The Letter Part 2

It was not so much a letter as a fancy envelope with calligraphy on
the front. Nothing good can ever come from calligraphy on the front.
(At least, not when your unemployed. Calligraphy equals someone
wanting expensive gifts from Crate & Barrel.)

I opened it.

It was a wedding invitation. My heart started racing as I scanned it... I didn't even have to see all the names and places and wheres and whens - I JUST KNEW. Old Boyfriend would be there. If you continue to read here, you will learn there is Good Old Boyfriend and Bad Old Boyfriend. With Bad Old Boyfriend things ended badly, but with no one else juicy-delicious to think about, I can't stop thinking
that now that I AM OVER Bad Old Boyfriend (I swear) why can't I toy with the possibility with meet-up-at-the-wedding MAKE-OUT (or more) in four months? How else can I CRUSH HIM WITH REGRET?

Good Old Boyfriend is another story for another time. (Why are WE ONLY TEMPTED BY THE BAD ONES?)

Of course my mind immediately races to the important things: HOW MUCH WEIGHT CAN I LOOSE IN FOUR MONTHS and WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR? But the second thing doesn't matter as much as the first thing because without the accomplishment of the first thing, there can be no second thing. A SEQUINED MUMU FROM LANE BRYANT does not say let's grab that half bottle of champagne and meet in the bushes. Well... not the
bushes... not if I'm thin and wearing something expensive from Bloomingdale's WITH THE TAGS TUCKED IN THE BACK so I can return it the following day.

So much to think about. With so much to think about, I don't even have time to think about, how do I really feel? Which is good. I don't really want to think about that right now.

All I want to think about is... Is forty pounds even in the REALM of possibilty of losing if I only eat hard boiled eggs and carrots for four months?

The Letter Part 2

You Will NOT BELIEVE The Letter I Got Today

I think my mail man likes to torture me.

I saw the little smirk on his face when he dropped this BOMB SHELL of a letter IN MY MAIL BOX. It's just too much to take. Even IT coming with an "US Magazine" with Jessica Simpson on the cover being "tortured by regret" doesn't cushion the blow. I'm taking a Benedryl for my rash and 1/2 a Klonopin for my MAJOR ANXIETY and unless that's a LETHAL COMBINATION, I will blog about this later.

You Will NOT BELIEVE The Letter I Got Today

Itchy Scratchy Red & Rashy Stress Bunny

I'm an itchy scratchy red and rashy stressed out unemployed, under sexed, pre-holiday stress bunny. It started on my legs and has moved north to belly button region. It's red and bumpy and itchy and rashy. VERY SEXY LADIES! I have ruled out STD unless it has laid dormant for six months.

I know my only solution is to get a cortizone shot but that requires me TAKING MY PANTS OFF and I'm just not there yet. Not even of the doctor is hot and buys me dinner. I have read a lot about a dog's healing saliva but every time I bring it up to Coop, he just puts his tail between his legs and cowers under the coffee table.

What's a bunny to be stressed about?

1) Waiting to hear about a job that I REALLLLLLLLLY want (AND NEED in order to pay for luxuries, like groceries and keeping the lights on)

2) My ass. It's big and now that I've weighed myself and even if I took 20 pounds off for underwear & hair gel, they number is TOO DAMN HIGH.

3) My crazy mother. Recent conversations with her about my trip home for the holidays are leading me to believe we'll probably have a repeat of last Christmas which included, BUT NOT IN THIS ORDER - a nervous breakdown, a trip to the Psych hospital, three dozen donuts to lure her there, my father doing Suduko in the waiting room, paper plates which my mother was writing down her conversations with Sarah McLaughlin. Yes, the Singer. I one day plan to write a festive holiday children's book about it. I'm mulling over a couple of titles, so far the top contender is, "Keep Drinking 'Til It's Funny, A Holiday Tale."

