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.

She's just a little slutty

So apparently, one of the chicks on American Idol who isn't that good is maybe featured in some racy pictures floating around the internet. Her best friend, who tried out but didn't make the cut, has come to her defense by telling a paper that her friend is "the least slutty person I know." Now that's a friend. That's like saying to someone who's having a fat day that she's one of the least fat people you know. Not saying you're not fat, just one of the least fat. I mean, she might be a little slutty, but less slutty than a lot of other people.

Busy weekend full of all kinds of busy. All of my savings are gone with one measly deposit. Luckily, I was able to put the other deposit on a credit card. Nothing like a little deficit spending (on a credit card that was balance-free at that) to induce the desire to eat an unhealthy number of Girl Scout cookies. But it's okay since I had a spinach salad for dinner. It all comes out in the wash, right? I was going to work tonight, but I decided not to. This decision will probably prove to be a mistake given the amount of work I have staring me in the face. But I figure the worst that could happen is that I actually have something to do this weekend. That'll be new.

Come back to us, Brit!

I'm with Craig Ferguson, so I won't be mocking Britney Spears. I'll admit to loving her brand of pop music. Seriously. Don't hate (and I know you secretly sing along when "oops, I did it again" comes on). Come back, Britney!

Now on to people I will mock. Kim Jong Il's birthday was last week. The crap that comes out of the state-run media is funny until you remember that it's the result of a totalitarian regime run by a delusional midget. Here's one discussing some symposium about the man:

Pyongyang, February 14 (KCNA) -- Symposiums on the undying feats performed by Kim Jong Il were held by working people's organizations.... The speakers profoundly explained the imperishable feats performed by Kim Jong Il for the times and history, noting that his birth was a great auspicious event which opened a bright prospect before the continuity of the Juche revolutionary cause and accomplishment of the human cause of independence. They said Kim Jong Il, genius of thought and theory, scientifically formulated the revolutionary idea of President Kim Il Sung and steadily developed it in depth to meet the demand of the developing revolution, thus clearly indicating the road ahead of the times and humankind....

Hmm, those are indeed some feats. Good thing they were "profoundly explained."

The crap that comes out of DPRK reminds me of the episode of Friends where Joey discovers the thesaurus in Microsoft Word and goes to town. I wonder if it's taxing to write like that. Now, I shall profoundly explain the highlight of my weekend and my Tuesday:

The undyingly impeccable You Like Raisins bested many inferior women as she found the bargains at the boutique sale that outshone profoundly the cheap crap found by the women against whom she was competing. Her notable success at the sale once again highlighted that the majestic You Like Raisins, with her perfectly Godly straight hair, has reached the pinnacle of awesomeness and that other women have no hope of besting her in any of life's ventures. Including the pulling off of the skinny jean. Nor have the incompetent men around her fared better. It is well-accepted that the genius of You Like Raisins has had a profound effect on the development of American federal law and she single-handedly makes sense of illogical claptrap and divines a perfect solution to every case that comes before her that at once follows the established law while making it a glorious and brilliant beacon for all justice-seekers the world over.

Yeah, it is taxing to write DRPK-style.

Coping seven different ways

Last night was rough. I had a slight case of the blues for a number of reasons. So I parked on the couch with a pint of ice cream, a box of Girl Scout Cookies, and two episodes of What Not to Wear. I think I felt better, if not fatter, when I went to bed.

Then I woke up early this morning for the big multi-boutique sale at the Shriner's Temple this morning. Nothing cheers a girl up like shopping, especially at a sale. Two Michael Star t-shirts for about $30 and a pair of AGs for about $50. And I will admit that I think my jeans come really close to being skinny jeans. At least I know a boot won't fit in there. When I tried them on at the sale I was mostly paying attention to the fact that they're a little snug (nothing a few lunges across the apartment can't fix). Then I got home and realized that they're not the cut I'm used to. But I think they're sort of hot (I needed a good reason to buy some cute peep toes anyways). So I guess my lack of attention to detail while shopping has forced me into a trend. I'll wear them with the girls next time I'm in Austin and see what they say. They better tell me I'm hot.

I got my dress today! I think I love it. It's a little big, so I had to sort of hold it right to get it to look like it fit. I'm liking what I see. I'll be modeling it for my sister and the future s-i-ls next weekend to get a final green light. But so far, I think eBay has worked out well for me.

