Archive for the ‘self discovery’ Category


WARNING:   I’m going to have to ask that no matter how innocent and beautifully honest this blog may be, that you don’t fondle, grope, caress, or touch it inappropriately in any way – even if it is the blog of your dreams


BREAKING NEWS:  Prince Charming was NOT spotted today [or ever for that matter]  galloping upon a snow white steed, harboring a large shield for warding off dragons or scary people with guns, while traveling  through the enchanted forest to rescue a long- haired, bottle -blond damsel with daddy issues.  Sources have revealed that the reason he was not spotted was because he actually does not exist!


[ Cinderella’s response to the shocking news: “You mean I’ve been sweeping up all this soot and ironing my evil stepsisters’ button down shirts and there’s no fricken prince at the end of the tunnel?  What kind of CRAP is that?!” ]

Ladies: let’s just get something straight.  Prince Charming isn’t around.  He jumped the border and he’s headed for Atlantis.  To my knowledge he hasn’t even left a close relative or body double to be your shoulder to cry on.  He didn’t even leave his snow white stallion around the stables for you to pet.  His mother, the Queen of Nonexistent Men, found this note under his pillow:


 Dear Completely Delusional Yet Surprisingly Hopeful Women of the Land, 


“I feel like a classic fool.  [the imaginary Prince is British, of course]  I could no longer keep up this silly charade.  Blessed Respite! I am nothing but a fake.  I’m a big, fat (but very trim), dodgy  phony. I don’t have a steed, or a stallion, all I’ve got is an ‘88 Ford Fiesta.  I don’t ward off dragons, I run in the face of danger.  I run! I am nothing but a yellow- bellied coward, a coward I say!  My entire life is a farce, and I am the only one to blame.  Except for my mum who is partly to blame.”

 Cheers,   Prince C.




MORE BREAKING NEWS:  We are getting reports of a supposed uproar in Disney World.  Snow White has strapped a bomb to her up-do and is threatening to blow up her Happily Ever After Castle (which was to be her wedding gift from King Charming)  The Gingerbread man has plummeted head first off Humpty Dumpty’s wall, and Tinkerbell has joined forces with the fairy godmother coalition to spread raging pixie dust wildfires all across the land!



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I moved in my condo about a year ago.   Finally, last month i  got all the rooms painted.  About a week after that, I decided the living room wasn’t exciting enough.  I mean, it was this goldish yellow.  it was nice.  and soothing.  but come on.  the surrounding walls are pale yellow, the main wall is goldish yellow, and the couch is like some other form of yellow. 

i have no idea how this happened.


green is what i needed.  so i went to Home Depot, which in all actuality isn’t really the greatest paint store in the world as they train any Tom, Dick, and almost Hairy eighteen yr old boy to be a “paint specialist” after viewing  a 10 minute video.  i think at one point i was even a paint specialist.   but as a former employee i still can’t bring myself to save big money at Menards.

 after many days of searching for the perfect green, i purchase a can and go home with my hopes set high.  i stared at the paint for a good two weeks, then finally got up the motivation to actually paint the paint. 

Of course, it is my living room that i’m painting, so this requires me to move and rearrange everything in my entire house in order to make this one wall more exciting.  I crack open the can only to be greeted with an all too harsh reality.  the paint looks nothing like the color on the swatch but everything like the color already on my wall- with a tiny smidge of green.  so its diarrhea yellow. 

The can sits in my car for another week.  then i go back to HD and tell the guy the situation..  of course he gives me the spiel about how colors look different in different lighting, blah blah blah.  really?  well what if i dipped you in a giant vat of shut up because i don’t care?  what color would you be then? 

i have him re-mix it.  he adds more black to make it less yellow.  then just it looked grey.  to which i replied, “i’m not an artist or anything, but what about adding more green?”  he tells me it will be fine, but i should use a blue primer underneath to counteract the yellow surface.  so he just mixes a random concoction of blues.  fair enough.