4) Being hit on by a male prostitute the other night has sent my self-esteem into a tail spin. I thought he was flirting with me as in, he was attracted to me and not as in, he was wondering how much he could charge me by the hour. DO I LOOK SO DESPERATE THAT I WOULD PAY FOR SEX? Don't answer that.

I must take to my bed. (Who am I kidding, I'm already lying here.)

Itchy Scratchy Red & Rashy Stress Bunny

Dirty, Dirty Naughty Girl Liar - Part 2

In Catholic school, we learned about the sin of omission. Sins of omission go something like this: The scene, me age 10, my family's kitchen, my Mom holding a cake plate - the contents which look like they have been demolished BY RABID HYPO-GYLCEMIC SQUIRRELS.

Mom: "Did you eat the last of this cake?"
Me: "No."
Me: (Inner Dialogue) "I just licked all the frosting, gnawed the sides off and then put it back on the cake plate."

That my friends, is "sin of omission" defined, and apparently, you go to HELL FOR IT. Or maybe not. What I remember vaguely of Catholic school is, you go to hell for everything and one time I was so afraid to ask to go to the bathroom, I peed in my pants.

Back to why I'm a Dirty, Dirty Naughty Liar. In my post about my EX, "$1 Dollar Drink Specials + Empty Stomach...," I mentioned how I was trying to call my ex because, ripped on four glasses of one dollar chardonnay, it seemed like the sensible thing to do. I reported that I didn't end up calling him and was quite proud of myself for that. THE OMISSION: I EMAILED HIM LADIES!!!!! YEAH, I DID.

Here's the deal. I came home and promptly typed this little diddy:

"Can you call me tonight?" SEND!

And then, BECAUSE I WANTED HIM IN NO WAY TO GET OUT OF IT, I typed again, "Surely, you haven't forgotten my number?" AND THEN I TYPED MY NUMBER. "Surely, you haven't forgotten?????" All of a sudden I'm a silver screen starlet from the 1950's.

As I fought passing out into a CHARDONNAY STATE OF SLUMBER, I looked into the heavy guilt-giving eyelids of my pooch Coop. Coop can lay the guilt on LIKE SISTER MARIE from fourth grade!!! He's like having Jesus and Mary Mother of God, right in the same room.

UGH! I know, I know. I worked so hard to get over this relationship. "Disasterous relationship," Coop corrected me with a unwavering stare. DAMMIT. I got back on the computer. I typed, "Nevermind. I was just having a moment." SEND. "Satisfied?" I said to Coop. "Oui, mon cherie", I imagined he said which is weird because he's a Chihuahua so technically he's Mexican and not French.

The next morning, this email came FROM HIM: (Not Coop, my Ex) - "I didn't check my email until this morning. I can call you today if you'd like." No. I was good. So I typed, "No, I'm good. Thank you." And that was it.

Dirty, Dirty Naughty Girl Liar - Part 2

Dirty, Dirty, Naughty Girl Liar

Ack!!!! I'll post about this tomorrow. Having champagne with the girls and I want to get my share! :)

Dirty, Dirty, Naughty Girl Liar

My JoyFriend is Better Than Your Boyfriend

Okay, so if you've read this blog, you know I like to rock a different vocabulary and make up new words. My favorite new word is JoyFriend. This weekend - I hung out with a couple of JoyFriends and I can say, my weekend was better than your weekend (unless you had good sex and then maybe it's a tie.)

A JoyFriend is a person that is totally positive and upbeat - they're... well, Joyful. JoyFriends are the friend you can call last minute and they will go anywhere and do anything. Their answer to life is not, "Maybe, let me check"/"I don't know, I've never gone there before"/"Is that going to mess up my hair"? No, they say YES to everything, especially LIFE. More importantly, THEY ENCOURAGE YOU TO DO THE SAME.

