Fly Away

I don't like flying.

I'm not afraid of it, exactly. I know my odds of dying in the air are pretty slim, and a morbid sliver of me thinks a crash would be exciting. You know, until you hit ground.

But it just makes me nervous. Forget the fact that I've traveled on my own countless times, many of them international flights. Flying turns me into a helpless eleven year old, totally sure that I'm fucking something up. I have a longstanding fear that I'm somehow going to get on the wrong plane. Or I won't be able to find my gate. Or I'll miss my flight because I'm getting drunk in the bar. (That only almost happened once, okay?) (Do eleven year olds drink nowadays?) (This is not the point.)

I get claustrophobic too. Maybe I shouldn't use that word, because I'm sure my problems lie outside the textbook definition of that phobia, but being on a plane makes all my muscles cramp, my throat tightens up, I feel trapped by all the people around me. I don't really like people, that's probably part of the problem.

I hate having to get up to use the bathroom. I hate having to get up to let OTHER people use the bathroom, and I always choose an aisle seat. I hate that my food choices are so restricted and dependent on lines. Last week I ended up having Cheetos, beef jerky, and chocolate coconut water for breakfast. It was delicious, but not exactly on my diet. I hate the fact that I will always eat every bite of my airplane food even though it's so ick. I hate the line of people waiting to get on and off the plane---sardines. Stupid, selfish sardines.

I have my books. I have my music. I know the thirteenish hours in the air will pass, and I'll get off the plane and onto my shuttle and will be home to my kitty cuddles within 24 hours...but still.

Tay no likey.

Sigh. See you on the other side.

Random Thoughts from Spain

• Reason #763 Why I Love Hot Yoga: 100+ degrees in Sevilla today as we're wandering about staring at pretty buildings and things, and I be like, "Meh. I've had hotter."
• Also, traipsing around Europe with 50ish less pounds is MUCH more pleasurable.
• I met my future second husband in line for the bathroom at a restaurant in Puerto Banas in Marbella. His name is Dante, he speaks three languages, is from Manchester, and was very taken with me. Would not stop paying me oodles of attention and showed off his magic tricks and clever songs. Gorgeous smile and a glorious golden tan. Of course, it was his sixth birthday. Maybe in 20 years?
• Speaking of Puerto Banas, oh my LORD. Just along the water, lined with yachts that have to cost millions of dollars, is a strip of concrete dotted with restaurants, bars, and sparkly boutiques. As the night went on, hoardes and gaggles of painted up girls in Britney*-baring dresses stomped around in sky-high heels, desperate for the attention of any one of the aging Europeans who cruise up and down the street in Bentleys, Ferraris and Aston Martins, just to be seen. It was so thoroughly ridiculous. I loved it so much. 
• I may have lost weight while I'm here. If this is true, it's only because I've had the worst sore throat since Day #1 and haven't enjoyed eating much. Also have avoided alcohol like a responsible adult. Finally starting to improve so I see some mojitos in my future.
• I got some super strong Spanish ibuprofen from a farmacia, and I'm obsessed. It was so cheap I want to buy a dozen boxes and sell it on the streets. I'm not sure this is the best business plan. It also gives me insanely crazy dreams. 
• I was able to see my ever-lovely Facebook wife in Madrid on our first night in the country, and met the fellow she's been cheating on me with. I approve of him. I told him if he wants her FB relationship status, he owes me alimony, in the form of one drink every time we hang out. Sounds fair to me.
• I have yet to buy myself a souvenir. This is not acceptable. I want jewelry. 
• I exchanged messages with the Ginger, so I'm hopeful that he will still exist in my world when I return. If he has not found other OKCupid sluts to bang. Ooh I'm so possessive of my not-boyfriend! (OH LOOK, SARCASM OKAY.)
• The original plan was to stay at a timeshare in Estepona for the whole trip, except for the first and last nights. Well, this particular establishment was not exactly up to my family's (maybe too high) standards. To quote my mother, "This is the closest I will ever come to camping." So we stuck it out for four days, and left riddled with mosquito bites to stay two days in Sevilla. Where I currently am, sitting on a big fluffy white bed in the fanciest suite in the swankiest hotel I have ever stayed in, the Hotel Alfonso XIII. SO PRETTY. I love my daddy and his Starwood Platinum status. Back to Madrid tomorrow for two more nights, then home to my precious kitty!

