I <3 boredom and hate mail.

I have nothing to do at work.

Still.

Nothing.

Can you tell by the frequency of my crappy entries I have nothing better to do?

I have been here since 8:30 this morning, and have done nothing but read diaries and email my friends all day (incidentally, if you’re checking your stats and you see someone is pouring through your old entries, it’s probably me reading what I missed before I found your diary. I told you, nothing else to do). Most people would probably love to get paid to do nothing all day, but the boredom is starting to wear on me. I am going into week three of doing nothing, and it’s not very fun.

I like working. I like having something to keep my brain going all day. I like to feel like I have some kind of a purpose in this office. I just got back from being gone for three months of the most mind-numbing boredom ever, and now I am just as bored, but in a new place. If there is any consolation, at least I am getting paid for it.

Even fucking Celestia is being normal (well, normal for her, which is still way off-kilter for the rest of us), and not giving me any theater to watch. Diva’s not throwing any tantrums, Mr. Big Shot is not screaming down the hall for me to show him how to work our new phones. There’s no idiot phone solicitors to piss me off, no hot delivery men for me to have lusty fantasies about, nothing interesting on the radio.

One good thing, however, is that I work in a little “village” that is constantly full of people, so for the dorky people-watcher in me, it’s good. It’s amazing how people act when they don’t think anyone is watching them. Ok, I just read that sentence, and it makes me look kind of creepy.

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I got my first (and only, so far) piece of hate mail from this diary today:

“your diary sucks. you think your so funny but your not. your name is right. your a dork. you like stupid things like nascar which is for rednecks, and your a whore because you talk about porno all the time and how you need sex. i also think your a lezbian because you said you wanted to make out with beyonce and anjelina jolie. i cannot beleive that people read your diary and leave comments. it is like a message board for retard people. at least you finallly got a good fucking layout.but your diary still sucks.”

This email made my head want to explode. Not because he thought I sucked, but because the spelling and grammar geek in me couldn’t believe how horrendously composed this email was.

Uh… if I really thought a diary was lame, I wouldn’t keep reading it every day. So I am pretty sure he’s reading it right now. So, everyone make sure they say hi to StupidRedd at hotmail dot com.

I emailed him back and told him he was a pussy a) for sending the email to tell me I suck, and b) talking shit about the comments OUTSIDE of the comments section.

But, to Loopy’s credit, at least my diary now has ONE redeeming quality. Heh.

I <3 stupid people!

And guys who send me naked pictures. : )

But whatever.

Cleaning up America, one parking lot at a time.

Now that it’s out that that tool Pat O’Brien is a drunk and a cokehead, these (ahem, alleged) phone messages he left have made their way to the media, and they are hilarious.

He says all the filthy things he wants to do to the girl on the other end (incidentally, a girl who is NOT his wife), and then at the end, he says "I want to get a hooker. Let’s get some coke."

I love when celebrities humiliate themselves. Especially when they make their living doing some lame gossip show reporting on celebrities and their various mishaps with drugs and sex.

Is that irony?

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Last night I was going to buy some cd’s with my Mom. I was getting out my car, and a car parked next to me. The passenger took some fast food trash and threw it on the ground between our cars. My mother saw this, and got pissed.

"I think you left your trash."

"Oh, that’s not mine."

"I just saw you throw it on the ground. There’s a trash can fifteen feet away from you. Put it in the trash. Don’t let the entire world know how uncivilized you are."

"It’s not mine." This bitch was not admitting to anything, even though we clearly saw her do this. She obviously has no idea that the 51-year old, 5’3 woman they are dealing with is a lunatic, and not afraid to confront anyone, anytime. God bless my scrappy little Mom.

The lady just ignored her and walked into Tower. My Mom got mad (and this is why my mother is INSANE and sometimes lucky to be alive), picked up the trash, and followed the lady into the store, and would not shut up about how she left her trash outside in the parking lot until the bitch relented and took the trash and threw it away.

Then she told me what a crazy ass bitch my Mom is (no argument there), and that she "better watch her mouth around the wrong people." A threat?

My mom was the only white girl in a school (and neighborhood, really) full of ghetto fuckheads that kicked her ass (or tried to) pretty regularly. She doesn’t care who says something to her, she’ll come right back in their face, and she won’t back down. I know, I spent all of my teenage years trying to win battles with her, only to lose every single time. She’s like a little blonde pitbull.

The guy at Tower thanked my Mom for yelling at the chick for littering, and said that he hates that they have to take care of the parking lot after they close, so he appreciated what she did.

It didn’t get him to comp me a cd, or at least a discount on the three I bought, though. Dammit.

By the way, as if you care, I bought The Mars Volta, Muse, and Beck. The Mars Volta and Beck are fantastic, and Muse is really good, though I have only listened to it once.

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Some google searches that led to my diary:

Chick fight (I get more hits from this one than all the other searches combined)
Tramp Stamp
Bob Saget’s feet (um, eww)
Jenna Jameson’s hole
Jenna’s funbags
Hairball sex (seriously, WTF?)
C U Next Tuesday
Big black dongs
Tiny penises
Midgets on tricycles

Nice.

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How to be a player online and impress ALL the ladies:

Loser: You shaved?
AndriaL24: Hi. I am fine, thanks.
Loser: Hi. Do you shave?
AndriaL24: Never. I never shave ANY part of my body. I only date guys with a yeti fetish.
Loser: Well, do you swallow at least?
AndriaL24: Hahahahaha… you’re a real stud. Are you single? Are you hot? Hung? Dude, you suck at this. I am not going to tell you, but I will tell you that you’ll never get to find out. Now leave me alone.

The return of Jizz Face.

My high school was very much like the school on the show Beverly Hills, 90210. In fact, my high school was the school on Beverly Hills, 90210. And all those snotty looking people in the background were the same fucks I had to deal with on a daily basis.

Up until I was about twelve years old, I had a pretty white-trash childhood. Not a lot of money, not a lot of sophistication, and not a lot of lessons on how to be demure, dainty and girly (I know this must come as a shocking surprise to all of you). I was a tomboy. I cursed, rode my bike, played baseball, fought with boys, and had zero dresses hanging in my closet.

When my parents started doing better, we moved to the city I live in now, which was a mostly upper-middle class area, mostly white and Asian. The girls were spoiled, wore Guess Jeans or skirts every day, had boyfriends, and were total snobs.

Needless to say, I didn’t fit in well. At all.

I have always been able to charm people with my personality, because I was always smart, and funny, and sarcastic. So I could either make you laugh, or cut you down and make you cry. I was not afraid to do either. Those girls were VICIOUS.

I didn’t look like them, I didn’t talk like them, and I didn’t act like them. I didn’t have all the expensive clothes, my Mom didn’t drive a brand new BMW, my Dad didn’t own any car dealerships, and I never got diamond earrings for Christmas. In the beginning, to them, I was a freak. I was loud. I goofed off. I was stronger than most of the boys. There were no other girls at that school who were from another place, were overweight, and not in with some clique. Even the band geeks were a clique. For a while, I was flailing out there on my own.

It was then that I decided I was going to be so loud, and so funny, that they would have no choice but to love me (oh, those adolescent years of no self-esteem… how I miss them so). And most of the time, with a lot of people, it worked. Except with one person. Jizz Face (story of her name to come later – no pun intended).

Jizz Face was a cheerleader, a beauty queen, a model, and a complete bitch. She was mean to EVERYONE. She threw a huge “worship me” birthday party every year, which was in June, so it was always a pool party. She always made sure to let everyone who wasn’t invited know just how great a time they would be missing.

She also started a pretty vicious rumor about her BEST FRIEND that messed her up so much, that she tried to kill herself, and ended up dropping out senior year and going to a mental hospital.

