The Damn Fro Yo

I hate anything that's overly popular.

My ego fails accepting falling into the category of being normal so whenever the majority of the population worships something I choose to despise it.

I hate dogs.
I don't want kids.
I have never read nor will I ever read any of the Harry Potter books.  Or the Twilight books.
I despise karaoke.
I refuse to tan.
And I have never nor will I ever get anything plucked, waxed or lasered off.

It's who I am and I stand proud.

Yet I recently fell prey to a current trend.

I am ashamed to admit this but I enjoyed the craze that is self serve frozen yogurt.

First of all, why is it always so popular when a restaurant has you serve yourself?
Couldn't you just stay home for that?
Shouldn't that have the same thrill as going to the grocery store and then cooking your own dinner or devouring your own pint of Ben & Jerry's in the sanctity of your own home?

No.
People absolutely love it.

You get to make it yourself and put whatever you want on it!!

Wow.
Just like I can pour Bailey's on my Cheerios at home.
I'm not impressed.

But feeling somewhere in between satiated and starving I decided ice cream  sounded good on this overly sunny Portland day.

Another thing I'm not mad for: Hot weather.
I'm an Oregonian through and through which means I like it overcast and breezy.
Just cool enough so I can wear my favorite cardigan over my gorgeous dress.

But the ice cream shop was on the opposite side of the mall and sheer laziness prompted me to give in and get some friggin' "Fro Yo" as the wackadoos and obsessive wannabes call it.

Love you bitches! Kisses!!

Second of all, there are way too many flavors to choose from.
Remember the good ol' days of chocolate and vanilla and strawberry?
Of all the flavors this way too damn popular yogurt shop chose to sell, one was lychee.
Lychee?
Are they fucking serious??
Why would I wanna eat something I'm gonna have to google first to find out what it is??!

LYCHEE:

     1.  a Chinese sapindaceous tree, Litchi chinensis, cultivated for its round edible fruits

     2.  the fruit of this tree, which has a whitish juicy edible aril


Edible Aril??

Oh that sounds like something I want to put on my frozen yogurt.


Resisting the urge to turn around and walk out of the shop, I settled on a small mix of strawberry and pineapple.
Then I walked over to the plethora of toppings and shuddered at what I assume were fish eggs but not the chi chi black caviar kind but the oversized orange balls there's no way in hell I'm choking that down kind.
I still have no idea what the hell they were supposed to be and frankly I don't wanna know.

But I did see they had rainbow sprinkles.
Awe.
Nothing cheers my soul and inner five year old princess quite like rainbow sprinkles.
To be dignified I added three blackberries and two strawberries to the mix.
I am a lady after all and not merely a Disney Princess.

I sat in my favorite oversized chair and took a bite.
Sweet creamy deliciousness!! It was a citrusy sweet party in my mouth!
It was light, refreshing and sweet enough to satisfy my sugar addiction.
Since I got to portion myself I'd gotten just enough to feel like Goldilocks eating Baby Bear's porridge.

Son of a bitch, I thought.
I like the damn fro yo.

Maybe I'm not as original as I thought.

Or maybe I am.

And it's merely moments like these that remind me y'all aren't as crazy as you look.

Rock your pride with dance proof makeup

http://www.examiner.com/cosmetics-in-portland/rock-your-pride-with-dance-proof-makeup

Your ex doesn't like you and nobody cares

I've decided that women talk about their exes way too damn much.

I'd like you lovely ladies to take a moment and think about how many times a day you say that twads name.

Now imagine all the other amazing things you could be talking about and thinking about and the relationships you could actually be forming and destroying all in the same amount of time.

Now I'd like you to smack yourself upside the head since I'm not there to do it for you.

What the hell is wrong with all of us anyway?!!

One girl I know talks so much about all her different exes that all of her girlfriends get so confused and aren't even sure what her current boyfriend's name actually is. 
Wait, which one is it?  No.  Really.  Which one.