So i get home with my very green paint and my very blue primer.   this time i find a nice cozy home for it on my kitchen table right next to the rotten bananas.  Another week goes by and its July 3rd- my day off.   I wake up, get a far off look in my eye and think, Today is the day.    Today is the day my house will be forever changed.  I get out all my supplies, call in some help from mom, get on my painting clothes, and slap on the primer.   its a crazy  blue… and as i’m putting it on i’m thinking, now this is exciting.  Then, with the first swipe of my brush onto the freshly primed wall, all that comes to mind is peas.  mashed baby food peas. or mashed baby food peas throw up.  this isn’t going to work

I decided that i’ll just go with blue since apparently green paint is far too hefty of a request.  Finally, I decide on a nice aqua-ish / quasi-exciting color.  While i’m waiting for the guy to mix it, i tear off a $5 rebate coupon, which normally i’d never take the time to mess with – but after realizing that i’m burning through paint cans like hilary burns through pantsuits – i could start working on a future child’s college fund or something. 

i get home.  After doing a test spot on my wall, drying it, and analyzing it from afar… i notice that it is actually electric blue. it doesn’t even have a distant cousin named aqua.

The primer actually looked good next to that ridiculousness, so i put on a second coat.  and now my walls are blue primer blue.  and i kinda like it. 

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I realize that its been more than a couple days since my fingers have graced the pearly plastics, and i have nothing to say except that i wish this thing had spell check because i am burning some serious midnight oil right now.  Anyways, I have so many stories to tell that i feel like i’m an old, accomplished writer who is piecing together her memoir -and yet,  i’m just starting out.

I was thinking that we would touch the subject of commitments and fears and all sorts of deep rooted feelings that surface on a late saturday night; however, i think i’ll just say that i’m ecstatic that my mom just called me and said “its going to rain tomorrow, so we’re not going to have the Father’s Day  pool party after all.” ( i come from a long line of procrastinators, so yes, we’re just getting around to the whole Father’s Day thing)

Anyway, I have serious problems with committment;  but, this is old news, and nothing that interests you.  However, a recent conversation between my mother and father just very well might:

so my mom and dad are watching tv in the kitchen.  i sneak into the fridge, snatch a bowl that has a single piece of leftover pie in it, and maneuver my way back to the living room, but before i make it there, i’m stopped with:

MOM: “what are you eating, my pie?”

ME: “YOUR pie? Well there’s only this one piece, what happened to the rest of it?”

DAD YELLS FROM THE CORNER: “there was a pie?! i never knew there was a pie.”

MOM: “it wasn’t a very big one, it was like, individual size.”

DAD: “I’ve never seen an individual pie.”

…..[mom glances at tv, trying to change the subject…]

MOM: “is that alice cooper? He looks like satan these days.”


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I despise birthdays. So it’s no surpise that I hate today.


At the turn of my _ _ th year, I had a wee bit of time to reflect upon all the other things that I hate in life, mainly: Neil Diamond, mayonnaise, sci-fi, socialism, the word “sausage,” people who fail to be funny, Crocs, athletic activity, Frasier, punks, Kmart, malt flavoring, spandex, insects, and seafood.  After reviewing this list, I came to the staggering conclusion that it has been missing one very important addition all these years.




I say that this is staggering because although I have hated them secretly for years, I feel that is just somehow not enough.


Normally, this is where I would insert some kind of comment that would buffer any potentially offended vegetarian readers. This comment would say something to the effect of, “if you do this because it makes you physically ill to think about butchering an animal, then you’re okay in my book.” But since it’s my birthday and I’ll blog what I want to, I make no apologies for this post.


Here’s a revised snippet of what once was a masterpiece of vegetarian criticism at its finest.


The following is a public safety announcement:

Some of you may be contemplating buying/eating plant products in the future and I urge you NOT to do so. Imagine for just a moment, an innocent, defenseless plant.  Its leaves are flourishing in all their beautiful, green glory, its fruit ripening in the sun, and its branches blowing in the breeze.  Then, along comes a guy with a machete and God’s creation is brutally attacked, mangled, and shipped far from its homeland only to be eventually consumed by an unappreciative, spoiled, overweight five year old who will leave most of it on his plate to rot because he filled up on too many Little Debbie moon pies. Plants are eaten for the mere fact that no one can hear them crying for help and begging for their lives to be spared. It is like beating up a mime, or strangling a blind midget.  It’s not right. 


Take the chicken, for example. Chickens deserve to die.  Leaving their immoral multiple sexual-partner habits aside, have you observed how they break into the homes of peacefully sleeping worms, like savages, and drag them out of their cribs only to dangle them over the hungry mouths of baby birds to be eventually consumed?  how would you like that done to you, huh punk?

Some of you may ask, “But what about killing and eating a cow?”  Cows may appear innocent and sweet, but this is garbage! The cow is an evil ABOMINABLE MONSTER. Not only do they carelessly chomp away at plants ALL day long, they regurgitate the victims and chew them AGAIN as if to relish in the joy of cold blooded murder.