Not all girls were like that, but that’s a pretty fair description of a lot of the people I went to school with. Thank god I found Kay when I did.

A few years after graduation, I think I was about 24, Kay and I were hanging out at our little dive Irish pub, and Jizz Face came in with her boyfriend, and a couple of other friends – one of whom, Brandy, I was good friends with.

So Brandy was talking to Kay and I, and Jizz Face comes over and starts telling her to go back to their table, and blah blah blah, and before I know it, Jizz Face is sitting with us at the bar.

A while later, her boyfriend had to leave, so she went to walk him to his car, and told Brandy she’d be right back.

Twenty minutes later, she came back, and traces of the "very special" goodbye she gave to her boyfriend were on her chin and cheek. Kay and Brandy noticed it, too, and Kay was going to say something, but I kicked her, and subtly shook my head for her not to. It was hard not to laugh, but neither of us said anything.

So Jizz Face sat there, with jizz on her face, until the next time she went to the bathroom, which was maybe 30-40 minutes. She never said anything about it to us.

We started calling her Jizz Face after that, and it stuck. In fact, when I was telling the story to my sister tonight, it took me a minute to remember her real name.

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My sister Jackie and I were at Target tonight doing some shopping, and guess who had a cart full of screaming brats and about 200 extra pounds?

Jizz Face.

Does it make me petty to say how pleased I was when I saw how fat she got?

Fuck that. She was mean to fat people.She was mean to everyone. She deserves to be fat and know what it’s like.

She didn’t say anything to me, but she saw me, and I did take a drop of my Pantene and put it on my face when we walked by her.

How could I not? She’s Jizz Face.

I should have thanked her. If it wasn’t for her, I would never have become the caustic, loudmouth, smartass bitch that I am, to think of putting conditioner on my face to make it look like cum.

Thanks, Jizz Face! Karma’s a real bitch.

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Celestia almost cried today.

Because she couldn’t figure out the sealer on our postage machine.

Bootylicious

am so damned sick of those Gap commercials with Sarah Jessica Parker. They’re driving me crazy.

Even the hot-ass Lenny Kravitz couldn’t make her interesting in those commercials.

I don’t care if she enjoys being a girl. I would enjoy her being off of my tv.

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Celestia (gasp!) cried at work again today. She cut check for Mr. Big Shot to a bank, but it should have been payable to someone else, and when I told her his attorney called and said who it should have been made out to, she went nuts and started bawling at her desk.

Of all her dumb crying episodes, this really could be the stupidest. I mean, I hate to admit it, but this one wasn’t even her fault.

She was afraid to go into Mr. Big Shot’s office and ask him to sign another $500,000 check and have to admit she made it out the wrong payee. What a fucking moron.

Then she told me since I talked to the lawyer, I could take care of it (never mind that she is the personal assistant to Mr. Big Shot and writes all his checks, so it’s her job), and get MBS to sign it myself. This was followed by some rant about how every time she walks by my desk, I am checking my personal email, and surfing online, and that that is just not allowed on company time. Apparently she’s my boss now.

How am I supposed to stalk people via email if it’s not on company time?

Sheesh.

Then, about a half hour after her tirade, she sent me an email that said:

"Just wanted to tell you that you look gorgeous! You’re looking great!"

Seriously. What the fuck? Does she hate me or love me?

This is my work day. Every day. At least she’s consistently crazy.

She and Diva are still not talking from the falling out over her shoes last week. So now he has NO ONE to be all heather-y and pissy with.

Tomorrow she’ll probably cry about that.

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Ok. One more thing and then I am going to bed.

I was walking to get something for my lunch today, and this food delivery guy stopped me and told me I had a “whole lot of booty shaking going on” when I walked, and that he was “liking it.”

Little Big Shot, son of MBS, has told me on a few occasions that he has noticed when I walk I shake my ass a lot (which I never knew I did, and now anytime I walk in front of people I am always conscious about it). I wish all that ass shaking would attract a better class of guys.

First Tattoo Face, and now this guy.

Nothing says the love of family like your Grandmother calling you stupid.

The fun thing about my family is… well, nothing. At least not my Mom’s side, anyways, and that’s the side I had to spend my whole freakin’ day with yesterday.

My Grandmother went all out and cooked a fantastic southern meal, which included pulled bbq pork, collard greens, turnips, grits, biscuits, and sweet potato pie.

It was soooo good.

Usually there is some polarizing event that makes me want to move to a mountain in Tibet and never acknowledge any of them again, but yesterday went fairly smoothly.

Until my Grandmother started throwing her two cents in about the Terri Schiavo case. I know better than to get into any kind of serious discussion with any of them, because they will NOT concede that any opinion other than theirs could possibly be valid or relevant. I don’t mind that they disagree, but I hate that they refuse to accept anything else, or even listen to any other argument. They just dismiss my opinion, because it means nothing to them. I have since learned to keep my mouth shut.

My Grandmother said that what they were doing was wrong, and they were killing her, and there was nothing wrong with her as she is now.

I didn’t say anything, until she brought up that she thinks it doesn’t matter what anyone signs, pulling ANY plug is murder. I had to jump in.

I said that when I had my surgery in November, I signed an Advance Directive, stating that I don’t want ANY measures taken to save me if something goes irreparably wrong, because I don’t want to live if I can’t support myself, speak for myself, or have limited or no brain function (it’s bad enough my brain only operates about half the time anyways). My Mother has all the power to end it. And if she can’t (or won’t) make the decision, Kay is the next in line.

Grandma FLIPPED OUT. She looked at my Mom, and told her that if she ever did do that, she would go to hell, and she would be disowned from her and the rest of the family, and never spoken to again. She got so angry with me that I signed it, that she told me she didn’t think she could ever look at me the same way again.

I tried to explain that those were my wishes, but she didn’t care. She said if I was incapacitated in that way, my wishes didn’t matter, and it was up to my family to decide.

See what I mean about feelings other than theirs being irrelevant?

Happy Easter indeed.

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Four sex-free months.

Kill me.

As I said in an email this morning, I am certain that I am single-handedly keeping the AA division of Energizer in business.

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Tattoo Face has a girlfriend now.

Thank god..

He won’t be looking at me like a piece of meat anymore.

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I got in on the whole Dangermix! CD bonanza, thinking that my trivia-riddled brain would have no problem figuring out what the songs were. Boy was I mistaken.

I only knew 11 out of 25.

I suck. I am ashamed to call myself a trivia dork.

But he should be ashamed to call himself a man, since there were TWO Bette Midler songs on it.

Dangerspouse rules.

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I am still without work to do. This is what I get for being caught up on my work.

And, finally, much thanks go out to my girl Loopy for using her mad skills and hooking my html-impaired ass up with a suave new template.

Back to mind-numbing boredom.

Martinis and hillbillies will always get you in trouble.

Tonight we went out for Jackie’s 20th birthday. We went to dinner at a restaurant that has the BEST dirty martini I’ve ever had (Ketel One, olive juice, olives stuffed with blue cheese). This restaurant is also ridiculously crowded, so we spent about an hour and a half in the bar waiting for our table, which is not such a bad thing since the drinks are so good (and I didn’t have to pay for any of them).

Until your Mom has about four cosmos, and is loaded before we even get to the table. Jesus, she sucks those things down like they’re water sometimes. I was just finishing my first martini, and I have to tell you, since the surgery, one drink is all it takes to get me DRUNK (I am such a cheap date now), and she was already finishing her second. She lives to embarrass Jackie and I when she’s had a few (or fifteen).

She was loud, and kept doing air quotes every time she was making a comment about anything. She wanted “another drink,” she was thinking of getting “jambalaya,” she told me to “shut the fuck up.” Yeah, we’re that kind of family.

Then she saw me eat the olives out of her martini and she yelled out that I was a “skanky ass bitch.” Thanks, Mom.

