the paper doll

Car Talk

Dear Internet and people at Tire Kingdom,

Can you please tell me why the service guy found it necessary to not only adjust my seat position, but my seat back, my lumbar support,  AND my steering wheel height?  I mean really.  The man only had to drive it about 20 feet.  Was all that necessary?  Ok the seat position I'll give you.  I'm short other people have long legs.  But the rest.  No.  DO NOT TOUCH.

Also, I'm thinking it's not really a good idea to roll all the windows down and park it on the other side of the building near the dumpster.  I have CDs and a yoga mat in there.  And from what I understand my Mazda 3 does not come equipped with a force field so you know roll the windows up when you lock the car.  Otherwise, why lock it at all?  In fact, next time why don't you just roll the windows down, leave the door unlocked, and put a big sign on it that says steal me please.  Because really leaving the windows down?!?  I know it's hot and maybe you were just trying to look out for me, but that's why God invented air conditioning. 

And could you please change my little oil change sticker next time.  I asked for an oil change.  I paid for an oil change.  And the little sticker on the inside of my car says I'm still in need of that oil change.  How do I know my oil got changed if the little sticker didn't get changed?  How do I know, Internet?

Furthermore, how do I know Tire Kingdom did anything at all Internet?

I mean the whole seat adjustment, the lack of sticker change, the windows rolled down-they all point to a joy ride if you ask me.

-The Paper Doll sometimes wishes she could be a man for a day when dealing with crap like car stuff

My Cup Runneth Over

Dear Internet,

They just don't make formal dresses for girls with boobs.  Girls with lots and lots of boobs.

I'm going to the Inaugural Ball my state throws for the president.  A ball he'll be at along with lots of other "important" people.  I can not meet the president with my breasts pushed up to my chin.  There shall be no cleavage.  Not even a hint of cleavage.  This is a president ball people, not the cover of Maxim.

However, dress makers have seemed to forget that some people don't want to look like sluts.  Some people would like to look dignified and have their breasts in their dress covered up where they belong.

Seriously, Internet my choices were tiny triangle of a cup or matronly two piece sequin jacket with matching taffeta skirt.  Ick.

At one point The Musician had to come into the fitting room and help me zip up.  I pushed my boobs down and he yanked the zipper up.  The result was my boobs popped up and smothered me and I fell over and died in the dressing room.  This happened every time I tried on a dress in my size.

The effect when I tried on a dress that fit my boobs?  I looked like I was wearing my granny's muumuu. 

The ball is less than a week away and I still don't have anything to squeeze my big breasts into.  Short of any good ideas I'm using duct tape. 

-The Paper Doll is very voluptuous, apparently

This is more than a test

Dear Internet,

I'm applying for grad school.  I'm going to be a counselor when I grow up.  Focus on little kids.  Kids with illness or death in their family.  I really feel called to do this. 

It makes my heart extremely bursting open with joy happy when I think about it.

I'm just having such a hard time writing my letter of intent.  I hate things like that.  Bullshit jumping through hoops.  I just want to say this is what I am called to do now let me in damn it!

Arrrggghh.

The first draft I wrote is so boring and dull and lifeless.  It's also totally unconvincing.

How do you say you want to help people without saying you want to help people?

-The Paper Doll is waaaay over thinking this

This Will Only Hurt for a Second

So Internet it turns out I'm allergic to life.  Yes, life.  I have the welts on my back to prove it.

52 pricks and my back lit up like a Christmas tree.  The nurse was amazed.  Never seen anyone react so quickly.  They made me lie face down twice as long so the swelling would go down.  I got so red they couldn't tell what I was allergic to.  Had to inject me in the arm.  Little bubbles of allergen injected under the skin.

Dust mites, pets, cockroaches, trees, grasses, mold.  Life.

Worst reaction they've ever seen to dust mites.  Which are you know EVERYWHERE.  The carpet at work, air ducts, the bed I sleep in, the old house I live in.  I'm allergic to all of it.  Have to wash my sheets once a week in 130 degree water.  I'm talking down comforter too.  No stuffed animals.  No carpet.  No curtains.  Luckily, no vacuuming or dusting either.

I might as well live in a bubble. 

