I am woman

Hear me roar. Or cry. Like a little baby. I tried to use the epilator last night. I patiently grew out out the leg hair until I resembled a yeti. I took a hot bath, as this is supposed to open the pores and dull the pain that comes with ripping out all of your leg hair by the root. After about 2 seconds, I quickly discovered that the epilator is less a hair removal option than a torture device that I intend to tell the people at gitmo about. Forget waterboarding. I'd sell out my own mom to avoid the epilator.

But I don't give up that easily. I thought about topical anesthetics and called my sister so she could tell me about my nonprescription options. Those options are expensive. Then I remembered good, old-fashioned ice. So I systematically numbed small sections my legs with ice and then proceeded to voluntarily use a device that rips the hair out from the root. All in all, I think it worked out well. One day, I'll actually be comfortable spending the money to have all of my leg hair lasered off. Until that time comes, this should work out well.

Bring It On has to be like one of the best movies ever made.

Feeling smart

I was watching The Girls Next Door, and Hugh Hefner was giving his girlfriends their Christmas presents. They all bust out these fur coats and Hef makes a point of telling the ladies that the coats are faux fur. But when he said "faux" he pronounced the "x." So, he was trying to tell them that no animals were harmed in the making of the coats, but I wonder if they were confused about what happened to the foxes who maybe died for those coats. I may not know how to say "inane" and I may have mispronounced "Suffolk" today. But I know how to say "faux." Yay smart me! I can say stuff in French! Sing with me: I am so smart, I am so smart, S-M-R-T.*

I've had a headache for the past few days. Combine this with the fact that my descent into Houston last weekend had me feeling like someone was stabbing me in the face and back of the head with an icepick, and I am afraid I'm developing a sinus infection.** To the walk-in clinic!

* If you don't recognize this reference, you can't call me dumb.

** I'd like to thank my co-clerk for reminding me that my headache may have another cause and then telling me about the guy he knew in high school who had headaches and then found out he had a brain tumor.

Kicking my own ass

I was talking to my sister and relayed to her that she and the other half's sisters will play the crucial role of keeping the wedding lady away from me on my wedding day. Of course, my sister asked why I didn't just take my business elsewhere (the wedding lady did offer to give me back my deposit, but only a little more than half of the total deposit because she didn't offer to give me back my room deposit; how gracious of her, really). I explained to my sister that, dammit, the place is cute and I don't want to let this wench just get rid of me. I will have my charming wedding and this person will not be allowed to ruin it. Apparently, I have some point to prove. And I apparently will prove this point by giving this whack job thousands of dollars of my hard-earned money. Oh wait, I'm a tool. Yes, I am a big, fat tool.

Of course, planning a wedding from out of town is pain in the ass and trying to find something six months out would probably prove tricky and would introduce a whole new level of pain-in-the-ass-ness. And I wouldn't have enough hotel rooms. So, there is some logic behind my decision. But still . . . At least I can comfort myself with the thought of plastering the internet with reviews of my experiences. Maybe a little Seven on Your Side? I used to know a producer at Fox Seven who worked on these stories. Hmm.....

In other news, the weekend in Austin was fun. Lunch was lovely, happy hour was girly, and my dress rocked. I liked showing up looking different because then people tell you that you look great. I don't know how great I look, but still, what else are people going to say? "Hey! You look different!" I know people who would say that without the requisite follow-up about the greatness of the new look, but luckily I didn't see them this weekend. So people told me I looked great. And that was fun. Although some people seemed to have put a little oomph into it, leading me to believe that I have spent the last few years looking like a lesbian tree-hugger.*

*No offense intended to any lesbians, tree-huggers, or lesbian tree-huggers out there. Work it, ladies!

