Resolutions Are Crap

1 Jan

What a year 2011 was. Never have I had such a year filled with change and second chances as this (almost) past year. I intended on detailing all of the change this past year saw, but I think I have already done that…via this blog. Besides, I intend to not revel in the past. It is said the happiest people live in the present, not the past, nor the future. It is because of this that I plan on not making awful New Years resolutions (besides, the “lose weight” resolution has been my resolution for the past 10 years and it should be quite evident that I am shit at resolutions…) I am going to not set myself up for failure yet again and just let what will be, be. If I end up finding the motivation that got lost somewhere between my fat ass and my big mouth and I start working out and I end up losing some weight, great. If not, I should embrace my curves and be glad I do not have to style around my protruding clavicles and hip bones.  The same goes for the recurrent resolution to not spend so much money. If I suddenly decide to not spend the last five dollars to my name before payday on earrings at Forever 21 because they only cost $2.80, then so be it. If I continue to do this, all I will have is a pretty sweet earring collection and no one can complain about that.

All those other resolutions that seem to be tossed around every year (you know the ones: I will stop eating custard-filled donuts every morning, I will spend more time with my crazy family, I will seek help for my porn addiction, I will stop to smell the roses, etc.) shouldn’t merely be goals we make for ourselves once a year. We should all seek to improve ourselves and enjoy every minute, every day, all year. This, “let’s make a bunch of goals that we never really meet because we are really just not happy with ourselves” bull gets old. Seek to love yourselves, faults (porn addiction) and all. If there is one thing I have learned this year is that we do not need to be perfect to be loved, respected, remembered.

So here is my vow to nix the resolutions this year. I just won’t do it. Don’t make a resolution to start living better, just start living better.


2011 in review

1 Jan

The stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,800 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 47 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.


27 Dec

As I sit here with heartburn, the worst case of acid reflux I have ever experienced, and my stomach gurgling with a concoction of 12 cookies, a ham and cheese sandwich, at least a liter of pumpkin soup and Everclear spiked apple pie cocktail, I have to wonder how I am not 400 pounds.  However, what I can deduce is that my “front butt” as my brother so eloquently describes it, must come from all of the food I stuff in my face (it certainly doesn’t come from all the sit ups I do, in fact, not do…)

I tend to behave a little on the excessive side when it comes to eating, but around the holidays excessive turns into just disgusting. The food choices and smells make me become almost animalistic; I become an expert food hunter. I crouch behind couches waiting to pounce as soon as the dip is placed on the table. I guard the cookie plate with snarls and I have been known to scratch. I attack my plate of prime rib like it was still alive and fighting. Then, then, when any human would have had their fill, I have another plate of cookies topped with a large glass of egg nog. My stomach hurts just typing my confession…

When will I ever learn that the amazing food I stuff in my gaping face hole is never worth the week long food hangover? When will enough be enough? Do I really have to clear out the entire section of self-help at Barnes & Noble with the smell of death before I feel that my holiday eating habits need to change? I think the fact that in the last two days I have finished off a bottle of maximum strength tums and an entire 12 roll Charmin pack should be enough.

I hereby solemnly swear that for the next 5 months (OK, realistically, the next few days) I will only eat celery and broth. If I continue as I have, this excessive eating thing will make me 400 pounds and no one, not no one wants to be the next Kirstie Alley.


13 Dec

The idyllic path to the banks of Loch Ness

Have you ever had a moment or event in your life that was so spectacular, so memorable, so life-altering that you never go a day without thinking about it? Does this event evoke a fire inside? Does it make life worth living? Does it define what meaning is in your life? This all sounds so deep and philosophical and you will think I am obsessed or just weird when I tell you what my event is, but truly…this event that I was afforded changed my definition of life and happiness. My trip to the UK and Ireland was more than a year ago, but it feels like yesterday that I was driving on the other side of the road, eating fries with my fork and laughing about “emo coos” with Brandon.

Today I took my travel buddy to The Isles, my favorite English/Irish/Welsh tea house, here in Reno. We spent two hours laughing and reliving our favorite tales from the trip. Most of our stories were the same, some we argued about, “Yes, yes, I did lug your 200 pound bag around A LOT more than you remember”, but all were mutually amazing. I told him that I have yet to write about everything I encountered and experienced on the trip and he asked me why. I told him that if I just write it all, in one shot, the memories will be out there and I can’t tell them again. I realize now that, yes, I will have told them all to my blog followers and then it’s done, but they are still in my heart and that is where they are most cherished. I have funny things to tell, heartwarming things, exciting, amazing… and Brandon gave me so many more ideas and memories to share. I cannot wait to pour out my most favorite, cherished stories for all to read. I only hope that when and if you read them, though your memories are vastly different, they evoke in you the same happiness and zest for life I feel.

Telling stories, relating strange observations or simply laying my heart out for all to see makes me the most happiest. Even happier it makes me that I experienced something in my life that will stay with me until the day I die. Memories and lazy day dreams of this trip will make me happy when nothing else can.

Thank you for reading my stories, my words, my heart song.

Toilet Paper

6 Dec

I just had a very confusing trip to the bathroom while at my parent’s house. I did my business, read a little ditty about high blood pressure in Woman’s Day and then went for the white stuff…That’s where the confusion started. There were two rolls on the holder. The holder was large enough to fit perfectly two rolls of TP. Two rolls. They were brand-spanking-new and so fat, soft and inviting. I sat there a minute completely lost. Which roll should have the distinct pleasure of meeting my ass? I decided the right one was easier to access and the right side just seemed…well, right. I took a few squares, did my thing and then realized the two rolls looked off balance. I decided to take my new handful of TP from the left to balance it out. After closer inspection, it seemed I took a little too much off the left side and would have to take more from the right to compensate. This went on for another 5 minutes. My arse was clean, but the rolls still needed to look even. I couldn’t leave one more unused than the other, that just wasn’t right. Two whole rolls of toilet paper and 30 minutes later, I was finally satisfied.

