Halloweenie

I sort of failed at Halloween.

I meant to carve a pumpkin...and I didn't. I meant to go out into the world and rock a slutty costume...and I didn't. I meant to get into the spooky spirit...and I didn't, not really. I ate some Halloween themed cupcakes last week. That's about it. What a Halloweenie.

But today, I am a cat.

I am BUSINESS CAT.

Grooming myself.

BUSINESS CAT OUT
 DOING BUSINESS.

This is what happens when you can't get anyone to
take a picture of you.

Photographer found!

BTW, totally forgot this meme existed until AFTER I declared myself Business Cat.

Tonight, my college bestie is coming over to eat Emily Bites' sausage and pumpkin pasta, drink beer, and watch the best part of my childhood, "Hocus Pocus". If you haven't seen "Hocus Pocus", we are no longer friends, and I direct you to go here and learn about what you've been missing. I do disagree with one crucial point, my first crush was not Max Dennison but Thackery Binx. I just...I like cats.

I AM SO EXCITED I CANNOT CONTAIN MYSELF.

While the rest of you are out running amok, I'll be blissful in pajamas. No shame.

Happy Halloween!

I Voted!

I got my early ballot over a week ago...but I kept forgetting it at home, and then when I was at home I'd forget to put it in my purse, and yeah. I procrastinated. What else is new?

But today, I voted! YAY FOR AMERICA. Yay for social programs and gay rights and freedom of speech and the protection of my vagina and PUPPIES!

For proof, please accept awkward excited dead eyed self-shot taken on a busy street in the middle of rush hour.

Mmm, tasty ballot.

Have YOU voted? Go on! Do your civic duty. Remember, you can't complain if you don't vote. And who doesn't love complaining?

A Note From Your Overlord

Hello, lovely loyal readers! You are all looking mighty gorgeous today. Except you in the back, with the face. Scurry.

Got some housekeeping to deal with this afternoon.

First things first: I have modified my settings so now you can leave comments without registering for a Blogger account. ISN'T THAT SO BLOODY EXCITING? I know you're all out there, so if you have a free second it's now like, four and a third times as easy to leave a comment. Say hi! I don't bite. Unless you want me to.

Second things next: I'd love to expand my community here on the Interwebz, and find more fun places to visit. So, do you have a blog? Or an Etsy site? Or a personal ad? Want to advertise on FreakOutInColor? It's FREE! Drop a comment below with your info and I'll get in touch. If you already have a 200x200 button ready, just paste that sucker in your comment and we're good to go. Of course, I reserve the right to deny your ad for any reason I please. But I probably won't. Unless I hate you.

Finally: Okay, I don't have a finally, but I really like groups of three. It's not my fault. I'm mildly OCD. So...yeah. We're done. Sound good?

Modern Day Love Letters: V.2

For V.1, go here.

As I have mentioned, I don't reply to every message I receive on OkCupid. I average maybe 10-15 a day right now, which is kind of a lot, and I figure a politely worded rejection is just a waste of their time and mine.

But sometimes, oh sometimes, I want to reply. Just to fuck with people. Because I am a bitch.

One gentleman inquired how I managed to alphabetize my favorite movies and musicians, and I replied, "By knowing the alphabet?" I don't think he really got it. And there was that other guy I tried to mess with, but that was a failure too. Maybe I'm just not that funny.

Look, I know it's a jungle out there, guys. And it is infinitely more difficult to be a dude dater on the Internet than it is to be a lady. You have to do all the work, I just sit there as the messages roll in and judge you mercilessly. But come on, bros. You can do better than this. I promise you, I can tell when you copy pasted your message. I can tell. Especially if you accidentally paste it twice.

Put a little effort in, I think it will pay off. It doesn't even have to be a LOT of effort. "Hey, I loved your profile. (Insert specific comment about her profile here so she knows you read it.) (Insert something you have in common.) (Insert interesting fact about yourself.) I hope to hear back from you."

Wham. Bam. Done. Halfway decent message, might get you laid.

