Halter Hog Heaven

I didn't even think a whole blog could be merited to one stinking item on the interwebs, but no, this is pretty worth it.  I'm looking for leather jackets and in the Harley Davidson section of the world, you might find this:

Confederate Flag Haltertop

The thing that gets me, is this isn't like someone's garage sale on Craigslist.  This is brand new and prime real estate clothing...literally.  If you think the Confederacy is still real estate.  And this my friends is what they call a shirt.  It's bandanna print??  People that is a bandanna. 

Self Preservation and the neverending search for "One's Self"

I'm 29.5. It's not so scary but I've realized of late that I am in fact over emphasizing the damn dirty thirty and pressuring the universe to create a wholly magic birthday celebration extravaganza for it.  No one really cares in the end.  Woot I'll be 30.  And then I'll be 31.  Who cares.  I've decided that yes, I'll do my best to take myself to Europe sometime next year but as for the party boo...well, the best birthdays have been the least hooplahed.  I think a nice family/friend dinner gig at some fun restaurant should do the trick.  Or something.  I've decided to stop thinking about it.  That's it, right there...the end of it. 

The more pressing matter is the fact that I just don't want to date.  Kids our age...man I don't get it.  No one wants to commit.  Either they're all coupled up, or they're not interested.  Myself included.  And by "they" I mean dudes.  These days...it's all about self preservation.  I want I want I want...and that doesn't include you dude.  Unless you wanna give me everything I want.. like money for example.  Only I'm not gonna hustle for it...so don't expect a BJ.  Yah, ain't gonna happen.  So, despite the inner monologue of my mother chiming in time with my biological clock; I just don't want to commit to someone else.  I am in no mood for compromise.  Selfish? Narcississtic? Yes.  Just like this blog I suppose.  But I gather, I'm not the only one.  It's time to take my self and make some beautiful things from my own two hands. 

Things I look up on the Internets when I'm bored at work (which is often)

The title says it all really. I've stumbled on some grand deelights in the world of surfing and sneaking. See, there's a skill to avoiding "the talk" with your already snoopy, critical boss who thinks it's best you don't let anyone see you're bored at work. My response, "did ya wanna give me some work then?? I'm happy to earn my keep here and all, but dang what do expect me to do?"

I've worked in this sterile hell hole for almost 4 years. There's probably about 2 years of great experience in there and you can just package up the last 2 in about 1 month cuz that's how much work I've had. Times are tough and money is tight so zero funding for projects means little work is generated down the worker bee streamline. Less is needed from a high end admin like myself, and after 4 years, the biznass running across my desk machines itself like a well oiled 22R Toyota engine that's got 400,000 miles on it. I just sit back and click buttons for a second and the work does itself. I'm so bored I could go a little crazy sometimes. Do you ever day dream about getting up out of your cube in the white noise silent abyss of cubeland and want to just shout proverbial insults at "the man"? I do. Often.

I've been reading the internets now for a few years and am getting bored with my usual content. Here's a short list of what I read on the daily:

Gmail (of course)

Horoscopes - in this order:
www.Tarot.com
www.moonology.com
www.astrobarry.com

Craigslist; for various things. Jobs, missed encounters, misc. gar-baaage that people hawk, stuff I might need for that random dish I'm gonna try cooking; like an egg separator for examp.

Facebook; a.k.a Facebooze, because I seem to always feel drunk when i'm on there. That might be attributed to the various sim-style games I've recently become crack addicted to (Fashion Wars and Sorority Life [Add me!!!]).

Go Fug Yourself- a long time fave and classic

and recently:BaRou is the new Bklyn. This chick is the poo. High-larious Brooklyn sense of wit from Williamsjerk who journeyed to live in Baton Rouge for a hot minute. No humor there... no sir. Unless you like abandoned building photo journalism of the deep charming south, and oh so hilarious Firework tents complete with a foray of "local flavor" antics, and let's not forget the County fairs. Check it out, I'm telling you. The older stuff is the best...start at the beginning and go from there.

And I occasionally stare at my google calendar for hours at a time to pretend I'm deep in thought about whether or not I can squeeze that non-existing meeting request in for Thursday at 9 a.m. Oh, so tough to look busy when all you want to do is bash your head into the cube wall. At times like those, it seems appropos to visit this total classic.

