I had to have a tooth "pulled" this week (that's a whole story of its own) and the pain killers that are supposed to knock me out actually keep me up all night. So I haven't slept yet and I think I just heard one of the most disturbing things ever on the morning news. Apparently more men get vascectomies during march madness basketball than any other time of the year. They do this because the recommended recovery is sitting up and icing their penises for at least a few days- the perfect excuse to plant themselves in a lazy boy in front of the TV for the games. Seriously guys?

Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeep. This is not a test. This is an official broadcast of the Mentally Unstable Warning System. Be prepared for high winds, irrational thoughts, sophomoric language and temper tantrums. Avoid windows and doorways. Take shelter in halls. This is not a test. 

GRRRRRRR! I HATE TEENAGE BOYS. They've been causing women pain since the beginning of time and I do not believe it will ever end. Even when they were my best childhood friends, they were royal pains in my ass. I HATE TEENAGE BOYS! UGH! UGH! UGH!

We've all gotta make a living. And yet, I can't help sharing with you a press release I got yesterday.

It was from the Humane Society. Fine. We can all stand to be more humane.

Anyway, here's what it said:

Subject: Pitch: The Truth about Keiko, the orca who starred in “Free Willy” and What Should be Done with Tillikum

Source: Dr. Naomi Rose, marine mammal scientist with The Humane Society of the United States. Click for bio.

Well, here's my first blog entry.  I'm super excited!  I find a lot of comfort, reassurance, and plain humor in the blogs that i've read on Skirt!.com over the past few months.  I thank all of you fabulous women for that!  I wasn't sure if I wanted to start a blog of my own, but after realizing how much I missed writing, I caved.  Seems like too much fun!

As most others have promised, I will do my best to be consistent (and as interesting as possible) with this blog.  I'm not going to lie, coming up with a name for my blog, and picking out my photo, was the hardest task i've had over the past week!  Hopefully others struggled with the same challenge...

I won't go into much detail in my first post, but I will say that my life has been a whirlwind of change over the past month.  (I'll explain later).  In a nutshell, I live in the infamous city of Charleston, SC, i'm 24, I don't particularly like my current job, and I live with my two dogs.  My boyfriend, recently employed out of town, had to move pretty quickly to start that job, so i've been adjusting to an apartment alone (with two dogs and two small pet frogs).

Exciting! Scary. Definitely an adjustment.  One thing- when I mentioned above that I've found comfort in reading everyone's blogs, I really meant it.

 So here it is, Sunday. Today is the last day of my entries as "Muse of the Week." 

I would be a total liar if I didn't admit that seeing one's mug at the top of a website like Skirt!'s gives a gal a little thrill. It appeals to that approval seeking five-year old that lives within all but the most perfect of us. I look back on the past week, and with the exception of my ranting about Tiger Woods, I can feel mildly proud of what I wrote. I forget what television show it was that I used to watch, but at the end of this particular show, the production company identification would pop up on the screen and a very childlike voice would say "I MADE THIS!" Well, that's how I feel right now. A week's worth of entries that I would have no problem laying claim to. Much of it is personal. Some of it is embarrassing. All of it is honest in regards to the way I feel or think. . .at least in the moment I was writing it was. You know how fast my emotions and thought processes change. (Processes? Proceeeeees? Ha ha ha.)

 I don't watch football. Because my father worked 6 days a week and loved his football, he would plant his ass in front of the television on Sunday and watch game after game during the season. I was 18 years old before I realized that football games weren't 5 hours long and didn't require an eight-course meal of grilled meats. I found football to be an absolute bore and grew to despise the sound of televised football games. The roar of the crowd, the sound of the whistles, the inevitable armchair coaching, cussing and cheering from my father. . .I loathed it all. He and my brothers would jump and yell at the screen and I would sit, looking at them with narrowed eyes, thinking "You look sooooo stupid. So stupid. They can't hear you, stupid stupid-heads."  The sound of games on television still trigger an annoyance in me that I can hardly contain. In my mind, it's the soundtrack to a lot of wasted time.

Of course, I know everyone doesn't feel that way. My brother has a totally different take on that sound. He loves it. Sporting events are one of the places where he and my father bond. At call of the coin toss, all sins are forgiven and life is good. For me. . .not so much. 

I'm not sure why I got so mad. But I did. You know, that kind of mad that causes you to want to CRY. . . when the last thing you want to do is cry in front of the person who said what they said to cause you to react that way? F**ker. I hate you. I know "hate" is supposed to be this awful and strong word and I know that I don't really mean it, but when I'm hurt, I lose my words. I say it like a three year old: "I hay-choo."

I was really excited to tell my husband today that I am applying for a freelance writing job. It's small and it is not anything that would allow me to quit my mind-numbing, rash-inducing job, but it would be experience and I would make a little extra money doing something that I love. And while it's true that I wouldn't be allowed to express myself as. . .ahh. . .freely as I do here at Skirt!, it would still be something. It would allow me to say "Look! I'm a writer!" instead of "I'm a creepy weirdo blog-girl who sometimes stays up three nights in a row, hates her job and speaks to her dog as if he is the Oracle of Delphi." Just the thrill of thinking about applying for it made me happy. I didn't think about whether I would get it, not get it, get told to piss off. I was just feeling the thrill of the IDEA of it!