I don't think it's a good sign when the folks who hang around you all the time have no idea which schmuck you're dating.  I'm fairly certain that means there are too many douche names falling out of your mouth and it's impossible to keep up.

I love my friends.  They are beautiful, creative, intelligent, strong women who somehow forget this and think the only worthwhile part of their personality is the idiot who dumped them. 

I realized how guilty I was of this myself when I got sick of the sound of my own voice uttering his name.

I may need to invest in shock therapy so that everytime I attempt to speak his name some electric volt sends currents making me shudder with regret.

Or at the very least I will smack myself upside the head.

We are fucking fantastic!

Why do we need some idiot holding our hand to remember this?

Just stop talking about it.
Not even for your sake.
But for everyone else's.

Because just like your ex, nobody cares.

Fat Freaks

I hate food that's low calorie anything.

Light and Fat Free are terms synonymous with We left out the flavor but enjoy the crisp crunch!
They even have low cal rice cakes.
It's a fucking rice cake!
How much more low cal can you get?!

And why would you need low sodium Ritz?
It's a cracker for crying out loud. 
It's not meant to be good for you.
It's meant to be eaten with cheese. 
Why don't the folks who don't like delicious salty crackers just eat some broccoli.
And stop ruining the buttery goodness of Ritz crackers

I've decided people whose pantries are filled with this garbage cannot be trusted.
These are probably the same types of people who schedule their love making.
Not yet, honey, I haven't started ovulating!

Rest assured you actually won't die from too many servings of carbs.
Just drag your lazy ass of the sofa, walk a couple laps around the living room during commercial breaks and you'll be fine.

But for the love of brie, cool it on the reduced fat low sodium extra barley processed cardboard.
NONE of it is good for you.

So just indulge your wicked side and enjoy the real deal.

Or stick with the broccoli.

Freaks.

A sexy sort of day

You know it's a sign that you shouldn't be social when the idea of putting on a bra sounds exhausting.

Today has been a no bra kind of day.

And not in that ooh baby, don't I look sexy, sort of way. 

I mean in a I can't seem to muster the energy to bathe so I'm lounging around in my oversized vintage slip contemplating if I should eat something with the 3 cups of coffee I've had today or just go take a nap, sort of way.

And I don't even have the excuse of PMS.
 I'm just a lazy bitch is what I am.

The good news is that as a writer I can still be productive in such a state of sloth.

I've managed to make some decent headway on my writing and nearly finished reading a second novel in 3 short days.  So at least I'm still somewhat lucid.  Albeit somewhat filthy and unattractive.

"She's got a face for radio!" comes to mind.

Hot hottie hot.

But I've found whenever I try and fight this sort of fatigue I always lose. 
And I surely exhaust those unfortunate enough to partake in drinks with me when I'm like this. 

The best thing for me to do is sit tight and write.

The blogs that folks have favored best are the ones I've written when I've been livid.

So I've decided whenever shit happens that's just God's way of getting my creative juices flowing.

Thanks then, Big G, for last night.
It's good to know You've got my back even if the fucktards you call "men" don't.

Here's to the great American novel I have in store.

Nothing like revenge to motivate you to get published.

But it's high damn time the world heard my side of the story.
I do tell it so much better, after all.

sparkling bruises

When I was a freshman in college I had surgery.  And the tube they shoved down my throat tore up my vocal chords.  And as a voice major my instrument was destroyed.  I dropped out of school and a part of who I was faded away.

I think there's a reason for the cliche you won't appreciate what you have until it's gone.  When my music was taken away I realized how much that passion trumped any other.  I'm no doctor and I don't know for sure but I'm pretty certain my pipes are stronger now.  Maybe they needed to be destroyed so they could be rebuilt.  Maybe you can't make something stronger when it's still in its weaker shell.  Maybe it all has to shatter first.

It would certainly make these shards of glass seem less painful.

I think it's hard to find the good in something when you're still dizzy from the blood.  I think it takes time, sometimes longer than you'd like to heal from cuts that trip you up, that run so deep you feel you can hardly breathe.  Sometimes you think the wounds have healed and then you turn a corner and something unexpected gently touches the wound and you're suddenly drenched in blood all over again.

