Fuck Luck

While barely finding the motivation to tread water in the unemployed ocean, I had a stroke of brilliance. I decided to have a party on Friday the 13th. It was going to celebrate, mainly, my birthday, but also it was a party for the fact that all I had going for me was the fact that I wasn't dead. And that, folks, is all you need. Fuck Luck.

Invites were sent out, food, booze and music (thank you Steve!!!) were planned. I even knew what I was going to wear 2 weeks before hand. This was huge. I was excited for the entire week leading up to the big night. The night before, I laid out my outfit with an excitement that rivaled even the most giddy moments of my youth.

OoooMG.

I had the Best. Time. Ever.

It probably didn't hurt the cause that I started drinking when I got home from work. People weren't going to start trickling in for AT LEAST another 2 hours. So, I swept & Swiffered and finished making my desserts while enjoying an organic Belgium Wheat Stef & Russell brought me from Colorado. Yum. They just brought me back 1 bottle, but, thank goodness it was a liter sized bottle.

Soon after my first drink was polished off (and yes, I'm counting a liter of beer as "a drink"), Whitney came through the front door with bags of food, beer and champagne. She popped the first bottle, the corked ricocheted off of a few things and it ended up under my tea kettle on the stove. She had Russell open the next one. Appropriately enough, she and I drank champagne from my pair of "Bar Natasha" champagne glasses.

After the first champagne bottle popping, I cannot verify the accuracy of the whats and the whens of all that went down. But here is what I remember...

*Steve made me the 4 most righteous (his word, but I must agree) mixed cds. He named them "Do the Na-Cha-Cha," "Slash Show Bob," "Durka Durka" and "Sherpa Sherpa Allah." I'm listening to Durka Durka right now "She's got the look...na na na na naaaaaaa na na na na na naaaaaaaaa YEAH - she's got the look!"

*Lee brought me a brownie cake with cream cheese icing with my name on it. Awesome. It was almost too pretty to eat. Almost.

*Sabrina brought a salad. Like an actual salad. Or at least one of those HUGE tubs of mixed greens. Trust me - this was HILARIOUS.

*Some random neighbor named Curtis invited himself onto my front porch.

*Lindsey showed up drunker than a me and gave me a FABULOUS vintage dress that I put on right then and there (on the front porch) and proceeded to model it. I spent almost the whole night thinking it was black and gold, but around 1AM Sabrina told me it was Brown and Ivory.
"What the EFF???? No wonder Lindsey and I were having a difference of opinion on what accessories to wear with it. I thought it was because we were both pretty sauced."

*Curtis said I was "one step above stunning" or some other BS while I was modeling the dress.

*Mark invited his friend, Meredith, whom he saw walking down the street, in. She was cool. She's a manager at Barnes & Nobel and really wanted to make sure I'd recycle her cup.

*All the Lesbians worked on hooking Curtis and I up.

*Jenni Rea had NO clue who CCB was. It's like she didn't even listen to any of my stories for almost 6 months.

*Carrie Beth made me kiss her on the lips and I almost cried. Nothing against her, just can't get myself to kiss a girl. Lord knows my life would be easier if I was The Gay.

*Tammy & Shea thought Megan & Brooke were a couple. Priceless.

*Matt pimped out his PBR LIGHT to anyone that would try it. Who knew they made PBR Light? Classic.

*Curtis left. But then he came back. :)

All-in-all it was fantastic. I have such awesome, wonderful friends. A girl couldn't be more lucky.

Slash says "Sorry!"

Sorry you guys. I have a really good reason why it went dark, and of course... it was painfully embarrassing.

I'm in the middle of an interview. It's going well, and, though the job would be well outside my degree's purview, I was interested in working there. Shannan knew, through professional networking, the guy I was interviewing with and I knew 2 other people that worked there through my many years at The Law Firm. And then he says... "You're right. Your hair IS better than mine."

3 things happen simultaneously.

1. I turn BRIGHT EFFING RED
2. My heart drops into my large intestine
3. I nervously laugh and say "Oh, well, it's nothing personal - just a fact."

I didn't get the job.