In closing, I have to ask, “Why in the fuck does one need TWO rolls of toilet paper? Is it merely to confuse your bathroom guests or is it to torment people with OCD? Either way, one roll will suffice. Now I need to buy my dad some new toilet paper and my butt is really unhappy with all the unneeded wiping. Sometimes I feel like I am the only one in the world with any sense. Good grief.

My 13th Birthday

20 Nov

Every girl, from the time of inception, dreams about her 13th birthday (and 16th, 21st, pretty much any special day when you get presents and loads of cake). Your 13th year usually signifies huge changes, such as larger boobage, your own phone line and the ability to date actual boys. The party is essential. “Party and 13” goes together a lot like Cheech and Chong, or if you’d rather, peanut butter and jelly. Translation: You can’t turn 13 without the party.

I really didn’t want to have the overdone coed party that consisted of 18 girls and two boys, awkward two-left-feet-dancing, and lukewarm punch. Instead, I went along with my mom’s idea of a girls’ spa get-away. Sounds great, right? Well, this was not the spa at the Atlantis, it was Wally’s Hot Springs…It was not what was expected, no, but it was an adventure nonetheless.

I must explain that my birthday is in January. The year I turned 13, it snowed quite a bit. Not only was it a harrowing drive to Wally’s, it was quite a hike to an actual hot spring. After trudging through snow drifts and thick trees covered in snow and what seemed like hours…we finally rounded a bend and saw the incredibly inviting sight of steam. Our freezing feet almost felt warm. We excitedly, albeit awkwardly, ran towards the oasis in our thick boots and snowsuits. My mom, still agile in those days, kept up. At this point, she must have seen it all before us, as she gained speed and sprinted in front of us. “OH GOD!” is all she yelled as she tried to use her entire body to shield five 13-year-old girls from…well, it was monumental. Through flailing arms and legs, we were able to see. Out of the steam, like apparitions, were two very naked and hairy men. In total and utter shock, we all stood, mouths gaping, eyes popping out of our skulls. It was our first glimpse of the male anatomy close up. It was a real gift. My mom, of course, was freaking out. The men were coming towards us, with innocent smiles, asking if we were lost. My mom had no idea how to say simultaneously, “Stay where you are! Apparently we are very lost. GAH! Quit moving forward. Cover your junk, please. Where’s the PG hot springs? Allison, quit drooling. Holy shit!” I was not sure what was more exciting, seeing my mom so flustered and red in the face or seeing my first, in-the-flesh penis. Eventually, the naked men realized they were advancing towards a pack of pimpled, bad permed, very underage girls. Both, with just one hand, covered their bushes and proceeded to have a very detailed conversation with my mom about where the family area was. My mom was half listening and she responded with “Uh huh’s” as as she tried to turn us around and hide our eyes with her hands. She successfully scraped the last jaw off the frozen ground and we were turned around towards the non-nudist section of Wally’s. The rest of the day was uneventful, by that I mean, we didn’t see any more dicks.

On the ride back, my friends and I recounted how awesome it was that we saw our first penis and that we hoped so-and-so from school didn’t have as thick a rug as the guy at the hot springs, because that was just gross.

Later, my mom had to call four sets of parents and apologize for taking their daughter to see her first live penis.

What was my mom’s worst day ever, was the best, most memorable day for five girls. Again, this explains a lot…

The Perfect Life Plan

16 Nov

When we were 13 or so, my best friend and I devised a grand plan for the perfect life. We would go to college at 18, live in a chic apartment together and by the time we were 24, we would both be married to hunky men and pregnant with girls (twin girls were ideal). We would thumb through Bop magazine, drawing hearts around our celebrity crushes (who would, if we crossed our fingers hard enough, be our hunky husbands) and we would stick pillows under our shirts, pretending to be pregnant together, our ring fingers glittering with gumball machine engagement rings.

Today, I am 28 and 6 months out of a 7 year long relationship that ended in infidelity. If I did the math correctly, I am four years behind schedule (I can’t speak much for my long lost best friend, but I can say she isn’t doing much better). After about year four I knew I was never going to have that glittering ring on my finger or that white picket fence or that perfect picture frame insert family. After an unhappy three years in Elko with a man I no longer loved, I made a new plan, I dreamed a new dream.

I remember a year or so ago, going to sleep alone, day dreaming of the exact life I am leading right now. The exact life. I wanted an apartment in midtown, I wanted to be single and I wanted to be independent. I wanted two closets full of purses and shoes. I wanted to decorate with pictures of pin ups and leopard print. I wanted to no longer be in a no where town with a no where man. I am not proud to say that I was too scared to pursue my dream on my own and that it took him leaving me for a younger woman to get it, but…I got it…I guess that is the most important thing.

I am definitely on plan B, or maybe it is plan C (hell, it’s probably plan F). My life is not perfect, but it is all mine. I used to have to have everything perfect, not a dish or hair out of place. Now? Now, I have dishes in the sink from Sunday, a hot pink bra on the couch and underwear on the bathroom floor. My place is a mess right now, but it’s not always. The point is…the point is that nothing has to be perfect anymore. I may be worried about finances and paying bills on my own, but I can breathe a sigh of relief, because I am finally living my life.

What I didn’t know at 13 is the fact that rarely do good things happen because of carefully laid plans. Married with children at 24 sounded like heaven at the time, but right now it sounds more like a death sentence. I absolutely adore coming in at all hours of the night and leaving at the drop of a hat when plans are made. I would, by no means, be able to do any of the things I enjoy if I were a wife or mother. I am absolutely certain that my life as it is, is fine by me.