News from the "what the fuck" department: Britney Spears has shaved her head. I can dig a chick with a shaved head - if you're hot you'll probably be able to pull it off. But if you're a little puffy from all the water you've been retaining because of all the boozing you've been doing, a shaved head probably isn't the look that's going to work for you.

Cookies = love

My other half showed me up on Valentine's Day. We were talking about the fact that its Girl Scout Cookie season and that I had yet to stumble upon cookie sales. I checked the web site for the local troop or cabal, or whatever the local organization is called, but it was unhelpful. I opened my door to check the mail and, lo and behold, a dozen boxes of Samoas.* Just for me. Someone loves me! And I love him. So much that I sent him a card.

I hate living in a basketball town. For the second week in a row, Criminal Minds was preempted for stupid college basketball. I'm still getting over the fact that last week's preemption prevented me from seeing Part 2 of a to-be-continued. Jerks.

I got my Chi in the mail today and took it for a test drive. My hair has never been flatter. Thanks, Jenn, for helping to make me prettier and shallower!

* I realize that the official name was changed to something lame like Caramel Delites because apparently someone thought it was offensive to name an awesome confectionary delight after this specific group of Pacific Islanders. But the box they came in says "Samoas" so I'm sticking with the name.

The year of the woman

Ok, so there have been like a gazillion years of the woman. Might as well add another one. The incoming editorial board of the Texas Law Review will be led by two, count 'em, two women. It's so enlightened. It's so 2007. I don't know these girls and I sort of feel sorry for them in the way that you feel sorry for people who voluntarily take on jobs that eat up their lives and personal time. But it's exciting for people like me who give a crap about stuff like this. I am sure that there are about two people like me give a crap and read this thing. Not bad for a readership of ten.

Better him than me

My fat cat has dandruff and it's pretty gross. I'm betting that it's a combination of cat chow and the fact that Opie is too fat to groom himself properly. So, I guess I'll have to start shelling out money for the good cat food (damn it; I don't like the idea of the cats eating better than me). I don't really know how to make Opie lose weight. My old vet used to harp on me about his weight, but then had no advice for how to keep a husky cat thin in a two-cat household. The vet I've been using for the past few years just seems to accept that Opie is a big fellow. Like a plus-size model who shouldn't be forced to lose weight.

I've been looking at the goodies that getting married promises to bring me. The wedding's pretty small, so it's not like I'll be able to set up a hotel or anything, but the idea of having nicer stuff than we have now is exciting. At some point, I was all, "I can afford my own stuff, I don't need to register." Screw that. I want high-thread-count sheets. I want soft towels. I want shams that match my lightweight, pickstich quilt (not the one we have now, but the new one we'll get later). I want a coffee maker with a timer. I want, I want, I want!! I don't think I've ever felt this rabidly greedy before. I'm not sure if I should feel guilty about it. I don't really want stuff that's that nice. Just nicer than what I have now. Which, depending on what we're talking about, isn't saying much.

I am debating the whole china thing. My sister registered for china and then returned it all. Part of me likes the idea of having the nice stuff for special occasions. The other part of me totally doesn't understand why I would need two sets of dishes. We're not fancy people. But maybe we'll get turned into fancy people without knowing it. Of course, if we wake up one day to discover that we're fancy, I guess we could always rush out and buy china then. We could then lie to our kids and say we got it when we got married, but that it's just been hidden away. That way, whichever kid inherits the crap will have some romantic idea about the history of the nice dishes.

competitive nature + eBay = recipe for disaster

I bought a wedding dress today. Probably not the smartest thing I have ever done. I had seen a dress that I loved, but it was $2000 (this would be over my budget) and sold out (which is good since I can be bad with budgets). But then I see a sample on eBay that I could snap up for less than $1000. So I did. I think part of the reason I did this was because at least 10 others were watching the dress and I just could not let some bitch get my dress! Anyways, I feel this may not have been the smartest move since I haven't tried it on. The color may look awful on me. It may make me look short. Who knows. But I guess I can put it up for sale should things not work out. But hopefully it will be awesome. Unfortunately, I paid using PayPal without noticing that my PayPal account was linked to an old checking account that has $2 in it. So then I got to run to my bank and pay $25 for a wire transfer so that I can pay for the dress. And the only reason I could afford the wire transfer was because my rent check hasn't cleared yet. I can't wait to have money. Planning a wedding while living paycheck to paycheck sucks.

