in his neighborhood. When did a gas station become a flea market? Last time I checked every price wasn't up for negotiation, and more importantly, a gas station attendant does not have the autonomous power to negotiate price of goods.

Just because we have the availability to speak our mind in every outlet possible doesn't mean appropriateness flies out the window. I realize free speech is what makes America so great, but I think this was conceived in the idea that people posses a bit of a civil filtration system. Perhaps with all this access to blabbing our mouths off we need to add mandatory manners training?

What I Want to Be on Monday

Sometimes, when I wake up on Monday mornings, I wish I was a stay-at-home mom. 

Unfortunately, you have to actually have children in order to do this.

And then I decide that I guess I'll keep my day job. 

Happy Monday to all!

Hey You- With the Cell Phone at the Gym! You're Annoying.

The following is a Public Service Announcement from Girl Twentiesh:

The gym is a place to sweat out your stresses, burn some cals, get out aggression, focus on me time. While on your cardio machine of choice, acceptable forms of personal entertainment are: books, ipods, magazines, television viewing and staring at the butt of the person on the treadmill in front of you. 

A very unlawful activity in the gym is talking on your cell phone. Newsflash! The rest of us have zero interest in your personal dilemmas while we workout. As you beg your father to go to Target to buy you feminine products that fit your underwear (actual overheard conversation) I am neither impressed nor is it aiding my ability to complete my own workout in the privacy of my Fitness magazine. Not to mention, do you honestly think if you have enough breath to have a full on convo with your BFF while on the Stairmaster that you're doing any good? You're not. If you're going to annoy the shit out of me, at least be in your fat burning zone.

Brought to you by people who really workout.

The One

The famously romantic title given to that person, that one human being who can fulfill your heart and soul in the perfect pairing of two: The One. Or rather, "one" big joke?

I vividly remember the Sex and the City episode where Carrie confirms what she believes to be just a fling to actually be a real love interest in the artist Petrovsky. He's romantic and smart and talented and women adore him- so naturally Carrie assumed her interactions with him to be nothing but a rendezvous. When she discovers she has real feelings for him, she decides to break everything off knowing her heart will be at risk. Yet he does the unthinkable and professes his wish to be with her in a serious committed relationship. From then on Carrie thinks he could be "the one" and after all, the ex-love-of-her-life continually cheats on her and demonstrates a reluctance to show she's important in his life. Petrovsky professes his love and adoration for Carrie...everything she's always wanted to hear. The One. I have to admit, I fell in love with him too. I secretly wished his real-life clone could discover me at an art show. Unlikely for me. 

Obviously this is a TV show and not real, but this theme of finding "the one" continues past the tube.  Everybody talks about it. But is it even possible? To have someone flourish you with everything and also be the perfect match for you? The one person in all of the world who was created for you? Marriage certainly doesn't measure this for everyone. Hopeless romantic I am, I still have hope this is true. If we can dream up themes for television, surely it can come true in life. From the beginning of growing up as a little girl, we're taught to believe in Prince Charming and his sweeping us off our feet into bliss.  I could go the cynic route and call this pathetic dreaming, but I prefer to believe in love and the possibility of "the one." Only the real way it unfolds is he sweeps you off your feet, drops you in a few puddles, steps on your hair, and then eventually carries you through the door. Flawed, but my "the one" would be nothing else. 

What Rachel Zoe Calls "Drama"

Don't get me wrong, I love Rachel Zoe. For what reason, I have no idea, as she's kind of an annoying freak who looks somewhat alien-like and uses the word "bananas" as an expletive. If you're not aware of this Rachel Zoe woman, she's a celebrity stylist with a reality show on Bravo most famous for her stylings of superthin young starlets. The show follows her "life" as she lives the heart-thumping drama of finding outfits for celebrities. Is your heart pounding now with the excitement and suspense?

Of course it's not. Unless you have a pre-existing condition. In that case you should stick to watching your screen saver.