Meatatarians are simply serving justice…we would never eat something that didn’t do any wrong.   I have a deep respect for majestic animals such as lions and tigers that choose never to eat innocent plants, thus carrying out justice. Do not let people fool you into thinking that eating plants is environmentally safe. DON’T BELIEVE THE IRRATIONALITY!  When you kill a plant…you’re damaging the foundation of the food chain. Plants produce OXYGEN. Animals produce harmful, deadly carbon dioxide;  thus, they are slowly placing us in a toxic gas chamber.   *Need I remind you, if Eve had eaten the snake instead of the apple, we would all be living in paradise.*



Act NOW.  Save your life and the lives of others.  Eat animals.

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months of planning.  thousands of dollars.  perfectly arranged flowers and candles.  finger foods.  a heartfelt speech or two.  an overpriced cash bar.  hundreds of random people.  a way too drunk groomsman.  and one completely clueless DJ

After coming home to recooperate from the thirteenth wedding i’ve now been in / coordinated,  i dust the rice off my tux, attempt to brush through what once was my hair before teased and laquered in hairspray and glitter, and apply assorted bandaids to the various blisters that cover every square inch of my feet.

No sooner that I’d gotten home,  i passed out onto my bed.   Immediately, I  jump up when i realize that I have orange bronzer coating my entire body and so much mascara on that I can barely close my eyes, which will create an even bigger mess if left til morning.  So i go against every current desire in my body, and shower.

Showering leaves so much room for reflection, you know?  Just you, the boiling lava hot – or arctic tundra cold water, and your thoughts.  Generally, shower thoughts consist of something like, “I could actually do my hair for work today…  nah.  Why would I? I hate my job, i hate the people, and nobody important sees me.  Ponytail  McSlob it is.”  or “i really HAVE to pick up some milk today, i  CANNOT keep eating TV dinners for breakfast.”  or “I feel good. today is the day.  Today i’m gonna start working out.  yea.”  But shower thoughts after weddings always take a different turn. 

the celebrating, the smell of love in the air, the sentimental video journey….It really makes you think about your life and where you’re at.   And with all the reflecting and warm, fuzzy introspection -this is what i discovered:

I’m not allowed to have a wedding of my own.   i have no more room in my closet.


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[[[reaching deep down into the Bag ‘O Issues…]]]

slip of paper #1: “If Global Warming is true, why did we just have the most frigid winter in decades?”    no.

slip of paper #2: If Keira Knightly doesn’t have an eating disorder how come I can see her liver?”   naw.  not today.

slip of paper #3: “the ever-present and ever-growing spandex crisis.” 

and we have a winner!

Buckle up kids, this one is going to be a long, elastic ride… With warmer weather right around the corner (I’m starting to wonder just how many more corners we can turn here in IL …)  it brings one thing to mind.  Well, two things.  hooking up and working out.   We’ll address the hooking up part later, because that’s just way too big of a topic to throw in here casually.  Speaking of working out,  a topic of which I know nothing, it got me to thinking about gyms, which led to jogging, which led to sweating, which of course, had no where else to go but spandex, the elastic peep show.

i mean. 

come on.

Perhaps you are someone who frequently loves to stretch out in some spandex, or maybe you just keep it around for special occasions- i won’t press you for answers.  but there has to be an underlying reason behind the spandex – a deep rooted cause for your despicable actions.  and thats what i’m here for.  so get comfortable, get vulnerable, and get ready to get down to the heart of the matter. 

Do any of these describe you?

1. I get alot of dirty looks. i come across as borderline snobbish-most likely, because I am.  I jog along neighborhood sidewalks, often in subzero temperatures, probably wearing some kind of designer vest, with my IPOD strapped to my forearm, and a bottle of Crystal Light in my pocket.  When I return home, I like to sautee some Tofu and perhaps make an appointment to get my hair re-highlighted. oh, and i’m a bit of an attention whore.

DIAGNOSIS: trophy wife / celebrity

PSYCHOANALYSIS:  the spandex appears to be an avenue for you to showcase how proud you are that child-bearing has not yet had a negative affect on your thighs.   [or that you’ve had some mighty good work done]



muscle-guy2. I got rejected a few times for the prom – I remember uttering to myself, “someday I’ll show them.”  Now I live at the gym.  I have muscles in places they were never meant to be, nor did anyone ever imagine they could be.  No matter what, I always try to find a way to wear  a sleeveless shirt of some sort – just in case the muscles weren’t visible enough through the skin tight shirt.  If  I happen to be wearing sleeves, I can always just rip them off, as that looks more care-free and tough anyway.  I spend a pretty penny on fake tanning.