For fuck's sake

The wedding lady tried her hardest, but she did not succeed in ruining my weekend. She did establish herself as just flat-out, fucking crazy. She also came frighteningly close to canceling my wedding because her relationship with me isn't positive enough. Apparently, when I commented that I was concerned about her apparent lack of organizational skills and complained about the fact that she almost doubled the price of one of her services, this was rude and uncalled for. She thought that we "needed to approach things in a new way." Fuck you, lady. Seriously, I think she's a shady asshat, but I've made it clear to her that she'll get her money, even if she doesn't have a legal leg to stand on in demanding it. Apparently she needs to know that people like her; otherwise, the relationship isn't a good experience for her. Like we have to hug it out before the experience is something that she sees as beneficial. Shit, lady, all I want from you is a place to have my wedding. I don't need a guru, I don't need someone to lean on or call to shoot the breeze with. Take my money and get as far away from me as possible. And the best part, the part where I came really close to either punching her in the face or storming off to find the closest dog poo to set on fire and toss on her porch, was when she bitched at me for not respecting her as a businesswoman. When it takes me three voicemails and three e-mails to book a fucking hotel room, when you keep confirming that I have six hotel rooms when I have seven, when you e-mail me to see if I could maybe mail you my paperwork because you don' t have it, when you just decide you can raise prices whenever you want, I'm sorry if I haven't treated with whatever respect you think you have earned. For fuck's sake lady, get over yourself. Go stroke a crystal or do some yoga, chill out, and shut the hell up.

Word of mouth is a bitch and so is karma. And this nutjob deserves whatever fate has planned for her.

Enter Bridezilla

I think I yelled at the lady at the wedding place today. She seems to be a few fries short of a happy meal. Like someone who has smoked entirely too much weed (and doesn't have the brain cells to spare) and used to be something like a textiles artist, but who got an inheritance and thought it would be groovy to run an inn in Austin. So, a little wake-up call in the form of an annoyed, stressed out woman was in order (you know things are bad when the place e-mails you so that you can send them a signed copy of the agreement thing since they don't have it; problem is that I don't either). And I was just the woman to do it. I feel better. Normally I feel guilty when I yell at someone who has done me wrong as a customer, but not today. Of course, the last time I felt guilty about being a bitch, I got free stuff. But I don't think there's free stuff in my future with this place, so no need for results-oriented guilt.

I'm getting excited about Austin this weekend. Quality time with the better half. Hair will be done. Lunch will be had. Happy hour will be happy. And the TLR banquet. True, this event may not sound exciting (okay, so it's not), but I get to wear a new dress, so I'm excited. And the better half in a suit. Nice.

Field trip today at work. Which meant I managed to get about five minutes of work done. Which was awesome!

What I learned today

When walking around in your boy-shorts waiting for the self tanner to dry so you can put your pants back on, might as well put on some strappy high-heel sandals. Calves look better, knees look less ugly-knee-like, butt looks more impressive. All in all, doing the shoe thing makes the inevitable stroll past the full-length mirror more tolerable. Apologies to anyone for whom this post resulted in a brief, frightening image of me in my boy shorts. But get over it, since at least I'd be wearing the shoes, which makes the image a little more tolerable.

Credit - disaster waiting to happen or genius plan?

I got my wedding credit card. Since I can't actually afford my relatively inexpensive wedding at this very moment, but will be able to pay for it when I get back to Texas, I got a 0% interest credit card that should allow me to pay for this shindig interest-free and then pay the sucker off. Some people might say this plan evidences irresponsibility on my part. But I don't think I know those people, so who cares. Bonus - it's a Disney points card. Since I have this thing with wanting to go to Disney World, it makes like a smidge of sense. Of course, I'll no doubt have to spend like $100,000 before it's worth anything. So maybe I'll hit Disney World when I retire.

Turns out, I'm a "bride elect." I got a shower invitation recently and I noticed this term. I don't think I've ever seen it before, or I've never noticed it. Either way, I sort of like the sound of it. It makes it sound like there was a run-off and the bride elect won. Which then makes me wonder what sort of competition it was. Because if it involved the wifely duty of sitting on my ass watching television, I'm pretty sure I won. And who voted? Was it majority-rules, or did the groom-to-be get to use some sort of super-vote to make the ultimate decision? Either way, it makes me feel like I won something. Which is cool, since I never win anything.

