Right side of the bed.

This morning had the potential to be the very bad beginning to a day when the smoke detector went off in my bedroom this morning, luckily my house wasn't on fire (although the garage was flooded).

Instead it has turned out to be a good day, I got an exciting phone call this morning, and I'm wearing my fantastic new Nine West wrap dress. Several people have told me how awesome it looks on me. I feel absolutely lovely and sparkly. Plus I'm having post work drinks with friends.

Last night I got a call from my best friend and it turns out that the guy I dated all through high school is getting a divorce and someone said to her: "Skeezix will be really happy when she finds out. Just don't tell her yet, it's not public knowledge."

Apparently everyone in that town lives in a alternate universe where I've been hoping for the demise of my ex's marriage, even though it's been 10 years since we've dated and 4 since I've even seen him. And possibly the reason I'm still unmarried at 27 and live in a town far away so I don't have to see them together because it breaks my heart.

It's like a bad WB series, with lots of orginal music by Paula Cole.

Playing house

I've hung pictures and put away all the dishes yet I still somehow feel like I'm playing house, and there is no way this is my home. I'm going to wake up and I will have to trudge back to the sorority house with it's cook and housekeepers and everyone up in my business, the studio living with everything in one room, and constant noises from drunk college students.

Moving, to say the least, was not hard. It went fairly easily and the main worry, the couch not fitting through the door, was not an issue. We didn't even have to take the door off, it just slid right in. With the help of Dan and Ben, strapping boyfriends of my girlfriends. Although Dan did catch his finger on a staple and cut himself (which I feel awful about).

But then there was the crying, on my part. Oh, the crying. Why? Because I'm a hormonal ninny who felt like some sort of glutonous american for having so much goddamn stuff. Goddamn stuff I could never locate when I needed it, which made the crying worse. Mom took it all in stride like the moving champ that she is, at one point she told me to go take a nap and an hour later when I got up she was down on her hands and knees scrubbing my floors. Seriously. Scrubbing my floors.

I thank god every day I came out of her body because how much does she rock?

Earlier in the day we had gone for breakfast at this little bakery and were sitting outside when a friend of mine stopped by to say hi. After chatting with him for a few minutes he took his leave and my mom turns to me:

Mom: He's cute.
Me: Yes, he's very cute.
Mom: He has really nice teeth.
Me: (laughing) Is he horse? Why were you checking out his teeth?
Mom: Oh god, you are going to tell him I said that aren't you?
Me: I so am

I've been sitting on this post since Monday, trying to be funny and witty in the hopes that it will make the internets at large like me more but I'm just too tired to try to make it so anymore. My brain function feels cut off, like there is a problem with my neurons firing in sequence instead I mostly end up blankly staring at the open word document without a coherant thought to put down.


Lets get this show on the road

I can't sit still, I feel like I should be home packing. I don't want to be editing this series of photos for the millionth time.

I would also like to be drinking beer.

But really thats nothing special since I'd always like to be drinking beer.

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White wash

So I picked up the keys to my new place on Friday, and I'll have to say I was more than disappointed with it. The simple fact was the walls looked terrible, the color was a dirty cream. And by dirty I mean really actually dirty. There was layers of dust clinging to the walls.

I couldn't stand it so I picked up some white paint and went to town. I painted the whole apartment myself in 2 days (everything needed two coats of paint). And to put this delicately- oh my motherfucking god, I'm so fucking sore today that I'm actually walking funny.

But the difference the paint made was astonishing. Everything seemed suddenly cleaner and brighter.

Now my only freakout is the actual moving part. I hate moving, having moved 20-some times in my entire life. I stopped counting a couple of years ago. I've not really packed which I think is causing the main stress, and then there is the secondary stress of things like "oh my god, will my couch fit through the door? What if it doesn't fit? What am I going to do? "

It is so bad that I barely slept last night, I tossed and turned and had lots of nightmares. So not cool.

Here are some before and after photos from the painting extravaganza.

Living room before:

Living room after:

Kitchen before:

Kitchen after:

Bathroom before:

Bathroom after:

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Still a wee bit puffy eyed

Jalepino juice in the eye is a very bad, bad, bad thing.

I've learned my lesson, from here on out I will approach those peppers as if they were bioharzardeous material. My 10+ years of "Don't fear the pepper." has come to an end.