I have a friend whose home is covered in adorably monogrammed lampshades. In every nook and cranny, there is a perfectly appointed piece of furnture. There are polka-dots and stripes. There are exact fitting slipcovers of clean, ecru canvas. There are "window treatments." There is an actual, God help me, APRON hanging on a hook in her adorable kitchen. And she uses it. She and a majority of her friends are all similar in that they are tasteful to the nth degree. They are perfect in their graduated pearls and J. Crew and baby-makingness. And when I am with them, through no one's fault (certainly not theirs!), I feel so dirty and strange. I feel like Pigpen next to Charlie Brown. I feel like Cinderella. . .LONG before the prince and the shoe and the ball. I feel like Joan Jett standing next to Sandra Dee.

I like to brag after I pillage a store.
So check this out: I just got this sweater dress at TJ MAXX -- For $7.

Who doesn’t love a deal? They're everywhere these days, as stores beg us to part with our cash.

Given that - As much as I love the dress, I would not have bought it if it cost $20 instead.

So ask me if I’d buy a Gucci purse for $2,350.

The opportunity to do so could be coming to rural Jasper County, S.C., a gorgeous snarl of southernness in the lowest tip of South Carolina, separated from Georgia by the Savannah River.

The Sembler Company is planning to build a colossal shopping mall here, some 1.5 million-plus square feet called “Okatie Crossing.”

 And so, if you'd read my last blog (which was a dusty, cobwebby age ago. . .) you witnessed yet another adversarial situation between my sister and I. If you didn't read it, the short version of the issue was that she was miffed that her child didn't get "enough" presents on her first Christmas. And I was fretting over how her first birthday party was going to go. I'd offered to throw it and, in the midst of some unexpected financial issues, had to scale back a great deal on the initial plan. Had it been anyone else,  wouldn't have thought twice about it. Hell, we're all a little strapped for cash these days. I'm not complaining. I'm grateful to still have my job (even if I hate it) and I'm still thankful to be able to indulge myself with a $5.00 Starbucks every now and then. Anyhooo. . .

I need to say this. And I need to say it fast before a) the thrill is gone and b) something happens to ruin the moment.

Ahem. (clearing throat) MY PREDICTION AS TO HOW MY SISTER WOULD BEHAVE ON HER CHILD'S FIRST BIRTHDAY WAS WRONG. WRONG. WRONG. SO FAR OFF THE MARK WRONG WRONG WRONG I COULDN'T HAVE BEEN MORE WRONG WRONG WRONG.

And I've never been so happy to be so wrong. 

One of the biggest goals I have for myself this year is to love who I am even though I'm not who I want to be yet. People say that you can't really love anyone else until you love yourself.  Maybe that's why I haven't really had a real relationship with a guy before that goes really deep emotionally. Heck, I didn't even start dating until--and I'm embarrassed to say this--I was almost 30 years old. But that was also during a really low time in my life after Daddy died when I was being somebody that, looking back now, I'm ashamed I let myself be. I allowed sadness and regret to determine who I was. Even though that short "relationship" ended after about 5 months, it had a great impact on me. It had brought me into contact with someone who made me feel attractive, but there were other things going on that I don't want to get into that I know weren't right for me.  I depended on someone else to make me feel good about myself instead of reaching within to find worth. A little over a year ago, I started heading down the same path as with the previous relationship in terms of allowing a guy to be the determining factor in whether I felt good about myself.  I know, I know...have I learned nothing from past experiences?

COLUMBIA -- When I heard that school buses might come with a hotline number inside for kids to tattle on their driver for using a cell phone, my first thought was: Bus drivers are going to LOVE this.

Then I wondered, are texting school bus drivers actually a problem? Nah, couldn't be. That's just too outrageous. 

More likely, if we got these 800 numbers inside school buses (as some are proposing), some kid would probably dial it because no-nonsense Bus Driver told him for the fifth time to stay in his seat and stop flicking boogers.

Then I realized I'm pretty much in denial about how pervasive texting and cell-phone use behind the wheel is. What seems bat-shit insane - texting while driving a school bus - probably has been done and may be happening somewhere this exact second.

I had a catch up-coffee yesterday with this funny woman in media that I hadn't seen in a while. And we were talking about all kinds of interesting things when we landed on something intriguing that I haven't been able to shake. She said that Southern women have a problem with telling people exactly how we feel because (due to the culture that is passed down through the generations) we were taught to avoid conflict, to "sugar coat" things and to not always talk straight. Basically we stuff down our real feelings so as to not come across as impolite.

Being a southern woman herself, she realized that she had always been like this...that is, until she took a job working with a lot of Greek men. She has decided it is the best thing that could've ever happened to her. Now instead of sugar coating, she tells it like it is. Since she's adopted their ways, her family and friends think she's a little harsher than she was, but she gets her point across and says what she means and she doesn't feel guilty about it.

So what does that have to do with the Fruitcake Lady from The Tonight Show? Well, I have decided that Greek Men and the Fruitcake Lady (who sounds like she's got a southern drawl btw) are my two new role models. I am going to work towards being a straight talkin' new me.