tee hee

One of my biggest crushes is in Denver today. He's one of the big guns from our Chicago office, and he's here in my office for the day to help develop workplace standards for one of our bigger, more controversial clients. Let's just say it's a client that produces a product that I used to be horribly addicted to. And still am on most Friday/Saturday nights while consuming large amounts of alcohol.

Anyway, in his presence I turn into a 13-year-old girl. I blush, stammer through my sentences – that is, if I can even think of anything intelligent to say in the first place. He came back into the breakroom while I was eating my lunch and all I could think of to say was "Hey." And then he asked me how I was doing and I said "Good." Then he inquired whether I had any big plans for the weekend and I said, "Bah. Ah…gah. Dah."

I just can't be witty and/or normal around him. I want to run away to Chicago and become his life partner, but unfortunately he already has one.

Grrrr…sweet frustration!

heart full of love

One of the gay "friends" sites I belong to has members from all over the world.
I joined up a couple months ago, and since then the only messages I've received are from late-40's men and men from far-away countries. I had a rather sweet message from a guy in Russia – Russia! – but when I wrote him back I got a message from the administrator saying he had been removed from the site. Yikes – I hope he wasn't shipped off to Siberia or something.
Due to the general lack of quality in the messages I receive, I'm pretty lax about checking my account, but I opened it up this morning and found two gentlemen who are "interested" in me:

I am who I am, I don't know how to describe it. I love challenge life, under pressure you will find who you are. I am 176 tall, 62 kg and a little bit pretty. I am currently a student of Huazhong University of Science and Technology, PRC. I am double majoring in Art Design and English. I like painting, vidio game, movies, car, music, literature appreciation...The most important thing I expected is a romantic love story. But now my prince did not show up yet. I am waiting for someone who have a sentimental heart and a heart full of love. No matter how old you are, no matter where you are, no matter who you are, if you love me contact me. I have passed TOEFL. I devote all my heart to get my bachelar's degree. Once I get it I will go abroad to further my study. I don't know where to go. America? England? Australia?...In a word, I want to go somewhere where there is a man waiting for me. WAITING FOR YOU!

I'm looking for friends in the all world maybe someday I'm gonna find somebody to spend time with me. I'm living in Panama. I like to go to the disco and here we have so much places to go out and have fun like everyone so if you want to contact me drop me a line because I'm not a membership...

Potential loves of my life? Probably not. On the other hand, I do have a heart full of love….

brrr…chill-licious!

Awesome! The temps here in Denver have dropped about 30 degrees overnight. I love summer and all, but we had a pretty hot one here and it's finally nice to have a dreary day. There was this streak in July where I think we broke the heat record for a solid week. Granted, we have a very dry heat here (nothing like that bloody humidity I grew up with back home) but it still sucked. You get a rainy, cloudy day very infrequently here.

So today is totally chilly and rainy and I love it. I want to go home and curl up under a blanket and just read and watch TV all day. Young and the Restless and Days of Our Lives and Oprah and shit.

And I'm less than 100 pages from the end of The Time Travelers Wife, and I'm now sure it's going to have a very sad and depressing ending. Then I'm going to need a new book to start on.

Our chilly weather is only supposed to last through today. It's going to be warm again by the weekend, which is nice because Sunday is the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation Race for the Cure. I did the Race for the Cure for the first time last year, and it was so much more inspiring than I expected it to be. Thousands and thousands of people as far as the eye can see all walking for one cause.
They have to start it so damn early though. Would it be the end of the world if a charity walk started at 11 a.m. for once instead of freaking 8 a.m.? I mean, some of us like to party on Saturday nights!
Last year our walking team consisted of about ten ladies and me. The one studly man. *ahem* One of our interiors vendors who walked with the team made pretty, foofy pink scarves for all the team members and when I showed up she said "Oh, you probably don't want to wear one of these, do you?" And I was like, "Are you kidding?? Lay one on me sister!" And off we went….

