Shallow and Very, Very Single

Resolutions are for suckers

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 18:04:00 +0000

2011 was a very big year for me.

I went to Asia for the first time on an incredible trip and came back a different person. I turned 30. I had a job opportunity literally fall into my lap that I couldn't pass up. I fell in love (VOMIT, I KNOW). And the thing is, I knew that big things would happen last year. I was optimistic. I was ready for what the world had to throw at me.

So forgive me if I'm not quite as jazzed as I was a year ago. While it is just a year, and in the scheme of things, that is not very long, I have sat the past few days feeling anxious as to how 2012 could possibly top 2011. Being a pessimistic, anxiety-ridden person by nature, I can't help it.

I also spent yesterday riddled with the stomach flu, throwing up everywhere while my terrified boyfriend moved from room to room to clean up after me. Then I shivered in bed for four hours, screaming for more ginger ale and watching 30 Rock while drooling on myself. It was not a pretty sight.

ANYWAY. I am better now (although afraid to eat anything) and was thinking about a few things I would like to accomplish in 2012. Not resolutions, because I really think resolutions are stupid and easy to give up on, but more just things I want to do a better job of in the coming year.

Take better care of my bod. I'm no spring chicken anymore. I really want to take better care of myself and eat better and be more active and just overall watch the shit I put in my body. Wine notwithstanding. I want to be one of those assholes who only eats organic and drinks tea and tons of water and loves hiking. I hate hiking. While hiking is, in fact, walking, it is walking up hills (which are stupid) and there are bugs (which are SO stupid) and I hate that.
Chill the fuck out. I have done a bit of work on this since my travels last year, but seriously, I need to relax. I'm sick of being tense and frustrated and pissed off. This mostly relates to driving. Anywhere. I am a very angry driver and I show up everywhere I go angry and cranky.
Stop hating people. Seriously, I kind of hate other people. I need to stop that. It's negative and rude. I can't help it if people wear really weird shit or think some things are funny when they're not or are the guy that sits by me at work that ALWAYS INSERTS HIMSELF INTO EVERY CONVERSATION ALWAYS. WE'RE NOT TALKING TO YOU. STOP IT. I hate that guy. That needs to stop.

And that's it. Three things.

Wish me luck today, if I puke after eating AGAIN I will kill myself.

xo d

2011 - Music

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 00:44:00 +0000

In my extreme boredom at work this week, I figured I would wrap up my year on this here blog (if anyone even reads it anymore. hello?) with a series of completely unimportant wrap ups on 2011.

First things first - music. True to form, I was pretty obsessed with music this year. I saw a reasonable amount of live music (not including Outside Lands and Treasure Island) and psychotically listened to far more. So I am completely qualified to give you my top ten albums.

Kidding! I am hungover and starving. Add boredom to that mix and you get the following.

D's Top Ten Albums of 2011

10. Delicate Steve - Wondervisions

Some people (my bf) are obsessed with Delicate Steve. I like that Steve is a delicate man, and that he is confident in that fact. He sounds like Ratatat on prozac, so that's also pretty cool.

Furthermore, his videos are like this. What the hell is going on there, Steve.

9. Mr. Little Jeans - Rescue Song

My thing with Mr. Little Jeans started on a road trip to Tahoe Labor Day weekend. My girl Jeff made some CDs to make the ride more enjoyable and included Mr. Little Jeans' Rescue Song.

Throw in pretty great covers of Arcade Fire's Suburbs (one of my favorites off that album) and Single Ladies (like, as in Beyonce) and she edged her way into my regular playlist.

8. Foster the People - Torches

Like seemingly everyone else on earth, I was into Pumped Up Kicks until it was played to death by every damn radio station.

The rest of the album is good (and they're fun live), and even though Mark Foster is a little pompous (he talked about how he used to hang out with Rivers Cuomo, etc.), he is talented. And foxy.

7. Lana del Rey - EP

I have a love-hate relationship with Lana del Rey. She used to be some random blond singer who got lip injections and an album deal and now is cool. I guess.

She's a total lunatic. But she's hot and while this isn't exactly an album per-say, it is still something that I cannot get out of my damn head. She says in interviews that she wants to be a ghetto Nancy Sinatra. A lyric in Blue Jeans says this bro is "sick as can-cancer".

Uh ok.

Also, here are the videos for Video Games and Blue Jeans. I can't decide if they're totally retarded or interesting. So there you go.

6. The Low Anthem - Smart Flesh

This one kind of sneaked up on me this year. I downloaded it off a friend and then added it to this playlist I make of newly added music. And every time I heard a song I really liked in the mish-mash of music, I realized it was theirs.

It's very listenable, good background putzing around my apartment music.

5. Cults - Cults

From start to finish, this is a great album.

Perfect girly party music, I listen mostly while I am getting ready to go out or any other time I want to feel like a hip, cool girly girl.

I am also a loser that writes lines like that one above and posts them on the internet. So who knows.

This is a great song.

4. Beirut - The Riptide

I am a huge Beirut groupie.

Have been for years. Saw them live twice this year AND, AND courtesy of my boyfriend's connections, was backstage at Outside Lands and sat next to them at dinner in the artists' dinner tent. No joke. I was gnawing on ham (seriously) and staring creepily at them.

Moving on.

While this album was maybe not as perfect as Beirut's first, it is still fantastic. The song Goshen in particular stole my heart. I mean, that voice. Swoon.

3. Adele - 21

Like every other human being with a vagina, I was pretty in love with this album. So much so, that I played it on goddamn repeat from it's release through June. And then I wanted to kill myself. And then I wanted to kill myself even more when every single song was (and is) played over and over and over again on the radio.

But it's still great.

