Waiting for My Real Life to Begin

The life and times of a girl named Swishy.

Thursday, August 31, 2006

Boooooooo

I'm sick. My throat hurts and I ache all over. I don't get sick very often, so when I do, I'm a whiny little baby about it.

I'm lying on the couch, flipping between Grey's Anatomy and the VMAs and trying not to die (did I mention I'm melodramatic when I'm sick, too?), when my brother calls. (Not the amateur fertility specialist. He only calls when he wants to tell me my eggs are rotten. This is a different brother.)

Me: I'm sick.
Brother: Did you take some medicine?
Me: No.
Brother: You need to take some freaking medicine.
Me: That would require moving, and I can't move. I'm serious. I feel REALLY crappy.
Brother: DUH. You're not going to FEEL BETTER if you don't TAKE SOMETHING.
Me: You don't understand. I feel HORRIBLE. I'm not even kidding.
Brother: Look, just take some medicine and go watch college football. That'll make you feel better.
Me: I'm not watching college football, I'm watching the VMAs.
Brother (presumably flips to VMAs): WHOA. Jessica Simpson's skirt is SO SHORT!
Me (turns up volume): I thought she had laryngitis. She sounds normal to me.
Brother: She probably took some MEDICINE!

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Tonight

I couldn't drag my butt to the gym before it closed (a combination of being too tired and the train wreck that was "Celebrity Duets") so I went to the high school track instead at like 10:30. It was a gorgeous night to be outside, and I was the only person there. The elements were absolutely perfect for ... workout karaoke!

Yes, it's true. I cranked up my iPod, took off down the track, and sang at the top of my lungs. For, like, 45 minutes. With my luck, there were probably a couple of high school kids making out back behind the goal post, completely laughing their asses off the entire time. Or worse, some guy sitting across the street with a video camera on zoom, making a YouTube clip that'll be in your inbox by tomorrow morning. But seriously? It was FUN!

A sample of my set list (I stayed away from the boy bands and Britney, but don't think I won't bust them out if the situation calls for it):

Mr. Brightside--The Killers
Futures and 23--Jimmy Eat World
Swing, Swing--All-American Rejects
Harder to Breathe--Maroon 5
Sick Cycle Carousel--Lifehouse

I capped it off with "Are You Gonna Go My Way?" by Lenny Kravitz, and I totally think I pulled something in my left thigh doing air guitar. I'm not kidding. I was dancing around, doing the fun iPod dance (you know, like on the commercial) and admiring how cool my sassy little shadow looked along the 50-yard line, and I landed hard on my left leg. Oops. Ha ha ha ha.

And now, because I clearly have no shame, I'll tell you what I did right before I left. The grass on the football field was PERFECT. It had just been trimmed and the sprinklers had been on earlier in the night, so the grass was still a little wet. It's the kind of grass you just HAVE to roll around in. So (this is where there really SHOULD be a video) I went to about the 5-yard line, heaved my keys in the air like they were a football, and ran to the end zone to make a diving touchdown catch. I dove and caught them, all right ... and then totally cracked my head on the ground. And then DIED laughing, even though I was seeing stars. (I guess that's why football players wear helmets ... ha ha.)

So I might have a concussion, and I might have woken up the entire neighborhood, and I might have willingly surrendered any shred of self-pride I may have had left, but damn, if I didn't crack myself up. AND I did three miles!

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

My butt hurts

But first, a few loose ends from last night:

* Paula Abdul was on the E! aftershow last night and holy crap ... WHAT is she ON? She was like the teenage girl with lipstick smeared all over her face throwing up in the backseat of someone's car. I watched the thing twice and I still couldn't figure out what she was trying to say. And her dress looked like a slipcover.

* If you couldn't tell, I am over Jeremy Piven. Totally over him. I used to like him, but now that he thinks he's Brad Pitt he's lost all his normal guy charm. I think he would screw a fire hydrant if it told him how much it loved Ari Gold. I think what annoyed me the most was when he sanctimoniously said that everyone should be donating their gift baskets to Hurricane Katrina victims. RIGHT, JEREMY. I'm sure the homeless people in Louisiana would LOVE a Lulu the Lamb stuffed chair. You jackass. Here's a thought: How about donating the dollar equivalent of your gift basket to Katrina victims instead? I do give him a bonus point for asking Giuliana if she was still dating Bill from The Apprentice, though. That was kinda funny. Except he probably asked because he wanted to sleep with her.

* My crush on Jim from The Office was upgraded to "massive" when I saw him on the aftershow. He is just as cute as cute can be. I totally cyberstalked him last night and looked up his IMDB.com profile. Seriously, I love everyone on that whole show. They were all hanging out and they seem to really like and have fun with each other. That must be the funnest place to work EVER! Other than, you know, my office. Ha.

* Kiefer Sutherland rocks and I'm so happy he won. I know I said that already, but he actually cracked a couple smiles last night. Yay for him.

* Saaaaaaad for Grey's. 0-for-11?

OK, I guess that's it. Back to my butt. Yesterday was the first day my body didn't ache like a 90-year-old's when I got up, so what do I do? I sit in front of E! and do more lunges and squats and other forms of self-torture masked as exercise. And now the ache is setting in. By tomorrow morning, I'll need three people to hoist me off the toilet because I won't be able to move.

But on the bright side, Week 1 of Swishy's crazy experiment resulted in three pounds lost! That doesn't count the celebratory Emmy cookies. But still!