Needless to say, all the people in the booths around us were giving us the stink eye all night. We were talking loud, and laughing loudly all the time (we were all drunk, we had no choice), and my camera flashed every time I took the eight thousand pictures that I took. We were the kind of customers most people hate. It was fun.

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Holy shit. Mork and Mindy: Behind the Camera. TV movies about tv shows are so cheesy. Set the tivo. NOW!!

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Tomorrow (well, today really, since it’s 1 a.m.) I have to endure yet another stress-filled family event for Easter. Ugh. So not looking forward to this. I haven’t seen this side of the family since some of my hillbilly relatives from North Carolina were visiting, and one of my stupid bigoted ass cousins almost got me, my Dad, and Jackie killed at a Nascar race.

My Dad thought it would be cool to take them to a race in California, since they took him to one in Charlotte when we were there a long time ago. I should point out that they are from the same town Dale Earnhardt was born and raised in, and even though he has been dead for four years now, he is still a god to those people. My stupid cousin Sammy actually has a giant 3 tattooed on his arm (this is also the same guy who wore his KKK shirt to Thanksgiving dinner. Enjoy). God bless white trash.

So we’re sitting in the stands, watching the race, and there is a guy in the row in front of us with all kinds of Jeff Gordon crap on. Jeff Gordon is hated by the Dale Earnhardt fans. It’s pretty ridiculous, and I can’t believe I am telling this story in my diary, since I am about 1000% sure no one who reads this gives one shit about nascar.

But you guys care that I might die, right? Shutup then. I am going on.

Oh, yeah – the Jeff Gordon fan was a HUGE black guy (this part is very important).

Gordon slid into the wall, and Sammy yells out “Yeah, hit the wall, Gordon, you big faggot! Gordon fans are homos!” I am not joking. I wish I was, but I am not.

The huge black guy stands up, turns around, and looks at him, and says “What did you say?” It is at this point that my Dad, my sister, and I all look at each other and realize that this dumb hillbilly racist fuck is going to get our asses kicked at the California Speedway.

My Dad tries to calm him down, but he’s not listening, and he’s talking all this trash to the black guy, and I swear to god, I thought he was going to call him a nigger, because that’s perfectly acceptable to him and his whacked kin who live deep in the Appalachian Mountains (think the Appalachian Emergency Room sketch on SNL. Very similar.).

Even in 2005, it is still very much like back in the day where they live in terms of race relations. It’s pretty sad.

So my Dad grabs his arm, and tells him that he’s in California. He doesn’t have the whitey upper hand here, and that the black guy is not afraid of him. And in fact, he should just about be pissing his pants, because that guy’s probably going to kill him. And us (even though I should have been saved because I was sporting my trashy Jeff Gordon sweatshirt).

After a few minutes of trash talk, my Dad calmed down the other guy, and told him that he would do his best to keep Sammy’s mouth shut, and that if he acted up again, we were leaving.

Yeah, we had to leave about ten minutes later. My Dad ripped his ass in the car about his behavior, and it really bothered me, because Sammy didn’t think he did anything wrong. He thought it was ok to talk to the other guy that way, and to try to use his being white to intimidate him.

I am ashamed to be related to these people, I swear.

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I really didn’t mean for that to go on as long as it did. Jeez.

Ramble less, Andria.

I am so in love with Keane right now. Their cd is excellent. I have listened to it about a million times this week.

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I really don’t know why I am so update happy these days.

Quantity over quality, I always say.

I suppose I should end this crap now. Have a happy Easter, y’all.

A porn review - this is NOT for your pleasure.

Boredom abounds.

I have not had much to do at work all week. I have nothing to do today (not that I exert much effort on Fridays, anyway), except stare at my computer looking really perplexed and involved so everyone in the office doesn’t think I am shiftless ass doing nothing.

Thank god for Diaryland and AIM, otherwise I would be out of my mind with boredom. Are you bored too? Email me. IM me. AndriaL24 at aol dot com. Entertain me, dammit.

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I had a dream last night that I got fired for writing this diary, because I talk about the people I work with. I assume it’s possible that that can happen, given the IT guys here can pretty much track my every keystroke (huh...huhuh… she said stroke), but common sense be damned, it doesn’t stop me.

Plus I have no work to do.

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Are any of you watching Arrested Development? Seriously, it’s one of (if not the funniest) the funniest shows on television, and those fucktards at Fox haven’t renewed it for next season.

This line alone should make you watch this show: “It’s a good thing I blew myself this morning.” Awesome. This show rules.

It frustrates me that in the world of entertainment, if something is not a mega success from DAY ONE, it gets the axe. If a movie doesn’t make eleventy billion dollars its opening weekend, it’s considered a flop and it’s taken out of the theaters to make space for the next piece of Vin Diesel crap. If a record doesn’t sell a 250,000 records its first week of release, it’s considered a failure, and the artist stands the chance of getting dropped from their label. And if a t.v. show doesn’t immediately stomp everyone in the ratings, it’s cancelled.

Did you know Seinfeld wasn’t number one till its fourth or fifth year? That was one of the most successful shows IN HISTORY. A show would never get that kind of chance to build an audience today (Freaks & Geeks, Sports Night, My So-Called Life are a few that got the axe too soon).

I am a t.v. whore. These things frustrate me.

I am a dork, I know.

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Ok, so because I am a pornaholic as well, I bought this movie, not really having any idea what it was about, other than Jenna Jameson was on the cover, and well… that’s enough to get my money.

This is the most bizarre, un-sexy porn I have EVER seen. It’s this weird futuristic, industrial-looking crap with freaky costumes, ugly guys, and midgets on tricycles.

Yeah. Midgets on tricycles.

The movie opens with Jenna being carted off to the electric chair. Her execution is going on, and then it flashes to the porn scenes. The first scene is Jenna with another girl, on a table going at it. And riding around the table is – you guessed it – the midget on the tricycle.

That scene ends and it goes to the next scene, which is some mad scientist looking guy, some girl strapped down in a chair with some kind of dental bondage in her mouth, and Jenna dressed as some psychotic nurse.

Hot, right?

Not so much.

The next scene takes place in the morgue, with Jenna as the mortician, wearing nothing but the bloody plastic mortician’s apron. She’s looking over a table with a dead guy, who has a huge scar going down the front of his body, indicating an autopsy. So she is looking at this guy, and suddenly gets the urge to mount him, and go down on him.

Eww.

Necrophilia, Jenna?

So she’s blowing him, and her magical blowjob skills revive the guy, and they go at it.

And the last scene is the girl from the first scene with Jenna, and a guy (who is actually pretty normal looking and hot), and they go at it. The creepy part of this scene is that there is some boney-looking guy dressed as a school girl, pole dancing in the background.

This movie is so disturbing and un-sexy it’s not even funny.

I want my money back.

I should get a job reviewing porn movies. God knows I watch enough of it for free.

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What a crappy entry.

I need something to do. Or someone.

The obligatory cast page.

I hurried up to post something after that last entry. If you want to see the sensitive, soft side of Andria (who you likely won't see often here), go to the previous entry.

Otherwise, here is the obligatory cast page that I thought I did long ago, but now realize I didn't.Since this diary mostly consists of things that happen in my everyday life, here is a brief description/history of the people who regularly appear in this drivel.

Me - 31, single, lives alone with two cats (one gay, not that there's anything wrong with that) in a suburb of Los Angeles. I have lived in Southern California my whole life, and don't know if I could live anywhere else. I have never been married, and have no kids. In April 2004, I made the decision to have gastric bypass surgery, after a life-long struggle with weight, and had my surgery November 5th, 2004. It is a controversial issue, and people have opinions on them. I will argue the merits of the surgery (only for myself) with anybody who says I took the easy way out or who thinks I am too lazy to do it the hard way.

