Flip Flop Moans

The gym is not the time to moan aloud as if you are at home with the shades drawn and no witnesses to be had. All the treadmills were taken. The guy on the ONE stationary bike is moaning so loudly that's it's not only disruptive but counterintuitive to my own focus. Now I know what you sound like in an intimate situation. An NOW my minds eye cannot get the unsightly image out of my head! Or maybe adjust his oversized headphones so that they are on his head correctly. If he has one ear on and one ear off, it would seem to me that he'd hear his own sounds of... Wailing? I don't know. Somebody just make it stop. And why is he wearing flip flops? 

So I get stuck on the elliptical. And it's an archaic model that is most likely possessed by evil. Level one is like level twenty. I'm an over-achiever. There are no other options.  So I go for it. Gosh, this is stressful. And I last an eternity! ...of only a third of a mile. This machine must die. Do you have a sledgehammer I could borrow? 

It's a smaller gym, so there aren't as many options with machines, weight sets, hand weights; There's only one big ball of blue to do sit-ups. And three women staring at it with intent to pounce. All in all, I enjoy my quaint, little workout spot. But, please, someone stuff a sock in flip flop biker's mouth before I roll him up in a yoga mat and stuff him in the sauna. 

Time To Book

Walking around Barnes & Noble, killing time, while also entertaining my nerdy self, I noticed, a gentleman kept perusing close to me in every isle I went to... That is, until He saw me pick up a copy of "Unleash the Power of the Female Brain." Ha! That's right, future prospect. My female brain is about to be unleashed! Can you handle it? And then he looked down to see my intent to purchase "All Men Are Jerks *until proven otherwise." Umm, no comment. Don't judge me. Whaaat... The excerpt was hilarious. I guess my copies of American songwriter and Pianist magazines was what reeled him in. I looked smart. And creative. Man-magnet stuff right there folks. But definitely watching his face misconstrue at the site of a -what appears to be-  man-bashing book was far too much for him to bear. Excuse me sir? Your face might stick like that if you keep it up. Hey, where ya goin? Why you walking so fast? Oh guess you will not be able attempt to manipulate me for sex? Oh, but it would have been so fun to manipulate you for for sex. In which case... Maybe I should follow him around the store. 

Sigh. Too many books. Too little time. So I'm trying to take a heyday to read through some of my favorite authors. It's summer. There's supposed to be time for this. I need more time. Theres suppose to be tons of time. There's never enough time. Dammit. But, the problem lay, where I just can't decide on what mood of book I'm in. Funny? I love to laugh. I Love Lucy-style books are the best. Mystery? Who dunnit? The maid with the candle stick in the barn, my dear Watson. Non-fiction? Eh, real life crap? Most likely not, I enjoy the escape of stories so much more. Pass. Which to choose. Eeny. Meeny. Miny. Mo. 

I would love to hear some suggestions from you guys and gals out there. Teen fiction? Romance? Not in that order. Just feels wrong. Wait. Are there teen romance novels? Study your geometry instead! I checked out the kids section of Barnes & Noble too... I figured I'd broaden my immaturity with a stroke of genius and I searched through kids humor books. But, my choice of Wimpy Chronicles was probably not a good look. Unless I've digressed. To age eight. Which is likely. 

Sleepy Castle

I'm going to invent a business that allows you to stop when you are tired and take a snooze. Not a hotel. Not a rest stop. But a sleepy castle type of rest stop. So you can take a nap. A kind of auberge... with which to stop.  A bonified conk out stop. It's so needed. I can't tell you how many times I've been waiting around for whatever to happen and I could have gotten in some zzzz's! Waiting to check into a hotel. Need a few winks. Checking out at hotel. Need a nap. Waiting for airplane. Neck pillow please... And an ottoman. 

Yesterday, I was falling asleep in a fast food place. I needed to charge my phone. No outlets. I needed a coffee. No coffee maker around for miles. Or coffee shop. I need a personal barista. Boom. I know, I'm a problem solver.  I needed a damn cot to rest my weary head! I couldn't check into my hotel yet.. So I was stuck. I could try to close my lids in my car; But, it being over a hundred degrees and all... It seemed I might be risking heat stroke in the environment. I can't carry my personal camel around with me everywhere I go. Moistening me in this wretched heat with his perfect aim of spit; But, it's because he's too big. And loveable. Everyone would pet Charlie - an exclusive edition, face wetting, spitting good time. He licks your ears too. But he'll blame it on the inanimate balloons hanging from the mailbox. 

OPERATION: SLEEP CASTLE was born. Since I love pegacorns and the princess treatment. I thought a castle theme would be the absolute perfection in sleeperies! I already booked my gurney. Oh! Just a noteable mention for my fellow pervs out there...

No sex in the champagne bunk! 

Popsicle Hobbit

Some guys cloak themselves in Sheeps clothing so well that they pull one over on you, TOO well. Sheep smell. You feel proud of yourself? Wolves smell too. Hand a girl a Popsicle and your bound to get a smile. Who doesn't love a Popsicle. Or a Hobbit. But, in this case, here are three red flags he's a Popsicle Hobbit. 

