Breaking Up Is Hard To Do (Or Not Really With Photoshop)

Poor Ambre from Rock of Love 2, first she and Bret Michaels have broken up. And now, thanks to Josh's awesome photoshop skills, we've broken up with her too.

Dear Abby Explains It All

I got an email from my gorgeous friend Kate yesterday:

David read this in the newspaper this morning and wanted me to send it to you:

DEAR ABBY: I am 38 years young and still single. I enjoy my friends, my freedom and rock concerts. My issue is that at the last two concerts I went to, I heard men -- or boys -- say, "Watch out. Here come the cougars!" I think this is insulting. Or is it?

Can you define a "cougar"? I don't know whether I should be insulted or take it as a compliment. -- STILL ROCKIN' IN IRVINE

DEAR STILL ROCKIN': A "cougar" is a woman who likes to date -- and aggressively pursue -- much younger men. Whether it's an insult, an accurate description or a compliment depends upon how you wish to be perceived. But from my perspective, the comments you heard were stereotypical and "catty," to say the least.

David is Kate's little brother who likes to remind us- at every opportunity- that he thinks we're old farts. Nonetheless, thanks Dear Abby, for clearing this up once and for all. And for the record, while Josh may be a younger man, he is certainly not a much younger man.

Photo Essay Tuesday (Random Things I Got a Kick Out Of In Chicago Edition)

Chicago was unbelievably fun and amazing and I could go on and on and on, but it's a Tuesday morning and I've got to get to work. I took tons of beautiful pictures of the city and of Josh, his friends and myself, but I also took a handful of pictures that puzzled me, made me laugh or really just caught my interest. And here they are. I know, I know Chicago is the "Windy City", so I shouldn't be surprised that it was, well, windy. But man alive was it windy. So windy that it threatened to blow my dress right off (and it almost did once or twice, many a Chicagoan saw my color coordinated boy shorts), more surprising was that the powerful winds blew this giant tree right out of the ground. Look, I totally understand that I am outrageously immature and childish and I pretty much have the sense of humor of a 13 year old boy, but this Kangaroo and his giant balls made me think of Van Wilder, which reduced me to hysterics with the giggling. Good times. I don't know if anyone else in America watched Rock of Love 2, but Jill and I loved it; and hey we were pulling for this gal. Josh and I ran into her at a bar called the Lucky Horseshoe where she certainly stuck out like a sore thumb. For that matter I suppose I did too. It was certainly my intention to make a good impression on Josh's brother and best friend, but I'm not sure fawning over a reality TV personality was the best way to present my most fabulous self. Cheese curds. I've never had a curd before, never even heard of them, I guess it's a midwest thing... but oh mercy, I ate some serious curds this weekend. I'd like to say I was skeptical at first, might make for a better story, but that would be a barefaced lie. Cheese curds are delicious, and that is the final word on that. One of my favorite place we visited this weekend was the Conservatory at the Lincoln Park Zoo. I could have spent all day in there. I particularly liked these funny pod plants of which Josh snapped some photos. It was a lot of fun to have a partner in crime hunting down great picture subjects. This was my favorite plant in the whole conservatory, a coconut orchid. We walked into the room that housed the orchids and the air was perfumed with a most delicate fragrance I couldn't quite put my finger on... I turned around and stuck my nose deep in this plant and came away with a really subtle and heady coconut scent that I can still smell if I really think about it. Sunday morning found us sitting on an outdoor patio reading the paper, and call me old fashioned, but I was caught a little off guard by this article about water sports. In the paper. Yeah, those kinds of water sports. Finally, at the Rib Fest. Oh, how I laughed.

Murphy's Law

The hotel I stayed at this week, which should have been billed to the company I was interviewing with, was mistakenly billed to me instead. This bill subsequently put my unsuspecting (and quite paltry to be honest) checking account into the red. So, the overdraft fees have been piling up, and I've been trying to get a hold of someone, anyone, who can help me rectify this situation. I'm mean come on! I'm in grad school, I'm not exactly rolling in the dough. So I'm telling my gal pal Jill about the situation and she says "I find that's true in my business too (mortgages), the people who need the money the most are the people who this shit happens to the most. It's Newton's law, you know?" ... ... ... "Wait, that doesn't sound right..."