*"Britney" is my most favorite slang for ladyparts. If I'm being honest, I like the classic "cock" for the fellows, although "schnitzel" amuses my inner five year old. (Also, my favorite slang for getting your period is "shark week" if you're curious, or alternatively, "she's shark bait.") Aren't you glad you asked?

¡Viva España!

I am off tomorrow morning, leaving on a jet plane, landing in Madrid on Friday morning.

I plan to eat and drink and walk and frolic and soak up the sun and objectify some hot Spanish boys.

I hope to be able to post while I'm gone, but I am not sure what my Internet situation would be. If I can't check in, I send you all oodles of love, and will share stories when I return!

<3
Tay

Songs of the moment...

I go through obsessive phases. With everything. I think we've discussed this before.

When I love a song, I love that song. I put it on repeat. It becomes my jam. I think it's talking about my life. I listen to nothing else for days. Then I move on.

For your listening pleasure, here are a few of my most recent auditory addictions.

"Kandi" by One EskimO
       -This song makes me want to bang. Or cuddle. Or both.

"This Head I Hold" by Electric Guest
     -This song makes me wanna dance around in my underwear like a fucking idiot.

"Never Go Back" by Grace Potter & The Nocturnals
     -This song makes me want to rock out and talk shit about boys. The new album is pretty fantastic.

"This Is The Beginning" by Boy
     -This song makes me want to drive down the PCH with my windows down, with no where to go and nothing to do.

?!?!?!?!?!

WHY DOES THE UNIVERSE HATE ME?

Why? Why? I'm nice to animals. I smile at old people. I let squirrels cross the street in front of my car. This one time, I donated money to a charity. I always say thank you.

So why oh why do I just have the shittiest fucking luck in the whole damn world?

Sigh.

Seeking Life Planner

I would like to hire someone to run my life.

You will tell me what to eat, say, and do. You will tell me when to get my less-fat-but-still-squishy ass off the couch and go work out. You will be in charge of what I wear, when I pee, and when I am allowed to text boys. I will not be trusted to make any decisions, even if the decision is simply white or red wine.

I don't want any responsibility for my life. I get so anxious over choices, whether they were right or wrong, I second guess things I said weeks ago and wonder if they're coming back to bite me in the ass. I have paranoia. I assume the worst, always, despite the fact that I like to think of myself as an optimist. A normal event can be interpreted by my brain as the END OF THE FUCKING WORLD.

I have no money, but I will pay you in love and kitty cuddles and cooking. As long as you tell me what I'm making.

Sunday Brunch Style

There's a reason nearly every single girl you know in their mid-20s loves brunch.

Because it's fucking awesome.

First of all, cheap and delicious, just how I like it. Not to mention if you're having brunch, it's totally acceptable to start drinking in the morning. And the whole purpose of brunch is gossip, no? You and your best girlfriends, talking about inappropriate subjects in public, giggling and eating way too many calories.

It's the best.

I met one of my absolute favorite people at Mesa Cafe in Santa Barbara yesterday for a delicious egg white scramble with cream cheese, bacon, and green onions, accompanied by a bowl of fruit and the best biscuit ever. It was perfection.

I'd planned to throw on yoga pants for our date, but the night before I was hunting in my mother's closet and discovered an awesome maxi dress that, I have to say, looks bangin' on me. And it's a small. And if you've seen my mother, you know me fitting into her clothes is an epic achievement. I just love me a maxi dress---it's like a nightgown, but you look like you're trying.

• Dress from My Mother's Closet (I enjoy the sexy classy cleavage.)
• Lace Cardigan by Miss Chievous 
• Flats by Coach
• Necklace by Forever 21

What I woke up to this morning.

That is all.

A few of my favorite things...

• When I realize at the end of the day that I haven't read any of my regular blogs. So much to catch up on!
• Waking up after a morning of drinking, totally dehydrated, and being lighter than the day before. Conclusion: Drinking is good for me.
• Dating a nice boy who treats me well. 
• Making out like a teenager and ending up with swollen pink lips the next day.
• A clean apartment.
• Going to yoga at lunch and earning hours of Friday night laziness.
• Sunny sunflowers just for me.

Blue Moon Cupcakes

 My attempt at beer cupcakes wasn't exactly a failure, as they were delicious, but they didn't taste very beer-y. Perhaps I will try a stronger flavored beer next time. Or more of it.

But look! So pretty.

