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Friday, December 30, 2005

Decades

"It takes about ten years to get used to how old you are." ~Quoted by Raymond A. Michel in The Leaf

A few summers ago when I was 16, I worked at a Girl Scout camp. One day I was at the infermary with another counseler-Ice (we all had camp names, mine was Mushu by best friend was Seneca, moving on...)- and another camper who must have been about 8 or 9 years old. At one point while standing there, I started to sing "Ice, Ice Baby" at Ice. She rolled her eyes and the camper just looked at me funny. I asked her why she wasn't singing and Ice looked back at me and said "She doesn't know that song, she wasn't alive."

Wasn't alive? People weren't alive in 1992? The fuck?

Last night I was watching E! THS*: Home Improvement and Jonathan Taylor Thomas was talking about his role in Lion King in 1994. 1994. Why is it that I feel like Lion King came out last week? I do that with Clueless too, I still feel like I was sitting in the movie theater last night watching Cher and Dionne. But no, that shit came out over 10 years ago. I was once babysitting for a 6 year old and we were watching Fresh Prince of Belair on Nick at Nite. Ok if something is on Nick at Nite and I can remember it being on, that's a problem. While we were watching the episode where Will teaches Ashley how to fight- "mind yo' business that's all just mind yo' business"- I told my charge that I could remember when this episode first came on. He replied "Dang, you're old**."

Now I know how my parents feel.



*if you don't know what E! THS is then you must leave now, because seriously
**Yes, I know I'm not old. But to a 6 year old I am, to my mother and every person over the age of 22 who reads this blog, I'm about 14. My aunt thinks I look like I'm 12. Awesome.

I need to go back to work

I just sent the following email...

Ok this is so sad, last night I was up until 5 AM watching My Fair Brady, because I just had to know what happens with Chris and Adrian. I've lost my mind...But damn these fuzzy slippers rock.

Ok now even sadder, I'm sitting here watching America's Next Top Model when I realized Law and Order SVU is on ALL DAY and ran over to the television, knocking down the computer tower to get to the television.

On that note, I'm going to get dressed and go to FRIENDLY'S. Can you feel my excitement today??


Jesus lord almighty, I need to leave my mother's house. But seriously An entire day of Law and Order: SVU and CI. This is like my dream come true. It's like Christmas times 47. This is how I'll feel on my wedding day, excited and happy and in awe, but then it will be over all too soon. It really needs to be Tuesday, and very soon.

European Love

"I met a lot of people in Europe. I even encountered myself." ~James Baldwin

Often, I find myself comparing one date in the current year to the same date a year prior. What has happened in that year? How are things different now than they were before? It's not secret that it's a shock to the system one day waking up and finding oneself unemployed with no insurance and pretty much stranded. May 7th everything was normal and the way it had been for the 21 1/2 years prior, May 9th - a monday - I felt like I was floating alone. I hate that feeling, of being alone and feeling like there is no one around. Despite that fear, that's not what I've been thinking about lately. Going back a year, I was receiving my visa for Spain and packing for four months in Europe. I was about to go on a semester long vacation where I was more than entitled to spend my parent's money and I had no school work to do because I was well over a year ahead in credits. It was my semester to do anything I wanted to do after working my ass off for three and a half years. Quite lovely I would say, knowing that nothing is waiting for you except for the great unknown. Europe was waiting for me I guess or maybe I was waiting to go to Europe. It would be my second trip; the first being to Rome. I wasn't excited, nervous as fucking hell, anticipating the worse of course.

Without getting into "What I did for 5 months of my life in Europe" (hint: I drank. A LOT. Oh, and there were camels and beaches and desert-oh my), I will say that now I think about Spain and I ache. Everything as of late has been reminding me of Madrid. God forbid someone say 'tortilla', I feel the tears well up. I remember every little detail about that city. My long walks to Sol and Retiro. Staying out until the metro opened at 6 AM and then finding myself eating churros con chocolate. The way my room looked, the way Teresa's apartment looked and how she took care of me. Every little thing brings me right back there to Ventas. It makes me sad and I've never missed anything this much before. I think the problem is that other things that I miss, I know I'll see later. Like I missed my parents and friends while abroad, but I knew that in just a few short months I would see them again. This time it's different. When will I go back? I've been bitten by a Europe bug, it's not just Spain I want to get back to, because I know that the country is permanently engrained in my mind, but I just need-crave-to back to Europe.

I hate this feeling too; wanting something so badly and not knowing when I'll get it. But for now, i'll look at flights to Paris in March or Prague in May or Spain over the summer and think, it wasn't 'adios' it was 'hasta luego'.

Thursday, December 29, 2005

Much Needed

"If we would only give, just once, the same amount of reflection to what we want to get out of life that we give to the question of what to do with a two weeks' vacation, we would be startled at our false standards and the aimless procession of our busy days."~Dorothy Canfield Fisher

I really cannot profess enough how much I enjoy a good few days with nothing to do. Absolutely nothing. As of right now I'm still rocking my fuzzy slippers and watching crapass day time television. True Life: I have a friend with benefits, to be specific. What the fuck is that? I know what a friend with benefits is, what I mean is why would you want to broadcast that shit on television? Breaking Bonaduce; so you were on a tv show in the 70's and now you're going to rehab and acting like a little shit. The saddest part is that as pathetic as VH1's celebreality is, it can keep me interested for hours. I've been caught up on the Surreal Life and have watched hours of MTV's best of 2005. This includes a little bit of Newlyweds or shall we call it Newlydivorced? And finally, my least favorite/most cringe inducing show; a baby story. Why, why, whhhhhhhhhhhyyyy??

