Happy Halloween Mofos!

From all of us to all y'all

Love,

Slutty Bunny

Note to self-- can it with the Schlitz

And now it's time for another round of stupid things I say on dates.

The next round of tapas came out and I knew that if I put one more bite of food in my mouth I would not be able to swallow it, but instead regurgitate it, along with the previous eight rounds of food, into my napkin.

And somehow try to make it look cute.

The Douchebag (he seems have to forgotten the Douchebag Incident^TM which makes his nickname even funnier now. Just don't tell him this) takes another bite (I debate puking some more) and asks me, "So do you watch any reality TV shows?"

I do, but this is not information that I'm going to cough up so soon. I'm going to be talking about books, not how I think Wife Swap is the greatest freakfest of all time.

He sees my hesitation and says, "I watch The Bachelor."

"Oh me too! But not for the romance. Blech." I take a finger and jam it in my mouth to demonstrate how much I don't watch the show for the romantic dates, but it reminded me too much of what my stomach was telling me. "No, everyone on that show has lost their minds! Every single one of those girls is crazy! I mean, hello, their 'Italian prince' is from Jersey!"

This launches a big discussion on how The Bachelor makes all these romantic dates, so when they come home and it's pizza and beer and Sunday football, of course the relationship is doomed for failure.

"Okay, so what was your most romantic moment in life?" I ask.

"Date number six with an ex."

"So nothing particular about the date? No ambiance? No special words?"

"Nope, we just seemed to mesh well."

I think this is a complete cop out, for the record.

"Well what about you?" he asks.

I didn't have an answer prepared. I sort of assumed that I haven't had that moment yet, although I have some pretty kick ass memories from previous men. I scanned my mind for moments where I wasn't naked when they occurred and came up with one.

"I was dating a musician and I was over at his apartment one night. We were drinking Schlitz Malt Liquor and..."

He began laughing-- full, body shaking laughs. "I thought I had a lame answer! Was there a joint somewhere in the background?!"

Apparently if your most romantic moment involves a musician and Schlitz, it doesn't count.

Stream of Conscious Saturday Sunday

I just found out a guy I've known for over 8 years is, in fact, not mentally retarded.

So who's more retarded in this situation? Him for being so slow people think he's mentally handicapped? Or me for thinking it?

***

I pulled out my copy of David Sedaris' Naked to loan a friend. While handing the book over, I noticed an ice cream stain in a very unfortunate place on the boxers.

I think Sedaris would find this hysterical.

***

I was invited to Boy's Night Out on Friday-- how very asexual of me. It was just me and three married men. They admitted they were a little nervous about me tagging along.

Until they realized my strip club knowledge put theirs to shame.

***

Only my mother would assume that speed dating involved drugs.

***

I have a date with the guy from the Douchebag Incident^TM. If I like him, I'm going to be needing a new nickname for him. Or maybe not. They all get called that at one point or another. I could just start early.

***

I think it's time to retire Slutty Bunny. Every year I wear it, I end up getting into a serious relationship and, once again, the costume went over well. I actually heard "May the best man win" over me tonight. Me. Stuff like that never ceases to surprise me.

Thank god I didn't do Super Slutty Bunny like I was planning.

***

Speaking of, I have four dates this week. My plan to find a Christmas party date is working a little too well. I hate being Spreadsheet Girl; it just feels so unnatural and unromantic. This has become a cause of stress.

***

I own a pair of Hooters shorts.

I'm just saying.

***

Margaret Mitchell wrote Gone with the Wind

After hearing the unedited version of my speed dating experience, Erin was crying. We were seated in her car at a red light laughing so hard neither one of us were able to make a sound. I too reached up and wiped tears away.

"Are we going to have to do like Rachel and Monica did on Friends? The one where Rachel doesn't trust her dating decisions anymore, so Monica makes them all?"

"That would probably be for the best."

"I still can't believe the Douchebag Incident^TM."

"And he was one of the ones I liked!"

"I want stories like that. How do I get stories like that?"

"Well tonight I'm blowing off yoga to go to Midtown Mixer at the Margaret Mitchell House. One of the girls I exchanged numbers with last night is working it and invited me."