Easter Celebration

What better way to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus than with a sale on personal lubricant at the corner store.

Peter Pan Syndrome

I was going to do this on my birthday in a couple of weeks, but I want it healed up before my interview on the 25th, so...

The Rest of Saturday

A funny thing happens when you start drinking in the middle of the day. Next thing you know it's 7:30, but it feels like 11:30 and you're kind of wasted. We left GCB and thought it best to go and get some food in our bellies. I think this kid is really, really cute. It might have just been his temperament, he was very pleasant. Once we got back to my place we got down to some shenanigans; more dominoes, lots more drinking, truth or dare, and finally sometime (probably around 10:30, but it felt more like three in the morning) we broke into the pool and went swimming. Yes we are very mature. I shot a lot of video, and I'm trying to edit it down into something watchable... It's funny, sometimes I wonder what we act like when we're all liquored up, and now that I know, I'm glad I can't usually remember. I'm still working on the rest of the video, but here's a clip of me telling the story of the disastrous time I went skydiving with Mak and Kate. It's kind of obnoxious, so you might not want to watch it.

Where My Nerds At?

So I have a pretty active imagination. That, my very early morning and way too much caffeine (and the resultant crash once said caffeine wore off) all converged today during a lecture about magnetization and hysteresis and their effect on hydrogen induced fatigue in pipeline steels.....zzzzz. Right. Sorry, I dozed off there for a sec too. I kid, it was actually a very interesting lecture but for about ten minutes in the middle following a comment by the lecturer about the way grains of materials align themselves and a joke he attempted about gangs and their alignments, well, i started thinking about gangs. In my head the type of gang I'd be in is less of a drug-trafficking, cop-killing type gang, and more of a singing, dancing, West Side Story kind of gang. But we'd have gang signs just like the hoodlums have. Being that we'd be a dorky science-y engineering type of gang, only one gang sign came to mind. Anyone? Anyone?

What A Way To Start The Work Week

This morning, bright and early I headed in to work to finish some sample prep. I needed to head in to the research company where I used to work so they could do a type of magnetic separation that I don't have the equipment to preform. I got there nice and early so I could spend a little time catching up with my old boss before dropping the samples off and heading back to work. I was waiting in his office with my coffee when who walks in? The Ice Dancer. I haven't seen him since he broke up with me a year ago. For the longest time whenever I thought about him I was overcome with the urge to smack him in the mouth (mostly because of how he broke up with me..."I'm not coming over. Ever" No more explanation.) I didn't feel that way today. I just felt nothing. Well, I guess I actually felt a little sad for him. Here is this funny, brilliant guy wasting his talent working as a technician at this rinky-dink research company in Golden. He's a wonderful writer, and super smart to boot, so I guess I had expected him to have moved into his field by now. So, I sipped my coffee, made a little small talk, and smugly walked to my car, feeling sorry for him. Then I caught my reflection in my car window, realized I look like a crazy old bag lady, and suddenly felt a lot less smug. Maybe he was feeling a little smug too, no?

Freegans

Last night, struck with a terrible bout of insomnia, I was watching some late night TV. I don’t even remember what I was watching, but I do remember the commercial for today’s Oprah show. Now I know that I won’t catch it, because I work and all, but those editors are good. My curiosity is peaked.

The topic is something called Freegans. Have you heard of this?

Some highlights from Freeegan.info, the Freegan website:

“Freegans are people who employ alternative strategies for living based on limited participation in the conventional economy and minimal consumption of resources.”

That sounds good right? Let’s read more:

“Freeganism is a total boycott of an economic system where the profit motive has eclipsed ethical considerations and where massively complex systems of productions ensure that all the products we buy will have detrimental impacts most of which we may never even consider. Thus, instead of avoiding the purchase of products from one bad company only to support another, we avoid buying anything to the greatest degree we are able.”

How?

