I never get in trouble. Ever. For anything. I was that kid in school who went 13 years without detention and who teachers would point to as an example of how the bad kids should be behaving.
I’m a sycophant. People hate me.
It wasn’t like a lot of trouble, but my boss got really annoyed with me and raised her voice and then abruptly hung up the phone. And I just sat there kind of looking at the receiver for a full five minutes thinking “Did I just get in trouble?!” And feeling a little like I could cry.
Nice girls don’t get the corner office. But I did.
I have this really bad habit of shutting down in situations where I think people are mad at me. I usually do the tough kid thing pretty well, but there’s something about feeling like I’ve messed up that really gets to me. It’s all in my DISC profile.
So, I’m going to blog now instead of doing what I should be doing. I know this doesn’t make logical sense. I’m seeing a therapist.
I got a sort of weird amount of feedback from people with questions about my hair – What color is it? Can I see a picture? Etc.
You guys are creepy. Would you also like me to send you locks of it? Send me your address: firstname.lastname@example.org
Since I’m at least mostly anonymous still, I didn’t want to post a picture of me. However, the first picture above is of Katie McGrath. That’s the picture I took my stylist when I said I wanted to make the switch.
Katie McGrath is my girl crush (sorry Isla Fisher. I’m fickle.) I’m hooked on Merlin and I honestly think it’s because I’m in love with Morgana. And they manage to work a scene into every episode where she’s tossing and turning in bed with that amazing hair all tussled … getting carried away and making myself and you uncomfortable. Apologies.
Although I was going for the “Katie” everyone so far has told me what I got was the “Katy.” As in Katy Perry. I Kissed A Girl. This blog has heavy lesbian themes. Again, apologies??
My hair is short and I have the whole bangs things happening, so they’re probably right. I’m working on it.
I’m taking the photo of Katie with an “ie” back to the stylist in a few weeks when I ask her to give me really good sex hair for a photo shoot I’m doing in a few weeks. It’s one more thing on the list of things I wanted to do during my 30th year on the planet: take sexy, pin-up-y photos. Check.
I’m a little nervous about it. Most of my girl friends in Phoenix are actresses and models and really comfortable in front of a camera. I’m just not.
I’ve taken film acting classes where I had to be on screen, I’ve been in a movie, I was in journalism where I had to be on camera from time to time. For Pete’s sake I even dated a photojournalist for five years who insisted on taking my picture all of the time – like when I was sleeping or getting out of the shower or had taken a little too big of a bite of enchilada and couldn’t chew with my mouth closed. Still, don’t like it.
But a close girlfriend of mine has all of these great pictures of herself and looking at them one day I thought, I would like something like that of me before I get all old and gross. So, I’m doing it. Wish me luck.
And speaking of luck, looks like I will not be the next Food Network star, as I wrote to all of you about not too long ago. Frowns and dirt kicks. I’ll get ‘em next time. I may start making my own cooking videos and post them on You Tube and go viral and be really, really famous. Move over Barefoot Contessa.
Martini did convince me to make an audition tape for The Amazing Race. I have never seen an episode. AFTER we mailed off our tape she told me a little about what it is they do on The Race, so I’m kind of hoping that doesn’t work out for us. I think I’d be about as good on that show as I would be on So You Think You Can Dance. Keep you posted.
(P.S. where have all my commenter friends gone? I know you’re reading. I have Google Analytics!)
So a friend reminded me this morning that yesterday was supposed to be Limerick Wednesday, not Wine Wednesday. Tell that to the three empty bottles still sitting on my coffee table. Spanks.
Note to self: Learn moderation.
I blame fracking hot Phoenix for the headache, nausea and general malaise I am now experiencing. If it wasn’t so hot I wouldn’t be so thirsty. See? (On a side note, I’m trying to work the words “Good day” and “see” into my vocabulary more. As in “I said good day, sir. Good day.” and “That’s the problem, see?”)
If it helps I think I composed a limerick or two in between rounds of Rock Band with Martini and Favorite Poet and freaking myself out watching season two of Ghost Hunters and insisting to everyone that the ghosts were saying exactly what Grant and Jason said they were saying.