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The Family

Mom - My Mom is loud, short-tempered, blunt, and impatient. She also struggled through an amazingly abusive childhood where she was physically and emotionally abused on a daily basis, and made a life for herself and her family that she can be proud of. She drives me crazy pretty consistently, but there is no one else I look up to more.

Dad - Actually my Step Dad, who married my Mom when I was eight. Any time I make reference to "my Dad", it will always be about him, since I really consider him to be my Dad. I consider him to be perhaps the biggest blessing in my life, because he was the father that my real Dad couldn't be. He taught me to catch a baseball, drive a car, gave boys who called for me the third degree, and waited up every single time I went out with my friends to make sure I got home alright (and on time). I admire him so much, because most men think their girlfriend's kid is a problem to deal with, or to pawn off on the real father, but he never once made me feel like I was an annoyance that he had to put up with because he loved my Mom. He loved me, too.

Real Dad - It was a long, hard road for me to understand my relationship with my [real] Dad. I always felt ignored, and not cared about, because he never called me, and never really expressed any interest in seeing me. He is a Vietnam Veteran, ultra ULTRA conservative, and perfectly content to be left alone watching C-Span and smoking by himself for the rest of his life. It took me about 18 years to understand that it's ok, and that I shouldn't take his behavior personally, it's just who he is. I now know that he loves me, in his way. He is a lunatic, but I love him anyways.

Jackie - My 20-year old sister who was born after my Mom married my step Dad (so she's my half-sister for all you technical assholes). Even though we are 11 1/2 years apart, we are now at an age where we are more like girlfriends than big sister/little sister. We act like total retards when we are together. We do stupid things like call each other Jackie, even though neither one of us is named Jackie. She is the complete opposite of me physically - short, blonde, skinny, perfect. The bitch.

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The Friends

Kay - Kay is my very best friend in the whole world. We have been pretty much attached at the hip since we were fourteen. We laugh, we love, we cry, we fight... but it's never for too long, because neither one can stand to not talk to the other for very long. She is one of the few people in the world who gets me, and understands what I am thinking sometimes before I even say it. She drives me nuts sometimes, and I drive her nuts, too. But, to quote Ben Affleck, "if I woke up in a hotel room with a dead hooker, [she's] the one I'd call."

John - John is my oldest friend in the world, and the first boy I ever kissed. We met on the first day of school in the sixth grade, and have spoken to each other nearly every day since. I adore him. He is family to me. John found out he was HIV positive in high school, and, now, unfortunately, is dealing with the toll AIDS takes.

Update - John passed away, after a long, and painful battle in June 2005. There is no way to articulate with words the gravity of his death. What I can say, is that I am quite certain I will never meet anyone like that man again. He was smart, brilliant, wickedly clever, raunchy, generous, honest, kind, and loved me unconditionally, even when I acted like a complete bitch. I only hope that everyone can have someone like that in their life, even if only for a while.

DMX - Kay's husband, kick-ass guy and my favorite drinking buddy. In fact, we like drinking together so much, that we created our own holiday. Yeah, we're cool like that.

RAM - RAM is Kay & DMX's 5 year-old son, and the most amazing little person on the planet. He is the closest I will probably ever come to having my own kid. He calls me "TT", because when he was learning to speak, he couldn't get out "auntie". Even though he can say Andria now, he refuses to call me anything but TT, and that's just fine with me. He says things that I can not believe a five year old knows. He does things like suddenly bursting into Riverdance moves out of nowhere, quotes Chappelle's Show and SNL, and runs through the house with his pants pulled down around his ass. Ok, so it's probably not a good idea to encourage a child to moon people, but it's funny.

Briton - Briton is DMX's lifelong best friend, and the only other single person in our immediate group of friends. The matchmaking hens of our group have been trying to get the two of us together since day one, but it'll never happen. I know too many dirty secrets. He's the only other person I know who watches as much porn as I do.

Angela - One of the few people in this diary who didn't get a fake name, only because I couldn't come up with one. She is smart, successful, and gorgeous. She also happens to married to the most lazy, nasty, stupid fuck on the face of the Earth, the retarded Barney (I also didn't make that one up, either, believe it or not). She has a beautiful little baby boy, Jack, who coos like a little angel when I hold him and sing NWA songs to him. Proof that if you sing it in a calm, soothing tone, anything sounds good. Of course his mother doesn't know I sing gangster rap to him, but what she doesn't know won't hurt her.

Mrs. Mitchell - Mrs. Mitchell is a friend that I met after finding her journal online. I am so glad I found that journal... she is a fantastic friend, and a wonderful writer. She has been encouraging and supportive to me exactly when I needed it, and doesn't mind telling me when I am acting like a moron. I adore her.

---

The Job

Celestia - Oh, Celestia... where do I even begin? I first met Celestia when her old boyfriend, Dick, played on the same softball team as Kay's ex-boyfriend. We became friends with her, and thought she was great at first, but it didn't take long to realize why she had a list of ex-best friends longer than... well, something that's really long. My history with her is actually very detailed... but to make it brief: We realized she was nuts and quit hanging around her. I lost my job as a nanny and desperately needed a new one, so I kissed her ass just enough to get in where she worked, and it has been a stressfest ever since.

Mr. Big Shot - the owner of the company I work at. Classic Napoleon Complex. He's filthy rich, married to an ex-Playboy playmate that looks about 15 years younger than she actually is, and is pretty clueless about most things. I am in my fifth year at this company, and I don't think he learned my name till about three weeks ago. He is so clueless in fact, that about the eighth week that I was out for my surgery, he walked up to the front desk and asked Margie (who was filling in for me while I was gone), "Hey, where's the other girl? The one who usually sits here?" Nice.

Margie - Margie is my favorite co-worker. She is a sassy Nicaraguan, and makes me laugh constantly at her mispronunciation of English words. She is the best. Were it not for her, I would have shot Celestia in a psychotic rage long ago.

Chris - Chris is my other favorite. We laugh, we make fun of each other, we share porn. He has the distinct benefit of hearing all my trampy stories and he does cool things like buy me lunch all the time for no reason except that he's cool like that. I love him. He has the misfortune of having to work in the same small workspace as Celestia, so I feel for him.

HR Boss - She is my immediate supervisor, but one of about four bosses that I have in that office. She, for being the same age as my Mom, is pretty cool, and loves purses almost as much as I do. She once wrote in my annual review that I "bring a spirit and vitality to the office that, while sometimes alarming, is overall quite entertaining." I think that was her nice way of saying "quit being such a fucking loudmouth smartass all the time, Andria."

CFO Boss - Ok, I haven't mentioned him in the diary before, but I love him, and thought he deserved some mention SOMEWHERE. He is way cooler than he gets any credit for. And he thinks I am brilliant and hilarious, so there.

Soccer Mom - I haven't mentioned her yet, either, but she hates Celestia just as much as I do, so I figure that's worth a mention. Although she is just as crazy as Celestia is, she just doesn't show it as much.

Princess - Princess is a spoiled rich girl, who got her job at my company because her dad is an old friend of Mr. Big Shot. I would like to hate her out of bitter jealousy because she gets whatever she wants, doesn't have to earn anything the hard way, and has a Coach bag in every color, but I really like her. She also thinks I am hilarious. How could I not love her? She also sees what a lunatic Celestia is.

Diva - Diva is the gay, cranky, fanny pack-wearing computer guy in our office. He throws temper tantrums about EVERYTHING. He once threw a fit because the garbage truck was blocking the parking garage entrance for ONE MINUTE. He's insane.

---

The Men

X – My most significant relationship. Getting over our break up was the hardest, most exhausting thing I think I have ever gone through, barring the death of a loved one. I was sad, mistrusting, and bitter for years after. But now he is someone who, I am now happy to say, has a nice life for himself.

