August 9, 2010
Yes, I am evil, and a total judgmental bitch.
But if you use the word “loose” where “lose” would be more appropriate, or if you claim to “pour” over a book, I will judge you and think less of you. Unless you’re actually causing liquid to leave a vessel at a greater elevation than the tome in question, in which case I apologize.
Also, my power came back on, Saturday morning. They *finally* disconnected the supermarket’s generator late last night, so I’ve gotten almost no sleep, and am therefore being even more harsh about this than I would normally.
But it’s kind of true.
August 5, 2010
My workday beauty regimen is pretty basic – undereye concealer (thanks, DC-area-allergy embiggened dark circles!), the lightest dusting of blush, some powder (to soak up all that lovely humidity!) and mascara. Following the mascara, I wipe the edge of my upper eyelid with a Q-tip, as I’ve invariably managed to get mascara on it as well as my lashes.
This morning, on the metro, it was standing room only (as it has been for much of the summer, because they are running fewer trains on the Orange Line and we are thus packed like sardines in insufficiently air-conditioned cars). A petite girl stood next to me, clearly in the part of the car where petite persons should not stand*, as there was nothing for her to grab onto when the train lurched or shuddered.
And then she put on her mascara, as the train lurched and shuddered merrily along.
I couldn’t decide if I was more concerned, disgusted, offended, or impressed. And I seriously considered saying something, because putting makeup on, on the metro, is inappropriate to the point of being rude, in my opinion. Not to mention, it would have been totally gross if she’d poked herself in the eye with the mascara wand.
Am I alone in this?
*I would just like to point out that this part of the train isn’t exactly comfortable for taller people either, as our arms are above our heads for the entire trip. More poles, please!
July 19, 2010
You might think that a hyperindulgent weekend would result in one feeling terrible on Monday. You might think that six women in a condo 500 feet from tax-free outlet stores and .5 miles from a cocoa-centric spa would result in excessive purchases of clothing that would refuse to button the following week.
You might be wrong.
I’d been apprehensive about the weekend – I tend to feel gargantuan around most of my female friends anyway, as I am 3.5″ taller than the next tallest (who, it might be noted, wears clothes 3 full sizes smaller than mine), and they are all athletic and gorgeous. Not to mention smart and funny. Lovely and intimidating.
Also, I’d never been to a spa before. I signed up for one of the packages, thinking that the people who put these things together probably know a thing or two about producing enjoyable spa experiences. And we’ll talk more about the “rain shower” another time. But the massage? The massage induced the most blissfully languid epiphany:
I want to take care of myself.
I’ve had this body for kind of a while now, and I’ve hated it since I was six. For a while, I hated it passively, making it sit around on couches while I fed it all manner of junk food. Then I hated it slightly more actively, engaging in mild exercise while swearing off almost all foods, save a bizarre ritualized assortment of things I consumed only when alone. Then I hated it more damagingly, partaking of “tiny little flaming sticks of death” on a regular basis. And then I hated it a litte more responsibly, working out 4-5 times a week and eating more healthfully than I ever had before (though that’s not saying much). But I’ve never not hated it.
At least, not until somewhere in the middle of that massage, when it occurred to me that I didn’t. For at least 3 minutes, I not only didn’t hate it, but I loved it, and wanted to take care of it, rather than beat it into submission.
And this morning, I slept for an extra 45 minutes and neglected to put sugar in my tea. I also cringed at a few photographs from the weekend.
July 16, 2010
Drivel. NOT dribble. DRIVEL.
For the love of everything that is good, please stop with the dribble. Please. Dribble is what gooey liquids do. Or it can be the portion of a gooey liquid that HAS dribbled. Or one can dribble a gooey liquid.
However, when one is talking about insipid communications? Banal verbal expressions? It’s DRIVEL.
July 12, 2010
to believe that the saltenas and empanadas I consumed while watching yesterday’s game had absolutely nothing to do with the defeat of the Dutch.
That’s all I’ve got for now.
July 6, 2010
Sibling Extraordinaire and I were chatting earlier today, and she pointed out that everyone uses the word “nauseous” wrong. Also, I have no idea if I’ve spelled it right. But we didn’t talk about my spelling issues.
Apparently, everyone uses nauseous to describe their own lack of intestinal fortitude, when “to be nauseated”, in its various appropriate tenses, is the correct word to use, here. Nauseous is the word one uses to describe something that makes one be nauseated.
Your wretched grammar is nauseous. I now require ginger ale.