But no. I get shit like this:


"Why are you on this site?"

(Because I am a cat-having, exboyfriend-stalking, voodoo doll-making CRAZY PERSON.)

"How long have you been single?"

(Only about fifteen minutes, I really hate to be alone.)

"Hey how are you and how was your day and how was your weekend???"

(Well, I'm doing alright today, my stomach feels a little off but I think that might be because I've subsisted on Flamin' Hot Cheetos for two days, and I'm really dealing with a bit of an existential crisis, and I spilled olive oil on my shirt, and my nose itches. My day was fine though, it began at 8:15 AM, would you like a timeline of events? I can definitely provide that if you're so inclined. As well as a detailed log of what I ate today. (Cheetos.) As for my weekend, I never put on pants, so really I'm going to call it a success.)

"chat?"

(Chien?)

"sexy pics"

(For $19.99 a day you can access a whole website of sexy pics, I'm just gonna need your credit card information and SSN.)

"wanna fuck?"

(In general? Sure. You? No.)

Kitty Go Mrow?

Bentley was very happy to see me last night. There was purring. There was nuzzling. He licked my cheek, which is a very rare gesture of affection from him.

There was also a period of estrangement. Twenty minutes where he ignored me, due to the surplus of canines on my blog recently. He was offended. Once I promised I would make it up to him and share his handsome self with the world today, he forgave me.

And we snuggled.

The Bangable Range

I have my sushi date after work today, and as is my custom, I did a little reviewing of his profile this morning. Checked on his music taste (decent), his use of grammar (acceptable), and his pictures (yup, still cute). I was surprised to see he and I have a pretty low match percentage, and I ---

Okay wait, hold up. Here's a little overview of OkCupid for those of you with no frame of reference: You fill out your profile with deep prompts like "What I'm doing with my life" and "On a typical Friday night I am...", then you answer questions, both from the site and user-submitted. They range from anything from "Do you smoke?" to inquiries about gay marriage and birth control, from "In a certain light, wouldn't nuclear war be kind of exciting?" to "Do you like your hair pulled during sex?" You can pick and choose which questions you answer, and you can say what answer you'd prefer your "ideal match" to select. Then the site does some SUPER FANCY complicated math, and hammers out a match percentage.

Kay, overview over. (But FYI: My match percentage with my BFF is 97%. We are so gonna get married and buy babies.)

Like I was saying, match is kind of low with tonight's date, but I don't really give it all that much importance anyway. I had one guy email me to point out that our percentage was insanely high, but none of our answers lined up, so I'm not really sure how it works. Anyway, I usually read through some/most/all of the questions when I first message with a guy, but I guess I skipped that step this time around. This morning I scanned through a few pages of his responses, and found myself a bit deflated by what I found.

My primary issue of concern was his responses to questions about weight. "Can overweight people still be sexy?" Apparently not. But, see he would date an overweight person, "as long as they aren't obese". Overall,  though, he prefers "slim" ladies. Harrumph.

These answers irritate me for a variety of reasons. First, of course, being that while I certainly would no longer crush a baby if I accidentally sat on it (actually I probably would, poor baby), I ain't no twig. Second being, even if I was a twig, I really have no interest in a guy who might dump me if I broke my leg and gained weight whilst recovering. Third, the type of guy who would actually put that sort of weight discrimination out there in his profile just immediately comes off too shallow to me. I don't have any problem with a guy who is just genuinely not attracted to a little extra cushion (just like I'm not attracted to skinny beanpoles) but what purpose does it serve to broadcast that to the world? Just don't email the fatties. Problem solved. Gawd.

And now, I finally get to the point of this post. I'm so chatty today.

I shared my misgivings with a friend, and said I was less enthused about the date than I had been. And so she slapped me. With her words. She reminded me that, generally, the average man is far less judgmental and discriminatory than the average woman. When a man hears "fat" they envision triple digit jeans sizing and all you can eat buffets. They think "overweight" is 200 extra pounds of stomach, not 20 extra pounds of hips, ass, and jiggle.  They don't nitpick like we do, seeing an extra inch here or there. They don't see a middle range.