#1 Sugar Packets... What kind of guy steals sugar packets and makes his date believe that this is what will bond us? What you deem as an endearing quality is most likely appearing like a precursor for future legal problems. No girl finds that desirable. Nor wants to bail you out later. 

#2 Hobbit Haunt... Since I recently had an encounter with a Hobbit hating date, I find it necessary to mention one last time. If you watch a fantasy film, enjoy it. Please don't find every opportunity to make disparaging remarks on accuracy and detail. Zip it sailor. Keep it to a dull roar. Meow. Or get a mute button. Aw, the duct tape will only hurt for a second when ripped off. I promise you, I have no F***s to give you. Not one. Have a shot. Drink up. Call your mom. Hi, mom. Whatever it takes. Knock it off. It's annoying. And by the way, I lied, I did see the movie. Twice. And I freaking loved it. Both times. But thanks a bunch, now that you've ruined my get-a-away-from-real-life film, I'm being stalked by Hobbit paraphernalia everywhere I turn. Journals tossing themselves at me in bookstores. Stuffed plush toys hurling their way into my shopping carts. Every time I pass a tree with a big hole in it, I want to climb in it an see if I can find the hobbit, borrow his invisi-ring, and come find you so I can slap your inconsiderate self. I hope your next date can't hear you dissect another film. Being alone forever won't be that bad. Elmer Fudd did it. Screw it, back to the lion, the witch and the wardrobe. 

#3 pillow pet... If you're a man that sleeps with more pillows than Bed, Bath & Beyond can carry, you may want to reevaluate your life. Not just a couple pillows two for the head. Or one in between your legs for back support. But, literally, hugging two pillows. Squish. Three pillows on his left side, four pillows on his right side and they're all around him like he's in a pillow casket. I gotta admit, that's a new one. Bedding Mush. How many does it take to get to oodles anyway? Hello death? Yes, I'd like to special order five thousand pillows for my lifeless body to lay on please. Oh, I have to ACTUALLY die before you can process my request? Well, gee, this is a pickle. You see I cannot sleep without a gaggle of pillows enveloping me to the point of suffocation. Still no? Gosh, may I speak to a manager? Thanks. 

So there you have it. Say no to a man offering Popsicle sticks. Did you order a Popsicle stick up the ass for one? Here you go. Ouch. Now you will be paraded around wearing a tutu and bells on your feet. But you don't get to ride a donkey. You gotta earn that. Ding dong. Thank you for participating. Nothing makes a woman feel more special than to get played. Come with honesty and get a tan. Powder. Look both ways before crossing the street. Skeezing twit. And ladies, keep your eyes open. Popsicle Hobbits come out from tree holes on the street: I don't know... 

Sanctioned Selection

I have been vetoed. I am not permitted to choosing my own dates from here on out. A new selection process has commenced. It has been brought to my attention - oddly enough, I'm already aware- that I cannot choose quality men. Or rather... I've just been a bit unlucky. My picker is off. I'm blind to seeing the guy with value and tend to -accidentally- opt for the sack of dicks. Or the dude with the sagging... Uh, nevermind. 

So, it has been decided. Without my input. Or vote. Or option to appeal. That my girls (friends, siblings, boyfriends of said friends/siblings, and the family dog too I guess) will be putting, any guy trying to take me out, on a chopping block. Hi, yes, I'd love to go out with you; But, not until I hand you over to the wolves. Good luck!  If he can get through the rigorous waves of interrogation, I will be notified when I get to go out on a date. Maybe I should learn to knit sweaters for mystical creatures. This may take a while. Which, I was told, will be supervised. What?! Ok, I know I have a shitty dating history... but geez. Isn't this extreme? Nope. No bending. Not a democracy. You've done enough damage. Now its our turn to break these poor saps down. Ah! I see it clearly now. Noted. 

Ok. Sort of... A Rita's boot camp for potential suitors. Oh crap. Can I at least watch through the two way mirror? Get a glimpse of what you guys are going... No. Dammit. That's it. Might as well hang up all my sexy hooker heels and become a hermit. An old maid. Better pull out ye olde pasta maker. It's all over and now I will have time to get back to my roots. I've always wanted to see if I remembered my cannery skills. Ah, just like Aunt Rose and I used to do in the summers. In the basement. I'm doomed. Apparently, I can pick the gentleman. I can talk to the gentleman. But after those initial meetings... I get bumped out of the way like a bad performer at The Apollo. Here kind sir, if you'd like to continue to talk to this fine beauty, please fill out an application. I see the cane. Hi handsome beau, it's your lucky day! You, fine courter, have been chosen privy to our sanctioned selection process. I see the jester on roller skates. Nary just any boyfriend can survive the challenge of our controversial tactics. I bob and weave. But trust us, aristocratic wannabe, our best interest is for this beguiling stunner... And we will annihilate you. Huh? What's happening? Why am I spinning? And where the hell did my date go? Shit. The natives have captured him. Its too late. Well... If Prince Charming can make it through my confidants fiery procession -shrugs- I guess he MIGHT, actually be the one. I knew they'd wamboozle me. I must give in to their demands and let them have at it. Bastards. 

