Just FYI

I can be found at <a href="http://goingloopy.wordpress.com>this address</a>.  

Ahem.

Well, much as I have enjoyed my time here...it's time for me to go home. I'm moving back to this address.

Loopy's Soundtrack

A buddy did this a long time ago. I kind of started the project, and forgot about it, and came across my draft when I was looking for something on my computer. The idea? If your life were a movie, pick the soundtrack.

Opening Credits: Gorillaz - "Clint Eastwood"

Waking up: Concrete Blonde - "Everybody Knows"

Average Day: Matchbox 20 - "Unwell"

First Date: Pixies - "Here Comes Your Man"

Falling in Love: Norah Jones - "Come Away with Me"

Love Scene: Debussy - "Clair de Lune"

Sex Scene: Nine Inch Nails – "The Only Time"

Fight Scene: Violent Femmes - "Kiss Off"

Breaking Up: Indigo Girls - "Fill it up Again"

Together: Bic Runga - "Sway"

Wedding Scene: Sister Hazel - "All for You"

Secret Love: Morrissey - "The More You Ignore Me"

Life's Ok: Jack Johnson - "Never Know"

Mental Breakdown: REM - "Find the River"

Driving: Luna - "Moon Palace"

Learning a Lesson: Fiona Apple - "Never is a Promise"

Deep Thought: Dave Matthews Band - "Grey Street"

Flashback to Childhood: BJ Thomas - "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head"

Partying: Madonna - "Ray of Light"

Happy Dance: Sublime - "Santeria"

Regretting: Tracy Chapman - "At This Point in My Life"

Long Night Alone: Karla Bonoff - "Falling Star"

Death Scene: Melissa Etheridge - "Letting Go"

Closing Credits: Tori Amos - "Tear in Your Hand"

The Fact That I Was Doing Semi-Grown-Up Stuff Ten Years Ago Makes Me Feel Old.

Work is boring. Let’s do a survey…thanks to WCG .

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10 Years Ago:

I had just finished my junior year of college and broken up with GEB. That was also the summer that KT and I really became friends, and bonded extensively over many bowls and games of millipede.

5 Years Ago:

I was working at a small law firm, living in Norman, and I believe that’s about the time that my little Sissy came to live with me. I believe there was some fucked-up boy stuff going on, too.

1 Year Ago:

I was working at a job I loved, starting a blog, dating two guys, and in better shape than I’d ever been…which isn’t saying much.

Yesterday:

I went to the dermatologist because of a stupid rash/infection thing on my arm that’s been there for months. I went to my regular doctor, who just kinda looked at it and prescribed a week of antibiotics which did almost nothing. It’s not like it’s painful or anything, but it’s ugly. And no, I am not posting a picture. The dermatologist said it was folliculitis, and wants me to be on an antibiotic for the next two months. This is not your basic normal antibiotic, either. You can’t take it with calcium or iron (which basically means you can’t eat or take vitamins at the same time you take it), and it makes you extra-sensitive to the sun. Lovely. I already could be the poster child for skin-cancer risk. However, if it fixes the problem, I will stop bitching. That may take 3-4 weeks, according to the doctor.

Also yesterday, I indulged my newly-discovered craving for sushi. (Clarity, this is all your fault.) The SuperTarget near work has a most excellent deli…and one of the choices is sushi. They even have the sushi chefs there if you want something different. When I discovered that a big pile of California rolls has almost no Weight Watchers “points,” it was all over. What sucks is that I start my new job on September 6th, and there is not a SuperTarget anywhere near it, dammit.

Five Favorite Snacks:

String Cheese
Rosemary & Olive Oil Triscuits
Sun Chips
M&M’s
Microwave Popcorn

Five Songs I Know All the Words to:

(My own caveat: that are not by the Indigo Girls, Tori Amos, or REM)

Cyndi Lauper – “She Bop”
The Cure – “Just Like Heaven”
The Pixes – “Here Comes Your Man”
Joni Mitchell – “Big Yellow Taxi”
Counting Crows - “Round Here”

Five Things I Would Do with $100 Million:

Pay off all debt
Pay off friends’ debt
Buy a house
Travel
Set up a charitable foundation

Five Places to Which I Would Run Away:

Coast of Oregon
Amsterdam
Ireland
New York
Australia

Five Things I Would Never Wear:

Anything with a giant bow on the ass
Those “Croc” shoes (ugly. plastic.)
A uniform
Pantyhose with sandals
Low-rise jeans

Five Favorite TV Shows:

Dead Like Me
What Not to Wear
CSI: Wherever
South Park
The Biggest Loser

Five Biggest Joys:

Being right
My kitties
Music
Hanging with my girlfriends
Getting e-mails telling me I have blog comments

Five Favorite Toys:

B.O.B.
Computer
MP3 Player
Crayons
Handheld Yahtzee

Bathrooms and Brain Death

After reading about Andria and DK and their kitty bathroom issues, it reminded me of something.

Weight Watchers.

Bear with me here. Perhaps I should explain that, during my mysterious absence, I joined the old WW. I lost a little the first few weeks, then, due to stress, I started eating my weight in M&M’s regularly….so the scale was being an evil whore.

Anyway, I sucked it up and didn’t ditch the meeting last night. The scale wasn’t as mean as I thought she was going to be, but she certainly wasn’t very nice. For some reason, she seems to prefer salad and broiled chicken breasts to tortillas dipped in cheese sauce and chimichangas. I got there kind of early and got my weigh-in over with. Then, I sat and watched the rest of the group file in. Without exception, each and every person went to the bathroom before they got on the scale.

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I got a new job! I don’t have to be in this hell-hole any more after Monday! And, me being the devious sort, I told the new job I couldn’t start until after Labor Day. Loopy needs a vacation. Actually, what Loopy needs is to clean her nasty house and play some Chuzzle and go to the gym. Anyone want to guess which activity will likely win?

