Waiting for My Real Life to Begin

The life and times of a girl named Swishy.

Friday, September 29, 2006

Another day at the office

Boss: I'm going to call you Llib from now on. L-L-I-B.
Me: Why's that?
Boss: Because your extension is exactly the same as Bill's, only backwards. So Llib. It's Bill spelled backwards.
Me: Um, OK.
Boss: Talk to you later, Llib.


Me (looking at a photo): Don't you think it's too big?
Male designer: Can I get that on tape?


Most random sighting of the day: I walk into the bathroom and there's a D cell battery on the floor in front of the toilet. I haven't seen a D battery in about 10 years. What's it doing in the bathroom? Where was it before it ended up on the bathroom floor? We may never know the answers to these questions--but I have my theories.


Guy at work: Did you hear about Screech's sex tape?
Me: YES! Did you hear what it HAS on it?
Guy at work: A threesome?
Me: BESIDES the threesome. It's sick. I read it in the New York Daily News.
Guy at work: What?
Me: I'm not telling. I'm a good girl.
Guy at work: Yeah, you're as innocent and pure as the driven snow ... in Chernobyl.


Different guy: So there were a couple cops shot in my old neighborhood.
Me: Wow. That's horrible.
Different guy: And a drug bust.
Me: That's crazy.
Different guy: Yeah. I don't live there anymore, though.
Me: That's too bad. Sounds like a nice place. Lots of good, old-fashioned American values at work there.
Different guy: Yeah. So. (Pauses.) If you ever need help with a carjacking, let me know.

This is all pretty par for the course.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Pick one, any one

A huge mess of random:

* Last night was FINALLY our first night of softball (after the first three weeks were canceled for a variety of stupid reasons). We won both games, and Swishy got some hits and scored some runs, but of course you know it's never that simple. For one thing, I got stuck in ridiculous traffic and missed the first couple of innings. For another, a couple of the guys on the team are ... how to say it ... FREAKS. I'm not sure how much will be funny if you don't know these people, but some people at work are like, "Swishy, you HAVE to write a game recap and it email it around!!" so maybe if I do that, I'll post some of it here. Suffice it to say one guy in particular has high hopes that this whole coed softball thing will get him some action with the ladies, and is doing everything possible to try to make that happen. Not sure how that's going to work out for him.

* After two hours of softball, I went and played an hour and a half of basketball with the surgeon girls. HOLY CRAP, I'm feeling it today. Every muscle in my body hurts. My back, especially, is JACKED UP. I felt like a 90-year-old woman every time I got in and out of my chair at work. It was fun, but I think one of the girls, a non-surgeon girl who played in college, was getting mad at me because I wasn't setting picks when she wanted me to. But I mean, whatever. It ain't the damn WNBA. I still had fun.

* Not to sound obsessed with my teeth (seriously), but has anyone ever tried Crest Whitestrips? For some reason, I feel like they'll work that much better right after getting my teeth cleaned, so I want to use them now, but I'm a little scared. I know your teeth get a little sensitive for a few days, but I don't want, like, the enamel to get messed up! Because not like I NEED them, I just want to see what they'll look like. My friend's dad who's a dentist says it's fine, but I'm paranoid. The box has been sitting in my car for two days. I'm sure the fluctuation in temperature is awesome for them.

* This is a very bad thing. I realized the other day that you can watch about a half-dozen of ABC's shows (including one show in particular!) for free online after they air. I think you can actually do that with some of NBC's shows, too (Studio 60, for sure), but I'm not even going there. I'll never get any work done again. It's bad enough I know about ABC.

* I realize I probably shouldn't be surprised by this, but Anna Nicole Smith's lawyer is the father of her baby?!? I was appropriately scandalized when I saw that this morning. It was sort of obvious he was in love with her, so good for him. I guess. Whatever. I can't really get into the whole Anna Nicole thing otherwise.

* I really love how Heidi Klum says Nina Garcia's name. I seriously walk around trying to imitate it every time I hear it.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

My blogger blind date!

Consider this a warning: I am totally not afraid to meet any of you in person. If I find out we're going to be in the same place at the same time, I'm gonna make you go get lunch or coffee or something with me. I just will.

So when I found out BFOS (that's Blog Friend of Swishy) Trish Ryan and I were going to be in St. Louis at the same time, I practically accosted her via email and asked her if she wanted to meet up. This was not weird in the slightest for me. It might have been exceptionally weird for her, but because she's so nice, she didn't let on a bit. She was totally up for it.

OK, so the meeting up part isn't weird, but here's what IS weird: wondering what the other person's going to expect. You wonder if they'll expect someone older, someone younger, someone funnier, someone blonder, someone ... cooler. And then you remember that this person knows that you've dropped your security card in your pee at work and that you've sung at the top of your lungs while circling the high school track at 11 p.m. And you realize the "Will they think I'm cool enough?" ship has kinda sailed. The only thing left to wonder is, "Is there a chance I can sort of pretend to be normal?"

Trish learned one thing about me right away: I'm always late. Not ALWAYS always, but a lot. I know what punctual people think of chronically late people, I KNOW. And yes, I do have my shit together, and no, I'm not trying to be rude. I hope if you're one of those punctual people, you like me anyway. I'm just always a few minutes behind. I was born seven days late--the only one in my family not to come early--and my mom (who, by the way, runs about 1,000 times later than I do) is fond of saying that I haven't been on time since.

