aniccata

Why in the hell do people who can't read post on Live Journal? Really? If you're such a jackass that you can't read the rules that say your stupid-ass sales posts are not allowed in the stupid-ass Handbag Fetish community because you're too much of a stupid-ass loser to sell your stupid-ass shit on Ebay like a normal person who isn't a raging asshole, maybe you shouldn't be posting on these here Internets. You dig?!

Hi, by the way! Oh, and here's something cute to make up for the bitchery!

You bitches need to get on twitter because it's awesome and your updates are as short as this one.

Also, GO ROCKIES and I am obsessed with reggaeton.

I CANNOT POSSIBLY DO ANY WORK WHILE THE ROCKIES ARE PLAYING IN THEIR FIRST POST-SEASON GAME IN 12 YEARS. Today and tomorrow should be a state-wide holiday. I'm less productive right now than I was during the first days of March Madness.

Here comes the Philly "give it away" bullpen. SWEET. I'm breaking up with Jose Mesa just for a few days.

I hope this series goes to the Rockies in four, because that means I'll be at the game when they win the NLDS.

I'm wearing this dress to a wedding next month, and I'm trying to decide on shoes.

I have jury duty tomorrow.

I am very excited, but am packing as if I'm going on a vacation to a desert island where dying of boredom is likely.

What would you bring to jury duty?

I've always thought that location is very important. If I don't like where I live and how it affects every day, I will be miserable. Way back when I started this journal (I wrote stupid, boring entries) I was festering in the misery of no longer being happy with where I was and what my life looked like. I spent a year or so, I think, contemplating, studying maps, learning about cities, trying to figure out where to go next. Normally, I don't spend so much time thinking and planning, but saying "fuck it all" and moving was a big deal and I had a condo to sell and I guess I realized how absolutely important this was.

While Ben and I were deciding where to go, I didn't know who I would become after I got there, but I did know that where I went would significantly affect who I would become. I mean, I was ready to give up my career and the only state I'd ever really known. I don't like the fact that the way I'm saying this makes me seem like tofu, something that is bland and takes on the flavor of whatever's around it. I don't think it's quite like that, but maybe it is. Imagine if we moved to Vermont. Maybe I'd spend the winters wrapped in chunky knitted scarves and browsing in bookstores. If we moved to a small town along the Oregon coast, maybe I would've become kind of beachy, although we'd only last there a year before moving to Portland. If we moved to Bellingham, Washington, we'd grow herbs in our little kitchen where I'd bake pies, but I'm sure we would've ended up in Seattle.

I suppose it's all kind of random and I don't really know how or why we ended up in Nederland, Colorado. It all kind of makes sense the way it happened, but to this day when I tell people about how we moved from Chicago to Nederland, the universal reaction is WTF. The first time we ever went to Nederland, we got good coffee at a little coffee shop set up in a train car and sat outside under the sun and watched people in the kind of pants you'd wear to go hiking if you know what you're doing wander around with their large, friendly dogs. Nederland was a perfect little cocoon for a year, but of course we ended up in the city.

The other day I got out my copy of On the Road so I could read the parts about Denver. I think location is important, so when I read the book, I don't care so much about Dean or Chad King or Carlo Marx or Sal. The only character that matters is Denver itself. Denver is something you think about while you're speeding across Nebraska or sleeping on the grass in Longmont. It's hot and there are mountains nearby and there's a buzz of excitement that starts at Colfax and radiates through the whole city.

Maybe we know more about ourselves than we realize. Did you know, four years ago, that I would be in love with beer and spending as much free time as possible at live sporting events? Did you know that Ben and I would have a house near downtown, a vegetable garden, and a dog, and that I'd have a job I really like and my shit pretty much together? Could you imagine me being anything other than this?

The thing is, if we'd moved anywhere else in the world, I don't know if any of these things would've happened. If we lived in Vermont, I guess I'd get to watch the Frost Heaves play hoops, but I wouldn't know about Jose Mesa and I wouldn't be well-versed in the fine art of heckling at baseball games. And you know what else? Maybe even our weaknesses are good things. If I weren't afraid of flying, we might not have ended up here -- I remember looking at maps and thinking about how much it would suck to drive from Washington state to Illinois to visit family, ever, but driving from Colorado would be manageable. Maybe I don't need to hate the fact that I have issues. My issues are the things that keep me grounded, and without them I'd just be out there doing totally crazy shit.

