Too Much to Ask?

So I’ve been giving online dating a very unenthusiastic try. As much as my life is led online, I cannot shake this one part of me that would prefer to meet someone the “traditional” way. What that traditional way is, I’ve no idea. Comic-Con, perhaps. In the meantime, I’ve dabbled with OkStupid, but after receiving yet another deeeelighful invitation to join a couple’s “social circle”,  I decided that even as a free service, it was too pricey for my sanity much and bailed. A friend was returning to Match and cajoled me into joining her, as we could be each others’ support system. A sponsor, if you will, sans the withdrawal sweats and rehab stay. While she’s having more success than I am (she’s also a decade younger and not nearly as jaded), I did strike up an exchange with one gentleman.

Emails darted back and forth, and I finally acquiesced to his request for my number. Texting began. While there were misspellings (yes, I judge on that), emoticons (ugh, ok, fine, whatever) and — worst of all — the use of “how r u” as an opening, I gritted my teeth and replied. All went well for several exchanges. After he complimented my profile photo (it IS a pretty hot pic of me, fully clothed, pervies) things went downhill.

Him: I want 2 c all of u

Me: [thinking] I want to see you use complete words. Maybe throw in some punctuation. Also, is this his way of asking me out or is this going down “that” road? He’s 40! GET SOME GAME AND ASK ME THE FUCK OUT.

Me: I don’t take those kind of pics.

Him: Dame! I wish

Me: [Thinking] God, as much as I would like to think he’s calling me a “dame”, I’m pretty sure that’s a typo. Is he T9-ing this shit?

Me: Keep wishing

Him: Lol

Me: [thinking] Dude, if you’re going to use LOL, either commit to all uppercase or all lowercase. Sentence case is for, you know, sentences.

Him: I will just send u one

*record scratch*

Honestly, is it too much to ask that in conversing with a guy, you don’t have to worry that he’ll send you picks of his cock?  I realize that I was raised in a ridiculously conservative environment. I don’t think I’ve EVER seen my dad with his shirt off (and let’s go ahead and thank the baby cheesus for that, as the track star physique he had in high school vanished when the mutton chops grew in). However, during what amounts to first contact, I think I am well within my rights to judge you as a creep for volunteering to send me your goody bag.

Also, YOU’RE FORTY. 4-0. Is it too much to ask that you act like a man and not send images that prove you are physically a man? The fact I am trading text messages at a pre-K reading level is distasteful enough, but peener pics? After less than 3 hours of texting?? I just can’t. I’m not looking at every guy or date as The One, but I’m pretty sure The One isn’t going to pext me on the first day. /rant

Me: Seriously? You guys do realize that all chicks do with that is forward those pics to our friends so we can make jokes?

Him: Never mind then

Indeed.

I’ve got a fever and the only prescription is more VUVUZELA

Am I slightly World Cup obsessed? Why, yes, yes I am. Let’s put it this way, when my 5 years of free mystery cable disappeared in March, I was ok with it. Despite Nutsak not having Animal Planet to watch while I was gone (he had to watch PBS), I was quite alright with not having cable. Until  World Cup rolled around. Then, I couldn’t get the cable installed fast enough.

And thank the baby jeebus, World Cup 2010 has not disappointed. I’m not talking about the games, though they have been thrilling. Until the 12th, I was excited about the games, but not completely invested in any particular teams since Colombia didn’t qualify.

But then, during the national anthems for the UK/US match, the cameras panned over the US team and introduced me to this:

well hello cutie! Who might you be?  Oh, just the captain for the US team, Carlos Bocanegra.  Let’s see what else I can find about you:

my vuvuzela's about to ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

and

God. Bless. America.

I have never felt so damn patriotic in my life.

Never one to be chained down by one country, Uruguay is also receiving some support:

Diego Forlan

I might even cheer on France:

Yoann Gourcuff

Oh, soccer. Americans don’t know what they are missing.

And once more just because:

make room for me on Team Coco

So I’m reading a blog link that Flippy sent me regarding the whole Coco vs. Leno debacle and watched Leno’s clip. I never watch Leno and only watch Conan when Flippers or FAIL send me clips. I’m a Jon Stewart girl, through and through. Mmmmm, silver fox.  Anyway, other than still pics, I really haven’t looked at Leno in a while. I watched this clip and nearly hid under my desk.

http://www.hulu.com/watch/120231/the-jay-leno-show-jays-offers

This be Jerry Falwell for my non-corrupted peeps.