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Also, during that “missing in action” phase, I purchased the complete second season of Dead Like Me on DVD. For those of you who haven’t seen it, it’s a Showtime series. It’s completely the most fucked up thing ever. And I love it.

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This morning, my friend JS e-mailed. She’s currently on the quest to become a PA, and has been taking a variety of fun classes like Chemistry and Microbiology. This semester, she’s taking Physiology. They have to get on a website to do various things for class, and so the professor asked them to post a little description of themselves…just for “getting to know you” purposes. Here were some of the responses:

Hello everyone. My name is Heather. I graduated from Mustang High School. I am a 21 year-old transfer student and this is my first semester at OU, although I have ALWAYS wanted to go here. I am a pre-nursing student as of now, but I continuously change my major. I LOVE all sciences EXCEPT Chemistry. I also have two long-haired dachshunds named Zoe and Bella. They are adorable!

Hi guys. My name is Meggan Henry and I am from Binghamton, New York. I am a junior and my major is Health and Sport Science and Physical Therapy. I love OU and it is a great campus. My roomies and I just brought a house here in Norman. I love listening to punk music and i love to do just about anything from watching movies to clubbing to whatever. It is all about having fun!

well my name is whitney. im from good ol' Texas!!! but dont worry, im a sooner through and through and truely bleed crimson and cream...i came here simply because i love OU...im a science education major and also pre-dental. i hope to one day run my own ortho practice. until then i just study and hang with my two bestest friends. college life is great and i never want to leave.

Hey everyone! My name is Tiffany and i'm from OKC. My major is PT and I love it here at OU. And for a girl i'm a HUGE football fan. I was coming to all the games even before we were national champs. I work at Johnny Carinos on the southside. One crazy thing about me is I took every class this semester with my friend. How many people can do that with this enrollment process. Well hope its a great semester for all!!!

Welcome to OU Dr. Ketchum!! My name is Josh Davis and in the past two years I have discovered what a great place this is, and I hope that you will experience the same in your first semester at our great university! I'm looking forward to your class. You seem very upbeat and extremely interested in what you do, and that is a nice change from some professors. Anyways, I'm from Claremore, OK which is just northeast of Tulsa. I've lived there all my life and wouldn't change a thing! Three interesting facts about me.........hmmmm, lets see. I am extremely involved on campus; I am currently working on Homecoming 2005, The Big Event, and I was a Camp Crimson Counselor over the summer. I work in the Office of the Vice President for Student Affairs (V.P. Clarke Stroud) as a student clerk. And third, I am obsessed with the weather; I think its just from growing up in Oklahoma and always being outside, but I can't wait till spring co mes so I can go storm chasing! Anyways, I look forward to meeting you personaly in class, and I'm looking forward to a great semester!
-Josh Davis

Here was my suggestion for JS for what she should post:

Hi, I'm JS. I am originally from the depths of hell, but I list my official home as Texas. I hate OU (go Longhorns!!), but I'm stuck here for the time being. I have two cats and two children, both of whom share my love for satanic rituals. In my free time, I like to make voodoo dolls, research deadly poisons, and dance naked by the light of the moon.

Taking Nose-Picking to a Whole New Level

I sustained grievous injuries in my fall from the earth…

Okay, not really. I really don’t have a good excuse for not updating, other than my job situation. See, at the temp job of death, I was sharing an office with STASH and SACK. Therefore, any blogging activities were impossible, because they could both see what I was doing every second of every day. Now, we have moved offices, and I have my own office again. Praise be. Of course, I have had way too many projects. They know I’m going to leave as soon as I get another job, so they just keep dumping crap on my desk.

I have an interview for a job I really want this afternoon. Send good vibes. This place is wearing me down.

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So a couple of weeks ago, I went to get my nails done. While there, I overheard a conversation between two college-age chicks. One was reminiscing about the first time she ever had fake nails.

The substance of the conversation was not how they looked, or how weird it is to have them the first time.

Her observation: “It took nose-picking to a whole new level.”

---

Interviewing for jobs sucks. It particularly sucks when your temp job gives you the daily guilt trip about staying, and when those with whom you are interviewing make you come back three times and then tell you they hired someone else. To add insult to injury, the office administrator said something about “keeping my resume on file” for an upcoming position.

Bitch, please. Unless “on file” is a euphemism for “in the recycle bin,” don’t give me any of your crap. That’s worse than going on a date with someone, thinking it was good, having them make a big production of asking for and writing down the digits, and then never calling.

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In addition to hating my job duties, I loathe and despise Microsoft Office. Here is the e-mail I sent to BFRB yesterday afternoon:

TO: [BFRB]
FROM: [GoingLoopy]
SUBJECT: Arrrgh. I HATE MICROSOFT OFFICE.

Have you ever done a mail merge from Excel? If so, do you know why, for the love of all that is holy, every. single. (insert obscenity). time. you try to merge, and there's a zip + 4, Word turns it into a ZERO????

I have tried formatting the data (in Excel) as a zip code, as text, as "general", as numbers...doesn't matter. Word gets it, and it's a zero. Our IT guy can't fix it, either. Any ideas?

The (insert obscenity) is because her work e-mail server wants people to be all nice and polite and not use naughty language.

Fuck a bunch of that.

An Actual For Real Update....Sorta

Hi.

I have decided, like a number of my other buddies, to make this my primary blog address. This requires a lot of work on my part, but I am most tired of the Diaryland bullshit, and feel that this move will be best in the long run. So basically, I have to move my archives, find a template that doesn't suck, link to all my buddies both on and off Diaryland...sigh. Thinking about this makes me tired. Almost tired enough to just pay for the Diaryland Gold Membership again.

However, then I think about the stupid server crashes and all that other crap, and I become firm in my resolve.

I'll get right to fixing this. Just as soon as I play another game of Chuzzle.

