Life in the Middle Lane

I know I publicly said I wasn’t doing that stupid chain letter. But today, I was in the pool and I was thinking about all the things I think about when I’m by myself and realized that I need to be a part of this pop culture phenomenon that is the “25 random things” but I have to do them Monica-style.

I had five called “Reasons why I’m better that you” but I deleted them.

Here is the final list, by catergory

Personality things

1. I HATE being by myself

2. But I sometimes feel alone in rooms full of people

3.  I sometimes say things I don’t mean just to see how others will react

4. I’m an attention whore, but I’m really shy around new people

5. Sometimes I believe that I’m living someone else’s life

6. I’ve been dreaming of my tattoo since I was 10 years old, but only recently got it.

Sexuality things

1. I love being naked

2. I wish I were way more scandalous than I am

3. I find older women very attractive

4. I’m a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen. I prefer to call everyone honey, baby, sweetness, or some other southern foolishness

5. I am very attracted to the way people smell. And I will sniff you if I want to.

6. I get crushes on people EVERY DAY

Spiritual things

1. I don’t believe in coincidences. Signs are everywhere

2. I believe prayer works

3. I believe in soulmates. Not in the sense that we are each assigned 1. I believe I have a whole gang of people that I’m supposed to spend my life with, and I believe that there are a few who I have spend a few lives getting to know.

4. I am a Sagittarius sun sign and a Leo rising, and I embody almost every stereotype of each.

5. I have problems with faith, yet I love and study religions whenever I can and I can quote the Bible on command

6. I grew up in a very religious, conservative home, and I am surprised that I’ve turned out the way I have.

Relationships

1. I prayed for friends and God put me in MPA school

2. I am EXTREMELY close to my siblings, and I miss them every day that we are apart

3. I miss my childhood best friend a lot, and I am saddened that it is only because of stupid divisive religious beliefs that we aren’t friends anymore

4. I prefer animals to people, and I prefer babies to adults

5. It has only been recently that I realized that I could love someone else as strongly as I love my family

Miscellaneous

1. I met and hung out with a girl twice and she had a profound effect on the trajectory of my life, but if I passed her in the street, I wouldn’t be able to identify her and I don’t remember her name

2. I believe that we all have gifts and it is out purpose in life to share those gifts with others

3. I think I would be a beautiful pregnant woman and I have offered my womb and eggs to friends who fear that they won’t be able to conceive

4. I almost went to Cornell for undergrad and would have majored in Hospitality Management.  I still want to own my own restaurant

5. I’m not an athlete at all, but I like to be active.  I’ve taken (and loved) jujitsu and muy thai kickboxing, I used to teach aerobics (Step, Kickboxing, and Core), I’ve tried to be a runner, and I’m currently tackling swimming

6. My dad used to call me the absent minded professor when I was a child. The moniker still applies.

I swam 75 meters on Tuesday.  To all my swimmer friends, I know this isn’t a lot.

In fact it’s only three-fourths of a lap.  And I didn’t swim it all at once. I’d get 25 meters out in the pool and get water up my nose and have to stop. And what I do in the pool, of course, isn’t Michael Phelps quality swimming. This is doggy paddling, at best.

Yet I am EMENSELY proud of myself.  You see, two weeks ago I couldn’t even kick the length of the pool with a kickboard without stopping to make sure I hadn’t drowned. And I couldn’t kick straight to save my life.

By the end of my first lesson I could swim for about 15seconds before I freaked out.

Now I’m big time.

And I’m telling everyone I know.  And usually once people get over their shock and awe that at 27 I’m learning how to swim, everyone asks me what it’s like to be in the water.

And almost without fail my answer is that I’m still learning to move with the water and stop fighting against it.

I’m jealous that I’m splashing around uncontrollably, looking like a crazy person and all the cool swimmers are cutting gracefully and easily through the water.  Apparently, it is possible to go with the flow.

But for a self-proclaimed control freak like me, going with the flow is f-ing hard.

In the water and out.

Water doesn’t do what I say. I can’t control the water; it doesn’t bend to my will.  And neither does life.

While I do have some control over my life (supposedly), I can’t stop life from happening any more than I can stop water from going up my nose.

On Tuesday as I was walking away from the pool, I started thinking about other ways that swimming (or learning to swim) is like life.

Here are 7 things that I have learned about life while I’ve been half-drowning in the pool.