To most guys, you're either fat, or not. Hot, or not. Bangable, or not.* The line in the sand is in the eye of the beholder, of course, and not everyone is going to appeal to all. And in this case, the dude has seen my pictures. I clearly struck his fancy. And if we meet in person and I exceed his weight category of "attractive"...well then, fuck that guy. 

Because I am totally bangable.

What do you think, am I on target with this? Do you think men see weight less than women?

*This is of course discounting guys who are specifically attracted to the bigger ladies, and believe you me, I have dated my share of those.

Things that are amaaazing!

LIFE. Why you gotta be so awesome today? I mean, it's a MONDAY. You've really outdone yourself.

Let's see...

*I dropped a bottle of my favorite wine...and it didn't break. It's going to taste 100x better than usual after its terrifying near-death experience, I'm absolutely sure.
*A fellow on OkCupid told me that looking at my pictures makes his eyes feel like they're on ecstasy. I'm gonna call that the best compliment ever?
*Speaking of OkC, got a sushi date with a gainfully employed cutie set up for tomorrow. Obviously the most exciting thing about that sentence is "sushi". Plus, I can walk to the restaurant from my office. Nothing makes me happier than convenience.
*Traffic was on my side this morning, so my drive from SB > LA only took two hours instead of nineteen million and a half. Thanks, Traffic Karma!
*I bought food for Mr. Tree at lunch, so I don't have to deal with crazy post-work crowds at the store. I'm so very productive!
*Also at lunch: put clean sheets on my bed. The productivity continues. Usually I procrastinate doing it until it's bedtime and then things are simply terrible...NOT TODAY, LIFE.
*I left my headlights on this morning because I'm just that bright (geddit? geddit?), but a coworker let me know within a few hours and my battery didn't die! WIN.
*I have discovered that I love Flamin' Hot Cheetos.

Things that are a little less awesome...

*I have to do dishes tonight. I have to. Like, it's gotten to the point where I'm using small forks instead of big forks 'cause the big ones are all dirty. Shame...
*Cute Work Boy was not at the office today for me to objectify.
*My hair is gross.

Aaaand...that's it. No other complaints.

Me, today:

GirlTalk Texts, Bored At Work Edition

Me: I'm bored. Loooove meeeee!

Her: I TRY. BUT YOU ARE EMOTIONALLY UNAVAILABLE.

Me: I built these walls WITH MY OWN HANDS.

Liberal Ladeeda

Yeah, yeah, I know I told you I was bored of politics, but this isn't a real politics post. I mean, I'm not having to think or anything. No, I just have a little hilarity to share with you all.

Let's start with this article, where my idol, my inspiration, the ever-so-lovely Tami Taylor (or you know, the actress who played her), confirms what we all know to be true: the ladies of Dillon, Texas and "Friday Night Lights" would not vote for Mittens Romney. Also, his appropriation of "clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose" is OFFENSIVE, His eyes are cloudy and his heart is empty. Yeah. I really want to be Tami Taylor when I grow up, with her luscious hair and her hot husband and her sassy self.

Moving on.

I am such a Whedon fangirl, it is bordering on ridiculous. I love his brain. This video was released this weekend and it simply tickles me.

One more Whedon offering:

And I'll wrap this up with some pure, unbridled lady awesomeness. Your heart will swell. Your mind will open. Your ovaries will giggle (if you don't have ovaries, maybe you'll grow some). Come, now. Sing to the bespectacled gray-haired Republicans who think the federal government should leave you alone...unless you possess a vagina, then it should be all up in your bidness.

Sundayness Sunset

Laundry done. Pancakes for dinner. Big screen TV + cable. Puppy playtime. Sunset glass of wine.

I do enjoy my mini-vacays to Casa de Parentals.

