Archive for the ‘exposed’ Category

Resolutions: Pointless yet expected

Last year I posted my resolutions. I even went as far as making a page on here about them. I can pretty much say if sticking to resolutions were a class I probably made a C- or maybe a D? You can read them all here. But I’m going to recap.

1. Never watch Beaches again. Reminds me too much of a friend I miss dearly. (Check. And that friend and I are in the same zip code now.)

2. Stop yelling every time something doesn’t go my way. (I did pretty well with this one…)

3. Here’s the most common of all: Lose a total of 30 pounds by next year. (Well this didn’t happen. But you can read why here. All I have to say is I have an Oprah excuse.)

4. Keep up calorie-counting. (Um yeah…that got old.)

5. Get over the things I can’t change. That’s a big one. (Bombed.)

6. Make myself more available when it comes to sparking new relationships. It’s time I’ve found grown up events and places (i.e. not bars) to frequent to nab me a man…(First part. Yes. Second part…um yea.)

7. MAKE MORE MONEY. (This did happen. And my photography helped a little as well.)

8. Travel. No excuses of money, time or if I can get people to join me.  (My three-month stint at “love” took me to Vegas.)

9. Get my dream lens…at all costs. A new camera won’t hurt either.  (Check and check. But now I have another dream lens I want.)

10. Complain less. That’s a hard one so I have one caveat: Complain less to people in person and get it all out on my blog.  (I did pretty damn good with this one, considering where I had to start. Only I wish that I blogged more.)

So I’m ready to get going on this year’s set of resolutions that I am going to work like hell to actually complete. This is a new year that I have been waiting for all last year. Last year was a real challenge.

Read my 2009 list after the jump…
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At the risk of being completely exposed…

Check out my latest project at work. Yes. I’m now the “Eligible Editor.”

Day 63: The power of a note on the door…

Be gone all you thiefs!I woke up to discover this morning that my tiny Christmas tree equipped with tiny, shiny, glittery little ornaments was swiped from my front porch. I know that it may not have been the best thing — to actually leave something I gave a rip about on the front porch. But combined with the gold bells on my door, the bow I made latched on to the door knocker — everything felt so nice when I came home. Because from inside and out my house was so very pleasantly festive with Christmas cheer. Well, my Christmas cheer faded with my little discovery.

I became enraged. I left a polite note on my neighbor’s door about it after looking around the complex (and glancing the trash) to see if I would find it somewhere. I sat in my house, numb with anger of course. I’ve been robbed several times in my life. Mostly related to my car. This was it. So I kept checking the peep hole every now and then just to see if I saw someone to ask questions. Then I noticed this one young looking guy coming down from upstairs who looked quite guilty when he stopped at my neighbor’s door to read my note which read:

“If you happen to know who stole my tree, please let me know. It wasn’t very nice. Signed (my apartment number).”

Then after he read it, he looked down directly where my Christmas tree WOULD have been. When I saw his face I decided to draft another letter and this time put it on MY door. This one read:

“Merry Christmas Asshole. Whoever stole my fucking Christmas tree doesn’t know who they are fucking with. You will get yours — one way or another. Signed (my apartment number).”

I fumed. Ran errands and came home. Then I heard some really loud walking and looked out the peephole. I saw my “friendly” upstairs neighbor going downstairs. I decided to wait for her to head back up. She would have to pass my door to get to her apartment. I waited because the connection was made. She was surely friends with the guy from earlier in the afternoon. Before I could completely ask her if she had heard anything funny last night she confessed that her friend stole my tree. She said he was “intoxicated” and that she was sorry and was bringing back the tree. Guess what she said next?

“I didn’t appreciate that note. It wasn’t very Christmas-like…”

THE BALLS ON THIS CHICK! I told her I didn’t give a damn, she stole from me and that I’ve been through a lot in my life. And that I didn’t appreciate HER stealing from me. She proceeded to say it wasn’t her. It was her friend. Same damn thing. Long story longer, she brought it back and said that she didn’t want it to affect things with her and I. Hilarious. My punctuation mark was letting her know I’ve been victimized in my life and that stealing from me was wrong. She felt like shit. Her face was if she may have concluded I was once upon a time kidnapped and left for dead.

What does this have to do with the countdown? Nothing. An hour walking in a parade carrying a giant Curious George yesterday and ending my day getting back stolen property counts as a workout for me.