2. Lykke Li - Wounded Rhymes

I played this entire album a lot a few months ago, and loved it all, but then the songs started to all sound like themselves and bugged. Then I saw her live about a month ago at The Fox in Oakland and fell in love all over again. I Follow Rivers is my fave on the album (and she's a total creep in the video!), although Get Some is naughty fun. I sing it to my boyfriend while sweeping the kitchen in my sweats from 7th grade. It is incredibly hot.

Anyway, she wears these like black weird expensive looking rag clothes on stage and my bff A and I really want to start dressing like that. If only we were famous and eccentric instead of poor and eccentric.

1. Bon Iver - Bon Iver

I really didn't want to like this album. For the first month I listened to it and was pissed off that it did not sound like the beloved For Emma, and wanted the sparse, emo sound back.

This album is still heartbreaking and haunting, like all Bon Iver, but a different kind of heartbreaking. And the song Perth might be one of the most perfect songs ever.

Honorable Mentions:

I really, REALLY wanted to include the following, but their albums were technically released in 2010. So I didn't. Because I am psychotic like that: The Naked and Famous - Passive Me, Aggressive You, The Head and the Heart- The Head and the Heart, Baths - Cerulean, Freelance Whales - Weathervanes

Also, these are great, but didn't make the cut: Alexander Ebert - Alexander, Braids - Native Speaker, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah - Hysterical, Death Cab for Cutie - Codes and Keys, Explosions in the Sky - Take Care, Take Care, Take Care, Feist - Metals, Fleet Foxes - Helplessness Blues, Oh Land - Oh Land

Things that are...

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 23:48:00 +0000

...inappropriate for a 30 year old:

Pitching a royal shit fit because you have a death cold and you worthless boyfriend won't stop playing Skyrim long enough to PAY ATTENTION TO YOU for FIVE MINUTES
Having a boyfriend that plays Skyrim
Shopping at Forever 21
Purchasing printed tights at said store that I will not mention again because you saw them on Gossip Girl
Watching Gossip Girl
Really loving the box of wine you purchased (four bottles to a box!), realizing how much money you're saving in alcoholic-land
Wearing glitter covered flats...with a cape
Using your iPad's iBooks as a sneaky way to read trashy or age-inappropriate novels (e.g. RL Stine and Jacqueline Susann)
Getting real excited, despite the death cold that will not go away, for this weekend's bachelorette festivities for the BFF

...appropriate for a 30 year old:

Being so happy that this particular bachelorette weekend is not in Vegas
Waddling your perpetual legging-wearing, sniffly, wine soaked ass around Napa instead

Can't wait.

xo d

yep.

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 22:05:00 +0000

"I used to feel so alone in the city. All those gazillions of people and then me, on the outside. Because how do you meet a new person? I was stunned by this for many years. And then I realized, you just say, 'Hi.' They may ignore you. Or you may marry them. And that possibility is worth that one word."

- Augusten Burroughs

shamelessly lifted from this lovely lady's blog

Gianvi is Making Me Cray-Cray

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Tue, 08 Nov 2011 16:00:00 +0000

One of the joys of having a steady boyfriend that will have sex with you often (what, Trainwreck sometimes (always) turned me down...now we all question his sexuality. He also goes to gay bars by choice because they're "more fun". Another topic for another post, yes?) is that you get the all clear to stop using condoms and get on the pill.

Side note: I am one of those completely fucking annoying people who are pretty ridiculous about condom use with few exceptions (like this total serial killer lawyer I dated a few years ago during my destructo phase). So, yes, for six months plus, we used condoms because I wouldn't get my lazy ass to the doctor.

Finally, I made a bunch of doctor's appointments, one of which cleared me of cancer, the other of which I went to the girl doctor and she looked at my lady parts and cleared me of STDs (woot) and gave me a prescript for the pill. I had used Yaz before and it didn't make me too obese or insane unlike the following:

Ortho Tri Cyclen - I threw a chair at a person. That's pretty much never ok.
Nuva Ring - aka, the death ring. First of all, I use tampons with applicators, thank you very much. I don't really want to be sticking my hand up there to insert this ring of death, nor do I want to go on the fucking exploratory mission to get that shit back out. Second of all, I broke out in full body acne (like, even on the tops of my feet) and sobbed for two months at work.

So I tell her I like Yaz and she writes me up and sends me on my way. And I go to Walgreens and get that shit filled and because the Walgreens in my 'hood is incredibly ghetto (despite being brand new, wtf), they give me the generic version. Something called Gianvi.

Behold:

So I looked it up on the Internet and besides it sounding like some fun, Italian liqueur, it is really a horrific death pill according to the forum on WebMD. And despite the warning from one woman that she blames her divorce on this pill (uh, wow), I popped pill after pill because I needed to be a normal adult in a committed relationship on birth control.

A month and a half later? My relationship has suffered. My choice of insane communication? IM and text message. For some reason, I am completely rational when we are at home in front of each other, or on the phone, but via IM and/or text message (sometimes in conjunction), I am a raving, insecure, emotional lunatic.

I cry. Like, a lot. A lot more than usual. I have accused him of cheating on me because he was going out to lunch with co-workers (all male, but my krazy-brain thought that was code for meeting a woman for some clandestine lunch, I don't even know why I am putting this on the Internet, it's mortifying). I have irrationally yelled in all caps that I don't feel appreciated even though the day prior, he had left his poker tournament early to pick me up from the airport and brought me the dinner I had specifically asked for (because I am an asshole). There are like twenty zillion other things I have "said" (all passive aggressively via G chat, don't worry about it) that I could list here, but basically, the gist is that I am losing my mind.