For all you saps out there, I have an announcement: My sister is playing host to a cute stray dog that needs a home. It's a middle-aged lab who apparently just sits there. Doesn't get on furniture, good with other dogs, housebroken. Just wants to sit at your feet. I told me sister that if the dog just sits there, she should keep it. Not like it's extra work on top of the other two dogs she has. She apparently fails to see the logic, although I understand her reluctance to drive to Minnesota with three dogs. So, if you've been thinking of getting a dog, but maybe you feel like you're too lazy for one that actually requires effort, I've got a keeper for you.

Bring the pain

I did it. I ordered a glorified version of an Epilady, one of those things that rips hair out by the roots. I figure that a few tatoos and piercings establish that I have a respectable pain tolerance. I decided to take this step after being cold for months. I'm cold at work. I get home and I'm cold. I'm cold all the time. And I'm one of those lucky ladies for whom cold = goosebumps = speedy hair regrowth rendering attempts to keep clean-shaven futile. Although I get the feeling that the mens out there will dismiss this discomfort, I ask them to imagine an awesome case of razor burn being agitated all day long over half of their bodies. Yeah, it's that awesome. I guess it's a good thing that I'll be trying this while I live alone. Because, although I will be wearing shorts and will be otherwise clothed, I have a feeling that the physical trauma will be akin to bad naked. Don't want to scare him away before it's legal.

Road warrior

Back in town after spending the week in the big city for work. The drive home was nice since the weather was great. Although it took me like 45 minutes to figure out that my seat warmer was preventing the A/C from cooling me down. It occurred to me this week that I should be taking notes on some basics of appellate advocacy, so I can remember all the things that people do wrong. This week I saw what happens when trial lawyers attack. I don't have a thing against trial lawyers (and when people say it derisively, it makes me wonder whether they understand that there are two sides in a trial). But treating a group of appellate judges like it's a jury is decidedly a bad idea. And should you have the misfortune of ever doing an insurance case, make sure you provide handy definitions from a medical dictionary. Because seeing a bunch of latin words doesn't make anyone say, "Aha! There's a discombobulation of the hemostaphocenis! Now I know who should win." Instead, some poor soul is trolling through a medical dictionary trying to figure out what you've just said, and cursing you.

Now for a picture. I got my dress back from the tailor lady today. All redone to fit me. Copious amounts of self tanner will be required before I actually wear it in public. I can't remember the last time I wore anything that was above my knee. I don't know that the picture does it justice - it's silk and fits great. And if people think I'm wearing a dashiki, so be it.

I got nothing

Sorry to disappoint the three of you who come here looking for a little entertainment (because my life is so, um, entertaining), my life is more boring than ever. I took my dress to the tailor this weekend, thinking it would be a quick alteration. When I tried on my dress the first time, it was too big, so I got the store to get me a size smaller. Oops. Still too big. But I thought it was no biggie, a quick $30 alteration and I'll be good to go. Not so much. The little lady at the alteration place looks at me and says in her unplaceable accent, "this dress does not fit; is cute dress, but does not fit." (Be sure to roll your R's when you say this in your head.) She guesstimated that it'll be more like $75. On top of the fact that I shouldn't have bought the dress in the first place, this news hurt. But not enough to convince me to return the dress. I figure if I wear it to 2 things, I will come out ahead since I have a weird celebrity attitude about dresses - I don't like to wear them more than once. Which makes no sense given that I'm broke.

I also confess to buying spray tan in a can online this weekend. The reviews of the product I found online were good, so I thought I'd give it a shot. After a rather involved application process, the overall result wasn't bad. Not orange, easy to blend. I'm trying a new lotion on my legs to see how it works since I wasn't keen on the clean-up required when using the spray. I'd be happy to go with a milky white look; but my legs are more along the lines of pink (or blue if I'm cold). That's not cool.

Bring on the hotness

I'm not hot. At best, I'm probably cute. Assuming I've showered, done my hair, and put on a smidge of makeup. But I love getting older because the "I don't give a shit what you think, I look hot today" feeling is easier to come by. Call it the Sharon Stone effect. I just bought a new dress that's great for some upcoming events and weddings. It involves colors other than black or dark brown. It's knee length, which is shorter that what I normally would wear since I generally hate my toothpick legs. It's got a pattern!! And I can't wait to wear it. I'm even starting to appreciate my legs. That's going to be a harder, slower process.