Betty Ford and Blue Balls

So, I don't know how to tell you all this, but...

The Feej has been admitted to Betty Ford.

Uh huh. That's right. With Keith Urban and everything. Apparently they're becoming the best of friends slash he's seen him eating in the cafeteria once. And also one time in the hallway.

(I just don't even know what to say about this...awk much??)

Tilly: How did he look? Did he look like shit? I bet he did! Mwuahahahahahah! Have you seen Nicole? Does she come to visit? Is she pale as all hell? Mwuahahahahaha!
Fiji: Uhhh, do you want me to answer or are you just trying to creep me out? Seriously. Why are you laughing like that? (*See convo below.)

Anyway, luckily, Fiji is not there for the drug rehabilitation aspect of the center, but rather, the educational (Professional in Residence) part. But, he is going to group therapy and experiencing all of the requirements, as if he was, in fact, a resident.

On the phone last night he started describing the intensity of it all and how it is encouraging him to take a closer look at his own alcohol/drug use (past and present).

Tilly: Oh no. I knew this was going to happen.
Fiji: What?
Tilly: That you were going to go to Betty Ford and have some deep personal revelations and come back all healthy and crap.
Fiji: Well, thanks for being so supportive.
Tilly: Sure. No problem. That's what I'm here for. It's called enabling and FUCK am I good at it.
Fiji: It's not like I think I have a dependency issue, it's just good for me to reflect on my alcohol use and abuse and consider the causes and consequences of such.
Tilly: Uhh, I guess I should tell you that I'm stoned right now then, huh. (*Yes, this convo.)
Fiji: Oh. Well, maybe we should talk about this later.
Tilly: No, it's FINE. I'm not THAT stoned... Anymore.


Ahh, the workings of a healthy relationship. I'm half-drunk and stoned and he's at Betty Ford having positive life realizations.

Anyway. You know what I hate? I hate when I'm eating something and then someone goes and says something like, "Oh, you're eating pad thai. I NEVER eat that. It's SO greasy." Oh yeah, really? Fuck off.

I would like to leave you all with a quote from Lady J. My lady:
"Daaaaaaaaaaanngggggg. I got some serious blue balls for some weed right now."

The End. And, more importantly, The Beginning.

Just when you think you've moved on. Just when you think you've started anew. Just when you think you're over it. Just when you think you won't be affected. Just when you think you don't care. Just when you think the feelings are gone. Just when you think you're happy.

You find out he's in love.

With someone else.

That's not you.

And it hurts.

And it shouldn't.

But it does.

So you reflect on the good times. And remember how happy you were. And how strong he was. And how he made you smile. And how he adored you. And how annoyingly he danced. And how his nose was crooked. And how you fought. About the stupidest shit, because you just didn't see things the same. Just didn't see life in the same way.

So you rehash why you split. You remember why you are no longer together. Why it didn't work, even though you both tried. Why it was not right. Why you said goodbye. But it still hurts.

And then you feel guilty. Because YOU are in love. Because you HAVE found something insanely amazing. Something real. Something true. Something better. For you. But it still hurts. Not hurt as in tormented soul/I made a mistake/I want to get back together/I still love him-hurt. But just the dull ache that he is no longer enamored with you. He is no longer at your beck and call. He is no longer waiting for you to come back. Because, guess what, you're NOT.

And what is left to do but email him. And "release" him. Release yourself. Thank him for the character forming years spent battling and learning and loving and laughing and crying and fighting and growing. And then say goodbye. For that is what is right. For that is what is true. For that is what is necessary to really begin this new life. With this new love. With this incredible man. Who would understand. Who would get it. If you told him.



[shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh]


Did you hear that?

That was the sound of the book closing. On that part of my life. And DAMN it feels good. It's a great book. But one I will never have to read again.

I'm Over It.

Why is it that when people say "I'm over it," they rarely, if ever, truly are? It's almost as if that phrase means exactly the opposite of the speakers intended meaning. Initial intention. As if they are attempting to convince themselves (mostly) and others (partly) that they are, in fact, over whatever it is that they are supposed to be over.

Is it not natural for wounds to heal slowly? Memories to fade gradually? Love to eventually lose it's grip?

Whatever. I'm over it. No, really. I am.

Y'ello??

Well, well, well. Where the HELL have ya'll been?!? Errr, nevermind.

