Does This Make Me Sound Self-Involved?

Hi all. For any of you last-minute shoppers who are still wondering what this very, very nice girl would like for Christmas, I've decided to compile a list. I call it "My Christmas List" which I think is very catchy. I realize that, as a nice girl, you are thinking I should wish for things like world peace, but you are confused. Those are beauty pageant contestants, not nice girls. (I do not mean to imply that beauty pageant girls cannot also be nice. Love you, Kristen.) "My Christmas List" is just for me. If you want world peace, go make your own list. That did not sound very Christmas-y, so you might be doubting that I am, in fact, a nice girl, but it was not meant to sound snarky or rude, but rather as a simple suggestion that anyone can create their very own "My Christmas List," as it's not exclusive to me or patented at this point.
*A cozy, loving, laugh-filled meal with every single person I love and lots of champagne.
*A new Rebecca Minkoff.
*The willpower to stop eating salt and vinegar potato chips. After I finish this bag, of course.
*Or a gift certificate for plastic surgery so I don't have to stop eating them. Ever.
*Edward. If you have to ask, you don't understand. If you don't understand, you're not as pathetically lame as me.
*If not Edward, because he's not actually real and I don't want Robert Pattinson, then I would please like the one real man who would passionately and earnestly love me through infinity. Who cannot live without me. Who will on occasion do something romantic and otherworldly like be sitting on my front steps when I get home because he had to tell me, face-to-face, that he's sorry for leaving/hurting/doubting me and would I please, please give him a second (hundredth) chance to treat me like I deserve. I thought I was happy with a drama-free life, but I'm learning that seems to mean a passion-free life and I'm a passionate person. I'd rather deal with the drama than live without the passion. This is getting a bit off point for a Christmas list.
*North Carolina.
*Facebook I can use telepathically so I'm not glued to my computer for so many hours a day.
*A super fast car that will get me home to my family more quickly than the economy-size Hyundai or other such atrocity that is available through Budget Rental Cars. With a killer stereo because that's a long way to drive no matter how fast I'm going, and I need to entertain myself.
I think this is a very good list. If you would like to giftpool (you know, like carpooling, where you team up to share the burden) on some of the bigger items that is fine. Please do not giftpool on small items like a purse or a car, because that is cheap. I have not registered anywhere because that it considered gauche in some circles and I do not wish to offend. If you would like to veer off the list and can think of something creative and unique and well-suited to me, I am fine with that as well.
One week till Christmas!!!

By the Numbers

A quick status update. Because why not.
*I am more addicted to facebook than a woman my age should be. That number shall not be disclosed at the present time.
*This Wednesday, Jim turns... just kidding Jim. Do you even remember the actual number at this point?
*I am sick. Very sick. I may not pull through. I have been sick all week, and I finally got bored yesterday, so I went out at 2:30 to watch college football. I ended up staying out about 12 hours. I am now sicker.
*I have eaten almost an entire chocolate pie in 3 days.
*I miss my friend. 7 weeks is a long, sad time to not have your friend.
*Plaxico Burress shot himself yesterday. I think that is karma. He's kind of a jackass. More jackasses should shoot themselves in non-life-threatening ways. There is no number attached to this, it's just on the television.
*I drive home for Christmas in 3 weeks from tomorrow. Aside from my two Rebecca Minkoff bags and some expensive dental work, zero presents have been purchased by me.
*See, you bugged me for like 5 years to write more often. This is what happens.

A surprisingly contented Thanksgiving.