So I need to see if 1) Walgreens will stop being fucking ghetto and will fill my prescription with the real Yaz or 2) I need to switch (terrifying) to something else. Like Mirena, I have really been thinking about that IUD miracle lately.

Thoughts? Did Gianvi cause any of your divorces? Do you yell at your significant other via IM? AM I CRAZY? (yes)

xo d

What I've been doing...instead of blogging

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Fri, 04 Nov 2011 18:15:00 +0000

I have purchased shit I shouldn't own...like Prada heels. I wear them with dresses from Forever 31 because with $600 shoes, I can't really afford anything else.
You would think that I can't afford food...oh, but I can. And I am a tank. My boyfriend tells me I'm hot like this. I keep him very drunk at all times. I love him.
Speaking of drunk. Last weekend, the BFF was in town. It was like college! We drank until we passed out! Only, we drank chardonnay and passed out at around 10:30 Saturday night. Yep, we pulled a Golden Girls blackout. No big deal.
I realized that my blog header and sub-head no longer are accurate. I could change it to Shallow At Every Age or something, but I would rather pretend that I'm still a 26 year old naive blogger making out with boys at Kells instead of a 30 year old who got VERY excited when she bought an immersion blender.
Also, immersion blenders? Are AMAZING. Buy one. I have been making soup like every other day! Your pot of roasted vegetables and broth go from appetizing soup to invalid food in like 30 seconds. Chewing is so overrated.
I have watched all five seasons of Friday Night Lights. It's teen porn with a southern accent. Yes please.*
Consistent with my becoming an old person, I did not dress up for Halloween. Sad, I know, but I just couldn't muster the strength. We did buy a ton of candy and I was mildly excited at the thought of having a house and not being in an apartment building and therefore, having trick-or-treaters, but that only lasted five minutes. We ended up turning off the porch light, drinking two bottles of wine and eating the candy for dinner. I wish I was joking.

I am only blogging right now because I am bored at work, my Netflix Instant Watch isn't working (surprise, surprise, stop malfunctioning and give me some Tim Riggins, godforsaken Netflix) and some very lovely ladies posted on my Facebook wall that they wanted a post. And when hot chicks tell you to do something, you do it.

xo d

*I am going to get so many freaks visiting this blog now with that search string. Exciting!

new and improved! without cancer, but with something else far more revolting.

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Thu, 22 Sep 2011 18:08:00 +0000

About a year ago (OK two years ago), I noticed a bump about the size of an eraser at the end of a pencil on my left arm. Weird? Yes. Cancerous? Potentially. Did I do anything about it? No, of course not!

In July, yes, two years after this growth on my arm had become a permanent, ignored part of me, I started to panic. I don't know if it was my impending 30th birthday ("I am old and probably going to die of full body cancer!") or my very nice boyfriend who forced me to make the appointment ("You're probably dying of full body cancer.") but I suddenly needed to figure out what this thing was.

So I made an appointment at a dermatologist, which I almost canceled the day before, because while I was panicking at the need to know what this revolting mole was, I also just maybe didn't need to know? Maybe I could just like ignore it for a little longer and like, it won't be a problem and even if I get full body cancer, maybe that's not so bad?

Do you see what a deluded, self-important, psychotic alcoholic will talk herself into here? Do you?

Anyway, I went to the appointment because my boyfriend gave me an ultimatum (no more snacks OR wine unless I went - he is a complete asshole), and turns out? It is not cancer. It is scar tissue that has grown over an old bug bite (cute) and is now a mole (hot) and is not cancer, nor will it ever turn into cancer (awesome).

I do, however, have another ailment that I had no idea existed. While she was giving me the once-over, she asked if I have ever had a problem with dandruff. To which I replied, "UGH, NO." And she said, well, there is a flakiness around your nose (which yes, I totally have had issues with and it is just a dry area that I slather with La Mer like I can afford to do so, and I still look like I have coke residue issues (WHICH I DON'T!)).

So she diagnosed me with, wait for it, FACIAL DANDRUFF. Yes, this exists. And I apparently have it. I am now the proud owner of a prescription for a cortisone face cream (SICK) and have to use this because anything else won't work she said, and this is a lifelong ailment I will have to treat. Always.

What the hell. So I had to go home and tell my evil boyfriend that not only do I not have cancer, but the mole isn't really a mole (which doesn't make it any less unattractive)...AND I have facial dandruff.

I hate myself. And that's all for today. Go get your faces checked, people. You may have dandruff on it. Or whatever.

girl power

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 23:04:00 +0000

Two of my current, raging girl crushes.

Sheryl Sandberg, COO, Facebook

Sheryl Sandberg: Why we have too few women leaders | Video on TED.com

because you cannot watch this 15 minute video and not feel empowered to not make the mistakes she discusses. The last line in particular is my most favorite.

Jenna Lyons, President and Executive Creative Director, J Crew

she is awesome. if you don't know who she is, read this article.

Just a little girl power to get you through this shitty work week. Happy Wednesday.

xo d

Summer in SF! Finally!

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Thu, 08 Sep 2011 00:15:00 +0000

yes, ladies and gentlemen. while it is cooling down in other, more normal, parts of the world as we ease into Fall, here in the Bay Area it is heating up! our summer is about to begin and I cannot wait to be warm for a little while and ~~get hammered every weekend in the park~~ do productive, healthy, outdoorsy things!!

to celebrate, here is a playlist. you're welcome. ok bye.

It's All Happening!

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Thu, 01 Sep 2011 23:04:00 +0000

I know, right, I am so fucking annoying.