Everyone better appreciate the goddamn hell out of my salsa tonight. I am so going to open a beer at 4pm when I get home, I don't care if the poker party doesn't start until 5:30.

In an effort to expand my work beyond what I shoot everyday I've been making an effort to shoot for pleasure/fun. I'm digging into the archives of my head and using techniques that I've not thought about in years. Why not try to light something with a flashlight, you've done it before- lets try it again.

As usual I'm obsessed with food. I bought some lovely pees from the farmer's market and just had to attempt to capture their little emerald babies all tucked into together. I don't think I'm done with the pees yet, I've been having entirely too much fun playing with them and using a large light source from behind.

Also I seem to be quite enamored of F5.6, so much of the daily grind I do must be 100% perfectly in focus it's nice to let things go soft and blurry at the edges- especially when I've got no one else to please but me.

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Open Bar

Sarah , over at Ok, Seriously (one of my most favorite blogs ever- I sort of consider stalking her truth be told next time I'm in Cleveland because she is hilarious plus clearly her blog title tells me she's a fan of the Will Farrell) had a deliriously good time at a friend's wedding this weekend. Which brought up that I myself have imbibed one to many at many a friend's wedding thus rendering myself the drunkest person in the room with magical abilities to make the most splendiferous ass of myself.

I think the first wedding I displayed my magicalness was my friend Carrie's wedding, I was the maid of honor and had been moving along at a nice clip with a good buzz. I was the favorite for being adept at opening champagne bottle after champagne bottle while in the back of the limo. There were actually two limos for that wedding, one with the rest of the groomsmen and bridesmaids and one for the bride and groom, the best man and I. Needless to say we stole the other limo's champagne because we ran out. It's just how I roll.

But my real downfall came towards the end of the evening during the dollar dance, which my lush friend Carrie decided should include shots. Except somehow the best man and I ended up having to do shots with each person who gave us money. Bad news. Because after that things get hazy, I remember rolling (YES, ROLLING) around on the dance floor in my dress and then asking the best man for his number. I probably inappropriately grabbed a few groomsmen too.

After the wedding we watched the professional videographer's tape and there is a lovely section of where we are taking photos at this castle looking building. And all you can hear me saying in the background is "Jesus, who the fuck do those skanky ass bitches think they looking at? I think I need to go rough those fucking whores up." Awesome. But they were skanky ass bitches who were looking at us funny and those goddamn other bridesmaids had no room to be looking at us like that. I can say that because I actually know them, i went to high school with them and they were skanks of the highest order.

The other most famous wedding debacle was my friend Missy's wedding, during which again- shots did me in. My friend's boyfriend bet me $20 that I would kiss the DJ (who I did think was cute), so I marched right up to the DJ table and told him if he kissed me he'd help me win a bet. And that is how I came to make out with the DJ. And then I totally butchered an ethnic dance trying to fit in, and told the DJ there was an after-party in my room. A room I had no idea where it was, the limo picked us up in the morning and not being from the area I had no idea how to get back to it. Poor Ben (the same guy who made the bet with me) had to call information to find directions so he could get me back to the hotel.

So now tell me a tale of your favorite wedding drunkenness.

Jesus, Mary, Joseph and all the Saints- Carrie's wedding is not the first one I made an ass out myself at. Oh god, too many drunken shenanagans are flashing before my eyes.

Where are my damn measuring cups?

So for the last three years I've had a cleaning lady and a cook. Well, not really that I had one, rather the place I lived did. I hate every moment of it.


Sure, this may be surprising to whole hell of a lot of people since having a cleaning lady and cook seems like some sort of decadent dream but really nearly every moment of it has been pretty close to torture for me. First off, I told the cleaning ladies that they did not need to clean my room or bathroom. Why? Because I hate having people up in my business.

If I decide to leave my panties on the floor I don't want someone I'm not sleeping with to see them. Why that distinction? Because if you are sexing someone up they are already deep into your personal space. My cleaning ladies and I do not have that sort of relationship.

So you would think I wouldn't have issues with the non-personal spaces like kitchens- right? Wrong. Things get put away in odd places so that I spend 15 minutes looking for my measuring cups, and they are never put away in the same place twice. Sometimes they are in one drawer, sometimes placed in a cabinet- it's a crapshoot really. An annoying, frustrating crapshoot. I cannot tell you the number of times I've been trying to cook or bake and stood in the kitchen and screamed in frustration because I can't find something I know own.