In other exciting news, I spent the entire day wondering why my tongue hurt--looking at it, poking it, concluding that I must have some really messed-up, stress-caused disorder that makes me bite on my tongue in my sleep--until I remembered about 2 seconds ago that I burned my tongue last night on some pizza. Um ... yeah.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

Happy Emmy Day!

I loooove the Emmys. The only thing I love more than the Emmys is the Golden Globes, because it has fewer "filler" awards and it's TV AND movies and they let them drink alcohol, so everyone gets all tipsy.

But I still love the Emmys, so much that I take a VACATION DAY from my job to watch them. (I'm not THAT crazy. For one thing, I hardly ever take off work. For another, I tried taping and watching later when I first starting working Sunday nights, and it did not work. The obnoxious boys that I work with kept yelling out who won, or PRETENDING to yell out who won, and it was a miracle no one ended the night with a pen jutting out of their jugular. Not to mention, I kept forgetting that I couldn't go to, like, Yahoo! and do a search for something, because they'd have updates on the main page.)

Anyway. So it's Emmy day. I think I'm going to live blog a little during the Emmys. I'll probably do at least a couple of updates. My early thoughts:

* Yes, the nominations suck this year. I mean, Kevin James? That about says it all.

* I will be happy if either 24 or Grey's Anatomy wins Best Drama. I will be PISSED and quite probably throw something at the television if The West Wing wins. Likewise if Allison Janney wins.

* Best Supporting Actress in a Drama is the toughest one to call. I love, love, love Chandra Wilson, but I bet she doesn't win. She and Sandra Oh will probably cancel each other out, and Jean Smart will win for 24. But that's the category I'm most interested to see.

OK, I have to go make something of myself before the red carpet stuff starts. More later!

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

OK, it's later. Red carpet time!

5:12: I always heard about Jennifer Love Hewitt's big boobs, but I never thought they looked THAT big. Tonight, though? They look VERY big.

5:17: Reason No. 937 Swishy is WATCHING the red carpet instead of ON the red carpet: The poses these women do! They stick out their asses and put their hands on their hips and look provocatively over their shoulders ... seriously, I could do that for about 0.3 seconds before I'd start laughing so hard spit would fly out, thereby making me a total embarrassment to the Academy and insuring that I would never be invited back.

5:25: Seacrest is interviewing Will Arnett, who's nominated for Arrested Development. I interviewed Will once, and he was SUPER nice. Plus he was hilarious on that show, so I hope he wins.

5:37: Holy crap. Tyra Banks is flirting with Seacrest, and he is TOTALLY FREAKING OUT! He is so gay.

OK, update: Seacrest explained that he was freaking out because his face was eye level with Tyra's cleavage, and he felt bad. So--gentleman or gay? Discuss.

6:02: Patrick Dempsey DOES NOT LOOK MCDREAMY tonight. Nice HAIR, Patrick.

6:33: WTF is Kareem Abdul-Jabbar doing at the Emmys???

6:36: WHAT IS WITH THE GREY'S CAST'S HAIR?? I am not feeling Ellen Pompeo's hair at ALL. Katherine Heigl's looked good, though. And Sandra Oh's. It must be a Meredith-Derek thing.

6:37: I take it back. I don't really like Katherine Heigl's hair that much. But I have a total girl crush on Heidi Klum! She is so pretty.

6:47: OK, I just switched to NBC ... dude! Nice plastic surgery, Barry Manilow! A tip from Swishy: If your face is smooth and your neck is all wrinkled, WE CAN TELL.

7:03: I'm watching Conan's opening ... "Well, we weren't exactly invited" ... HUGE! Ha ha ha. LOVE The Office drop-in!!! And the 24 thing. ... HA! TOM CRUISE IN THE CLOSET! TO CATCH A PREDATOR! I've laughed like eight times. I likey!

7:15: The song-and-dance thing was a little random. My favorite line of Conan's monologue: "Just because something lasts 14 seconds doesn't mean it isn't SPECTACULAR!"

7:16: OK, someone fixed Patrick's hair. It looks better. So does Ellen's, for that matter. I TAKE IT ALL BACK!

7:17: WHOA! Megan Mullally for best supporting actress in a comedy? I thought for sure Jaime Pressly was a lock! This is maybe not the best sign.

7:20: ALAN ALDA? Not President Logan?!? I'm turning it off. OK, not really. But SERIOUSLY?

7:27: WHAT? WHAT? WHAT?!?!?!?! I am so over the Emmys right now. Who VOTES for these things? No Jean Smart? No Chandra Wilson? No Sandra Oh? BLYTHE DANNER? Apparently this is an appreciation for a bunch of shows that are NO LONGER ON THE FREAKING AIR. The only bright spot is that maybe it bodes well for Arrested Development.

7:37: I was so crazed with righteous indignation that I forgot to say the Bob Newhart thing was pretty funny. Also, I called the Jeremy Piven win. It's the only one I've gotten right so far.

8:03: I'd do Simon Cowell.

8:15: And Wentworth Miller.

8:18: I hate the Emmys. How could Grey's not win a writing award? Look, I watched that train episode when it was on last week and I cried AGAIN! EVEN THOUGH I KNEW EXACTLY WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN! Now THAT is a well-written show. And the Super Bowl episode was one of my favorites. Screw you, Emmy.

8:33: OK, I'm starting to get bored. I need a good Tori-Candy Spelling catfight to liven things up.

8:42: Bradley Whitford, I don't like you, nor do I get your lame joke. If that even WAS a joke.