First I blog a ton like a normal human being, then I suck at it and don't blog like a normal human being, then I am all "hey! I am going to blog again!" then I don't even do that because I am a mental case, then I sort of think about things to write about but then get real distracted by LastFM and Kim Kardashian's ridiculous tacky wedding and how hammered LiLo looks in all the pics.

What can I say? I am a loser.

So, what have I been doing with the last, oh, two months, you ask?

Turned 30. I know. Just take me out to pasture, already.
Drunk dyed my hair. Twice. Now, my bathroom walls look like a crime scene. CSI Nice n' Easy.
Worked at home for close to six weeks while our office was being renovated. For normal people, that might mean a productive day. For me, that means I don't shower and sit in sweatpants from my 7th grade dance troop (called Jr. Jazz Ma Tazz, don't worry about it) that say my name down the side of the leg and have holes in the knees. Apparently I was aggressive on my knees at a young age. Good for me.
Watched my very own Lover Muffin, G, get married. Sigh (a happy sigh, not a pissed off one like usual). It was a fucking fantastic wedding. And the groom is wonderful. And now they're off in Thailand and I am stuck in a cubicle demanding things of my team via IM. Mama is passive aggressive to a fault, what can I say?
BFF asked me to be Maid of Honor in her upcoming wedding. She knows what she's getting into, don't worry about it. "Vodka" is totally an acceptable theme for a bridal shower! I mean, right?
Managed to hang on to that boyfriend of mine, who is clearly functionally retarded, for two more months, up to the present moment during which I am IMing with him about how I really want a pet slow loris. He is not supportive of this desperate need/brilliant idea of mine.
Regardless of this lack of support, which I believe is crippling our relationship severely, we have been spending every damn waking minute together. It's like, jesus christ, aren't you sick of me yet? I know I am charming and amazing, but it's exhausting.
Enter tonight. I have a night alone courtesy of the gods above (aka fantasy football draft) and cannot wait for all the exciting ("exciting") plans I have laid out. I am going to get my fat ass to the gym. I am going to clean portions of my apartment with q-tips while drinking wine and listening to the Ani DiFranco Pandora station. I am going to cut the fuck out of my split ends with teeny, tiny manicure scissors. For hours. Then I am going to drool over J Crew catalogs (how do they think of putting those colors together and why does everyone in there look good in fluorescent orange lipstick! I mean, what is that!) and watch some damn Alias on DVD. It will be glorious.
And I am going to pack, because tomorrow, I head to Tahoe for the last long weekend until Thanksgiving. There will be amazing desserts (um, called Sex in a Pan, need I say more?), Kylie DVDs, Celine Dion Greatest Hits, taking pot, wine, WINE and more wine, and other assorted Labor Day goodness.

Hope everyone has a fabulous long weekend. There might be more to come and there might not. But at least I sobered up and took the time to write something. Baby steps.

xo d

I Am Beautiful

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Thu, 21 Jul 2011 21:15:00 +0000

Or something.

See I try real, real hard to be a normal person. And it takes A LOT of beauty products to cover the hungover, pissed off, greasy Italian that I am. It's hard work, dammit.

Up until this morning, I really thought I did a passable job of it! Really! I look good most of the time! I cover up those horrific flaws well! I tricked a dude into being my boyfriend by getting him drunk in a very dark bar and sleeping with him immediately! I'm so pretty!

Today, I was getting ready for work and I realized what a total beauty dumpster truck I truly am. No bueno. Case in point:

I, like many make-up connoisseurs, use a foundation brush to spackle that shit on. Then I dust my entire face with powder to set it, using a big, fluffy brush. Totally normal, right? Only I realized that each brush was leaving a shit ton of teeny tiny hairs ALL OVER MY FACE. I wanted to cover up my flaws, not create a tiny beard of small animal hairs!
SOME OF THEM WENT IN MY MOUTH. That is not OK. I spat out teeny animal hairs for ten minutes, then found one in my coffee. Does this happen to normal people?! Is it just me?!
I was at Sephora last week (maybe should have purchased some new brushes you think?!) and the chick there conned me into buying some sort of beach spray crap for my hair. So I said yes, because if it will make me smell like Coppertone and will make my hair look like it did on vacay after a Cambodian Blow-out*, I'm game. Enter this stuff.
I guess it's supposed to make your hair look beachy? Wavy? Windswept? My hair? Looks like sticks. Shipwreck comes to mind. And that's sort of beachy, right?
So other than my tiny animal hair beard face, and my stick hair, I have some hormonal acne I'm rocking around my mouth which probs looks like facial herpes and one really red eye because the contact lens in that eye has been an asshole all day.

This hot mess is flying bright and early tomorrow to Smell-A for Miss P's bachelorette extravaganza in Palm Springs this lovely weekend. If you live in the area and see a small, bloated, bearded, drunk chick, say hi. It's like a chupacabra sighting, only better!

xo d

*DIY Cambodian Blow-Out: Wash your hair using strange $4 imported shampoo from a Phnom Penh pharmacy. Run around like a lunatic for a while in the air conditioned guesthouse room before joining your travel partner on the patio while she smokes a cigarette. Then flop your head around maniacally while screaming "IT'S LIKE A BLOW OUT IN NATURE!", followed by drinking muscle wine until you talk endlessly about how great your hair looks on vacation. And take 37 pictures of it. In public. The end.

The Two Month Itch

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Tue, 12 Jul 2011 20:08:00 +0000

Wow. Has it really been two months since I last wrote on this godforsaken thing?! Scary how time flies when you're drunk all the time. Kidding. I don't drink nearly as much as I used to (close, but not quite as much) (OK, I drink as much).