I took the remainders into work, and they were a hit! Yay me and my sexy domestic skills.

Things that happened today.

*After trying a level three hot yoga class for the first time, I smashed the base of my thumb between the edge of my car door and a very solid cement wall. Ow.

*In the parking lot at Ralph's, a very cute stranger confessed his love to me, despite my lack of makeup. Our wedding will be in the fall.

*I half-made a version of HelloMissKelly's light beer cupcakes. I say "half-made" because I only made the cake part and will frost tomorrow. And I say "version" because I couldn't find mini-cupcake liners, so they're full sized, and I accidentally dropped an egg yolk in the batter. We'll see how they taste.

*I made sixth date plans with the Ginger for tomorrow evening. I will be cooking, and serving him hopefully delicious beer cupcakes. Pandering? Totally.

*I bought my first pair of shorts in at least a decade. Okay, technically this happened yesterday, but it's notable.

*I went to yoga. I know I already said that, but it needed to be repeated. Day two, CHECK.

Nine Day Challenge?

That whole Seven Day Challenge thing...wow, that was a clusterfuck, wasn't? I do not know what my issues are but I would love to cancel my subscription. Post-lockout, I did not go. And then did not go again. Then spent the weekend on my fat lazy ass.

SO! This Seven Day Challenge is now a NINE Day Challenge, and it started today, and I went to 7AM Hot Yoga Sculpt like a boss.

Yoga every day until Spain. This is happening.

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Farmer's Market Sundays

I have a concert problem.

Just the other night, I had a conversation about wanting to see Gotye in concert. Per a friend of mine, I should be on hallucinogens when I do. I don't know about that, but what should I receive in my inbox the very next morning but a pre-sale password for their show at the Greek Theatre in September? And I just so happened to have that very amount available on one of my credit cards. Fate, I tell you. So I bought two. For me and a mystery guest, potentially the BFF but I just gave her the album so we shall see.

Then the next day, another email, another password, for Metric in October. And my college roommate is moving back to LA, and I happened to know Metric is her favorite. So she bought two for us, and I'll send a check, since I am not a wealthy woman and probably cannot be buying tickets to two concerts in two days.

BUT I WANNA.

8/14      Regina Spektor at the Greek Theatre with the BFF. I <3 Regina.
8/17      Gavin Degraw/Colbie Caillat at the Santa Barbara Bowl with my mama.
9/4        Gotye at the Greek Theatre with Mystery Guest. IT'LL BE MAGICAL.
10/9      Metric at the Greek Theatre with College Roomie. New album comes out next weeeeeeeek.

And in all honesty, I will probably end up buying tickets to Florence + the Machine at the Hollywood Bowl on 10/7 or 8. Did I already see her on this tour? Yes. Do I care? No.

I may have a problem. I do not accept help for it.

Visual Memories: September 4th, 2011 - Paris, France

Love Locks

My Life Plan

Have I shared this with you yet? I have crafted a fool-proof plan for the way my life is going to go. It will result in fame, a wealth of riches, and the kind of happiness only money can buy.

Don't argue with me.


Step One:

Become famous on the Internet. This blog is the ticket. Of course, I have to figure out some what to a) get people to read it b) make it interesting enough to warrant fame. Perhaps my devilish wit will carry me through. Or this may involve sleeping with a famous actor and trading on their name. (This part of the plan may not be thoroughly thought out.)

Step Two:

Get a book deal. Perhaps at some point I'll start writing fiction in this here corner of the Internet, and it'll blow up, "The Hunger Games" style. (By the way. Suzanne Collins totally stole my thunder. I've had a dystopian future/epic war/love triangle novel in progress for years I tell you.) Or this book will be an enlightening, heart-breakingly funny, devastatingly vulnerable memoir. (I may need a ghost writer.) Regardless, someone will recognize my money-making potential and I will get sucked up into the machine.

Step Three:

Get legit famous. At this point, someone can get famous for nothing, so perhaps just being a super awesome writer will be enough to get me on Conan. And I'm sure if I slap on some hair extensions and a Hervé Léger bandage dress when I get to goal, I can wrangle myself a spot on TMZ. I may have to get drunk in public. I'm flexible, really.


Step Four:

Make money. I am not above selling out. Corporate sponsorships. Writing cheesy romcom scripts. Ads on the blog. Et cetera. And then I will buy shit that's awesome.