“Perhaps the most notorious freegan strategy is what is commonly called "urban foraging" or "dumpster diving". This technique involves rummaging through the garbage of retailers, residences, offices, and other facilities for useful goods.”

“Anything unusable by us, we redistribute to our friends, at freemarkets, or using internet services like freecycle and craigslist.”

“…freegans choose not to use cars for the most part. Rather, we use other methods of transportation including trainhopping, hitchhiking, walking, skating, and biking. Hitchhiking fills up room in a car that would have been unused otherwise and therefore it does not add to the overall consumption of cars and gasoline.”

“Squatters are people who occupy and rehabilitate abandoned, decrepit buildings. Squatters believe that real human needs are more important than abstract notions of private property, and that those who hold deed to buildings but won’t allow people to live in them, even in places where housing is vitally needed, don’t deserve to own those buildings.”

“Wild foragers demonstrate that we can feed ourselves without supermarkets and treat our illnesses without pharmacies by familiarizing ourselves with the edible and medicinal plants growing all around us. Even city parks can yield useful foods and medicines, giving us a renewed appreciation of the reality that our sustenance comes ultimately not from corporate food producers, but from the Earth itself. Others take the foraging lifestyle even farther, removing themselves from urban and suburban concepts and attempting to "go feral" by building communities in the wilderness based on primitive survival skills.”

“…freegans are able to greatly reduce or altogether eliminate the need to constantly be employed. We can instead devote our time to caring for our families, volunteering in our communities, and joining activist groups to fight the practices of the corporations who would otherwise be bossing us around at work.”

Is it just me or do these people sound, at best a little nuts, but at worst petulant and lazy? I may be a little materialistic, and a lot poor, but I ’m not quitting my job to forage for food in city dumpsters no matter how you spin it.

The Unfortunate Ex Run-in

I was reading Berg With Fries today and it made me think of the most awkward run-in with an ex ever. I was dating this old guy I worked with. Please don't ask what I was thinking. He wasn't particularly funny, fun, successful, interesting, charming, good looking, nice, etc. etc. etc. I have no excuse or even a way to rationalize this one. I don't even remember what I found attractive about him. Maybe I was under a spell. Anyway. One truly beautiful Golden afternoon we were having beers at GCB on the patio. The place gets pretty crowded so I went to grab us seats at a big picnic table while Ugly Old guy went inside to get us some beers. Ugly Old guy comes out with our beers and says "I hope you don't mind, but I met a funny guy while I was waiting in line and invited him and his friends to share our huge table." I thought, not a problem, I love chatting with strangers in Golden. It's a very Golden thing to do. 2 minutes later funny guy from line comes out with his pitchers of beer... and it turns out to be my one ex (the most recent) who had terribly broken my heart. He'd recently knocked up his ex-girlfriend and subsequently married her. Fifteen minutes later all of our old friends from college showed up. Each one made the exact same "Oh!" face when they found us sitting together, but at that point it would have been more awkward to make a big deal out of it and for them to try and find seats elsewhere (there were none anyway). So to recap: Him: recently wed, expecting a baby Me: drinking beer in the afternoon with my Ugly Old (but temporary) new boyfriend He wins.

The Male Brain: Not So Mysterious After All

Last night I had dinner with my friend Ivory and her husband Jamie. After dinner the TV was on and we were catching the last 30 or so minutes of Never Been Kissed. Ivory made an off hand comment about how hot Jessica Alba is, and how she would "totally make out with her." I said I disagreed, I think Jessica Alba is too skinny, if I were to make out with a girl, it wouldn't be Alba. Talk then turned to the cheesitude of the movie, how delicious dinner was, plans for the weekend, etc. Then our attention turned to chocolate cake. Fifteen minutes later Jamie looked up at me and blurted out "Well who would be your fantasy girl?" Ivory and I cracked up because seriously? Isn't that just like a guy.