All of this general laziness has led to a hefty list of resolutions and despite the bit of malaise of yesterday, it's been nice. I enjoy this one week of year to do nothing except over think things, which always prepares me for the next year and at least pretend to get my shit together. Do you ever have that feeling that things might start to look up? Because that's the feeling I'm getting right now.

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Little Miss Bitter Pants

I find myself in a strange mood. I'm in a good mood. Things are (semi) looking up and I'm going to Europe sooner than expected. All good things. And yet, I'm sitting here seething and being a bitter bitch who reads one of her favorite blogs and contemplates leaving an anonymous message*: "Get over yourself. My god." Yes, I would do that and I suppose being elusive once again is only going to make me look like an even more bitter bitch. I get in these eye rolling, fits where I am angry at someone for some unknown reason about NOTHING. Is it jealousy induced? Is it the OC: Season Two? Is it just general malice that seems to afflict me constantly? Or perhaps the whole New Year, new you, bullshit that comes up after Christmas (or maybe that's just me)? Whatever it is, I doubt leaving anonymous comments will make me feel better. And for the record, no I didn't leave a nasty comment, I only thought about it and now I'm blogging about it.




*just so y'all know, I have never once done so, but I've thought long and hard about it. I've said it once and I'll say it again: I'm just a mean bitter girl.

Labels:

Christmas: Black and White


Moi

In the true spirit of Christmas, Peg
gives away our childhood to my five
year old cousin. This includes beloved
classics "Corduroy" and "No Roses for Harry".
Garrett and I cry and wonder if she'll sing
Frere Jacques to he as well. Gone is the
childhood. This will be a recurring theme
of the holiday. Bah humbug..

Debunking the myth:
we're black and that's fried chicken.
There's koolaid in the fridge
I wish I were kidding.


Is that Ryan Atwood (from The O.C.)? Why yes, I think that it is. Are those some hot fuzzy slippers? Why yes I think they are. Is that HB sitting on her ass at 5:30 PM? But of course. Because that my friends, is what VA.CA.TION. is all about.

Oh christmas tree.
G and Peg picked it out all by themselves. I was so proud.
You can't tell here, but all of the people ornaments are black; all except one that is. The little white baby in the cradle is from my first Christmas. Yeah...


G lovingly gives me the finger. That's the spirit. Look at that smile.
The little shit got a 3.7 last semester.


So that there is Christmas in a nutshell. Food and my family and also a lovely Christmas gift that I cannot speak of. But let me tell you, it's the gift that'll keep on giving.
I really enjoy being elusive. It's fun.

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

HOLLA!days

"Holidays are enticing only for the first week or so. After that, it is no longer such a novelty to rise late and have little to do." ~Margaret Laurence

When I first read about it, I thought that I could never become afflicted with the dreaded illness. I thought that I could get through the holidays and keep everything status quo. But alas my friends, it has happened. I've become one of the evil bloggers who cannot blog while on vacation. And when I do finally put up a post*, it doesn't look the same in Firefox as it does in Explorer. Blow me.

God damn narcissism; I write about myself and what's going on in MY life. What if nothing is going on? Do you really care to read about how I spend a vacation in upstate NY? I sit and watch hours and hours worth of Law and Order and the OC. I go shopping at Woodbury Commons and then I sit on my ass some more. I think of some good resolutions (that I may or may not be sharing with you people...I might jinx myself) and go to Fridays. I endure conversations comparing one Louis Vuitton bag to another and contemplate ways to kill myself now that I've lost 45 minutes of my life "there's $1800 worth of bags on the table". Lord. I also contemplate going skiing, but alas not. I'd rather be golfing and no, I don't own snowpants.

There you have it; my first post-collegiate Christmas Vacation. Honestly, the same as before, just on a shorter scale, which means that I am forced to get my ass into gear, venture out and face the masses. Oh, the horror! Except this time there were no grades to check, no GPA's to worry about. There will be no books to purchase or new group projects with stupid whores (oops did I say that outloud?) to worry about. I'm at that point in the vacation where I know that in just a few days, things will start anew, but I'm still in a semi-rut. But have no fear my friends, I will return just as snarky, witty and lovely as ever; and you will remember this vacation of mine, when I was nowhere to be found and you will think longingly and wonder why I came back in the first place.

Lucky me. Lucky you.



*for those of you who may be drinking and reading at the same time ::ahem:: I will repost my last post when I can get it to not look retarted. Put the pinot down...

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Repeat the Sounding Joy


"Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful." ~Norman Vincent Peale

A few years ago, I happened upon my parents divorce agreement. For the record, Peg had given me explicit permission to go into her top drawer, in case I needed to find out where her will and power of attorney agreements were located. Anyway, when I found her divorce agreement and of course read through it, I learned that my father was to get my brother and I every other weekend. Holidays looked a bit murky and from what I gather, they were given to my mother, but by the grace of God, it never seemed that way. While Thanksgiving we’ve always spent in our home, Christmas has been one of constant tradition. One that I have diligently kept for the past 17 years.