And the cook, god love her. She is sweet and granted she isn't there for just me- but I don't do processed foods. Really, I eat them every once and while and usually end up feeling like shit afterwards. I'm all healthy like that. But for her processed foods are a way of life, which is fine. And it's fine with a lot of the people she cooks for, and since they are the ones paying the majority of the rent I don't complain.

Lastly, I'm just not comfortable with it at all. I feel some sort of guilt, shame or semi-lower middle class uncomfortableness with having someone do those domestic things that I am more than capable of doing myself.

As of next Friday, it will all be over. I won't have to make pleasant small talk in the morning while I'm trying to gulp down my fiber before running out the door. I won't have to endure any more calls at work from someone asking me a question about something so totally inane it makes me want to tear my hair out. I'm moving into my new place and from here on out if the measuring cups are not in the right place I know it's because I moved them.

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All of the sudden I have nervous feeling in my gut about the triathlon. Perhaps it is because I read a message board today and it totally freaked me out. I don't really have the proper bike for a triathlon, I've not practiced my transitions, oh my god, I'm going to die- aren't I?

Not helping the nervous feeling is the fact that I ate an entire container of Stouffer's Welsh Rarebit for lunch. It seemed like a delicious idea at the time, but instead I'm now feeling overly cheesified and bloated, which means it will be a long, long, long time before I do that again. Seriously, such a bad idea.

Keds, who the hell knew I owned Keds. Oh, I know Mischa Barton tried to make them cool and they are a classic but in what right mind did I think I would really become a Keds wearer? But none the less there they are in my closet, only having been worn a couple of time and those time were most certainly not in the last 3+ years I've lived in my current place. So tonight, they go to the goodwill-esque store.

There are so many things I'm pulling out of the world's smallest closet and from the storage bins under my bed that I just can't explain. Why did I hang onto that super faded black, ribbed, 3/4 sleeve, v-necked Old Navy shirt for 4+ years? I've not worn it in 2, yet it sat there as if I would someday pull it out and say "YOU! I've been looking for my super faded black, ribbed, 3/4 sleeve, v-necked Old Navy shirt!"

So what is with all the cleaning? I'm moving starting next week, on Friday I take possession of my lovely little apartment (ALL TO MYSELF) and there is just so much shit that is not going to make the transition. I'm paring down, I want to live clean and simple- not that I currently am in the throws of a cluttered existence but even less cluttery and stuff filled.

In college one of my roommates had a serious motherfucking problem with clutter. It was like she would walk into a room and it would explode with random, useless crap. It covered every surface that she possessed. She and I exchanged words on more than one occasion when she would eye my clutter free desk or dresser. And really, does a grown woman need a magic wand her mother bought for her last week? Or the ugly, little mutton faced crone doll with bells and keys and other assorted glittery shit sewn onto it's frock?

I just can't live with stuff, I start to feel claustrophobic. The reality is that my new apartment is going to have the semi-ugly patina of a first real apartment alone, even though most people have that "look" right after college I'm attempting it at 27. It is going to be the awesomist.

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I'm sorry baby...

CBS, I'm sorry baby. I didn't mean to violently outburst like that, you know I love you it's just that you get me so angry. I wouldn't be like that if you didn't cancel good shows. Well, I love you now that you've decided TO BRING BACK JERICO.

Oh god. My heart is all aflutter.

Sarah! Let the freaking out commence. SKEEEEETTTTT!

Mary, thank you for emailing me. It totally made my morning.

Now we can only hope that the piss poor Emily was caught in the crossfire and then Jake and Heather can live happily ever after kicking some ass and being super smart together.

Also they better not fuck with Stanley and Mimi.

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Pathetic ride, it freaks me out

I've been training for this triathlon for 6 months. I probably started entirely too soon, but I wasn't in the best of shape last year so I knew I had a long way to go.

But now I'm burnt out. Mentally fatigued from all the training. My heart isn't in it anymore.

According to my dad, runner of many marathons, this is entirely common. He told me to take a week off and relax. No more than a week though, and I'll feel refreshed and ready to go the last 6 weeks before competition.