A quick recap of the past two months:

I still haven't managed to run off the foolish young man that is my boyfriend. I know. You're asking, how does she do it?
I wish I had some cute Cosmo-quality advice about how to get and keep a man, but really, all I did was black out on bourbon, sleep with him right away (like maybe an hour or two after we met? no judgey-wudgey please?), and laughed at him a lot. And poof! I have a boyfriend for going on four months and I have no idea what to do with myself.
Work sucks. That's all I'm saying there.
I went to NYC for a week, and Miss A was there for work as was Miss R (who now lives in Brooklyn with her husband) and we ran amok all over that damn city.
My great friend and traveling companion to Cambodia last January upped and moved to Phnom Penh. She crazy!! She sounds happier than I have ever heard her sound. But we miss her.
Trainwreck is still dating a 23 year old. That's all I'm saying there.
The BFF got engaged.
A turned 30. We celebrated at the Russian River.
I turn 30 in a month. I am nearing full panic mode.

And that's about it. Now that we're all caught up, let me do some 'splaining. Blogging is fun and all, you start to get followers and all these lovely, amazing people (and drunks, I would imagine) start reading and commenting and emailing and it's super fun.

And by then, your brain starts to think in the way a blogger's brain thinks and you are constantly brainstorming post material. Over brunch a topic comes up and it's like, oh I should blog about that. In the shower, you are cackling over something that happened the day prior and you think, oh that's funny, maybe others will find it funny also. More likely, I would do something SO ridiculous and stupid and would immediately think, more blog fodder!

Only one day, around two months ago, that stopped. I stopped thinking of things to write and forgot about it and my brain stopped working in that way (and may have stopped working all together to be honest, I'm pretty dumb these days). And thus, the blog collected dust.

Until now. Yesterday, I had my first jolt of thinking about things to write about and it was really great. I missed writing, even if it is blabbering on the Internet like everyone else. It was calming. It literally made me like my job more for some reason. It was an escape.

So I'm going to try again. Just like the gym, I am going to try to go there too - this chunkler gets winded walking across her apartment to fill up her glass. No bueno.

xo d

How To: Meet the Parents

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Tue, 17 May 2011 14:37:00 +0000

I've been dating someone for a few months now, and after meeting all of his friends, celebrating his birthday (a night which culminated with me running around a hotel room drunk in lingerie while he puked for two hours), as well as him meeting my sister and my friends, there came the major test.

Meeting the parents.

Which, in my case, meant joining him down south (and east) as his date to his uncle's birthday party. Yes, I was not just meeting his parents, but his entire family. HIS ENTIRE FAMILY.

HIS. ENTIRE. FAMILY.

It went like this. We got on the road two hours late, hungover. As we neared his hometown, over the course of three hours, my allergies progressively freaked the fuck out. So, when we arrived, even though I had railed around twenty Claritin, I was sneezing an average of 300 times a minute. On top of spraying snot all over everything every .6 seconds, my eyes started pouring violent tears of pollen-induced grief. And I completely lost my voice - all I could croak out was raspy, painful and very masculine.

So, instead of being a somewhat normal young woman dating their son/nephew/grandson/cousin, I was an aggressively weeping baby tranny. Not ideal.

Also, it was the first time I had ever been to this particular inland empire town, so I was asked a lot by various family members what I thought about it. Please make sure you have something prepared, people. Because if you haven't been to the place you're visiting whilst meeting his/her family, you will be asked for your opinion.

Have a list of appropriate, positive adjectives.

Because "It's so close to Highway 5!" or "I love all the flowers!" (which look like weeds and freeway shrubs) are not appropriate responses. Particularly as you're smiling, sobbing, and desperately trying to wipe away the spray down they just received courtesy of your defective nose.

Finally, on the way home, when we stopped for snacks, I asked for some feedback, "So do you think they liked me?" When he responded "Sweetheart, your left eye is almost completely swollen shut, are you ok?" that meant they loved me and I'm a beautiful model.

Right? Right.

Just to make you all vomit

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Tue, 26 Apr 2011 00:26:00 +0000

You know he might be the one* when:

You have dinner plans tonight and he knows you're coming straight from work and that parking in his neighborhood makes you want to run over puppies and infants before lighting your own car on fire just to avoid driving around in circles to find a GODDAMN parking spot that is not one of those masquerading as an actual spot, but is really a tiny section between two driveways that is too small for your car AND ANY CAR, ANYWHERE, MADE BY ANYONE....and you get a text just before you leave the office that he moved his car on to the street earlier today, so you can have his spot tonight.

I mean. If that isn't love in San Francisco, I really don't know what is.

*and by the 'the one' I mean soul mate. and by 'soul mate' I mean someone who feeds me bourbon and fried foods.

I am in love.

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Thu, 21 Apr 2011 19:07:00 +0000

No, not with the bro I'm dating. I mean, he's cool and cooks for me and puts out all the time, and given my questionable standards, one would think that would be enough. But no. I am in love with someone else.

Yes, I am having an emotional affair.

With Geoffery. My ipad 2. And here are the exact reasons why:

He is skinny. We all know I love my men anorexic. I think it has something to do with the fact that if the guy is skinny, I feel like I'm breaking him if I am on top during sexy time. Which means I can get on top less. Which is less work for me. Win.
In related news, he fits in my purse. Which is so helpful and convenient.
Geoff is super organized. He keeps all my fave things in order and, AND, tells me when things need to be updated.
He knows when I get new messages in all sixteen of my email accounts.
He doesn't take it personally when we get into bed and instead of cuddling, I obsessively play Angry Birds.
He doesn't judge my book purchases (Sweet Valley High Confidential, DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT). He just adds the masterpiece to the bookshelf (which he keeps organized) next to David Foster Wallace without the blink of an eye (or cursor, as it may be).
He loves me. He hasn't told me yet, but he does. I know it. He is right on the verge of telling me.
He always has his camera on him so I can take pictures of dinner. Or the living room. That's all I have photographed thus far.
He hates confrontation. Instead, he just goes into 'sleep' mode. I can't tell you how many times this would have come in handy with every guy I've dated seriously. Me - "No, you're wrong and you know it and you should just agree with me and say I am the master of the universe", Geoff - "sleep mode" Me - "Yep, that's right. Now wake up so mama can play spider solitaire for six hours"
Do you have any idea how easy it would be if all men would be so easy to manipulate with just a few swipes of a finger? Geoff-Geoff loves it. He can't get enough.