8:44: I still hate you, Emmy. Steve Carell is FREAKING HILARIOUS. Whatever. Like anyone watches Monk.

8:52: Oh, Candice, Candice, Candice. WHO DRESSED YOU, a blind person? How nice to see Joan Collins managed to find something in Alexis Carrington's closet for the occasion. Heather Locklear looks hot, at least. I totally want Tori to leap across the aisle and start pulling her mom's hair. That would be SWEET!

8:58: Is it wrong that I am totally cracking up at Candy Spelling right now?

8:59: They're letting Farrah Fawcett, Queen of Crazytown, talk?!?! Scaaaaaaaary!

9:10: "I lost to the Copacabana!" HA. That was the funniest thing to happen in an hour. Besides Candy Spelling's alligator tears, I mean.

9:23: Tackiest part of the night: The dead person popularity contest. Looks like this year's winner is Don Knotts. Oh, wait, I spoke too soon: It's a tossup between him and John Spencer.

9:35: OK, I'm happy for Mariska Hargitay. I would have been happy for anyone who beat Allison Janney because I CAN'T STAND HER! If Kiefer Sutherland wins, I will like Emmy again.

9:37: Oh my gosh, cutest commercial ever!! I LOVE Jim and Pam! I love them, I love them, I love them, and now I have goosebumps.

9:43: My friend is totally traumatized by Ray Liotta's face. Like, TOTALLY.

9:44: YAYYYYYYYY!!!!! Jack Bauer rocks. I want to be his girlfriend. Not Kiefer's, but Jack's. Well, maybe Kiefer's, too. I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers, that's for sure.

9:52: Yay, Office! I'm sorry for all of the mean things I said about you, Emmy.

9:56: OK, I'm happy. I like 24. It would have been cool to see Grey's win to spread the love, but I'm happy.

OK, much like the nominations, this was a very weird, random show. Some stuff they got totally right, and other stuff like ... whaaaaa?

Random stuff:
* I'm very sorry I missed the Billy Bush-Jeremy Piven smackdown on NBC. Nice ascot, Jeremy. Blecch.
* Who looked the best ... maybe Heidi Klum? Katherine Heigl? Julia Louis-Dreyfus looked good for a chick in her 40s. And Mariska Hargitay looked good for having a baby, like, 2 seconds ago.
* The worst? Candice Bergen. And Virginia Madsen might as well have gone topless the way her boobs were falling out. The camera guys at E! were obsessed with them.

OK, speaking of E!, I'm off to watch the aftershow. Nighty night!

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Rowwwwrr!

I totally have a mud mask on my face right now. I took a picture and was maybe going to post it but it looks FREAKISH! Because you know you can't smile or move your face once these things start to harden, so you look like a mummy. I took another and tried to widen my eyes for some expression, and all that did was make me look like a scared mummy.

So anyway--all was back to normal in Swishyville today. I kicked ASS on my workout tonight. I did 45 minutes on the elliptical, and then came home and did an hour of crunches and lunges and all that crap I hate to do. But I did it in front of Project Runway! So it was almost fun. Almost.

On an entirely different note, a couple of guys at work have developed a fascination with cougars. You know what cougars do, right? They prey on the young. As in young, strong, virile, energetic, barely legal boys with healthy sex drives. You can draw your own conclusions as to WHY these guys are fascinated with cougars while you peruse this lovely site.

This somehow seems like an appropriate time to confess something I do, one of those things people do to avoid becoming a stuffy old adult. One of my hidden talents is the ability to whistle really loud. Like, the kind of whistle you hear at baseball games. So whenever I drive past the high school baseball field, which is on a fairly busy road, I unroll my window and let loose the loudest cat-call whistle I can at the little 16-year-olds fielding ground balls. The outfielders ALWAYS whip around, and on a good day so does the infield, and I giggle and fiddle with the radio and pretend it wasn't me.

But that does NOT make me a cougar. Nor does it make me a future cougar. It possibly, however, puts me in dangerous vicinity of dirty-old-woman terrority. POSSIBLY.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Livin' la vida loca

Have you ever had one of those days where you just go CRAZY? I went crazy today. I don't know if it's because I'm tired, or post-traumatic stress from the car fiasco (ha), or because I really am crazy and it's been dormant this whole time (well, OK, SORTA dormant), but I was, like, the conductor on the crazy express. I was snapping at people for no reason and on the verge of tears all day.

OK, fine. I wasn't really on the verge. I was doing cannonballs off the edge. I went outside and sat next to the highway and watched the cars while I ate my lunch and cried. Does that not sound SO PATHETIC? It was a little. I could sort of lift myself out of my body and see myself and I wanted to smack myself in the head because there was NO REASON for it. And then I wanted to smack myself in the head again for being so snotty to people who were trying to be nice. I seriously have no idea what my problem was.

It was just one of those days, I guess. Everyone has them. Mine was today.

In happier news, I almost feel like a normal human being again, Day 2 of the big workout/eating thing went well and my car is fixed. Yay! I'll be much more cheerful tomorrow ... in the meantime, check this out. It's one of the melted ball bearings I swiped as a souvenir (keep in mind, this is supposed to be ROUND!):

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

They need to invent some new swear words

Because, seriously, I used them all up tonight.

My mind is still a little jumbled after NEARLY BEING FREAKING KILLED, so I'm going to go with a timeline here.

3:30: I come out of the grocery store and notice, hmm, my left front tire's a little low. I'm VERY proud of myself for noticing this, because I've had two flat tires in my life and both times they had to be pointed out to me by people in OTHER CARS. So I give myself an imaginary gold star for acting like a kinda-adult and make a mental note to put air in the tire (or, more appropriately, have someone ELSE put air in the tire) later.