I'd Have Been a Good Drag Queen, I Think

I work in my dungeon lab, almost always by myself, every day. My i-pod Shuffle is the best $80 I think I've ever spent. I plug in my ears and do my experiments all day long. I can sometimes go 2 or 3 days without seeing anyone else, and I'm kind of cheesy, so I sing along and dance sometimes too. Sometimes my undergrad assistant busts me and then I get a little embarrassed. But I really have no shame so the embarrassment never lasts more than a few seconds before I plug in and go right back to singing along. This week I have been working in another lab, our analytical lab with my assistant, doing some research. Happy for the company I left my i-pod in my bag and we talked and listened to the radio. When the radio station played the same Cake song for the third time in five hours, I made a comment about how sorry it is that they play only a few songs on the radio, though they have a worlds worth of songs available to them. I looked to him for a response and caught his mouth twist into a smirk before he said "you don't mind when it's Madonna." I only had to think about it for a minute before I flashed back to a day last week... First things first, I love Madonna. Passionately, and with out fail. But I especially love Madonna circa 1989. On this particular day I was doing a particularly banal and repetitive task to prepare an ore sample for an experiment. I hadn't seen anyone all day and wasn't feeling particularly self-conscious. My favorite Madonna song came on (Cherish, who'd have thought) and I put it on repeat. I probably listened to this song five or six times before I was ready to move on the the next song, the whole time singing and bopping around. I thought I heard something once or twice, but I didn't see anyone. There is lots of very large equipment in the lab, and turns out I was wrong. Busted again! What makes the whole scenario worse... think of a girl with the worlds worst singing voice (my voice is a little obnoxious to begin with) dancing around covered in mud singing Madonna songs, and then imaging hearing only the screechy, off tune singing with no musical accompaniment. Because of the earphones. I'd smirk too.

Journaling

I haven't read this book. I'm not interested in developing skills and becoming a great writer. I read about this book on a blog and Googled it. No One Cares What You Had For Lunch: 100 Ideas For Your Blog. The author suggests blogging entries from old journals. I always tried to keep a diary (when I was little) or a journal (when I was old enough that it wasn't cool anymore to call it a diary). I have many blank books floating around in my bookshelves with just a few pages filled out, I'd give up the ghost after a few entries. One journal I've kept in particular (hidden in my underwear drawer with my blank checks). I started it during a relationship that I've never talked about here on the blog. At the time, I thought journaling, writing it all down, would help me figure things out. In retrospect all I think when I read it was what a fucking moron I was, and did I have no self respect? (The answer to that question is yes, I had no self respect.) My point here is... definitely not writing about old journal entries. One thing I realized is that all those years of earnestly trying to journal my teen angst and the banalities of my day to day were to no avail. But give me an audience and an excuse to post eleventy-thousand pictures of me dancing and winking into the mirror, and that's a plan I can stick to. Vanity, thy name is Blogger.

Just Asking

I was watching the news tonight and I caught a segment on recent college grads and their concern about the job market. The two people they interviewed were a psychology major and a photo journalism major. Could the unemployment rate ever be low enough for these these two grads (with their respective degrees) to ever not have to worry about the job market? I might have a unique perspective considering almost everyone I know is an engineer. And to be fair the only person I know who isn't an engineer just got laid off. But seriously, if you're main concern is marketability, maybe a bachelors degree in liberal arts isn't the best move. Updated: I'm not bagging on liberal arts degrees. The world would be a much less interesting and worthwhile place without art, music, and creativity. My criticism is of the news station and the segment's producer.

People Still Play Charades?

What happens when you get sixteen drunk folks together after a day of skiing for a rowdy game of charades? Shenanigans, that's what. This is a partial list, but my favorite charades clues from Sunday night. ↑ ↑ ↓ ↓ ← → ← → B A Select Start Candy Corn Scotty Doesn't Know Seven Dudes 1 Treadmill Hotter Than 2 Rats Fucking in a Wool Sock Do you know how hard it is to act out the Contra code?