"I'm there."

Later on Married Work Guy stops in my cubicle and sees the invite card.

"Are you going to the mixer to further your quest for a date to the party?"

"No."

"Good, I was getting worried about you. So why are you going?"

"To see the psychic."

Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?

Yes, yes you do.

Turns out I didn't do as badly as I thought I did. Well, that or the boys got over the initial horror of meeting me.

8 out of 13 said they wanted to date me. 8 boys. That's over 60%. Turns out I am pretty fucking awesome, bitches.

Erm, this may have gone to my head a bit.

Yeah, boyee.

No date for the prom

COWORKER: So how did it go last night?
JAMIE: I got three phone numbers...
COWORKER: (Raises eyebrows in surprise) Good for you!
JAMIE: ...All from women!

What I Learned from Speed Dating:

• Apparently men get really offended when you ask how old they are.
• They get even more offended when they make you guess and you do correctly.
• Always keep your drink within sight.
• There is such a thing as an Asian dentist.
  
• What I do for a living confuses people.
• Men do not appreciate it when they get up from the table and you lean to the girl next to you and say loudly, "That guy was a douchebag."
  
• Jokes about wheelchairs are not funny.
• Matter of fact, I'm not as funny as I think I am.

Tonight I'll find out who said yes to me, despite the above. It had never crossed my mind that the possibility of getting rejected by 15 men in one night could in fact be my most humbling moment. Ever.

Dear John

I read the Dear John letter this morning and I smiled.

I smiled because it feels good to know I'm making the right decisions in life. I was right in not giving the guy my phone number last week even though he had curly hair and dimples. I was right in including someone in my life who took the time to bow out gracefully. He is one of the few men who I can honestly say left me in better condition than when he found me: he shined me up, gave me a pat on the fanny, and pushed me back out into the game.

The game will continue; I have my speed date tonight.

And I smiled again because I broke out the Wonderbra this morning.

Stoopid

I met him a couple of weeks ago and thought he was gentle. He stood out in my mind because gentle is a quality I haven't seen in a man or a woman in quite awhile, especially in the city. I am not a gentle person.

It wasn't enough though. He smiled and asked for my number so he could buy me a drink sometime and perhaps see this Piedmont Park I rave about, but I politely thanked him and said, "Not right now."

As luck would have it, Friday night I ran into him again. I left the boys at the pool table and ventured over to say hello. We spoke and again he asked for my number. Again, I said no.

I couldn't believe what came out of my mouth. I've openly announced I have six weeks to find someone to take to my stupid office party and I'm turning down a guy that looks like a Cabbage Patch doll when he smiles?

Looks like I can't compromise on certain things, like the desire to be alone rather than with someone who isn't right for me.

Stupid standards.

Hello, Winter Wardrobe. I've missed you.

It's headband and hoodie season and I'm dancing around my apartment to Pixies' "Debaser."

It really doesn't take much to make me happy.

Publix Humiliation

I have suffered enough public humiliation for one weekend.

Ok, so the first one-- my bad. I really should have checked to see if the parking brake was on. And my friends falling over laughing in the middle of the street at 1 AM isn't really public humiliation.

But goodbye, Publix. I need a new grocery store since I can never show my face in my current one again.

I woke up Sunday morning and I knew something was wrong. I was feeling off. Off balance, off-kilter, off meds, just off. There is nothing more frustrating than knowing the normal person within and not being able to be it.

I was sick.

There were the aches, followed by the fever and the general all-around crappiness. I spent most of the day alternating between the couch and the bed where I watched a marathon of MTV's "Parental Control." It didn't even cross my mind to, I don't know, change the channel. MTV was on and that was what I watched.

At 4 PM I knew I had to get up and go to the store. I had absolutely no food in my kitchen and I hadn't eaten all day. Moaning and groaning, I put real clothes on and shuffled out the door.

I was very slow at it, but I managed to buy food for most of the week. At the checkout counter though, I really wasn't feeling very well. I wasn't feeling well at all. All of a sudden I got very hot. The cashier finishes ringing up my groceries.