4:40: I'm on the highway when my car starts making weird noises. I took my car to the shop last week and they told me I needed a new something converter, and I haven't gotten around to it yet, so I figure that's it. But THEN my car starts sort of rocking back and forth, like it's off balance. DAAAAAMN IT! Flat tire!

4:43: Pull off the highway and into the nearest gas station. Jump out of car, expecting to see scraps of rubber hanging off the wheel, and ... nothing. It looks the same as it did before. OK, well, I KNOW it needs air, so time to figure out the air thing.

This is where I'm a total embarrassment to the women's movement. I have NEVER put air in my tires before. I have a tire gauge, but I've never used it. So I do what any independent, empowered woman would do: I get someone in possession of a penis on the phone to walk me through it. The only problem is, I can't get the gauge to work. And I can't get the air thing to fit over the valve thing right. And it's 100 degrees, and I'm in the middle of a busy intersection, and oh yeah--I'm STARVING and totally unable to deal with stress without piling a fistful of chocolate in my mouth. That too.

I kinda, sorta get some air in my tire. I have no idea whether it's made a difference. All I know is that I need to get to my coffee shop and put some food in my stomach NOW.

7:13: I leave coffee shop. Car is making noises again. I stop and proceed to take every last thing out of my trunk. Why? I have no idea. Just in case it helps. It kind of smells back there, sort of like an acrid smell, and I think maybe it's the uncleaned microwave that's been in my trunk for two months. (Look, I KNOW it's gross ... just trust me. There's a reason.) I get down on my stomach and look under the car. Because, you know, I TOTALLY know what I'm looking for.

7:53: Go to Target. Come out, start car, car immediately starts acting up again. My mind's racing: "Should I put more air in the tires?" "Should I call someone to come get me?" I decide to just get myself home, and then first thing in the morning I'll get it checked.

8:08: Hello, ANGEL OF DEATH. Car starts FREAKING OUT on the highway. OK, seriously. I know I exaggerate sometimes, but I am being stone cold serious here. I'm driving along at, like, 60 mph, and my car starts JERKING BACK AND FORTH. LITERALLY. IN FRONT OF TRAFFIC. Like, I'm GRIPPING the wheel, and I CANNOT CONTROL THE CAR. Imagine fishtailing on an icy road, only there's no ice and your foot is NOWHERE NEAR the brake. It was seriously ... oh, my gosh. I'm shocked I didn't crash the car.

8:14: Somehow, I make it off the highway without leaving scores of bodies and smashed cars in my wake. I pull off to the side. I walk to the back of the car and, like, my tire is practically on fire. It's smoking EVERYWHERE and smells HORRIBLE. I'm easily 15 minutes, maybe more, from home. I am totally freaking out.

8:22: My friend nicely overlooks my stream of profanities and talks me into using the back roads to try to get myself to the shop I usually go to, which is open until 11. I don't really think that's a great idea, but I've got to get my car SOMEWHERE and I don't want to wait around for a tow truck or for someone to come get me (because it's MUCH better to die in a fiery blaze), so I go.

8:48: After going 20 mph the whole way, I pull up to the shop and not one, not two, but THREE guys come over. Smoke starts BILLOWING up from the tire. Mechanic A grabs a drill thing and pulls off my tire.

Mechanic A: Holy SHIT!
Me: OK, holy shit? Holy shit is not what I want to hear.
Mechanic B: I've never seen it this bad.
Me: OK, what? What this bad?
Mechanic A: It's so hot, the metal's RED.

It takes them a HALF an HOUR to get the metal thing off that holds the tire, because it's so hot. Basically, it boils down to this: The ball bearings in the tire got so hot, they melted down. That caused the tire to bend in, which--wait for it--PRESSED ON THE REAR BRAKE PADS. So that's why my car was jerking itself around--the front was doing one thing, and the back was doing another. The whole thing is a result of wear and tear, but possibly was accelerated by the fact that I forgot to take off the emergency brake from the grocery store to the house. (Oops.)

Luckily, the guy there likes me, so it's only going to cost me $120. And I'll get my car back tomorrow.

Now I just need to get my breathing back to normal.

At least I worked out before I almost died. Day 1 was a success!

Saturday, August 19, 2006

Desperate times

One Sunday night, Desperate Housewives came on while I was at work. My boss walked out of his office, looked up at itty-bitties Teri Hatcher and Eva Longoria frolicking across the screen, and announced: "I know why they're desperate."

"Oh, yeah?" I said, thinking, ohhh, THIS one's gonna be good. "Why?"

"Because"--he paused dramatically--"they're STARVING! They're desperate, all right. They're desperate for a steak!"

(Trust me that this is 10 times funnier if you know my boss.)

I've decided that on Monday I'm going to start a hard-core exercise and eating regimen (I don't believe in diets, I believe in moderation, so that's why it's an EATING REGIMEN). And let me tell you, I am feeling DESPERATE. I want to eat every last thing in sight before I have to really, really think about whether I really, really want it in 48 hours.

No joke. I just ate some French fries and chocolate chip cookies JUST BECAUSE I CAN.

Here's the thing. I'm in what I would call decent shape. I'm not Calista Flockhart, nor am I Camryn Manheim. I shoot to work out six times a week, and usually end up doing at least five. But I'm not a great eater (I hate vegetables--salads to me are like garlic to a vampire) and I've gradually been slacking off the workouts (I'm good with cardio, bad with resistance stuff), so it's time to give my body a nice little electroshock to the system. Just to see what happens.