notes from the weekend

Thursday night I went out to play some pool with a friend. He's straight and I'm gay, but we're both single, and most of the time, quite happy that way.
Through the drunken haze induced by tequila shots (if you haven't tried a tequila called Distinqt yet, give it a try – it's oh-so-good and orange-y!) and Bud Lights I was trying to describe to him one of the potential "bummer" situations I've encountered while looking for hotties at the bar.
Me: "You know, when you scan the whole bar and everyone is pretty much a woofer except for a couple guys who have some serious yum potential?"
Him: "Uh-huh?"
Me: "And then you don't make your move fast enough and the two cute guys start talking to each other?"
Him: "Uh-huh?"
Me: "And then about an hour later you look over and see them leaving together and you feel your heart drop?"
Him: "Um, uh-huh…?"
Me: "God – I hate that. You know what I'm talking about, right?"
Him: "Well Matt, usually if I pick out a couple girls I think are cute and they end up talking and then leaving together I don't take it too hard. In fact, it's kind of hot."
Me (furrowing my brow, thinking really hard through the haze): "OH YEAH! Cuz you're attracted to the opposite sex!"
Maybe I need to get out with straight people a little more often. Maybe.

I absolutely, positively cannot wait to get my car. I am so sick of walking and taking cabs and being a sucker-chump in general. Friday night I called a cab outside my apartment and stood there waiting for 15 minutes only to have a drunken blonde BITCH hop into it the second it pulled up. I ran up, opened the door, and stuck my head in but when I saw how wasted she was I didn't have the heart to pull her out by her hair. OK – I'm actually not that nice. The only reason I didn't do it is because there were a lot of people around and they probably would have kicked my ass. I've never been punched in the face and I'd like to keep it that way.
So I called again, and waited about another 20 minutes (while precious partying time was slipping away) and finally my cab arrived. Just as I was stepping in, a gang of five breeders ran up behind me and asked if they could share the cab with me. I stalled for a few seconds, but then they all started climbing in so what was I to do? Drag them all out by their hair? Again, the face-punching-avoidance thing. Of course they had to be dropped smack dab in the middle of downtown, which is a nightmare around 11:00 on a Friday night. They paid the fare up until that point, but apparently there is some sort of double-fare charge that starts the second fare way up at $6. So I ended up paying $14 with tip to get to the Capital Hill area.
Grrrrr. I want my car!

I'm having a slight crisis of conscience because I've been flirting quite seriously with a friend of my ex. It kind of just started out of the blue. This friend was in a serious relationship that just broke up last week, and it seems like now we're about three drinks away from hopping into bed. I know it's kind of low to hook up with a friend of an ex, but the Denver gay scene is quite small and everyone knows everyone anyway. At least that's what I'm telling myself.
I'm the undisputed KING of foolish drunken text messaging, so I started this up with the friend on Saturday night around 2:15 a.m.:
Me: "Hey sexy bitch – how was tracks?"
Him: "Great! Going home now."
Me: "We went to boystown – strippers weren't so hot."
Him: "Eww!"
Me: "I know – filthy. I was just horny."
Him: ":) Well, I'd partake, but I'm almost in bed…"
There were a few more texts after that, but I'm a lady, so I'll keep those to myself. And obviously I've cleaned up the texts a bit for grammar, spelling, etc. No way drunken texts are that perfect.
So I was talking to G. yesterday and her opinion is that it would just be too low to hook up with him. Especially because I still want to be friends with my ex. And I do agree - in theory.

And…Desperate Housewives is on again! Nice. Can I just say that I want to be friends with Marcia Cross? And the new mystery seems pretty sweet.
My only complaint is that DH is on at the same time as Curb Your Enthusiasm. Sucks.

l-o-v-e-r...

During graduate school, while I was working part-time at Starbucks, I spent about three months house-sitting for one of my professors at her amazing house up in Golden. The house was literally right up against the mountains. It was super righteous, but there were lots of snakes and other scary creatures that you had to be careful to avoid.
And her and her husband had a waterbed. Gross. How one would efficiently have sex on one of those, I'll never know.