But I digress. I was a little bit late because I had to shower. As I told Trish, you can tell the Internet I'm a freak, but you can't tell it I don't have good hygiene. At least I'll be CLEAN!

Trish and I met downtown and we decided to go to a tapas restaurant for dinner. If you've never been, going to a tapas place is a fantastic way to feel instantly comfortable. You order a ton of little dishes to share, and you're reaching across the table and trying everything and comparing notes on what tastes best (I was a fan of the Spanish meatballs myself).

But this is the honest truth--I didn't NEED any help feeling comfortable. I already knew I liked Trish, but I liked her that much more the second I met her. She is cute, cute, cute! She's funny, and smart, and a fantastic conversationalist. We had a great time (OK, I did ... but I think she did, too! I hope!) talking up a storm about writing, relationships, lame previous jobs, pets--you name it. And ohhh yes, just the itty bittiest slices of blog gossip! Hee hee.

It was fun times all around, and just reinforced my feeling that anyone who seems great in Internet land really IS that great in real life.

Well, the people I've met are, anyway.

Monday, September 25, 2006

I may suck at life ...

... but at least I have good teeth!

I went to the dentist today for my overdue six-month cleaning. (Yes, a few years ago I became a responsible adult--lack of appropriate knives notwithstanding--and started going to the dentist every six months like I'm supposed to. I have yet to apply such diligence to my gynecological visits. Or any other doctor visits, for that matter.)

Anyway. I went to the dentist, and after doing his final look-over this is what he told me:

"People should aspire to have your teeth."

Ha! I haven't stopped laughing about that all day. I feel like that's the sort of thing that should go on my tombstone: "People aspired to have her teeth."

So when you floss, kids, think of Swishy.

I suck at life

Exhibit A: I had some people over Friday night. I was a little stressed out, because I left work late and I still had to vacuum and wipe down the kitchen counters and get out the cups/plates/etc and light some candles to make it all cute and smell-goody and blah blah blah. It was the first time I'd had a bunch of people over since I moved, so I wanted it to be OK.

Note to self: Next time you have people over, spend less time on the vacuuming and candle-lighting and more time on the knife selection.

One woman brought some bread and asked if I had a knife she could use to cut it. So I gave her the sharpest knife I have, a knife that works perfectly well for me when I'm chopping potatoes or cutting steak or whatever. It's not the greatest knife in the world, but it's a knife. It cuts.

She looks at me. "This is the only knife you have?"
Me: "Well, no, but it's the sharpest one."

She cuts a slice and then tosses the knife to the side: "I might as well just rip the bread instead." She starts ripping the bread and goes, "If you're not going to get married, we should just have a shower for you now so you can have the stuff you need."

Implication: I'm a horrible hostess.
Implication: I live like a Neanderthal.
Implication: I'm going to die alone.

I KNOW she didn't mean to make me feel bad, I really do know that, but ohhh, did it make me feel bad. Really, really bad. I spent the rest of the time mentally critiquing my apartment, from the old orange juice in the fridge I should have tossed to the empty spot on the wall over my bed (I've looked and looked for the perfect thing to put there, but I can't find it!) to the low lighting in the living room, which I thought I liked but probably everyone else thought was too dark. I'm like the anti-Martha Stewart. I'm not even 30-minute-meal Rachael Ray. I'm a total domestic loser.

Exhibit B: After waking up in a funk the next day, I pull myself together and decide to be really productive. I'm going to run some errands and then do this one thing I've been putting off but really want to do. But first I have to get gas. So I go to the closest gas station, fill up my tank, put the key back in the ignition and ... nothing. Try again. Nothing. And again, and again, and again, and again. Nada. Having spent $287.43 on my car a scant five days earlier, I am not thrilled.

I call my friend, who knows less about cars than I do. I quickly come to my senses and hang up.

I call my dad. His helpful words of advice? "See? I told you to buy a new car." Thanks, Dad. That'll TOTALLY get the car running. And in the meantime, if you happen to know of any available sugar daddies who'd love to buy a girl with dull knives a new car, let me know.

Next call: the shop I usually go to, which conveniently closes in 15 minutes. He tells me a couple of things to try, none of which works. He tells me to get the car towed and he'll look at it in the morning.

Like I'm going to give up that easily. I decide to pop the hood and take a look. Which would have been a great plan if I KNEW HOW TO OPEN THE HOOD. I seriously stood there for five minutes trying to find the little latch to open it. I finally got it open, looked inside ... yup, there's my engine. That's about the only thing I recognize.

I slam the hood shut. Time for Plan B. There's a Jiffy Lube across the street, and I decide to try my luck there. I wait to cross the very, very busy street ... and wait ... and wait. Finally, a nice older man stops and waves me across. I run past his car ... and the woman in the car behind him goes BALLISTIC. She lays on her horn and leans out her window and starts screaming at this poor man, who was JUST TRYING TO BE A DECENT HUMAN BEING. He gets all flustered and drives away, and she continues to honk and scream her way down the block.