In the hour this reality show has to unfold, Rachel Zoe references "all the drama" in her daily career about a billion times. And she believes this. She really thinks her job is so brimming full of drama and stress that she can barely handle to eat half a grapefruit a day and swallow a Xanax. The little pixie has a DREAM job to most females, and she thinks it's on par with heart surgeons. I wonder if she's ever had a chance to read the newspaper? Catch the local news? Perhaps I'm not being very sensitive, but deciding between 4 dresses for Anne Hathaway just doesn't feel dangerously drama filled to me. It sounds like pressure, yes, but live or die- no. I can't help but wonder if when viewing her own show she doesn't feel a teensy bit sheepish. I hate those awful Jon & Kate Gosselin, but their lives are drama. 8 children, affairs, bad haircuts- that's drama Miss Zoe. 

Brace Yourselves- Champagne and I Are In A Fight

I have a really strong, beautiful relationship. He's there during all the good times and all the bad times, always knows when I need him. Selfless really. He'd give me anything to make me feel the highs of his love. However, all is not perfect. Suddenly this massive, surprising fight threatens everything we've built together.

Champagne I love you, but you're bringing me down.

The last two weekends my relationship with champagne has been weakened by the biggest offense- hangovers! What?! I don't get hangover. Girl Twentiesh is a seasoned professional in handling her champagne (as any dignified lady would do). But for some reason champagne is angry at me, punishing me harshly with full Saturday sentences of headaches. Stripping me of deserved days of freedom. What ever did I do to deserve this meanness? This spiteful behavior? What hurts the most is the unmeasurable trust I had in champagne. Never has he let me down. And now what? Do I give him up totally for Mr. Ketel One Martini, or just give him some space for awhile? Oh how it pulls at my heart strings. The agony. 

Well champagne, I'm not going to give up on you so easily. I love you, and love is more than giving up at first weakness. I believe in you, and believe soon we'll return to our beautiful relationship. I hope this space apart can only make us stronger.

The Day After (Your Birthday)

Balloons grazing the ground, streamers limp, remnants of a crumbling cake....the birthday is over folks. The day of all your closest facebook friends giving some TLC to your wall are over. You'll go back to page three of their status updates. A little emptiness in your heart from the swell of attention you got yesterday and the reality of everyday to come for the next 364 days. The questions of life illuminate on the day after your birthday, screaming "Look at me, look at me!"

Ah birthday, it was great while it lasted. Thanks for the memories.

It's That Time of Year Again. You Know, When I Get Older

Birthdays.

They've been ruined ever since the toddler years. As soon as everybody made such a huge fuss and showered you with bright plastic things and candles and your own cake, you're doomed to be let down as the years go by. I actually started out with half the fuss, as I'm a twin and have never had my own special day, thus I'm better off than most. Less expecting of grandeur. The thing is, as you get older, people don't really care about your birthday. It's more like, "Oh, you're still around? Good for you. Don't f up." After 21 it's less about what you can do, and more about what you can't. You begin to question yourself when you party until 2am at least two nights of the week, "Am I too old for this?" Usually this question flies out the door as soon as the next happy hour arrives (for some people anyway). 

What plagues me most is that I never feel any older. I've felt the same age for, oh, say 5 years. Of course I've learned and evolved and advanced- but I still feel the same age. I think this is good. I could look at the number of days I've accrued as a milestone chart- but what's the point? Won't change what I do anyway. I've always been both ahead and behind my times.

Guess what I'm saying is that here my birthday is, with an anticipation of having to feel something, and really I don't feel any different from yesterday. Besides appreciating the love & laughter I have in my life. And friends that photoshop the bags under my eyes. And boyfriends that buy me Frye boots. Birthdays aren't about celebrating me- but celebrating what's around me. As long as I keep this outlook...the future looks good. There's botox for the rest of it. 

Someone Needs to Tell That Sales Lady She's Ridiculous

For the past week my occupation has put me in a situation forcing me to shop for twelve actors. Sounds fun, sounds easy- it's not. It's stressful. Channeling my inner Rachel Zoe, I headed out this morning for my final must haves. Structured jewel tone shirt, nylons, what have you. Even scored a BCBG tie for $12. Savvy and economical. 