In other wedding news, I think I have found the coolest wedding reception favors ever. I'm probably spending too much on them. But my mom offered to pay for them. Considering that my better half and I are paying for the wedding, I think I just may let her. We'll see. Either way, my wedding guests will walk away with a little something that makes them think that I'm like the coolest bride ever. Which I am.

I made an appointment to look at a place in Austin that has good wedding location potential. It looks nice on the web and doesn't appear to be outrageously expensive. I still wouldn't mind having it at my friend's house, but then I get overwhelmed thinking about renting tables and chairs and linens, etc... I figure that, at the end of the day, it may be just as expensive to have the wedding at the house. More expensive if pain-in-the-ass considerations can be translated into dollar amounts.

Did anyone see the Emerald Nuts commercial with Robert Goulet on Super Bowl Sunday? I thought it was hilarious and when I'm tired at work, it's fun to say that Robert Goulet is stalking me. Apparently some people didn't think it was funny. These people clearly don't have office jobs.

Snow shoes?

Well, it's been snowing here. Nothing too bad in well-traveled areas like parking lots. But about two inches in my driveway. I'm annoyed mostly because it's really cold and I am keeping my apartment cool to save money. It wasn't until I moved here and saw my first winter gas bill that I understood why people would accept free heating oil from Hugo Chavez. Keeping warm is expensive. I'm also annoyed because I can't wear my normal shoes to work because the snow is too deep. Which means I have to wear boots. And I like my boots. It's just that they don't really go with most of my pants. Granted, it's just about guaranteed that no one at work has even noticed that I am wearing boots and not regular heels, let alone questioned whether the boots go with my pants. But I know. And it's killing me softly. I was pretty sure before, but now I am certain - seasons are totally overrated.

Wedding planning has gotten easier. My future sisters-in-law are saints. They actually want to help me plan this madness. And I get the sense that they enjoy stuff like this. Knowing that they're there to help makes the whole process seem doable and I'm getting excited about it. Hopefully I can settle on a location when I am in Austin later this month. I'll also go dress shopping, which is what I am really looking forward to. I have a good friend who happens to do invitations for a living. I have put out feelers to photographers. I feel like it's becoming manageable. Today I started thinking about registering for stuff. This is kind of hard because it requires imagining myself as a domestic diva of sorts (and by "domestic diva" I mean someone who uses cookware or kitchen gadgets other than a microwave). I don't really know what a proper kitchen requires. I figure I'll cook at some point and some things will come in handy. I just don't know what those things are.

A tightwad's worst nightmare

I sort of thought about wedding planning this weekend. This whole industry is such a scam. My parents got married at a church and had punch and finger foods at grandma's house. Now, we have somehow been brainwashed into thinking that you just simply can't do it right for under $20,000 ($40,000 on the coasts). I must admit, it's brilliant that the players in the industry have managed to do for the wedding what DeBeers has done for diamonds. I visited theknot.com, a website that's just not for people like me. When I searched for "casual" or "inexpensive" or something like that, there was some article about how smaller weddings have to be even more perfect since a smaller group means more chances for people to notice all the little ways your wedding sucks. I was sitting there trying to think if, out of all the weddings I've been to, anything actually horrified me. Deciding that, no, nothing ever had horrified me, I determined that my friends and I are either really laid back or just total white trash. Either way, it's cool with me.

I found a place where I could probably get in and out for under $10,000 for maybe 60 guests. Then I laughed at the fact that I was sitting there thinking, "hmmm, not a bad deal." And then I wanted to cry. But I did find a nicer version of the classic party barge and thought to myself, "this is perfect." So we'll see. If the party barge idea is a no-go, I might end up on an island somewhere. The only thing keeping me from eloping is the fact that I want an awesome dress that I look great in, and I want people to see me in said dress. A little self-centered? Absolutely. But my shrink said that the twenties is a totally appropriate time to be a little selfish. As soon as I have kids, I can see this being a problem.

A random parting thought. Okay, so I understand that there are some sickly looking ladies walking the catwalk. And it's pretty disturbing to think of someone being 5' 9'' and weighing like 110 pounds. But why is the phrase "size 0" code for anorexic bitch? I think it was Spain that's telling stores that window displays shouldn't have small sizes in the windows. Um, what about those of us who are just small? Like for real - just eating normally and not working out (or hell, eating healthy and working out in normal doses). I realize that no one is shedding tears for the hurt feelings of the naturally small. But, still...