The other thing is that I am only committing for two weeks. DON'T LAUGH! My thinking is, I can do anything for two weeks, no matter how miserable it makes me. And if I totally go balls out for two weeks, then it's a jolt to my system instead of just a little spark. After two weeks, we'll see where I'm at.

I won't bore you with all of the details, but I'm going to try REALLY hard to eat some vegetables, and lots more fruit, and less (sob) Dr Pepper. My exercise, basically, will add up to 325 minutes of cardio and 120 minutes of strength training a week (a little over an hour a day). I can still have some "bad" stuff, because like I said, I believe in moderation, but I have to REALLY want it.

I'm gonna be cranky. I'm just warning you. But hopefully not TOO cranky. It's only two weeks, it's only two weeks, it's only two weeks ...

OK, I need to go eat something now.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

This totally made me laugh

Me: "Wait ... what day is it again today? Thursday?"
Work BFF gives me a look: "I'm not telling."

I put the FU in FUN

Ha ha. I saw a T-shirt on this website that said that and it made me laugh. But I DO try to have fun, at least a little bit, if it KILLS me. Because life is too short not to, you know?

Take today, for example. Our system shut down for an hour or so at work, so we couldn't really do anything. And it was gorgeous outside, absolutely, perfectly gorgeous. (We have, like, five truly gorgeous days a year where I live, so this was quite the red-letter development.) AND it was noon. So nice day, can't work, lunchtime ... no-brainer, right? Well, apparently not QUITE the no-brainer, because some people were more than content to stay right at their desks in worship of The Man. But not Swishy. Hell to the no! as Whitney Houston would say.

So what did I do? I'll tell you what I did. I drove to Burger King and got a hamburger kids meal. And then I drove to this park/lake down the road. And then I went into my trunk and pulled out my huge pink picnic blanket (which I crafted with my OWN TWO HANDS, thank you very much, a very impressive accomplishment for a girl who got a D in sewing in the eighth grade). And THEN I walked over to the edge of the lake, spread out my blanket, opened up the In Style that conveniently was in my backseat, and ate my kids meal while I read about skinny jeans (yuck) and whether Michelle Pfeiffer would ever get plastic surgery (why??).

Granted, it's not the wildest or craziest thing ever, but for the middle of the workday? Not bad. And I got an Ant Bully dry erase board as my toy! OK, how fun is THAT?

So much better than sitting around the office. SO much.

Couple more random things before I drop dead of exhaustion:

* I spent 90 minutes on the elliptical tonight. NINETY! That's 6.9 miles for those keeping score at home. I feel like a total badass ... you know, minus the fact that I can't peel myself off the couch or walk without tripping over my Jello feet. I got my big, fat September issue of Glamour, and I told myself I'd stay on there until I'd read the whole thing. I sort of figured it would take about that long, and sure enough, 88 minutes later I looked at my last "Don't."

So of course I've been eating chips and salsa (and FINE! a little chocolate, too) ever since I got home. I'm all about maximizing results.

* If Vincent on Project Runway said ONE MORE TIME that his design "turned him on" or "got him off" I was going to throw up all over the TV. I like him, though. I sort of have a soft spot for loose cannons.

* I got up at freaking 6:30 to take my friend to the airport before work. After going to bed at 2! So yes, my weekend of catching up has officially been shot to hell, and yes, I must go to bed. Now! So ... night.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Stalkerazzi, part II

So I'm driving along the highway. I glance to my right, I glance to my left, I keep going on my merry little way. A couple seconds later, I glance to my left again. And again. The guy in the next lane is TOTALLY looking at me. Like, full-on STARING. I'm guessing he saw me dancing around to the radio, and who WOULDN'T stare at that. It's like witnessing an eight-car wreck.

I drive along for, oh, a half-mile or so and I glance over again. He's still looking! How is he even driving in a straight line?!

Conveniently enough, my camera just happens to be sitting on the passenger seat. So I decide to oh, so casually prop it up on the steering wheel and snap a shot of him. Just to prove how CRAZY this dude is.

Yes, I am driving 70 miles an hour. Yes, I am also now having a conversation on my cell phone. Yes, I am a little bit of a stalker (but you already knew that). Yes, my reckless and blatant disregard for basic rules and common sense makes me a danger to society.

OK, now that that's all out of the way, here's Try 1:



Um ... obviously I haven't gotten much better at this kind of thing. But, in my defense, I AM trying to avoid killing someone.

I perch the camera on top of the steering wheel, facing out the driver's window, trying to make it look like I'm sort of just holding it. I push the button ...



... and OH, CRAP! The flash went off! And he saw it! HE TOTALLY JUST BUSTED ME TAKING A STALKERAZZI PICTURE OF HIM!!! He starts laughing and grabs his cell phone, probably to call 27 of his closest friends to tell them about the girl who thought he was sooo hot she just HAD to take a picture of him while driving along the highway. I cannot BELIEVE he caught me! Well, I mean, I CAN, but ... yeah.

Once I got over my 2.6 seconds of mortification (and slowed down long enough for him to get out of view), I laughed for the next 10 miles. But listen--if some guy tries to tell you about how smitten the girl in the blue car is with him, DO NOT BELIEVE HIM! HE was the one staring at ME!


**Swishy disclaimer: Contrary to the evidence above, I am a VERY SAFE DRIVER. I have never caused an accident involving another car and have gotten ONE ticket in my entire life, which was a total joke anyway, because I was clocked at 66 in a 55 on some desolate highway in Illinois. So there.