Sometimes the people who reached out to you didn't mean to tear open the wounds.

It would certainly make these rivers of blood seem less toxic.

And that would be nice.
For your faith to not be misplaced.
just once
Wouldn't it?

new beau's

I'm reading a book by Chelsea Handler and it is delightfully entertaining.
She is hilarious, kind of a bitch with a heart of gold, who surprises herself with her own actions and is frisky enough to be a dude.
A kindred spirit if ever there was one.

But Chelsea and I differ in one major way.
(And no, it's not just the fact that she's a rich celebrity and I merely write a blog few other than my own Mother read).
Chelsea is a woman who knows how to rebound.
I, however, do not.

It's not like I haven't attempted to.
I've gone on several mediocre dates.
I've joined a bullshit online dating site.
I go happenin' places with happenin' folks.
But I just can't have a forced connection with someone that isn't genuine.

I know those girls, those girls who are never single because they don't know how to be and so they just hop from guy to guy.  And all they ever talk about are their relationship problems and their exes and if you ask them what's new with them they begin every sentence with, "Well, WE did this...."

That isn't really what I'm craving either.

But it is definitely easier to stop thinking about one boy when you have other boys to distract you.  I do have a plethora of very fabulous gay boyfriends and husbands in my life.  But I can only count on them so far as no delicious looking men walk in the bar we're at.  And that's fine because we always have an amazing time.  But still there's something missing.

But I realized something today.
I realized there are those times when you want to share something with a friend, something you discovered or thought that spoke to you in this way that you know only a select few would really understand.
And it's weird when you feel like one of those few you could tell anything to you now have to accept telling nothing to.

It's just....strange.
And different.

And you have to find someone new to tell these things to.
But they may not get it.  They may not understand right away.
Or at all.

I think those people who really see us, who get us in this way that doesn't make sense because we don't even make sense are there just to remind us that we're not crazy.  And even if there are those who don't get our jokes or understand the words we don't say, there exists those individuals who do.

Even after they stop sharing stories.

So there's that.

If you look for the bad in people expecting to find it, you surely will

My friend proved my point the other night that bros stick with bros.

Don't hold anything he said against him. We all say bad things. He's a good guy, he tried reassuring me.

My reaction was somewhere between a shudder and a meniacal laugh.
I have no idea what that must have looked like but I'm sure it was disturbing.

Why do we always have to convince each other that everyone is really good?  Wouldn't it be much easier to admit that some people are righteous messes and they are incapable of behaving in any sort of rational, loving way because their only relationships have been manipulated and controlled?  And that maybe because of such circumstances, life and tragedy people are not good the way Anne Frank and Disney encouraged us to believe?

I don't know that it's wise to believe everyone is good.  I think we're setting ourselves up to be attacked.  I'm not saying then that these people are bad but what if they're actually somewhere in between?  Blind faith and trust should not be placed in everyone and everything.  I think we can give people the benefit of the doubt but still guard our hearts while we're waiting to see if their claws will be revealed.  I think logic teaches that regardless of some peoples true motives, regardless of their heart and intentions some people are not good.  They behave badly. 

And they are bad for me.

Mountains crumble.
Miracles happen.
People do change.

But that doesn't mean I need to be in the audience while it happens.

I have my own show to star in.

This light's fought through enough clouds to be stifled behind any more.

Prove me wrong.
I'd love to hear one day all about it.

How to look naked in your makeup

http://www.examiner.com/cosmetics-in-portland/how-to-look-naked-your-makeup

Confessions of a Sugar Junkie

Grandma cut out an article for me to read the other day on the dangers of sugar.  And I nonchalantly replied, Oh I know, I've read 'Sugar Blues.'  Sugar is terrible for you.  It has addictive properties on par with opiates.  But I don't care.  It's my drug of choice and I choose to abuse.