Although my co-worker Courtney and I share boredom antics, sometimes even she begins to feel like a droney robot worker bee person who is actually doing something and I'm just being a pester boo on the IM's. Ignoring me makes me feel even more paranoid when you're my only ally in this world of sterility and white noise and anti-creative progress. Marching ever so much closer to "the I hate the man" psycho-announcements in the abyss.

Although this may save me a few more minutes from plummeting to my work death. I love people who try to connect with others on the CL thinking out of the entire bay area that poor schmuck you couldn't flirt with at the time is gonna come looking for you there???? Or this one. CRACKS me up. People just cannot get it together enough to either move on from a bus incident or actually take a crack and getting that guy's number before your commotional exit.

So please, shoot me. Or just send me interesting and hilarious internets to read.

Dirty Thirty

So, it is my opinion that being 29 and a ½ is a wretched mess of a curse. I’ve got the armament of my awkward teen years to keep me from complete self-loathing all over again, but I don’t quite have the arsenal of success to keep me afloat either. Many have said your thirties are like your twenties without quite as many hangovers and you finally know yourself. Well okay, bring it on then. However, I enjoy booze too much to believe that first part. I’m stuck somewhere between hell and high-water, if you will. I’ve never understood that phrase anyway. If you’re between Hell and High water…wouldn’t that make you… on earth? But I digress, 29.5 (well almost, 9/11 is my exact half birthday; lucky me), is a yucky place. Maybe it’s just the shit I’ve been through in the last 2 years; and maybe it’s not. If I were to have had a fairly bumpless ride these past few, I tend to think I might be just as miserable; internally anyway.

I’ve decided that solitude and cocooning are my favorite things ever. I’ve never been this way. I am a complete extrovert, gaining energy from surrounding myself with friends. Going out and late nights at the bars…these are the things I live for! Not, Brooke Knows Best and some strange obsession with a British period detective drama called Foyle’s War. Seriously, what is wrong with me? I realized this past Sunday, that I had literally made a cocoon of garbage, dishes, random friendship bracelet projects and old dirty socks around the couch; leaving just enough room (barely) to walk back to the kitchen for another beer. I suddenly felt like one of the crack head friends my ex used to know. We’d go and visit these people (usually to hook up) and I remember wanting to vomit when I entered their “residence”; usually found in the basement of their parent’s home, which was equally fruit flied and dirty dishes ahoy. So wow man. What have I become? I quickly cleaned up a little and attempted to do some dishes before my dad came over for one of his regular Sunday visits and I felt a little better. Later, while sitting at the kitchen table, I noticed fruit flies kinda making their presence known. I hadn’t finished all the dishes but they were neatly stacked and had at least been interrupted from any further fly breeding. Apparently, my interrupting their breeding ponds of sick water caused them to fly about. I have a fruit fly problem because I’m too lazy to drag a sponge across a pot or 17. Dang…that’s gross. Let’s not forget that my dad is a Pest Control Technician, and graciously made no remarks about the obvious infestation. I truly am Dirty Thirty.

So, 6 months from turning 30 and I’m broke, in debt to the point of not even really dealing with it, ruined credit, living amongst fruit flies, and all this poor girl wants to do is rediscover the beauty of life through a grand ole trip to the UK or Europe next year. Is that so much to ask? I swear it will fix me. You know, the whole single girl on a journey with her backpack, journal and a camera? Come on, God, can’t you just rain down some serious trip funds and balance out my universe for once and all? Oh, and when I get back, please send my soulmate over too. I’ve been waiting too damn long for that one.

Maybe it’s completely natural to start getting a little panicky about doing the things you haven’t done yet when you’re almost 30. I’m not married, I don’t have kids and I’m a renter. Well damn skippy let’s get on a plane! I’m kicking myself for my irresponsible spending habits as a 27-29 year old living single and large apparently. How did I not know I had bigger fish to fry in other countries? I’m finding myself making compromises by deciding on Ireland instead of London and Paris…idiot. They use the Euro too! Damn you Euro! Exchange this!

Ah well. C’est la vie. What can I do? I guess I will continue with my wretched lifestyle of poverty and garbage and cheap beer and bad reality shows and awesome British escapism until the tides turn. I’m not quite, thirty, yet.