Annnnd this is where we realize that I have completely lost my mind and need to get a life.

The end.

xo d

oh, hey there. hi.

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Fri, 15 Apr 2011 23:40:00 +0000

Wow. Isn't this fun? Isn't it fun to have a blog that is FOUR YEARS OLD and to suck at it? Isn't that just a hoot?!

Look. I am tired. I am like in a relationship and am busy chinging and cuddling and cooking together and generally being a total smug asshole, so I can't really have time for blogging as well. Even though I do miss being a normal, miserable person with things to blog about. It's just too hard.

But I do miss you. I do. Promise. Like, for real. I am hoping to have some time in my life to blog next week, but until then, here are some super fun links for your Friday:

This will only really make sense if you live in Orange County or San Diego and/or went to UCSB with people who are from OC or SD. Amazing.
This is about right. I put this stuff on EVERYTHING, although I am currently obsessed with sambal instead.
Super handy if you have to deal with Muni. Ever.
When I'm in a bad mood, I look at baby foxes on the internets to perk me up. Don't judge me. It works. Like, no, really, snuggle me.

AND, AND, a playlist of some of my fave middle school jams to get you through this lovely Friday afternoon.*

xo d

*Also, I was MAJORLY in love with Jon B. and now that fact is out there on the internet forever and I'm not ashamed. But have you listened to the lyrics of "Pretty Girl"? Because I just did and holy shit that is one naughty song for a 12 year old to listen to on repeat. Sketch.

When You Become a Dude

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Fri, 01 Apr 2011 20:51:00 +0000

I have gone over and over the dangers of what you become when you are single for too long. To recap, you will:

talk to yourself openly in public
wander around your apartment at all hours doing nothing
break your vibrator(s)
become one of those weird, single old women who talk to themselves and wander aimlessly breaking vibrators

In related news, I have actually started to date someone. I know. And things are going relatively well and all that, and he's pretty damn adorable but I am NOT using this blog to talk about him specifically. Mostly because if he ever were to ever find this godforsaken online destination for my useless word vomit, I would be mortified.

However, I am (true to form) using this post to talk about how retarded I am. You see, one of the pitfalls of being single for oh-so-long is that you sort of, kind of, well, become a dude.

How do you become a dude, you ask? Let me illustrate this "clearly."

Behold:
Yes, you will become a dude whether you want to or not. Also, no shoes because shoes are really hard to draw. Fact.

To further make my point, let me now provide a few purely hypothetical instances of how I have crossed over into bro-dom.

Scenario 1

Him: Hey! What are you up to tonight?
Me: Nothing really, kind of working late.
Him: Oh, I was hoping to see you but I understand if you're working.

**my rationale: I do have a shit ton of work to do, but if he comes over, I get laid. Win.**

Me: Yeah, come on over, you will have to watch me work for like an hour or so, but after that I'm free.

Scenario 2

Him: Hey! I'm going out of town, but would love to see you before I go.
Me: Yeah, definitely.
Him: Uh, ok, so when are you free?
Me: Tonight or Tuesday night work for me.
Him: I can only do tomorrow or Tuesday night.
Me: Tuesday night it is!

**my rationale: I need some alone time to spend watching Only You on DVD while drinking beer and cutting my split ends for a few hours this evening**

Scenario 3

I will pass on the play by play for this one, but let's just say that after a long evening of happy hour action followed by bars and little to no dinner, I have basically chinged to the point of my getting off, only to then push him off me and then promptly fall asleep.

Twice.

This has happened on two separate occasions. Preeeety sure this is never OK.

Suffice to say I don't have the most optimistic of hopes for this relationship, but he has stuck with me thus far and truly is adorable and great, so we'll see.

Oh, and happy Friday. Here's hoping I don't 'scenario 3' him again this evening. I have a feeling third time is not the charm when it comes to that.

xo d

Bored yet...

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Wed, 16 Mar 2011 22:33:00 +0000

..this happens to be one of the big questions I always want to ask whenever I actually:

Go out on a real first date after meeting drunk.
Meet a friend of a friend who is well aware of my usual antics.
Meet a blog reader/friend.

Because while half of my life is spent falling off bar stools and making out in public, the other half is actually a relatively sane, quiet person who has a huge crush on her couch and dribbles various alcoholic liquids (and, ok, ice cream) down the front of her Slanket most evenings (it's like a big, snuggly napkin/bib!)(WHY AM I SINGLE?!).

I have met more than one blog reader/friend in real life, and I know I disappoint them. I have even had one blog reader/friend say "you just aren't as exciting as you seem on the blog" in not so many words and there is a certain part of me that feels the pressure to be Power D when this happens. To start acting up and make bad life decisions in front of them so they can feel fulfilled by their experience in meeting such an online lunatic.

But then, as happens with all my dreams of living up to others' expectations, I get real sleepy.

Lately, I have been going on a lot of first dates. And all of them have come from being blacked out and somehow maintaining some modicum of charm and wit and impressing the young men of San Francisco enough to get my number. As if San Francisco women didn't have enough to worry about regarding the crazy men that reside here - now they find small, hammered chunklers attractive. Chins up! Huzzah!