As I began to feel the high of accomplishment, I was started back into some freaky retail world. The woman at Express. The woman paid by Express to sell me clothing. Unfortunately I am not privy to scare tactic selling- and this saleswoman resembled a character from "Twin Peaks." Makeup plastered to her face, a sickening perma-grin revealing the slight stain of a couple Merlots the night before, and the creepy voice of a serial killer acting nice before she slices and dices me. She talked to me as if I was a 4 year-old, and stared at me like she was in a trance. I'm not sure if this is part of the training manual- attempting to sell by hypnosis-but it was not working. Rather than asking her advice on the size 6 longs I bought for my model, I wanted to run and seek shelter at the nearest Gymboree in hopes of finding a mother's comforting hug. 

This lady was absolutely ridiculous- and somebody needs to tell her. 

How Fitting. What a Terrible Day.

So, I've been slacking lately. Not on purpose, not out of boredom, not from a lobotomy. But I've been really busy- as I'm sure you are. Scatterbrained to the fullest. I'm lucky if I remember to put mascara in the morning. 

But man, what a terrible day today. 

I got a threatening feeling letter about something I didn't realize I was doing, got accused for hitting a car I didn't hit, my brother is sick with something and I want to fix him, I forgot to send a wedding gift, and I wasn't aware how to properly use my ebay account so I could receive the birthday present purse I bought for myself in time for my birthday. Which I won't. Oh, and it's my birthday week. Which means I'm getting older. Which naturally makes me anxious. Yuck all around. 

Wait...He's Married?

I make quite a few comments about The Marrieds (married people deserve capitalization due to their significance in my life). Despite what I may say, I really have nothing against them nor marriage. I am sure I'll be married some day, I mean stranger things have happened. Lifelong commitment won't be as daunting when life is already half over. It'll be more like, "Hey, let's hang during our downfall. If I'm going to go down, why not go down with me?" How romantic. But what really kills me is when characters from your life get married. You know what characters are? They're people who aren't your friends anymore, but played a part during a memorable period of life. Thus you recall them as only stagnant characterized beings.

So I'm strolling through facebook and see that my college guy friends are married. What? They aren't supposed to get married! How can they? These guys are the guys who have several kegs in their home, live with 18 guys, take home random girls, and buy me shots in basement house parties. And I'm supposed to believe they are married now? Impossible I say. Inconceivable. And then it hits me. I'm like the mom who thinks her boy is still her little boy and packing his lunch and doing his laundry and suddenly she realizes he is actually 45 years old with a severely receding hairline. As if she froze him in time to preserve her own inability to get past his growing old and away from her. Am I in some kind of denial about my age? Are my old college buddies finding me on facebook and wondering, "What the hell? She isn't married yet? Something f'd up must of happened with her. Maybe she turned schizophrenic or something. That happens in your twenties you know."

Why is Everyone Around Me Getting Lucky Breaks?

I used to work at an incredibly dysfunctional establishment. I'm sure you're thinking "yeah, join the club sister"- but this particular place of employment went way beyond traditional workplace dysfunction. CEO's were fired like we were on Donald Trump's "The Apprentice", it wasn't uncommon to be asked to come in at 2:00am in the morning, and it wasn't uncommon for me to be asked if I would dress up as a genie and fly on a magic carpet for a promotional spot. I'd work no less than 60 hours a week, many people called me Veronica which wasn't my name, I'd be scheduled for 4 meetings at once that were mandatory, and I'd often run from people to hide. Oh, and while our bathrooms routinely were shut down- it was okay, because we weren't provided with drinking water anyway. But we did get commemorative rocks. 

But such conditions force friendships. Friendships in coping. The people I worked with were like family, because really I spent way more time with them than anyone else. Such ridiculousness creates strong bonds amongst the tragically affected. We all felt equally abused, misunderstood, and down right depressed at times. But the light came in the joys of absurdity. Because we really saw some absurd things.

But this was a few years back. Now, many of us have moved on. Many of which were forced to leave in sweeping lay-offs. Myself, I was lucky enough to have the strength to leave on my own terms. Ah, the empowerment. The crazy thing is that lately many in this pathetic little clan of misfits have come into some pretty incredible fame and fortune. What are the chances? It began with one co-worker getting on a reality show that actually pushed his career into the real heights he wanted. Another, against all odds, became a real working model in NYC. And yet another has found fame on arguably the most well respected and popular reality show on television. All from my tiny little abused work-o-sphere. As if the harsh conditions actually paid off!

So now I can't help wonder...is it my chance? Do I have a lucky break waiting to be cashed in?! Does suffering really pay off in the end? 