1. Fear keeps you from dying but you can’t let it stop you from diving. I haven’t actually dived into the pool, but every time my swim teacher tells me to glide through the water without the safety of a noodle a part of me freaks out. I start breathing funny and my heart speeds up. I have to calm myself down before I can even start swimming.  I may not ever be 100% comfortable in the water, but I’m not going to let that stop me from doing what I want to do.

In life, I may find myself in uncomfortable, awkward or scary situations but I can’t let my fear stop me from doing what I need to do to be successful or happy.

2. Don’t be afraid to use the wall. In the pool, my swim teacher tells me to kick off the wall to give myself some momentum before I start kicking. Pushing off the wall gives you some power to move through the water faster. I don’t necessarily HAVE to push off the wall start swimming, but when I do, I move farther faster.

This reminds me of the importance of networking.  As I look for a post-graduation job, I tell everyone where I’m looking and what I’m looking for. Everyone I know knows someone else who could hook me up with the right person to get me a job. I could find a job without my network, but if I use my network, I’ll have a leg up on finding the right position for me.

3. Don’t mind the other swimmers. There are only 6 or 8 lanes at the pool at school. In order to accommodate all the swimmers, we have to circle swim.  To circle swim, you swim on the right side of the lane and swim counter-clockwise around the lane. The times that I have had to circle swim, I’ve had to share a lane with 2-3 other people. And as a newbie, I’m slow. Really slow. With circle swimming, if a swimmer is slow, it’s ok to pass on the left (like on the interstate).  I get passed often.  And I have to remember that I’m new at swimming and I’m not perfect. And more importantly, I may NEVER be a perfect swimmer. And I’m ok with that (usually).

I have to do the best I can in all my endeavors, and on some days my best may not be that great. At any rate, I HAVE to cut myself some slack. I’m not perfect, none of us are. Those brilliant swimmers in the pool may not be great at something that I kick ass in. So it’s ok that they swim circles around me, I just have to keep kicking, and doing MY best.

4. Keep Kicking. In the pool, I push off the wall with one foot and propel myself through the water. Soon, if I don’t do anything, I’ll start to go underwater, and that is bad.  So it only took me sinking a couple of times to figure out that if I wanted NOT to sink, I needed to kick. And as long as I keep kicking I’ll keep moving and I won’t drown. And not drowning is the goal.

The same is true in life. Standing still makes you stagnant and doesn’t get you anywhere. As Dorie told us in Finding Nemo, “Just keep swimming” If you keep moving you’ll get to where you need to go.

5. Shit happens. I get water up my nose. I get cramps in my legs. I fall off my noodle. I haven’t mastered the breast stroke kick and move backward instead of forward (it’s very complicated). I sink (often). And whenever these horrible things happen to me, I clear my ears and nose, catch my balance, breathe and try it again.

Bad stuff happens sometimes. No need to ponder it, no need to overanalyze it. The best thing to do is figure out how to make sure it doesn’t happen a second time, try it again and do it better the next time.

6. Swimming is hard. Swimming is hard because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but it is also hard because it takes your entire body to do it. Your legs are kicking, your arms are paddling, your core is holding you up, and you’re trying to breathe and not die.  Swimming is serious work!

Life can be hard too. We pour ourselves into our work, our relationships, and our families and sometimes it seems that we are barely making it. Sometimes we fall behind or are unable to keep our heads up.  But at the end of the day, when we think about what we’ve accomplished, (hopefully) it’s all worth it. Just like when I look back at the wall from 25 meters out and see how far I went all by myself, I can’t help but clap for myself and scream yay!

7. Swim teachers are the best. I’m scared to go doggy paddling alone. Most of the stuff that I do with my teacher; I would be crazy to do by myself. I allow myself to take more risks (and do things like launch myself through the water) because I trust the person who’s out there with me. She’s always close. And during those times when she makes me do something really scary, like float on my back, she reminds me that she’s right there. So I relax a little and I float! And she’s really great at telling me what an awesome job I’m doing.

Friends and loved ones rock. You can lean on them when you’re not strong. They’ll help you carry on. I live my life easier knowing that if I’m having a problem, am hungry, need someone to make me laugh or to help me carry a humongous TV into my  house, or if I just need someone to remind me of how awesome I am, I have a whole host of people to call and lean on.

On December 13, 1981 a star was born.

That was real dramatic wasn’t it?  But it’s true. On that date, around 7 pm, according to my mama, a new (or fairly new) person entered this world.  I say fairly new because I’m not convinced that reincarnation isn’t real. I mean, how else to you explain deja vu or how some things (and some people) almost immediately feel like home? It’s because we’ve been here before and we’ve been sent back here to get things right this time (or just do a better job, at least).