Lately, my life has been anything but joyful. My Saturday nights consisted of alphabetizing my magazines in piles to be donated while drinking chardonnay out of an old 7-11 Big Gulp cup. Sometimes I toasted some pita chips, like I was having a party, put them on a fancy plate AND SHARED THEM WITH MY DOG. See, no joy. But lately, I have made a concerted effort to only hang out with the most POSITIVE, RAYS OF LIGHT, SUPER SHINY DISCO BALL types of friends. These types of women will drag you out on a Saturday night in your pajamas. THEY THROW CAUTION AND PITA CHIPS TO THE WIND. They do not take any of my bullshit excuses "But I have to work"/"I have nothing to wear and I smell like a Hobo"/"I have to get up early and... donate... my kidney."

AND THAT HAS MADE ALL THE DIFFERENCE.

How do you spot a JoyFriend? Well, they are upbeat, RAH-RAH, "You Can Do It" just short of you wanting to smack them. They have a zest for life - They always want to try new things. AND THEY KICK YOUR ASS. They are not going to let you dwell on some lame guy that wouldn't even pay for valet parking on a date, made you walk five blocks in heels only to make you split potato skins at the bar. THEY KNOW YOU ARE WORTH MORE THAN THAT. And they will root you on until you know it too.

The weird thing about hanging out with self-confident, emotionally healthy, super strong, vivacious ladies is pretty soon, you start to feel that way. 'Cause JoyFriends do not hang out with losers. So I raise my glass to my awesome JoyFriends. Yes, it's chardonnay but it's in a real fancy glassy glass and not a sad 7-11 plastic cup. See, I'm learning.

My JoyFriend is Better Than Your Boyfriend

Yay! I'm Off to The Gym :)

This is very exciting, like Christmas morning if I was four. (God, I wish I was four. Everything is so perfect when you're four.) I'm kinda nervous to go back to the gym. The gym I joined three months ago and then have NEVER SET FOOT IN AGAIN. What if they have a weight limit and won't let me in? What if I can only last thirty-five seconds on the elliptical before I get red faced and huffy and puffy? Should I have my insurance card and information about the closet hospital stuffed in a plastic case and dangling around my neck? What if I put my iPod on and run on the treadmill and then can't hear the wheezing and struggling of that poor machine shaking and quivering underneath my GIA-NORMOUS GIRTH and people are laughing and pointing and the manager is called over and I'm asked to get off and he swears, this is so much more embarassing for him than me, but would I please leave?

Or what if it's just really fantastic and amazing and great?

Yay! I'm Off to The Gym :)

Apparently, Having 3 Gym Memberships is Still Not Enough to Make Me Go

I have three gym memberships. That's three memberships I've paid for. That's three gyms I don't go to. The first gym is my fancy gym. It's so fancy, it's actually called a Tennis Club as in, "I'll see you at the club!" and "Let's have lunch at the club." It also has a bar WHICH MAKES NO SENSE TO ME!!! It was L, my partner in crime, who beat me out of the locker room one day and I found sitting out on the patio (It's a Club, of course it has a patio!) drinking an Amstel Light. At 3:30pm! After a workout! Well, it would have been rude if I didn't, too. It would make her feel bad. And I do not like people feeling bad.

Okay, my second gym membership, aka the skanky gym, is so close, I pass it everyday on my way to the grocery store, dry cleaners, coffee shop and library. (IT'S LIKE IT'S TAUNTING ME!) I say skanky because after you have been spoiled by FANCY GYM with towel service, a steam room, SHAMPOO, CONDITONER & BODY WASH and a cute guy that wipes your sweat off the ellipital and brings you razors (and would probably shave your legs with them if you asked), it's kind of a downgrade to have to haul in your own towel, body washing... materials and wonder what kind of Hepatitis you contracted from being in the ladies locker room.