I'm The Control Group

A few nights ago a group of us dressed up and went to the premiere party for a friend of mine's reality show debut (a good reality show requiring talent of the contestants). Fun was had by all in the form of various fruity concoctions. Storytelling, great conversation, laughs, wasabi covered peas...everything you need for a great night out. As we pit-stopped to pick up another guest on our way to the final bar stop of the night, the following announcement was made to our stunned guest whom had just endured a 5.5 hour drive to step into a car full of very happy glam'd up people, "Come on in! We've got three married ladies and a guy in here!"

Seems like a very normal statement, doesn't it? The problem with this proclamation of car inhabitants is there was one other, apparently unidentifiable person, squeezed in the way back. Me. There were three married ladies, one guy, and Me.

This dismissal of my attendance, based on the fact I am neither married nor male, made me wonder if I'm some kind of control group now. The Single Girl control group. Throw together a group of individuals with the "treatment" of marriage, being the one male in the group, and then the control girl who still remains the same pathetically socially unaltered girl (no marriage, no kids, no pets) and see what the scientific experience of the night can unravel. Comparing the results of the treated (aka married) group to a wild night out and the control group (aka not married) girl is essential to rule out imagined effects of the night. For instance, dancing in a bar full of 21 year-olds. By comparing the treated (married) group with the control group (me)- the results would determine there are no differences in reaction and both groups participated in the same way.

Lending my body to science. Sigh. 

I Feel Sorry for Kourtney Kardashian's Unborn Child

Wow. Talk about a girl throwing up her personal life all over the media. So apparently this girl, Kourtney Kardashian, got pregnant. By accident. And she realized after splitting up with her moron boyfriend. And of course this all conveniently happened right while promoting her new reality show. Amazing how that happens! By becoming illegitimately pregnant and being on the media circuit- she's taken liberty in explaining all the details of her ups and downs of the surprise pregnancy. She's told us it was a total accident because she missed her pill a few times. And how she considered abortion because she knew once she had the baby she wouldn't be able to sleep in anymore. Wow. That's one LUCKY baby. I'm sure it'll be great going to elementary school and having people laugh and point at him saying, "Your mommy didn't want you!" And what can he come back with? What will his slammin' retort to his fellow rugrats be? "I know, it's on Season 1 of Kourtney & Khloe Take Miami." How special will this kid feel?

Really people, some things can be left private. Be like the rest of us and just keep it a hidden secret between you and your best friend your whole life.

When Something Doesn't Feel Right: What Separates Instinct from Paranoia?

Some people are freaks. They think the worst of the worst all the time. They are convinced the end is near, people are bad, accidents await, and generally behind everything lies a secret pitfall. On the otherside are the completely oblivious- wandering through life in naivety and ignorant bliss. Often getting taken advantage of, these poor chaps, as they would never suspect what hits them.

But what about when you just have a feeling something is off? Or you don't believe someone...but you have no idea why? Is this instinct or paranoia? Or, are they one and the same? I've always been a follow-my-instinct girl. Which is just a flowery way of saying I stick to my guns. If emotion or logic or the meeting in the middle of both feel an urge towards something, I go with it.

But with age and wisdom and eyes being forced wide open is my instinct slowly chipping away? Can instinct survive with the heavy weight of life experience in my pockets? For instance- take the multiple times I was promised a raise/wage in my career and didn't actually get it until I was forced to take action. I think this has happened four times already in my career. One time my former boss hadn't even told HR he promoted me! This experience has me not really believing when a boss has any conversation with me about wage. I'm not falling for the whole "here's more responsibility and I'll increase your pay" trick. Is this fair? This isn't based on instinct- but facts collected in my past. Which in turn leads to distrust and inability to spot the good from the bad.

What do we do? Trust our intuition or trust our past? Or say to hell with it and have a glass of wine?

When People Humiliate Themselves, On Purpose

I don't see clearly why people open themselves up to humiliation for a slice of fame. And I'm not talking even about real fame (like the chicks hooking up with that stupid Jon Gosselin dude), although those people register on a complete new scale of idiot. I should author that scale now that I think about it...