Monday, August 14, 2006

Little bit of this, little bit of that

* I'm a little worried about my karma. The other day, it was this guy at work's birthday, and I remembered around 2. So, as the self-appointed birthday fairy, I ran to the grocery story to get a cookie cake and a balloon. I was in a HUGE rush, though, because I didn't really tell anyone I was leaving and I've been known to get busted for that kind of thing before, so I parked in the "New and expectant mothers" spot. I KNOW! I know, I know, I know. I felt bad the second I got out of the car. I walked into the store and almost ran back out to move the car. But I didn't, and for all I know, some 9-months-pregnant woman with sore feet had to waddle inside from six spots back. TRUST ME, I FEEL BAD ABOUT THIS. I'm just waiting for karma to give me a nice, swift smack upside the head as punishment.

In the interest of full disclosure, however, I should mention that this guy once lured me into a conference room with the express purpose of telling me how much I annoyed him, of how the mere fact that I BREATHED around him was akin to nails on a chalkboard. That was two years ago and I believe we've moved on, but doing something nice for him should still get me the tiniest little karmic gold star, right? Like, maybe this once, the bad thing and the good thing can cancel each other out?

* I got this email from my sister today. She's the classic little sister, the irresponsible, irrepressible, free-spirited party girl (who, as you'll see, is also an absolutely atrocious speller). But she cracks me up.

The email:

To: Swishy Girl
From: Your Crazy-Ass Sister
Subject: LOL!!!!

I went to this bar Friday night with some friends cause they play hip hop too...on a tiny dance floor. I swear it was like white trash house moms gone wild!!! hahaha for real though!!! there were all of these old people grinding on each other. It was nasty, but hilarious cause they were all drunk. there was one woman there that had to be in her 50s...dressed up in pleather hot pants, hooker tights, pleather hooker boots, madonna hair, madonna necklaces and bracelettes, and was grinding on EVERYone on the dance floor ... mid life crisis i suppose. anyways, im gunna go jump in the shower now. ill talk to u later miss thang!!!!

My favorite part: "white trash house moms gone wild!!!"

* I saw Little Miss Sunshine last weekend, and it was SO good. It's the kind of movie that can make your heart hurt one minute and have you falling out of your chair laughing the next. It definitely has a bit of a melancholic feel, but it's very, very funny, too. Steve Carell (who I love) is great, Alan Arkin is HILARIOUS and Abigail Breslin ... wow. She was fantastic. Good, good movie. I can't believe more people don't go see stuff like this instead of some of the unimaginative crap that makes $40 million its first weekend.

Speaking of movies, the official site is up for Zach Braff's new one. I watched the trailer, like, three times in a row. I am VERY excited for this movie. I loooooved Garden State, and I know Zach Braff didn't write this one, but Paul Haggis did, and Zach Braff chose the music and apparently wrote a lot of the dialogue. So it's the next best thing. But I'm starting to worry that my expectations are a little too high. Not that you care, but I can tell you right now I want him to end up with Rachel Bilson--it's the less predictable option--and I don't think he will.

Whatever. I'm still excited. Nice how I call him "Zach Braff" over and over, right? That's totally how I refer to him. Always the full name. When we get married, I'll be like, "Zach Braff, can you pick up some milk on the way home?" "Zach Braff, did you put the cable bill in the mail?" "Zach Braff, I can't reach this spot on my back with the loofah. Can you get it?"

* This kid just walked into my coffee shop wearing a T-shirt that says, underneath a picture of a convertible, "My other ride is your mom." CHARMING, no?

Saturday, August 12, 2006

Well, hi there! Let's make out!

The past couple of days I have been in a complete, delirious, sleepless daze. Do you know when you're too tired to even sleep? But at the same time you can't do anything really useful or productive, because you're so freaking tired? Me, me, me! I went to bed at 3:30 Thursday night and got up at 7, which was the worst. As my brother will tell you, I'm not a teenager anymore! One night, fine, but I've been a very bad sleeper for the past few weeks and that was the tipping point. My body totally launched a full-out protest. My hands started shaking, I drove past my own apartment without realizing it, and then last night my HAIR started hurting. If you've ever had your hair hurt, you know what a weird sensation it is. The follicles on your head LITERALLY hurt.

So I came home, went to bed at 2, and slept until 2:30 today. 2:30! I'd wake up and sort of think, I need to get up now, but would doze off again before I could muster up the energy to roll myself off the bed. I only got up because I had to be somewhere at 4. I felt a little guilty, but not THAT guilty. I haven't slept more than five hours in FOREVER.

And, hey--my hair doesn't hurt anymore!

Anyway, last night was our girls night, and as I said, I was pretty much at the height of my fogginess, so I can't tell you how this conversation started, but it was about kissing people as a greeting. One woman said her dad's friend always kisses her on the lips when he greets her. And, come to think of it, so does this other person. And this other person. (Says my friend Allee: "Are you sure you're not going around kissing THEM?" Ha ha.)

OK, but seriously, we started talking about this, and apparently there are a lot of people out there who kiss on the lips when they greet another person. Where I grew up, it was very common for people to kiss on the cheek when they saw each other (it doesn't seem to happen much where I live now), but the lips? Is that the new cheek? Does this mean I can go up to a cute guy, kiss him on the lips and pass it off as a friendly "hello" instead of a lusty "I want to jump your bones"? Because if so, I'd really like to know that now.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

People flock from miles around to sit on this throne

Or at least the fifth floor.