So...I don't even know where to begin and I'm kinda busy, cause, you know, I was sick and then Thanksgiving and shit. We'll just do a quick synopsis, umkay? Umkay.

I may or may not have wanted to rip my throat out of my neck all day Tuesday.
I may or may not have convinced someone (with little to NO prodding) to stay home from work and take care of me.
I may or may not have been a HIT with the FijiFam. Obvi. Duh.
I may or may not have gotten blitzed, as in blackoutdrunk, at Thanksgiving dinner with all sorts of his relatives. Awesome. And classy. You know, typical Tilly.
I may or may not have started out Thanksgiving (at noon) with a "Red Beer" followed closely by a few too many Manhattan's (a FijiFamilyFavorite--now a recipe for a TillyShameSpiral to commence)
I may or may not have slipped comfortably back into a southern accent from my college days.
I may or may not have cried and ran to the bathroom from laughing so hard. In front of 15 people. Whom I has just met. 15 minutes prior. They may or may not have been frightened.
I may or may not have spilled something on the bed.
I may or may not have gotten wasted with hicks (and I use this term literally AND affectionately) visiting one of my BFF's in the whole entire world an hour away from Fiji's sister's place.
I may or may not have slow danced with a fella in cowboy boots named "MoonDog" and then proceeded to "break his heart" by confessing that we could not get married next weekend and have 7 babies.
I may or may not have woken up at 7am the following morning (after getting BUTTLOADS of sleep, uh huh, riiiiight) and missed my BF and driven home. SICK.
I may or may not have been a BIG 'ol Bratty Mcphee when I lost at DOMINO'S (muthafucka). Three times. After announcing I was the "Master of Dominos" (among other things).
I may or may not have asked, when visiting The Arch, "What river is that?" I was being serious. (For those of you who have poisoned your brain as much as me, it's the fucking MISSISSIPPI. Uh huh. Yeah.)
I may or may not have asked, when people were discussing "dressing up" for Thanksgiving, "Dress up like what? Turkeys?" Oh geez.
I may or may not have fallen. Hard. Like, real hard. But in a good way. And that's ALL I'm saying about that.

Overall, good times were had by all. And by "all" I mean "me." And by "good" I mean awesomely embarrassing/dirty family fun.

Things That Make You Go BOO

Boo. Boo. Boo.

Things that make me go BOO:

1. Michigan lost. As we all know. Boo that.
2. I am sick. It feels like I have a ball of hurt/pain attached to my right gland that keeps trying to prevent me from swallowing anything. Boo.
3. I cannot get comfortable. Like, my clothes feel tight and constricting and I just want to take them off. My office is either too hot or too cold so I'm either sweating profusely or freezing my ass off. My chair keeps swiveling when I don't want it to and not moving when I do. Boo.
4. The sauna was crowded and therefore I couldn't lie down and therefore my gym experience was destroyed. Catastrophe!! Oh, and the oldest fattest nakedest lady was applying Ben (fucking) Gay right next to me and it made me want to hurl. BOO.
5. The lilies Fiji sent me are dying. Boo.
6. My entire body is one big ache. Double boo.
7. If I am still sick I shouldn't go to Fiji's sister's for Thanksgiving because she is preggo. Plus, I don't really want to meet them when I'm feeling like shit. You know, the crabby bratty pants thing. And then that is just sad. SAD. Boo Boo Boo.
8. I temporarily "lost" my phone all day yesterday. And when I got it back it had NO new messages. WT that?! Boo.
9. This post totally sucks. Boo.
10. I suck. At life. And in general. Boo me.

*Side note: The C&C Music Factory picture does NOT make me go Boo because, as you can see, they are FIERCE.

GO BLUE!

I have been a nervous wreck this entire week. Nervous slash excited slash anxious slash FREAKING, etc. Unfortunately, it's not the kind of nervousness that, say, makes you lose your appetite. Because that, THAT, would really help. Well, it wouldn't help tomorrow so much when I start drinking my face off at 9am. Especially seeing that the game doesn't start until 3:30pm. But, I mean, we've got to get good seats to THE GAME of the century. Plus, we will be prepared with cards, LRC (Left Right Center), Catch Phrase, Trivial Pursuit, and booze. I wonder how many casualties we will have by the end of the day. I'm betting at least one pie piece and maybe a die or two. Oh, and knee socks WILL be worn tomorrow. Uh huh. Yes, knee socks.