Friends, Share My Shame

OK Sarah threw down the gauntlet, and I have decided to accept the challenge. Sorry if this is more than you wanted to see, but they are all so awkward, I couldn't decide what to leave out. These aren't in chronological order. I started out cute. But man, adolescence was cruel to me. I mean it was certainly cruel to everyone, but I didn't grow out of it until college. I should point out that I went to college with 2500 other nerds, so maybe grew out of it is a relative term. Cabbage Patch Kid I chose this picture because despite the boy-scout standard issue haircut, you can still tell I'm a girl (I think it's the lipstick). In the other pictures I look so much like a little boy that you would have called shenanigans when I said they were pictures of me. Poodle Perm Which is why my mom started perming my hair. Oh misery. Huge Hair I am sorry to say that the poodle perm doesn't even hold a candle to the monstrosity I was responsible for when I was allowed to choose my own hairstyle. I am bereft that I don't have the following year's picture. I was wearing a black bowler hat and had banana curls framing my face. I looked like an Hasidic Jew. Ruffle Shorts I thought this coordinated ensemble was the tops. That's right. I wish you could see the shorts more clearly. They are cut off jean shorts with huge ruffles sewn in. I had several pair. Dance Recital I was every bit the ham and picture whore back then as I am now. Inhaler Brownies This one is actually really cute, I wanted to include it because Jill's in it too. We were so doofy (well I guess we still are). High School Look at this picture and tell me you are surprised that no one tried to shag me until college. I guarantee there's a yin-yang necklace hidden under that shirt. Painting I cracked up when I found this picture, that look on Jill's face is classic. My mom had painted my bedroom walls a very bright coral color. It gave me wicked headaches so one day when she was at work Jill and I painted the walls a calming sea green. Turns out the ceiling was pink, you just couldn't tell because the walls were so bright. The room looked like a big watermelon, so to complete the look we painted black seeds on the pink ceiling. When my mom got home from work she lost her shit. I moved out ten years ago and she has redecorated he whole house, including that room, but she told me she just couldn't paint over it, so the watermelon stands. Laura Ashley Shooting a Gun Roller blading I think this is the prized jewel of the collection. Those velvet stretch pants had a matching headband (the stuffed puffy kind). I am especially excited about those sunnies. Oh, the 80's.

The Geek Shall Inherit the Earth?

I used to be much less awesome than I am now. In high school I was shy and awkward and overcompensated by being really defensive and bitchy. I'll be mean to them before they are mean to me and then I won't get my feelings hurt. I know I was that way because Jill has told me, but in the remembering I was just meek and insecure and totally clueless. In seventh grade I had a big crush on a boy Nick Something. He was a little chubby and had brown hair and a big nose, I thought he was really cute. One day in the library I was flirting with him and I kicked him in the shin wearing these big wooden clogs (hey it was 1992). He was not impressed. In eighth grade during a break between class we were all milling around in the hallway and flirting and whispering as preteens are bound to do. I was standing against my locker and I remember this blond boy Brock who we'd known since elementary school walking down the hallway. One of his friends tripped him and he fell, two hands stretched in front of him and landed with one hand on each of my tiny 12 year old booblettes. I was so humiliated I ran away crying. I was forced to go back to class and sat there with puffy eyes and a hot red face thinking the world had come to an end. Later he told everyone that I stuffed my bra. Then in high school there was this boy Gresham. I get all googly just remembering him, even though now that I think about it I guess he wasn't really that special. He wasn't very bright, but he was kind of a bad boy. I used to tutor him in math- for free, I think he just wanted me to do his homework. He was the neighborhood pizza delivery boy and we would order pizza all the time so he would have to come over to our friend Mindy's house. Smooth, I know. Sometimes he'd stop and offer me a ride home in his Dodge Neon (it was green), he'd been held back a year or two and had his drivers license before anyone else. I thought he was just the bee's knees, and even though he was cool and I was not, he was always nice to me. I used to wear these really strange outfits, one in particular I remember specifically, it was a navy blue tank dress two sizes too big that came down to my knees, rainbow striped toe socks and sandals. One day we were talking and he asked me why I always dressed like that. He was really nice when he asked, I think he was trying to help me up my cool factor, but I was so clueless all I thought was "wow, he noticed my outfit!" And then I started wearing it all the time, I think to get his attention. I was clueless. Thank god high school was only four years.