My work moved offices in May, right? In the old office, it was basically just us. In the new office, there are four other floors. Within days of moving in, we noticed a strange, rather disturbing trend: People from other floors, most prominently the fifth floor, would come and use our bathroom. This was very troubling to us. You're accustomed to seeing the same people washing their hands at the sink day in and day out, and then all of a sudden, these random strangers start waltzing in like they own the place. Why? WHY would they come and use our bathroom when they have a perfectly functional one on their floor?

I discovered one of the reasons a couple of weeks ago. I walked in, and a woman was sitting on the toilet, doing her business, chatting away on her cell phone, apparently having a conversation she didn't want her co-workers to hear. Even better, she was ANNOYED when I flushed! I know, right? How DARE I interrupt her conversation by FLUSHING in a semi-public BATHROOM?

Today, I discovered Reason No. 2. Literally. I walk into the bathroom and some woman I've never seen before is walking out. I go to the first stall and there are DIARRHEA STREAKS on the seat! I'm not even lying. I was so grossed out, I turned right around and walked out. Full bladder be damned.

Disgusting things happen in bathrooms. I get it. But it's one thing when it's someone you KNOW being disgusting versus some stranger IMPOSING their disgustingness on you. Not that it's acceptable in any situation to leave freaking ... REMNANTS ... on the toilet seat. (I'd love, by the way, to know how that happens to someone over the age of 5.) But I mean ... ew. The whole thing is just gross and bizarre, all around.

I'm SO going to the fifth floor next time I have to pee. Just on principle.

This should explain a lot about me

I was a precocious kid. Which is really a nice way of saying "pain in the ass." But I was. When I was in fourth grade, I decided to start a school newspaper. Actually, it was more of a fourth-grade paper, because we were the coolest, but I passed it out to the whole school. Somehow, the teachers went along with me handing it out in their classes.

I'm not kidding. I was 8. And my school went up to the sixth grade.

So my mom sent me an old copy she'd found the other day. The main news story:

"In Math, Mrs. Hughey's group is learning multipulcation. Mrs. Storey's class is going on to two-digit multipulcation. In Science they are learning about comets, metoroids, and asteroids."

A ... lifestyle story, we'll say:

"A reading class for fourth grade read a short story about a mural in Mission District, San Francisco. They decided to make a mural of Birchwood School. Their teacher, Mrs. Baskin, said, 'It was a wonderful idea.'"

And it wouldn't be a Swishy paper without an entertainment story:

"ATTENTION!! This month there will be votes for best rock video for 1987. For the girls section there will be 'Heaven is a place on earth', 'I think we're alone now'. and 'Shake your love'. For the boy's section there will be 'Cry tough' 'Wipe out' and 'Living on a prayer'"

(I voted for "Shake Your Love." OBVIOUSLY!)

But the biggest memory I have of this little endeavor has to do with (of course) a boy. I used to put a tagline at the bottom of every paper that said: "QUESTIONS FOR THE EDITOR? If you have any questions about the newspaper, call Swishy at 989-2456 for answers." (That was actually my real number. What a great number, huh?)

Anyway, this sixth-grade boy named Collin Decker actually used to call and ask me questions! I know what you're thinking, and no, he was NOT making fun of me. He really wasn't. He was cute with a capital C, and he always used to walk me down the hall to my class in the morning. I remember one day coming to school with atrociously curly hair thanks to the foam rollers my mom had put in the night before, and the first thing the kids in my class said to me wasn't, "Omigosh, what happened to your hair?" but "OMIGOSH! DID COLLIN DECKER SEE IT?" I was late for a spelling quiz, and this girl Kim was copying off the girl next to her, and ... see? I TOTALLY remember!

Anyway, so Collin Decker used to call me. He was the first boy, really, to do that. I used to take the phone across the living room and down the basement stairs as far as the cord would stretch, and yell for my sister to shut the door so I could have some privacy. And I'd sit there perched on the stairs, hoping to high heaven one of my siblings wouldn't come down and yell something totally embarrassing, half-giggling, half trying to think of something clever, all while thinking, "OMIGOSH, I'm talking to a BOY! And he's ELEVEN!" Oh, those were heady days. Heady, heady days.

One day, Collin told me he knew a sixth-grade boy who had a crush on me, but wouldn't say who. I asked EVERYONE if they knew who it was, and I mean EVERYONE. I was DYING to know. Finding out became my mission in life. Even though he walked me to my class and called to ask me questions about my paper, it didn't occur to me for a second that cute Collin Decker was the boy with the crush. I found out A YEAR LATER it was him. (I mean, I was 8-turning-9. Did you expect me to say something happened? Of COURSE nothing happened!)

Collin Decker went on to middle school. I abandoned my newspaper the next year to focus my energy on becoming queen bee of fifth and sixth grade. (Juuuust kidding.) I have absolutely no idea what happened to him. He disappeared by the time I hit high school.

And yes, I've Googled him. Not for a while, but I have. Nada.

Monday, August 07, 2006

Oh, no you DIN'T

I call my parents yesterday and my brother picks up. He's a little crazy, as in a lot crazy, but we love him anyway. Most of the time. I'm small-talking with him for a couple of minutes when the conversation takes a sharp, unexpected, utterly RANDOM turn.