First words out of my mouth this morning:

Tilly: Oh MY! I bet the team is REAL nervous right now. AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!
Fiji: [laughing] It sounds like Tilly is the nervous one.
Tilly: Yes, yes I AM. FREAKING the FUCK out. Go blue.

I really haven't done anything productive today, except for read game predictions, watch film footage on YouTube (http://youtube.com/watch?v=v4AJA-CBBQo), hate on OSU and their fans (besides Lady Joiey of course), ummm, other stuff, etc. My life basically revolves around Michigan football right now. Well, at least my weekend does. Or, I should say, my weekendS HAVE revolved around Michigan football all season. I seriously despise OSU. With a passion. It's weird, but it's my life.

Oh, and I also posted random comments on peoples' facebook pages, mostly containing the words "Go" and "Blue" followed by an obnoxious number of "!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'s!" An interesting hobby in which I have recently become a particpant. BTW, why the flying FLUB does it say on MY profile in PARENTHESES next to MY NAME:

"Tilly's Profile (This is you)"

Gee. Thanks a whole hellofalot. Couldn't have figured THAT one out.

I also appreciate that my brother posted a comment that reads, "Sis - I'm old, but you're older and you're on facebook. I couldn't be happier." [punctuation corrected because he is a lazy mofo.]

Wait, did I just admit to being on facebook? Whoops.

Oh, and another thing. I have a DATE tonight. I like this dating thing. You guys should try it. It's fun and you get free food and drinks and then you might even get luckyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

GO BLUE!!!!!!!!!!

RIP Bo.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15766482/

Late, Poop, Muppets, Sia, Fiji

1. I was late to work, as in, 4 hours late. Oops. *Ahem.*
2. I got poop on my shoe.
3. I work with a Muppet Baby. For reals.
4. Sia looked at me. AND said hi. I think she's in love with me, er, wait, maybe the other way around.
5. My boy's back. Heyooooooooooo!

Colour the Small One

Sia is ALSO coming tonight. To the House of Blues. Looks like someone went a bit crazy with the photoshop or something there (might want to adjust your sound). She's such a silly funny lady and I totes heart her. Forever. And this time she's headlining!

The Return of the Feej

Fiji comes home today. In 14 hours. After 10 days. Of being out of the country.

Waiting (not so patiently) for him is:
-8 letters
-3 cards
-2 bottles of wine
-1 Powerpoint Presentation (created by LadyPedro, PowerPoint aficionado)
-1 (potentially) intoxicated TILLY

I can't flipping wait. But, wait, no, seriously, I can't wait.

AND...I just got the most beautiful bouquet of flowers delivered* to my office in THE COOLEST vase. It's the coolest. (It's cool to pee yo pants.) OMGah.


*Well, technically, it wasn't "delivered" because the shipping and receiving guy called and asked me to come and get a "special present" and then I got kinda lost because fuckshitdamn that place is HUGE and kinda scary and there are hazardous material signs everywhere. But anyway. Yay.

Uhhhhhh...

You know what's fun?

Eating hot chocolate MIX (avec marshmallows, obvi) with a fork in your office while listening to "Regulators" on iPod shuffle, reading random blogs, talking on the phone (a personal phone call, of course), and have one of your most anal and annoying bosses bust in your office and ask you a question that you have no idea how to answer so you just stare blankly ahead, unsure of which activity to abruptly end first, until he leaves.

Yeah, that's totally fun.

Guest Blogger: LadyPedro

So I work in advertising. And I read Ad Age. Yeah, I am a dork. Don’t judge me. ANYWAY. Today, I am casually flipping through the newest issue and what do I see? An article on PUBIC HAIR DYE. That’s right. Hair dye for your zone. Your space. Your lady garden. Whatever the flip you want to call it.

The best part about this? The brand name is Betty Beauty. When my sister and I were little, my mom gave us nicknames. My nickname was Belle Beauty. My SISTER’s nickname was … (drum roll PLEASE) … BETTY BEAUTY.

That’s funny!

You know what ELSE is funny? The fact that this article was in AD AGE. Last time I checked, that’s a pretty well-respected publication. And now they’re discussing pube grooming and upkeep. I guess what I am saying is that I didn’t realize there was a NEED for this type of product. Are there that many people out there who are super worried about the shade of their space? I mean, I understand the whole “trying new things” and “keeping it spontaneous” thing. We’ve all done it. But … really?