It's hot here, and there's no water, but even better, there are mountains that let you get out of the hot, stifling air. On Sunday, we went hiking in Rocky Mountain National Park. It was so hot even in the mountains it was 87 degrees when we left the car at the trailhead. We picked out a trail that led to a lake and went up 2,000 feet and 4.5 miles one way even though we didn't have enough water. The lake at the end of the trail was, and I'm not kidding, the most beautiful place I've ever seen, clean water surrounded by a beach surrounded by a pine forest surrounded by mountains, like somebody took all the best parts of nature and put them right there in one place. I took off my shoes and walked barefoot on the sand and in the water and right then, even though I was thirsty and even though my legs were tired and even though I knew we had another two-hour hike to get back down the mountain, everything was absolutely perfect.

I don't know that other people think about place the same way I do. Some of the most intimate relationships I have are those with the places where I live, and maybe that's why I love it here so much. Denver isn't showy and doesn't say much, but every day it presents me with the small things you put together to make happiness. I really love it here, and could you imagine if I didn't know about Jose Mesa?

I haven't updated for a long time. I don't have much to say, other than I love the White Sox so much that I accidentally buy $160 retro team jackets on the internet while drinking beer and screaming "TADAGUCI!!!"

Poll #977564 What would Gilbert say?
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 11

If you were getting a personalized, autographed jersey from Gilbert Arenas, what would you ask him to write?

Poll #950108 'puter stuff
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 45

Do you have a laptop?

If you have a laptop, have you ever used it while on the toilet?

?

Why PC or why Mac?

There are two types of women in the world.

I'm not saying that women aren't incredibly complex, nuanced creatures, or that any particular woman fits into any neat and tidy category. Except this one.

There are women who need bangs, and women who don't.

For whatever reason, I've long thought of myself as a woman who doesn't need bangs. This dates back to my early twenties, when my haircut of choice was a bob, longer in front and shorter in back, no bangs. I'm not sure why I came to this conclusion, seeing as how I have, to put it kindly, an oval-shaped face (or not so kindly, a looooong face). Also, referring to my forehead as a fivehead is probably an understatement. It might qualify as a six-and-a-half head, but I still labored under the delusion that I am a woman who does not need bangs.

I have nothing against bangs, but I really, really hate having hair in or on my face. It's really annoying, especially when working out, and I am not the headband-the-bangs-off-your-face type, even at the gym (I hate having anything around my head even more than I hate having anything on my face). I also have this fantasy that my quasi-wavy air-dried hair could look sort of beach-sexy disheveled when it gets a bit longer, and the thought of having good hair with almost no effort is very appealing. However, I hate wavy or curly hair with bangs.

Right now, I'm kind of in bang limbo. I've had bangs for a while now (I'm not sure what possessed me, but the second I got them I realized what an idiot I'd been to go without them for so long -- apparently it takes me a while to learn). I've been growing them out, though, and now they're sideswept bangs that are almost nonbangs, almost long enough to push behind my ear but not quite. This is the worst possible length for bangs to be -- they're always in my face and it drives me crazy. In just a few months, they should be long enough to stay out of the way. I'd be liberated from the bangs.

But then yesterday, cruel, cruel reality slapped me upside the fivehead. We were on our way home from the Nuggets game, and I was feeling bad about never taking any pictures. We also were stuck on Market Street in the most ridiculous traffic I have ever seen (a million people were out for St. Pat's day, decked out in ill-fitting green t-shirts and sparkly Mardi Gras-looking necklaces, being drunk and really, really annoying), so to entertain myself, I started taking pictures. The first problem with this is that Ben gets the goofiest look on his face every time he's having his picture taken. The second problem is that in every shot, I looked like a Russian mail-order bride who had been held captive in someone's basement for a year before escaping. If you think Tyra Banks has a fivehead, well, yeah, so do I. That thing took up the whole picture, dwarfing the rest of my face, and made me look like some kind of malnourished skeletor (I'm glad I didn't look fat, but still, this is not appealing).

So the reality hit me right then. I am a woman who needs bangs. I will never again deny this ultimate truth. This Saturday, I will once again have bangs, real bangs, not bangs I just shove off to the side and wish they weren't there. A while ago, I wrote about discovering my style icon, Jane Birkin. She will be my bang inspiration -- I'm going all-out -- thick, straight, not sideswept bangs.



I hope you all can learn from my mistakes. If your first response to this post was to think, "Ha, I don't need bangs!" -- are you sure? Really sure? I didn't think I needed bangs -- I thought they were nice, but I looked just as good without them. Not true. I bet most women look better with bangs than without, especially with hair up, because hair up, no bangs is not a look for everyone. Yes, bangs can be annoying -- but I suppose I'd rather be annoyed by bangs than live the rest of my life looking like a "before" picture.