But that's OK because.....drum roll please...... I GOT A JOB! I'm a week in and so far so good! The only thing I can report on is that the toilets flush loudly. VERY LOUDLY. Like, so loudly, it hurts my ear drums. But, I can't be too upset at it; in every stall, there is a toilet plunger. How friggin awesome is that? I work in an office where at some point in time, even with toilets powerful enough they sound like they have a jet engine in the tank, enough people thought plungers in each and every stall were necessary.

So, I'm back, ya'll. Halloween was awesome!!! Slash KILLED at all the parties I went to. I even came in second at a costume contest. I lost to Hitler in drag and I am OK with that.

OH - and... Today is my birthday! Happy birthday to me! I'm 27, which is my lucky number. This is gonna be a GREAT year.

Tampon Troubles

When I was a young lass, my mom and sister did their best to provide me guidance in the way of women, but failed on several counts. I don't hold it against them, anymore, because at the very least, it provides for some good blog fodder.

Some time during middle school, I was invited to go swimming with some girlfriends. I accepted. After I hung up the phone, I realized that I had a dilemma; I was on my period and I knew that I couldn't wear a pad to the pool. Other than knowing that pads and pools don't mix, I didn't know what to do. I had a vague idea that there was something that would solve my problem, but all my mom and sister had taught me was the way of the pad.

But I still had my dilemma, so I went rummaging through my mom's bathroom drawers. I didn't know exactly what I was looking for, but when I stumbled upon a tampon, I knew that this was the solution to my problem. But HOW??????

There was just the one, lone tampon. No instructions. My friend was on her way and I was panicking. Survival instincts kicked in, I tore off the paper wrapper and shoved my only solution in.

Ouch. Was it suppose to hurt? I figured the answer was "yes" so I just went with it. I was in a fair amount of pain for the entire trip to the pool, It hurt when I sat, I hurt when I stood, it hurt in a box, it hurt with a fox...errrr.... or something. About half way in, I swore off tampons for life and couldn't wait to get home and get the devil stick out of me.

When the blessed moment arrived - it wouldn't budge. I almost cried. I pulled and heaved and finally with the burning sensations of ten thousand suns, it finally plopped out and I went and gently cried and rocked myself to sleep to try to forget about the horrific pain of the day.

Fast forward to 3 years later. True to my word, I hadn't even LOOKED at another tampon, classifying all who wore them loose and flappy hussies. However, I was in the same dilemma I had been in 3 years earlier. A friend, Marie, and I were at summer camp and wanted to go "blobbing," but just like pads and pools don't mix, pads and lakes don't mix either. I share this with my friend. She hands me a box of tampons, a jar of Vaseline, the instructions and sends me to the bathroom stalls.

Not entirely convinced this is going to work, I agree to give it another shot. I find the smallest tampon in the box, lube it up with Vaseline and take a look at the instructions. Somewhere around step 3 or 4, I see where I went wrong all those years ago - I turn to Marie and ask "Oooh! You take the cardboard applicator OUT?!?!???"

Belly Dancin'

I love to dance, that is no secret. I've dabbled in multiple forms and practices - ballet, hip hop, and there was that one time Liz made/dared me to the Pase Doble in her living room - and I NAILED it. Even she was impressed. Or maybe her "WOW" didn't mean "impressive" but rather "I can't believe you actually did that." Either way...

So when Lindsey asked if I'd take a belly dancing class with her, my only response was: where can I get THIS outfit?
I think with my love for dance and my sand-people genes, I'll be a natural at this form of dance.

The Father, The Son and The Holy Hair

Saturday, August 19th, I married a couple. Before too many of you get excited - I did not become a second wife - but rather, I was the officiant at my friends', Lee & Sabrina, wedding.

Let's rewind for a minute.

In 2001 I became an ordained Reverend primarily to demonstrate how much organized religion is a joke. I mean, can you argue that it ISN'T when a college freshman went online, clicked a few radio buttons, filled in a some required fields and then praise-jesus-hallelujah became a member of the clergy? I don't think so.