The guys at Jiffy Lube are very nice, and one comes back across the street with me to check out the car. He thinks he knows what the problem is, but he can't get under my car to fix it, so I'm SOL. Time to call the tow truck.

Which I did ... and then my cell phone dies.

This is where the story gets very boring, because all I did for the next two hours was sit at the gas station and wait for the tow truck.

The end of the story: Just as the tow truck FINALLY arrives, one of the Jiffy Lube guys shows up with his car and some jumper cables. (He actually went and bought them, which I thought was, like, the nicest thing ever.) In about two seconds, he's got the car running again, and I send the tow truck man off to find the next poor stranded girl.

Exhibit C: The ONLY errand I ended up getting done was picking up a book I had on hold at the library. I walk in and promptly get yelled at for being on my phone (which I'd managed by then to get juiced with about 10 minutes of airtime). There were four screaming kids right next to me (really, literally screaming) and she wasn't kicking THEM out. She wants to kick ME out for being on the phone? What if I had been talking to someone standing right next to me? Would that have gotten me kicked out too?

Whatever. I refuse to be kicked out of a public library, so I snap my phone shut and shoot her the Swishy death glare (which, really, is much more passive-aggressive than it sounds).

After a minute or two of waiting, it's my turn. I have a late fine, which I always have when I go to the library, so I've got my money ready. I hand her a twenty. She goes over to the cash drawer. And then she starts acting weird. Really, really weird. This goes on for several minutes, until she calls another librarian over for a whispered consultation.

OK. Just guess what the holdup was. Just GUESS.

Never mind. You'll never guess, not in a thousand years, so I'll just tell you. SHE THOUGHT MY TWENTY WAS COUNTERFEIT. I'm serious. I couldn't make that up if I tried. Like, who pays library fines with COUNTERFEIT TWENTIES??? If I had a fistful of fake money, I'd be at Best Buy looking at the flat screens, not at the library paying a $4.40 late fee.

The other woman assured her it was fine, sparing me of a citizen's arrest by a librarian.

Those are just three examples. Just three. I could go on, but really, what's the point. Suffice it say, I am the cooler of LIFE.

Friday, September 22, 2006

Just indulge me here

Yes, there are lots of other things going on in my life besides Grey's Anatomy, but none is quite as important at this very moment, as I watch THE SCENE for, like, the thousandth time.

The scene. The one where (STOP READING IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW!!) Derek tells Meredith he's in love with her. I CANNOT believe he told her he was in love with her. I seriously can't. And my Meredith, her eyes just filled with tears and she couldn't talk, because she's had the worst year of her entire life and she's finally hearing what she wanted to hear and it's almost like she just can't believe it. Of course, it's not that simple, because nothing ever is with them. It'll never be nice and neat. Ever. But he loves her and wants to be with her, and that's big. Is he good for her? That's another story ...

I loved the entire episode. Totally exceeded my expectations. I mean, I just LOVED it. The flashbacks were great--who knew Burke was so frosty when he first met Cristina? And Olivia leaving with Alex! And, of course, my favorite: when Derek and Meredith met. "I have no story. I'm just a girl in a bar," she says, and he smiles that sexy, McDreamy smile: "Well, I'm just a guy in a bar."

Oh, it's hard to be mad at him when they're so cute together. Trust me, I'm plenty mad at him (how CONVENIENT, McPrick, that you decide you can't live without her AS SOON AS SHE MEETS SOMEONE ELSE!) But they just have such chemistry together. And, I mean, he LOVES her!

It's so sick and wrong how invested I am in this show. I hope it never sucks and goes off the air. I don't know how I would ever cope, since I clearly live through these characters.

All right--tomorrow, new, non-Grey's topic. But for tonight ... I mean, wow.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

So all of a sudden I'm the president of people with crappy lives?

(That's a line Meredith supposedly says in tonight's Grey's Anatomy premiere. I've read it a bunch of places and it made me laugh.)

Thank you all for being so nice to me! Do you ever just feel really tired emotionally? That's what it is. I'm just feeling a little worn out. When you're tired-tired, you can sleep in or take a nap ... I'm not really sure what you do when your SELF feels tired. A vacation, I guess.

Or maybe watch Grey's Anatomy! I remember telling my friend in May, "I can't believe I have to wait FOUR MONTHS to watch a new episode! Four months! My whole life could be different in four months!" Which of course it's not--not even CLOSE!--but back then it seemed like four months was forever. I honestly haven't been that excited this week--I mean, I HAVE, but I also didn't want to get my hopes up too much. But now I'm excited. USA Today had a big thing about it, and tonight's episode got four stars. Four! They described it using words like melancholy, lovely and moving. And next week's is supposed to be funnier, but just as good.

I could go on and on about why I love this show--and someday I just might--but I think what I like the best is that every single character is a little bit unlikeable in some way. Because that's how real people are--we're part good, part bad and we say and do stupid things and then try to fix them in an often clumsy way. I'm especially invested in Meredith--some people who watch the show hate her because she can be a little whiny and does things like drink too much tequila when she feels bad. But that's what I like about her. I understand it when she withdraws because she feels sad and doesn't want to "infect the happy people." Or when she can't get herself out of bed sometimes because the thought of ONE MORE DAY seems too overwhelming. I like that she looks like crap when she's having a bad day. I like that she can be those things and also be really talented and funny, and someone who listens to people and tries to be a good friend. And I want her to be happy.