Which sounds surprisingly comforting after the week I've had.  It's not enough to be a human pin cushion I gotta have my heart riped out too.  But that's a story for a different day.

Right now The Paper Doll has to go scratch her back.

XO

Listography

Dear Internet,

God has it really been a month since I last wrote?  Jesus.  That's a long time.  So much has happened.  Uninteresting navel gazing type stuff.

I still haven't had sex.

I'm still on anti-depressants.

And I still am going to a therapist.

A therapist I love and adore and want to be bffs with.

I still haven't gone to yoga, or exercised, or really cleaned my house.

I still eat way too many french fries.

Occasionally I wallow.

I shave my legs more.

I cry sometimes but a lot less.

I don't write my mom any more even though I know I should.

I do find myself incredibly bored at work. 

But I've started some art projects so that's helped.

I miss the daily emails of my wonderful friend even though sometimes I feel too overwhelmed to write her.  Then I feel ashamed because I should write.

I found out I have a problem with shame.  Deep, dark, way down in there shame.

I haven't gotten rid of it yet, but I'm trying.

I have a time-line.  It says I'll be out of my job by next June.

That scares me.

So does possibly selling my house.  Even though I think I might need to.

The Musician and I worked it. 

Sometimes I still have doubts.

I dream about getting married almost every nite.

It usually ends in disaster.

I've been better about keeping in touch with my face to face friends.

I've neglected my Internet friends.

It's just sometimes sitting down to write you seems so overwhelming and hard I don't do it. 

I'm sorry for that.

I miss A and wish she would come back.  The house is lonely without her.

I have a do to list a mile long.  I'm trying to just "do one thing."

Some times that works.  Some times I can't even do one thing so I read.

I've read six books in the past month.

I still haven't read What Color is Your Parachute even though my therapist says I should.

I get nervous about what I'm going to tell her.

I'm glad it's almost fall.

XO,

The Paper Doll

The Crickets Sure Are Loud

So Internet,

About that cocktail.  I made it.  I took pictures of it.  I even typed up a blog post about it.  I just haven't gotten the pictures together with the post and AM LAZ-E.

Well not lazy so much as not really interested in the ole blog these days.  Maybe AM BOR-ING.

Maybe AM BOR-ING AND LAZ-E.

Really winning combination, eeh?  Sure to become Internet maven and Dooce's rival any day now.

I've just been distracted by other things.  LIKEOHMYGOD AM LEAVING FOR SCOTLAND IN 18 DAYS AND HAVE NOTHING TO WEAR.  AND SHIT FATHER'S DAY.  AND GAH A MOVED OUT NOW HAVE NO SOCIAL LIFE.  AND SHIT STUFF I WANTED TO PACK FOR SCOTLAND DOESN'T FIT.

AM FAT, BOR-ING, AND LAZ-E.

Need a cocktail.

Which brings us all back to the beginning.  Promise to have forever-ago's cocktail posted soon.  And will do research on the next cocktail tonite.

-The Paper Doll is one brick short of a load

Not What I Signed Up For

Dear Internet,

Why did you let me become so boring?  Seriously?  Is this really what being an adult is like? 

Wake up (late).  Shower (ok so this is a hit or miss, see late).  Drive to work (sorry Mother Earth, see late).  Work (surf internet).  Drive home (again sorry).  Wash clothes, go to the grocery store, wash dishes, clean (lie on couch, watch TV).  Cook dinner (order takeout).  Eat (sit in front of TV, shovel it in).  Sleep (curse the dog for having to go out at 4am).

There's nothing interesting about that.

Seriously, the most exciting part of my day was finding a new Thai place a mile from my house.  FINDING A THAI PLACE A MILE FROM MY HOUSE.  To further my eating takeout in front of the TV.

This is lame.

Lamer still is what I have planned for this evening.  Washing the bird shit off my car.  I'm giddy about this.  Positively giddy about bird shit, Internet.

What has happened to me?

I haven't worn an inappropriately revealing top and gotten drunk in ages.  The last time I went out I wore a short sleeved turtleneck from Anthropologie and flat shoes.  FLAT SHOES INTERNET.

Next thing you know I'll be wearing sweat pants and only drinking a glass of box wine on special occasions.  Special occasions like when Belk's has a sale or I get cast as the lead in the Lifetime made for TV movie special Old Crotchety Boring Women.