Around 11, my father comes to pick up my brother and I from my mother’s house. We then go to lunch (we’ve upgraded from McDonald’s to the food court and now with my Oceanaire eating palate, I think we might trade up to Houlihan’s). After lunch comes the best part of the day; the movies. It’s like the one movie visit I look forward to all year. Sure I go every weekend, but for some reason going to the movies on Christmas Eve with my father and brother is one of my favorites. Garrett and I watch and my father drifts in and out of slumber, maybe even snoring a few times intermittently. After the movies and walking around the mall, we head home. Now, I suspect that the origin of this holiday tradition was so my mother could wrap our presents without us underfoot. When we get home, there are presents set in neat piles (I get the left side of the tree, Garrett gets the middle, and my mother gets the right side). In our rooms are our new pajamas, slippers and another part of our ornament collection. I collect Pooh ornaments. The rest of the evening is church and my mother’s best friends Christmas party. Two words: Bourbon. Balls.

Come Christmas morning, we have – without fail – required that my father schlep back to our house and be there promptly at 8AM. We’re now, 22 and 19 and he’ll still be required to be at our house by 8 AM. If he’s there later, I have no problem starting without him. Garrett, wakes me up in the morning, by climbing into my bed. He’s now twice the size of me, but my God, I look forward to it every time.

I’ve not written about Christmas, because in all honesty, I get too excited about Christmas to write a coherent sentence. How am I to write about how fucking happy this holiday makes me and that I LOVE (fucking love) hearing Carol of the Bells every day?

I hope that y'all have some kick ass holidays. Here's hoping to a new Coach bag and a vcr/dvd player.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Blogology

Yesterday upon leaving work, I whipped out a Marlboro. Not only had it been a tedious day, but I was just pissed in general, the tip of the iceberg being blogger. Fuckheads. Yes, blogger pissed me off yesterday, to the point that when I got home and had fretted about how it was going to be a pain in the ass to move all my shit to typepad and then have 30 people change their link to my blog on their blog and the thoughts that they would forget about me and all would be lost. Yes, this shit stressed me out.

My blog has started to run my life.

I never thought I’d utter those words and that I would read an email with the subject heading EMERGENCY! From a fellow blogger* – upset about sitemeter no less – and think of that as an actual emergency.

Is there something wrong with me in these cases? When Sir Bone gave me the solution to my blogger problem, I blew a kiss southward to Alabama, because really, that shit was pissing me off. So maybe I am a little odd, though I’ve never claimed not to be. Maybe I enjoy blogging a little too much and even when it pisses me off and I can’t find anything interesting to write about, I still get a little sad about leaving the blogosphere. I can’t tell you all how many times I’ve been so very close to deleting the blog. I don’t know, I guess it’s just the nature of the beast. And no matter where I go, I’ll always have a love hate relationship with blogging. But it’s always nice to know that I’m not the only one.

*update*
When reading this, I was a little worried about what not to share about my blogging habits and what to share. For example, if I'm at an event or doing something, I start to write the blog entry in my head. And like Bone said in my comments, if I don't like my current blog entry, I'll think about it all day long. Also, now that I've been linked to other blogs which have considerably higher traffic than I, I'm now starting to get worried that their readers will hate me. For example, Amalah readers who think I'm going to be just as funny and witty. HA! I'm so not. But I can tell you how craptacular life is during the Quarter Life Crisis and that I have to babysit, even though I love Noah, because I'm broke. But other than that, so not funny.

Now, dear blovers, what are your blog issues? Do tell.

*update 2*
have I mentioned that I really love sitemeter? Like really. So please delurk and say 'Hi'.
Speaking of sitemeter, someone found my blog by looking up "fuck babysitter" on MSN.com and also by searching for "dealing with disgruntle co-workers". For the record, I'm not getting any and my co-workers aren't disgruntle. Sorry to disappoint.
Also I've just made it so people who don't have blogger accounts can comment. So delurk!

*this blogger shall remain nameless

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

You all are getting a present-update*

...just give me until saturday, you'll have it by sunday morning. Just in time for the big day(s).

For now, just sit back and enjoy...

I love keeping secrets.

::insert maniacal laugh here::

*update
You won't be getting a present because the present was typepad, but Sir Bone is not only witty, but he's also brilliant and now I won't have to shove my foot up blogger's ass. But now I'm a little sad because I was all looking forward to my new pretty typepad blog (http://nopasanada.typepad.com) but now I'll have to save my $5 a month for something important, like venti chai lattes. And my neverending quest to form my very own Coach store in my condo.

Meet my (pseudo) Boyfriend

JB: i am saying dc coast or mie and yu
JB: but let me check the lsit
HeatherB: ok good
HeatherB: well right now we have reservations at dc coast
JB: perfect...because I just looked at dc foodies and it says ladies cannot wear their "jumpsuits' to 1789, so I know you wouldn’t want to go
JB: you love to wear your jumpsuit out

Because I’m lacking in the significant other department, I often use my friends as pseudo boyfriends. I take them out, get them drunk, and may or may not sleep with them, but that depends on how the evening has gone. JB’s birthday just happens to be during restaurant week and because I’ve never gone anywhere during restaurant week (my palate has only recently matured past McDonald’s, Subway, and Tenley Vodka), I decided that it might be the perfect occasion to go. While JB was totally gung ho about the restaurant week date, it got me thinking that maybe I should get a significant other, to do these types of things with. My friends are always fair game, so it’s not like they are running to get away from me or snap back “get a boyfriend and leave me alone, you perpetually single freak”. And it’s not like I just want someone to go out to DC Coast with me, because if it really was a problem, we all know I’d just go alone. But it’s the fear that this might be how the remainder of my life is. Yes, I am very aware that I am only 22 and so that doesn’t mean that I will be single forever or that I should go purchase my 27 cats now. Instead, it’s been something in the back of mind that is now starting to nag at me. I’m singe. I’ve been single for a very long time. I like spending time with myself, but this is a little ridiculous.
You know, of course I’ll bitch and over think this now, and then tomorrow when one of my friends fights with his or her significant other, I’ll thank the good Lord, that I don’t have to deal with that shit. Yup, that’s what will happen.