On another side note, we played Rock Band in our swimsuits (because we had been swimming, not just for the heck of it. Although … more bands should play in their swimsuits. Would be entertaining. And sometimes rather frightening. Metallica in swimsuits. Wrap your head around it.) and Martini somehow took a picture of my ass at some point. Receiving said picture in my inbox this morning has produced a renewed interest in The Shred, so brace yourself for the Jillian Michaels hate talk that will be coming soon.
I saw a hilarious video over at rs27’s blog this morning (which should be renamed YouTube’s greatest hits. Just sayin …) and I thought if you all haven’t seen MJ’s appearance in one of my favorite games, Space Channel 5, you really should.
Enjoy while I nurse my hangover and master the art of sleeping with my eyes open at my desk. Sorry this post makes no sense. At all. Not the first, won’t be the last. Good day.
I was telling some friends recently about my last trip to Minneapolis and how I visited not one, but two, strip clubs in four days.
“Our little SG in strip clubs! I thought you hated strip clubs!!”
Indeed, I have been hot and cold on The Club over the past years, but I actually have no problem with them. I find them to be funny and fascinating.
And seriously, if you could look me in the eye and tell me you don’t like boobs I would answer only “lying liar who lies!”
“Well, why the hell are you blogging about limerick’s when you should be writing about strippers then?!”
I used to go to strip clubs from time to time when I was in college, because people would give me fistfuls of money if I took my shirt off, which I thought was a pretty sweet deal.
Kidding. Or am I …
I had a friend who was a stripper (she was also from Scranton, PA, of The Office fame, which I think is a much more interesting detail) so sometimes we’d stop by once we were good and drunk. It reminded me of the Soprano’s in that the girls were kind of like pretty background for your conversation. And because the place was always full of overweight Mafiosos. Holla for Youngstown! Wesssside. Home of Jim Traficant.
It’s true I went through a serious anti-stripper phase, but this was completely justified. I had a BF who would actually go there BY HIMSELF on a very regular basis and lie to me and say he was working. Why lie? I didn’t have a problem with it until he started lying. Maybe he lied because before he dated me he dated a stripper and he went to the club where she worked while I was at home cooking dinner and watching Deadliest Catch.
I digress. The point is I had a very specific problem with strip clubs that disappeared when that hot mess was disposed of.
So, when VC mentioned there was a particularly gross strip club in Mpls where it would just happen to be amateur night when I was there, I was excited. This says something about me. I'm not sure what.
Whenever he would text in the weeks leading up to it I would tell him I was at the gym and he would say “WHY?!?” -- because we’re both sort of opposed to being sweaty -- and I would say “Got to get this bod in shape for Am Night.” Wherein he would inform me that I needed to develop a pretty serious crack habit to blend in to that scene.
I had no intention of being a participant.
Little did I know …
Let me say first, that SG started drinking – straight bourbon – at 4 p.m. that day. She had at least four, maybe five, shots with her friend Jim Beam as well as quite a few beers so that, by the time she arrived at this lovely lounge she was quite intoxicated.
At one point I got up to use the restroom meaning that I had to walk directly passed the stage – twice!
Now let me interject that this story is being relayed to you mostly through reconstruction by VC. I don’t particularly recall the details.
I do recall being absolutely transfixed by the ass of a stripper on my way back from the restroom. I felt like a lit little firefly and that girl’s backside was a bug light.
I’m kind of clumsy (if you read this blog, you know this) and I don’t really dance so much as jerk my body from side to side Elaine-style. But, that night I really wanted to learn how she made that booty bounce, and she was happy to show me.
I can only imagine what the sight was like. SG imploring the stripper to “Show me how you do that with your butt!” and her obliging. VC watching, I’m sure dismayed, at the spectacle I was making of myself.
After my lesson in the Tootsie Roll, I somehow made it back to my stool at the bar. Or kind of.
Why do they make chairs that drunk people sit in without backs? This makes no sense. Luckily, I had my new stripper friends who helped me by pushing me back onto my stool until, inevitably, I took my nightly spill.
“You’re ass touched the floor of the strip club!” VC said, with disgust, the next day.