What does it mean, to get things right? To me, it means fulfilling a purpose.  I’ve been thinking a lot about my purpose this week, partially because most days don’t go by without me thinking about what the hell I’m supposed to be doing. But it has been more heavily on my mind this week. And I’m blaming my mother for this too. (Most things are her fault, anyway, right?)

She says to me (on my birthday), “You are special. You have always been special. You have a calling on your life. I don’t know if you are supposed to preach (her wish for me) or if you are supposed to help people in some other way, but your life has a purpose, you have a mission.”

After I picked my damn mouth up off the floor, I stuttered my agreed. Yes, I said, I’m supposed to help people, and I went on to ask, “And since you are prophesying-why don’t you just tell me HOW I’m supposed to help people, I know the WHAT (sort of) but I’m stuck on the HOW.”

Of course, she didn’t have that answer. And yes, my mother is, like, crazy ya-ya spiritual. I just go with it; there is NO WAY to explain it. So when she starts telling me a dream that she had about me (that mirrored something that actually happened in my life) or when she says I’m “called” to do something, I take that sh*t seriously. She’s just that connected to whatever higher power is pulling the strings (or she’s crazy).

Either way, She’s right. I’m here on purpose. My birth was no accident. I have something to do that no one else could do. Now, if someone could just TELL MY WHAT MY PURPOSE IS!!!!!!!

Well, I’ve decided that 27 is a good enough age to figure that sh*t out. And it’s time for me to embrace whatever the hell I’m supposed to be.

I’m excited about being 27. Isn’t 27 the BEST age? It’s not like 24 where you are still too young, in most cases, to be taken seriously, or like 35 when you are too old to “drop it like it’s hot” or some other thing that 30+ people don’t do.

But at 27 I’m old enough to prove that I’ve been around the block and I know what the hell I’m talking about, but I’m still young enough to get a tattoo without having folks roll their eyes.

So I’m excited about 2009 and I’m looking forward to all that I will accomplish during my 27^th year!

I’m going to go ahead, letting the Universe know that I’m expecting this year to be moniceriffic (or monicalicious, or monicawesome (either will do).

I watched In Her Shoes on Sunday, and I, cold hearted snake that I am, was congratulating myself for staying emotionally unattached. I mean, it is a movie and all. What’s there to get worked up about?

Then Cameron Diaz’s character reads her sister this poem at the end…. and I damn near burst into tears. This is a great poem.

Enjoy

-M-

i carry your heart with me
by e. e. cummings

i carry your heart with me

(i carry it in my heart)

i am never without it

(anywhere i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear no fate

(for you are my fate, my sweet)

i want no world

(for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart

(i carry it in my heart)

I heard that Wednesday is Day without a Gay Day, where gay people are supposed to call out of work to show the straight people what it would be like without gay people. Unfortunately (or whatever) I am an hourly employee, and I do not have the option of righteous indignation. A day without work, for me, equals a day without pay. And it’s the holiday season so I gotta buy gifts and my bills still come whether gay people have equal rights or not. So instead of calling out of work, I’m writing a blog about gay stuff. That’s just my contribution.

In addition to telling everyone I know about Day without a Gay day, I decided to also tell some gay stuff about myself.  Wanna hear it? Here it go.

1. I’m not one of those man-hating dykes.  I actually really love men. Some of my favorite people are men.  I find them attractive and wonderful.  Some of them even smell good. Some are even super awesome kissers. And in my book, being a good kisser and smelling good are good ways to end up with a Monica attached.  Unfortunately (or whatever) the thought of actually having sex with a man makes me throw up a little in my mouth. No, not really. In all honesty, it makes me feel like this: ____________________________________________________________________________________

And that is not the way I’m supposed to feel about having sex.

2. I think there is a gayness scale. And EVERYONE, even ugly ass Laura Bush falls somewhere on the gay scale.  As one of my lesbian friends tells it, everyone has a little homo inside. She actually said something dirtier, but I’m not printing it in this blog, lol.

On my gay scale, 1 equals not so gay and 10 equals super duper gay. I think I fall around a 7-8 on most days.  This makes me pretty freaking gay, as the gf often tells me.  The gf also says many gay people who have been gay for a long time aren’t as gay as I am.  I take that as a compliment.

3. My mother told me today that one of my cousins said I had gay tendencies. Hilarity (and slight confusion). What’s even funnier is that this is a cousin that I see, tops, 3 times a year, and one of the last times I saw her, I was engaged. To a man.