Which is good because after my ride last night I was in tears. I hated every single minute of it. And really, it was pathetically short because I just couldn't bring myself to do it. 7 miles is woefully short compared to the 20-25 miles I had been averaging of late.

Even my new totally awesome bike shorts from Pearl Izumi (recommended by the lovely Amblus ) failed to motivate me onward. But those 7 miles were the most comfortable I've ever ridden, the extra padding on the crotch and backside really is amazing- off the bike you feel like you are wearing the world's largest maxi pad but on the bike it is heaven.

So here I am, taking a break. I've got no fucking idea what do with all this time I now have on my hands, it is almost like I've lost the will to be lazy.

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I worked out my shitty week by shopping.

Because I've got zero self control lately I bought 2 dresses, one pair of knee length shorts, and a bra. Plus I exchanged my expensive jeans for a different pair of expensive jeans.

First, lets talk about the shorts. Knee length shorts have been eschewed in my wardrobe since I was in 8th grade, I was already growing out the trend that had been sweeping my middle school (knee length shorts worn with tights, so wrong) when my grandparents and aunt bought me a pair of cranberry corduroy knee length shorts, a white and navy stripped  button up shirt (it hurt your eyes to look at it) and a navy vest with lots and lots of embroidery on it.

The outfit hit the perfect trifecta of ugliness. They on the other hand thought it was "sharp!", a term I still abhor when it comes out of someone's mouth in reference to clothes. Regardless of what they are actually referring to I see that goddamn outfit in my head. Usually if it is a elder family member that says they found a "sharp!" outfit for me I am pretty much guaranteed to hate it.

So it was with MUCH trepidation that I tried on these formal looking, knee length shorts. But they were cute, and made my legs look hot. So I'm going to give them a whirl, I might hate them in a couple of weeks but for now they might be the perfect thing to beat the ungodly heat we've been having. If anyone doesn't believe in global warming then they should stop on by and explain to me why for the last month we've been cruising along in 90 degree average heat. IN MAY.

As for the rest of my purchases, every lady should run out and buy the Victoria's Secret Secret Embrace Push Up Bra. It seriously hoists the ladies up but is so unbelievably comfortable I want to wear it everyday. Plus it is on sale right now, so hey! $10 off is not shabby.

Expensive jeans, everyone is doing it- you should too. I wear jeans nearly everyday to work. It is a fact. So why shouldn't I spend $100 on them? Enter Lucky Jeans. I've coveted a pair of Lucky Jeans since I was a freshman in high school. Because there is nothing cooler to a catholic schoolgirl than a pair of pants that when unzipped say "lucky you" on the fly.

Another youthful dream realized. Awesome. Plus, being only 5'4" (or technically 5'3.5") they make a 'short' jean that isn't too short or too long. Perfection. Plus the sales people really know their shit about their pants. It was entirely my fault for buying the wrong pair before, I fell in love with the fabric and not the fit. I made sure this go round to make sure the fit was fantastic.

Dress #1 I've been searching for about 8 months now. I wanted a patterned 3/4 length sleeve wrap dress that hit at the knee. The one I bought this weekend is a lovely Nine West black background with thin white circles, found at TJMaxx for $60. Which is half off it's original price. More than I wanted to shell out but this piece is a classic which will be in my closet forever.

And dress #2 was an impulse purchase. It is a forever21 t-shirt dress in kelly green. Anyone who has ever shopped at Forever21 knows that their stores are a perpetual mess and most of the clothing is hit or miss. Plus their lines for the dressing room are a nightmare, which is why I try stuff on in the middle of the store. I just pull whatever it is on over my tanktop.

Except I was concerned that this dress was making me look too wide in the hips. My friend pointed out that it was probably the jeans under the dress that was adding to my hippy bulk. So what do I do? I drop trow in the middle of the store.

Yes, I was standing in the middle of the store with my pants around my ankles.

Whatever. I don't care about the shocked glances I got from other shoppers, it isn't like I was parading around with the skirt hiked above my waist flashing my lady business around (ahem!, like Paris Hilton).

Wearing that pretty green dress to dinner at a friend's house made me feel shockingly hot, perhaps because is cut a bit shorter than other dresses I own- several inches above the knee. I hope to hell I'm not looking like some inappropriate cougar in it.

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