Maybe it’s the black suit and red tie combo and years of sitting through Liberty bible services*, but the resemblance between Jay Leno and Jerry Falwell is freaky**.  Did Falwell come back from the dead and posses Leno? That’s not very Christian-like of him to do.

I’m firmly on Team CoCo after this.

no resemblance to dead whackadoodle televangelist whatsoever

*the scars from Liberty, they run deeeeeeep

**This may be something that only Liberty victims would notice, in which case I’m really sorry you had to see this. No one should be unexpectedly Falwelled.

Happy New Bacon!

I’m currently freezing my ass off in New England, while I wait for my bestie, Sex Therapist, to come home from work. The coffee table in front of me is covered in chocolate candy, the dining table in the next room is creaking beneath the weight of all the alcohol, and bags of chips is whispering my name.

Occasionally a dog the size of a horse tries to sit on my lap, while a tubby kitteh eyes me like an intruder. This might possibly be the best vacation ever. Belching contests, experimental mixed drinks, sugar rushes, food comas, bacon and deep-frying are all on the menu for this week.

I don’t do resolutions, but here is a quick little list of some that I think I can keep in 2010…or at least the first 10 days of 2010:

1. quit my cheez-it habit

2. eat as horrific as possible

3. deep fry everything

4. discover new uses for bacon

5. stretch the limits of my pants

Happy new year peeps!! May your hangovers be bacon-filled and mercifully short.

Brandy’s Plea

Like Maxie said, what’s the point of doing this, if we can’t help each other out?

**************

My name is brandy. And I have a blog.

And a plea.

I use my blog to showcase the crazy I meet everyday, share the stories of the kids I teach and document my love for tequila, dairy products and the abdominal muscles of Ryan Reynolds. Rarely do I talk about personal issues on my blog- as personal as the dude that I adore (who I actually met through my blog- single ladies, let that be a very good reason to blog, the possibility of meeting someone as wonderful as my man), but I need your help. And it involves my dude.

He’s a guy who made math comics for my class, so they would love learning about addition. He’s the kinda guy who sends my friends gift cards when they are having hard times, who remembers every story I ever told him, who was the first person I celebrated with when I got a teaching job. He’s the guy who sent flowers to me at school- dozens of my favourite pink roses just because he loves me. He’s a guy who has spent a year patiently explaining (and re-explaining) everything there is to know about football during the important games when silence is preferred. He’s made me word puzzles and comics and stayed up late playing Scrabble with me (even though I beat him almost every time). He’s listened to me cry about school and family and jobs. He is everything I never knew I needed and everything I always knew I wanted.

The holidays have hit us hard. He’s recently been told he may have something called multiple myeloma- an incurable cancer, that gives a person an average of five years of continued life. Though this news has came as a shock, he continues to be exactly who has always been- spending his time worrying about me, rather than worrying about himself. He’s the most selfless individual I know- (he stayed late on Christmas Eve to work, so his co-workers could leave early) and a post like this would never be something that he would promote or encourage but when I’m overwhelmed and feeling helpless, the blogging community has always given me tremendous support and comfort, two things I desperately need at this time.

As I write this, the future is uncertain and we aren’t sure what’s happening. He’ll need to see an oncologist soon, to verify what’s going on in his body. My hope is that everyone who reads this think positive thoughts and if you are a person who prays, could you add him to your list? (You can refer to him as ‘brandy’s hot awesome dude’). If you don’t pray, please keep him in your heart.This cancer is only a possibility and I believe that the prayers and positive thoughts of people can make sure it never becomes a reality.

I want to give a big thank you to the blog owner who scraped their original blog plans and graciously put this up. My goal is to get as many people as possible to see and read this post. If you are reading this and want to help, copy and paste my plea into your blog or send a link through twitter, so more people can keep him in their thoughts. I would be so very grateful (even more grateful than I am to my friend who first showed me the picture of Ryan Reynolds on the cover of Entertainment Weekly. If you haven’t seen it, google it. You. Are. Welcome).