Grandma, true to Nelson form, casually accepted my answer and just laughed.  The Nelsons aren't combative so no arguments ensue.  Which is good cuz I can be about as stubborn as they come.

I love sugar.  But I don't love going through withdrawal.  I don't love going through withdrawal from any drug.  I don't love the manic depressive roller coaster waves highs bring when they crash around your feet.  If something gets you high all the time it's easy to develop a codependency on it.  Without the high something feels off.  It's non descript but still overwhelmingly present.  I may not physically get the shakes but I certainly get the grumps.  I want my high and I want it now!! 

But what happens if your high doesn't want you?

That brings us to the Search for Other Drugs.

No two drugs are exactly alike.  I think sometimes those that used to get you high lose their potent properties as time sneaks by.  And as your cravings increase.  A lot of things in life aren't conducive to change.  So when you do it can be hard for the new you to be accepted.  People like familiarity.  And familiarity can feel like stagnancy.

Thus the need for highs.
Unpredictable, inconstant, greedy little highs.

You'd think I'd learn but damn if that sweet, forbidden taste isn't worth the crash.
Shame thy name is sugar.

Sweet Dreams

I had a dream the other night and one of my crazy custies was in it.
(That's what happens when you eat a Snickers before bed).

I only had one interaction with her but let's just say this customer was "challenging."*  In fact she was so "difficult"* that she developed a reputation and this notoriety made her a hot topic as my co workers each had the "thrill"* of working with her.

*The opinions of this blog do not represent those of Clinique or Nordstrom.*

Anyway I woke up and thought it was beyond weird that the crazy bitch, excuse me, I mean "challenging lady"* showed up in my unconscious delirium.  But what was even more damn creepy was the VERY. NEXT. DAY. she showed up at my work!!

And because I apparently have the maturity of a six year old I literally turned around, walked the opposite direction from where she was coming from and hid for a few moments in the bathroom.

I am woman. Hear me roar.

Number one, it was really damn spooky.  Number two I dreaded another "delightful interaction"* with her. And number three WHAT THE HELL ARE THE ODDS?!!

Oh and as if that wasn't weird enough for a Hump Day some ass hat I worked with six years ago was walking around upstairs with some too beautiful for him sprite attached to his hand.

Cut to the Resa of 2006 flexing her flirt in her work place and the ass hat making a big to-do about how he was her boss and she needed to understand that nothing would ever happen between them.  And yes, this speech was uttered in the presence of his male bosses.  And yes, this was before he got hammered and all up in her business on the dance floor at Mcfaddens. 
Did I mention he also ripped a giant hole along the crotch of his jeans on the dance floor that night?
Did I also mention the ass hat is apparently engaged now?!

Fate is one fickle bitch with a wicked sense of humor.

Who the hell's gonna show up tomorrow?

I shudder to think.

Dear God in Heaven, let it be a prince.

Perfumes that cater to the city of roses

http://www.examiner.com/cosmetics-in-portland/perfumes-that-cater-to-the-city-of-roses

Even kooks get frisky

I was sitting on my lunch break thinking I might write something but wasn't quite sure what to write.  On cue, as though my thoughts were spoken aloud, enter stage left a crazy old kook pushing his walker.

Ooh you like nice, he crooned as I was looking in my compact touching up my face.

I generally enjoy it when men dote on me.  Who doesn't?  But I grow a little weary when it comes from an undesirable and I'm in a position where it's hard to escape.

I replied with gratitude and tried to make polite conversation to be nice because maybe he was a lonely old man and just wanted to talk to a pretty girl.

I'm just so magnanimous.
And I will be punished for it.

He started telling me an incredibly uncomfortable story about how he went on a date with a lady once who was wearing so much makeup it got all over his clothes so he sent her to the restroom to wipe it off and had some other gal help her put it on correctly. Then I told her, 'There. Now I don't mind taking you out.'

Um.

This would be the point where I turned to my studio audience and asked, Now what do I say to that?

I will spare you the further details he shared with me about his desire for women since his divorce.