Holy Nepotism Batman

I have a friend* who is new(ish) to a particular place where the people that s/he encounters on a regular basis have all known each other for years. While s/he, being the new kid on the block, may not know that many people s/he still makes attempts to be friendly to those around him/her. That said, as of late, my friend has felt the affects of these relationships and has been noticing that despite his/her attempts to make nice with these people, they have been rather futile. These folks have been known to blatantly be rude to my friend and generally not acknowledge his/her presence. So what is a boy/girl to do? S/he has to deal with these people semi-regularly. My suggestion was that s/he, dramatically roll his/her eyes whenever spoken to by these people, because obviously if my friend isn’t good enough to be polite to on a regular basis, then s/he should feel no need to be polite back to these people. Kindness begets kindness people. It’s gotten to a point where right now my friend is on the verge of tears and/or flipping the fuck out on some deserving soul. Which may or may not be a good thing. Personally, I’m all for kicking ass and being a flaming bitch. But that’s just me.


*I swear I’m not lying. A friend.

Liquid Crack vs. Exercise (I vote for Liquid Crack)

"Whenever I feel like exercise, I lie down until the feeling passes. " ~Robert M. Hutchins, Young Man Looking Backwards, 1938

Normally, I’m not a neat person and my favorite pastime is laying in bed watching movies, but occasionally (and by occasionally I mean every freaking day), I run, golf and walk up and down M street in Georgetown. And let me tell you, there’s nothing that works out the old arms like a bag from Lush, Anthropolgie and Dean and Deluca. Overpriced groceries are heavy. But lately, I’ve turned into a low functioning adult, who cannot move when the alarm clock goes off. Every morning it goes off at 6 am so I can go run, and for the past week I’ve pressed snooze until 6:30 AM then reset my alarm for 7:15. This morning I got up at 8 AM. 8. I have to be at work by 8:30. And despite my occasional bouts of slovenliness, I like to shower. That said, this morning has been difficult to say the least. Even now at 10:20 AM, I am barely functioning. I have my coffee right beside me, but my brain seriously feels like a rock in my head. Doing actual work is unfathomable right now. I haven’t really ‘settled in’ for the morning and I’m already counting the hours until I can curl up in my little day bed nest with the soft flannel Pooh sheets. Yes, Pooh sheets.

Yesterday I complained about my sleepiness to a co worker who replied that when I was running every single day, my body got used to that extra energy and now that I haven’t been running, my body is a little perturbed with me and has subsequently turned sluggish. My body likes exercise. What the fuck? Sometimes I think I’m a 45 year old male who thinks that golf is real exercise (I walk the course, no worries). The last time I really exercised with actual results was when I was on a steady amount of Xenadrine from day to day. I miss that shit. Though, I will say that I did have daily runs in el parque Buen Retiro, but that was solely to counter the effects of tortilla and churros con chocolate. Regardless, I’m going to be forced to run in the cold again. In truth it’s adrenaline pumping and I love a good run around the mall. I suppose that’s a better plan to my original thought that if I went from a daily grande chai eggnog latte to a venti that would obviously negate my sluggishness. Yeah, guess not

Monday, December 19, 2005

Beauty and the Beast

“Beauty isn't worth thinking about; what's important is your mind. You don't want a fifty-dollar haircut on a fifty-cent head.” ~Garrison Keillor

I’m not referring to myself as either; as I have no discernible gorgeous qualities (winning personality does not count) nor am I anywhere near beastly, though some might disagree. But I digress…

My friends, whom I love dearly, have all been blessed with ‘hotness’. I kid you not, these girls (and boys) are all gorgeous. And then there is me. I’m not hoping for a pity party, nor do I want one and really, my friends being better looking than I, is rarely a thought that crosses my mind.

On Friday night, we all ventured out for the evening to a bar in Farragut, where we ended up seeing one of my friend’s cousins. He was out with his frat brothers whom we also met and besides them, there were several other groups of males at the bar. At one point, I was standing there with my friends and one of the frat brothers turned around and bought them all (there were five of us standing there talking) a beer, while neglecting poor little me. I’m wondering if a) I give off an ‘I really can’t stand alcohol, so get that vile stuff away from me’ sort of vibe, b) I am such a wholly unattractive person that the thought of removing his head from his ass and being polite and acting like I am with the other five people that he has met and been talking to, as opposed to ignoring me, because I lack hotness. Of course, I went for the latter. I am not hot and therefore I do not deserve a beer. After which I promptly rolled my eyes at the offender (who let’s be honest wasn’t attractive in the least) and went to the bar, while giving him the best looks of disgust that I could muster. Even the subsequent free kamikaze shot couldn’t make me feel better, I was ruined for the evening thinking that I would never be comparable to my friends. Meanwhile, they continuously get hit on and I dance to “No Diggity” (I know…holy motherfucker) and nurse my wounded ego with $1.50 miller lights.