Jason - Jason is the most recent guy I dated. It was never anything serious. We truly were "friends with benefits". He had just ended a ten year relationship when we met, and I was in no hurry to settle with someone, so we kept it casual. After my surgery, we cooled off in the benefits area, but we're still good friends.

The Hot Egyptian - He is a guy I dated off and on while I was also seeing Jason. He is super-religious, and lets his rich parents rule his life. He told me early on that he would never be serious with me because I was not Egyptian, and his Dad would cut him off if he knew about me. Fine with me. He flipped out when I told him about my surgery, so we haven't seen each other since November. We still talk online occasionally, but I have no interest in seeing him anymore, and judging from his reaction to my decision to have the surgery, he doesn't want to see me, either.

I remember when you were mine.

I wrote in an entry once about a fight I had with Kay about an ex of mine. I have resisted the urge to write about him, because I try to keep it somewhat light and humorous in here, and the story of us would be neither of those (at least at the end it wasn’t).

X was the one true, serious relationship I have ever been in. Serious enough for me to think that I might be stupid enough to spend the rest of my life with this man, and give all of myself to this one person, because I loved him enough to let him have it all.

I trusted him with my heart, my spirit, my soul, my mind, and my body. There was nothing I would not give him, or do for him. My love was endless, and without boundaries. We could tell each other anything, without fear of judgment from the other.
It was… bliss.

It was the first time in my life that real, true feelings of love were attached to sex, and it was like nothing I had ever known, and frankly, have not known since. Not on that level.

One day he came into my apartment and simply said, “I don’t love you. Not like I did.” Then he took his things from my place and he was gone. I was completely blindsided. To say that I was devastated is a gross understatement. It was like the hardest punch in the stomach you could ever imagine, followed by your heart being ripped out of your chest. If I could have thought of something to say, I wouldn’t have been able to speak it, because my entire body was just numb. I don’t know how I even breathed at that moment. I know it sounds overly dramatic, but it’s the truth.

Recovering from that was long, and hard. It was especially difficult given that we met because he was a friend, so all of his friends were my friends. Anywhere I went he was likely to be there, and vice-versa. The hardest part after I came out from under my bed and started to be social again, was that he never looked sad, or hurt when he saw me. He never looked like he was upset to not be with me anymore, or that he even missed me. I mean, I wasn’t expecting him to be pining away for me, but a little feeling would have been nice. To know that he could just dismiss me so quickly, like an article of clothing that no longer fit, just discarded and replaced with something new, it was like breaking up all over again.

When Kay met DMX, things shifted around, friends-wise. All of our friends were pretty much friends of her ex-boyfriend Doug. I looked at DMX and his friends as a chance to get away from the constant reminder of X and his happiness without me. Thank god she did start dating him, because I fell into a group of some of the finest people I have ever been lucky enough to know.

I heard from an old friend that X took an engineering job in Colorado, and that was the last anyone had heard from him. That was almost six years ago.

About a week ago, while walking to the post office near my office, I saw him. Walking with a woman, her pushing a stroller with a toddler, and he carrying an infant in a snuggly-type thing. He had a family.

When reflecting on our history, I often wondered what he was doing at that exact moment that I was thinking of him. If he was alone, if he was with a woman, if he was married. If he had ever thought about me.

I always imagined that if I did see him again, that I would break down, and start to cry. Not be able to contain my feelings, still, after all this time. But I didn’t. I didn’t break down, I didn’t cry, I didn’t panic one little bit. I did stop, and watch them walk, interacting with one another. Talking. Laughing. Touching. In love.

I didn’t feel jealous, or envious, or even bitter. I realized I was smiling when I saw him, with his family. Just at the moment I caught myself smiling, he noticed me. I wasn’t sure how I should handle it. Should I go over and say hi? Should I just keep walking the other way, and ignore them? I didn’t want him to think I was still such a basket-case after all this time, so I bit the bullet and crossed the street to where they were.

It was, of course, extremely uncomfortable, for both of us. Which, in a strange way, made me feel a little bit better. It was even better that she recognized my name when she heard it, and said that X had told her about me, and about our relationship. Suddenly I felt like he did remember us, and all of those shitty feelings that I had when we split were validated, and justified. It was… closure.

It sounds retarded to say it, but it felt almost liberating. Like the gray clouds that were hovering over my head every time the potential for love came along were gone. My fear of having every feeling stomped on was gone. My anger, and bitterness, and frustration that came of it was somehow released, and I was freed from all of those hostile feelings I harbored for so long.

I suspect that that is why I have suddenly been feeling jealous of all of my coupled friends, and not running away from the idea of a relationship like I did before.

Am I ready to give all of myself to someone again with the chance of it all getting ripped apart? I don’t know. But I think I would like the chance to have someone worth considering it.

---

I am sorry… I know this is a sappy girly entry. But it was such a strange and wonderful feeling that I had to write about it.

Deal with it, suckas.

I promise I’ll be funny next time.

Frustration

I am frustrated today. I am not sure how much humor or sarcasm or “how I made an ass of myself today” will be in this entry.

I just found out that yet ANOTHER of my uneducated, barely employed, white trash cousins managed to get herself pregnant. I truly don’t know what it is about ignorance and lower middle class living that makes out of wedlock childbirth so desirable, but it’s a fucking epidemic. Of all of my cousins on this side of my family to have kids, only one of them was married, owned a home and two new cars, and had medical insurance, not to mention the financial means and stability to take care of a child.

I am not one of those lunatics that think you must be married to have a kid. I think if you’re single, and really want to have one (thank god I am not cursed with maternal urges or any biological clocks), if you’re prepared to take responsibility and support the kid, do it. Don’t get pregnant because you were too stupid and horny to put a fucking condom on. It’s not that difficult, people. My brain completely turns to mush when I am about to get laid, but I have the presence of mind to stick a condom on my partner.

It pisses me off. Since neither one of those two fucks have insurance, my (and yours) tax dollars that I work all day to pay will be paying for that kid.

---

I have also been tremendously sexually frustrated. With Jason out of the picture, I am not getting any with any frequency anymore, and man is it driving me nuts. I am like a teenage boy with sex. I think about it every 20 seconds. I won’t even tell you how many sexed up dreams I have been having.

I need a man.

I have also been going through some weird girly-type feelings that I am not completely familiar with. In the past, I have been perfectly fine to date and have fun, but not be in anything serious. I didn’t want anything heavy, or be tied down to any one person.

I don’t know what the hell has happened to me lately, but all I can think about is how jealous I am of people who are in relationships (ok, even I am gagging at myself reading this). But I can’t help it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think my hormones are just completely out of whack. This lack of sex is fucking with me.

Help me.

---

Oh! I do have some humor to interject today.

Ok. So one of the computer guys in our office, who I’ll call Diva, (because he’s cranky, gay, and completely full of himself) went to Celestia’s desk and starts bitching about how the heels of her shoes are making such noise on the tiles on the floor by his office that he can’t work, and it’s ringing in his “fucking ears” and giving him a “blinding fucking headache.”

God knows, I NEVER want to take sides with Celestia on ANYTHING, but this was so stupid, and so childish, that I could not believe he was complaining about her WALKING.I should also point out that a few months ago, he and Celestia used to bitch incessantly about another co-worker, Princess, and her carrot-eating habit. Me and Margie jokingly called Celestia and Diva “the heathers.” They are always gossiping and talking crap about everyone else, like they are somehow above us. So when he went after her, it was surprising (and fantastic entertainment, I might add).