I guess it could be worse.  At least I've left my bathroom. 

-The Paper Doll no longer has anything to offer

   

Pretty Much Sums it Up

Dear Internet,

I have a wonderful friend whom I exchange daily emails with because I've yet to kidnap her and her husband and move them in next door to me. 

Here's what I sent to her today:

my god.  brain.  totally fried.

gah.

i got slapped with a huge work project yesterday.  one of those i need this by 5 pm.  so i spent my afternoon digging things up and putting things together and cursing.

stephen the musician took me out to happy hour to what?  i've been staring at this sentence for 5 minutes now.  he too me out to happy to...who knows?  we went to happy hour.

and now i'm cursing because.  beer.  too much.  beer.

uggh.

it's not that i drank all that much (i didn't i swear!) it's just we got home late.  and i'm the kind of girl who needs her sleep.  did i mention i had a hard time sleeping wednesday night too?  or that my dog is now insisting that i take her out at 4 am EVERY FREAKING MORNING.  and that i have PMS right now?

brain where did you go and will you please come back?

gah.

which reminds me i sooo haven't mailed your bd present yet.  imagine that.  but i will totally get on that this weekend.

which will be the only thing i get on.  because i am exhausted and glad to have one freaking weekend where i don't have diddly to do.  nada.  nothing. 

i'm reading.  eating.  SLEEPING.  and that's all for the love of god.

and hopefully menstruating so i can get it over with already (tmi?). 

is it just me or does a month go by too fast?  when will menopause get here already.  period-i'm so over you.

ok i must take my refried bean of a brain somewhere else.  this email just isn't going anywhere.

cannot string together anymore words.  hurts to think.  and you aren't even in the office anyway.  you're off having a way good time doing chic things. 

love you dearly,

(real name withheld)

-The Paper Dolls says you know you're scrapping the barrel when you use emails as blog posts

Old Dog

Dear Internet,

I'm sick of you.  I really am.

I'm tired of writing the same ole stuff over and over.  And worrying about what you think.  I want to just write.

To just type type type and not worry about anything.

To tell you the world really sucks and not fear people rolling their eyes.  I'm tired of trying to find the perfect words to say the perfect thing.

Blogging has become tedious.  Boring.  Painful.

I hate writing right now.

Everyday I come here three, four, dozens of times and I sit.  Just sit and wonder what insightful thing I have to say.

And it turns out-nothing.  I'm not insightful.  I have nothing to say.

Having a blog about my life is stupid.

My life is boring.

I go to work.  I come home from work.  I decide what's for dinner.  I go to the grocery store because I'm unorganized and shop for what I need the day I need it.  I then cook dinner.  Then I wash clothes and feed the dog.  And by that time I'm so uninspired by the mundane to dos I collapse on the couch and watch Dancing with the Stars.

Seriously, Dancing with the Stars?

How much more uninspired and boring can you get?

Washed up celebrities doing the fox trot in various sequined tragedies.

Dr. Quinn Medicine woman?

Kelly Taylor?

These people may be more uninspired and boring than I am.

You know you're washed up when you get the phone call from Dancing with the Stars.

I'm just waiting for my phone to ring because right now I'm as washed up as they are.

-The Paper Dolls has no new tricks

Wrong Side of the Bed

Dear Internet,

I took two Benadryl last night because my allergies were kicking my ass.  Now today I'm all hung over and exhausted.  I was so out of it I slept right through my alarm and now sit here unshowered with my hair in a ponytail.

The Musician and I got in a fight this morning about sex, of all things.  And when I got to my office I had eaten my last pack of oatmeal yesterday.

And I get cranky when I haven't had anything to eat.

I know I should write.

I have about three posts in drafts, but nothing seems to be going right today.

I want to get back in bed and start over.

Or just get out of here.

Someone please buy me this book because I'm sick of looking at a blank page and having nothing to say.