So my mom was telling my cousin about my ‘friend’ and it slipped that this was no ordinary girlfriend. To which my cousin replied, I’m not surprised, Monica does seem to have gay tendencies.”

What the f*ck does that mean? I mean, gay people don’t always think I’m gay. In gay clubs, I’m the chick that looks like the straight chick that’s just there to support her gay friends. And none of the lesbians talk to me. Which is tragic, because I like to be hit on.

But really,  I shouldn’t be surprised. When I came out to my friends, for the most part, they all said some form of, Well duh, nitwit, we were just waiting for you to figure it out.

Argh! I wish my asshole friends had let me in on the secret, or set me up with a pretty girl or SOMETHING! Damn them.

4. I’m pretty out to my friends; they know me better that I know myself anyway.  I came out to a select few of my classmates, although I think most of them had figured it out, ’cause you can’t refer to a person as a) A significant other or 2) They, them or other non-gendered pronouns without the Master’s kids figuring out that something is up. But when we were thinking of renting a 6 bedroom house together I figured I should tell them that I’m sleeping with a woman before we signed the lease paperwork (I wanted to give them one last out before they’d be stuck with me).

I’m not out to my co-workers, not because I think they’d stone me, but because I’m really confused about how the whole, “Hi everyone, I’m gay” conversation actually comes up.  I mean, if the gf is ever in town when I have a work thing, I would definitely bring her and introduce her as my girlfriend, just like I did over the summer on my internship. (I still don’t think most of my summer co-workers got it, even though L tried to make it as obvious as possible.)

5.  I don’t really think gay people should get married.  But not because they are gay.  I don’t think anyone should get married. I think getting married is stupid.  What’s the point really, when you can get divorced for $300?  However, I do think that EVERYONE should have the right to do the same thing, so if straight people can get married (and divorced) at the drop of a dime, why the hell can’t everyone else?  Especially since I fully believe that 2/3 of the straight people could happily be in homosexual relationships.

6. Love, Actually is my FAVORITE holiday movie, and I think someone should buy it for me.  I’m adding it to my Amazon wish list. Look up my Amazon wish list using my email, which is here.

Happy Hump Day!!!!!!!  Hug a Gay person

I like to surround myself with creative people.

In the past, I would have said that I like to surround myself with creative people because I don’t have a creative bone in my body.

I now know that this is not true. I do stuff.

However, while I accept my creativity, I have to keep it real. My creativity manifests mostly in my thought process, rather than in a physical form. I still can’t draw worth a damn. My paintings are all rather abstract (even when I don’t want them to be). My short stories have minimal plot (they are more like scenes than stories). And while my poems are the bomb (if I do say so myself), they are few and far between. And it has been far, far too long since I wrote anythng worth showing folks.

And that is why I’m hating on poets.

On Monday, I went to a spoken word thing.  I call it a “thing” because it wasn’t a slam or a competition, so I don’t know how to catergorize it. And for you local Triangle peeps, come bless the mic and tell me when so I can come clap for you. (Its every Monday night)

So.

This poetry thing was in Chapel Hill and was a very different experience from the Atlanta and Durham poetry things that I have gone to in the past.

Let me explain.

My Atlanta experience with poetry things has been really gay. Mostly women speaking on how much they love women and all the reasons why they love women and all the ways they love women.

And in Durham, the poetry things are rather militant and political. They talk about revolutions, and overthrowing the government, and smoking weed and embracing diversity.

Monday, the poets were mostly college kids, idealistic, sugary. They lacked the life experience to really talk about anything that makes you wanna holla. Some of the “deepness” seemed forced or contrived. Their pieces didn’t evoke any lasting emotion. There were a couple of times that I may have even snickered and thought, What the hell are they talking about?

But even in the midst of that, there were flashes of brilliance. Some of those kids had skills. They had word play, they had depth, they made me think, they made me listen. They made me jealous.

They had the gift. They were real poets, speaking of experience beyond their time, making me feel some kinda way.

That’s why I hate on poets.

I’m jealous of the way poets see and are in tune with people, situations, circumstances, emotions. Poets tell us how we feel. They tell our stories. Its like they know us (all of us) And then they have the nerve to add rhyme? Yep, I’m hating. ‘Cause I’m jealous.

I remember (in my younger years) when I could sit down with a pen and a notepad and the words would just…flow. And I would surprise myself.

And Monday, as I listened to these kids, I was reminded of my younger self, with my half-boiled, just below the surface emotions that I carried on my sleeve, and I was sad for me.