It was probably not more than five minutes he continued talking at me but it was definitely the most awkward moment I've had in a long time.

Mother said the crazies are always seeking her out to tell her their life stories.

So is it, like, encoded in my genes or something?
Tattooed on my forehead?
Crazies come hither!  I'm your gal!

Maybe its in my cheekbones.
Some old guy mentioned them once.
Isn't she beautiful? my date had said.
Yes, the old man replied, it's in the cheekbones.

Maybe its time I wear less blush.

Its worth a shot.

How to look sun kissed even when it's raining

http://www.examiner.com/cosmetics-in-portland/how-to-look-sun-kissed-even-when-it-s-raining

How to make fake lashes look natural

http://www.examiner.com/cosmetics-in-portland/how-to-make-fake-lashes-look-natural

Awkward Moments with a Hot Guy, Part 1

Sometimes being around a beautiful person can make you nervous.
You won't know what to say, you'll stutter and mix up your words.
And your face may even turn a cherry sort of shade.

I'm not that kind of person.

I'm usually irrationally comfortable around strangers no matter how drop dead gorgeous they may be. 
Call it acting, call it my deluded sense of self worth, but I don't generally get tongue tied around people.

Apparently the other night I was playing the role of the wacky neighbor who drops by to interject some idiot remark and then leaves so everyone can laugh.

There are these hunks that work behind the scenes at my job and while they're not really my flavor, they're still enjoyable to look at.  They're a little too Abercrombie and I prefer my men more J.Crew. 

So I went back to their area to drop off some things.  Usually when I'm around an attractive man I like to engage in some playful banter, perhaps make some coy comment while batting my eyelashes.  In this instance I'm pretty sure my inner sex goddess was hitting her head against the wall with my failure as a seductress.

Oh, you already boxed everything up?  Should I just leave my crap right here?
Yeah, go ahead, I'll deal with it in the morning.  Just leave your crap there.
I always do.

Uhhh......

I've never actually heard men tittering before but they were.

I walked away and made this facial expression to myself of confusion and bewilderment.
Did I really just say.... I always.... leave.... my crap?!

Lame, Reese.
BEYOND lame.

Apparently even the most articulate vixens stumble upon an awkward moment or two.
And with a hot guy, no less.

I am ashamed.

Old Joy

I wrote a letter to someone.
But I never sent it.
I was upset and I have a way with words.
Power of life and death in this here tongue.
And I decided I should use it for good.
So I kept my mouth shut.

I thought that was growth.

And instead I wrote a much shorter message making my point succinctly, free of accusation and still loving.

And the response was that of gratitude.
And a remark that my words were very kind.

I think people are smarter than we give them credit for.
I think they know when they're undeserving.

I'm not really sure why but it reminded me of an email I sent six months ago.

I must have written, I don't even know how many drafts. At least, like, three. I kept writing and rewriting. I was so hurt and so angry. But everytime I tried to write I'd go back and read it and I wasn't saying what I really wanted. I remember realizing everything I wrote sounded mean and was intended to hurt. And I hung my head in disappointment. As much as it would gratify me for that moment, I couldn't do it.
So I composed a new letter that still stated I was hurt but that I knew in spite of that, they were still an amazing person. And that I still believed in them.

I never got a response.

But what could somebody say to that?
I know all you are, all you've done and said and it still doesn't shatter my affections.
Whose strong enough to accept such love?

I'm glad for the times I choose kind words.
I'll never regret being loving.
Whether or not people receive it.

It's still who I am.

I can't seem to believe

I had this revelation while talking with a friend the other night.

It really is hard believing in things you can't see.

My agnostic friend was sharing a story about how someone she knew had recently tried to convert her.
And she said she felt like such a jerk because the whole time she just wanted to laugh.
There is a part of me that wants to believe in God but I just can't. 

It's probably a ridiculous comparison but I realized I felt the same way about relationships.
There is a part of me that wants to believe my true prince charming exists, but I don't know if I can.