-The Paper Doll wants to just call it quits

possible side effects may include nausea and vomiting

dear internet,

i need to throw up on you a little bit.  ok, actually a lot.

i hate my life.

and yes i'm on my period.  and no it doesn't make my navel gazing any less real.  any less traumatic for me.

i still hate my life.

fat thighs, clothes that don't fit, house in shambles, dressing up and playing office everyday.

this isn't me.

the real me.

i was reading an article by new york magazine a couple weeks ago and i knew exactly what the man in the story was talking about.  it just happened.  one day he woke up and he had kids and this upper west side life but on the sly he was answering ads for men seeking men.

i'm not comparing my life to a closeted gay man's but nothing has resonated with me so much as-it just happened.

where was i when i applied to colleges?  where was i when i chose my major?  where was i when i got this job?  bought this house?  picked out these clothes?

yoga teaches you to be present and aware.  i'm aware that this sucks.  wherever i was and whatever i was doing all these years hath lead me down a path i don't want to be on anymore.

my life's not bad.  i have many things to be thankful for.

but it could be soo much better if i was doing what makes my heart happy.

-the paper doll needs a change

be back later

dear internet,

i think i might have to break up with my boyfriend, i've gained twenty pounds, and my dog tried to eat a used condom yesterday when i took her for a walk.

i really have nothing of substance to add.

it's been a shitty day.  a shitty week.  a shitty past couple of years really.

and i gotta a lot i need to figure out.

i'll see you around.

-the paper doll doesn't even know where to begin

not so wintery mix

dear internet,

could you look away for a moment because really this next paragraph is for myself.  thanks i'll just be a minute.

oh my god what happened?  you met a man and BAM! no more yoga.  BAM! no more healthy eating.  BAM!  BAM!  BAM!  and not in the emeril lagasse spicing things up BAM, but the bam your thighs are rubbing together BAM.

get back on track!

alright you can look now.

as usual the GED educated weathermen have erred again.

no snow.  no ice.  no disaster.

just grocery stores who no longer have bread or milk and tons of irate parents who have nothing to do with their kids who've been pardoned from school today.

i, on the other hand, got no such pardons and cursed the sky when i woke up to find everything under a wet glaze instead of knee deep in ice.

it's january people.  i want to wear my fur coat (vintage ok), and gloves, and scarf.  i want my skin to crack and my lips to peel.  i want to be pissed off i'm running late for work because i had to scrap my window clean.

but more than anything i want to wear sweaters to hide my holiday girth.

-the paper doll is praying for snow

this is the stress that lay in the house that jack built

hey internet,

ole buddy.  ole pal.  how ya doing? 

ok really i don't care i just wanted you to ask me how i'm doing so then i could whine and bitch and moan to you. 

but first things first-have you ever noticed that the older women get the shorter their hair gets?  i mean really what's up with that?  no one looks good with a cotton ball perched on top of their head.  pretty women.  women much to young to have the poof have the poof.  could you just go ask jeeves or something because really i don't understand, and i'm sure he must know.

and while we're talking about hair.  why does such a thing exist?  i mean really?  kinda freaks me out.  but then again up until i was in about the 10th grade i thought mine was going to rot and fall off because it wasn't black.  that's right internet the paper doll is a genuine redhead.  just ask her betty.  and ps-do you know any woman who would advertise that her betty was ready?  because clearly i'm not running in the right circles and i'd like to meet the women who have bigger more colorful balls ovaries than i do.

aside from these things i've been pondering ways to actually crawl under a rock and die.  and internet i've discovered that really there's no way for that to ever occur.  unless someone pushed a large boulder down a hill and you happened to be in its path you just aren't going to die by rock.  well unless someone threw them at you, but semantically that doesn't add up. 

gah work.  and family.  and stress.  and my neck is so tight i can barely turn my head.

yak.

i haven't been making the time for myself that i need and as a result i'm eating like a pig (hello emotional eater) and the fat is beginning to suffocate my brain so that i no longer think rationally.  the musician is getting on my nerves.  i want to skin my dog alive, quit my job, and go get under that rock.

hormones.  gah.

getting what you want.  gah.

i mean all these months i bitch about being alone and getting eating by my pet cats (that i don't even have) when i die.  then i get a man and am all stressed out because we are attached at the hip and are totally in love and blah.  freaking blah blah. 

women are so lame.

i'm going to go get a glass bottle of wine and a bath.