And now I'm going to stop waxing philosophical about it and go watch the damn thing!

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

I need a hug

I just do. I would hug a stranger on the street right now if I didn't think there was a chance I could be arrested.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Postcards from the edge

OK, not QUITE the edge. We were fairly well-behaved this time around. I'll just dive right in ... snapshots from a Swishy-Manic weekend of fun:


I'm on my way to Manic Mom's when my phone rings.

Manic: Where ARE you?
Me: I hooked up with Mr. URAGR8KISSER. I don't think I'll be seeing you until tomorrow.
Manic: You are SUCH a LIAR!
Me: I saved his number. Good thing I packed the thong like you told me to! So, yeah, I don't think I'll be coming home tonight. I hope you don't mind.

One of our little inside jokes: URAGR8KISSER is a guy we befriended during our last adventure. Manic remembers his real name; I swear I don't. Mike? I think that's what she said it was. We'll go with Mike. Anyway, Mike sent me a series of text messages the next day, the first of which proclaimed: "U R A GR8 KISSER." (Doesn't everyone kiss their new friends?) So sometimes, when Manic sends me emails, she puts "URAGR8KISSER!!!!!" at the end to make me laugh.

(Disclaimer for the rest of the post: Swishy wouldn't want anyone to think she's a ho, so we kept the new friend-making to a minimum this weekend. Thongs and bongs and Trojans notwithstanding.)


I pull up in Manic's driveway and she comes outside to meet me.

"Hubby just asked me how I know you're not a serial killer. I was like, I shared a hotel room with her for two nights. Don't you think if she wanted to kill me, she would have already?"

That totally cracks me up, because the first time Hubby met me (very briefly in April) he later asked Manic if I was a lesbian. (Wishful thinking, or a product of Swishy's very low-maintenance travel look and knowledge of sports? Discuss.)

I walk into the house. "The lesbian serial killer is here!"

Hubby laughs and gives me a hug, then proceeds to sit me in the chair in Manic's office and ask me a series of getting-to-know-you-better questions.

Manic (yelling from the kitchen): "I feel like my DAD is interviewing my DATE! Let her come in here and eat!"

I think I pass the test, because Hubby tells me I can come up and watch a movie in bed with him and Manic if I want. Although this might still be part of the test. Hmm.

Either way, Hubby (who, honestly, is one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet) goes to bed and Manic and I stay up gossiping about blog people, as if we know them in real life. (But not you! Promise!)


Saturday morning, we walk into the main building where they're having the festival and who's one of the first people we see? Emily Giffin, that's who, standing off to the side signing stock before her panel discussion at 11:30. We adore Emily's books, just love them, so of course we go right up to her and start chatting her ear off. (She TOTALLY knows Manic, because Manic knows all the coolest people, and said she remembered me from her book signing a couple of months ago. At first she was just being nice, but then when I turned she was like, "Yes! I recognize your profile!" I think even more than that, though, was when she heard me laugh. I have one of those really ... how's a nice way to say it ... uninhibited laughs. I laugh ALL the time, and when I get going ... yeah. So I think it was the laugh.)

So anyway, we talked to Emily a ton and went to her two things--one was a panel discussion, and one was a lecture and Q&A by herself, and she is our new wannabe BFF. She's the nicest girl on the face of the planet, she really is. And her books are great, so you should totally read them.


Manic and I take a lunch break and go to this pizza place, where, Manic tells me, "the slices are as big as your head!!!" We walk in and look at the menu on the wall.

Me, to the guy behind the counter: "What's the best you got to offer me?"
He grins. "We got a lot of things."
Me: "OK, but the best."
He continues to grin.
Me: "OK, how about a slice of pepperoni?"
We pay and start to walk toward a table when Counter Guy stops me: "Helllooooo."
Me (starting to crack up, because, after all, we've already been talking to him for the past five minutes): "Um. Hi."
Counter guy: "You have beautiful eyes."
Me: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ... thanks.

We sit down and wait for our pizza.

Manic: My chair is vibrating.
Me: My chair is, like, sticky.
Manic: Why do you think?!? It's because of the vibrating chairs!!!

(Yuuuuuuck. She makes me sit in her chair and, sure enough, it's vibrating. We're not sure what to make of this.)

Counter Guy brings us our pizza.

Me: This better be good. I'm a big-pizza-slice virgin.
Counter Guy: Well, we can take care of that, too.
Manic Mom rolls her eyes.

So, the moral of the story is that guys at pizza places with vibrating chairs are horny. But the slices are huge! Check out Manic Mom with her piece:


The festival happened to be right across the street from a casino, so you KNOW we had to stop in and play the slots for a little bit. Manic Mom strolls right in. I, on the other hand, am stopped. And carded. And detained until a supervisor could come over and give the thumbs-up on my driver's license.