Also, I'm thinking about hair so much because, let's face it, my brackets are screwed.

OH MY GOD.

So I was just trying to figure out what picture to use over at my other site, where I might on occasion recycle entries posted here. (I refuse to refer to it as a "blog" because I hate the word blog. I hate the word "blogosphere" even more and you should never use it, unless you are a dorky IP attorney or you are saying something about sticking your penis in the blogosphere and you're that one guy from Madison who wants to create a pretend fraternity for thoughtful individuals.)

This resulted in looking at pictures I have up on Myspace, but those are all lame, but then I notice the picture I have there of Jose Mesa wearing some kind of headband with a gigantic child looming behind him. That never fails to make me laugh, so I wandered over to google to figure out where I found it. I scrolled through the Jose Mesa pictures, and the other one that never fails to make me laugh is the picture of the cat named Jose Mesa who is really pissed off about being named after a second-rate closing pitcher. Hey!!

I'm not sure what this has to do with Jose Mesa.

Aha, here it is! I can't say that this helps me understand the picture or why it exists, but cool!

For whatever reason, I ended up on Ebay looking for Jose Mesa. And do you know what I found? I found A JOSE MESA ACTION FIGURE. OH MY GOD. First of all, I can't believe that this exists. Second, check the mustache. Third, SOMEBODY ELSE BID ON THIS ALREADY. Fourth, can you believe how great it will be when I buy this action figure (which I will, even if it costs, like, a lot) and, I don't know, bring him to Rockies games all summer and photograph him in various locations around the country? It'll be like that time people stole someone's plastic Baby Jesus from a nativity display, traveled around the country with him, and then assembled a book, complete with photos, about the adventures Jesus had on this trip, and then returned the whole thing to the owners.

I will never forgive the Rockies for getting rid of Jose Mesa. Never.

I heard on the radio the other day that the U.S. suffers billions of dollars in lost profits during the first two days of March Madness. They should make these days a national holiday -- nobody is being productive at work, anyway. All I've done since returning from lunch is *refresh* *refresh* *refresh* the box score of the Old Dominion/Butler game. That sick feeling I have, that lump in my throat that comes from knowing this isn't going to turn out how I want, reminds me of the terrible, terrible thing that happened last year when Northwestern State knocked off Iowa in the first round with a LAST HALF-SECOND three pointer. I think I feel how normal girls feel when that guy who seemed so into them for the first three dates suddenly stops calling -- I kind of want to curl up and cry for a while, drowning my sorrows in wine and chocolate, and I kind of want to go out and cheer for a better, more appealing team that will call and bring me flowers and, you know, actually WIN GAMES.

Currently I am all over the internets trying to find out where Jermaine Wallace, the three-point shooter of doom, is now. Of course the only things you find while searching "Jermaine Wallace" "Northwestern State" are 10,300 articles about the swish seen 'round the nation. I think I'm going to be sick.

There is a Jermaine Wallace looking for a prison pen pal. I wanted to be funny and say that I hope it's the same guy even though I know it isn't, but that's really sad and I would totally become pen pals with a guy with the same name as the guy who killed my March Madness dreams last year, but I'm pretty sure these sites exist to link inmates with doughy women of low self esteem who will fall in love with them.

A possibly related U.S. Court of Appeals opinion is here (it's a PDF).

There also is a Christian jazz artist named Jermaine Wallace.

There is a Facebook group called Oh I hate Jermaine Wallace! It has one member, who is not me, which is kind of awesome.

Anyway, enough of that tangent, although I would like to know where Jermaine Wallace is now. This year, I had high hopes for Old Dominion, even before I knew they had a player named Valdas Vasylius. Unfortunately, their trip to the Sweet 16 and eventual loss to Florida is not to be. My other incorrect pick so far was Texas Tech (I was trying to stop picking against teams I hate, so this was charity on my part and I will never make that mistake again). Oh well. Now I'll just have to cheer for the Salukis.