-the paper doll is off her rocker

the perks of being a woman

it's the same every month.  my period pulls into the station and my brain gets on destined for some tropical vacation leaving me with muck and cloudiness.

i become convinced that since walter is not going to call me back, and in fact has no desire to talk to me at all, and is probably already married to someone else that i might as well throw in the towel because clearly there are no other men on earth and i'll never date again.  thus, dooming me to become fat, lonely, and a fashion victim who wears nothing but faded red sweat pants and eats tubs of ready made icing.

i'm also convinced i weigh 400 pounds.  that i'm not witty or smart or clever.  that my skin hates me, i have nothing to wear, and for the love of god could everyone stop talking about me because the world is totally out to get me i just know it.

i also find commercials irritating.  especially ones that say things like we put flavor in taste. WTF? 

and food is entirely unappetizing unless of course it's large quantities of something that will either directly give me a heart attack (french fries) or cause my thighs to expand to such a girth walking is nearly impossible because of the amount of static electricity given off by their rubbing together (dark chocolate).

in short i'm moody, crabby, and things like wife swap make me cry.

if there's such a thing called vagina eyes then i, internet, have vagina brain.

if i'm absent this week now you know why.

-the paper doll doesn't have to be perfect and you can't make her

glory days

yes, internet, it's true.  i live in a college town.  THE college town.  the state supported public university college town. 

25,000+ minions running loose from august to june.

in years past i haven't noticed their descent upon us like the plagues on egypt because, well let's face it, i was one of the many blights.  but now that i have my diploma in a gilded frame i can fully see the great vengeance and furious anger they incur. 

let me just count the many ways...

first, bitches be gettin in my way.  hordes of them.  in cars daddy paid for with greek letters obscuring their blind spots and exhausts eating holes through the ozone.  since the descent, i've counted four wrecks on my way to and from work and they haven't even been here a week.  their extra traffic adds 20 minutes to my 3 mile comute.

and parking spaces.  the city only has about 26 spaces for the whole metropolitan area i'd like to be able to use one when i go out for a drink or to see an indie film.

and that little man stuck to the side of the stop light pole?  he's there for a reason.  and i don't mean so you can have something to hold on to while you're puking. 

driving your car around down town has become like that scene from war of the worlds except i don't have a screaming dakota fanning in the back seat and i'm not afraid to run them over with my car.  especially those wearing high heels and pearls to attend class.  natural selection, it works in mysterious ways.

but what i really hate is having the so you go to college here conversation.  it normally goes something like this...

hey.

hey.  so you go to college here?

umm.  no.  i've actually been out for almost two years.

(shock) oh.  how old are you?

umm 23. (what the hell does this have to do with anything?)

oh, so you're in grad school here. (proud they figured it out) 

umm no.  (annoyed)

oh. (horror and distain because i'm not a student)

and while i've noticed most people seem suddenly interested in my schooling it's especially men in bars internet.  packed bars.  packed bars that have made picking up girls like shooting fish in a barrel.

drunk college girl is the new black and if you aren't wearing it the men will be on their way.

mainly i'm most irritated by the college foul because they remind me of everything i'm not and all that i wish i hadn't been.

-the paper doll is surprisingly sober

zen and the art of saying no

for three years i had no social life. 

walter and i-we were an old married couple (figuratively speaking of course).  and we had no money.  and we liked to have sex a lot.  so we didn't leave the house much.  hell i thought a social life meant opening a bottle of wine and watching the dog whisperer while curled up on the couch with him.

three years of this internet.  three years i spent my saturday, and friday, and thursday, and hell the whole week really, like this.

granted i saved a lot of money and learned how to stop a dog from swallowing a beach towel. 

but seriously my stamina-zapped from lack of use.  and now i find myself propping my eyelids open with 12 cups of coffee, a coke, and frequent trips down the hall.  because if i sit still long enough my body will think it an opportunity to turn itself off.

total combined hours of sleep so far this week-10.

ten hours internet.  i need nine in just one night.  today is wednesday.  and all i've got is 10 total.

how do you people do this?

straight from work to yoga, then home to throw some food at the dog (if miss stella jane the pup were an actual human child dss would have taken her in to protective custody long ago), a quick wardrobe change then dinner with the poet, then drinks with alana, then cram shopping with rae in there, and a movie with the writer and friends, and hanging out with the cyclist, and calling my dad, and going by to pick up my framing, and dry cleaning, and grocery shopping, and birth control.