PUBES.

--------------------
Props to LadyPedro. Thanks for sharing. Since I am a spaz slash lunatic slash creative juice drought victim.

Baby Mama

Weekend Warriors.

I just felt like saying/writing that. Anyway.

My weekend consisted of the following realizations:

1. AwkRoommates parents are indeed Awk. Huh. Imagine that.
2. I AM capable of spending lots and lots of moneys that I don't have at Target when I stay there f0r 2+ HOURS. Or 15 minutes. Either way.
3. Wearing cute boots + Drinking + walking to bars + DANCING your FACE OFF (to Tupac, Biggie, and ONYX) with Hot Black Men who can actually dance = Foot hurting. HURT-ING. D'Oh!!
4. Dortios are evil, EVIL snacks.
5. The Notebook is much better when you are actually IN love. As opposed to, say, immediately following the break up of a 5-year relationship/almost engagement. Uh-huh, uh-huh.

p.s. I had the following conversation with a 3 and 1/2 year old. And then I went and gorged myself at "Fake Thanksgiving" dinner.

Caroline: Do you have a baby growing in your tummy?
Tilly: Uhhhh, No. Why? Do I LOOK like I have a baby growing in my tummy?
Caroline: Yeah.
Tilly: What?! Are you saying I look FAT?
Caroline: Yes. Mommy's fat too.
Tilly: Oh, well, you obviously have NO clue what you're talking about. Your Mom is like a toothpick.

(Literally, the woman is like 5'9'' and probably 115, if that. And she actually does have a baby growing her her tummy.)

Oh, and then Caroline asked me where my babies were, why I don't have any babies, and when I am going to have babies. And then she asked if I was going to have babies with my Daddy. Sick.

BOOTLESS Cocoon

No more BOOT!! I am BOOTLESS! I am a normal (debatable) walking human being once again! No more GIMP for me!

I almost skipped to work today, I was so dang happy. In my head, and quite possibly out loud (most definitely out loud, actually), I was singing a little ditty, well, if you consider a little ditty something along the lines of "la dee da la dee dee da da dee dee dee daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa." Yeah, in that case, I was singing a little ditty. And DAMN! I can really MOVE without that stinking boot on.

Yesterday at the pool, I quite literally thought I was in the movie Cocoon. I mean, WHOA. The translucent lighting, the clear water, the splashing sounds, and, oh yeah, all the OLD people. The guy in the next lane was hopping. No joke. The guy on the other side of me was WALKING through the water. At a very leisurely pace, I might add. Then there were some ladies in a few lanes down just chatting away, socializing as their wrinkles further transformed into prunes. I'd even go so far as to say that there was some inter-lane flirting going on. HEYO!

And, in CTA related news, on the bus yesterday, a man threw up (THREW UP) in his pocket. In his POCKET. He had one of those rain panchos on with the zippered pocket in front that you can roll the entire jacket into, you know, for safe and tight storage. Well, apparently he wasn't feeling so hot, so he just unzipped it, glanced around, and let it rip. Shocking. Just simply shocking. Yet, at the same time. Not at all. Not one bit.

Happy Friday everyone! Happy bootless Friday.

WT That?

I know this subject has been beaten to death, and I am aware that everyone, well, mostly everyone, agrees with me on it, but that does not diminish the fact that I woke up this morning (with a slight wine headache, which is completely unrelated; I just wanted to point that out) perturbed, confused, and marginally disgusted because the first image that appeared on the insides of my eyelids (you know what I'm talking about, right?) was the naked ladies from the gym locker room. SICK.

Why? Why? WHY the flying flubs do they feel the need to prance around the locker room naked? I mean, true, I'm not much of a "naked in public" kinda person, so I may be more confused than others regarding the issue, but seriously. SERIOUSLY. You can't throw your bra on? Really? That's just TOO much? I mean, I'll help you strap it on if you're having difficulty with the eye/loop thing. Actually. Nevermind. I won't. But still. I get the whole "I get hot drying my hair" thing, and the "I am naked because I CAN" thing or the "I'm still drying off" thing, but really, honestly, isn't the main goal after you take a shower at the GYM to get dressed so that you can, you know, GO HOME and maybe have dinner with your family or something? Or at least watch TV or read a book or listen to music or JUST GO HOME (are you too good for your home? Just go home!)? I hadn't realized that hanging out NAKED in the locker room was considered a hobby.