Greetings, Salutations, and All That Shit.

Hi kids. This is not my real blog, but I'm a complete retard and all of that "FTP server" nonsense made me want to curl in a ball and cry. Therefore, I'll just, like, post a link, m'kay?

Click here for the real fun.

I discovered Blog Explosion, see. And a lot of the Blog Explosion-ers host here. I like to comment. I LOVE to comment. So therefore, I decided to set up a blogger account. And then, I figured, why not use this opportunity to slut around for more site traffic?

So, check it out...it's just your basic sarcastic rant about life, the universe, and everything. I occasionally get all sappy, sensitive, and contemplative, though. I try to mix it up, yo. Don't want to start being all predictable.

You can all comment to your heart's content on my other blog, too...you don't have to be a member of Diaryland.

WT at WM...In Other Words, Just Another Oklahoma Friday Night

Well, even after yesterday's excruciatingly painful gym experience, I trudged my happy ass back up there tonight. My Inner Lazy Bitch is at war with my Inner Competitive and Stubborn Bitch, and the stubborn bitch is ahead by a nose....tonight, FuckStick's plans included "back and bi's." Nope, I don't mean those who are sexually confused, I mean the REST of the muscles in your upper arm. They still don't hurt as much as the triceps do, but I'm sure that will all change tomorrow morning once the Icy Hot wears off.

So this evening, I had the ex-hot FuckStick mostly to myself. Of course, he was trying to be all cute and charming and shit, but I wasn't having any of that. He was just trying to DISTRACT me from the insane number of reps he expected me to do on the lat pulldown machine and the rowing machine. And more fucking ab crunches. If I don't look significantly more buff and cute at the end of this 8 weeks, I am so giving up and going on the chocolate cheesecake diet.

I did gain a little insight into FuckStick's character tonight, though. He's very competitive. He also happens to be the only trainer at the Y right now who has any sort of clue what he's doing. Basically, he has decided that our little group is winning this here showdown, and we will not be standing in the way of this happening.

Under ordinary circumstances, I would not mind this one bit, and I probably do need a sharp boot to the booty once in a while. Seriously, though, we are going to the Y, where everyone is a winner, and I'm sure that whatever happens at the end of this challenge, everyone will get some sort of stupid certificate about how they had the cutest workout clothes or something. Really, that philosophy is good for kids playing sports, but we're all grownups now and we should all know that someone has to win and someone has to lose...if I weren't so sick of all the election shit, I would make a crack about George Bush being the loser in that metaphor.

Blah, blah, blah. With all this talk about aches and pains and Icy Hot, I'm starting to sound like a freakin' senior citizen. Please stop me before I start talking about my colon.

So after the whole Total Y Experience, I have to go to Wal-Mart (WM from now on). You see, Loopy has been VERY VERY VERY poor for the last week. And Loopy was out of toilet paper and paper towels (which, in Loopy's house, count as dishes), and anything resembling edible food.

Before hitting WM, I stop to have some nachos at Taco Cabana. It's right next door to WM, and I've earned them for being in pain. Taco Cabana provided the first clue that perhaps this was not going to be the quiet "sneak in on Friday while people with lives are out having fun" excursion. The place was fucking packed. So I think, okay, it's not the best part of town, probably just the po' folks having a decent meal and shit. Then....I enter the Evil Empire.

First of all, the carts provide lots of slalom practice in the parking lot. After finally locating a parking space (and yes, my Inner Lazy Bitch won, and I drove around until I found a close one, thankyouverymuch), I mosey inside, and see....one retard trying to explain cart collection practices and procedures to another retard. By "retard," I do not mean someone who is just a person of average intelligence doing some stupid shit. I mean, the mentally challenged leading the mentally challenged. Had I not been so fucking worn out, I would have had to try MUCH harder not to laugh until the tears ran down my face. Yep, I feel them flames, Oh Lordy. What made it even more entertaining was that the one doing the explaining was a fat guy in an elf suit. I really wished BFRB could have been there, but she was eating dinner somewhere nice with her Republican relatives....the only person she could talk to without fear of being discovered was her 12-year-old cousin.

After taking my sweet time unsticking two carts, I fight the crowds to obtain the necessary items. However, tomorrow, OU is going to pound the shit out of the ‘Pokes (OSU)(and I should explain at this point that I really don't care that much about football, but the rest of this freaking state sure does), and plus, it's trick-or-treat night, and ain't nobody got no costumes. At least not in my town. Despite the serious feeling of claustrophobia which settles over me every time I'm in some crowded place (especially crowded places where I would rather not be), I did overhear some amusing things....

(Mustache-y short scrawny dude talking to slightly pudgy chick with a bad bleach job and their teenage offspring-gender undetermined): "Ah don't know why you always have to make some goddamn SCENE." Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

(African-American twenty-something talking on the phone in the meat department): "Girrrrrl, so should I make the ro-tel or just get some hot-dogs or something?"

(Hispanic family, several children under 7, oldest of said children talking on some pretend PA system which nonetheless certainly carried loudly into my auditory space): Gobbledy-Spanish-Gook. I think he was pretending to be something, but I don't know what.

Luckily, despite the overrunning of Wal-Mart with varieties of trash, especially White Trash (WT), they actually did have plenty of cashiers. Mine was even friendly and dressed up for Halloween. I don't think I was very nice, because by the time I fought all the screaming hordes, I could barely keep my eyes open, so we were at monosyllabic grunting communication. I felt kinda bad, because most of the time I try to be nice to the usually rude checkers.

Finally get home. But the Econo-Jug of cat litter is still in the car. My arms don't need to be lifting anything else tonight. GID is coming over tomorrow. I'll freaking make him carry it. For some reason, he likes doing macho shit for me. I think it's because I'm pretty much the independent type and won't let him. However, he can thank FuckStick. I only wish I'd left more stuff down there.

I Used to Think He Was Cute.