One day I was packing up my stuff to head back to Denver when I heard a pathetic little meowing sound coming from the back yard. I looked out and saw a teeny little kitty looking up at me standing on the balcony. I went down and grabbed her and brought her inside to give her some water. Sam, the professor's dog, went absolutely nuts at the sight of the kitty, and I realized that I would have to take her back to my apartment in Denver until someone claimed her. After all, if I had put her back outside she would have undoubtedly been ripped apart and eaten by some beastie or another.

So I took her home, bought her a little litterbox and some cat chow and a cute little blue collar with a bell and called the Golden animal shelter to report a missing kitten.
Long story short, no one ever called me back.
Being allergic to cats and basically just hating them in general, I didn't know what to do. But day by day the little freak started growing on me. She was CRAZY. One day I was in the bathroom and she came streaking down the hallway, all helter-skelter with paws sliding all over the floor, took a flying leap, and landed right in the open toilet. Classic.

Once I decided to keep her I figured I'd better get her to the vet to make sure she didn't have worms or rabies or distemper or whatever the hell strays can pick up. I had decided to name her Molly. My little tabby Molly. She seemed to take to the name.

I sat her down in front of the vet, he took one quick look and feel, turned to me and said, "You know, this isn't a she. It's a he."

"What?? But I don't see…you know, anything down THERE. And she's got nipples!"

"Well, you're not going to see any visible genitalia on a kitten. Besides, you're a guy and you have nipples, right?"

"Uh…yeah, but I don't have six!"

So Molly became Ernie. And despite his early sexual identity issues I do believe he's grown up O.K. He can be a bit of a bitch some days, but so can I, so we get along well.

The next week I was working at Starbucks and telling a coworker all about my new pet. "Ernie is pretty good most of the time. I think he's getting used to living with me. He even likes the taste of beer! I'm not comfortable with him sleeping with me, so I shut my bedroom door at night. He usually wakes me up every morning making a bunch of noise out in the kitchen. I'll get up and let him in and he'll hop into bed and start licking my face and making weird little purring sounds. He's a cutie."

A man sitting at a nearby table had started listening to the conversation, turned and looked at me with a lecherous grin and said, "Are you talking about your lover?"
My coworker and I stared at each other with our mouths hanging open for a few seconds and then burst out laughing hysterically.

This memory popped into my head after reading hotbabe's comments at http://nooneshome.blogspot.com/ about using the word "lover." It is a little hard to pull off, to say the least.

By god madam, I am your lover! Do not ever forget that.

I'm going to start using this expression after having sex. That oughta scare away the freaky one-night stands!

mmmmm...sawyer....

Tonight is the season premiere of "Lost!"

I'm ever-so-excited.

I'm going to meet a couple friends at Rio's for a few of their famous margaritas first. And then get my ass home by 8:00 for some good, drunken television viewing.

Yay!

I'm a little disappointed that the happy hour will most likely cut into catching the first episode of Martha's "Apprentice," but I the way I figure it, the first episode of any reality show is usually pretty irrelevant. Too many contestants to keep track of right off the bat....

late-breaking news

I love that this is considered news:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/9425104/

It really seems like something US Weekly might cover extensively.
"Stars - They're Just Like Us!
They take out the trash. Pick up Starbucks. Get groceries. Schedule heart surgery for their puppies!"

sourpuss

Jesus, I have been in the dumbest depression today. Depression for no particular reason – just my manic-depressive/bipolar/whatever the hell disorder I have kicking in.

I hate that. My job is going well, I love my new apartment, I've been working out regularly, have been making a few new friends and working on my relationships with my old ones, I got to see my family this month, I've gotten some recent action…and yet, I'm extremely blue.