Now, we won’t get into how the previous pitcher of margaritas, may have clouded my judgment on the frat boy beer incident. Nor how ridiculous this is all sounding in hindsight and that I can’t believe I’m actually writing this for the ‘world’ to see. But alas I am. I spend a good portion of my time around hot people who are constantly fawned over. And while I do get things and know many people in order to get these things (and by ‘things’ I mean free alcohol and free/automatic entry into roped off bars and clubs) I still can’t help but feel inadequate when around the hotter folks. I write this like I’m grotesque and one can’t bear to look at me, which is not true-even if I do say so myself. It’s just that as a female, in this great nation’s capital of ours, I don’t want to continuously be known as ‘the friend’. I can count more than one occasion where a male friend of mine says ‘Heather, when can I meet your hot friends’. And while the male friend usually is just a friend, I still feel a little hurt. Of course these wonderful friends of mine, see nothing wrong with me and think I’m hot and blah blah blah (ok, not hot, but moderately pretty). But despite the sheer ridiculous that you and they may feel about what I am saying, I am allowed to do so. I’m allowed to be hurt when those of the opposite sex obsess about how hot my friends are and I’m allowed to bitch about it, to myself or to the internet or to my friends, because really I just want a little love.
So I guess you can call me a liar, this is a pity party and all are welcome.

Friday, December 16, 2005

BAWF: VII

"Oh, wouldn't the world seem dull and flat with nothing whatever to grumble at? " ~W.S. Gilbert

Oh blovers, I’m torn. On the one hand it’s a Friday and that means that some whack bitches need to be called out. On the other hand, I could write solely about my drunk misadventures of last which may or may not include: four vodka cranberries at Pearl, two hot buttered rums at a friends party, losing the back to my phone (I dropped it because I was drunk and Verizon doesn’t like that), crying in the middle of U Street because I waited in the rain for 30 fucking minutes for a cab, breaking my umbrella (because I threw it at a cab), and Ben’s chili bowl. And if say, I were to have three hands, I could write about how I finished my Christmas shopping and that I have amazing parents who have mastered putting up with an array of my shit.

So, what is a girl to do?

Or finally, I could redirect you to This Isn’t Education: The Greatest Hits of HB and you will realize that I do have some incendiary wit up in my head and I can in fact, write an actual sentence that doesn’t mention the word cunt.

I’m at a loss. I won’t tire you with my weekend plans, but they do include, teaching young Noah how to say misanthrope and cabernet sauvignon (I’ll be sure not to use the ‘c’ word in front of the child) and a requisite trip to Drinx and Indebleu.

It’s the holidays friends. Alcohol is in the air and I won’t worry about psoriasis of the liver until January 2nd.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

This Isn't Education


*Subtitled: HB's Greatest Hits. But if I did have a greatest hits album, it would be titled
"This Isn't Education (It's History. It's Poetry)" . It's a take on my favorite passage from one of my all time favorite books. If you can name the book, then you have attained a new level of awesomeness.

Like most in their mid-20’s coming out with Greatest Hits albums (a la Britney Spears), I figured I would do the same.
Here are some oldies but goodies.
I should also say that after reading through stuff over the past five months, I realized that I might be one of the least entertaining people ever. To those of you that have stuck around, I thank you. For those of you who are just joining us, you can’t say I didn’t warn you. Because really, no one wants to relive there first year out of college, but whatever; I'll totally support your masochistic tendencies.


  1. It's all about me
  2. Alcohol isn't the only thing that puts a smile on my face
  3. Right up there with clowns and decapitation
  4. How to please me
  5. Contrary to popular belief, I do have friends
  6. "Jaded and Cynical"
  7. Touch the 'fro and die
  8. Eating is considered a hobby
  9. I used to have imaginary friends, this? is nothing
  10. It's our problem free, philosophy
  11. Misanthropy is a virtue

Rhymes with Witch

"When angry, count four; when very angry, swear." ~Mark Twain, Pudd'nhead Wilson, 1894

In case you’re just joining us today, let it be known that sometimes I can be a bitch. This is usually manifests itself by way of me calling people cunts and assholes. Unfortunately (or I guess fortunately to some), I’ve been having to hold my tongue in certain sensitive situations whereas before I would’ve had no problem going up to someone and saying “You’re being a stupid whorish cunt right now. So stop”. Instead I use profanity in the presence of those who I know I can trust, or I stare blankly at the offender and in my head think “I really hope you get hit by a car”. After a recent situation, where I was tempted to punch someone in the face, I was told that what I need to do is find my ‘inner ghetto black girl’ and not be afraid to put one in their place. While I wholeheartedly agree that many people I encounter need a good talking to or manners, because obviously their parents forgot to teach them about common sense, I fear that if I do release my inner ghetto girl, that she’ll be a terror and never go back in. But then again, I won’t know for sure, until I let her out.
And trust me; she’s not going to be able to be suppressed much longer.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

About Last Night

"When the superficial wearies me, it wearies me so much that I need an abyss in order to rest. " ~Antonio Porchia, Voces, 1943

One of my favorite misanthropic qualities is my ability to go out to a movie or for drinks alone. I do so without a single thought of what others may think of me, because as I have recently discovered, I really could give two shits. That said, last night I took myself on a date to one of my favorite bars and just sat and people watched. Me, a few dirty vodka martinis, three Marlboros, and a plate of calamari.