Hi all.
I am surprisingly content.
It's Thanksgiving.
I'm sitting on the couch, all by my lonesome. I have a glass of wine next to me (not the first, I do confess, or the last, I admit...), a belly full of white bread, spinach casserole, and chocolate pie. I'm watching Bee Movie and the Cowboys, simultaneously. I am hopped up on DayQuil, because I've been sick all week. I have a fake tooth in my mouth.
And I'm surprisingly content.
Tomorrow I'll be mad at myself for eating crap, and a lot of it. And just to add insult to injury, I'll have to do the dishes. God willing I'll be a little hung over. I'll still be a month away from my family. I can only imagine that I won't be married, or pregnant. That might depend on how much wine goes down, but we'll save that for another post.
But today, it's Thanksgiving. I have a job, amazing friends, the apartment to myself, no need for a shower, heat and electricity and cable, a pretty good sense of humor, no one to answer to, and one still-functioning nostril. The right one.
Happy Thanksgiving, all.

Oh, like you don't have a few in your basement, too.

My dear Daniella, worried about what will become of me when the puppies have grown and moved on, along with my destitute single status, has an answer for everything.
Behold.

Brain Dump

I'm having one of those stretches where my brain actually hurts. It's going in about a hundred and twelve different directions, so there is little to no chance that any of this post will come across coherently. But I need to dump some of it out to make room. You know what I need? I need a pensieve. Like Dumbledore in Harry Potter. Just a magic wand to stick to my head (no comments...) to drain out all the stuff I don't really need. Seriously, I am simply not cut out for all this thinking. And the shitty thing is that it's never important stuff -- I'm up at night thinking about things that I either don't have any control over, or don't actually NEED any control over. Like work, for example. Work is insane (actually what's insane is that I have "work" to complain about -- since when did I end up with a grown-up job? Dammit.). Why am I up at night worrying about work? I am not anything life-saving, like a brain doctor, or anything super cool, like an astronaut. I am an editor. And an odd job girl, no matter what my boss says. If I could do nothing but write and write and write all day long I would be so thrilled. The things currently occupying my brain, in no particular order:
*puppycam. Have you guys seen this?? These people in San Francisco set up a webcam in the area where they're keeping six 5-week-old Shiba Inu puppies. It is ridiculously wonderful to watch, and frightening how little I'm accomplishing during the day. Check them out. At your own risk.
*my tooth. I ATE my tooth last week. Bit into a Kashi bar on Saturday morning, and half my tooth broke off. I narrowly avoided a root canal, but now I've got a temporary crown in my mouth till after the holiday and it hurts and it's ugly and I hate it because it makes me feel old. This is the kind of event where it would be really great to be able to call my boyfriend, have him drive 10 hours to see me, take me to the dentist, make me food, and just generally love and baby me for a few days.
*my lack of a boyfriend to do any of the above mentioned care-taking. I know I'm supposed to be embracing my singleness and living some fabulous Carrie Bradshaw-esque life right now, and I'm trying. I'm going out (sometimes). I'm being social (sort of). Being available (okay, that's an outright lie). The problem is, I hate dating. I'm kind of stand-offish so I hate random losers coming up and trying to talk to me in the bar. I want to skip those steps and go straight to boyfriend. I even already know the one I want, and he's being a douchebag.
*work. Yep, still not for me.
*the ridiculously gorgeous, obscenely expensive Rebecca Minkoff handbag I just treated myself to. Do I deserve a treat? Not particularly. Can afford a treat? Not even close. And yet, here it is, looking up at me in all its buttery, leathery, perfectly constructed glory.
*how I'm going to avoid buying ANOTHER ridiculously gorgeous, obscenely expensive handbag, because the seal is broken and I can't turn it off.
And it pretty much just goes on from there, like that. Can you see how hard it is to be me sometimes?