"That'll be $16.67. Excuse me, Miss? Miss? Are you alright?"

"Meh," and I fainted.

This wasn't a raise the back of the hand to the forehead and collapse on the fainting couch kind of faint, either. This was more of a I tried to catch myself on the counter and hit my head on it while crashing into someone's cart kind of faint. You know, the unflattering kind.

When I came to a few moments later, there were a few people standing around me. The store manager was crouched above me.

"Are you okay, Ma'am?"

I began to cry; it seemed like the natural thing to do. I was lying on the floor of a grocery store with people looking at me and I just got called "Ma'am." The manager and a very cute guy in running shorts (another reason I could never go back there) helped me up. The manager called me a cab and gave me some ice for my head, but I insisted I lived less than a mile away and would be okay.

Moral of the story: when sick, order Chinese, even if you really, really, really want chowder.

Fucking Valets or My Saturday Night

When I dropped off my truck with the valet, I looked something like this:


Dinner was fantastic, although there was a bit too much politics spoken at the table for my taste. Four hours later (I'm not kidding), we finally leave the restaurant. The valet hands my keys over. Hmm, my truck smells funny. Smells like something is burning. So I do what any normal person would do and turn off the heat (if it's not hot, you can't smell it).

It seemed to solve the smelly burning truck problem until I put my truck in reverse to parallel park at the bars. Oh. My. God. The valet fucked my truck up. My truck will barely go in reverse. I had to press on the gas pedal way too much to get any movement. He must have fucked it up on the hill when I dropped it off. I knew he switched gears too abruptly. And now I need a new transmission. Oh. My. God.

Transmissions are expensive, and my truck is old enough that the restaurant won't cover the full expense. I'll probably have to pay between $800 - $900. A new transmission-- that means I need to look into getting a new truck. The transmission going means it's just the beginning of all sorts of problems. But I don't have a single complaint... other than the truck won't go in fucking reverse.

At the bar I could barely enjoy myself. People bought me my drinks in anticipation that I would be broke from the new transmission. My friends actually took care of me and made me forget my problems. They even drove me back to my truck and made sure I could get it in reverse long enough to get out of my space to get home tonight.

As I started up my truck, I noticed a light. It read "brake." The valet did nothing wrong except for implementing the parking brake-- which I never use and didn't think to check. So I had driven three miles with the parking brake on.

Did I mention I looked something like this?

Mission: Improbable

Yesterday afternoon I printed my Outlook calendar for the weekend and the upcoming week. I realized the date and promptly swore.

Back in May I set a goal: get a boyfriend by the Christmas office party. I remember laughing at the idea. The Christmas office party is at the end of the year and it was only May. Besides, I had been seeing one person regularly for the previous five months, so it didn't seem that improbable.

I scrolled through the Outlook Calendar and checked the date. The party is December 2nd; it is now late October. Whatever I've been doing (and what the hell have I been doing?), I am now incapable of the boyfriend by early December. The best I can hope for is a date for the party.

And, oh my god, I'm not going to that party alone.

I printed out the new gym schedules and made an appointment with a personal trainer. Losing 10 pounds will aid in both looking good at the party and finding a date. I also switched my ballet classes to a different studio in Midtown.

I have six weeks. Oh my god, I have six weeks.

I just gave HurryDate my credit card number. I will see them next week to meet 12-20 men between the ages of 25-35. I also talked a friend into going to keep me company. She's excited; her boyfriend, however, is not.

I just posted a profile on-line too. The on-line profile will serve more as a backup, where I will see what kind of offers I get. I'm sorry, I just don't think trolling for guys on the Internet is sexy. This opinion may change come November.

I'm serious, I'm not going to this party alone. A few of you should probably expect a whiny phone call from me late November. There will be free booze if that helps.

Good stories to come...

I prefered throwing the football through the flaming tire, but whatever floats your boat

These MySpace games just officially got out of hand:

If you've ever wanted a job where you aren't allowed to wear your own underwear, here's your chance

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Lands End

I was passing the cotton farms outside if Madison, GA, when I became scared. What was I thinking? Five days at the land's end by myself?