Step Five:

Assuming I am still single at this point, and I'm into my 30s, I may begin having hot collegiate interns. Don't judge.

On Flaws

The beginning of my dating profile lists, in a surely very amusing way, what I consider to be a few of my flaws. Like the fact that I'm just obnoxiously fucking loud, no matter how quiet I try to be. Or the fact that I have never watched a few of the comedic television staples for the male gender --- Seinfeld, The Simpsons, or South Park. Or the fact that I am lazy. And spacey. Surface flaws.

A few days ago I got a message on OKC that I didn't have a chance to look at for at least a day. By the time I went to view it, the sender had deactivated their profile. The message was simply:

"Flaws are merely unrecognized perfection."

First of all, aww. Second of all, if this is the case, I am splendidly, gloriously perfect. Because I am simply riddled with flaws, stitched together with good intentions, to loosely quote Augusten Burroughs. The silly list in my profile is just the tip of the iceberg, I am miles from perfect, oceans away, big fat cliche metaphors, et cetera. Maybe I take a rather harsh view of myself but honestly, there are things I would fix, if only I could, to be the perfect version of me, and perfect for someone else.

I struggled a lot over the past few years with a few of these flaws, things I cannot change or help, things that weren't my fault and it's not fair and blahblahblah. Things that keep me from having the freedom I'd like to have. Things that make me keep people at arm's length. It's taken awhile to get to the point where I can accept myself for all my broken pieces, and maybe mystery online dater man is right --- maybe those pieces truly fit together perfectly.

"The way to love someone is to lightly run your finger over that person's soul 

until you find a crack, and then gently pour your love into that crack." - Keith Miller

Awwwwwwfuck.

God damn it.

I thought I had purged a link to this blog from my Facebook.

Apparently, this is not the case. I noticed views coming from FB and I was like "hey now wait a minute..."

So, entirely possible people who perhaps should not have found this blog, could have found this blog. That's a little horrifying.

Oh whatever. Welcome to inside my brain. You stalked, it's your own fault.

ASKEW I SAY

Three quarters of an inch has been stolen from me.

The last time I went to a doctor, I was told I had grown to the ever so symmetrical 5'5. I liked that height. I felt comfortable at that height. That gave me a target of 149 for a healthy BMI (yes, I know the chart doesn't really mean anything, but I like using it as a guideline), which this morning I was only 1 pound away from.

Today, a nurse told me I am back to 5'4 and 1/4 inches. This throws my whole world askew.

I need a recount.

Seven Day Challenge SHUT UP OKAY

Tomorrow.

Totally.

Tomorrow.

Just. So. Cool.

I am a responsible adult.

Which means I carry a breathalyzer keychain in my purse and take my BAC before driving, and let my date use it too.

I am class, personified.

That is all.

Dating Reel Highlights

So my experiment with Internet dating has been interesting, at the least, and successful at best, if you count a scheduled next date with an adorable redhead as a success. Which I certainly do.

I met three guys off the site in the first week. I saw one of them a second time, and the third, the Ginger, a second, third and soon to be fourth. I've chatted back and forth with a few guys in the past few weeks, but no one has totally tickled my fancy, and honestly the whole first date thing is kind of draining and I'm so lazy. I have one new guy I may see next week when he returns from a business trip, but until then I'm content with my one date a week schedule with a deliciously witty paramedic-in-training. Unless a Michael Fassbender lookalike messages me and offers me pie. Then we'll see.

So, throughout this past month or so of dating, there have been a handful of interesting moments and discussion-worthy topics. And lucky you, I'm going to share.

Follow me below the cut for some romance...

Seven Day Challenge EPIC FAIL

I did not want to go to yoga this morning. I woke up, and I didn't want to go, and I got up and got dressed and went anyway.

Or, I started to go. I stepped out onto the landing. I pulled the locked door shut behind me. And realized I forgot my keys.

I spent the next two and a half hours waiting for two locksmiths who both lied repeatedly about how long it would take, and was finally rescued by my landlady. So at least I didn't have to spend $100 bucks getting my goddamn door open.

This? Is my life, in a nutshell.

So, I didn't go to yoga. Seven Day Challenge starts TOMORROW.

Visual Memories: May 29th, 2011 - Echo Park, Los Angeles

On Honesty

So, I'm at a point where I'm not sure how much I do and do not want to share on this blog.