Put That in Your Trumpet and Smoke It

I am the self-proclaimed, indisputably least political human being ever.
The only election I've ever really gotten excited about was Alexander Payne's.
I have developed the habit of answering "Who did you vote for?" with a question of my own: "When was the last time you had sex?" It's that personal, and that inappropriate to discuss with complete strangers.
I don't even particularly like overly aggressive salespeople -- which is basically what most politicians amount to -- and no snarky, well-heeled chick from, say, Victoria's Secret has ever interrupted my evening television program to tell me why she's the best salesgirl for me, why her store should be my only choice, or that the unfortunate girl working down the mall at Frederick's of Hollywood may actually be a spy/terrorist/socialist.
That being said.
This is an important day. Rarely do we know that going into a day so when we do, it should be with eyes and ears open. Wide awake and paying attention.
I'm not going to lecture you on your duty, what's at stake, historical significance -- can't you just hear the trumpets starting in behind me -- mostly because I have no damn idea about any of that stuff. I told you. Least political person. Ever.
But I do think this buzz in the air, this "calm before the storm" feeling that's permeating the city -- the country -- is pretty exciting. We need something to get fired up about and stand behind, don't we? A little inspirational kick in the pants. No matter what tomorrow morning looks like, it will look different than tonight. And I feel like most people, regardless of which way you lean (and I could care less, frankly) think different sounds good.
So here's the only thing I want to ask of you.
Please, if your candidate doesn't win, spare us the melodrama that you're moving to Canada. Just shut up about it and pack, if that's really how you feel.
I'm just really proud to live somewhere (trumpets again?) where we can talk about it -- let alone fight about it and then mock it all irreverently on Saturday Night.
Just vote.
But more importantly, in my mind, pray about what will be best for this country, and then follow your heart in that direction.
We're gonna be just fine.
I'd bet my trumpet on it.

This is what happens when you check email after-hours.

I know I'm not nearly as good at documenting the funnish, mundanish little everyday life happenings as some people -- and goodness knows David Archuleta's fan clubs have yet to descend on my page -- but sometimes, stuff happens that is just ridiculously worth sharing. It's almost 8:00 on Tuesday night, I've had a woe-is-me, it's-so-sucky-being-single, still-at-work(because-clearly-I-have-focus-issues) kind of day.
And then, into my inbox, comes this. Out of the blue clear sky.
If this can't make you laugh out loud -- at me -- you are humorless.

Naptural Love
A dating site for single black vegetarians and natural folks looking for love...

Mya B. has invited you to the event 'Punany Poets Show in New York this Saturday' on Naptural Love!
Ever had a taste of some Punany? See Punany Poets live this Saturday in New York.

Event Description:
The Punany Poets are back by Popular Demand in a hot & highly erotic episode of their unique Classic Poetic Cabaret
produced with the original exotic flare, seen on HBO

“The Head Doctor” stands in an island of smoke, fishnet suited & glass booted, spilling erotic prose like the voice of a man’s sensual dream. He lay atop a beanbag tossing in a dreamy state as the object of his fantasies crawls to him. Her breasts are full and her hips inviting, as she bathes him with her long hair and teases him with the gentle kisses of her nipples, inciting riots inside him... “I won’t lie, I don’t lie, I give good Head,” says The Head Doctor, your guide through a 70 minute production of pure unadulterated fantasy fulfillment – an explicit sexual make-over you will never forget.

Welcome to Me!

Maybe if I just keep posting my blog in more and more places, I'll actually write it? Interesting take on reverse psychology.
Anyway, in the meantime, my latest deferment. I mean post.

Lena's Life

It's no secret that my blogging sucks.
Well, okay, hopefully you don't actually think my blogging itself is suckable - but I acknowledge, as I always have, that my consistency leaves much to be desired.
So, dear loyal readers, I come no longer bearing false promises to be here for you more regularly. I prove myself a liar time and time again. Nope, this time, I come bearing... distraction.
My dear friend Lena has begun the next chapter of her fascinating life -- and has decided to share it with the world. Not only is she inspirationally insightful, she's awfully damn pretty to look at.
She's run the gamut from modeling in New York City to reclaiming herself in suburban Ohio to settling in to South Dakota. No joke, she has done/seen/experienced it all. And now she's nice enough to blog it all.
So perhaps when you need a fix and I've let you down yet again, you can pop over and check out what lovely Lena is up to. That sounded a bit pornish, didn't it?
She can be found here. Enjoy.