FIN.

Reaching a new low: Celebrity media must die

Period.

I’m all for certain magazines that don’t drip celebrity on every page but can be deemed almost as cheesy lethal (more than 100 pages and high gloss) that I won’t mention here for fear of being pigeon-holed into a Sex in the City cookie cutter category. Everyone has their guilty pleasures. OK. OK. I’ll admit to one. Marie Claire. I’ve lost any cool points I’m sure that I never really had at this blog I’m sure.

In this same vein, I am beginning to loathe just about every celebrity blog on the planet. It all just used to be kind of funny, mostly light-hearted and pretty much an escape from having to mentally check in everyday at work. I am not going to name every single one out there, but you know the key players. Even if you don’t read them, you know basically which ones everyone seems to keep coming back to. Except Best Week Ever. If you don’t like that blog/show, I don’t care. It keeps me in a rare good mood.

But knowing that there is Anna Nicole photo floating around on these sites, allegedly taken just after she passed, is just sick. Please. Before you label me one of those crazed celebrity fanatics, I’m sickened for humanity. It could have been anyone and I would have felt the same. OK, I will admit that I was watching Entertainment Tonight when I found out. But cut me some slack because it was my folks who had that show on when I was visiting.

ET was “discussing” this photo of Anna (really they just kept zooming in and out of it and showing it before EVERY commercial break) that was circulating the Web on many prominent celeb blogs. I won’t be plugging them here. I’m sure you have heard about this and if not, you are now Googling for it. But if you do, have the courtesy to open another window. For those of you curious but don’t want to look, I’ll just say she was sitting up in bed, looked like she was in mid vomit and topless. Even if the photo isn’t real, they are circulating it like it is and THAT is what sickens me. Gross. 

And if it is real, I know Anna was a mess. A big old, sometimes skinny old, crazy mess. However, no one deserves that. And we don’t need to see it at our 6 p.m. dinnertime either. Why the hell would ANYONE be interested in seeing such morbid shit? What kind of people are we? I’m not some kind of moral compass guru but the behavior of people (namely a coke-snorting-off-the-stomach-of-her-baby-while-breat-feeding hooker) is really starting to make me want to have a Michael Douglas moment. But not enough to have a Sean Penn moment.

And being that I’m in the media field, I want to see the death of celebrity bullshit reporting. It’s not reporting and is just as useful as cat fecal matter. Wait. Cat fecal matter can at least go in the garden and grow shit…

Again, even if that nasty photo wasn’t real, someone who thinks it is a wonderful (yet we all know profitable) idea to shoot a snapshot of a possibly dead, overdosed woman deserves a bed of pen of needles in hell while their fingernails get ripped off and they are forced to watch Jennifer Lopez movies over and over (but not Selena.)

Update: “Official”  folks are officially saying the pic is in fact not real.  Just the crazy bitch goofing off with chicken and tarter sauce. But can we please just let this train wreck rest already?And I still stand firm. Just think if it was … What am I saying? You would still Google it.

I’m single. So what?

I can’t believe I am actually going to say this but I think I’ve finally come to grips with being single. Mark my words I guess but it finally dawned on me that being comfy in my own skin was a bit more important than having to have someone else’s right next to me to make me feel whole. But my newfound comfort level pretty much got shaken at lunch last week. Over sandwiches and cheesecake of all things. And a tall glass of sweet tea. Crammed in a leather booth with five other work mates.A married coworker said something I JUST HATE TO HEAR.

“You need a man,” she said. I nearly spit out my rich, cakey goodness as I slowly removed the fork from my mouth.

It was abrupt in a pure New York accent. I think maybe she meant well. Who the hell knows. In front of the whole damn table she said this. And I just laughed it off. Everyone at the table was either married or practically married. There was only one other single chick at the table who is younger than me. Her eyes nearly feel out of her head. And because I’m just so damn lovable (yea, right) I just let it go.

I get asked a lot why I’m not married. More than I feel I need to.

“You have so much going for yourself, I would think any man would want to snatch you up!” or “I go to church with such and such guy you should meet.” That last one always gets me going and I try my best to be polite about it. I usually just want to say why are you assuming I take communion? Or what makes you think I’m not an atheist.

And then I get this whole bit like, “Oh with how busy you are, I bet you don’t even have the time.” Why does my singlehood have to be justified like that?