DIAGNOSIS: douchebag. 

PSYCHOANALYSIS:   you feel like you have something to prove to the world, thus,  you slather yourself in vanity and women.  the spandex is an outlet for the repression of feelings you had in high school. 


 3. I really like the word “zen.”  I try to use it when describing my plants, my house, and everything else that i can reasonably insert an adjective in front of.  I admire Madonna and her very zen-seeking/yoga doing lifestyle.  I’m also Vegan, because vegetarian isn’t committed enough.

DIAGNOSIS: exhippie

PSYCHOANALYSIS: You definately smoked your fair share of weed in the 70’s. you might have even tie-dyed your own shirt in the washer.  Now you’re middle-aged and trying to fix the damage you’ve done.  The problem is, you aren’t conscious of the damage that you are doing to the rest of us by the clothing choices your are making.



4.  I just have no business wearing this stuff.  period.  i don’t know who i think i am.

DIAGNOSIS:  none needed.

PSYCHOANALYSIS:  out yo mind.


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now, since my number one priority is and always has been your comfort, i want you to kick back in that ridiculous thing you call a recliner (i mean, would it kill you to update it?),  turn on some smooth jazz (not so smooth that you pass out, but not so fast that you can’t fully absorb what i’m saying), take off your socks (but could you chill out with the canvas shoes already?)  and join me for a tall one as we solve the hardships of the world and scrutinize the problems of others.  shall we?


during the nice, long, and relaxing weekend i had some time to ponder my thoughts, catch my breath,  and  get down and dirty to the matter at hand, which is words that should exist.



 ORGANITY: a state of being that people achieve when they honestly believe that by paying twice as much for “certified organic” foods they are actually lengthening their lifespan. also, when they purchase the certifiably organic foods, they will most likely opt for a reusable bag instead of a plastic one so they can save the earth at the same time. 


DISCONFECT: To sterilize the piece of candy which you dropped on the floor by blowing on it, perhaps stroking it, and having full confidence this will remove all germs.




LACTOMANGULATION: Manhandling the “open here” spout on a milk carton so badly that you must resort to the illegal side.



CARPETUATION: The act, when vacuuming, of running over a piece of string at least a dozen times, reaching over and picking it up, examining it, then putting it down to give the vacuum one more chance.







CAPRIGROPATION: the delicate struggle that in sues when you have a Capri Sun and you’re attempting to get the straw through that ridiculous hole at the top of the package, all the while not squeezing too hard so that you don’t spray yourself with the paradise blend. 




PETROPHOBIC: One who is terrified to undress in front of a house pet.

dang fido, is it just me, or has she put on a few since Easter ?”





TELECRASTINATION: The act of letting the phone ring about three times, even though you’ve been anticipating that call for the better half of a week. Or perhaps your life.








 FRUST: The tiny line of debris that refuses to be swept up, thus backing a person across the entire room until they have reached surmountable frustrastion levels and sweep it under the fridge. 


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while watching Little Miss Sunshine and thinking about the grandfather…

i couldn’t help but wonder:

“what kind of man carries around a fanny pack full of heroin?”

oh wait…  my ex- boyfriend.



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i’ve searched everywhere from the highest peaks to the crevices of the ocean, delved into bacteria-infested rivers, and ventured into the utmost depths of the enchanted forests… i’ve battled many a mythical sci-fi creature to discover what tidbits of truth i might bring to you all, on this, my very first post.  

 but now i’m exhausted. 

i guess we could have a brief introduction. 

grab a snack pack.  wait, make that a lunchable.  i’m trying to encourage healthy eating in the new year.  get on the floor. sit indian style. form a circle.  if you’re by yourself, don’t focus on forming the circle, or the fact that you don’t have any friends…

so whats with the blog? 

  do i not already have enough cooks in the proverbial kitchen? yes. do my eyes not continually burn with the fire of candles smoldering at both ends?  again, i’m going to have to say yes.   do i not already have enough procrastination issues that there would be no rational reason why i would begin yet another website that i feel guilty about not keeping up with?  yes.  wait, no.  ok.  yes.

for the rest of the story, i’ll have to refer you to my affiliate page “so who is the elephant?”


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