He was equally horrified when I pull a pen that smelled like cherry-scented perfume and bubble gum emblazoned with the club’s name out of my purse. Ah … the smell of topless dancers.
There’s no lesson to be learned from this story. No life-changing insights. Except maybe that SG can make friends with anyone – be they the nun at my office or the stripper at Am Night – that I might consider drinking less in front of my new BF, and that Jim Beam makes me a hot emotional mess, but a much better dancer.
P.S. Tomorrow’s Wednesday. Just sayin’. We could take another stab at Limerick Wednesday. I feel it could go viral any day now …
My mother called me on Saturday afternoon – very concerned.
“SG, do you think you might be having a midlife crisis?” she asked me in that really careful, quiet mom voice she uses when she doesn’t want me to get mad at her.
First of all, I am nowhere near the middle of my life. I’m 30. Life is not half over at 30, people.
Second of all … it’s possible. I guess. But I would call it more of a “reinvention” or a “makeover” than a crisis.
Or better yet, a revision. Because, at the core, I’m still me. I’ve just made some sorely needed adjustments – both in appearance and attitude.
The issue that sparked the question was that on Saturday I decided to get as close to my natural hair color as I’ve been in about 10 years – which is dark brown, not light, golden blonde. The change was pretty dramatic.
It’s true, over the last year I’ve made a lot of changes in my life, but to me they’ve all been for the better. I left journalism after eight years, I moved into the city and into my own place, I cut some toxic people out of my life, I finally got the tattoo I’ve been wanting for years. I’m looking at the hair as one more, granted superficial, step toward where I’ve wanted to go for a long time.
I felt like I got really far away from myself for a couple of years. I think it was a combination of moving to the plastic, bleach blonde land of $30,000 millionaires, going through the Big C, experiencing the Worst Relationship Ever, changing careers. A year ago today I could tell you I was feeling really lost in the world. Maybe that’s when I had this so-called crisis my mom is so worried about.
But maybe “getting away from myself” is the wrong way to think about it. Maybe we all need to go through these phases of change in order to grow? Wow. Too deep and pompous for a Monday. Forget I said that.
Right now, I feel really good about me, for realz. My life feels stable. I have hobbies that I enjoy. I have friends I love. I’m in fairly good shape. I have a new BF (although writing that just now made me realize it's not all that new anymore) who, I can honestly say, is the first guy I’ve dated in a while that makes me feel pretty darn good. And I look the way I want to look, not the way I think other people want me to look.
There is my little drinking problem, but …
I think there are more changes on the horizon.
I’ve been talking about moving a lot, and I think this is what really has my mom on edge. But I really only came to Phoenix for her and I’ve never really liked it here. It’s hot as Satan’s butthole and it’s boring (sorry Phoenixphiles) and far away from everybody but my mom and the friends I’ve made since moving here (and they are amazing friends.) It’s time for a geographic change. I didn’t get the nickname “urban gypsy” by staying put this long.
And I’ve been thinking long and hard about going back to school to get into a field that suits me better than what I do now.
And there’s that second tattoo …
A lot of people I know are on the brink of turning the big 3-0 and are dreading it. For me, I think it’s been a catalyst for ending my passive approach to life and finally doing what I want to be doing.
A co-worker told me this morning that my new hair makes me look more mischievous. That is perfect. I think the revised SG plans to get herself into a lot more trouble.
P.S. There was very low participation in Limerick Wednesday, which was a bummer, but I know, it was a lot to ask. Since only two of the four participants have blogs, and since they happen to be two of my favorites, I will be posting them in a loverly widget on my page for awhile. Thanks rs27 and Kellie!
I’m kind of sick of all the Wordless Wednesdays (although not Kellie’s Not So Wordless Wednesday), Music Mondays, etc. They’re getting boring to me.
Limericks are funny. And dirty. I’ve had nasty limericks I learned from the kids I hung out with when I lived for a brief while in Ireland way too many years ago stuck in my head for a few days.
It’s because I got turned on to the show Home Movies by VC while in Mpls this past weekend and there’s an episode where Coach McGuirk talks about writing one and it just cracked me up.
Anyways, I’m a bit moody and in need of cheering up, so entertain me with limericks people! I’m turning this space over to you! I made a lame stab at one below. Maybe I’ll try again later after I’m inspired by all your creativity and filthy hilariousness.