My third gym I pass, as I'm passing my second gym, on my way to the grocery store, dry cleaners, coffee shop and library. But I can't possibly go to that gym because... it's CURVES. Curves is a fat girls' gym and if I go there it's like saying I'm one of them and then I will be way too defeated to work out. I feel so much better, instead, driving by it, giving Curves the finger as I talk on the phone and wolf down my (second) slice of double peperoni pizza (tomato sauce is so healthy for you!)

UGH!!!! I'M A MESS. I could screw up a free meal as my Dad would say (Joe is always there with words of comfort which I why I think I have such high self-esteem. Insert eye-roll.) Okay, okay. I'm not writing again until I GOT TO ONE OF MY THREE GYMS. (Okay, maybe I will, I might have something excellent to say about Thanksgiving... BUT NOT AFTER THAT!) Today I tried on a top that made me all of a sudden not be so mad that my Mom had once given me a maternity top for Christmas (insert eye roll). 'Cause that's what this one looked like and I DID NOT LIKE IT ONE BIT!

I'm not dieting. Dieting is female torture. But if I was really REAL WITH MYSELF, I would remember that I FREAKIN' LOVED WORKING OUT. I loved how strong and kick ass I felt. I loved how powerful I felt. I loved that I fit into all my clothes and looked cute. That felt more like the me than the girl who writes off a gym just 'cause it's a big gals gym... 'cause HELLO, I think I'll fit right in.

Apparently, Having 3 Gym Memberships is Still Not Enough to Make Me Go

I Like It Free (My Life as a Professional Party Crasher)

I just picked up my mail and among a ton of bills that I don't know when I'll pay or with what money came a letter from my past life. It was from the Four Seasons and it was offering me one free night if I booked a two night stay. (Which is funny because the biggest luxury in my life right now is pre-cut salad.) Now, let's be clear, I'm more of a Best Western gal than a Four Seasons girl but I had this... I don't know, dream, goal, wish, that I would like to stay there once in my life so when my sister and I went to Hawaii three years ago we stayed there for one night.

The view was beautiful, the lounging area and the pool, incredible. They even greeted us with beautiful leis which felt very "Fantasy Island" & "Love Boat" all at the same time. Because E & I couldn't afford to STAY & EAT at the Four Seasons, we walked down to a neighboring hotel for dinner. E was mad that I made her where her lei (probably because it covered up her enormous cleavage... she likes it "out" like that.) But I insisted and because I was paying, she had to obey (though she probably did just to shut me up.)

So we're walking to the neighboring hotel, in our leis, with my sister's giant cleavage somewhat covered up and WE SEE THAT IN ORDER TO GET INTO A PARTY AT THE NEXT HOTEL you have to be wearing THE SAME LEIS THAT THE FOUR SEASONS GAVE US. In the distance I can see an open bar, a buffet table for miles and a feast of desserts. And I think, "Why buy dinner when we can use our leis for FREE?" This is gonna be AWESOME.

BECAUSE I LIKE IT FREE.

We gorged ourselves on FREE That night and tried to look like we were engaged in intense conversation so no one at this party/conference/whatever would ask us who we knew/who we worked for/why we were there.

THE NEXT NIGHT WAS EVEN BETTER.

By now we had moved to the Fairmount (and got a FREE UPGRADE ON OUR HOTEL, my sister's boobs sure do come in handy). This time there was a huge Radio conference at the hotel WITH A BUFFET STYLE PARTY. ROCK ON! Our adrenelin was pumping. Crashing a buffet entails huge risks because you are waiting in a super slow line with PEOPLE WHO ACTUALLY BELONG THERE. We got through it. E ate six desserts by herself (I know, I hate her, she is such a skinny B).

My point is, when the Four Seasons offer came in, I didn't feel sad. I don't miss the life of being able to stay in a super lux hotel, I miss the life of the DARING, MISCHIEVIOUS, VIVACIOUS, RISK-TAKER GIRL. The girl who cut in front of someone at the Radio party (Someone who belonged there!) to get the last egg roll. Okay, maybe I can't always crash parties. But I won't sit around and mope at my financial situation either. Just yesterday I typed in key words "half-price" and "happy hour" - IT'S ALL OUT THERE WAITING FOR US, LADIES. Some of the nicest restaurants in Beverly Hills had nights with half off dinners, other had specials on drinks or appetizers. The point is "OUT" IS WHERE THE PEOPLE ARE.