I sat and watched the table of co workers who were out for a little happy hour. Particularly the behavior of what one would call “the cute blond” of the group. She flirted mercilessly with every male at the table, after drowning her sorrows in some sort of girly concoction (I only know this from the color-pink). In reality she was nothing special, just a blond girl with giant diamonds, who felt the need to throw herself and/or grope every man in eyesight. At one point, she decided that it would be a good idea to blow into the ashtray, thus sending ashes all over her colleagues. Obviously not the sharpest tool in the shed. Blondie’s, younger, brown haired and less attractive sister showed up, and consumed beer. She seemed much more at ease with the males at the table. Needless to say, I liked her better.

Then there were the women sitting at the table next to mine. A beautiful black woman with dreadlocks and her co worker, who felt the need to speak to me intermittently. Note to this woman: if I’m alone, I’m probably not too interested in chatting it up with my fellow (wo)man, so be off. The black woman was trying to get her co worker to join a yoga studio with her and her co worker was more interested in eating the olives out of her martini. Priorities people.

And of course me and my martinis. Sitting and wondering who blondie would be hooking up with that night; and whether or not blondie’s sister ever felt like she was inadequate or not as loved as her skankier sister. Also would the co workers find happiness in each other? Would the chubbier coworker ever go to yoga? Or would she see it as a fruitless effort for yuppies (I include myself in that category)? Would blondie’s male cohort, stop staring and winking at me?

The above deep thoughts not withstanding, I did have a few thoughts on my own predicaments as of late. Which aren’t actual predicaments, but just the general crap that comes with the holidays. Then there was the constant battle with myself as to how open I am being and why, what I see as a minor detail of my life; others see as a huge thing that is completely incomprehensible. This “minor detail” is something which others have no problem with announcing to the world and kudos to you, but for me, it’s never been a big deal and telling the internet/blogosphere/world wide web-at least to me- would be making it a bigger deal than it ever needs to be.

With that, I removed my inebriated self from the bar; gave a wink back to Mr. flirt from the table next to me, and told the chubby coworker to just do the yoga; for all of our sakes. She asked where I worked and I told her, thus sending me into a 20 minute conversation about where I go for yoga and more assvice about my job. She noted how “cool” it was that I was able to sit by myself and have a few drinks. And I replied back, “sometimes a girl just needs her alone time.”



*and yes I am very well aware that I just outed my "minor detail". That was kind of the point.

Monday, December 12, 2005

You Don't Know What You've Got Till It's Gone

“Might we not say to the confused voices which sometimes arise from the depths of our being: ‘Ladies, be so kind as to speak only four at a time?’ ” ~Madame Swetchine

I’ve turned into one of those people that I despise. The type of people who become too busy to just talk and too busy to make plans for an evening out. Last week I became enflamed at a close friend because she had been ‘too busy for me’. It felt as if she were blowing me off and that we would never be able to stay friends; it wasn’t until this past weekend when I realized that I am guilty of the same. Yes, I can be a misanthrope at times, but I’ve always been one to make plans with friends and always able to keep them. Over the past month, I’ve blown off two visitors who were in DC anyway, but I had told that I would call and see them over the weekend and just now, I couldn’t have a 45 second conversation with JB, because I had been running around. The task for her was simple enough, find a place to go for drinks this evening. Yet, I feel like I had just been told that I need to find a cure for cancer in the next half an hour. In my head for the past week, I’ve just been saying ‘I don’t know. Figure it out your own fucking self’. I would love to just say that out loud. I don’t want to answer questions, I don’t want to figure out how to make something happen, I don’t want to find a place to go have drinks. Why can’t YOU fucking do it? I’ve been walking around with a constant ‘to do’ list in my head, which includes, but is not limited to: getting a new social security card, registering my car, getting my gym membership taken care of, doing Christmas shopping, the possibility of grocery shopping (my favorite past time) and watering the office plants. Most of those things haven’t been done and my I’ve killed my boss’ orchids.
It’s times like this that I become nostalgic. Exactly a year ago, everything seemed so complicated; get my visa, get a physical, move out of my apartment, get my hair done (an important task), complete my finals, write a few papers. And now I’m dealing with dead orchids people and remembering to fill out my insurance claim form and you know, work.

Do you ever feel like you’ll spontaneously combust from it all?

And FYI, in case you had missed the memo or hadn’t been warned, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Ready? There is not one fun thing about being an adult. I would pay my parents to tell me what to do. Want me to take a nap? Of course I will. Want me to ground me and not allow me out of the house after 3 PM? Please do. You see that I have a cold and cramps from hell? Keep me home.

P.S. I haven’t read my blog all day or yours either. So tell me, how am I doing? How are things with you? I fucking suck.

WTF

I enjoy emails from my fellow man, in this case bloggers. The emails I don't enjoy getting are ones that say "Where did your blog go? I haven't been able to access it for two days". I never thought that I was all that attached to my blog, but reading that and subsequently getting a blank screen when clicking the link to my blog, has pissed me the fuck off. Which is kind of funny, seeing as how, I've been thinking all morning that I won't have time to blog all week and maybe I'll take a little blogging hiatus. Truth is that I really don't want to. And if my blog isn't back to it's perky fucking self in the next 2.8 seconds, I'm going to flip my shit. And we've seen me flip my shit before. It's not pretty.