Young Monica was a poet. She could take a situation, (even an ugly one) flip that ish and make her momma say, where you copy that from? (True story)

Now, I don’t even know what I do. I’m hard. Cynical. Blah. Sometimes I think I’m sleepwalking. And I’m definitely not writing any poetry.

I’ve lost something. I’v ignored my sensitivity. I’ve ignored my humanity. Not is the sense that I don’t care about the world, ’cause I do care. But I look at life at an arm’s length. I don’t let anything get too close.

And its hard to write about emotional sh!t when you keep your emotions all locked up.

Monday, I took notes at the poetry thing. When someone said something that spoke to me, I wrote it down. Don’t know what I’m going to do yet. But I’m going to do something. Dammit.

I couldn’t sleep Monday night. I tossed and turned and wrote poetry in my dreams. Then I got up Tuesday and I couldn’t remember any of it. I would have felt better had I just sat up and let my pen work. *sigh

I gotta strengthen my flabby poetic muscles.

I’m going to keep going to poetry things. I’m going to let the gf give me painting lessons (and writing exercises) and I’m going to shake the dust off my raw emotion and let it out. I’m going to take more opportunities to think poetically.

Because I’m sick of hating on the poets and their ability to twist vocabulary in a way that makes my soul ache.

Sh!t, I used to be able to do the same thing.

I have a fat roll. Yes, I admit it. I only have one fat roll, and it really isn’t a roll.  It’s really just a itty bit of fat around my tummy, definitely not enough to create a full fledged roll. 

My fat roll is one of the top three parts I hate most about my body. And you know what I’ve noticed?

No one else cares about my fat roll.

No, scratch that. They care, just not in the way that I care. I hate my fat roll. Everyone else, well…

If I dance with someone, you know what their hands do? They rub on my f-ing fat roll!

Not just resting their hand on it. I mean, like caressing the fat roll.

If I hug someone, you know where their hands go? Around my fat roll? Yeah. They keep their hand there, and sometimes they caress my fat roll, as well.

My friends and family love my softness (i.e. doughiness). A couple of my friends call me a pillow.

Why?

Because I am comfortable to lay on, to hug, to rub on, to generally be close to.

And you know what is a big part of that?  My fat roll.

I am so self-conscience about my f-ing fat roll that I sometimes have trouble concentrating when someone has their fingers all up on it.

Why, instinctively, is the whole wide world is drawn to my fat roll?!!?!?  Why do other people like it so much, and I HATE, HATE, HATE it.

I’m sure it says something profound about me and my self-image….

This year was the first time I have ever dressed up from Halloween.

Weeks ago my friends and I were talking about how we were going to dress for the occasion. I heard so many sexy this or sexy that– totally not my style.  And since I grew up on Franklin, I’ve been there, saw that in terms of all the skanky chicks. It’s a bit overdone and I’m definitely over it.

But all the sexy talk got me thinking…

How about I take advantage of all the sexiness of my friends and go as a pimp? It sounded like a good idea at the time. I got to be sexy in an understated way. I got to play with wigs. I was fully clothed, thus staying relatively warm.

Unfortunately my Halloween didn’t go as well as planned. Why? I was so hyped about putting together my costume, dressing up, and going out, that by party time I was so sleepy that me, my wig, and my pimp cane could have gone to bed.  And my party partners were also rather tuckered out.

But we persevered!   We didn’t all just call it a night and go to bed.

Was Halloween a success? I don’t know. I tried to force it.  I tried to be a good sport since I put so much effort into making an effort but -in the end – I had to force it. And I probably should have stayed home.

Especially since the police shut down the party as we were walking towards it. At f-ing 1am. Sometimes Chapel Hill sucks.

I cannot wait to live in a place that knows that it wants to be a city and not some pseudo-village bull shit. Most cities would love to have 30,000+ people downtown eating and drinking and celebrating the city.  Not Chapel Hill. It is actively discussing ways to ask all those dollar spending people to take their dollars somewhere else.

Dear Chapel Hill,

Thanks for ruining the last Halloween of my extended childhood. I hate you today.

Signed, Monica

I’m serious.  Several questions: Did weirdo aliens take over Raleigh? Have club behavioral norms changed? Am I just that dang sexy?

This weekend I when out with my girls on Friday and Saturday night.  It was the Shake Yo @ss weekend. The SYA weekend is something that goes down every few weeks.  I use it to make sure that:

1. I get some exercise in

2. I get to see my friends

3. I get to party like a rock star with my entourage

So, in celebration of the SYA weekend, I went to a First Friday International Dance party, ’cause I love brown people. It was an interesting mix of people. In Chapel Hill international must mean “being of latin american decent.”  With a few Asians and Morrocan people sprinkled in.  The party was fun.  Mostly.