I think maybe it's fall coming on. Fall is my favorite season, but I always feel a full year older when fall comes around. I think my brain associates it with change and growth. Progress. And all my efforts at serious progress in my life this summer were stymied. I didn't get the new dream job I wanted. My relationship, which started out with such strong promise last spring, went bust – because of me. My best friend and I didn't talk for weeks, and now that we are again it feels like our core friendship has changed. And it feels like all my straight friends are moving ahead with marriages and babies and mortgages and such. I still feel like such a kid compared to them. As if they look at me and think "Gee, it's nice that Matt can still go out and party like he did five years ago. It's too bad he can't find a steady boyfriend, or even own a car for that matter." I know they're probably not really thinking that, but I guess I am.

In reality, it's probably good that I'm feeling like this because it's the only way I'm going to get motivated and change my life for the better.

Anyway, what inspired this whole down-in-the-dumps narrative was today's horoscope on MSNBC. I'd spent most of the afternoon cleaning up old employee/firm pictures on the marketing server and was getting all sad and nostalgic. Reminiscing on my past three years at my firm was definitely NOT improving my mood. Then I read this:

"It is time to put away the sentimental feelings for the day and move to something new, dear Cancer. Stop pulling out old photo albums and crying about past experiences. You will only succeed in sinking into a puddle of tears that you cannot pull yourself out of. Instead, this is a day to look to the future and plan for new experiences that you can enjoy with the people you love."

And THEN I was cruising through all my favorite blogs and read http://www.iseemonsters.com/ 's post for today. And I totally relate to what he's saying. And it makes me feel so much better about where I'm at in my head today.

Crazy, huh? Astrology and the wisdom of my blogger friends saves the day yet again. So I'm just going to pull out the St. John's Wort, hit the gym to kick in those endorphins, and try to cheer up a bit. After all, there's a lot to look forward to!

notes from the weekend

I think I've had a "Fatal Attraction"-esque one-night-stand.
Three Saturdays ago I was drunkenly dancing at a club at about 1 a.m. and this guy approached me. We made out (I know, I know – I hate PDA too, but we all make mistakes), he drove me home and I invited him in, and so on. We had fun but overall he wasn't my type, and I made it clear when we got up in the morning (or so I thought) that I wasn't interested in dating, or having him take me out to dinner, or anything romantically-related.
I've seen him out the past couple weekends and he will not chill out. He keeps cornering me, he grabbed me and tried to make out with me in the bar bathroom, he's talking to all my friends about me and why I'm being so distant, etc. He even liked my shaved head so much that he shaved his too. Ugh.
Now I know what it feels like to date a chick – JUST KIDDING.
Maybe I will take him up on the offer for free dinner. I'm broke and in the mood for sushi. On the other hand, I don't want my beloved pet boiled.

My hair has almost grown back enough to use product again! It's still a bit too short, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed for next weekend. I want to be spiky!

It can be a real pain in the ass to take care of a friend when they're wasted. My buddy and I went to a club in Union Station on Friday night. We wanted table service, but didn't want to pay for it, so we mooched off of some guys that we vaguely knew who had table service. And that meant free vodka. Lots of it. I don't care for vodka so I stayed fairly in control. My friend got so bombed that during the four-block walk back to my place he sat down on the ground three times. Then he started shouting filthy obscenities at some perfectly innocent people having a quiet drink out on their condo patio. Then he had to have another beer when we got to my place, even though he most definitely didn't need it, and only ended up drinking about two sips of it. He insisted on sleeping in my bed, grabbed me inappropriately, and hogged the whole bed and all the sheets. I woke up at 10 a.m. but had to just sit on my couch and watch "Roseanne" and "Headliners and Legends" until he finally got up - at 2 p.m.
Love him.

Please, for the love of god people, enough with the plastic charity bracelets. Admittedly, I've hated these since they first made their appearance well over a year ago (or was it even longer than that?). I knew they were trouble when the biggest hoser in my office showed up with a Lance Armstrong bracelet back when they first came out. If I see someone wearing one I immediately dismiss him or her as someone undeserving of my attention. Although I do see them on men almost exclusively. Kudos ladies.
Now, this doesn't mean that I don't whole-heartedly support giving to charity. I gave to hurricane-relief, and will be donating money as well as walking in the Denver Race for the Cure next month, but I don't have to wear a cheap piece of plastic on my wrist to advertise it. I think it's sad that some "genius" had to invent a way for people to advertise the fact that they've given a measly dollar or two to charity so everyone could know they've made a charitable contribution and that they're such a good person.
I firmly believe, with everyone's help, we can wipe out plastic charity bracelets in our lifetime!