*I'm writing this post with the hope that I'll be able to see something. fuck. In the meantime, Hi, I'm Heather B. and I really love my blog.

Friday, December 09, 2005

BAWF: VI

"Oh, wouldn't the world seem dull and flat with nothing whatever to grumble at? " ~W.S. Gilbert

This week's reasons for why bitches are whack, is brought to you by the letter 'T' for Thankful. As in: Everytime that I get discouraged by work, I will be thankful that I have an excellent job, that thousands would be jealous of (I'm so not kidding my this) and thankful that I do not have to put up with this complacent pretentious bitch and her bullshit and complete disregard for her employees and the human race (as evidenced by her mere presence and that high pitch dolphin noise she makes when she's "singing". If that's what you call it.)

Have a lovely weekend. And maybe next week, I'll return a little nicer. But doubtful, very doubtful.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Let's Get Hypothetical

"Get mad, then get over it. " ~Colin Powell

I realized that I was no longer shy and able to stand up for myself the day that Lauren Narkoweiz took ‘my seat’ on the school bus and I hit her over the head with a rolled up poster that I had been carrying. Though that was a violent tactic, it got her to move and I felt all powerful. In 8th grade people were scared of me because I might hit them. But this was better than everyone calling me names, at least now I wasn’t afraid to fight back. While this was a good tactic from 8th grade through 12th grade, it doesn’t work so well now at the age of 22. I find it difficult to just breathe and relax, while attempting to see how just how many ways I can use the word cunt in a proper sentence. For the record, I just found about 50 ways to use it. I can tell you one thing for sure, if you yell at me for no fucking reason and speak to me like I’m your goddamn child, then I have no choice but to use a few choice words about you. Thankfully though, I’ve learned to curb this behavior and keep it to myself and two other interested parties. But if you cannot be mature and learn to wipe your own ass and get your facts straight, who’s to say that I need to do so in return?
You know, hypothetically speaking.
Now, I shall heed the words of the esteemed General and get over it.

Just Breathe

I have no confidence in myself to do anything. I second guess myself 14 times a day, which has turned me into a neurotic superfreak (not of the Rick James persuasion, thank you very much), who tears up at the slightest hint of responsibility. I feel like I shouldn’t be left to be responsible for anything and like there should always be someone to look over my shoulder, making sure I get my shit done. While I am growing out of this – albeit, slowly – I still feel that it’s not ok to say, leave me alone in the office for an entire morning. Are you fucking crazy? I will fuck up. I can’t be left alone. There needs to be someone in charge. That’s what Neurotic Freak HB (NFHB) says. Rational HB (RHB) says, ‘dumbass. It’s not fucking brain surgery.’ And really it isn’t. It’s just me being psychotic. I mean, people leave me alone with their precious two month olds but I can’t answer a fucking phone and solve a minor problem?? Are you kidding me? Needless to say, I need to calm the fuck down and realize that if I can’t answer the phone then I shouldn’t be here. And if I can’t do basic things, and have no confidence in myself to be left alone for four hours, then I’m sure my boss will think the same and I will be homeless. Let me tell you, while McDonald’s does give their employees benefits; I wouldn’t look too good in the uniform; and where the hell would I find a coach bag to match the outfit?

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Make the bad thoughts go away...

Have I mentioned that I have a deep rooted fear that if I talk about something I really want, then I'm always freaked out that I won't get it? Por ejemplo (it sounds cooler than 'for example') last year when I found out the possibility of me working on the campaign. I told no one and subsequently spent 24 hours peeing on myself and thinking of the possibilities. I would have cried if I hadn't gotten that job. Though because I told NO ONE about it, I got it. See how it works? But right now what I really want more than anything is something that I cannot. CANNOT. have right now. Therefore, if I write about it and say it out loud then I obviously won't get it. I'll cry, but I'll still be gainfully employed and not forced to go through a rigorous application process. Here's my secret...

More than anything in the world right now, more than finding a boyfriend, getting ass, a new vaio for christmas, a raise...I want to do Teach for America and then get my Master's in education policy.

There, I said it. You can all laugh and make fun of me now and wonder what the fuck I'd do with that, but I have my reasons. None of which I want to get into right now, but there you have it. I'm a do-gooder who is obsessed with the state of public education and how mind-blowingly unfair it can be.

Umm, ok, that's all. Back to your regularly scheduled stories about me being a bitch. To be fair though, if you're a bitch to me, I'll be a bitch back. Smooches.

p.s. this might be my last post for awhile, as I attempt to get over the fact that I just said that outloud for the 'world' to see and read and make fun of me about. shit.

A Note

Actually three notes:

I.

Dear College,

I miss you. We had so much fun together. Come back to me and we can rekindle our lost romance. And I promise that this time around, I'll go to class and not lie to my professors, oh, and not cry to get a better grade, oh and one more thing, I'll figure out how to properly do a production possibilities frontier without cheating.

Love,
Heather B.

II.

Dear Woman Outside of the Supreme Court with the "God hates America" sign,

I'm sure you felt really good about yourself after screaming "God hates fags" at me, while I was minding my own business on my walk to work this morning. I'm sure you felt really happy and like you had made a significant difference in this world. You should also feel really happy that I didn't turn around and kick you and/or punch you in the face. Because a) you ruined my commute and b) God "hating" fags is news to me. And while we're at it, you should be lucky I didn't call you a stupid cunt, while walking past you, but only because I'm sure God hates potty mouths.
Next time, take that stick out your ass and do something with that frizzy shit you call hair on the top of your head. And aviators are so last season and tie dye hasn't been in since 1965.