On the plus side... My friends and family must really love me to put me through this. Or hate me. Or they just enjoy watching me squirm and this is paybacks. For all the poo poo I've put them through. Maybe I should have thought twice about hiding my sisters shoe in her glove compartment that one time... 

GFY

This is a phrase I find myself using quite often. I use it when someone takes my parking spot. I mumble it under my breath when I'm in line at hotel registration and someone jumps right in front of you citing "I just need to ask a question." I hate you. That's what the line is for. Get in it like the rest of us. Go fuck yourself.  "Go Fuck Yourself" has become my go-to phrase. It solves a multitude of emotional ranges all in three little words. 

Allow me to show you. I go out on a few dates with a nerdy scientist guy. At first glance, he's not really my type. He's not the "hot guy" that would normally catch my attention; But, his odd way of communicating is humorous to me. Where everyone else would find his awkward statements annoying, I found him unique and adorable. Let's watch a movie. Ok. It's The Hobbit movie. Why are you picking apart the scientific relevance of how a bridge would actually fall with an ogre on top of it? Damn fantasy films. I guess the scientific part of it flies out the window in a movie like that. But who am I to judge? Everyone Is entitled to be a little different. Or just a straight up oddball. And it was kind of cute. Back to the point. He walks me to my car. He opens doors. He made old fashioned new again. I had found a breath of fresh air. He didn't seem to be acting strangely. But beware of scrawny scientists, ladies. I leave for a trip, and he disappears off the face of the planet. GFY. Apparently, that breath of fresh air was contaminated. GFY. It's the umbrella for all emotions pointing south in this case. Inconsiderate jerk. GFY. Disrespectful little prick. GFY. Non-gentlemanly behavior. GFY. Android devoid of human feeling. You get the idea. Oh and by the way... GFY. 

I've gotta thank my hot canoli bestie, Evan, for this new phrase. I'm new to the acronym -even though I've kept saying it with a dash dyslexia- and having had a love affair already in full swing with telling people to go fuck themselves. I figured telling you guys about it would help me use the acronym much more effectively than outright saying the F-bomb. Which I do. A lot. In a bank. Or at a park. Or at some other high follutin function I may be privy. My filter needs work... But then again, would you want it any other way? Nah. You'd tell me to GFY. 

Silly Summer, Cleaning's For spring!

Time for Spring cleaning! Ok, well, it's mid-summer. And I'm doing the annual clean-out. For reference, "Annual," is going to be loosely defined. Let's do it! It's a trash-a-thon! My clothes. Wah. My shoes. Sniff. Sniff. Odds and ends. If it's broken, I should probably toss it. But, I didn't. I held onto it. Thinking... Oh! I'll mend this knick-knack. Because I'm a nutcracker carpenter and now I mend things. 

Example. I've been hanging into to the cutest dress. I adore it. Actually, I used it in out photo shoot for the album. I know. Hang tight. We will release it soon. You're dying without it. I get it. I love this dress so much and after only wearing it for one dinner date and the aforementioned shoot... The freaking zipper broke. Send it to the cleaners Rita. I know. This should be simple. But you forget who you're talking to... Yeah, me. I'm the type to forget to eat. So, I set it by the door. Don't forget to grab it. I forgot. I put it in my car. Weeks later. And I found it. Months later. Oh shoot. Better put it on the front seat so I don't forget again. Keep it in my sight. It's hot out. My handbag needs to be securely fastened in my front passenger seat. Dress gets tossed to the backseat. Days later, friends ride in bak seat. Dress gets shoved in the trunk. Another couple weeks later, I clean out the car. Guess what I find?! Rhetorical. Yes. The dress. I put it in my closet because -clearly- I  am not going to remember to take this damn dress to get fixed. Maybe I need a maid. You know, to run my errands for me. I look like the type of girl to have hired help. And NO, in case you were wondering, I do NOT sew. Do I look like Betsy Ross to you? 

Let's find another example, shall we? Electrical cords. I've got -what looks like- hundreds of cords lying around in random places. They're never used. I've never reached for them. And after I glance at them once in a while -more like a blue moon- and reminds self that, I MAY need these. I don't. Then I shove them right back where I found them. I'm sure I will use them. Nope. Only when a spotted pig flies. They're basically taking up space with their uselessness. But I've  hung onto them. Why.. You ask? Fuck if I know. There's a grocery bag full of them here. And these are the grocery bags that have been banned in Los Angeles. I have piece of history in my closet. What if plastic groceries bags go extinct? I want to show my grand kids one day that these relics DID indeed exist. Look kids! A flying, spotted pig! There they are... Bunches, of them. Packed there. There's even a few -ok, more like a dozen- zip tied, neatly organized in my file drawers. What am I afraid of? That if I throw out said collections of cords that I will have to buy new cords? Odds are, I already have. Which explains the ungodly amount of them I'm having to tear through. If I can toss a jerky guy away like old newspaper... Why do I have such trouble with these silly things suffocating my life?! And taking over my castle?! 

I believe I've made my case... What  I really wish for is the car cleaning fairy. Yeah, she and her pixie dust need to show up right about now.