No matter what your financial situation, you need to be out where the people are so you don't get bummed about the fact that you can barely stretch your check to next week. And when you can spend less and still have fun, you'll feel good. Okay, I gotta go check what hotels are hosting parties this weekend so I know where I'm going and how to dress :)

I Like It Free (My Life as a Professional Party Crasher)

$1 Dollar Drink Specials + Empty Stomach x Missing ex-BF = Disaster

It's Thursday night and what's a girl who has been striking all day in her Converse slides to do? Go out and get some refreshment, that's what! I didn't need to know much about the bar that was serving $1 dollar glasses of WINE or BEER (imported and domestic!) except that they were serving $1 dollar beer and wine (imported and domestic!). My Union, the WGA, has been on strike for 2 weeks now with no end in sight. When you can't work 'cause you're striking and when words like "there's no end in sight" send my bowel into a shaking-quaking mess - you start to feel like there's nothing to look forward to.

Well, I found it, it's this bar, THE GRIFFIN, that serves dollar drink specials to WGA writers, which means on top of making it cheaper for me to drink at their fine establishment than at home, I also don't have to withstand the HUMILIATION OF MY DOG looking at me with his judging eyes as I take "the edge off" my day with a half bottle of two buck Chuck.

The Griffin is everything you want to be: low lit, giant banquettes to sit in, two fireplaces, a superb selection of music and I think I have mentioned, the UNBELIEVABLE DRINKS which are the low, low, price of one dollar. The problem with a deal like this is... it's like that little black dress you see in the store marked down from 300 bucks to 30 and YOU JUST HAVE TO HAVE!!! IT'S SUCH A GOOD DEAL!!! You'd be a fool not to buy it! Yeah, it might exactly fit right... or zip up... but it's so cheap. YOU DESERVE IT! Go ahead... it's not like anything bad can happen.

Um... yeah, maybe not with the dress but bad things can happen when you consume four $1 dollar glasses of chardonnay on an empty stomach. Bargains are not always something to rave about. Sometimes bargains can have a downside. Like grabbing your friend's cell phone and trying to call your ex-boyfriend BECAUSE YOU REALLY HAVE TO TELL HIM SOMETHING RIGHT NOW!!! Four glasses of chardonnay has never given you so much clarity in your life. WHAT'S HIS NUMBER??? WHAT'S HIS NUMBER???? (My ex-b has a new one, so while I was fairly confident I knew most of the numbers... I wasn't sure what their combination would be or what three of them were.) Yes, I'm a delight.

So there I am out on the corner of the street after having wrestled my friend L's phone away from her, (CHARDONNAY GIVES ME EXTRA SUPER HUMAN STRENGTH), dialing about four hundred and fifty combinations of what his phone number could be and screaming at two directory assistant woman: "I know this is the street he lives on... okay, maybe it's not that one. Can you try Tremont?"

I woke up the next morning, my head banging from a hangover, my arm hurting from wrestling L to the ground for her phone (she knew what I wanted that phone for and she did not approve!) and the overwhelming feeling of relief that I did not talk to ex-BF. And while I love a deal, WHAT UNEMPLOYED GIRL doesn't, there's no deal that makes up for how stupid and idiotic I would have felt the next day had I gotten in touch with him. (Oh, because there would have been slurring, crying and possible vomiting). NOT CUTE. I won't give up The Griffin, but I will be running some tackle drills with my friend L so she can easily take me down the next time I try and grab her cell phone.

$1 Dollar Drink Specials + Empty Stomach x Missing ex-BF = Disaster