I went to Vegas when I was under age and didn't get carded once. I am not remotely close to looking like I could be under 21. I suppose I should have been flattered that someone thought I looked young enough to be sneaking into casinos, but I was mostly annoyed, because that meant I had to walk around the rest of the day with this on my hand:


OK, did you know that you don't get quarters for the slots anymore? You can't just drop one quarter in the slot and go on to the next one. Now, once you put your money in, you have to insert a piece of paper, and every time you want to move on to a new machine, you have to cash out and it prints a new piece of paper. I won $1.25 a bunch of times, but it doesn't MEAN anything unless five quarters come spilling out! Totally not the same. I ended up losing about 12 bucks overall (we went back again later, and were BOTH carded that time--I was the only one stuck with a hand stamp, though), but we didn't do as badly as the poor, hunched-over schlub who told us the sad tale of how he lost 100 bucks.

Oh, yeah--I managed to get one shot off in the casino before a burly bald man in a suit appeared at my side and told me, very firmly, to turn off the camera NOW. He didn't make me delete the picture, though! So, here you go: The slot machine I won, and then subsequently lost, $2.50 at:


Later, back at the festival:

Me: Manic, that Mystic River dude is totally checking you out.
Manic: What are you TALKING about?!
Me: The guy who wrote Mystic River? You know, the one they made into a movie? Ben Affleck directed another movie made from one of his books this summer. He's totally famous. And HE'S CHECKING YOU OUT.
Manic: Shut UP, Swishy.
Me: I'm serious. Just watch him. Wait til he's done signing that girl's book. Wait ... wait ... THERE! Look! HE TOTALLY JUST CHECKED YOU OUT!
Manic: You're a freak.
Me: Whatever. He's a millionaire AND he's pretty cute. I'd look back if I were you.

(He really looked over like a half-dozen times. He did! I'm JUST SAYING.)


Saturday night, we met up with Cubmommy for some dinner and drinks. It was TOTAL FAKE BOOB NIGHT! We went to two places, and every waitress we had was rocking a chest so inflatable it could have saved the entire population of the Titanic. The second girl wasn't even wearing a bra and her boobs were STILL standing straight up at attention. It was insane. I totally get why guys can't help but stare sometimes. I swear I almost reached up and touched them one time, just to see what would happen.

Outside the restaurant, we got accosted by a guy with the most elaborate give-me-money story ever. He flew out from California to see his old girlfriend's 1-year-old daughter, but the old girlfriend never came to pick up him, so he called his dad, who also lives in Chicago, but his dad won't return his calls, so then he started hitchhiking, and then he heard there was a free wine tasting, so he decided to go to that, but he can't find it, and ... hey, we wouldn't happen to have a couple of bucks, would we?

Um ... no.


There's a bunch of stuff I'm leaving out, but it was fun. Trust me. There were no arrests, no hot and juicy hookups, no million-dollar jackpots, but it was fun times nonetheless. We laughed so hard my stomach hurt.

And don't listen to anything self-deprecating Manic ever says. She has the hottest legs ever, she looks cute without makeup and her kids are, like, dream kids. They're even quiet in the morning so you can sleep in! They also have inherited their mom's sense of humor, so you can just IMAGINE. We hung with the kids Sunday and they cracked me up almost as much as Manic did. We had a blast.

For Manic's (100 times funnier) take on the weekend, go here.

So who's organizing the next weekend of debauchery? Hmmmmm?

Monday, September 18, 2006

Serenity now!

Blogger is being a pain in the ass right now and not letting me post anything with pictures, so I'll have to try again later. Booooooo!

In other news ... well, there is no other news. It's all in the post I can't post!

Friday, September 15, 2006

Let the good times roll

Later this afternoon, I'll be on my way to hook up with Manic Mom for a weekend of debauchery at the Midwest Literary Festival in Chicago.

We're talking last night, and I'm like, "So what should I bring? Is it hot there? Cold? What?"

Her response: "Jeans. Thong. Bong. Whore makeup. Condoms. Astroglide ... I can keep them coming if you want."

Oh, yes, there will be stories on Monday.

(P.S. If you're gonna be in Chicago and want to party with the party people, e-mail us! Seriously. We're down with blogger blind dates.)

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Why I'll never be a hot senior citizen

So I went this week for a little ... maintenance. The last chick I got was all business and, honestly, a little rough with the wax, and generally freaked me the hell out. This time I got a different woman, an older one who'd been doing bikini waxes forever (definite plus). She was also super chatty, which is a nice perk to help keep your mind off the fact that someone is ripping hair out of a fairly sensitive part of your body. I found out that she loves Sex and the City, that Samantha is her favorite character, and that the number of men who get their backs waxed goes way up in the summertime.

So then I go, "What's the craziest thing you've ever seen?"
"Oh, I've seen lots of things."
"I know, but the CRAZIEST. Or the funniest. Whatever."

(Manic Mom and I asked Elena the Mistress of Pain this question, and she said it was this guy who asked to have his back waxed, and then asked her to keep going and do his butt ... which had a BLUE DOT above the crack. She was like, "Do you know if that means something?" And Manic was like, "Um ... maybe it was a target?"

I know what you're thinking, and NO FREAKING JOKE. I don't see stuff like that at my job either.)

Anyway, she's like, "Well ... this is pretty funny. This lady came in not too long ago for a Brazilian ... and she was 60 years old!"