The house is nestled at the end of the Port Royal Sound, where the river meets the Atlantic. It is also the last house on the path before the Gullahs' property begins. Land's end couldn't be a more appropriate description.

I wondered if the seclusion that I craved not 20 minutes before would prove to be too much for me. In the city I was used to the night sky as a murky orange mist. Air pollution keeps it from getting dark at night, something I find both disturbing and comforting. But at the land's end there wouldn't be a paved road for miles, much less artificial light. Darkness becomes a pitch black that even my eyes can't adjust to. I'm not afraid to admit that I still find the darkness pretty scary at times.

I lost all radio connection to Atlanta outside of Madison in those cotton fields and I wondered if I had ever been completely isolated for five days before. Not without school or a job as a distraction.

"What are you going to do with yourself?" he asks me over dinner last week.

"I'm going to read. I love to explore the island on the golf cart, so I plan on doing that. Take the jet ski out. Do some shopping--" he nodded at all of these in agreement, "and play some dominoes. I always play dominoes at the beach."

"What? Like set them up so they fall down in patterns?"

"No. The game."

"By yourself?"

"Yup, like chess."

"You can play chess by yourself?"

"It's not unheard of."

Driving, I replayed the conversation in my head. I've never felt him judge me before-- it was one of the reasons I liked him-- but I heard the judgment in his laugh.

"I like games, okay? And it's hard to find someone willing to play," I said defensively.

I don't rely on other people for my happiness and I don't see anything wrong with going at things alone. But this vacation had me worried whether I was self-sufficient enough to entertain myself for five days.

I spent my vacation exactly how I said I would. And you know what? I wasn't lonely for one goddamned minute.

And the neighbors took me out to dinner Saturday night and played dominoes with me.

Conversations

(Watching Ford commercial where the girl buys the guy's dry cleaning)
JAMIE: What they don't tell you that the guy is already married. She'll never hear from him and he'll laugh about the chick that bought him laundry.
FATHER: Damn, that's cynical, even for you.

COWORKER: What did you bring for lunch?
JAMIE: Something frozen this was comes.
COWORKER: I am assuming that you are saying that you brought a Lean Cuisine.
JAMIE: Yup.
COWORKER: Save the Queen's English for someone smarter.

COWORKER: I will talk to the others about your hazing.
JAMIE: (Disbelieving) Uh huh.
COWORKER: It involves a plunger, tub of butter, and camel toe.
JAMIE: You're pleased with yourself.

SCOTT: Your hair has gotten long.
JAMIE: That's cause I'm single. I always let it grow out when I'm single.
JAMIE: (Simultaneously) Guys like long hair.
SCOTT: (Simultaneously) Guys like to pull it.
JAMIE: ...

Purse Predicament

"You made an excellent selection," she says to me. "This is the hottest handbag we have right now."

Apparently after a certain dollar figure, it's no longer a purse, it's a handbag.

I'm standing in the middle of the Coach store on Hilton Head Island. I must have circled the store 12 different times trying to get the feel of which handbag works best for me: it must be classic, it must be both summer and winter, and it absolutely must be big enough to carry a book.

I look around the room. Another perky blonde has the only remaining bag tucked under her arm as she peruses the rest of the selection. "See? We can't keep them in stock," the sales lady chatters. She pries the bag out of my hand and begins wrapping it in layers of Coach printed tissue paper.

"No leather cleaner is necessary, just mild soap and water."

"So don't stick it in the washing machine?"

The sales lady drops her jaw and wraps both arms protectively around the handbag. "Don't you dare!" she almost-screams. People turn and stare, including the other perky blonde. It was only then the sales lady sees my smile and understands I was teasing. "Whew! I almost refused to give you possession of the bag! You have quite a sense of humor there."

Well that's a nice way to put it.

In the car I unwrap the tissue paper enough so I could smell the leather. It smells... expensive. Even with the great deal I got on my purchase, it is still the most amount of money I've ever spent on a purse handbag.