So last night, the Y finally decided to put us in a participating Total Body Challenge group, and actually set a meeting with a real trainer (and not the lifeguard pretending to be a trainer who only works in the mornings when our group is a night-people group). At first, I was excited. I was excited because we were finally feeling like we hadn't just donated $20 to the Y, and I was excited because our trainer is hot. (18, dark hair, buff as hell, pretty boy who makes you reconsider your stance on cradle-robbing hot.)

Well, now I don't think he's even cute any more. He sucks. He is one sadistic motherfucker.

Seriously. I have been working out regularly since March. I do lots of cardio, I lift weights 3 times a week, and I am not a wimp. At least I didn't think so until last night. BFRB has been working out since May, lifting weights A LOT. She thinks our trainer is a super-deluxe dick munch too, although she would still consider him as a dance partner for the horizontal mambo.

I don't think I have felt this incompetent (in a physical fitness sense) since 8th fucking grade. Last night we did "chest and tri's" (that would be triceps, those muscles on the underside of your upper arms, for those of you who are wise and don't make the mistake of going to the stupid gym.) I usually do 3 sets of 12-15 reps at 35-45 pounds on the tricep machine. I thought I was pretty okay there. Beep, wrong, thank you for playing. Our trainer, hereinafter referred to as "FuckStick", made us do that, plus some more free weight shit, plus some pull-up and push-up shit, plus chest presses, attempts at the bench press shit, and then, to top it all off, AB CRUNCH SHIT.

It's a damn good thing that typing doesn't require much arm movement, because I can't move the fuckers. If I lift them, they sort of flop uselessly at my sides (like that part in Harry Potter where the bones in his arm are removed).

Tonight, FuckStick expects us to do bicep curls. And lat pulldowns. And some more back exercises. As if.

Cast Page

A Cast Page, Instead of Any Thoughts. Because Right Now, My Only Thoughts are "FUCK My Head Hurts" and "HOW Long Is It Till 5 Again?"

Okay. Last week, I got all motivated and was writing my autobiography, and now I think my life is supremely boring and crushingly lame, so I have no desire to finish it. Either that, or I just want to continue denying that my adolescence existed. Anyway, since all I did was tell some stupid stories about when I was a kid, and really wasn't saying anything which made my current journal or diary or whatever word we're calling them this week any more meaningful and relevant. Ergo (and I love that word, by the way), I present to you….THE CAST OF CHARACTERS.

Me. GoingLoopy. 30. Female. Resident of OOOOOKLAHOMA where the wind comes sweeping down the plain. Nope, wasn't born here, nor am I sure I want to live here for very much longer. But right now, I have a job where I can basically slack a lot, so why fix it if it ain't broke? I have three cats, my parents, siblings, stepsiblings, and extended family all live in galaxies far, far away (actually, Houston, Seattle, and Flint, but it sounds better when it's all Star-Wars like). I have an "older writings" journal, and you can click here (or on "The Old Loopy" link above) if you want to read my bad poetry and stories about my quarter-life crisis.

BFRB (Best Friend/Running Buddy), a/k/a TickTrix. She lives in my building. She has two cats. She's 34. We met at a job we both used to have and felt instantly like we had known each other for years. We are co-dependent, and that's why we have problems when someone else (boy someone elses) want us to be in another high-maintenance relationship. Or it could just be that lately, our boys have been pains in the ass, and they aren't worth the energy.

BFRB2 (Best Friend/Running Buddy 2). She lives in Norman, which for those of you misguided fools who do not believe in the superiority of the Sooners, is the home of the University of Oklahoma and is about 20 miles from OKC. I've actually known her longer than BFRB. We met in college, while we were pounding nails in our coffin after a class we had together. She is 40 and has one cat. She is like the big sister I never had.

TM (Third Musketeer). She used to live next door to BFRB and I. She is 20, and I think she has a dog now, because her dad is being a jackass and was going to leave it out on their farm in the country when he moved to town. She moved to Alabama for a year, and recently returned to OKC. She is like a little sister to both me and BFRB.

GEB (Gay Ex-Boyfriend). He also lives in Norman, is 30 (his birthday is two days before mine, and we were both born in Michigan), and has three cats, two of which were my fault (they showed up on my doorstep, and I couldn't have that many, so he needed them.) We met on the way to our very first class on our very first day of freshman year in college. The classroom was very hard to find. We were friends for about a year, dated for almost two, broke up (and not because he was gay, either), didn't speak to each other for a while, reconnected, he came out, I came unglued, and then I decided that he was really a good and loyal friend, and that I probably couldn't continue being friends if he WASN'T gay. Probably makes no sense to anyone but me, but it sure is nice to ALWAYS have a built-in-no-drama-date if you need one, and he moves furniture and cleans house too, and likes to shop, and likes Tori Amos and the Indigo Girls. I should have known better than to date him….

OM (Office Mate). Self-explanatory. She is also a refugee from my former place of employment. She's about my mom's age, but is really nothing like my mother. She has one dog. My mother, for example, would never use the word "blow job" in a sentence, nor would she own lime-green shoes. We were next door to each other at our old job, and we would come up with convenient excuses about leaving shit in our cars so we could go smoke, because they were Nazis and didn't want you to LEAVE THE BUILDING during work hours, unless it was at their behest and would not benefit you personally in any way. We also had no patience with the silly mind-games some of the people there liked to play. And we both really have a shoe problem. We have always gotten along very well.

GID (Guy I'm Dating). He's also 30, has one cat, and currently lives with his mother (don't even fucking start with me.) He is moving out next weekend. He was trying to run his own business, but made the mistake of trusting his father to be his business partner, so the only place the business ran was into the ground. He is somewhat of a socially-retarded dork-boy, but he has some useful skills and attributes. Plus, his work hours are the opposite of mine, so he can't totally annoy and bug the crap out of me all the time. Once a week is plenty, thanks.