I had Wahoo's Fish Taco for lunch yesterday, and I do believe menu item 3B with blackened fish, black beans, lime juice and extra green sauce is one of my favorite meals on earth. When I first saw the name "fish taco" a couple of years ago I had to chuckle a bit because my friends and I used that expression to refer to something else entirely when we were in junior high, but once I tried it I was hooked.

The Emmys were OK, but I was disappointed in a couple of the winners. "Lost" won, which rocks, but I was really rooting for "Six Feet Under." And I wanted Francis Conroy to win. And enough of "Everybody Loves Who-the-Fuck-Ever." "Arrested Development" was robbed. Sorry if you like ELR, but my parents like it, and that's enough of a reason for me to turn my nose up.
My favorite part was the nominations for variety show writing. Hilarious. And Jon Stewart's little video segment.
I was a little surprised that Felicity Huffman won over Marcia Cross, but then when I thought about it I realized she deserved it. Bree still rocks my world though.
I laughed and laughed when I saw Cynthia Nixon's teeth in her TV movie. I wouldn't have believed they could have made her teeth look worse if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.

There is a beautiful, beautiful man who works out in the gym at my complex. I've never had any interaction with him because I'm always listening to my iPod at the gym, and am extremely antisocial while working out, so I never talk to anyone. But yesterday he came up to me and asked if I knew what the final Broncos score had been. I said no, that I don't really follow the Broncos. And he kind of laughed and said he doesn't really either – he just likes to know because everyone in Denver is all Broncos-psycho and it's good information to have for random conversations. Then he asked if I knew where the remote was so he could change the station from sports to "The Simpsons." And he had kind of a higher-pitched gay voice! Yeah! It looks like he shaves his body though. Not a big fan of that, but I could get over it.

The moths have come to Denver. I absolutely hate moths. I don't know why, but they freak the shit out of me. Luckily, I have a little ace up my sleeve – my cat Ernest. He loves playing with moths, torturing them, and then eating them. A bit gross, I know, but it's how he earns his keep. He eats spiders too. Good Ernie!

I found out I didn't get the other job I applied for. Sucks. I was positive that I would get one of those two jobs. Guess I was a little too cocky. Back to the drawing board….

it's a marketer's life

I am a god of marketing!

Please excuse me while I pat myself on the back profusely.

While I do sincerely like my job, after being here for three years I sometimes find myself caught in a quagmire of routine and boredom.

But I've found one of the biggest characteristics of architectural marketing is the "feast or famine" syndrome. Either I'm sitting here for days and days praying for something interesting to do or I'm slammed beyond belief, putting in extremely long days and nights.

My Marketing Director came to me early in the week and told me that we had gotten off the hook for putting together an intensely hard and huge proposal for a developer for a very important urban redevelopment project here in Denver. Then on Thursday afternoon around 2:00 she came back and said we had to be in Cherry Creek at 4:00 to meet with the developer. Turns out we were going to be in charge. And the proposal was due on Friday afternoon.

From that moment on I've been attached to my desk, frantically putting together a 100-page, 11x17, contractor-filled work of art. I've never whipped out a proposal that big so quickly. And it looks fucking amazing. If I do say so myself. And I don't even have to because the principal of the development firm was just here and said it for me.

The only reason I'm going on about how fantastic I am is because as I was sitting at my computer at 7:00 this morning I realized how much I've learned at this job and how far I've come in my marketing skills. I mean, really, my background isn't in marketing. My education was in public relations, which really is a whole other beast altogether.