OK, seriously. A BRAZILIAN. And she's SIXTY. She said the woman had just gotten divorced and started dating a 50-year-old, and wanted to do a little something to spice things up. Which, you know what--great. I'm all for spice. But whatever happened to whipped cream and blindfolds and doing it on the kitchen floor? Hello, 99 percent of every issue of Cosmo is dedicated to "spicing up your love life." You really have to subject your 60-year-old nether regions to a BRAZILIAN?

I seriously cannot get over that. By the time I'm 60, I'll be ecstatic to be having any sex, let alone sex after a BRAZILIAN.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Not bad for a Tuesday night

Did I mention that I'm playing on a softball team with some people from work? No? Well, maybe I would if we would EVER FREAKING HAVE A GAME!

The schedule's only four weeks, with a doubleheader each week. Last week: canceled. This week: canceled. Supposedly those games will be tacked on the end, which at this rate, will be among the snow drifts in December.

But tonight I was glad they were canceled, because the night turned strangely, unexpectedly fun. I came home and got to have my little Grey's fest--which I obviously was giddy about--while I ate dinner. (And, yes, I'm still being mostly good, but I had chocolate cake--chocolate MOUSSE cake--for dessert because it was a special occasion. And oh, was it gooooooood.) And then I got this random phone call, and I do mean random: This girl I'd never met before had gotten my number from someone, and would I like to come play basketball with a bunch of other girls at 8:30? Um, go play basketball or go have another boring night at the gym ... LET ME THINK ABOUT THIS ONE.

OK, these girls, though? Not only were most of them about 100 times better than me, but they were much cooler than me, too. Like four of them are surgeons. SURGEONS. And they're CUTE, too. REALLY cute. They're CUTE and they get paid to CUT PEOPLE OPEN. If that's not a guy's dream come true, I don't know what is. And one of them who's not a surgeon? Her brother is a PAPARAZZI. (Or paparazzo. Whatever.) Not a fake one like me. A real one, who got $5,000 from People magazine for a shot of Keith Urban and $11,000 for one he took of Sandra Bullock in a bathrobe. (The one hot surgeon girl was totally disgusted--she's like, "Think of how Sandra Bullock feels!"--and really, deep down, I suppose I agree, even though I think millions of dollars must ease the pain a little bit. But I mean, who knew REAL PEOPLE were paparazzi? You know? They're, like, supposed to be these nameless, faceless, soulless demons on VH1 specials. That's why I thought it was cool.)

Anyway, so I played basketball with people much cooler and more athletic than me, and it was way fun, even though it kicked my ass. And then I came home and got this email from someone I know. It was about some sort of adminstrative thing, but then this person tacked on at the end: "Hope your day is going well. Wish I knew you better. You seem like one of those people everyone should know." Which I thought was SO NICE, if totally untrue (the last part). I mean, really! That has to be one of the nicest things someone's said to me in a while.

And then I cracked up at people's blogs and comments, and now I'm going to revise my thing a little bit before I go to bed. (Which, actually, has been more fun than painful lately--wonders never cease. I actually LIKE doing it now.) Also sprinkled in: a couple of fun/funny conversations with some friends.

So I had a very simple, but good, night. Yay! I hope you did, too.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Hot damn

A certain DVD comes out today, and I bet you can guess which one!

Of course, I was going to buy this DVD at some point. But I have most of the episodes on tape, and I've been watching the reruns all summer, so I was like, OK, if I don't go get it the SECOND it goes on sale, it's OK. I'll get it later in the week. Or this weekend. Or whatever.

That was before I peeked in on Television Without Pity yesterday. For the uninformed, TWoP is HILARIOUS. They have the funniest episode recaps, and message boards full of clever, witty people with clever, witty things to say. I try not to go there TOO, too much, otherwise I'd never get anything done, but I dropped in yesterday for a 10 days-and-counting fix.

And this is what I see:

"Greetings to all my fellow members in the PD Thrust Lovers Support Group."

"They couldn't POSSIBLY have thought they'd be able to get that thrusting on the air, could they have? Shonda (Rhimes, the creator) totally just wanted them to do it for her own personal home collection. She's such a dirty bird. And so am I, so thank you Shonda!"

"Is it totally wrong to have just watched it literally 15 times in a row?"

"They should package this with condoms."

And my favorite, because it's ALL ABOUT THE LOOKS: "He can stare off her dress."

Apparently an extended, DVD-only version of the Meredith-McDreamy sex scene made it out a little early. I watched it on your favorite and mine, YouTube, and oh, yes, there is thrusting aplenty. (It's not, like, DIRTY--I mean, they ARE clothed--but it IS hot. Hot enough that I totally felt like a pervert for watching it in a coffee shop where there were impressionable children nearby.)

So you know I had to go out and get the DVD today. It's sitting on my desk right this very second, and it's taking every ounce of willpower not to slide it in my computer and start watching.

I'm such a geek.

Monday, September 11, 2006

My loyalty--the kiss of death

The very first thing I do in the morning, before I pee or put in my contacts or brush my teeth, is kick on the radio with my foot. I am not the kind of person who jumps out of bed ready to unwrap the gift that is a new day. I am the kind of person who is likely to use the alarm clock as a murder weapon. So putting on some music helps me wake up and turn into a semi-normal human being before I leave the house. I have a default radio station that comes on, one that plays your usual adult contemporary-ish mix, and that way I don't have to think too much about what I'm listening to.