Do you ever get REALLY pissed off about something that, in the grand scheme of things, is pretty trivial? Holy shit, I just got REALLY freaking mad -- to the point where I felt like I had to throw things, but not to the point where I didn't realize the fact that being pissed off and throwing shit can break said shit or possibly other shit. I threw some flip flops against the back door, but that was stupid and didn't have any therapeutic value at all. I'm totally embarrassed to admit that I watch The Real World Denver (my excuse is that I only started watching it after a friend told me about the psycho raving bitch who was having a meltdown while walking down the street one day trying to find a nail salon and saying that she was in the OMG GHETTO even though first of all there is no ghetto in Denver but even if there was it wasn't where this bitch was walking down the street in her tight ass coochie shorts that made her look like a ridiculous prostitute who came from Littleton or some other place where people don't know how to dress and then gets mad when people comment on her ass but HI your ass is RIGHT OUT THERE saying HELLO to the world so WTF put your ass away if you don't want it to have a conversation) but I swear and I am not proud to say this I wanted to have a meltdown like the psycho raving bitch who like screams and swears and flaps her chicken arms as if that could ever scare anybody. But it's not really fun to get all mad raving crazy if you're not on national TV where everybody can see and make fun of you for years, so WTF. I needed to THROW THINGS.

THEN I HAD THE ANSWER and I was so pleased with myself I wasn't even that mad any more. I took some overripe bananas, put on my jacket (it's freaking COLD out) and some shoes, and went out to the back yard where I threw the overripe bananas, as hard as I could, against the back of the garage. They landed with a thud at first and sort of split open, but it wasn't the cathartic mess I needed, so I picked them up and it's like I was Jose Mesa and the garage was Omar Vizquel and I stood on the mound of snow and frozen ground and hopefully no fresh dog poo and it was like the World Series and I threw those motherfucking bananas against the garage Bobby Jenks speed and it was so awesome because one of them fell to the ground and then -- this is the best part -- the dog started eating it, which was hilarious and you can't be mad when you're outside hoping nobody sees you whipping bananas at your garage and laughing to the point of tears when your dog starts eating one and holy crap he's even eating the PEEL that can't be good and I'm sure he's going to have the poops later. So then I threw another one and it exploded into banana mush that actually stuck to the garage and the peel plopped to the ground and the soggy banana goo on the garage was just as awesome as the dog now coughing up the banana peel and then eating it again. So then I dragged the dog away but he's totally obsessed with eating stuff so he managed to eat the peel and that can't end well but the person who pissed me off can worry about cleaning up whatever results from this.

And I am totally not mad any more. Therapeutic banana throwing is the shit.

What would you do if you got stuck in an elevator?

I NEED TO VENT JUST FOR A FEW SECONDS NONE OF THIS IS RELATED TO YOU GUYS EXCEPT THOSE OF YOU WHO LIKE THE BEATLES BETTER THAN THE STONES AND ARE JUST WRONG.

-Since does not mean because.

-While does not mean although.

-Hey LJ, when it's something like pictures, it shouldn't say over 50 public; it should say more than 50 public.

-Each other is not one word.

-Diamonds, animal breeders, and Manu Ginobili are symbolic of all that is wrong in our society.

-Things you can do that have a great chance of increasing your general level of happiness include working out really hard for an hour five days per week, living close to where you work, and having at least one animal. No excuses. Excuses are for pussies.

-Carmelo Anthony should be benched every time he does something stupid, for at least five minutes. STOP TRYING TO MAKE HIM THE LEADER OF THE TEAM. HE IS SELFISH AND LAZY AND DOES NOT HAVE LEADERSHIP SKILLS. This needs to be AI's team if it is going to do anything good.

-The world needs more people like Reggie Evans -- if you're not going to be an All Star, stop deluding yourself and do what you do to the best of your ability. Role players are just as important as All Stars, and people who are smart will appreciate you for that.

-George Karl should come over to my place where we can smoke a big fatty while I tell him how to fix his team.

-I watched hockey and liked it. It's official: I am a ridiculous sports freak. WTF.

-If you keep making and complaining about the same mistakes over and over, expect people to stop giving a shit after a while.

-If you're thinking marriage, take a look at your relationship exactly as it is. If nothing ever changes, do you want to be with this guy for the rest of your life? If not or if you're not sure, get the hell out NOW.

-Half of the gang bangers in Denver know who killed Darrent Williams and nobody will ever say anything about it. PUSSIES.

-Granite counters and stainless steel appliances are played out and ugly.

-I need to stop watching TV shows that have gone so far downhill they're an insult to viewers. Shitty TV is for pussies, and if there's anything I hate more than pussies I don't know what it is.

-I hate pussies.

Poll #931072 You have to pick one.
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 41

Beatles or Rolling Stones?