Love,
Heather B.

III.

Dear Chubby girl with the new copper tones in her hair who didn't run this morning, because "oh. my. god. snow" eventhough you're from upstate NY,

Umm blueberry muffins and diet coke does not make a lunch and don't go thinking that the diet coke will negate the calories from the blueberry muffin. It doesn't.
Also, please don't let your flamingly liberal ideas on education get to your head subsequently putting thoughts of completely changing your life into your head. Just don't. Oh and stop thinking about spending more time and money at Lush
don't color your hair
don't get another tattoo
and do something about your cuticles.
Other than that I love you and you're perfect.

Love,
Heather B.

Monday, December 05, 2005

Stuck in a rut? A what? A rut.*

"Patience: A minor form of despair disguised as a virtue. " ~Ambrose Bierce

** “We missed wine night last night. What time do you have to babysit tonight?”

“5:30. But wine hour goes from 5-6”

“Well, we’ll be done shopping by 4:30 you can come right in and go to wine hour at 5”

“And then drive and babysit??”

“Well yeah”
____________________________________________________________________

Even though this is solely for my purposes, to amuse myself and as a way to make me write, I still feel like I need to be a people pleaser and write something profound (read: shit) for people to read and comment on. Though today I have nothing. I’m tired. I’ve done a lot this morning (run, shower, walk to work, coffee-that’s a lot before 9am) and this week I’m “flying solo”. My buffers – the people I rely on during the day, to keep me sane and remind me how luck I am – are both on tropical getaways. One of which, being a coworker, means that I get to do her job. I had to try not to throw up on the way to work this morning due to nervousness and had to continually remind myself that there are thousands that would love to be in my shoes (yeah, I’m the shit. Whatever.).
My weekend was also uneventful, my mom and babysitting and that about covers it.
Jesus Christ, I’m even bored writing this (and really fucking tired too). Now that I’ve bored you all as well-not my intentions, but inevitable-I do sincerely apologize.
I wonder if I’m the only one though. Who gets bored with their life and sick of waiting for things (good or bad) to happen; I’m in a rut.
I shall pose this question to you: do you get bored with your life? What do you do to cure the boredom?
Discuss.

*ok, there's this stupid thing, that goes "do you wanna buy a duck, a what? a duck", stuck in my head, hence the title. Make fun if you'd like. I understand.
**a convo with the madre.

Friday, December 02, 2005

BAWF: V*

"Oh, wouldn't the world seem dull and flat with nothing whatever to grumble at? " ~W.S. Gilbert

*That’s a roman numeral, not the letter V, just go with it.

This week’s reasons for why bitches are whack, is brought to you by the letter ‘T’-for therapy. I fear that I need to make a pit stop to the ol’ therapist at some point soon. There’s so much swimming in my head about life, and what I’m doing, and why I can’t ever just be happy when things are actually ‘ok’. But it never happens. Normally I’d say (ok, Lizzie said) "it’s the thought that counts", but it just isn’t working for me this time. It just happens I guess, when you get to a point where everything is fine, but you feel like you might possibly implode. I’m sick of feeling like there’s something more that I could be doing, and maybe I should just get off my ass and do it. All talk and no action (take that as you may), makes HB a miserable girl. There is comfort though, in knowing that instead of letting myself succumb completely to my depression that I’m heading it off at the pass. Let’s just say that the first time I realized I was depressed after years of repression, I ended up harming myself and being so fucking miserable that I couldn’t stand it. I was left with permanent scars to remind myself every fucking day just how awful it was, therefore I refuse to go back to that. Anyway, let’s not talk about depression anymore.

Yesterday, after the diamonds and platinum moment I thought about how awesome it would be to become affianced. You know the ring and I kind of have a thing for diamond and platinum. And then the more I thought about it the more I was like fuck that, I just want the ring not to be with someone for the rest of my life. Like a permanent roommate. For. Ev. Er. (I’m 22, I’m allowed to have these feelings) So after some thought, I realized that the whole getting a ring thing, just made me really want to get a manicure.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Affected and Affianced

It had been planned to do a recap* about the consumption of five glasses of wine and subsequently telling RC that I was happy that she was happy about 45 times. And maybe something in there about meeting Sharkbait and Subgirl and that I spent 20 minutes talking EJs ear off about how normal Stephanie Klein is. There were even plans for a later post about the foul mood I’ve been in since 6:15 AM, which subsequently lead me to go on a “run” (albeit a hungover one) to the office because I thought I forgot something.

Yes, there are good intentions.

Until real life kicks in and kicks the foul mood right out of you. Real life when you’re so fucking happy for someone that you yourself can’t even enjoy your Cosi bagel. So I’ll leave you with that brief recap of last night, and sit here and smile and enjoy another happy day. All I can say that it’s nice to have someone to live vicariously through. Even if it is something I’m not sure I would ever want for myself I can still be really happy, and scream things like ‘holy motherfucker’ in the office.

Addendum: it's been really hard to get any work done today. Like any. Especially with all this platinum and diamonds flying around. I'm lucky my retinas are still intact, because seriously. Though once again, intentions people, I thought hard about being productive, but that hasn't come to pass.

*you can read about it here or here
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