Just this morning I was listening to a local radio station where listeners were allowing the DJ's to read through their email inbox live on air. You'd THINK the people allowing for this public revelation to take place would clean out their emails or be sure there is nothing embarrassing. Nope. Instead they allowed the live reading of things that only belong in private. And for what? The chance to have their name on the radio. The radio! That's like the lowest rung of media these days...but still with a big enough local audience driving through rush hour sipping on some coffee thanking the heavens they didn't turn out so desperate for attention that they must resort to cheesy DJ jokes. What are the odds the same girl revealing her emails also has a sex tape leaked on the internet? I'm guessing at least an 85% chance yes.

The question is- why? Are we influenced and motivated into complete self degregation by our neverending consumption of reality television stars? Watching Lauren Conrad's "career" makes me wonder if being a total moron in public is beneficial. After all, she probably has enough money for the material things I'm still trying to figure out how to gain (a white Porsche, a person to blow-dry my hair daily, and person to manage my mail). For her, I can kinda see it. Look at her hair extensions! They're perfect. But for the people just doing humiliating things to get on local radio- there is no pay-off. Crappy tickets to a crappy concert? Really?

I Apologize if this Blog is Boring

I was told the other night that my blog has become boring. I could look back at my recent posts and analyze them with an ultra scientific test most likely on facebook that will take each thought written and categorize it as "entertaining" vs. "boring"- but I'm not sure I'd like to expend the effort. Because, in truth, maybe I'm just thinking about boring things lately. It's not as if I've bored down my life. I'm still going out, laughing, seeing crazy things. In fact just last week I took the dare of wearing whatever was bought for me at a county fair- resulting in a wardrobe of a pink tank that said "Sexy" and a matching pink cowboy hat with a blinking tiara seen from miles away. That is not boring. It was a study in human reaction. And I got a lot of human reaction. I kinda felt like I was a Playboy Bunny walking around in uniform, only I don't look like a Playboy Bunny and my uniform was much more embarrassing.

But possibly I need to be more inspired? My thoughts on gender roles are too dull and outdated? I wonder what I could do to get more interesting...begin channeling Lindsay Lohan? Start internet dating? Wear leggings? I guess I'll have to think about this.

For now I'm going to pack up and go to my job. Now, telling you about that would certainly be boring. I do have somewhat of an edit system.

What Happened to Good Ol' Gender Roles?

I'm starting to think gender roles provided greater equality to women and men, rather than the popular assumptions...

Think of it. In the old days (the exact historical dates confining the old days are unknown to me) women were expected to be mothers and housemaids. They cooked, cleaned, and in general made life pleasant for the man. She may have been encouraged to be smart if she was lucky enough. Yet the man was in charge of making the money, making the family decisions, and driving the family to success. Things were pretty black & white, or male & female.

It's coming to my attention that this dismissal of gender roles has yes, given women more power, but now we're expected to do everything. And men are starting to do less & less. Now that they can feel free to explore hair products without getting ridiculed it's as if all their male duties have been tossed on over to the female area. As if a collective male sigh has been let out, "Ahhh. Freedom from standard responsibility!"

I mean, women in their twenties are expected to make a lot of money- and men are starting to judge us on this in their standard "potential mate" package rating. I hear guys all the time talking about women who make money and how she's more of a prospect. What happened to being judged solely on our looks? Now we have to be gorgeous, naturally thin (as we should be able to eat whatever he wants us to), a giving caretaker (coddling him when he has the sniffles), great in bed, a potential fantastic mother (in case things get dangerously serious), a skilled cook, a housemaid, and the majority breadwinner. All in one. Oh, and we can't spend more than 40 hours max at this job providing us with such a stellar income because that affords less time to massaging him and lining up the TIVO record.

I'm just saying- give a girl a break. Sometimes a few gender roles are good. Keeps everything equal.

And, Now What? (Twiddle My Thumbs)

Are you ever hit the the case of "what's nexts"?

I'm hit with this affliction often. Job's going well enough, family seems somewhat stable, love life is fine...but what next? The stifling and suffocating hold of potential opportunity, ideas of the future, new territories to explore. Only I can't quite put my finger on what exactly it is I'm craving next. Perhaps I just need a goal? Like, a real goal. I've never had some deadline induced goal where I must complete X by day Y. I'm not really sure this practice accomplishes anything but making one feel as if they gave themselves an attainable goal so they can boost their self-esteem (perhaps my goal should be reviewing and mastering proper English, as I'm quite certain my use of "one" and "they" is all very wrong). The problem with this unsettling syndrome is I start to lay my life's components under a microscope of scrutiny. Everything is fair game, all is up for negotiation. How exhausting. And what's to come of all this analyzing?