FHH (Fucking Hell Hole). My last job. Also self-explanatory.

Pretty much everyone else's acronyms are just their initials. That doesn't mean that the rest of the people I mention are insignificant at all. It just means that I was trying to tell a story and was focused on the plot rather than getting sidetracked by coming up with a pithy, easily-abbreviated description, which would generally involve some sort of complicated sub-plot because my descriptions tend toward the obscure. My, but that last sentence is kind of fucked-up sounding, but do I care? Not last time I checked.

Hopefully, this will clear up any confusion caused by my profligate (I like that word, too) use of acronyms. And hopefully tomorrow, I won't be so completely uninspired. I was trying to write some shit that was deep and poignant, but it wasn't going anywhere today. I need some more thinking time to formulate what I really want to say. Yeah. That makes me sound all hard-working, and tenacious, and shit. Word.

Oh, and one more thing....if you click on that Blog Explosion link from yesterday, you can sign up so that you can promote your own blog...everyone needs some blogging love.

Insomnia Sucks.

Yep, friends & neighbors, I was up until 1:30 a.m. Again. I don't think I have actually had a good night's sleep since Friday….

Heard from an old, old friend, though…KT, who was my Millipede adversary in college, and one of my best friends during that time. Oh, the memories. Being completely ripped and playing video games (old-school Nintendo style), listening to Tori Amos (Little Earthquakes), the soundtrack to The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, and REM (Eponymous). Betting on the outcome of these Millipede games….loser had to go fetch the winner a coke and a candy bar. At 3 in the morning. Good times. Anyway, KT is getting married to another friend (really more of an acquaintance), and I'm really happy for them. She's a really good person, always very genuine, real, and caring.

I really thought I would still be able to sleep, though. I mean, it's not like I was on the phone THAT late. No, it's just my fucked up brain that won't shut the fuck up. Plus, I'm feeling a little guilty, since I blew off going to the Y last night. Yes, I realize I can take breaks, but I feel like such a slug when I do it. I'm irritated at the Y people right now, too, which is yet more of an excuse. See, BFRB and I are doing this whole "Total Body Challenge" thing. We paid $20 in addition to our membership fee to participate in this program, because we need some motivation, yo. However, we have yet to have a meeting with our group and trainer, we think the rest of our group is flaking out anyway, and they assigned us a trainer that only works in the morning….when we ALWAYS work out at NIGHT. We had our body composition tested, and we have yet to receive the results. Many pointed comments have been made to various employees regarding this complete cluster-fuck, to no avail. Seriously, if they don't get their shit together in the next two days, I'm asking for my $20 back. I really do not understand why they cannot run this properly…this is NOT the first time they have done it. I've seen signs every few months since I joined the Y in MARCH. Ugh.

I'm also wondering if it's not time to locate new lodgings. Granted, I live in the ghetto, and I knew it was not the best neighborhood when I moved there. Lately, however, we've gone from the occasional unobtrusive drug deal, random panhandlers, and college kids fighting, to the crack ho screaming at her dealer, a white-trash chick who keeps lurking about trying to get some sweet lovin' from our neighbor, and having gang signs spray painted on our front door. (They just removed the one from over the weekend, and another one was painted this morning….) The problem is, I don't think anywhere else this cheap that's five minutes from work exists, and even if there was a place…I'd have to MOVE. Moving sucks almost as hard as the crack ho does when she's looking for her fix and ain't got the cash.

Gee, it's almost 9:30. Time for my morning smoke break, another cup of coffee, and then maybe some actual (gasp, choke) work.

The Book Club Non-Meeting

We (allegedly) have this book club at work. Our meeting was supposed to be 3 weeks ago, but no one read the book. Since then, it has been postponed repeatedly. Well, it was today. Our fearless leader (hereinafter "FL") sent a reminder e-mail this morning, and she said you should be there regardless of whether you read the book or not. (The book was One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and no one has read more than about 50 pages. Oprah, I don't know what you were thinking when you made this one a book club book, babe. Seriously.) The idea was that we would have a brief discussion about how lame the book choice was and pick something actually interesting for next time.

FL and I were the only ones there….so we picked out the book for next week, and she gets to be in charge of sending a snarky little e-mail to the rest of our members. (Hehehe. I said "members.")

Other than that, this morning has been most uneventful…of course, we're getting political e-mails again. The ones about how John Edwards is responsible for the whole flu-shot shortage. Think again, fools. Poor BFRB. She works in an office full of these misguided little gremlins, and they keep sending her this propaganda. Which reminds me of the T-shirt Emily Sailers (one of the Indigo Girls) had on last night…it said "WAX BUSH. Vote 2004." A spectator had one that said "LICK BUSH." My, but it is so convenient that the angry little short man has a name which can so easily be misconstrued.

Okay, one more little quickie rave about the concert, and then I swear I'll shut the hell up. Some of their music is political…but what's really interesting is that a lot of it was written before 9/11…and it is even more appropriate now (i.e., the line "the president has no idea who the masses are…"). At the end of the concert, they and their opening act (Girlyman) did an a capella song about world peace. It was a little cheesy, but it was just beautiful and a great ending to the evening. I swear I will shut up about it now. I promise, supermom3604 and warcrygirl.

Sing a Song...

I just got back from seeing the Indigo Girls in concert, and they rock. Of course, I thought they rocked before the concert, but now I think they rock even harder. Go buy all of their CD's and listen to them repeatedly...and know that they sound just as good live.

It was an interesting crowd...they are politically active lesbians, so we had the gay men, the gay women, and the straight women who dragged their boyfriends. One such couple was sitting next to us (I went with GEB.) To his credit, the man actually appeared to like the concert.