On the one hand, the whole point is honesty. And I am nothing if not brutally that. And I really feel no shame about revealing things of a rather personal nature about myself, I act like a freak on a regular basis so it's not as if I'm really attempting any semblance of normalcy. And of all the things I could talk about, weight loss and my issues are probably some of the most personal. I certainly wouldn't feel embarrassed sharing most the details of my various exploits.

What I'm considering, though, is my audience. I've shared this link with plenty of friends and family (HI DAD!), and they've passed it along. I'm just not too sure I need to share with them all the truth of my crystal meth addiction, secret black market baby farm and fetish for men dressed as Disney characters.

And for instance, I have dozens of no doubt fascinating words written about this new boy I am seeing. From the Internet. First of all, he's a ginger, and I just fucking LOVE me a hot ginger. It's a long-standing appreciation. We've had three dates and they just keep getting better---this past Friday was wine tasting on a hill overlooking Los Angeles at sunset, followed by meeting his friends at a bar. Then making out like teenagers for a good couple of hours during which he acted like a perfect gentleman. Smart, funny, attractive, has yet to reveal himself as a stealth asshole. *swoon*

But you know, he could read this, eventually, depending on how things go. Or he could have already found it using some Google-fu, though this I doubt (he did, however, friend me on Facebook, and I was not sure that he knew my last name). So maybe I don't want him to discover my ramblings over how to craft the perfect hilarious text message. Because while it's well known that women are cray cray, I don't need to put it in black and white for him to see. I am being zeeeen.

So for now, I will keep my trap mostly shut.

Except to say that the boy can kiss.

Seven Day Challenge

So, I sort of lost some of that awesome motivation I had for awhile there. I'm not quite sure what happened.

Well, that's not entirely true. I hit something of a stall these past five weeks, and after the first few, I let it get to me. Just when I get a little cocky confident and brag about my awesome progress, my psyche likes to rear up and bitch slap me in the face. That's what happened.

My weight loss has looked like this:

-0.4
+0.2
0
-1.6
+1.4

Frustrating, as you can imagine. But I stayed positive! I told myself hey, I'm still lighter than I have been in years of weeks, what's a few of them spent bouncing around the same few pounds? And that kept me (mostly) in check with my eating, but last week I slacked off a bit on yoga.

Then this week, I slacked off more.

And when I see that a big chunk of my paycheck was automatically deducted from my account to pay for said yoga, I start feeling guilty. And guilt leads to shame. And I don't deal with with negative emotions. I swallow them up and self-sabotage.

Sigh.

BUT. Things are turning around. On Friday of last week I was steady around 156. I woke up Saturday morning after a night of drinking, and found myself to be 152ish. Conclusion: Drinking is good for me. I thought it would go back up, and it must have been the result of dehydration. Not so. The loss is still holding today.

I am not going to let this awesomeness make me complacent. I am going to use it as fuel.

SO THIS WEEK. Starting tomorrow. I am challenging myself to go to yoga every day for seven days. Spain is coming up, and I know the more I go to yoga the better I will feel as I frolic around in the sun wearing a maxi dress and giant hat.

I know I can do it. I know I want to do it.

I just have to do it.

My New Superpower (Part the Second)

IT HAPPENED AGAIN.

Last night I tweeted that the seven hours since I sent a rather hilarious text to a boy felt like the longest awkward silence ever.

Then just a mere eight minutes later, he texts a reply.

Boom, baby.

LA Sunset at Century City Mall

My New Superpower

I would just like to announce to the world that I conjured a text message using the power of my brain.

On my way to meet a date last night (and a lovely date indeed), my mind drifted to a friend I met on the same dating site almost two years ago. We haven't spoken in almost a year, and as I sat in traffic in West Hollywood I wondered if I would ever get my deserved apology from him.

(I am anticipating two apologies, currently. I keep a running tally. But I digress.)

Lo and behold, later in the evening I pulled out my phone in the bathroom at Dillon's in Hollywood and found two text messages from an unknown number. A drunken, eloquent, and apparently heartfelt apology.

Of course, I had to reply, "Your number isn't saved. Who is this?" Ouch. Two apologies, two possibilities. I did assume I knew who it was, considering my ex-boyfriend probably doesn't have the emotional capacity for the depth of this sentiment, but I had to make sure. And I was right. And the apology was appreciated.

But anyway, that is not the relevant part of the story. My whole point is that I have a superpower, y'all. Either I conjured that text message using the force, or I'm just psychic.

Bow down.