And while some soul mate is certainly not in the same league as the Big G I found it fitting that somehow for how different my friend and I are we suffered from the same ailment.

A lack of faith.


The almost comical part of the evening was that my melancholic friend whose always been far more depressive than moi seemed to be the one of us who was looking on the bright side.  Oh sure, we all have days we feel a little extra blue and I'm pretty sure that monthly visitor is rearing its ugly head.  But still. 
It made me wonder.

Why is it so easy to believe in some things and so hard to believe in others?
And what is it within us that keeps us from believing?

Is it something I can sprinkle on like my glitter in the morning?
Can I just live by a faith that believes in what it hasn't seen and ignores everything it has?

Because if lessons lie in patterns then my life has shown me that there's a reason I don't fit a common mold.  It doesn't suit me.  And maybe being different means my relationships are as well.

And maybe faith means accepting things won't look the way I imagined they should.
Maybe faith is believing in all that seems contrary because the absurd is far more lovely than anything already understood.

If you can believe all things are possible to those who believe.

I can believe.  I can believe.
I can....
Well, I can try to believe.

And I think you can too.

If you look for the bad in people that's all you'll see

I've been having a weird couple weeks.

Mother says when we allow certain things to take place we open the door for more of the same to flood our lives.

I don't quite know the lady like way to say this but it seems I opened the douchefuck door because the assholes have just been streaming by in one long parade.

How the hell was I crowned princess of their float?

Oy to the vey.


You know when one thing happens and you can kind of laugh it off?  And then when the same crummy thing happens again you can even be like, HA!  Well, that's quite the coincidence, isn't it?  But when the pattern seems to continue past the point of patience then your smile gives way to a frown?  And angry eyes.  Annoyed as fuck angry eyes.

I don't like men who are shady.
I have no respect for men who are two faced.
And I also detest that men as a whole stand behind one another whenever one of them does something douche-y.

If guys stand by their bros when they each make bonehead choices why is it women are always the first to shun one another when we fail to choose wisely?

Hmm.
For being self centered, misogynistic, narcissistic assholes they certainly understand the concept of loving thy neighbor better than us sensitive, emotional females.

Then again maybe they understand the concept a little TOO well.


When people start to view you a certain way it's hard to not let that influence the way you view yourself.  You start to believe if so many people see that quality in you it must be true.  I mean, mustn't it?  Can that many people be so very deceived?

Damn right they can.

It's not my fault that other people think wrong things. 
I didn't ask them to.
And despite popular belief, I didn't encourage it.

I had another married man make overtures towards me and one of my guy friends' pat responses was, Well you are very flirtatious.

Uh huh.
Right.

Because I'm sure the Married Man would never ever think such a scandalous thing if it wasn't for My Flirt.  Of course, I am  a modern day Aphrodite. 
So there is that.

I think what would be KEEN is if folks accepted responsibility for their own fucked up ness. 
Like, Yeah, I'm just kinda screwed up and unhappy and dissatisfied with my life right now and then I met you and it seemed like this exciting distraction from having to deal with all the issues in my life I'd rather not think about.  But it really could have been anybody or any thing.  I was just looking for an escape.  Don't mind me.

THAT is much more truthful than that my wiles have such a profound influence on these morons.

I'm beginning to understand why my estranged beautiful friend Stephanie was always such a bitch.
It's the only way to keep men in line.

I'm hot.  And you'll never touch it.  Now run along.

Genius.  It's a shame her bitch had to spill off onto me.

I always liked patterns as a kid.
I like understanding things. 
I like knowing what the meaning is, what people are really saying, what they really need.

But I don't like that no matter how many different shades I color my hair men always think I'll be their vixen on the side.

Just because I'm comfortable in my body, in all I am, doesn't mean you get any part of that.

Despite my doey eyed counterparts my life isn't waiting to start once I finally find The One.

If he does exist, he's certainly gonna know better than to think I live only to fulfill his pathetic fantasies.
Because there is so much more to me than all that.

I'm just sorry there's nothing more to all of you.