Random thoughts:

*Got a second date with LawyerToBe scheduled for next week. He is cute, Date#1 was a success. And he earns extra bonus points for being the only guy in the history of time (I did a study) to text sooner than the requisite "three days". Either he doesn't play games or he's so advanced at the game playing he's making up his own rules. Baller.

*After a dog-crazy few days, I found myself trolling Petfinder instead of OkCupid. Who wants a boyfriend? What I really need is a puppy. My canine maternal instincts were kicking in last night as I snuggled that little fluff nugget. Of course, today the baby buddy inhaled a fox tail on his morning stroll and cost his loving mother hundreds of dollars in vet bills...so I'm back to being glad the only child I have is the extraordinarily self sufficient Mr. Tree.

*I learned a little lesson today that no matter how anonymous I'd like my ramblings to be, the people I thoughtlessly talk shit about just might read it. Whoopsies? I totally deserved a venom tantrum for what I wrote, no foul called. I appreciate my first hate mail. I'm mostly curious as to how my blog crossed this individual's path, since I thought it wasn't tied to any identifying information...save the pictures of my face I plaster all over it...and I didn't imagine they'd be stalking me so thoroughly. Honestly, I wouldn't have written it if I thought they'd see it, which is the lesson here. Hmm. Curiouser and curiouser.

*So very, very ready for this election nonsense to be over, for Obama to win and for everyone to just shut up about it, myself included. I can definitely get obnoxious when talking politics, I get entirely overwhelmed with the force of my bleeding heart hippie liberalism and I tend to frame things in a very black and white way. I'm sorry guys, I guess my vagina and my womanly hormones are just SO HYSTERICAL, I can't keep my mouth shut when stupid conservative shit pisses me off.

*Guys, I will end with a shameful confession. I...kind of like the new Taylor Swift song. No, not the "We Are Never Ever Ever Never EVER Getting Back Together EVER", that one makes my soul die a little. I'm talking about "I Knew You Were Trouble". It's definitely techno and maybe faintly dubsteppy in parts, barely country and suuuper catchy. Basically I wouldn't know it was Swifty from first listen, and I kind of love it. I'm sorry to expose your ears to this if you loathe her like I do*, but...I can't help it.

*Um, y'all, she's dating a high school junior. Yes, he's a Kennedy, but come on. Woman got issues.

Canine Cuddles

Might as well go four in a row, right?

PUPPIES!

I had a fantastic girls' night last night with my BFF, She In Need Of Nickname, Favorite Person Ever. We went for a repeat viewing of "Pitch Perfect" (still awesome), enjoyed a deliciously indulgent dinner at one of my favorite SB spots, Olio Pizzeria, then decided the insane Halloween crowds were too much to deal with. We went back to her place, built a fire in her magical yard, and cuddled puppies.

PUPPIES!

Dog Day Afternoon

Nothing much has changed.

I still primarily have canine offerings as entertainment. Oh, and pretty views.

I'm up in Santa Barbara for the weekend, house-sitting for my parents and taking care of the spoiled prince of the family, Mr. Dubs. He is a silly pouty baby and misses his mommy and daddy.

Pout pout pout.

Last night we cuddled, then today he mostly ignored me, because "YOU'RE NOT MY REAL MOM." I lounged about this morning eating spinach dip and watching cable, delicious cable. Sidenote: Did you know Furbies are still a thing? I saw a commercial for one. I didn't know if I was having a flashback to 1999 or they actually still make those creepy little fuckers. I killed mine by hiding it in a closet so it wouldn't talk to me anymore.

Anyway. Then.

House-sitting fees + familial generosity + hard earned cash =  I got the shit sucked out of my face with a silk peel facial this afternoon. I'm simply glowing. With SPF 50 slathered on by my facialist and donning a hat stolen from my dad (sorry, Dad), plus my sunglasses, I kinda  felt like an incognito celebrity. In terribly unflattering yoga pants.

And then the pup and I frolicked.

Mind you, it was about 86 degrees on the water. It's almost November. What the fuck, world? So the game quickly became "fetch the ball, then run to the nearest shade."

Lazy bum.