I will never, ever understand why lesbians have mullets, though. Seriously. I can almost understand the lack of feminine fripperies, if I approach it from the "casting off society's bonds" angle (as opposed to the "I hate men, but I'm going to dress like them" angle), but why the bad hair, chickies? I think I counted about 30 mullets in our section before I stopped counting. So strange.

So anyway, it's late, and I need to pretend to be tired so I can get up at the butt-crack of dawn to go to work. If I could go back in time, I would hunt down the ass-monkey who decided that the business world needed to start at 8 a.m., and I would make sure the shitbag died in excruciating pain long before his ideas took the world by storm.

Friday Night in the Big Town

Okay, I just looked at my clock, and when I saw that it was only 8:38 p.m., my ass freaked the fuck out. I thought it was like 10:30. I was thinking my snuggly cozy bed and my snuggly cozy kitties would be in order shortly. However, staying home on Friday night is boring enough without the added "and I went to bed at 9, too" stigma.

Ahhhh, just removed the gym ponytail holder...

I was thinking about posting another online dating profile. I got about halfway through it and decided that I was too tired to come up with any witty comments. All I was sounding was bitchy. I think I'm going to ignore that stuff for a while. I just get bored with it. Dorks, losers, geeks, freaks...they pretty much find me anyway, so why make it easier on them? Plus, I guess I'm allegedly in a relationship. He thinks so, anyway. Not that I've been cheating on him, or anything, but on my planet, one should not assume that hanging out once a week constitutes something serious. I guess I just don't know how I feel about GID. I like him, and sometimes, he surprises me with his unexpected coolness. Other times, though, I think he's an emotionally retarded, delusional, socially inept freak. Unfortunately, he also happens to be skilled in the sex department. It's so much easier to blow them off when they're bad in the sack....and when you get an unexpectedly skilled one, you know that the sex will be difficult to replace with some that is satisfactory.

I've never understood why anyone would find sex to be difficult, for god's sake. However, some people just don't get it. I don't know who told them that shit was ok, but trying to make them unlearn things is such a pain in the ass. I have always adhered to the philosophy "do unto others." I really can't believe that ANYONE would find genital-chewing, tongue-choking, or manhandling to be pleasurable. Unless they're some kind of masochist, or something. But that's exactly what you get a lot of the time. I guess sex is like everything else in life....there are people who "get it", and people who never will.

I could have gone somewhere tonight, for the record. BFRB2 invited me to come hang out. If it was just her, I would have, but she has her two youngest nieces. I love them dearly. But I have no energy for children this evening. I don't have energy for much, at the moment. I worked all week, I worked out all week (well, mostly) and now I'm freaking tired and just want to set the clock to 420 and chill.

I don't understand the whole going-out-on-Friday-night thing. I can understand happy hour after work, but the get all hookered up and party thing is just beyond me. My, but I am getting old. Although at 25, I would come home on Friday nights and fall asleep reading a book with all the lights on. So maybe I'm just wired in some lame way.

BFRB and TM are not online, either. TM may be at work. Her schedule is always different. And speaking of TM, she wanted me to post a picture that did not feature her holding an imaginary penis and standing over a toilet. She did that on her own, man. However, she is really not psychotic and freaky looking. See?

Last time we did laundry, she said some really funny shit. I really wanted to post it and attribute it to her. But I was in a slightly altered state (I mean, really, how can you do laundry stone sober?) so my mental notes were erased. TM, if you remember what you said about Ebonics (but that wasn't the word, and the word was hilarious), comment. Because I do remember laughing my ass off. In between you poking BFRB and I in the shoulder blades with a straw, of course. Next Friday will be laundry night again, which usually means all kinds of wacky things can happen....

My brain is dead, my eyes are tired, and my fingers will no longer hit the keys in the proper sequence. Therefore, I will say goodnight, and God Bless America.

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I'm Tired of History Lessons Right Now.

...We'll get back to them. Sooner or later. But I really want to talk about something else besides my whacked-out, fucked up childhood, okay?

So anyway, stupid shit I've seen this week:

(1) A license plate that said "GODFILL". What the fuck is that? A landfill for Jesus, an invitation to do something pornographic, or something else?

(2) An old lady in a big ol' hat and some big ‘ol sunglasses trying to parallel park her big ol' Oldsmobile. Looked like she had failed at it in the past, too....there was a big bumper chunk missing.

(3) People are still googling boss's day shit. It's over, kids. And planning this far ahead would make you an ass-kisser the likes of which the world has never seen. Other dumb shit people have googled to find me: "buy fat-free coffee mate," "supermodel,yo," and "random life changing epiphany." And yeah, I should probably link those to myself, but I don't feel like it. But feel free to self-Google.

A cool thing: I found my diaryland twin.

In other news, the book club meeting at our office has been moved again, dammit. I really thought I could just make my excuses and get out of the meeting and play when they were reading something interesting, but no...I think everyone else has had the same idea, so it's like this battle of wills. What's really amusing is that the book club leader hasn't read the whole thing yet either. I think only the office dork-critter has. She's one of those people that is just clueless, but has a degree, so thinks she has a clue. Yes, I know, I have a piece of paper too. However, unlike a number of people in the lawyer-groupie field, I don't believe that immediately conferred some knowledge. I prefer to think of it as "adulthood avoidance on the parents' payroll." Office-chick is just flat weird. She's one of those people that just doesn't quite seem to fit together right. She's almost pretty, almost well-dressed, almost articulate...and she almost makes me want to kick her.