Brother: So are you dating anyone?
(This is random in itself, as I believe this is the first time he has EVER asked me such a question.)
Me: And by dating you mean ...
Brother: Do you have a boyfriend?
Me: You mean, have I gone to the boyfriend store lately to pick out something nice for myself? Nope, haven't made it over there yet. It's definitely on the to-do list, though, after I pick up some toilet paper and hit the dry cleaners.
Brother: Your biological clock is ticking, you know.
(This is the part where Swishy almost drives off the side of the road at 70 mph.)
Me: EXCUSE me?
Brother: Your biological clock is ticking.
(OK, he's 21. Talking about biological clocks.)
Me: My WHAT is WHATTING?
Brother: I'm just saying.
Me: Did you REALLY just tell me my BIOLOGICAL CLOCK is TICKING? I cannot WAIT to tell everyone you said that. Oh, and also share with them the good news that apparently sometime in the past few months you became a FERTILITY DOCTOR, too.
Brother (backtracking): I'm just kidding.
Me: Bullllllshit.
Brother: I am ... but, I mean, it IS kinda ticking.
Me: I'm SO calling everyone else in the family right this second and telling them what a FREAK you are.

(Which I did. I don't think I need to tell you how my two sisters responded.)

Now, I didn't start my period yesterday, but trust me--I have a few years before I need to start clearing out space in the freezer for some eggs. But according to my brother, the guy who despite growing up with three sisters probably wouldn't know what a tampon was if it was stuck in his ear, there are tumbleweeds dancing across my barren womb.

This is a kid who used to sleep with a sock on his head. Did I mention that? A sock. Across his forehead. Positioned just so. For YEARS. So, no, I do not take seriously one thing that comes out of his mouth.

Friday, August 04, 2006

I like to share my knowledge with the world

So I did a radio interview today for my job. I'm, like, the go-to girl for seriously hard-hitting stuff. I mean, read my blog for two seconds and it's obvious. I have no time for frivolous matters. I want to feed starving babies, stop global warming and mediate peace talks in the Middle East.

Yeah, OK, whatever, I talked about Suri Cruise.

I love how I have no shame, too. The host asks me who's crazier, Mel Gibson or Tom Cruise, and I launch into a discourse about how I used to loooove Tom Cruise, and he's just shattered my every illusion in the past year. "I knew, like, every line of Top Gun," I say. "I used to watch the volleyball scene in slow motion!"

Because nothing says "I'm a mature, credible professional" like "I used to sit with my nose pressed to the screen watching Maverick dive into the sand without his shirt on IN SLOW MOTION!"

Yeah. So. We hit on lots of other stuff, from Suri the hermit to the p-i-m-p Nick Lachey to why Kim Bauer is dating a hockey player. (Hello! The whole bad boy thing!) Unfortunately, there was no McDreamy or Project Runway talk. Next time. Assuming, of course, there is a next time.

I have nothing interesting to say

My chronic sleepiness has made me bland. Bland as a plain turkey sandwich.

So, in no particular order, a bunch of bread and meat. No mustard, no lettuce, no nothin!

* I have recently become obsessed with making smoothies. When I was in college, one of my roommates used to make me one for breakfast sometimes. (Which, by the way, is just SO nice when you think about it--I'd be, like, in the bathroom blow-drying my hair, and she'd just come in, without fanfare, and leave a tall glass of frosty, fruity goodness for me to drink while I got ready. I made them sometimes, too, but not NEARLY as often.) Anyway, so I've been on a breakfast smoothie kick. This is what I dump in the blender: ice, orange juice, frozen berries, and half a cup of raspberry yogurt. Try not to be too stunned by my skills in the kitchen while you drink this baby in:

(I SWEAR I have tried posting the damn picture for an hour and it WON'T WORK. So screw it. Pretend you can see a very unremarkable glass full of magenta-y, slushy liquid, and I'll try later. Much later. When my laptop is not in danger of being tossed out the window later.)

Anyway, I need to start branching out, so if you've got any suggestions ...

* I locked my keys in the car yesterday. I told you I was tired! I didn't care, though. I try not to let that stuff stress me out too much because, I mean, what are you going to do about it? Getting stressed out ain't gonna unlock that door! So I just laughed. (And yes, it definitely helped that I was at work, where I had to be for the next eight-plus hours anyway.)

I have a lot of experience locking my keys in the car. I think it's become an annual event. Last summer (almost EXACTLY a year ago, come to think of it), I locked my keys in the car while I was getting gas. The year before that (also in August!) I snuck out to the grocery store during work to get a couple bags of chips for a barbeque we were having at lunch. That time, I locked my keys in the car while it was RUNNING!

Basically, what you can take away from this is that I'm an airhead.

* I laughed SO HARD yesterday. I laugh a lot (and have the budding wrinkles to prove it), but this was like spit-water-out-all-over-yourself laughing. (Literally. I was sitting at my desk, took a sip of water and WHOOOSH ... like a human sprinkler. I seriously drenched myself.) There can't be anything more fun than laughing so hard you can't even swallow your water. I LOVE that.

* VH1 has the 40 most awesomely bad love songs on right now. But I like some of these songs! HA HA HA. "I'll Make Love to You" by Boyz II Men? Oh my gosh, I used to listen to Boyz II Men all the time. And I'm sorry, but I thought "Hold onto the Night" by Richard Marx was soooo romantic back in the day. Ha ha.

Bahhhhhhh!!! Michael Bolton mullet alert. Must. Turn. Channel.

* I have no idea what I'm wearing to work tomorrow. I'm sick of summer clothes. Except for flip-flops, which I could wear every day of my life.

* I forgot what I was going to say next. Um ... oh, well.