I realize this all sounds dramatic, a Lifetime movie in the making- but this is life. Right now. And I’m throwing away any hint of ego and am humbly asking for you to pray or think kind thoughts. If you are able to pass this on, thank you and if you know anything regarding MM- please email me (my email is on my blog). This isn’t a call for sympathy or a plea for pity. It’s just one girl hoping you can think positive thoughts for the person she adores. If my current heartache provides you with anything, let it be with the reminder that life is short, love is unbending and no one knows what could happen next. Maybe it is silly, but I really do believe that positive thoughts can make a huge difference. Thank you for reading this and if you haven’t already? Please tell someone you love them today.

I did.

Merry Christmas, now go wait up for Santa.

I’d embed the video, but I can’t figure out how. Ok, the preview tells me the video is embedded.  Carry on.

Merry Christmas…you’ve made my list…my “special” list

Tenley Nails — send someone you hate

On Sunday I decided to get a mani/pedi, since my nice, long nails had some not-so-nice cuticle action going on. And since they were nice and long, I figured a Frenchy manicure would look v. chic.  I went to a place that was close to the apt, Tenley Nails, since the online reviews sounded decent. OMFG, what a disaster.

I’m sitting in my chair, reading a book while the lil’ Asian chicky does her pedi-thing, when she asks me something. I have no fucking clue what she said. I don’t think it was English at all. She repeated herself and I still didn’t get it. 4 times I had her repeat what she said, but got squat. I think I heard “spa pedicure” but I have no idea. I pointed to the lil’ menu for what I wanted (not the spa pedicure) and she nodded. Then she rattled something else off. Another round of WTF. I just ended up nodding.  I don’t usually have an issue w/ accents, but there was no cracking this one. For all I know, I agreed to marry someone.

After a quick foot massage, she started “painting”. And by painting I mean, slopping white over half the nail, tidying it up and placing ONE coat of a pinkish clear polish over that. I’m slightly annoyed, but it’s my feet. Whatevs, I probably won’t be wearing open-toed or flippys much longer anyway.

And then the mani part. She asks me something that I can’t understand again but she does, however, manage to speak clearly later on when it was, “You pay now” time. I assume she’s asking about the shape of the nails so I tell her I want them squared. Well to her squared means hauling out a clipper and hacking the nail off and then filing what’s left to a nub. It’s not like I had claws to begin with, but they were a little shorter than this pic:

 

Now, all my nails were reduced to being just a teeny bit above the quick. And that thick tip of white that you see on those nice nails in the pic? That globby mess gets applied to my nubs, only somehow she manages to make it look crappier than the pedicure. You know what makes the french manicure work? Having an actual nail to paint the tip onto. Otherwise, unless you do a thin white tip, it just doesn’t work. The tips look lumpy and the line isn’t even at all.

After I see the first hand, I give up on even mentioning it to her, since I already decided that I’m taking the polish off when I get home and the communication problems we’ve had don’t bode well for getting her to fix the nails. So instead of the sleek nails I was hoping for, I got french manicured nubs, that looked grubby.

I’m pretty sure that my face is showing how utterly pissed off I am, since she asked “You ok?” Yes, bitch, I’m thrilled that I wasted my afternoon with you when I could have just had a neighborhood spawn-child do the EXACT same thing to my nails w. her Bonnie Bell kit.

I get my bill, which was more than I thought it would be, which pissed me off even more. There wasn’t a line for a tip, which is just as well, since halfway thru the hacking, I decided she wasn’t getting a tip. I sit for a minute in front of a little fan drying my nails and then all my fury starts setting in. I jump up, grab my purse and march out. All the lil’ chickys are saying “be careful”  as I stomp, since I might ruin my nails, I yank open the door far harder than I needed to and practically sprint out of there.

The urge to kill has rarely been that strong outside of work. I bought a tiramisu at Whole Foods to make me feel better and after nomming that I redid my nails while taking in the splendor that was Marc Singer‘s jeans in the original V miniseries.

So, if you have a friend that you’re really pissed at, send her to Tenley Nails and ask for Kathy. Trust me, this is better than saying she does look fat in those jeans.

DVD For Cats: This is Why I’m Never Getting Laid Again

I’ve been feeling more guilty about leaving Nutsak the One-Eyed Wonder Kitty alone while I go to work and school. Seriously, that one eye = Jewish mother-esque guilt trips.

