Holy s***! I bought a house…

Well actually a townhouse but it’s still the same really…responsibility and upkeep. I suppose the feeling I should be having here is excitement. And to many degrees, I do have that particular sentiment. But overall I am more to the point — numb. I can’t believe the grueling process is over. It started with hopes of receiving a forgivable loan from the City of Dallas. I may have a pretty fun job, but the pay isn’t that great.

 

 Well, I qualified for a program that allowed me to receive $10,000 from the City of Dallas if I:

A.) Found a home in Dallas, of course.

B.) Take homeowner classes.

C.) Live in the home at least 8 years.

It seemed perfect. But right in the middle of my offer to the townhouse I wanted, they pulled the funding. They now exclusively offer the funding, even at a better rate, for the homes that are in their system, which means I wouldn’t be able to just find a place — it had to be on the city’s list of homes they are trying to sell. I decided to give up.

Then in May my realtor calls me and tells me that the townhouse I wanted — the one I had originally put an offer down on — dropped $10,000. It just seemed meant, but not without a few hiccups. Namely the appraisal came in under the sales price and there were a few repairs that had to be taken care of such as a few breaker issues. And even after all that, I sat at the title company’s table of endless papers and began signing. Then my realtor points out a taxing discrepancy. Would it ever end?!

The next day I finally got the keys and my family and I went out to dinner to celebrate with my realtor. We had some crazy times together so I felt it only fitting to pay for our dinner. Confession: actually dad made me but I was gonna pay — promise! As well as the fact that I am sure I was very small potatoes in the scheme of clients for my realtor. After all the trouble we went through, all of his concerns and looking out for my best interest, I just don’t think his commission from it all is that spectacular but he’s quite a humble man. And anyone who could put up with my tastes and demands deserves more than a gold star. I mean I am really particular about what I call, and I think the industry calls, “wet areas.” That basically means I’m a stinker about kitchens and bathrooms. But considering my choices of price range, and my particulars about what I wanted, I think I did pretty good.

So here I am — outside of my very own place (please excuse my casual attire…not my normal look I assure you.)  Sure the neighborhood isn’t the Ritz but it’s a place that really suites me. And I’m happy to call it home. But all this means is I’ll be pretty preoccupied between medical appointments and cleaning/preparing the new place. Blogging will be a tough one in the next few weeks, but I’ll still try to make time to blather about.

I could get run over by a truck…

Be hit by a freak tornado. Suddenly lose my memory. Get kidnapped. But today is the day.

I’m supposedly closing on that townhouse I told you all about back in April but couldn’t get. If you need a refresher of what happened, read CHANGES up at the top of the page. I hesitated talking about my going after it again because I didn’t want to jinx it. I hope I haven’t done that by telling you before the keys are in my hot, little hands. I will divulge later.

Juicing is saving my life…

Before you report me to the authorities, I actually mean juicing raw fruits and veggies as oppose to jumping on the human growth hormone wagon. It’s funny, I’ve mentioned my recent juicing to friends and I feel I always need to have a disclaimer because of their confused faces. The term juicing USED to be unofficially owned by my recent idol — Jay Kordich, the Juiceman himself — long before Roger Clemens got pegged for a different kind of juicing.

Though I’m typing this blog post from home because I have had a minor setback on my road to getting healthy from sickness that has been a nuisance for several months, juicing has been a lifesaver for me. Because I’ve been to a gastroenterologist so much lately I might as well send her holiday cards, I had to find an alternative to normal eating. I just can’t seem to eat like I used to and I was losing so many nutrients. And leave it to an episode of Oprah featuring a cancer patient giving up her martinis for homeade juices that convinced my mother to hand over her coveted juicer (something I have begged from her for years) earlier this month.

If you aren’t familiar with good old Jay, he is a guy who is obsessed with juicing carrots. But he doesn’t stop there. So far I’ve juiced celery, asparagus, radishes and ginger. My fridge looks like a produce aisle. According to his book, and his fame, Jay cured himself of life-threatening illness with juicing. I suppose he was more popular more than a decade ago, but I’m sure he still looks as youthful as he does on the cover of his 1992 book and he was in his 60s when he wrote it.

Being that food has been an evil for me, I’ve had to get pretty creative with this juice stuff. I’ve mixed some crazy concoctions. And I’m convinced that if I hadn’t at the time of my mother’s generosity, I would be a lot more sick than I am today. I know I sound like an infomercial right now, but I was surely a person who didn’t really get into the whole raw food craze. But I will have to say, it’s been a true help on my way to recovery. Now if I can just get my doctors to figure everything out before I turn orange from all that carrot juice.

Another aside: Booze and I are officially over. The world looks really different sober.

Blogging for sanity

That really should be on a shirt someplace. And actually I already have a worthless CafePress account so maybe I should make some.