Or, I should say, I HAD.

My default radio station has changed formats. Not only has it changed formats, it's changed formats to something that makes NO SENSE. No kidding--I'm driving home from work tonight, and on comes "It's Raining Men" followed by Tupac. Yesterday, it was "Ladies' Night" followed by Outkast. I can't handle it. I can't express to you how much it drives me crazy. I want to bash my keys into the radio until it stops. There's no common genre, no common era, no common ANYTHING. And now, no default radio station.

This has been happening to me A LOT lately. I decide I like something, and then BOOM! It goes bye-bye. Which freaks me out because when I like something, I like it! I don't want to find something ELSE I like! I already KNOW what I like!

Seriously. Here's just a sample--a SAMPLE!--of the things Swishy used to love that have been discontinued in the past year:

* This Sonia Kashuk stuff at Target called "Blushify." It was the best blush ever. And as soon as I discovered it, they pulled it.

* Dove volumizing color shampoo/conditioner. I have stick-straight, fine hair, and this didn't weigh it down (and was a hell of a lot cheaper than the Bumble & Bumble stuff I'd been using). When I realized it was being discontinued, I went on drugstore.com and bought three bottles each of the shampoo and conditioner. I'm currently on Bottles No. 2, which means you can expect some whiny "I'm having the worst hair day EVER!" posts in about three months.

* The tampons I liked. Tampons! IS NOTHING SACRED? Who wants to audition different brands of tampons?!? You'll be happy, I'm sure, to know I found a replacement, but I wasn't happy about having to do it. Not at ALL.

* Glade car air freshener in french vanilla. Now all they have is ocean breeze and tropical mist. What do I want with ocean breeze and tropical mist? Nothing, that's what! So now I have a dried-up air freshener bulb hanging off my air conditioning vent and a car that smells ... well, like everyone else's. Which just WILL NOT DO.

* This lipstick that I loved ... I've had it so long the name has worn off, but trust me that it was great. I spent an hour yesterday trying to find a decent replacement. A good lipstick is one of those things I'd be willing to spend half a paycheck on if only it would LOOK GOOD, but I CAN'T FIND ANYTHING! I have this Bobbi Brown cocoa malt shimmer stuff that I like a lot, but it's not quite the same as the other stuff. (Seriously. I'm fair, blonde and don't want anything overtly pink or red. Something earthy. HELP ME!)

* Gap flare jeans (not the curvy kind, the regular kind). I should have known when they went on sale that they weren't long for this life, because Gap jeans never go on sale, but nooooo. I was complacent, and I paid dearly. By the time I woke up to the fact that they were going away FOREVER, my size wasn't even available ONLINE!

* Oreo Madness dessert at TGIFriday's. Only the best dessert EVER! When I was in high school, my best friend and I used to go there and split one because a) they were yummmmmmy, and b) TGIFriday's had the hottest waiters. And, as an adult, sometimes if I had a bad day I would get one to go and take it home and eat it in the tub. And then, all of a sudden, it's like it never existed.

* Pantene overnight hair mask. These were sold in cute little individual packets and I would put one in my hair every Monday night before I went to bed. And then--POOF! Gone. I went to every Wal-Mart, Target and Walgreen's within a 30-mile radius looking for them, and nada. Finally, I stood in the aisle at Target and called the Pantene 800-number and went through each product with them to find a suitable replacement. I kid you not, I did that. Some woman walked by and started laughing at me, but guess what? I found the just-as-good Pantene Intensive Moisturizing Mask (less than FOUR BUCKS for a big, round container) because of it, so who got the last laugh? Huh?

So I had one sorta-happy ending, but seriously! If I like something, it's guaranteed to be gone sooner or later. I fear for the future of Oreo Blizzards, Bath and Body Works' Warm Vanilla Sugar line and Aveda Phomollient. I really do.

Thursday, September 07, 2006

NOT the cure for insomnia

I've become totally addicted to YouTube the past week or two. Most people go to YouTube because they want to watch funny clips of people doing random stuff, like lighting their farts on fire. Or to watch 95-year-old white men in nursing homes rapping for the camera. Or just because they're 21 and generally much cooler than I am.

I go to YouTube because ... oh, please. Like you can't guess. Because it's the bridge between me and the new TV season, that's why. And if that makes me pathetic, well, then, GUILTY. Because being pathetic is a small price to pay to watch an extended version of that cute Jim and Pam commercial they showed during the Emmys.

Or to watch an array of about a million Grey's Anatomy clips from the past two seasons. Most of them, to be honest, are way too cheesy and ridiculous even for me. Like one put together clips of EVERY SINGLE crying scene from the second season. And not in a funny way, either. In a very earnest, set-to-overwrought-music way. But they're still kind of fun to watch. And I looove me some Derek and Meredith sexual tension.