My apt is is only 520 sq ft, so I’m not sure getting a 2nd kitty for company would be a great idea. Plus, I’m sure there’s nothing a dude loves to hear more than “I’m 30, single, live in a basement studio and have 2 cats. Wanna bang?”

So I leave the  TV on  Animal Planet (I doubt he would like Sci-Fi SyFy) when I’m gone,  but this morning I remembered there are cat DVDs.

DVD For Cats: While You Are Gone or DVD For Cats: This is Why I'm Never Getting Laid Again

 

There is also a companion cd with such stirring musical numbers as “Twisted Whisker” and I Am Cat, Hear Me Roar”:

Music Cats Love: While You Are Gone OR Music Cats Love: Play this Loudly to Drown Out Your Sobs

 

Then there’s the Cat Sitter DVD series. It’s very hard to argue with the stellar reviews. “Cats across the country have ecstatically reviewed this lively production. Murray in Phoenix writes: ‘When my human gets home, I lead her straight to the TV. If only I had thumbs to operate the remote.’ Mavis in Savannah raves: ‘I’m positive it’ll win this year’s prestigious Hairball Award!'”

My question is, if I order the dvd should I go ahead and order the ugly bedroom slippers and extra batteries for the vibrator? Because after this post, it’s just going to be me and Waldo, the Adult Pleasure Device for a long, looooooooong time.

#pbandtuna owes me a liver

Apparently I steal drinks when I’m drunk.

Saturday night was the ever so awesome #pbandtuna. Once Flippy and I had sufficiently carbed up on Pizza Boli’s and gave up on the cab I ordered from Comfort Cab (who NEVER called me to let me know my cab arrived) , we snagged a Barwood cab #692 whose driver was a saint for pulling into a parking lot and waiting for us to sprint across Wisconsin Ave. to get to him.

At Stetson’s,  I got to meet some of the coolest peeps that I stalk on the Twitters and blogs, but fer realzy we need nametags or a cheatsheet for keeping the real names and the Twitter/blog names straight.  LiLu has an awesome linkage thing going on her site and once I stalk through the pics on Facebook, expect friend requests from me.

Some highlights as best I can remember:

• SEEING MY KATERTOT!!!!!!
• Getting my ass grabbed by Lexa
• getting tied w/ 12minds in our impromptu “beaner off”.  I still say you look more Hispanic than I do. Re-count!!
• Flippy and I stealing JP and dmbosstone‘s drinks
• possibly walking down U St. with a sombrero. That part’s a lil fuzzy.
• stumbling to Maxie‘s and Cavy‘s hotel room and having a slumber party at 3 am. 6 girls, 2 beds and no, we didn’t have a pillow fight in our undies.  Or did we?
• Looking like the walk of shame personified in the Breakfast Room at the hotel as I continentaled my breakfast
• finding out that I stole drinks the next morning via Twitter
• the accusatory look that the Pizza Boli’s delivery boy gave me after coming to my apt twice in less than 24 hours.
• dying of death so bad, that not even Gilmore Girls could bring me back

LiLu, you and Maxie looked so freakin’ happy. I’m so glad I could be a part of your night.

ps. while I don’t *think* I bit anybody last night, I do tend to think I’m funny when I’m drunk and occasionally bite. So, if nommed you, much like Lexa’s ass grabs, it was done in love and I’m not sorry.  You were probably damn tasty, too!

GAAAAH!

Every morning I watch the Daily Show while getting ready for work. I generally let the commercials play, since I can never figure out where I last left the Tivo remote (kitchen counter, bathroom door, under a bra). Today,  I was walking to the kitchen when I saw part of this commercial:

Seriously, what Tabasco marketing genius thought this was a good idea??!  While I love me some hot sauce, thanks to that commercial I don’t see myself having pizza ANYTIME in the near future and I sure as FUCK will not be adding hot sauce when I do.  The last thing I need are creepy-eyed faces bubbling up on my slice with tiny sets of bleached teeth serenading me in four-part harmony as I try to eat.

Especially the dude at the bottom. He looks like he would fly off the slice and try to om nom nom nom my jugular.

And I thought the Snuggle Bear and Wrong Way Willy Wonka would haunt my dreams.

“Die, you Devil Bear! DIE”