GID wants me to read some of his writing again. I don't know why he keeps doing this to me. He never, ever likes what I have to say at all. He's very creative, has some great ideas, but his grammatical and spelling skills leave much to be desired. He really wants to get published, but every time I gently suggest that maybe he needs to run the spell-check, or something, he gets all freaking defensive and tells me it's not an English contest. Maybe it's not. However, the editors are likely English majors who couldn't get published, so they're probably going to be nit-picky about that shit out of pure resentment and spite. I didn't think he was ever going to make me read anything again after my comments on the last batch of stuff, but alas, I was wrong. Super. Which means on Saturday when I hang out with him, we'll be having a stupid argument instead of sex. At 20, I would have loved some shit like this...discussing things, having a "relationship", being all deep, blah, blah, blah. At 30, I just want some regular boo-tay and perhaps an occasional dinner/movie date. That is one of the universe's great jokes...at 20, women want relationships, and men want sex. At 30, women want sex, and men want to "settle down." Hopefully, when we hit 40, men and women will want the same thing: someone who doesn't annoy the living crap out of us.

I could probably babble on for days if I were more awake, but I'm really tired. The insomnia fairy has visited this week, and I am feeling it. Does this mean Loopy will go to bed now? I will try. However, I am almost positive I will remain awake for quite some time. Maybe I should take one of my anti-insomnia pills, but when I do that, I have a really bad tendency to sleep through my alarm and get woken up at 7:45 by my little Maggie's starving-child act....and if I just stay awake, I will hit the snooze button 8 too many times and wake up at 7:45. (Gotta be to work at 8, allegedly....luckily, I only live 5 minutes away. But if I don't have time for coffee and cigarettes and MahJong Garden in the morning, I get very cranky.)

What did I say about babbling? Clearly, awake is not a prerequisite for that.

A Loopy Little History, Second Installment

I probably should have typed this whole thing at once and THEN posted it. But this is more fun. I know you're all waiting with bated breath for my next thrilling installment...because my life is so unbelievably fascinating. Of course, all of us D-Landers think that, or we wouldn't be here, obsessively checking our stats, trying to come up with new and interesting banners, and reading many, many diaries in an attempt to convince ourselves that we're really not so fucked up after all.

Chapter Two: In Which We Move Back to Houston, I Suddenly Have No Friends, and My Life Generally Blows the Goat Ass

After my friend's party, a last night of Barbie-playing with my best friend Sarah, and tearful goodbyes and promises to write, we move away from Pittsburgh. In this process, my mother had some seriously fucked up dreams, one of which my brother and I still tease her about. She dreamed that the moving truck was in the driveway, and they were trying to load the freezer, and it was full of popsicles. Chock full. Popsicle-o-rama. She keeps trying to give them away to all the kids in the neighborhood, but all the kids HATE popsicles and don't want any. This causes my mother to completely freak the hell out and scream "Doesn't ANYONE want a popsicle?!?"

Maybe it's only funny if you know my mom. She's the type who spazzes about everything. Don't get me wrong, we get along very well and I love her very much. Sometimes, though, she really needs some valium or something. Holidays are particularly stressful in mommy's world. It's like she thinks our family is going to quit being dysfunctional and weird for a day and pretend we're like, normal and stuff. This usually results in a complete breakdown about something like side dishes for Christmas. Therefore, for the last two years, my sister-in-law and I have been in charge of beverages. As in, we make sure mommy's wine glass (and our own) are not empty. This has many amusing repercussions. My mother SO cannot hold her liquor. Christmas is much more fun this way.

Okay, back to the moving away from my true home story. We move back to Houston, same house, same neighborhood, same elementary school, and I thought, same friends I had before I left. Wrong. My friends had all MADE OTHER FRIENDS. I was totally rejected and no longer a part of the crowd. I made some new acquaintances, but basically spent the next two years without a real "best friend."

Some stories from this period:

(1) Parents drag children, kicking and screaming, on a motor-home tour of Texas. My favorite part was eating junk food (velveeta and pepperoni on ritz crackers) and suffering the consequences in some remote West Texas wasteland when my dad wouldn't stop the freaking motorhome so I could get over the sick part. I hate camping. And fishing. And hiking. And all of that nature shit. I'm a city girl. I need concrete and pollution and traffic noise and malls. I don't like bugs, slippery rocks, sunburns, lack of showers, port-a-potties, or my family in an enclosed space for two weeks.

(2) My friend April in fifth grade taught me how to TP a house. That's still the only time I've ever done that.

(3) I fell off the swingset in the backyard and chipped my two front teeth. I'm so coordinated.

(4) In fourth grade, our Reading book was the same one we did in third grade in Pittsburgh. I told the teacher this, and she ignored me. My mother finally had to call the principal, they gave me a test, and sure enough, I had done the fucking book the previous year. I got my very own reading book, and a whole shitload of other special activities. At first, I thought this was cool. Then I started feeling all lonely and left out.

(5) At the end of fourth grade, I tore a ligament in my ankle playing softball, and spent the last day of school on crutches.

(6) In fifth grade, my homeroom teacher was a moron. However, our English teacher, Mr. Bridges, was the coolest ever. We all had crushes on him.

(7) Fifth grade also marked my introduction to orthodontia. I had a bad overbite, because I sucked my thumb long after I was old enough to know better. Can you say oral fixation, boys and girls? (And I wonder why I'm fat and I smoke.) I had to wear this nasty big ass retainer thing. At school. All day. That lasted about a week. Then I wore it out of the house, shoved it in the case as soon as I got out of sight, and put it back in when I was walking home from school. Ironically, the orthodontist was very pleased with my progress and let me out of it early. What followed was less fun, but I'll save that story for the next installment.

(8) At the end of fifth grade, we had a pool party. This kid I'd known since preschool or something asked me to be his date. I was horribly rude to him. Like really mean. He was kind of a dork, but then, so was I. (I won the fucking spelling bee, for fuck's sake.) I still feel really horrible about this. His name was David Rodgers. If he by some chance stumbles across this, let me say that I SINCERELY apologize for being such a bitch. On some stupid superstitious level, I wonder if this is not why I've had completely shitty luck with men.

That will be the end of tonight's thrilling tales. Sixth grade belongs to junior high, which was a whole new dimension of suck. Sounds like a lovely project for tomorrow at work.