After he went off for a couple of minutes, one of our bosses comes up behind him, and Celestia tells HR Boss that Diva approached her, and was having a hard time dealing with the sounds of her shoes. HR Boss says she is sorry he is having such a hard time, but there is nothing that can be done, and he should close his door if the sounds of people walking by were really bothering him that much. Then Diva flips out and starts yelling AT HIS BOSS that there is a crack under the door, and it sounds just as bad. He had a total fit, and stomped off into his office.
For the rest of the day, every woman in the office walked around the other way, so as not to disturb the queen.

Had I been wearing high heeled shoes, I would have stomped my happy ass up and down that hall in front of his office as many times as I could.

When Diva threw on his fannypack (he’s gay, yet so unfashionable) and went to lunch, Celestia came up to my desk, and guess what she did – SHE STARTED CRYING. Shocking, I know. “How come [Diva] was yelling at me? Why am I getting yelled at because I want to look pretty at work?” Jesus fucking Christ.

So I said, “It must be so hard to be so pretty and have everyone else be so jealous of you all the time.” Sometimes, I am never sure if she is going to catch on to my sarcasm or not, but I keep doing it. Messing with stupid people is fun.

“It is hard! No one realizes how hard it is. I mean, I don’t act like I am prettier than everyone else (*editor’s note: FUCKING LIE). It’s not my fault I look this way. I just don’t understand how people can act this way to me.” At this point, I was nodding sympathetically, and offering her a tissue. I wanted to go on with this conversation more, but I figured I would be making her giant ego even bigger, and god knows, I don’t want that.

But I did throw in one last little comment. “You know, girls are jealous because you’re a hottie. A tosser (*editor’s note: a tosser is Irish slang for a chronic masturbator (at least the way we used it, it was. Spending all my time in an Irish bar, I have a whole vocabulary of words that no one in my office understands. I have lots of fun with this).”

“A tosser? What’s that?”

“It’s a girl who is really hot. Haven’t you heard that song on the new Usher record? I can’t remember the name of it, but the words are something like ‘she’s got the body that can’t go wrong, she’s a tosser, she makes my body sweat and I just can’t think, I am at a loss for my tosser.’”

I made that shit up on the spot. Cheesy, and bad, yes. Highly effective, yes. She bounced off back to her desk all happy that she was a tosser. I hope I am around when she calls herself that in front of someone else.

It takes so very little to please me.

And, finally, a Tattoo Face update. I came home from work last night, and he was standing in the yard, smoking. He saw me, said hi, told me his name, and said he's "really into thick chicks."

Uh.

So I was just like "Oh, that's cool. Gotta go. See ya later!" And I got the fuck out of there.
I prefer my men to not be fresh out of the big house, thank you very much.

Now I am really creeped out by this guy.

Harrassed by Jesus freaks, yet again.

Inspired by my comment in Loopy’s diary yesterday, I decided to tell a story of a run-in I had a while ago with this lunatic Jesus freak by my office. Here’s what he drives:

Sweet ride, right? Here’s what he rides around the neighborhood in:

On my lunch break one day, I walked over to Trader Joe’s (a small grocery store – I don’t know if they are outside of California or not) to get something to eat. I was in the section with the prepared salads and cheeses, etc., when this guy wearing a hat emblazoned with the word Jesus all over it with gold Christmas garland wrapped around it approached me.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Are you prepared for Jesus’ return?”

“Do I know you?”

“No, ma’am. I would just like to take a moment to talk to you about the return of our lord and saviour, Jesus Christ.”

“I am not interested. Thanks.”

“You don’t care about eternal damnation, ma’am?”

“Not particularly. I don’t believe in eternal damnation. Unless you count having religious freaks preaching to you every GODDAMNED week eternal damnation. I am not interested in hearing what you have to say. And I am only 30. Don’t call me ma’am.”

At this point, he started flipping out and screaming at me about repentance and damnation, and I think my eyes just sort of glazed over, and I started daydreaming about all the cheese in front of me instead of what this lunatic was saying.

The store manager came up, grabbed the guy’s arm and told him that he had just talked to him about harassing his customers, and that if he saw it again, he was calling the police.

After I paid for my food, I walked out, and saw Jesus Freak standing in the parking lot, giving me the Jesus Stink Eye. I thought for sure that he was going to follow me back to my office and shove that bible of his down my throat, but he didn’t. He still hangs out in the shopping center, though. Every damned day.

Those religious nuts really creep me out, man.

---

We have been having weather of biblical proportions lately here in So Cal. Pouring rain, thunder, lightening, heavy winds, mudslides, and even funnel clouds in some areas.

Yesterday more fucking rain came towards the end of the day yesterday, and it was just pouring. Then these huge thunder claps happened, that literally shook our office building. About a half hour after that, a fucking EARTHQUAKE.

I do not handle the earthquakes well. At all. In fact, I usually have a horrendous panic attack whenever there is an earthquake anywhere in California, because I then become convinced “the big one” is coming, and we’re all going to die.

Anxiety is a motherfucker. Isn’t it great how your own precious mind can mess with you?

I want the sun to come out again. I am starting to understand why Seattle has such a high suicide rate.

---

Ok, so I know at this point you're all probably saying, "But Andria, what stupid fucking thing did Celestia do today?"

Well, calm the fuck down and I'll tell you.

I was working at my desk, and she yelled down the hall, "Andria, I'm going." Which is what she tells me every day when she leaves the office for the day at 4:30. I looked at the clock on my computer and realized that it was 3:30. I figured she must have had an appointment that I forgot about, and I went back to working (ok, that's a lie... I haven't had shit to do at work lately, so mostly I just read diaries, chat, and check my email... it's so boring I can't stand it. Email me. Tell me something dirty. I need the excitement).

About a half hour later, Celestia called and said she realized she left an hour early, thinking it was time for her to go.

What a big dumb ass.

Wubba Wubba Wubba

Oh, damn you MTV and your crappy addictive programming!

It's bad enough I watch every other stupid show on that channel from Nick and Jessica to Pimp My Ride to The Real World, now they have this damned Power Girls, featuring drunken people-crashing Lizzie Grubman and her little PR minions running all over New York City and looking all fabulous at the same time.

I am hooked. And ashamed of myself.

---

Oh, sweet holy lord. VH-1 Classic is showing old episodes of Club MTV (remember when MTV was a MUSIC channel?), and I can not take my fucking eyes off of it. I may be here all day (*editor's note: I have been here all day.I started this entry about four hours ago. Between chatting with internet buddies, and spontaneous bouts of vogueing along with the freaks on tv, I have been here all day). God bless the cheese that is the 80's & 90's.

Jesus, I still remember all the words to "Out of The Blue" by Debbie Gibson.

I just saw the episode featuring Snap singing "The Power". Actually, using the term "singing" is being extremely generous, given that there was no live singing or playing of any musical instruments going on whatsoever. And they didn't even try to be convincing. At some points, it was like watching an old Bruce Lee movie.

---

Speaking of Bruce Lee, a guy came into my office to have lunch with a co-worker (Chris, with the rocket scientist friend).He was about 5'8, and probably about 150 pounds. Didn't look intimidating at all. After the guy left, Chris told me he was actually in his mid 60's (even though he looked to be about 35), and used to train with Bruce Lee back in the day (Bruce Lee used to live in the area I live in), and that on one particular occassion, heand the guy were at this club in L.A., and a few guys from the Raiders (when they were the Los Angeles Raiders) were there.One Raider in particular, a HUGE linebacker, did something to piss off Chris' karate friend (whose name is Pat). The Raider startedthreatening Pat, and it took Pat and his 150 pounds all of about four seconds to have the 300 pound linebacker down on the verge of tears.

Nice.

---

St. Patrick's Day was my absolute favorite holiday all through my 20's. We used to hang out at this divey little Irishbar, and St. Pat's was the only day of the year the cheap-ass owner spent any money on entertainment (aside from hisdaily rants about "cheap fucking Americans",if you count that as entertainment). I used to take the 17th and 18th off work,get there as soon as they opened, and stay til about five in the morning, having drank Guinness and ate corned beef all day. It was so much fun.