I’d make it a contest, but I don’t know what the winner would get. I’m terrible at contests. Just ask Bow Chica Bow Wow. She still hasn’t received her follower prize (Sorry! I’m the pits.)
Maybe the winner gets to have their limerick and blogsite in a special widget all their own on my page for a whiles. I know how GLAMOROUS! You know how bad you want it.
So here goes. Don’t be slackers people, I’m expecting this to be a sensation (that’s what she said):
SG is not a fan of Hump Day And thinks it’s a misnomer anyway She’s not getting any Cuz her BF’s in Minne She’s crabby and done with this workday
This weekend I slipped and fell at the pool. Maybe two (or five) SoCo Lime shots and two amazing keg stands had something to do with it. (And, for the record, at the ripe old age of 30, and the whopping weight of about 105 pounds, I outlasted everyone at the party. And … that’s probably not something I should be bragging about.)
But I maintain I would have fallen regardless. It was wet and slippery. That’s what she said.
Anyway, I have a rather large and unattractive abrasion/bruise the shape of the great state of Ohio on my bottom and it’s not going away anytime soon.
I also hit my head. I’m not exactly sure how that one happened. But, I have an egg on the side of my head, and I’m pretty sure I had a mild concussion most of Sunday because I spent the day talking to myself and drifting in and out of sleep where I dreamt about birthing teeth. I wish I were kidding.
Also, I went to the hairstylist on Saturday and she burned my forehead a wee bit while straightening my new thick bangs.
Yesterday I was walking Little B through the grassy area in front of my apartment and it felt like something bit my leg. I looked down and saw that my feet and ankles were covered in tiny ants that were gnawing on me like I gnaw on cheddar when I’m working on my night cheese.
I had to soak my feet in camomile lotion last night, but they’re still covered in weird red bumps. And now they smell funny and have a weird pink tinge.
So, basically, I’m a hot mess.
I see VC on Thursday for the first time in a month. (For those of you who have been e-mailing me for a status report while I take long breaks from blogging – yes things are still really awesome there.) I’m not exactly thrilled about the fact that I look like I’m returning from war (Love is a battlefield. What?)
My sister-in-law says maybe I should wear a helmet when I go out. Martini has maintained that protective gear should be involved whenever I drink – elbow pads, knee pads, the whole deal. I mentioned ice skating to her the other day and she said “No, no, no. You + ice skating = trip to the ER.” Fo sho.
I don’t know how many of you read Chelsea Talks Smack, but if you don’t, you really should. She wrote this great post last week about all our little insecurities and how they can just crash down upon you when you really like someone and you’re trying to put your best foot forward. It’s so true. I’ve been so embarrassed all week that I look like I participated in an Ultimate Fighting Championship match this weekend. I’ve been cursing myself for being such a klutz. But the truth is, clumsy is just part of who I am. I’ve always been clumsy and I always will be (and I have something of a Jim Beam problem …)
Did I tell you all how I pulled a muscle in my foot playing Rock Band and the doc told me I should “wear sneakers for now on”? I can’t help it – a girl has to bounce while she’s shredding to Aqualung.
Yesterday, a really dumb thing happened and I made a huge deal out of it even though it really wasn’t. It had to do with day-long harassment and a suicide threat via Crackhead Ex who has specifically been told about a half a dozen times to not bother me anymore --and a misdirected text response to his ludicrousness. I made that word up.
I seriously let it upset me WAY more than it should have. I was completely neurotic about it for about an hour.
A particularly loony friend of mine (I mean “loony” with much love) said to me today “SG, we just have a little crazy in us. Some people bottle it all up inside and then it just bursts and people say ‘Wow, that chick is crazy!’ We let ours trickle out and then move on.”
I think that’s probably true. Yes, I’m a little clumsy. Yes, I’m a little crazy. But I’m lots and lots of good things. And I am who I am.
What little neurosis do you all wish you could hide away from people? What do you do when the crazy trickles out at the least opportune moments?