Back at the beach house, I sit at the table with my old purse and my new handbag and clean everything off before transferring it. I lean back in my chair and stare triumphantly. The bag looks good. Very good. And it's mine.

But when it came time for dinner and I had to drive to the store, I transferred everything back and took my old purse. Even in the posh seaside town, I wasn't ready to make my debut as one of those girls. The Louis Vuittons, the Coaches, and the Dooney and Burkes are statements. They have the stigma of wearing the dollar sign on the outside and I wasn't sure I was ready to be defined by that.

Three days later and back in Atlanta, the bag has only changed kitchen tables. It's become a centerpiece. I was leaning against the counter eating a slice of cake and admiring my bag when the phone rang.

"How was your trip?" Erin asked.

"I went shopping."

"Ooh! What did you buy?"

I inhaled. "A Coach bag."

Erin was silent for a few seconds. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

In her reaction everything I feared was confirmed. People would look at me differently. Strangers would silently judge me. She has that because she wants to be trendy. It doesn't matter that it's pretty and it smells good and that I like it.

This morning I left for work and the bag is still sitting pretty on my kitchen counter-- I justified it with it was raining outside. The dog sat by the door and watched me leave. I knew the brown leather and the Coach signature Cs would match her fur perfectly. She shook her head and the charm spelling "Coach" swung back down to the bottom of her neck.

Apparently I have no problem dressing my dog in a designer collar.

Baby steps.

Get Mortified

Forget that Slam Poetry Jam, the newest thing is to publicly humiliate yourself by reading your childhood diary in public forums. Apparently it's become so popular that TV execs are picking up the readings for a TV show. I'd be all over that if it was within MARTA distance, but since MARTA doesn't cross the Mason-Dixon line, this will have to do:

(I am going to copy as is. Proves that I wasn't always the grammatical genius that I am today. Last names are dropped in case anyone Googles themselves and finds the entry the crazy girl wrote when she was 9.)

4.22.91

Dear Diary,

Guess what my mom did? She rearranged my room! Now I don't know wear anything is! I gotta talk to you later, the boys are agertaving me.

I really need to talk to you now. I just lost my 2nd best friend, Michelle S. I just told her Friday that I was bringing Leigh C. to my dad's house, and now she hates me.

Today Beth L. is beinging like my best friend even though Leigh is my all time best friend. But it is pretty sad to lose your 2nd best friend. Well, I am going to go draw with Beth on the chalkboard so see you later.

I'm in after school now. Beth is still in homework. The questions were too hard so I'm going to ask Kevin for some help when I get home.

About Michelle- I don't think that this is a one day "Let's hate Jamie," I think this is for real. Plus I hated it to be around my birthday too. Should I talk to Mrs. Danford about it? I just don't know what to do. Even Julie won't play with me, she's with Michelle. I'm so lonely.

Well, should I let Missy R. be my friend or not? Sometimes I like her, and sometimes she drives me up a wall!

I can't talk about Missy when Michelle doesn't like me anymore. Beth is goofing off with Andrea and Dohn. Up! Beth just got into trouble! Oh! What am I going to do with Michelle? It's so awful.

You know, sometimes I wish that Leigh could go to after school. Sometimes it can be so lonely without her! Heh! I just remered tonight's pizza night. Maybe Mom can order a pizza. She probly won't anyways. Oh well. It's time for a snack so I got to put you away, okay? Bye.

Well, I'm back from snack. Still nobody asked of they wanted to play with me. Why me? My life is so misrable, there's no way out. Why me? Why me? Yeah! My mom is here, gotta go. Bye.

I was just thinking, why should I let a second grader boss me around? They can be bitches sometimes. That's it! No more second graders!

Guess what? I come down to see if Josh would roller skate with me, so we roller skate, and all of a suden Michelle came out on her knees and her hands folded saying, "Will you be my friend? Would you?"

We both stair at her like what happened here, Michelle? We thought that Michelle hated me. Well she did. She even said so. But Michelle thought that I liked Leigh more than her (wich I do). But I said that I like all my friends the same (wich I don't!) Well, I gotta take my shower now. Bye.