The greedy owner sold the bar a few years ago to this white guy who thinks he's a thug, and now it's scary to be anywherenear the place, so we don't hang out there anymore.

I don't do it quite so hardcore anymore, since hangovers have been not so kind to me since I hit 30, but we still had to goout for a couple of drinks and soak in some merriment, dammit. And for some reason, everyone always assumes I am Irish because I have red hair. Of the few hundred Irish people I have met through that bar, only one of them ever had red hair. So this year, we went to the bar that all the Irish people who hung out with us at that bar now hang out at, and it was awesome. Except for when this fat girl in low rise jeans (this is WRONG on so many levels) almost kicked my ass whenshe heard me say to Kay that she had the tramp stamp (the trendy tattoo almost every girl has on her lower back) and we started laughing hysterically. Kay had never heard the phrase "tramp stamp", and when I explained what it was, Brunhilda in the low-rise jeans heard that I was talking about her and wanted to "fucking take this outside." While I am 100% confident in my abilities to handle this chick, I a) am not a fighter, and b) think bar fights are about the most ridiculous fuckingthings ever, not to mention a giant buzzkill. So I bought her a shot of Patron, and everything was hunky-dorey.
I still made fun of her, though.

Kay has told me about a million times over the years that with my mouth I am lucky I am still alive, and that's probably true.

---

Wubba wubba wubba.

Bob Saget's full of shit.

A couple of months ago, I came home from work and noticed a guy standing in the yard of the house next to my apartment. He just stood there. Didn’t move, didn’t talk, just stood. He had a shaved head, with tattoos on his head, and ON HIS FACE.

This guy makes me way nervous. By the way he just stands in the yard constantly, I am figuring he just got out of jail. He just leans against the tree, and smokes. Oh, and scare the shit out of me. He does that, too.

Saturday night (or Sunday morning for you technical assholes), I got home late from Mrs. Mitchell’s. It was about 2:15, and totally dead in my neighborhood. I pulled into my driveway, and noticed about ten feet away from me, in his yard, was Tattoo Face. I seriously think I peed a little when I saw that I was going to have to get out of my car and walk by myself to my door with him standing there creeping me out.

I had no choice. I had to get into my house. It’s times like these when having a man would come in real handy (not only would he save me from mortal danger, but I’d get some later, too). But I don’t, so I got my phone out, singled out my house key, and got ready to bolt from my car the hundred or so feet to my apartment.

I jumped out of my car, locked it and shut the door, ready to haul ass, and I dropped my goddamned keys. Not just dropped them at my feet, they went under the car. I really started to panic at this point. I knew he was watching me, and I couldn’t find my keys. I finally find them after reaching around in the dark, and right when I jump up, I hear “Hey!” Fuck. I pretended I didn’t hear it and started walking.

“Hey! I am talking to you!” My heart started pounding in my chest and I was totally panicking, not knowing what the hell I should do. I stopped walking, and turned around. He was still in his yard, and I was about thirty feet away from him.

“Something fell out of your purse.” Holy shit. When I knelt down to find my keys, my purse flipped over and my wallet fell out, and I didn’t see it. So I went back, picked it up, thanked him for pointing it out, and ran the fuck to my apartment where I proceeded to flip out.

Now, if my life was a Full House episode, this is the part where the “very special lesson” music starts playing, and I sit on Bob Saget’s lap and he tells me that it’s not right to judge people based on their appearance, and to judge them based on their actions.

Fuck you, Bob. He has tattoos on his face. I’ll judge all I want.

---

An open letter to a psychopath:

Dear Celestia,

I know you must feel incredibly misunderstood by the people around you who don't realize you have 21032165479 personalities.

Do you think you could sit down and have a chat with personality # 10645, because I can't deal with her anymore. She's become a real bitch (even more than all your other personalities, and I think that says something).

Also, I know your Mom fucked up your whole vacation schedule last summer by suffering and eventually dying from cancer after three years, but could you please stop telling everyone what a selfish bitch she was? I think the fact that she bore you, raised your ass, and didn't sell you to gypsies after you learned to speak should merit a little respect.

I do believe there's a special place in hell saved for you. I hear Hitler likes redheads, so at least you've got a sweet hook-up waiting for you when you get there.

Thanks for making every work day a fucking catastrophe for me. You're the best.

Your friend,
Andria

---

And lastly, to my cat Ike:

I know it's my fault you're gay (not that there's anything wrong with that), with all my "who's my pretty boy" and "pretty kitty", and the fact that I force you to wear a pink collar and watch episodes of Queer as Folk (well, no one's twisting your arm on that one, buddy) and what not... But do you have to punish me by coughing your fucking hairballs up IN MY BED? Seriously. I am sleeping, you fluffy ass. Could you do it somewhere else?

Thanks you big 'mo.

Stolen entry.

I stole this from Lando.

1.Your name spelled backwards:
airdnA

2. Where were your parents born?
Mom – North Carolina Dad - Oklahoma

3. What is the last thing you downloaded onto your computer?
Besides porn? A Morrissey CD that I burned for a friend.

4. What's your favorite restaurant?
A Mexican place by my office called Casa Pulido. My other favorite an Italian place called Bonello’s, but the owner got a divorce and the bitch wife took the restaurant and sold it just to spite him. Now it’s a Japanese/Italian fusion place. I am too scared to eat there.

5. Last time you swam in a pool?
Um.. about five years, I think. Which is the longest I have ever gone since I was a little kid that I have gone without swimming.

6. Have you ever been in a school play?
Nope.

7. How many kids do you want?
Zero.

8. Type of music do you dislike most?
I don’t dislike any type, although there are bands that make me want to gouge my own eyes out, like The Black Eyed Peas, Good Charlotte, Hilary/Lindsay/Ashlee/Britney, almost any rap song that has the word “crunk” in it, and metal bands that try to look really scary, but really look more comical than anything.

9. Are you registered to vote?
Yes.

10. Do you have cable?
Satellite.

11. Have you ever ridden on a moped?
No.

12. Ever prank call anybody?
Oh, Jesus. My best friend Kay and I used to come home from school and make prank calls til her Mom came home. We harassed the shit out of people like total retards every day. We pretended to be the cable company, collection agencies, teachers, surveyors... and sometimes, we used to call girls we didn’t like and just scream and yell at them til they cried. I am a little bit nicer now. But not much.

13. Ever get a parking ticket?
Yeah.

14. Would you go bungee jumping or sky diving?
I would never say never, but it’s not something I ever really thought of doing.

15. Farthest place you ever traveled?
East Coast… Boston one summer, and North Carolina (god help me) another summer.

16. Do you have a garden?
No. But my neighbor, Anne has one, and she talks to it each and every day. I <3 crazy people.

17. What's your favorite comic strip?
Don’t have one.

18. Do you really know all the words to the national anthem?
Yes.

19. Bath or Shower, morning or night?
Shower usually, in the morning. Sometimes a bath at night is nice.

20. Best movie you've seen in the past month?
The Apple. The cheese factor in this movie is off the charts.

21. Favorite pizza toppings?
Any pizza topping is good for this girl. Except anchovies. Do people really fucking order that? Gross.

22. Chips or popcorn?
Popcorn. With butter and salt.

23. What color lipstick do you usually wear?
I have four MAC lip glosses that I alternate – Spite, Be Seen, Oyster Girl, and Babied.

24. Have you ever smoked peanut shells?
Uh, I don’t even know what the fuck that means. Can someone please tell me? The only things I have smoked are pot, cigarettes, and pole.
25. Have you ever been in a beauty pageant?
Uh… no.