Baaad Karma

I have absolutely no right to ever complain about being single. I don't think I do often, usually I just crack wise, and laugh about my disastrous choices, but I'll have to remember not to bitch from here on out. And here's why... It all starts with that radar that dudes have. You know what I'm talking about, as soon as you are about to get over them they pop back into your life and say all the right things. The Boy has been calling with a lot more frequency lately (yeah, we're back to the nickname). I think he called me three times this week, once just to see how my day was, and once to ask how things with law school admissions are going. He's an awesome guy, but not very sensitive, this was out of character. Usually he just calls to talk about nothing or to tell me a funny story or ask if I'm watching the Bronco game. I was a little caught off guard. Not to mention all the emailing lately, and the soliciting of opinions on what color Harley to buy. So forgive me, but I've been getting all sorts of twitterpated all over again. I have to say it reached a fever pitch on Friday when he asked me to come up and visit this weekend. I seriously considered it even thought I had a date with The Bartender planned for Saturday night. So things have been going nicely with The Bartender, Saturday was our fourth date and we've been getting to know each other for a couple of weeks now. Nice guy, maybe a little much, but I'm not marrying the guy, just dating him. He showed up with a little present, a half a dozen nice wine glasses, I think extras from the restaurant and a great bottle of wine. The plan was takeout and a movie. Somehow it turned into a sleep over, I don't remember inviting him to stay, but he showed up with an overnight bag. Not a XXX type of sleep over, more like a PG-13 sleep over. Early to bed (him, I stayed up and watched another movie) and then beer and football on Sunday. The movie we were watching was Beerfest, juvenile but very funny movie (what can I say, my sense of humor is about as developed as that of a teenage boy). The Boy loves this movie, and every third thing out of his mouth is a movie quote. In fact, most of our time spent on the river this summer was just Mak, Kate, Brandon and The Boy quoting this movie to each other over and over and over. So forgive me, but I started thinking of him. Nothing ruins a good date better than a preoccupation with someone else you'd rather be on a date with. I must make this clear, what I am about to tell you, I am not proud of. You might say I am a little ashamed. And this might be why I have such bad dating Karma. Here goes. After a few glasses of wine The Bartender was asleep on the couch and I was watching the movie alone at this point and cracking up. My laptop was right there and I fired off an email to The Boy. Something flippant and inconsequential, but still, I was on a date. It's not like I am even a little serious with The Bartender (I am in the process of getting more irons in the fire) but it is just plain wrong to email one guy while on a date with another. We may not be exclusive, but fidelity should at least be guaranteed until the end of the date. The dating gods punished me though. He emailed me back. "Nice. I am watching a bad movie and thinking of you." Now I'm so stuck in my head over analyzing ever little thing he said to me this week. Did I mention I might actually be crazy? Oh, and obviously an asshole.

My First Kiss

I guess I was 13 or 14. I was at summer camp, I went every year, rafting, climbing, backpacking... the fact that I was as big a dork at summer camp as I was at school seemed almost inconsequential I had so much fun. We were at camp for 5 weeks. We sang songs and played color wars (sort of like paint ball meets tag) and we were old enough that camp had become co-ed. I'm not now, but for a long time I was naive and innocent and shy. Painfully shy. The story of my first kiss is both embarrassing and cute. His name was Oliver, but he was French (from France!) so think of the French pronunciation, Ol-iv-ee-ay (I am phonetically challenged), one of his parents grew up in Colorado, and didn't want him missing out. That's actually the same reason my parents sent me to camp. We were both quiet, and shy, and blushed when the more "experienced" campers talked about making out and blow jobs and smoking pot. One night we were all playing truth or dare. Everyone knew that I "liked" him and he "liked" me. One of us, I can't remember who, chose dare. They dared us to kiss, we did, the quickest and most chaste of pecks, and then we both hid, heads buried in our sleeping bags, holding hands all night. No amount of coaxing would get me out of that bag even though I was awake and listening for hours. I remember my face was hot all night long. I was so shy and embarrassed about it, that I never talked to him again. I wouldn't even sign his camp yearbook. Smooth, I know.