and my god at least i'm not dating yet because people are gonna have to start taking numbers.

i'm dashing around like a mad woman double booking friends never considering the power i have to utter one small word-no.  no i'm too tired or stressed or need a night to collect myself.  no i cannot will not.  no.  i'm staying in.

having to pick favorites has never been my forte.  i know what i like but don't ask me to choose because one day i might love avocadoes and the next bananas and who wants to make some sweeping generalization that rules the other out because they are both fine candidates and damn it why can't i just pick both.  i'm picking both.

as you can see i'm having a little trouble rationing my time (that fruit thing-was suppose to be a metaphor for time and friends-i know i'm sorry).  and since we have yet to invent holograms or beam me up scottie i gotta start using that little word, because how on earth am i to see that al gore movie, while doing down dog, and sipping vodka tonics.

why can't you people be total losers who i only hang out with so i can get free beer because you're the only one who's 21 and you'll totally do what i say because you like have a huge crush on me (not that i did that one time in college or anything-i'm just saying).

i'm also just saying no.  right now.  i'm saying it NO.  NO.  NO.  do you hear me internet? 

i'm picking.

because if i don't my arms are going to fall off and my brain's going to start oozing through my ears and there will nothing left to give you when i do find the time.

-the paper doll est tres tres fatigue

less than gold star student

life has been pretty dull this short week.

today marks day three in my take yoga everyday for a month goal.

and let me tell you about the pain internet.

the aching, oh my god, i'm so out of shape pain.

and the pain of a bruised ego (which hurts even worse than my aching hamstrings i might add).

i've been taking yoga off and on for about three years.  my schedule (and budget) up until now only allowed me one sunday night class (which sometimes got bumped in favor of a weekend get away or two or just staying in on my couch for the simpsons-i do admit).

but walter and i made a faithful effort to attend every week.  and it reminded me how much i love the sport.

so i set myself up for pain and torture by thinking my body capable of bending six nights a week.

i also assumed that the level 1 class my teacher recommend-so i don't totally piss off my body-would be a breeze.

well it ain't so.  it turns out that if you walk into class spouting off some nonsense about how you've been taking yoga for awhile and are trying to take a class everyday and oh look at me with my mat at the front of the room and pants that cost as much as a dinner in a five star restaurant.  you will suck internet.

the teacher will have to correct your lunges and will call you by the wrong name and will give you that eye that says-honey you sure bout all that.

and the other students they will mock your shaky tree pose.

and you will sulk out of the class totally embarrassed about your lack of stellar performance.

because me-i have to be the best girl in the room.  the teacher's pet.  the envied student.  perfect and correct and the favorite.

and when told my stance wasn't wide enough on a basic foundation pose i must hang my head in shame because that's a 99 when i should have gotten a 100.

the irony of it all is that i go to yoga to escape all that.  because there's no room for egos and petty desires.  yoga's about stripping away those things and embracing your inner goodness.

about finding your roots and blossoming into your full potential-no critics.

but i guess some human nature is hard to transcend no matter how many different ways you tie yourself up in a knot.

-the paper doll wants some bengay and a nap

deflated

i'm exhausted internet.

i need a vacation from vacation.

since the purchase of my house i've only actually been in the damn thing one full weekend.  one weekend.  and that doesn't even count because there were other people there and there was painting and boxes and no refrigerator. 

this house i'll be paying for for the next 30 years feels like a place i'm squatting or like i'm goldie hawn in that movie (oh what's it called)-houseSitter-that's it.  you know except for the wife pretending and the man thing.  and the fact that it's MY house.

my house who needs her grass cut and floors swept and for the love of god not to see my family again for a long time.

see internet you thought this was about my house didn't you-i did too.

but no-it's really about the birth of our country and how years ago those patriots cursed us.  forcing me to celebrate with fireworks and no air conditioning.

why didn't we like the british again?  because seriously sitting in the middle of no where with 9 adults and 5 screaming children does not make me patriotic.  it makes me want to hop the first steam ship out of this joint and make a new life across the ocean.