All of which comes to mind primarily because I woke up at 4:30 this morning, having gone to bed at midnight. And I made myself snooze until 5:00, and then got up and went to the gym. Right now, I am so tired I am nauseated. and possibly nauseous, given that my dark circles probably aren’t doing my appearance any favors.
June 28, 2010
While it is perfectly okay for people to be upfront about horror stories and major concerns about parenthood at a baby shower, being open about one’s lack of desire to partake will most likely have people thinking that something is wrong/missing for you.
Also, if you are building something from Ikea, and have leftover parts at some point prior to being completely finished, just be prepared to undo everything you’ve done so far, because you likely skipped a step.
Pretty much every comedian I’ve ever seen on a recorded special will have been slightly funnier in that special than in person. Jim Gaffigan, however, came closest to closing this gap.
Sometimes, things can seem like the Most Fun and Best Idea Ever. And then three weeks later, with the help of a little critical thinking, you will realize that not only was it not the best idea ever, but it was ridiculously dumb and boy howdy, you expect better of yourself.
Watched pool league operators never call to let you know if you’re going to Vegas or not. I still don’t know.
June 11, 2010
Karma: Yooooooo hooooooo! Anybody home?
DT: YOU! But… it’s been so… oh! This is all your doing!
K: Of course! Remember that thing that you got all indignant and dudgeony about? And the other thing, with all of the judginess?
DT: Yes. Oh… my. Yes, I do.
K: Bwahahahahahahaha. Seriously, this is some of my best work yet. This? Is hilarious. Oh, I slay me!
DT: I’m sure. Okay, okay. I get it. And honestly, this is really well done on your part – have you been working out or something? Learning new techniques? Do they even HAVE CPE classes for what you do?
K: Well, I don’t want to brag, but I have been going to the gym quite a bit. The rest is all my innate brilliance, which I have decided to bestow on you.
DT: Thanks, I guess? Oh. I did have one other question. The sweetgum tree thing – was that you? And if so, what on EARTH did I do to deserve that?
K: Hehehehe. I’ll never tell….
June 8, 2010
and maybe delivers a tiny little PSA:
1) Guess who has two thumbs and no cancer, for sure (for now)?
2) Jagerbombs are never a good idea. Especially on a Monday.
3) Playing pool (or doing pretty much anything) well is a great way to take your mind to a more positive place. Once you start handling one thing well, no matter how trivial it is, the rest of everything seems a little less daunting, somehow.
4) This does not make me any less apprehensive about the Furniture Assembly Project I have scheduled for this weekend. Regardless of the sweetgum tree’s intentions, I suspect bruising will be involved.
5) I’m stocking up on bubble bath and Viognier. These are always good things to have on hand, when bruising is anticipated.
May 10, 2010
But, I Have Managed To Convince Myself That I Should Eat Dark Chocolate Every Ninety Minutes, So How Bad Can 4 Hours Of Sleep Be, Really?
I had one of those bizarre weekends where I did not manage to sleep in nearly as late as one might think. And last night, I went to bed at 12:30, having been pretty awake up until that point waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in so that neither spasmodic “lower back pain”* nor random convulsions of my gastrocnemius muscles** would interfere with sweet, sweet slumber.
And then I woke up at 4:45, to get to the gym this morning and then drop off dry cleaning that I have to pick up at 6:00 pm today if I’m going to have anything to wear in New Orleans later this week. Because I’m going to New Orleans for work, this week***. 😀
And then I got into the office and the first email I see is a daily digest of some personal interest to me, that highlights an article about a study done on mice in which epicatechin, a flavenol ingredient in dark chocolate, significantly reduced stroke damage in mice, when administered within 90 minutes of the attack. So clearly, I should eat dark chocolate every 90 minutes, just in case I’ve unwittingly had a stroke. You probably should, too.
*oooh, look! A present from the euphemism fairy!
**So, my new running shoes have made it possible for me to run 4-5 days a week, except that my trainer really worked my legs last Wednesday, and when I went for my run on Friday, I could but hobble in pain for the last 1.75 miles. Strictly muscle pain, but boy howdy – when my calves are tired, they don’t f*ck around.
***Sure, be jealous, because I would be too. But just so you’re not too jealous, let me also mention that my new cue? The one I’ve been drooling over for forever? It’s supposed to get here TOMORROW. After I LEAVE. I don’t get back until Friday. That is entirely too long to have to go without playing with my preciousssssss.****
****Heh. That sounds really dirty. I should get 4 hours of sleep more often. Also, I think I’ve given the euphemism fairy another phrase to use!