I'm glad that you are all very comfortable with your own bodies. Really, I am. I guess the problem here is that I'M not all that comfortable with YOUR naked bodies. Like the lady that showers (naked, obvi) in the open showers when there are several/almost ALL of the curtained showers open. Why? I mean, really, WHY? You're old. And saggy. And, I mean, you've got a kinda cute body for an old lady, but you're OLD. And SAGGY. And it's kinda depressing. I guess this is all about me. It makes ME feel slightly uncomfortable. Okay. There. I said it.

But then there's the woman that is my age and has tattoos, like, ALL OVER her body. She even has some right underneath her breasts, which are way cool, actually. I mean, she's got a nice body and maybe that is why she likes to show it off. Thanks. Appreciate it. But I don't see why she can't just throw on a pair of underwear. I'm sure SURE SURE she wears a teeny thong, but still. Pubic hair is pubic hair. Who likes it? And WHO likes looking at strangers pubes?? Sorry, this is getting a little out of hand.

My point/question is this: Why? Why must some people INSIST on spending inordinate (and unnecessarily extended) periods of time NAKED in the locker room?

Discuss.

What the FUCK is this all about??

New Life-Ruiner on the Prowl: GoatBoy.

I just went to give blood for the first time. And I was denied. DENIED. And then I cried. CRIED. Pathetic. I was just really excited about it. And they wouldn't let me. You know why? Welp, the new life-ruiner of the hour's name is GoatBoy. Nice how he can still ruin my life from afar. Awesome. Since he lived in Africa for four years as a child, in a "high risk country," and since I had "sexual contact" with him, I am permanently deferred. PERMANENTLY DEFERRED. I am so sad.

The blood lady explained it to me like this:
BloodLade: [going through the flow chart] Well, it looks like you are not eligible to give blood.
Tilly: Today?
BL: [in a gentle whisper]: No, honey, I'm sorry. You are a permanent deferral.
Tilly: [tearing up] But...he just lived there for a few years as a child. He's not really African.
BL: [whispering, tilting head ever so slightly] Oh, honey. It's not your fault. You're not a bad person.
Tilly: [crying] Well, I KNOW I'm not a bad person. I'm just disappointed. It was--or would have been--my first time. Really glad my ex-boyfriend is ruining my life. It's HIS fault.
BL: Well, here, I'll give you this stats sheet and you can get a free JambaJuice.
Tilly: Gee, thanks. Because JambaJuice solves EVERYTHING. Because JambaJuice will SAVE lives.

Ok. Fine. I didn't say that. I just thanked her and walked away and got some Animal Crackers and apple juice and sat and waited for my scientist friend who was getting her blood bag filled (luckkyyyyyyyyyyyy).

Then I told her that I should have told them that I was just kidding. I should have said I just wanted to see what would happen if "someone" had sexual contact with someone who lived in Niger as a child. You know, be all, "Just kidding! I really had you there! I don't even KNOW anyone who lived in Africa, let alone have been boned by them. No one LIVES in Africa. Who ARE you? Where AM I?" Then she mentioned that I still probably wouldn't have been able to give blood because it would have been readily apparent that I was crazy. FINE.

Either way. Thanks a lot GoatBoy. Thanks. A. LOT. Not only are you ruining MY life, but you have ruined the lives of all those little children and old folks and regular aged people that I may have been able to save via my blood donations. How you sleep at night, I DON'T KNOW.

Look how happy the blood and platelet are. Goshhhhhhhhhhh. That could be me. GoatBoyDBagLifeRuiner.

Poor, Poor AwkDog and The BOOT Countdown. (Because they are undeniably related.)

What does it say when the AwkDog that you have had for over 4 years sleeps outside your roommates door (like, literally, I tripped over him in the middle of the night AND this morning) that you/the AwkDog have been living with for just over 1 month?

What does THAT say?

You wanna know what that says? Do ya?

It says that you are a BAD AwkDogDad. BAD.