P.S. VC suggested that since I’ve been sucking at keeping up with posting lately maybe I should just post my Rock Band scores of the day. I think there’s something to that. So, for the record, I scored 111,800- and something playing Everlong last night and I was pretty proud. And I finally got through Carry On on “hard.” And, I’m a dork
I know I haven’t written in awhile. I guess I had/have writer’s block. Or an extreme case of the lazys. Or a sense that I’d rather not have certain people who I now know are reading this know certain things I want to write about.
Also, like it always manages to do, work has sucked some of my will to live. I’ve been put in charge of all of the “emerging media” at my office – Twitter accounts, web content management, Facebook, blog. Sounds fun, but it just means that when it comes time to post something on a personal account I’m all crabby and tired of it. It’s like I always say, they don’t call it funning. It’s work.
I actually have a file on my desktop labeled “More notes for a blog post you are obviously never going to write.” That’s because I’ve started to write at least a half a dozen times and then completely nixed the idea.
Anyhow, two things inspired me to write today – one super fun and one super sad. I need your help with both.
Let’s start with the fun.
I am hosting a spectacular 4th of July extravaganza this weekend. There will be pools and food. I will show off my Rock Band skills by playing Lazy Eye on “hard” over and over again until people really hate me. And of course, there will be copious amounts of booze.
I’m making something called tequila-soaked watermelon, which is like a classed-up version of when you used to take the absolute cheapest vodka you could get someone to buy for you when you were a teenager and then cut a hole in the watermelon and pour it all in there white trash style and eat it until you were all drunk and kind of sick.
With this recipe you actually soak wedges of watermelon in tequila and triple sec, squeeze lime over it, sprinkle it with salt and enjoy. And people hate Martha Stewart … you should be thanking her.
I told my friends about this plan and they were, of course, overcome with excitement. But they also kind of laughed and said something to the effect of “Ideas like this are why you’re always drunk, SG!” And then Martini had the stroke of genius:
“We should start a blog that’s like This is Why You’re Fat only it’s This is Why You’re Always Drunk!” (BT dubs, if you haven’t read TIWYF, you are in for a disgusting treat.)
So we need ideas. Send them along. What are the things you put alcohol in? Like how I put Bailey’s (or straight whisky, whatever) in my morning coffee for a year in order to deal with the world’s craziest boss. Or how Martini makes dinner better by making “Bloody Mary Salad.” Get creative people. I think we are really on to something here.
And now, my rant. Have you all seen the commercials for the Fox show “More to Love”???
From the first moment I saw this, I was irritated. It seemed very exploitative. But then I thought, maybe I shouldn’t be so steamed. Maybe I can’t understand the dating issues of overweight people and should shut up about it.
Then I got a very upsetting e-mail from my bestie last night. She and I have been friends since we met in the summer between fifth and sixth grade when we were in Summer Stock together (I played Rapunzel and I brought down the house. Holla!) She’s the most beautiful person I know. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body and has always gone out of her way to be generous and loving to everyone she meets.
She’s also always been overweight. In her e-mail she explained to me how lonely she is feeling and how sad she is that all of her friends are embarking on new and exciting relationships.
“I just don't feel like watching people be couples while feeling like I'm never going to be,” she wrote.
This is what she had to say about the new show: It's the bachelor but for "real women". What they mean is overweight. And the bachelor isn't some hot rich guy like he is on the regular bachelor. Because fat women can only get fat men. That's the way the world works.
It made me think a lot about dating and how do we couple. How we find someone that has all those qualities that are important to us and that is also attractive to us (and we attractive to them.) It’s a miracle, really, when you think about it.
She’s thinking about trying Match or something like that and I think she could really use some words of advice. But ya’ll know how annoying advice like this is coming from a person who is happily in a new relationship. You just really want to smack them around a little. I’ve been there. So, to all my single ladies, what do you think? Any words to live by?
Please and thank you.
And please drink responsibly this weekend! And if you don’t, please send pictures of your debauchery.
I’m off to soak my melons. Missed you all! I promise not to go away for so long again.
There once was a girl who lived in Minne She drank too much and scraped her knee Her husband said she shouldn't drink It made her want to drown him in a sink Instead she decided to have another beer -- by Kellie at Beauty is in the Eye of the Beer Holder