Many of the YouTube clips are set to music, which I hate because I like to HEAR the dialogue and not just watch their lips move while Jewel warbles in the background, but this Grey's one is cute (albeit infinitely more cute if you know the scenes already). My big thing about Patrick Dempsey are his LOOKS. I am OBSESSED with the looks he gives Meredith. (Seriously--after one episode last season, my friend Jill emailed me and was like, "DID YOU SEE THE WAY HE LOOKED AT HER?!?!" And, literally, I squealed at the computer screen because I knew EXACTLY what she was talking about.) McDreamy's all about the looks. And the music helps to spotlight his looks rather nicely in this one.

I could watch the last part of this over and over again. Oh, wait--I have.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

I was supposed to be this child's mother

(Before Tom went a little nutty. Like, in the Top Gun/A Few Good Men days. In the days when a little slow-motion sand volleyball scene was all a girl needed--I mean, who needed an actual MAN when you had a shirtless Tom Cruise on your parents' TV? But then I turned 16. And then, many years later, Tom started jumping on couches. But before all that happened, I was going to be this child's mother.)

OK, we're going to pretend like you're not going to see this everywhere you go for the next 10 days. Live and in the flesh, Miss Suri Cruise:

I had my various little conspiracy theories about the conception of this baby, all of which included sperm not belonging to Tom Cruise, but damn if she doesn't kinda look like him, huh? I seriously think she does. Which, quite frankly, is tripping me out a bit. I feel like everything I thought I once knew has shifted.

I need to go think about this for a minute.

Monday, September 04, 2006

Mish mosh b'gosh

OK, first things first: I am totally freaked out that the Crocodile Hunter is dead. I'm always freaked out whenever someone dies young, even people who do crazy things like wrestle with crocodiles. But my little brother used to watch that show all the time! My sister even gave him a talking Crocodile Hunter doll for Christmas one year.

So that's sad. Anyway. I went to my parents' house this weekend for a quick, two-day trip. I basically slept the entire time, though, because I was all doped up on Nyquil. "You're SO LAME!" my sister kept saying. "You're always SLEEPING!"

Yes, I was lame. I also felt like I'd been hit by a truck, a truck which then parked itself squarely on my chest. Thankfully, all that's left is a cough and the feeling that I could very easily sleep for 12 hours straight. Because I don't think the world can handle any more Swishy whining.

Some highlights from my few lucid moments:

I'm on the phone, waiting by the baggage carousel for my suitcase.

Me: Whatever. Like, who wants to go out with a guy who's only 5-8?

Glance to the side, and there's a guy standing RIGHT next to me who barely comes up to my shoulder (I'm 5-7). He's glaring at me with the biggest "You're a superficial bitch" look ever. I react by turning really red and pursing my lips together to hold in my laughter. Then I try to whisper into the phone what just happened. It's all very smooth on my part.


We're all watching college football, and my sister the sports fanatic (ha) spots someone in the crowd holding up the letter "D" and a section of white picket fence. "Ohhh, I get it!" she exclaims triumphantly. "D-Gate!"


It took all of six seconds for my brother to try to pick a political fight with me, which apparently is his new favorite pastime. It doesn't matter whether you agree with him or not, he'll still find a way to debate it.

Brother: If there was a proposal to legalize gay marriage, would you vote in favor of it?
Me: We're not having this conversation.
Brother: I'm just saying. IF.
Me: We already had that vote in our state. I don't even think I voted.
Brother: You don't VOTE?
Me: I vote SOMETIMES. I don't vote ALL the time.
Brother: Oh, so you hate America?
Me: Clearly, I don't hate America, or I would have tried to sneak toothpaste and moisturizer on the airplane.

(Ten minutes later.)

Brother: So would you?
Me: Would I WHAT?
Brother: Vote in favor of gay marriage?
Brother: OK, what about the morning-after pill? What's your position on that?
Me: I'm too sick for this crap.


I visited my very first IKEA today. My other brother took me there on a field trip before I had to catch my plane. Holy CRAP, can you do some damage in that place. It's insane. I brought home a fat, 370-page catalogue and plan to see what kind of damage I can do that way. Like, for example, there's this one really cute lamp ... and it's only $24.99! WHERE HAS THIS PLACE BEEN ALL MY LIFE?


I got stuck in between the two chattiest guys on the entire plane on the way home. It was like Twenty Questions, the Swishy edition.

"So, what do you do for a living?"
"How long have you worked there?"
"Where did you live before that?"
"Where did you go to college?"
"Do you travel often?"
"What are you reading?"
"Do you have a ride home?"
"Are you a member of the Mile High Club?"

Just kidding on the last one. But it was CRAZY! One would ask a question, then the other one. Back and forth, back and forth, like a tennis match. Meanwhile, I have a book open on my lap that I'm TRYING to read. Finally, I reached down for my laptop and pulled up my long-neglected revisions ... and the guy on the right starts READING OUT LOUD what's on my screen as I type! I was like, seriously, are you KIDDING me? It's one thing to be nosy and read what's on someone else's screen, but to do it OUT LOUD?


I saw a Grey's Anatomy/Entertainment Weekly special this afternoon. It was just, like, randomly on ABC. I am so excited for the new season I can barely stand it. I'm not kidding. I watched the special in my parents' room and it made me start doing little jumps up and down on their bed like I was a 5-year-old. I'm sure I'll have plenty more to say about that in the next 17 days AND COUNTING!

But now I have to go get a jump on that 12 hours of sleep.