26. Orange Juice or apple?
I like both. Do I really have to choose? Ok. Orange.

27. Favorite type of chocolate bar?
Hershey with Almonds.

27. When was the last time you voted at the polls?
November.

28. Last time you ate a homegrown tomato?
This morning.

29. Have you ever won a trophy?
Yes. I played a lot of softball when I was younger, and just so you can be really jealous of me (like you’re not already), I do have a spelling bee trophy from fourth or fifth grade when I came in second in the state spelling bee. This diary is called “yeahimadork” for a reason.

30. Are you a good cook?
I am pretty good, but since I live alone, I don’t do it very often.

31. Do you know how to pump your own gas?
Of course. I am not Paris Hilton, for fuck's sake.

32. Ever order an item from an infomercial?
I have never ordered anything from an informercial, but I have really had to stop myself from doing so on several occasions.

33. Sprite or 7-up?
7-Up.

34. Have you ever had to wear a uniform to work?
Yes. When I worked in daycare for a certain Christian Association for Young Men, I had to wear a uniform.

35. Last thing you bought at a pharmacy?
Dilaudid and condoms. I’m a safety girl.

36. Ever throw up in public?
Once. Me, Kay, and this other girl were driving home from a long weekend of partying our asses off at the other girl’s brother’s house. We were completely hung over and feeling terrible. Kathy (other girl) asked me to pull over on the freeway because she didn’t feel good. She opened the door, and started throwing up. Well, the sound of her throwing up made me sick, so I opened my door and was throwing up as well. Nice sight for all the other drivers. After working about a week in daycare when kids barf all the time, I got over that sensitivity… quickly.

37. Would you prefer being a millionaire or to find true love?
It’s the sappy girly answer, but I really would rather find true love. I work with a millionaire, and he and all his rich friends are the most miserable group of people I have ever met.

38. Do you believe in love at first sight?
Love, no. Lust, hell yes.

39. Ever call a 1-900 number?
No.

40. Can exes be friends?
I don’t think I could be friends with an ex, but I know people who are.

41. Who was the last person you visited in a hospital?
Well, since the last time I was in a hospital I was the patient, I’ll say me.

42. Did you have a lot of hair when you were a baby?
No hair til I was two years old. The little bit of hair I did have was so blonde that you couldn’t see it.

43. What message is on your answering machine?
“Hey it’s Andria. Leave a message and I’ll call you back.”

44. What is in your backpack?
I don’t have a backpack. But I have a purse, that has a cell phone, wallet, lip gloss, digital camera and check book.

45. Favorite thing to do before bedtime?
Have an orgasm... uh, I mean read.

46. What is one thing you are grateful for today?
That my recovery from my surgery in FUCKING NOVEMBER is almost over.

47. What is the first concert you ever went to?
Well… my hippie parents dragged me to a lot of their shit when I was younger – like Rod Stewart, Fleetwood Mac, the Stones, Steely Dan. etc… but I was like a little kid, so I had no idea what I was doing (and I really don’t think my pothead parents knew what they were doing at the time, either, for that matter) or who those bands were. But the first concert I went to that was for me was Rick Springfield. Hell yeah, suckas. Rick Springfield.

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Last night I went out to see Mrs. Mitchell and her man for some dinner and movie entertainment.

She has been trying to get me to watch this one movie, The Apple, forever, and for whatever reason, I have not been able to get with her when they go to see it or have a showing at their place. So last night we watched it, and...Ho. Lee. Shit. What an excellent bad movie. Awesome.

We also watched an episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000 that was pretty damn good as well (Overdrawn at the Memory Bank).

And, speaking of awesomely bad movies, tragedy has befallen my household. I broke (yeah, I am a dumbass, I know this) my Showgirls dvd. One of my stupid cats was between my feet, and I tripped to avoid stepping on her, and stepped on the dvd instead. Dammit. That's my favorite bad movie EVER.

If you buy me a new one, I'll be your best friend.

Brand New

Ok, so I have a diary on Diaryland (same name), but in order to leave a comment on a blog on this site, I had to set up an account. So, to read all of my ramblings, go here.

I can't guarantee your amusement. But I do say "fuck" a lot, if that counts for anything.

The golden poon.

This week has been… rough. You know how every single time someone speaks to you, you want to gouge their eyes out and shove them down their throat? That’s how I have felt most of this week.

I won’t go into a long diatribe about work, because, a) I am at work and the IT fucks here can track my every single keystroke, and b) I am sure people get tired of hearing about the morons I work with. I know I do.

I will relay this little work tidbit though (since it involves what a moron I am, and not a co-worker): this week was our national sales and managers meeting, which means all the operations and sales managers from all of our offices come here to hear Mr. Big Shot tell them how they have to make more! more! more! money for the company. This is our company’s second record year in a row, and he is still not happy (probably because he wants to buy a vineyard and let the company pay for it, but that’s another story for another day).

Whatever. I digress.

So all the managers and sales guys that I talk to on the phone all year are here, and we’re chit chatting and what not, and I manage to get an invitation to the big dinner (by dinner I mean mass alcohol consumption that may or may not include food) they will all be at later that night. Given my love of bullshitting with these guys, free drinks and free food, and the Celestia piss-off factor, I accepted (the lowly peons don’t usually get to go...it’s for upper management only).

A couple of glasses of wine in (my first real drink in months), I am drunk. I am sitting with a guy from our Florida office, Houston office, and Dallas office. Dallas guy flirts with me on the phone all the time, and I flirt back. It’s all in fun.

Well, it took about two seconds after my buzz set in for me to start flirting my ass off with this guy. How could I not? He was telling me how funny I was, and how fun I must be to hang out with, and what an “all around great girl” I am. So I was giggling like a retard, and doing my best charming girlie-girl act. I didn’t even realize I was doing all this until Florida guy (who is one of my favorite people on Earth, and as big a smartass as I am) leans over and whispers, “Gee, Andria… you never flip your hair like that when you talk to ME!”

Holy shit. Again with the hair flipping.

I am just lucky I didn’t do the smooth move of becoming the office skank who gets drunk and makes out with a co-worker at a party. But don’t think I didn’t think about it.

The only consolation I have is that everyone was so COMPLETELY HAMMERED that no one remembered a thing of what happened. Thank god.

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I have had more google hits for “Beyonce sing French” in the last week than every other google hit since I started this drivel.What the hell, people?

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Procrastination sucks ass. Every damn day for weeks, on my way home, there is this frozen yogurt place called “golden spoon” that had one letter in the sign burned out, so it said “golden poon”. And every day I told myself to bring my digital camera so I could take a picture of it, and when I finally did bring the camera, the fuckers fixed the sign.

Golden poon! That’s comedy, people.

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I never had my favorite movie, The Godfather, on dvd. I had a VHS copy, but I wore it out. Then I tivo’d it before I jumped onto the whole dvd train. Then, my tivo erased it to make more hours to record whatever dumb MTV reality show I was recording.

So I finally ordered it from the dvd club I am in. After I mailed the little card in, I saw an online offer (from the same club… they know I am a sucker, clearly) that was too good to pass up, and it was in a bundle of three dvd’s for $22. So now I have two copies coming.

I feel like it’s so cliché to say The Godfather is my favorite movie, because so many people do, but it kicks serious ass, man. That movie rules.

Leave the gun, take the canolis.

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Mix CD’s rock (literally!). I am like a music geek with all the mix CD’s I make. I will be getting one in the mail from this chick, and I will be making one and sending it to this guy.

I love to see what other people put together. My tastes are so broad that the chances of me not liking it are pretty slim. I have been a total music whore since I was about eight, I think, and bought my very first record with my own money, “Off the Wall”, by Michael Jackson.

Hell yes I was into Micheal Jackson.

Three words: Victory Tour, bitches.