I've been bored lately, so I'm trying to develop hobbies. Although I have a lot of great ideas, I tend to never follow through on anything. For example, I want to learn to crochet, so for me the logical next step would be to read some stuff on the internet about learning to crochet, go to a store and buy a bunch of yarn and whatever shit you need to crochet, sign up for a class, attend one class, get bored, shove yarn and the stuff you need to crochet into the box that was used to ship my most recent purchase from zappos.com (Hi, Michael Kors -- I love you!), and shove said box into the already full closet of the extra bedroom where it will remain until I try to shove one last thing in there and the whole mess explodes and I then put the box in the garage where it will remain until one day, after we argue about it for the 97th time, I finally tell Ben I will get rid of some of the crap I keep out there, and then I will rediscover my love of yarn art and sign up for another class....

As you can see, my hobbies never turn out well, so I need to start small.

I started a sports blog a couple months ago, and wrote exactly two entries before I got really frustrated with blogger and trying to export the entries to my website. Today I wrote another entry and then moved that shit here, because Wordpress seems a little more user-friendly, although I still don't get all this DNS shit I'm supposed to do to put it on my website. Let's not even get started on how many times I've tried to learn how to make a website so it's all pretty and functional (I even took a class about that once) and I never get it and I'm too much of a snob to use some stupid template to design my site. So for now I will focus on content and try to update at least a few times a week and one day when Ben isn't working 14-hour days, maybe he'll make a nice pretty site for me because I'm never going to get it.

Because the sports blog isn't enough to keep me entertained for long and to avoid the endless cycle of pick hobby--spend money--get bored with hobby--end up with a bunch of crap I'll never use (did I mention that I bought tennis shoes and white shorts that one year I decided to take up tennis before realizing that I hate tennis and am terrible at hitting something with something else especially when the thing to be hit is moving and those shoes make the trek from house to garage at least once or twice a year and I have never worn them?) I'm working hard to invent stupid pointless hobbies that require no equipment and no talent.

So yesterday I realized that I am in a fashion rut. My closet is starting to look too Charlie Brown, with a million of the same thing in there -- too often, I wear some type of boot cut khaki pants and some type of black shirt to work, and I actually have, I think, 25 of the same tank top in black and white. This means that I need a new style. But what style? I've gotten so boring in my dress habits (work = khaki pants and black shirt; going out = jeans and tank) that I don't know where to start. I need inspiration.

So I decided that I need a style icon. I spent hours on the internet last night researching, and after much deliberation decided on Jane Birkin. My new style will be my own interpretation of 70s Paris, a type of mod hippie that only I could ever understand. Did you know that Jane Birkin likes to tie her house key to her pants with ribbon? Neither did I. But that's kind of awesome. The problem is that it makes me want to move to Paris so I can actually tie a house key to my pants with a ribbon and walk around everywhere and drink wine and get bangs and be fabulous -- I can't very well tie a big-ass Subaru key and two house keys to my pants with a ribbon without looking like an asshole --- you need, you know, a dainty Paris key to do that. But everything in moderation, right? So one of my new quasi-hobbies is to learn more about Jane Birkin, Paris style in the 60s and 70s, and well, that unfortunately will lead to spending money. I want to buy books about Paris life and culture. And that means I will be inspired to buy clothes. And food. And do more cooking and possibly travel to, well, France or the closest thing to it within driving distance because of my pesky fear of flying. But maybe if I can spend money to buy things that in their own right make my life more pleasant than it was before and don't serve as a stupid reminder of my failings, this will be okay. White tennis shoes = not okay. Book about the allure of French women and food that entertains me and makes me linger over the cheese selection at Wild Oats = okay.

Another hobby I invented for myself is kind of related but not really. Remember last year I used to post about our upcoming trip to South Beach and all the parties we would attend and all the outfits I would wear down to the matching flip flops to go with the Lacoste jacket? And then we missed the flight because I had too much Xanax and vodka and it was spring break so we couldn't get another flight within the week and had to cancel the trip? I realized that planning a trip really is half the fun of it. So why not plan a pretend trip? I can pick an exotic locale -- Paris, for example, study up on it, decide what to wear, choose restaurants and hotels and dusky bars where we'll drink obscure wine, and then, well, go do something else when I get bored of it! It's all free! And it will entertain me for a while!

So apparently my new hobbies are: sports writing, learning about the style of Jane Birkin and slowly re-inventing my wardrobe, and planning pretend vacations.

I have no idea what the point of this entry is, but here is a good look into the mind of someone with ADD. It just might be time to increase my meds, right? And now I'm too bored of this entry to do anything else with it. So there you go.