In fact, if I had to provide a formula to illustrate the reason that I am getting more action AND more grown up dates in the last two months (like, with them making reservations, it's terrifying...and thrilling), it would look something like this:

It's really very simple, as you can see. Also, I just wanted to use Paint today. You're welcome.

The point is, while I may be a factory of charm when I am blasted on a Friday night after a REALLY long happy hour and skipping dinner, I am not that "fun" (and I use that term very, very loosely), in real life. I had a date last week at Nopa, and frankly, I think I bored him. Our senses of humor didn't match, I knew I couldn't get too quirky or too weird, so I kind of kept it sane and normal and made a few self-deprecating cracks, but that's about it. Oh and I didn't really drink.

Keep in mind that this guy got my number after an entire day of wine tasting, plus endless cab sav at the last winery. Shit got weird. Me last week? Not so weird. A pretty normal, sane girl with a pretty great rack, if I may say so myself.

Enter this evening. I have a date with a gentleman I met on Friday night while intoxicated in the Lower Haight. God only knows what I was talking about when we met and god only knows why he got my number, but this guy, in particular, is funny. Weird funny. In fact, based on looks alone, I was more into his friend, but this guy turned out to be the weirdo that made me laugh. And there is power there, folks. Girls love funny, confident boys.

But given that he is funny, and weird, I am really trying to gear up to actually be a fun person tonight and to be myself and to not get boring just because I know I won't match up to that drunk lunatic that he originally met last weekend.

Stay tuned.

music, bro

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Fri, 04 Mar 2011 03:42:00 +0000

Given my post below, I figured I would stop criticizing people that are mindlessly annoying and instead call myself out on things I say that probably drive people bat shit crazy.

I understand that some people hate that I use the word "bro" when referring to just about anyone and that I tend to start sentences with "dude". I know, I'm not a 10 year old boy, I just talk like one. Can't help it, it's the cooties.

When I'm around someone that pisses me off, I will think up creative, pompous ways to structure a sentence full of big words so as to seem like a complete asshole. It's my little fun nerdy jerk game.

I swear a lot. Some people (my dad) don't like that.

I am a music snob. I really, really detest most contemporary country and that totally makes me a cliche indie music idiot. I know. I don't look down on my numerous friends (please still be my friends!) that love the stuff and I certainly don't expect to shove my indie poser music down their throats.

Also, I genuinely like Phil Collins. There. I said it.

With that, I present some of my more recent musical obsessions, peppered with some Braids and some Baths for you because, well, I am going to see them tomorrow night at the Rickshaw and am excited and that's all.

Also, courtesy of e-dubs and my bloggy friend in Seattle (hieee!), I am now very into Robyn. Not quite on the level of Kylie, but, you know, picking up speed.

Hope you bros* have had a good week.

xo d

*see what I did there? seeee?

Stop Saying That

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Wed, 02 Mar 2011 23:17:00 +0000

Let me start by stating for the record that I am not a violent person. I don't like confrontation and while I am small and scrappy, I don't like fighting. Ultimately, I am lazy, and if you are doing something that pisses me off, I would rather laugh and walk away than get into your face.

That is, unless you say any of the following:

TASTY. DO NOT SAY SOMETHING IS TASTY. Seriously. I can barely type the word without wanting to kill myself. I don't know what it is, I have no idea where it came from, but that word is fucking horrific and people should STOP using it. If I am on a date? And the guy uses that goddamn word? (this has happened before) I will physically cringe, gag and refuse to make out with him for at least two hours or three drinks, whichever comes first (the drinks).
Nosh. I HATE the word 'nosh'. Like as in, "What's over there? Oh just some nosh." SHUT UP. You are usually referring to tiny food/snacks. THEY ARE SNACKS. Or just be specific about what it is you are referring to food-wise. But please don't EVER say nosh. I just made myself gag.
The phrase "at the end of the day..." If you are in business, you know what I mean. It is a saying uttered about 20 trillion times per meeting. "At the end of the day, blah blah blah will happen." JUST SAY IT WITHOUT "At the end of the day..." WE GET IT. At the end of the day, you are a total idiot and need to leave this conference room or I will punch you in the throat.
Nom. When imbeciles post pictures of what they're cooking for dinner on Facebook and the caption says "nom nom nom" I want to drop kick them into oblivion.
If any of my friends refer to their husband as "the hubs" they will cease to be my friend. Fact. That shit makes me want to throw something. At your godforsaken "hubs".

**Update - Additional terms added! Fun! (I have no life)**

xo d

gloooooballll warrrrmmminnggg!*

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Fri, 25 Feb 2011 19:54:00 +0000

*The only clear explanation for the 85 degree weather we had on Superbowl Sunday.....morphed a few weeks later into SNOW in SAN FRANCISCO.

Also, I don't even have clothes for this. It's going to be like the time I went to NYC in a snowstorm and all I had were very high heels, jeans and one tiny Forever 21 pleather jacket, behold:

becoming a grown up, lesson one

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Thu, 24 Feb 2011 20:35:00 +0000

I am one of those complete assholes that consider themselves to be a grown up, but then totally let their parents pay for their car insurance. I know.

And being that I turn 30 in SIX MONTHS (fucking shoot me)*, I figured it was high time to take the reigns and become a full fledged grown-up. Meaning, add car insurance to the list of bills I pay every month. Because I'm a big girl!

So I go online to figure it out and stop because it was asking me too many questions and it was rude (read: I would have had to go out to my car to get my registration info and I am FAR too lazy for that. And it was raining, so that's pretty dumb). But later that night, I finally grabbed the proper paperwork and got down to business. The business of car insurance.