Let me explain.

I object to the musical selections.

There was a tropical music room. (Love it.) There was a salsa music room.( Eh. All couple dances) There was a hip hop room. (Eh. Lame) There was something missing. Something Important.

They didn’t play any reggaeton! WTF? How you gonna throw a latin american party without reggaeton?  How do you play American rap (and bad rap, at that) and not play some hip hop that originated in spanish/hispanic/latin locations.  I mean, Reggaeton is in Spanish!  I was a little pissy about that omission.

On Saturday, I hung out in Raleigh because my girls and I wanted something more upscale and GROWN. It was off. It was sooo weird!

First, it must have been scanky stripperella night and no one told us. I saw too much unrequested ass.  I mean, women with their thongs out, with their booty cheeks getting cold in the air.  Basically looking a hot ass mess.

In one club I walked in the first thing I saw was a woman bend over backwards with her dress around her neck, and her forest green thong pressed into a man.  I remember thinking, where the hell am I? Did I wander into an alternative club? No one else in the club was dancing, they were too busy gawking.

And that was a lot of what was happening on Saturday, folks (myself included) gawking at women giving table dances/ peep shows to everyone in the club.  And I didn’t even GO to a strip club.

D*mn.  And the men have been worse than the women.

Something has been wrong with all the men that I’ve danced with all weekend.  I feel used.  I feel like a masterbatory tool.  None of the men all weekend wanted to dance, at least not in the sense that I ususally dance. They just wanted to use my body to help them get off.  And that is gross.  And sooo not my style.

With every guy I danced with all weekend, I had to run away, wipe myself off, and tell them I was too tired to dance because I was too embarassed to tell the truth.  I should have said, “I’m sorry, I can’t dance with you anymore.  I’m worried that I might get pregnant from the activities that your body is doing in proximity to my body. I must step away from you now. Goodbye.”  Ew. Gross.

I HATE being ground on.  That is not dancing! I am not into having love in the club.

And I blame women for letting men think it is ok to behave that way. Shame on you, bitches! I hate you.

What happened to all the normal people that usually populate Glenwood Ave clubs? I beg you, please come back, normal people!!!  The clubs were full of lames, weirdoes and ugly people.  I felt incredibly out of place.  Like all the cool people left me a voicemail that we were hanging out somewhere else, and I just forgot to check it. (next time guys, send me a text)

Lessons for everyone: Do not ruin Shake Yo @ss weekend for me ever again. Clubs, always play reggaeton. Men, no peni on me, ever. And women, keep your f-ing clothes on, unless you are getting paid to take them off.  Have some mystery about yourself, dammit. And if the Lame-os are taking over the clubs, someone tell me so I can stay home that weekend.

Happy Friday party peoples!!!!

I hope you are having a great day and are feeling and fresh and fancy as I am.  But if you are living in the path of an oncoming hurricane, I hope that you are hunkering down for the storm. And I do mean HUNKER down! Hurricanes (the storms) suck and Global Warming is real.  Just ask Al Gore.  He was talking about environmental stuff when I was in high school.  I remember reading a book that he wrote when I was in the ninth grade.  We had the choice to build a Earth Day bulletin board for the class or read this book.  ….

I chose to read the book.  LOL  And by the way, Hurricanes (the drink) are super yummy.

But I digress.  Today is wonderful beautiful day, and I made a life altering decision.

I cut off all my hair.  Oh, I don’t mean I got a hair cut and now its short.  I mean, I cut ALL my hair off.  It is right now, about a half an inch long. And thank goodness that I have a gorgeous face (not even kidding a little bit), because oftherwise, I would look like a sad pitiful mess.

I reach up to touch my hair and I am surprised by the air up there. When you don’t have any hair, there is nothing to hide behind.

All I am is face and face parts.  I have big lips, a big nose, a big forehead and prominent cheek bones.  And other than my glasses, you can see everything much clearer without all the hair distracting from my beauty.

I know I sound a little full of myself, but the Universe is egging me on.  No less than 8 people that I don’t know have stopped me in the street or in the stairwell to tell me how beautiful I am.  And my eyebrow waxer told me I had fierce eyebrows to match my fierce haircut.  And her co-worker told me I could model.  So, there.  I’m hot and they proved it.

Pictures will be posted soon!!!!