However, any skills I used to have in the field of PR have gone unused for so long that I'm afraid any self-respecting PR firm would be reluctant to hire me.

But maybe marketing is my true calling. It allows me to strategize, make industry contacts right and left, keep up my writing and editing skills, develop my skills in all sorts of computer programs, and yet still have enough relaxation time so I don't go completely mad. And I get to be the hero every time we win a new project.

I just need to make more money! And have many, many underlings who fear me.
Someday….

*HACK*

I have been sick for a week.

I'm convinced I had two separate colds in the space of seven days. The first phase lasted roughly from last Monday until approximately Thursday. That was all about having a headache, a sore throat, a cough, and extreme fatigue. Then just when I thought I was out of the woods, I woke up on Friday with the nastiest head cold ever. Totally stuffed-up, runny nose, dry eyes, head feeling like it was going to explode at any moment, etc.
Maybe it was all one big nasty super-bug, but I'm still not convinced.
However, I'm thrilled that I have finally exorcised it from my body.

I took some cold medicine before I went out on Friday night, and was soon reminded why one probably shouldn't take cold medicine while drinking. I was so stupid. Really. I had the shortest attention span – anyone attempting to talk to me was probably highly frustrated. I felt like George W. Bush in a room full of shiny objects.

Stupid colds.

Now – isn't that an entertaining Monday morning post?
"My So-Called Phlegmy Life!"

useless trivia about me!

Tagged by Stacy (http://stacysplace75.blogspot.com/)

Seven things you plan to do before you die:
1. Write something that actually makes me some decent money.
2. Travel outside of the continental United States (and I’d love to live in London for a few years).
3. Have a romantic relationship that lasts longer than four months.
4. Get a dog.
5. Get a kid.
6. Own a home – or at least a sweet condo.
7. Buy something extravagant for my parents.

Seven things you can't do:
1. Join AA.
2. Run for more than 20 minutes without feeling like I’m going to have a stroke.
3. Snowboard.
4. Stay in on a Friday night.
5. Be celibate.
6. Be deliberately and obviously mean to people.
7. Eat something that had a hair in it.

Seven things you can do:
1. Play the piano.
2. Play the alto saxophone.
3. Whip up a mean architectural proposal.
4. Drink for 10+ hours without getting a hangover (unless I’m drinking gin).
5. Sing “Silent Night” in German.
6. Knit – although very slowly and with lots of dropped stitches.
7. Cook delicious chicken fajitas.

Seven things that attract you to the opposite sex:
*Ugh! Homophobic!! Just kidding...I’ll ignore the opposite sex part*
1. Hands/forearms.
2. Hairstyle (and a shaved head is perfectly lovely…and feels amazing rubbed all over your body).
3. Teeth.
4. Lips.
5. Self-confidence.
6. Sense of humor.
7. Shoes.

Seven things you say most:
1. Twat!
2. Sucker!
3. Shenanigans!
4. Blimey!
5. Duh.
6. Jesus!
7. I need a drink.

Seven celebrity crushes:
1. The men of “Lost” (Sorry, can’t pick just one! And when Boone died I was in mourning for a month. God, that face….).
2. The younger brother on “Prison Break.”
3. Julian McMahon (Dr. Troy on “Nip/Tuck”).
4. Jude Law.
5. Andre 3000.
6. “Rex” on “Days of Our Lives” (but only if he doesn’t talk).
7. Jesse Metcalfe (but only if he doesn’t talk).

five days in Aberdeen…the city on the go!

Ahh – it’s nice to be back in Denver. Despite the fact that I had to go to Aberdeen for a funeral, I still had a really nice and relaxing time.
My great aunt passed away on Saturday morning, and I ended up purchasing a ticket to Pierre for a flight that left on Sunday afternoon.
So of course I decided to go out on Saturday night and celebrate being alive before a week of mourning.
I went to Tracks to shake my booty. There were quite a few people I knew there, including my friend Matt who had a friend in town from Houston. And he was CUTE. Beautiful mouth. Smooth, dark skin. Hubba hubba. I immediately turned on my irresistible Matt-charm (ha!) and before I knew it we were dancing a dirty, gay-boy dance. I invited him over to my place for the night and he graciously accepted.