Let it be known that while I will drop an obscene amount of money on a pair of shoes, I will not spend that much on basic living expenses. A zillion dollars for a pair of Louboutins? Yes, please. You're telling me that my electricity bill is $22 dollars this month?! WHAT IS THIS CRAP, I LIVE ALONE AND DON'T EVEN USE THAT MUCH ELECTRICITY (Except when, say, hypothetically, one drinks a bottle of wine on a Tuesday and wakes up in the morning to the Sex and the City menu on full blast with every light in the apartment on).

ANYWAY. I finally grabbed the paperwork from my godforsaken car and got on the phone with the nice insurance people to just deal with it then and there. And it went something like this:

Nice insurance guy: Hi! How can I help you today?
Me: um, I need car insurance.
Him: Ok, ok, do you know what kind of insurance you would like?
Me: The normal kind.
Him: ok well let's see what we can do.

- D proceeds to hand over a shit ton of information -

Him: What type of collision coverage did you want?
Me: I run into things. Like a lot. Poles and buildings and stuff, so I don't know, the good kind?
Him: Uh, ok.
Me: I also need car rental coverage.
Him: Oh. Alright.
Me: My cars tend to get stolen a lot.
Him: (is this a joke?!)

So it went on like that for a while and then he gave me a quote, which was completely reasonable and much less than I'm (my parents) are paying now, and that was that.

As of March 1st, I will be a full on grown up. Or something.

xo d

*I am actually really looking forward to turning 30. That whole "oh I am a mess, I have anxiety about where my life is going and what the hell I'm doing" has started to dissipate and I seriously cannot wait for it to go away completely.

:(

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Tue, 22 Feb 2011 23:53:00 +0000

Why are people using the search tool to the right to look up the word "panties"

Stop that.

UPDATE: Search box removed. It was creeping me out.

All The Single Ladies...

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Fri, 18 Feb 2011 18:27:00 +0000

While I don't really like to get too 'rah rah' about being single on this thing (and trust me, I can do it, I was a rabid cheerleader in highschool), it is hard to not want to stick up for myself in certain situations.

You know, like when people hear I'm single and immediately want to set me up with someone they know (typically, the ONLY single man they know). And while that is so nice and very well-meaning, it makes me want to scream. And I read this article sent to me by a very pretty, fashionable friend (hey you!) and while it was a bit too 'rah rah! single!' for me, I still identified with much of it and really loved some of it.

But let's start by looking at the facts.

I have been single for four years next month:

Steadfastly single? Somewhat, I have dated people here and there for a few months at a time.

Heart-breakingly single? Certainly, it was rough the first two years after being with someone for so long. It's not easy. It's sad. You cry a lot. In public. Cool.

Bored-to-death single? Well, sure. I mean, dating is fun. You have someone to do fun things with. Your Saturdays aren't spent laying in bed alone drinking 47 cups of coffee, listening to LastFM while picking your split ends and organizing your sweats drawers. Yes. Drawers. Plural.

Sick-of-myself single? Yeah, I mean, everyone wants someone to adore them. And as I get older, more and more of my friends find that person and it's like, "Scuse me, where's the dude that wants to bring me 47 cups of coffee and organize my sweats drawers for me? And, oh yeah, love me unconditionally and give me back scratchies on the regs?" No takers? Weird.

But here's the real deal.

The above points do not a life make.

In the past four years, I have traveled the world. I have had more life changing experiences than I ever imagined. I have dated some idiots, but I've also learned a lot about what I want and what I should expect and what is just NEVER ok.

Most importantly, I've learned the invaluable lesson of being happy alone. I was raised by a mother who met my father when she was 17 years old. And from that point forward, has been with him and has had him do everything for her. Is that a bad thing? No. I envy my friends who are in relationships and have someone there to help them out. But my mom doesn't even fill up her car with gas...my dad does it for her. And there is a certain part of me that is proud that I can get my own gas, I can make my way through foreign countries, I can eat at a restaurant alone, I can pick myself up when I am tired and cranky and upset and feel terrible.

Would it be easier and more fun if I had a hot dude to help me with those tasks? Well. Yeah. If Jake Gyllenhaal wants to come pump my gas (and I mean that in the purely sexual sense, of course) (ew), then more power to him. Let's do this. But until he or any other guy worth it comes along, I'm chunklering down in public, happily solo.

Wow, ranterific. I've had way too much coffee today, clearly.

ANYWAY. While a few key points made in the article really stood out to me, I felt the ending was particularly fantastic and all you single girls that read this here blog and think "that girl D drinks too much" (you're right) or "I'm single, but she is too and there are zillions of us and we're all hot and will be ok" tack this puppy up on your mirror:

"To make the most of being single, it also helps to acquire a slightly tough hide. It’s impossible to ignore the fact that our culture is officially off its nut when it comes to weddings and marriage. It’s also hard to ignore relatives who cluck their tongues when you come to yet another family dinner solo and wonder out loud why you keep rejecting that nice friend of theirs who sells insurance over in Fremont.

But stand tall, single girl. Stop fretting about your ring finger, and worry more about finding your best self during a time that can be the most fabulous of your life. No perfume in the world is sexier than confidence—and no outlook more sustaining than one that actually bears up to reality."

Amen, sister.

xo d

oh, also...

noreply@blogger.com (d) — Mon, 14 Feb 2011 20:32:00 +0000

...this is really cute. and while I may be single on this godforsaken day of the year, I am actually incredibly happy right now. and for once in a long, long time, I am optimistic about what's to come this year.

and I'm one of those huge loser romantics and can still appreciate a really adorable song/video.

weird, I know.

hearts,
d