I am a converted, longtime yeller. If you aren’t sure what that means, it basically says I’ve stopped yelling. Well, at least I’ve tapered off a great deal. For one: It was one of my resolutions. And for two: It gets old. People don’t care what you have to say when you yell. So I pick my poison, which is usually this blog. People may still not care, but at least I’ve saved my vocal cords and a day’s worth of headaches.

I mean it when I say I stay sane here. I could of course choose other routes of medicating which may have been the true reason why I have been so sick. Drinking is evil. What’s even more evil is Tuaca. I loved him once before, but he and so many others have ruined me. And now I can’t drink anything. I’m now a tonic water and lemon drinker. I’m now the chick who may look lame when she doesn’t ask for a martini or margarita while among those who can drink both on a good day. I’ve channeled it all at this place and I guess I have been for a while — even during those times when Tuaca actually was good to me.

Times have changed and I’ve hit well over 30,000 hits for this almost year-old blog. I’m happy to report that I’m much saner than I would have been without it. Between LOL cats, venting my frustrations about politics, relationships and whatever else gets stuck in my craw or whatever brings me seer delight — I throw it all down. I have a journal I keep by my bedside but I have since neglected it. I will be in some real trouble if I don’t keep this blog up and print everything out because it’s been an interesting year.

I’ve loved and lost (thank God), ventured into the adult world and tried to be a homeowner, dropped some weight and then some since coming down with what I’m calling my “Turning 30-itis,” been in the emergency room four times, threw up on an airplane 50 times, put up with a comic (a bad one at that) for a boyfriend, helped throw together a benefit concert, became estranged with a good friend, became un-estranged with said friend, went to Vegas, got a new position at work, had my first ever art show, bought a new car that gets better gas mileage than yours  (hello 36 mpg) and mentored a high-school student through the pains of journalism. And that’s all off the top of my head.

I know I will be repeating something like this spiel of crap next month when it’s been an official year since I’ve started blogging, but I felt like rehashing the good, the bad and the downright exhausting in one post. If you get curious, feel free to play in my search box at the top of the page. You might like what you dig up.

And as for commemorating 30,000 plus, and hopefully hitting a million one day *sigh*, please enjoy this bit of bliss…

 I don’t care if it’s old…

Oh. You know that I had  to link to my favorite. It makes me happy and it never gets old.

And finally…for you Breakfast Club obsessed people who KEEP googling Anthony.

 

 

It’s not a million but I’ll take it…

So I’m about 40 hits away from hitting 30,000 views. This blog will be a year old in July. Considering the Web site that my company put together last April, I am not doing that bad for a lowly blogger in the middle of like a zillion bloggers. My company’s blog hit a million views the first year it launched.

30,000 isn’t that great. And I know that. But I can celebrate it being that I’ve spent my time here going on and on about everything and nothing and it still managed to hit more than four digits. Now I know that many of you are well on your way to 100,000, however I take my small victories when I can — even when I know that a big hit draw here was from people infatuated with Anthony Micheal Hall, LOL cat fans like me, curious Googlers wanting to know everything about interracial relationships and the pedicure obsessed. These are just to name a few. Below is a list of the most recent searches in my blog stats that gave me a real laugh. There are some real top-notch spellers below. And it also bothers me that just typing prostitution (with nothing else to precursor that word) leads people to my blog!

lol cats	4
lol cat	2
naughty skeletons	2
are black men afraid	2
angie martinez animal house	2
a writer dodging bullets	2
holla holla holla at you skit on dave ch	2
greek god tattoos	1
reseach on the end of the world	1
the adventures of kandace and aly	1
when people make you feel like walking o	1
im single and people question me	1
how to dump ur gf	1
what can get from having a pedicure	1
can i check in a switchblade knife for f	1
anthony mchael hall	1
prositiution	1
affection advice	1
is drinking with coworkers acceptable	1
cheater skeleton pix [ animal ]	1
txu energy sucks	1
dump your girlfriend for you	1
rants relationships	1
anthony michael hall	1
animal house- angie martinez	1
anthony michael hall weird science	1
fun angry cat leave me alone

When I hit 30,000, I’ll post some more fun. Thanks for sticking around.

I really wanted to talk about pant suits…

               I found this image here.

I have been backsliding on political banter for some time now. I have good reason. Most of which is that I’m tired of politics. Secondly, I’m dying. OK. That’s a bit dramatic, but I have not been 100 percent for a few months now. And I just found out that my CT scan results from last week need to be analysed by a specialist. It could be nothing. But it could be a really big something. I have been spiking fever all weekend, can’t eat and delirious which may explain this post.

Anyway, I realized I hadn’t talked about pant suits and whether or not they have a place in the White House. Let’s face it. Barack may just win over McCain if the Democratic party can get its head of out its ass. And by the “secret talks” with Obama, Hillary will have a bunch of placement in the campaign or even beyond. If not as VP (yea, right), she surely will be in another role also not suited (pun intended) for her just to keep the party together.