Fast forward to this past February, a gaggle of us were about to go cut a rug at a Mike Hosty concert and Sabrina was talking about her wedding and her need to find an affordable Officiant. Never missing an opportunity to reveal this random fact about me, I told Sabrina that I was ordained and (jokingly), told her I would do it. Instead of laughing at the absurd idea, she asked "really?" and then told me a few weeks later that she had a dream that she and Lee were getting married and the officiant had big, curly hair.

Obviously, I was sold then and there and agreed to do it. What really sealed the deal what that the happy couple assured me that my duties were to 1. marry them and 2. have a blast at the reception. Check and check.

The ceremony was amazing; there were tears and laughs, and most importantly, it suited both of them and I was thrilled to be a part of their special, beautiful day.

The reception is a little bit more blurry around the edges. I only had one pre-ceremony drink to take the edge off, seeing how I didn't want to be a sloppy mess DURING the ceremony, so afterwards I made no qualms in catching up to everyone else in a hurry. I wouldn't say I "chugged" the wine, but double fisting it certainly made more sense than going back to the bar every 10 minutes, so, that's what I did. It was red wine, which Jesus drank, so, it's cool.

At one point, some of the groom's friends decided to by The Reverend shots. What nice boys.

And then the dancing started.

After cutting a rug every which-a-way, it was time for the bride and groom to be off. It was somewhere around this time that Russell became my anchor, not leaving me by myself and making sure I didn't stumble into the bushes. I knew I was a goner. I was touch and go with "standing," so he took action by giving me a beer and sending me to the car. What a good friend.

The ride home... was... fuck, I don't remember, but when Stef said that we needed beer for the after party, I gladly offered the beer I had up for the cause. The Reverend is all about charity.

Sabrina called me last week to tell me that her cousin has hassled her a few times about her introducing the two of us. When she asked if I remembered who he was at the wedding, I just laughed.

Observations of the Unemployed

Day 41

Time is of no consequence.

Seriously. I'm never quite sure which day it is during the week, I have to "guesstimate" it. I only know that it's the weekend when my friends with jobs call wanting to hang out past 9PM.

I stayed up late last night, I couldn't tell you what the clock read when I finally went to bed, but this morning I woke up feeling EXTRA refreshed.... because it was 10:50. Regardless, I still made a pot of coffee.

But, hopefully, there won't be too many installations of "Observations of the Unemployed." I had a phone interview that went really well yesterday and was asked to come in on Wednesday for an in person interview. So, wish me luck!

Wednesday is tomorrow, right?

Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Health Care

It's not my best or most talked about trait, but I've often shared that my immune system is as strong as a Dollar Tree brand single-ply facial tissue. Through my own account or by accident, I've come to have a colorful health care grade card. There have been amusing aliments, but there have been a couple of not-so-fun spells and spills too.

But never, ever, ever have I worried about whether or not I could go see a doctor if need be.

I have 8 days left in my "retro-active" COBRA period (not that I could afford it, anyway). After that, I'm not sure what's going to happen. Not to convolute the point, but I know jack shit about what COBRA is and how it works - so - regardless of IF something happens, my health care plan consists of my stockpile of over-the-counter cold medications, vitamins, band aids and a heating pad with a safety-off switch.

What a fantastic system we have. As a 26 year old, I have been paying into the "sick-care" system my entire adult life. But that means bupkiss now that I am unemployed and don't have coverage. The only option I have is the ER at Truman Medical, the local "poor" hospital, that will not charge for services if you're unemployed. However, I don't feel justified going to the ER with any non-emergency sort of ache, bug or infirmity.

I hope, believe and am personally willing Congress to get this health care thing right. As a citizen of this country, my health and quality of care, if I do get sick, should not be predetermined by my employer's health benefits plan (or lack there of!). On the other side of the coin, I don't think that businesses should shoulder the burden of benefits costs alone (and passing it on to their employees isn't gonna fly either). There is better way.

I would be passionate about this issue even if I still had employer provided coverage, I've never been a fan of the insurance based system we have now. There are too many stories and situations more sad and tragic than mine for me to feel sorry for myself, what I do feel is outrage and disgust. Outraged that if I do get a cold, I'll have to stab my self (again) to be able to be admitted to the ER. Disgusted, because, last time that happened I saw the inside of my finger and almost ralphed.