No clue. I must wonder with all this agonizing if I simply need to buy a plant or something.

Why Men Move On (Much Quicker)

Good old MSN dating and relationships brought another topic to mind today. Of course, my opinion is quite different from theirs. Why is it that men seem to move on so quickly? From breakups that is. They don't move on from most things that occur in their twenties for a really really long time. Possibly never.

A breakup for a woman is usually a big deal, unless she found her new beau before dropping the old one. Men participate in this practice just as often- thus we'll cancel the entire phenomena and return to the topic at hand: men drop women like fantasy baseball drafts. They size up and rate all the eligible players, generally go for the high profile picks (think hot flirty types who like to do body shots and are a good ten years their junior), commit to their pick, and as soon as there is the slightest hint of faltering (like she dares to ask him if he is serious about her or if he ever wants to get married) and then he drops her from his team and looks for a trade (for the girl who started flirting with him via text as soon as he committed). And it's done and they move on as if nothing ever happened.

Meanwhile, the girl who got dropped is at home SOBBING. Wondering what went wrong? The ratio is a woman tends to mourn a relationship demise for at least a week per day the male even entertained the breakup in his mind. He's out partying with his friends (Tony Romo) as quickly as he can get to a bar (and of course, his friends LIVE for breakups so there can be quality girlfriend-free male rallying) while she's feeling down and out and has no desire to be in public where she must endure groups of sloppy drunk men rallying because they are single and free.

Why is this?

MSN blames it on men not liking to be alone. Which, yes, I agree with. Men are big babies. But you know what? It's our fault, because women love to baby them. It's nature. Is it because men care less? I would love to say so, but I've had too many male friends have their heart's broken and know firsthand it's possible for a man to feel just as depressed about a break-up as a woman.

Alas, I have no answer. All I know, is with shows like Entourage on HBO it's a wonder all men don't pack their bags and move to LA on the idea that there are horny women everywhere looking to lay down with the slightest nod their way.

If you feel like reading the MSN article

Thanks Vacation for Making Me Want to Do Nothing

There's something about a vacation that makes you want to do nothing for the rest of your life. Makes you desire even more to be a socialite (this has been a dream of mine ever since I was introduced to Paris Hilton and how massively one can screw up opportunity). Makes you unable to concentrate on work and everyday duties of life like paying bills and laundry. And I didn't even go on a real vacation, in fact, it was more like a retreat. A 4 day retreat in the woods with 40 of my closest non-family members. Complete with herd-like meal feasting. No, I did not go to summer camp. But somehow this non-vacation vacation allowed me to relax more than I've been able to on real vacations. And now, come Monday and work, I can't even think. Aren't vacations supposed to refresh you and energize you to return joyously back to service for pay? Yeah, it doesn't really work that way. Instead I just want more vacation.

As You Get Older, You Care Less

The good thing about getting older is that I no longer give a F about certain things. Not that I've given up on laws or morality or human interaction or liking babies, but I have come to the conclusion some of the unique perceptions/tendencies I hold that people criticize- I simply do not care. So I'm different from the "mass" ideas and opinions? Good. Things like:

1) I think Michael Franti sucks. Yeah, you heard that right. His songs are lame and remind me of karaoke on spring break.
2) I think coffee for breakfast, edamame for lunch, some jicama and hummus for snack, and a bottle of champagne for dinner is a perfectly acceptable diet. You just wait, I'll be writing the next best-seller, "The Skinny Healthy Drunk Diet"
3) The movie Hangover is not that funny. Zoolander kicks it's ass.
4) Speaking of movies, Pirates of the Caribbean made me feel like I was stuck in a coma while forced to watch the same scene over and over again for 2.5 hours while I silently died from boredom.
5) I like super skinny and beautiful Hollywood actresses & actors. If I wanted to see average people I'd just go to the State Fair.

Feels good to just let that all out.