As soon as I get the fucking BOOT off (pardon my francais), I will be walking that beast like he has never been walked before. Literally. Oh, and btdubs, the boot comes off (hopefully) on Saturday (T-3 days!). Just in time for me to babysit all day and then go to Fake Thanksgiving with two MATCHING shoes. Not sure what I am excited about most: 1. Not walking like a gimp, 2. Not having all my outfits clash, 3. Not being able to be HEARD from way down the hall/street/stairs from a mile away, 4. Not walking like a gimp, 5. Not being stared at (I mean, not being stared at purely due to my undeniable beauty and grace, obvi), 6. Not having to strap that sucker on/take that sucker off/tighten that sucker up after 5 minutes of walking/adjust that sucker on the train/platform/streetcorner/etc., or 7. Not having to WEAR a BOOT. Yeah, not really sure what takes the cake with that one. Hmmm...let me ponder that for a second...maybe ALL of the ABOVE.

So, in conclusion people: when your foot hurts (like, a LOT), don't keep running 5+ miles a day on it. Also, avoid falling down flights of stairs. For if you continue to run/fall, you will not only ruin your own life, but you will also ruin the life of your AwkRoommates AwkDog because he will be fat and unattended to and unexercised and you will cry.

Hey, don't say I never did nothing for you.

BLUE is the New Black.

Wahoo!!

She's ALIVE! And Still Obnoxious.

Tilly is NOT dunzo.

After weighing my "options" and with the indispensable help from my ladies, I've decided that this is MY thing. If people are reading it that "shouldn't" be reading it...FINE. Suit yourself. Obviously this is a public form of expression and I am basically broadcasting my life via the internets slash worldwidewebs, therefore, anyone can choose to be a witness to my obscene and ridiculous ramblings. And you know, that whole free will thing after that whole Garden of Eden episode. So, there's that.

Bygones.

In other news:

1. Awk Roommate is still awk. And so is his dog, who will henceforth be known as AWKDOG! I don't think that you all realize the hilarity of this situation, but it's fucking hilarious.
2. Fiji slash Feej is in Central America for 10 days. Balls. Oh, and he saw Ryan Phillipe on the plane. *sigh*
3. I borrowed a little girl's brush in the locker room yesterday while she was in the bathroom. What?? I forgot my comb. And one of the Moms that is ALWAYS in there waiting for her child (which is awk and awk in and of itself, trust me) busted me. Whoopsies. That was weird. And now that I think about it...lice?? FLUB!! Kboo?? Help?
4. My Moms calls Fiji by his "full" name. It's cute. And strange.
5. I caught one of the creepo professors in my office, creeping around, when I got back from my coffee run this morning. SICK. This is also the man that continually violates my personal space and blatantly "checks me out" every day. Nasty. I think he may have been sniffing my swimsuit. GROSS.
6. Some of you may remember my first el crush. The one that I basically attacked on the street. Not really, but yeah. Anyway. As Fiji and I were headed home last week, HE, el crush numero uno, or PivotPoint, was on the train. F. That was the first time that I had seen him since the day that I approached him way back in May (or somewhere around then). Which was odd, seeing that I used to see him everywhere. EVERYWHERE. Like, on the train, DUH, on the street in my neighborhood, at the local watering hole, AND he lived NEXT DOOR to Canada (the last guy I dated). Whatever. It was awkward. Not sure if he recognized me, you know, with the boot on and all, but still. I, of course, had to tell Fiji, who teased me and encouraged me to go and talk to him. Cha. Right.
7. I am wearing all black today. Fun.
8. I may be foregoing Thanksgiving at the parental units for the big bold trip to meet Fiji's family. And friends. And go to his grade school reunion (?). Who the fuck has a grade school reunion??! When I asked this exact question, his response, "Well, apparently I do." Huh. Imagine that. Freak.

Tilly is dunzo.

HoliDayeee

Just a few things, realquicklike...

1. BigB may or may not have found Tilly. Awesome. If so, hey BigB! Welcome. Feel free to read on, or you know, NOT. Your choice.

2. Can Meredith Grey BE any more annoying (per Chandler Bing)?? Nope. I don't think so. Is this show slipping? I mean, Christina?? She used to be my fave, but now. Now. Not so much.

3. Day 2...so far so good. Cigarettes got nothin on me. NOTH-ING.

4. Fiji is taking me on a holiday this weekend, per Bridget Jones. Duh. Except I forgot my "scarf" thingy. I guess I don't really need it because he FINALLY put the top back on. Seeing that it IS 30degrees outside. Jeesh.