I’m convinced that single is the new relationship. I have said this before but only embraced it seriously today. Mainly because sorting out your life into cardboard boxes at midnight kind of makes you reflect on life for some reason. I’ve made a huge improvement in my attitude toward life and have finally come to a great happy place with the world of just me. Even after that little lunch. But I will admit hearing such remarks sickens me about the same way hearing something bigoted would rile me up.

I don’t feel the need to justify why I’m single. I just am. So why can’t people leave it alone? I’m single. So what?

Awww. Poor single kitty.

Hahaha. Check out the latest cat from the lol generator. She even looks a little like me.

Teach me how to lie…without guilt.

It’s a Sunday. An overcast Sunday at that. And I’ve showered, ate some apricots and am pondering lunch. I feel pretty damn relaxed for once and I just want to be loungy today.

Well today wasn’t supposed to be a day of leisure. I had some places to be today but didn’t feel like going. Actually, I don’t have to be there but I tend to obligate myself to just about everything. Which is what I did on a Friday night as well — obligated myself to an event I was really only going to because I was asked by a family member. But not today. Today I want to fart around on WordPress. Watch IFC and pack up for my move Saturday. So I told a few fibbers. Small but fibs just the same.

As you can read in my bio, I don’t like lying. And in fact today’s fibber wasn’t really a true lie. I have been doing some work today, as my fib mentioned. However I haven’t spent all day doing it. I just didn’t want to leave the house. Didn’t want to shed my full tank of gas. So I fibbed.

But now the guilt is setting in and it wasn’t even a really big lie! How do politicians do this everyday?! I sometimes wish I could lie and in fact lie without the guilt attached. I’m not Catholic but I am surely someone who can feel guilty at the drop of a hat. Even if it isn’t my fault. What a deficiency to have! Tomorrow will be full of more obligations, even after work hours. So I already have a nice bookend of my time obligated. So Sunday I lied. Er fibbed.

I don’t really know why I’ve blogged about this. Maybe it’s my form of a confessional…

we don’t have to take our clothes off…

Remember that Jermaine Stewart song? If you don’t, feel free to enjoy the cheese below.

But that is a lie. I think I’ve probably had some good times with my clothes on but with people finding any way possible to get naked, this one-hit wonder is obviously inaccurate. I’m not going to write all about Vanessa. You can get your share of it from the last 24 or so hours of eager bloggers posting at WordPress. But I will say this: What bothered me most about the picture of that ex-Disney Diva (her halo has been tarnished no matter how many more Disney flicks she does) in all her “glory” wasn’t her boobies. It was that her drapes and bedroom set didn’t quite match when I think she tried for it to. And I actually mean her decor, not her privates. That and the fact that I think I noticed a Target lamp. And there is something metal and unidentifiable on her wall that I couldn’t quite make out. Isn’t she supposed to be rich? And couldn’t she find a better camera to snap her stuff with that produces perfect lighting, zoom and pixels? Maybe the little punks of High School Musical didn’t get paid as much as I thought…

Anyway, who gives a rats about nakedness? Why is America so damn uptight? Man, when Janet Jackson let loose her areola you would have thought the Anti-Christ had finally arrived. Doesn’t this nation pride itself on expression and freedom? I guess not.

To me the main reason for clothes is because no one wants to see my thighs in action. That and I think there is some really unknown story in the Bible that you just never hear from passionate fundamentalists that has something to do about gaining knowledge or something. Geez. I don’t care if I see someone nude. To me it’s like saying I can’t stand seeing myself in the mirror. We all have tits. Butts. Big and small bellies. Well in America, mostly big ones.

I’m willing to bet money I don’t really have (unless you want to visit my shop, tee hee) that every last one of you have taken a “naughty” pic of yourself for or with your significant other. The difference is, when you are a celebrity, you get the chance to share it for some Google juice, to escape being type-casted or to get a quick coke fix of publicity.

I don’t care. Why does America care? Am I not an American? Hum, how many times can I say America in this post? America…

Too good not to post…I love my LOL generator!

 


Update: This post is currently like 96 on Top Posts. However, it has disappeared from most of the tags I posted it in. To test something, I reposted it under another title  for a while and sure enough it was in all the tags I listed. Weird. WordPress messes with me sometimes. And I’m sure I’ve been replaced already by Wet for Went.