But I just can’t help wondering: Would America want to see pant suits or power (skirted) suits on a “politically powerful” woman in the White House. This isn’t really an important question; I just wondered what other people thought. To me pant suits try too hard. They say: “Look at me! I can be just as strong as a man!” And even though I’m guilty of wearing the latter, I like seeing a real powerhouse of a suit, equipped with a skirt and killer heels. To me that says, “Get the hell out of the way, boys.” Especially paired with the right jewelry giving way to a feminine power as well as taste and class.

Is red too communist?

                                                        Lady Di did it…                

  Oooo…1960s vintage.

Of all the things that this presidential election brouhaha represents,  this is the least important. But is it? What do other countries see when they watch Hillary strut in pant suits? I bet they say, that’s one wuss in a suit. We can take ’em.

Related links that have nothing to do with each other:

 See what has been deemed Hillary’s Top Ten pant suits.

A nice variation of clothing options for Hillary and Barack.

Do your sheets say something about you?

Read more here. I don’t want to re-post and plus that just sucks when stuff is duplicated all the time…

How to get over someone in a hurry…

I’m not playing the jilted gal role to the fullest *insert sarcasm.* I figured some guidance was in order to further my process. And we all know that we must learn from those who have gone to battle for you in order to gain more knowledge and a thicker skin. And of course be more prepared for the pitfalls life has in store.  So here you go, folks. My how-tos on getting over someone – fast.

Please note I’ve also posted this over at my Single is the New Relationship blog as well so forgive repeats if you read both blogs, which I doubt any of you do. But if you do, I love you for it.

1. Blog. Blog. And then when you are done blogging, blog more. Sometimes some really great people have nice things to say about what you have written. And you get the occasional funny advice from the peanut gallery. Here’s my favorite. Hint: Read the first comment.

 

2. Become a regular over in the meetup scene. I was a naysayer at first, but so far the events have been a load of fun, I get to meet new people who make me laugh and I found myself smiling more. Plus your social calendar is ALWAYS full.

 

3. Be a class act about the rejection. That doesn’t mean that you can’t dish how you REALLY feel over at your personal blog, but just be sure any emails or texts are seething with very matter-of-fact realization that you know it’s over and you will live another day. (Addendum: However, don’t be surprised if the counter reaction from your ex is twice as impersonal than the one you sent.)



 

How to dump your girlfriend with “class”

As you have read here, my ex chose the wonderful opportunity to be a real gem by passive aggressively dumping me by not calling for a week and then not bothering to check up on me after I had procedures done to see what has been making me sick. I emailed him this:

I know you didn’t ask, but I wanted to let you know I had a polyp in my stomach and have been diagnosed with Hemorrhagic gastritis and reflux esophagitis. I didn’t get further instruction until I see the doctor again. I have to have a CAT scan of my stomach and pelvis next and then probably another procedure. I really am sure you didn’t really want to know all that, but thought I would tell you since you had to be around me during my flare-ups. The polyp is being tested.

Anyway, look for a package in the mail. I will be mailing your clothing and DVDs. I’m sure you would like those back. Don’t worry. I’m not going to be some weird psycho chick about this. I won’t be emailing you again or bothering you.

Here is his business transaction (like he did ALL things) approach about it:

I’m glad to hear that they’ve finally found the cause of your ailments, and hope that can finally start addressing the pain you have been suffering thru. Thank you for the return of my stuff, I appreciate it. I hope you do well in the future, and wish you luck.

That my friends is how “real” men let you down easy.

(For the record, he doesn’t read this blog…at least I don’t think…)

 

Up the pooper, down the hatch

So the colonoscopy and upper scope are over. They have diagnosed me with hemorrhagic gastritis and reflux esophagitis. They found a polyp in my stomach which is being tested as we speak. And through all this, I didn’t even get ONE CALL from my supposed boyfriend. Doped up on anesthesia, I sent a text:

I had my procedure today. You didn’t even call to see how I was. OK. I get the hint. I’ve let you go. I hope all your dreams come true. I wish you had said goodbye when I asked you to…

I’m still in a dopey fog, and I don’t want to go into that “goodbye” reference. Point is, he didn’t even respond. I was worth THAT much?! After he took me to Vegas, had me meet his family and wanted a committed relationship, I wasn’t even worth the call. What is funny is that everyone else did. Even an old friend I had become kind of estranged with and hadn’t talked to in almost a year. She has been wonderful and checks up on me.

The irony is I would have never got everything checked out like this if I hadn’t got so sick while I was in Vegas. It’s not my fault I haven’t been as fun anymore — I am a shell of my former boozing good time self.

Maybe all this was/is a blessing in disguise. Everything happens for a reason (and other crappy cliches). Or maybe life just sucks.