5. Oh, and he's meeting the 'rents.

Breaking Up is Hard To Do. DUH.

It's over. O.V.E.R.

Last night, I broke up with something very dear to my heart. Something that's been in my life for over a decade. Some seasons more, some seasons less. Various periods of drought, but present nonetheless. They may be trying to kill me, but I love them despite it all. I truly enjoy them in my life and I know that it will be hard to let them go.

Yep. That's right. Last night, me and cigarettes...well, we broke up. We're not "on a break." There's no chance for a reconciliation. There may be some late night drunken hook-ups down the road, not gonna lie. But we're done. Done and DONE. I am not a smoker. Never really have been...in the grand picture of it all. Not a wake up and smoke smoker, or a work day smoker, or a smoke in front of parents or kids smoker. Just mostly a drinker smoker. Occassionally a smoker smoker, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.

The whole drinking thing poses a major problem though, for as soon as that sweet, sweet nectar grazes my lips, I want that nic stick. SICK. Also, those "anti-smoking" commercials--they are REALLY going to be a challenge. Those dang things have the opposite effect on me; I won't even be thinking about smoking and then one of those lame ads comes on and I'm like, welp, that sounds delicious. I think I'll have that.

But, no more. Hopefully I will be able to swim faster and run faster (once the BOOT comes off, which btdubs, is totally falling apart and is basically a life-ruiner) and, hell, maybe even LIVE longer. Now, wouldn't THAT be nice?

I like to think of Jesus as a mischievous badger.

Talladega Nights, while NO Anchorman, is pretty funny. I mean, let's be honest, it IS Will Ferrell. He co-wrote it and I am kind of slash TOTALLY and COMPLETELY obsessed with him. However, I didn't laugh outloud as much as I usually do with his films. BUT, the dude sitting behind me, now, he, on the other hand, thought the movie was fucking insanely hilarious, as deducted from his ubiquitous laughter. At everything. EVERY. THING. No joke. Don't get me wrong. I, too, am a "laugher." At all things funny...to me. BUT. I think that I have a nice laugh. It's not TOO loud (usually). It's not intrusive (mostly). It kind of just explodes from my body at times, but I mean, that's part of humor, right? The surprise/shock of it all. Anyway, my point, and yes, I do have one today, is that this one guy's laugh was the most girlie, squealing, piggily, soprano, obnoxious, annoying laugh I have ever heard. And when Ricky Bobby stabbed himself in the leg with a knife (to prove, incorrectly, that he was paralyzed--uh, sorry, should've tossed in a "Spoiler Alert" in there. Wait, *SPOILER ALERT!* There you go. ), he just fucking lost it. Lost. It. And then I did. In a not so good way.

I mean, for starters, the "Brew'N'View" upstairs was basically empty and these people had to go and sit directly behind me. I mean, COME ON NOW. Fine. I know I had picked good seats and all, but seriously. It's like when there are empty seats on the train, like TWO empty seats (Edit: I mean, two side by side, so like, A LOT of empty seats. That's what I meant.), and then some assclown has to come and choose to sit next to you. Why? Why?? Why you gotta go and be like that?

Anyway, the movie is definitely a repeatable rental. That way I can get all the good quotes in my brain so that I can Pete and Repeat* them over and over again and drive my friends and co-workers to the brink of insanity. Because, shite, creeping people out is one of the things that I do best. Which works out quite nicely for me because, holy hell, it's FUN. Capital F, Capital U, Capital N. FUN.

Just a few, you know, to get you going:
Ricky Bobby: Big Red... If you ain't chewin it... then FUCK you!
Ricky Bobby: Well, Let me give you a saying from Colonel Sanders. I am too drunk to taste this chicken.
Ricky Bobby: Well, I'm the best there is. Plain and simple, when I wake up in the morning I piss excellence.

Texas Ranger (RB's son): Old man, I'm gonna come at you like a spider monkey!

*Btdubs, I kinda miss Repeat. You know, the guy from "Two-A-Days." And my favorite all-time quote of his, and DANG, there are a bunch, is "I gotta guuuurrrrlfriend. Her name is Megggggan. She a nine. Ain't no tinn. But she definitely a niiiine."**

**That is my attempt to "write" a southern accent. Just go with it.