a life where i can sip cocktails free from bugs and sunburn and screaming kids.  where the bad tv pours forth like manna from the heavens.  where my cell phone rings and it rains down alcohol.

isn't that what our country's birth is about?  didn't the edict of yesteryear read-from hence forth thou shall celebrate your freedom by partaking of the strong drink and setting things on fire.

but no.  apparently some members of my southern family didn't get that hand quilled memo.  and for us our country's birth is about-not getting voted of the island, or sacrificing the first born, or going all lord of flies on everyone's ass.

because we do not celebrate with strong drink.  we hole up in a cabin 20 miles from civilization.  we use solo cups that have been washed year after year.  we take pleasure in surviving a weekend without air conditioning and a toilet that sometimes might work if you jiggle the handle and hold your mouth the right way.  we don't apply sun block or bug spray.  we don't sleep.  and our fuel is made from homemade ice cream and cakes decorated to look like american flags.  cheap plastic do dads bearing flags and stars and red, white, and blue become our currency.  and just before we regress to guttural shouts and walking on all fours we declare the weekend a success and follow the trail of streamers back to town.

so see internet-i need that vacation from vacation.

i need to bask in the hum of my air conditioning.  i need trashy tv and cheap wine.

i need the peace that can only come from within.  within my house that has a lock and sound proof windows and no family members within 100 miles.

it's the only way i can live long enough to do it all again next year.

-the paper doll says stick a fork in her she's done

i'm sorry it's been a slow day

dear universe,

could you just stop because you are beginning to freak me out.  seriously (all grey's anatomy style).

the uncannyness that has been happening around here is well-down right uncanny.

the comments and posting and the fortune cookie i got at lunch.  it's just too much internet.

i feel like donnie darko.  like a portal has somehow been opened up to me allowing time travel and secrets of the universe to be revealed. 

that and at any moment a jet engine is going to crash on my house and kill me dead.  or just crush my house.  or my house explode.  or a tree fall on it.  or little martians blast it with a ray gun.  but that's pretty much a feeling i carry around with me all the time since i signed my life away to a 30 year mortgage payment.

that time she sure is a mysterious thing.  it's been just shy of a month since the split with walter and yet it feels like hours ago.  i wonder what he's done with his month because i feel like time has yet again fallen through my grasp.

i always have these grand notions and good intentions then life happens and i'm sitting on my couch drinking a glass of wine watching the wb (i don't even have cable internet so it really is bad tv complete with guess what you're watching picture scrambling and a tendency to cut out just when rory and lorelai are about to claw the grandma's eyes out.  my version of an antenna-a bit of tin foil stuck to a hair clip, so i really have no one to blame).   

and while i know i get what i need when i need it and things happen for a reason and yada yada yada when is the universe going to zap me off my ass?  when is life going to be quiet enough for me to focus on what i really want to do?  or is this being a grown up?  buying the groceries and cooking and going to some miserable job then complaining about it all?  because i don't want to be this kind of grown up.

i want to finish my list of 100 things.  i want to write and paint and drink more water.  i want to lose weight and make new friends.  i want to fall in love again. 

but damn it sure is easier just to click on the remote and watch as the gilmore girls have the fun for you.

-the paper doll is in a hormonal slump

working girl

the mind numbing task of actual work has dammed up my creativity.

i can only muse about how-

a) my back.  OHMYGOD.  what man invented high heels?  and why dear lord do we have to wear them in order to look professional and polished?  can't a girl get a stylish flat up in here?  really there are some that cost just as much as these torture devices i have my little piggies stuffed into and they don't cause permanent barbie foot. 

b) and you, the man who invented high heels, i'm sure you're the same person that came up with the idea of wedging a string between my cheeks.  as much as i appreciate a panty line free rear what's the point?  as far as serving any sanitary purpose it's like using a handkerchief for an elephant's diaper.  and if cette string is wide enough to be of some function then the chafing and the improperly fitting straight down the middle.

c) i can now appreciate the hotter than hades change of life flashes my coworker gets because damn suits-they don't breathe.  and don't even think about taking your jacket off because of the pit stains.

d) if weren't for all this other stuff i got going on i'd bitch about bras too.  but that seemed a little overly feminist and really i got bigger pains than a few inches of underwire can deliver.