I'm nice and clean once again! Thanks to Michelle I can't play with anybody. In other words, I'M PUNISHED FOR PLAYING TOO LATE. Also because I was listening to the TV while doing my homework. I lost Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday of watching TV. Hopefully she'll forget about it.

Guess what? My birthday is this Wednesday! Isn't that exciting? I just can't wait, I'll be 10!

See y'all later!

It was so nice not going to work on Monday that I decided to take the rest of the week off. While y'all are slaving away, I will be at my beach house in Beaufort, SC for the rest of the week.

Not actual house, only used to make you jealous.

Jealous yet?

How I spent my day off

I somehow feel like I tricked the system. I got Columbus Day off from work and we all know by now that Columbus didn't discover America.

A friend and I decided to drive into the mountains for the day. Being October 9th, we thought it was the perfect day to go to Helen for Oktoberfest.

Helen is a German sleepy town in North Georgia. This is your typical mental picture of Helen. Every building has the same facade, including the Wendy's down the street.

(Click for big on any photo)

Oh, I'm sorry. What's this? Is that? Is that a rebel flag hanging out of a shop window marked "Tattoos?" I believe it is.


In case you can't read the lettering, the This -N- That store offers collegiate and NASCAR merchandise.


Here we meet Hansel and Gretel. Hansel is sporting a Harley Davidson t-shirt while Gretel checks him out in her trucker hat and chaps. That's right. I said it. Chaps.


Marbels-- 25 cents. Not to be confused with marbles, the glass balls.


Lesson: You can call it a German town all you like, but if it's located in the Georgia mountains, Deliverance could be filmed there.

Not pictured: a stop at the Habersham winery where you can "taste" for free.

Which may or may not have contributed to our impromptu stop at Babyland General Hospital, the birth place of all Cabbage Patch Kids.


Babyland General Hospital hasn't changed much since my last visit when I was three. Note the caution tape next to the sign.


We walked in and the 80-year-old nurse at the front desk exclaimed, "Hurry! You're just in time for a birth!" Her enthusiasm didn't wane for the pair of 20-somethings.

I responded a little too excitedly, "Oh boy!" and ran back to the cabbage patch. See? Babies really do grow from cabbages. Those little bodiless heads kind of freaked me out.


The birthing nurse has all her instruments out. She peeled back the cabbage leaves and reaches in for the baby.

It's a boy!


The healthy baby boy will be placed in the viewing room where the stork can watch over him.


Not all babies are born healthy. Here are the premies which need extra love and care. AIDS needles sold separately.


I mean "adopted" separately.


Babyland General Hospital was built in the very early 1980s. Therefore it was decorated in Lite-Brites. That toy was cool.


So after a day in Deliverance, Georgia where we were the skinniest girls for miles, I realized that I am indeed a city girl and was very happy to see this:



Traffic included.

Caboodling

While getting ready to hit up Virginia Highland tonight, I reached in my makeup bag for my eyeliner. I looked up from the bag and said to myself in the mirror, "Shit."

Lying on top of the garbage in the trash can was my empty eyeliner tube.

I crouched low and opened up the cabinet. I pushed through half-used shampoo bottles and tugged out my Caboodles case where I squirrel away free makeup samples. In there I found a pencil eyeliner which would have to do for tonight.

That's right folks, I still own a Caboodles.

And it's fluorescent.

In other news

My blog has become the #4 Google result for a certain howler monkey stuffing, spandex wearing, cane owning gentleman. So I went back and got a picture. Enjoy.

All gifts of appreciation may be sent to my office

I was lurking on this guy's blog until he posted the greatest thing ever.

Ladies and gentlemen, the last bookmark you'll ever need.

*Wipes away tear of joy*

Is anyone else faint with happiness?

You're on Notice!

Make your own

I'd be lying if I said I didn't spend a half of an hour on here laughing hysterically while adding each one of your names.

Who/ What would you put on notice this week? Leave a comment if you made your own.

And you laughed when I said I had an 8 o'clock implosion

The old Wachovia building in Atlanta came down Saturday morning.

I stole the photos from here. You should know well enough by now that I can't take clear pictures.

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