The wake was held on Monday. Having had both my mom’s parents die in the last four years, I’m growing to hate the Aberdeen funeral home. Blech – that antiseptic stink mixed with the overwhelming smell of flowers, the sad organ music, the dim lighting with Kleenex boxes everywhere. And the viewing of the body. It is such a surreal feeling to look at the makeup-covered face of someone who’s been around your entire life and not be able to talk to them. It’s creepy, but I keep expecting them to open their eyes and turn and look at me. I have definitely decided that when I die, there will be no viewing. I don’t want people staring at my corpse. It just reminds me too much of that scene in “Heathers.”
Although I’m sure my dad would be like, “I LOVE MY DEAD GAY SON!” Yeah, right.
Anyway, as is the custom at a Catholic wake, we had to say a rosary. A WHOLE rosary. Talk about being on autopilot after a while. Let’s see…that’s about 150 Hail Marys. 150!
Then the family got drunk. Quite drunk. Sitting out on my aunt’s patio, chugging beers and bottles of cheap white wine, toasting my great aunt and swatting away mosquitoes.

The funeral was held Tuesday morning. I was asked to be a pallbearer for the first time in my life. Again – another completely surreal feeling. The feeling of carrying a body, albeit in a coffin. This all came way too soon after my breakdown watching the last episode of “Six Feet Under.” Sometimes I feel like I’m watching my own life from the outside. And standing under the sunny South Dakota sky with my dad’s whole side of the family watching the final blessing over the coffin I got that feeling.

The best part of my week by far was spending time with my niece. I am so crazy about her. She turns three this month and she’s now talking non-stop. She’s so hilarious. She’s finally totally potty-trained and she has to show off her big-girl panties to everyone. She’s so proud. If you ask her to say “cookie,” she says “fookie.” If you go “K-k-k-cookie,” she’ll say “K-k-k-fookie.” Then I asked her to say “cook you” and I thought my mom was going to have a stroke.
I just couldn’t give her enough hugs and kisses. I miss her like crazy already. I guess I may have to have a kid of my own someday after all. MAYBE.

Ooh – and I got some good news. My parents have decided to get a new car, and when they talked to the dealer about how much they would get on a trade-in for their Toyota Camry with only 40,000 miles they found out they would only get $10,000. So they’re going to sell it to me! It’s in mint condition, I love the color, it already has a CD player AND an automatic starter! I know my friends back in the Midwest can definitely appreciate how amazing an automatic starter is. I’m not sure if I need it here, but it’s still tits.

Anyway, most importantly, goodbye Aunt Phyllis. You were born in 1915 in a small town in South Dakota. You got married to an asshole who cheated on you less than three years into your marriage and had the guts to divorce his ass and take on a sexist society all on your own. You weren’t able to ever marry again because of a stupid-ass Catholic rule so you got a job at a bank, an apartment of your own, and a life that you could enjoy and be proud of, surrounded by many friends. You were my only older relative who preferred to stay up until all hours of the night and sleep the morning away just like I like to do. None of that getting up at 5 a.m. bullshit for you. You always remembered to bring a jar of black olives for me at family holidays because I hated the green ones. Every single year I got a birthday card and a $5 check from you, even when your resources had been seriously depleted from living in a money-sucking assisted-living facility. After a lifetime of smoking you quit cold turkey at age 70 when the truth about how evil smoking is began to truly come to light. You always asked about my cat Ernie every time we talked, and always referred to him as a “her” because in your mind all cats were females. Your voracious reading habit inspired me to read as much as I could too and to eventually become an English major – even if you had a somewhat unhealthy obsession with bodice-rippers. Even when you were healthy, you were about 90 pounds soaking wet, yet in my eyes you were one of the biggest people I’ve ever known.

I’ll miss you.