HELL internet.  i am living in middle aged workers hell and i'm only 22.  you would think my body would be resilient.  my feet like playdough and my sweat glands able to handle a little 70 degree winter weather.

but au contraire. 

*thank god we freed the slaves and integrated the schools because damn i need a day off.  bless you Dr. King.

-the paper doll is soaking her feet

*you know because of all the social injustice and moral horror of course.  pajamas and tv have NOTHING to do with it really.

like having wisdom teeth extracted

living up to the promise they made me when i was in high school my parents have FINALLY decided to buy me a car.

no easy task since this has been a sore subject in the (insert my last name here) household for eight years.  EIGHT YEARS PEOPLE.  and a conversation that most often always ends with me in tears and them screaming about how immature i am being which naturally only leads to more tears and more screaming about how immature i am.

my mother has the crushing ability to render me totally incompetent.  reducing me to a heaping sobbing mess. 

if it were ANYONE else i could stand my ground, form an intelligent reply, and win my case but SHE'S MY MOTHER.  this is complicated by the fact that all of this is transpiring in a hospital room tubes running out of every orifice of her body.  SHE WINS.  hulk hogan couldn't even wrestle with this woman and come out on top.  i stand NO chance.

i see no other option but to whimper, tuck my tail between my legs, and say yes the volvo station wagon sounds like a dream.  let me repeat that THE VOLVO STATION WAGON sounds like a dream.

for those of you who can not read between the lines-I AM NOT A VOLVO STATION WAGON-never have been never will be.  but i made the unfortunate mistake of desiring this car when i was 14.  when i wanted to be middle class and accepted and before i knew these cars were reserved for the soccer moms of america.

i'm more of a mini or an old pink cadillac.  something i'm not sure my parents have totally accepted yet.

the beginning of the end

now i know that ONE wedding and THREE engagements does make a pandemic not.  i am also aware that i am young-very very young.  and since i have plenty of lovely years ahead of me to whine and moan about how i'm single and no one loves me and all i have are cats why won't anyone marry me, i probably shouldn't begin the down ward spiral now. 

but i've never been a patient one.  so here goes, WHY THE HELL IS EVERYONE I KNOW GETTING MARRIED?

the first victim, whom i didn't/don't even really know was The Boyfriend's cousin.  a sweet wedding with an impressive open bar and a four star hotel to shack up in for the weekend free of charge.  no complaining about this one.  after all, she's a doctor-he's a doctor.  they met in college.  they've lived together for years.  this was predictable.  may they live happily ever after with their 401(k) blah blah blah.

the second case, however, gets a bit stickier because she's a friend.  the friend who we all thought would die of chlamydia before she got married.  and while i know cam liked being a girlfriend and performing domestic chores for her men, that was just the problem it was men not man.  although i'm happy for her, i can't help but to think that she's the first one to go down.  114 south waccamaw is breaking up (even though it's been two years since all the girls lived there).  keeping my fingers crossed for one smashing party this weekend as to disguise the fact that the reason we are all dressed up and drinking is out of celebration.  refuse to throw rice.  will sit with a martini and wear whorish dress.

trois, the sister of the previously mentioned Boyfriend's cousin.  she happily flipped her left hand out at lunch last sunday for all the world to see she was getting married for THE SECOND TIME.  trying hard not to be bitter because 1-her ring finger has three diamonds the size of  elephant turds on it and 2-this means that The Boyfriend and i can't get hitched for another year.  and yes i know i'm not ready to get married and we probably weren't going to anyway.  but she's taken the option away.  GET OFF THE MERRY GO ROUND and GIVE SOMEONE ELSE A TURN DAMN IT.

and the fourth-i don't even know what to say about this one besides- telling your best friend from paris that you have broken up with boyfriend, gotten back with high school sweetheart, have looked at engagement rings, and are planning on next november via email NOT A GOOD IDEA.

i hope you all burn in marriage hell.  that you develop a rash and your privates rot off. i'm so happy for all of you.  and can't wait to drink champagne and toast to the new lives you are creating.

meanwhile, i'll be content The Boyfriend and i pee with the door open and fart in front of each other, because that's the closet thing to marriage i've got.