A Loopy Little History, First Installment

I have been reviewing what I've written, and I realized that any information anyone has about me is in bits, pieces, and spurts. I just sort of jumped right in to my life. I can't believe I did that. It's like starting a movie in the middle…you can sometimes follow the plot, but you don't always have enough information. Yeah, I did 100 things about me, like everyone else (shut up, Dusty, we can't all be as cool as you), but that doesn't really tell you who I am, what I'm about, and why you should give a rat's rosy behind about reading this drivel.

Therefore, without further ado….

Chapter 1: In Which I Am Born, and My Parents Really Start Re-Thinking the Whole Having Kids Thing.

I was born on May 12, 1974…Mother's Day…in Flint, Michigan. My parents lived in a trailer. My whole extended family lived nearby. My father worked at GM. Then he got laid off. Then we moved to Houston, TX., where I lived until the age of 18, except for the two years we spent in Pittsburgh, PA. I loved Pittsburgh.

Somewhere along the way, my parents cursed me with a younger sibling. I like him now, except for the fact that he's a complete dork. But I sure as hell didn't as a kid. He did stuff like eat my crayons and color in the VERY FIRST LIBRARY BOOK I ever brought home. I was totally mortified about this.

I learned to read at age 3 (or before…I don't remember learning how, I just remember knowing how), and to write shortly thereafter. I used these talents for evil, doing such things as inviting my friends to parties and sleepovers which my mother knew nothing about.

As a child, I loved Mickey Mouse, the color red, macaroni and cheese, swimming, coloring, reading, ice cream, visiting my grandma and grandpa, Strawberry Shortcake, Barbie, the public library, and smacking my little brother upside the head. I hated my dad, my first grade teacher, vegetables, being told what to do, the booger-eyed ass-monkey in my third grade class who had the nerve to make fun of me, the dark, and my little brother.

Some stories from my childhood:

(1) My grandma still lived in Michigan. In the summer, when I visited, we would go strawberry picking. Up until the age of 7, I loved strawberry-flavored anything. That all changed. We picked some strawberries. I ate a huge mixing bowl full of them. The expected result occurred. It looked like a strawberry milkshake. To this day, I have a very difficult time eating pink food of any kind.

(2) My mom took my brother and I to the mall once. I was 9, he was probably 5 1/2. We were moving away from Pittsburgh in a week, and one of my best friends was having a birthday party that night…hence the reason for the mall visit. My brother acted like a mutant from the planet Stupidio the whole time we were there. My mother erroneously included me in these misdeeds, even though I didn't do shit. We went home. She told my dad. I almost didn't get to go to my friend's party, because they were ignoring my protests of innocence. Parents suck.

(3) We had two hamsters named Sugar and Spice. Sugar was a big fat hamster. Spice was a little runty hamster. Sugar would get to the food first and empty the whole food bowl into his mouth pouches so that Spice couldn't have any. Spice had issues anyway…he never gnawed enough to clip his teeth, and we had to do it; he was always kind of sickly. Sugar lived forever. Spice lived about 6 months. After that, we had a hamster named Peanut. He was so fat that when people saw him sleeping, they thought it was two hamsters.

(4) I was a very hypersensitive and stressed out child. In third grade, I kept having these unexplained headaches and stomachaches. They never did figure out what was wrong with me, despite various food-deprivation diets (to see if I was allergic) and taking away my favorite old feather pillow. I read an article as an adult. Turns out I was probably depressed.

(5) Most of my very best friends had younger siblings about the same age as mine. We came up with lots of new and interesting strategies to get rid of them. One of my personal favorites was playing house and making them be the family pet.

Okay, I need to type some work-related stuff at some point. (I always say this. But really, one day, they're going to notice, right?) However, this will be my project for the next few days. Next installment will focus on my adolescent years and why a nice, juicy hot carl would probably have done less damage in the long run….

For the next installment, click here.

Lunch Hour Smackdown

My office mate and I decided that we could not stand the office for another second. Therefore, we took a little field trip to Ross Dress for Less. Not like I have money. But I stare at my closet every morning with this perplexed look on my face, like I somehow expect that things have appeared in the night. They usually don't. I keep hoping, though…

We came, we saw, we shopped. Evidently the rest of the planet decided they needed retail therapy on this gray and rainy Tuesday too, because the lines at the checkout were very long. Our cashier had this hair that looked like her cat had been grooming it for her, and a bad 80's vest. At least she appeared ironed. Including her hair.

The Ross employees finally get a clue, and they open another lane. The new cashier very clearly states that the next person in line without a return can come over to her lane. I was clearly next, followed by my office mate. Guess we didn't move fast enough, because this bitch behind us starts making a beeline and saying she has to be back at the office. Don't we all, you fucking ho? However, she wasn't fast enough either. This other chick with a bad dye job and some seriously huge glasses (they went nicely with the huge print on her outfit) shoves in front of HER and says something along the lines of "I really can't wait any longer." This woman then proceeds to argue with the cashier about whether her nasty new clothes cost $12.99 or $11.99. Office-mate and I BOTH checked out, and this bitch was still arguing. Yep, you're in a hurry.

Speaking of Tuesdays and why they are lame….

We get this e-mail from our office administrator about an hour ago. There are a lot of people in our office. So, they have decided to make an internal directory. That, in and of itself, is fine. What is NOT fine is that they give us 20 minutes notice on the photo. Everyone on my floor is decidedly unhappy about this. We need to know this crap so we will be sure to (a) fix our hair (b) wear makeup and (c) wear a presentable outfit. Maybe it's really a spot-check to see who is violating our dress code. Of course "no jeans except on Fridays" pretty much seems to sum up the fashion rules at our office….but still. I think this photo will be worse than my driver's license. And no, I'm not posting that picture either. I look like one of those madwomen they used to lock in the attic, or an escaped retard.

I should work, or something. I think "something" is going to win this afternoon.