And now, I think a nap is in the cards. Deuce is already waaayyy ahead of me there.

Puppies on Parade

I have no thoughts today. I have no attention span. Thus I have no cleverly worded brilliant insights into the human condition to share...not that I ever do.

No, all I have for you today is more puppies.

Forty-five Dogs in Cute Costumes

Okay, and for a little masculine eye candy...

Bigger Is Not Better

In many cases, size does matter.

Not so much here.



LOOK SO TINY SO TINY SO TEEEEEEENY TEEENY TINY! I LOVE ALL THE TINY THINGS. I LIKE TO DRINK OUT OF TINY BOTTLES AND PRETEND I'M A GIANT. WHAT WAS I SAYING? PUPPY!

Favorite Songs: California Love

I love my state.

I love songs about my state.

I have a "California Dreaming" playlist on my iTunes that definitely gets a workout on days like today, when the sky is crystal clear, the sun is shining optimistically, and I'm not in a terrible mood.

Join me in beautiful California...

  

And of course, we can't forget...

Message of the Month

Now, the month isn't over yet, but I feel confident in proclaiming this the best message I've received.

"I want to give u my babies. U are sexy"

Well thanks, guy! You're so generous. So, you want to give them to me? You already have the babies, and they'll be wrapped and gifted to me as some sort of reward for being sexy? How many? How old? Who's the mother? Or wait, do you want to give them to me IN MY UTERUS? I guess that makes more sense. Wow, I'm so flattered to have been chosen. I'm glad my sexiness indicates that I am in optimal baby-growing shape, prime for you to fill with your seed. Or do you want me to pass my sexy on to the babies? Am I going to be a sexy baby training facility? Whatever your plan, I really do feel so blessed to be chosen, and I'm so glad I don't get a choice in the matter. 

You will give me your babies.

And I will give them my sexy.

NaNoWriMoWha?

Here's something you might not know about me: I consider myself a writer.

I know, right? What a surprise! Considering I, you know, keep a blog and all, but mostly fill it with pictures of cats and shoes and shit. But yes, writing has always been the thing I say I do but I don't always do. You know?

I remember being rather prolific in middle school. I took a journal assignment for English class and turned it into twenty pages of fiction, I submitted a story for an assignment that ended up winning me $100 and a fancy lunch. "Young Writer's Of California", or something. SO fancy. And in college, I wrote a lot. Confession: I wrote fan fic. Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan fic, to be precise. And it was popular, okay? Thousands of words. Dorky, inappropriate ones.

Since then, I confess...I haven't done a whole lot of writing. Bits and pieces here and there, a long term project that hasn't even cracked 10,000 words, a few started-then-abandoned blogs. Nothing of substance. Nothing I would ever show to anyone.

Since starting this blog back in March, my writerly instincts have definitely awoken from their long long hibernation. Stuck their heads out of a cave like, "Hey world, what's up?" And then the instincts are all, "I'm feeling feisty today..." This paragraph went to a weird place.

Anyway.

I want to write more.

SO!

For the third or fourth time in my life, I am going to attempt NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month. The idea is this: Starting 12:00AM on November 1st, you start to write. And then you write. And write some more. The goal is to have 50,000 words by the end of the month. No editing, no deleting, just write write write.

In the past, I have always given up within a week or so. I lose my drive, my ideas seem stupid, I get behind and then overwhelmed. You know, much like life.

Hopefully this year goes a bit better for me. I'm brainstorming ideas now, but you're not allowed to write a single word until the month begins.

Wish me luck!

Fairy Tales for Twenty-Somethings

Courtesy of one of my creepy Internet friends, check out this hilarious Tumblr.

Fairy Tales for Twenty-Somethings

"Rapunzel cut all her hair off and everyone was totally into it but one unexpected consequence was that she kept getting hit on by women.

After like the tenth time it happened she wanted to say to the girl, “Is this still a thing, that only lesbians have short hair? Can’t pretty much anyone have short hair now?” But then she was like, Eh, yolo, and they made out."

"Sleeping Beauty was inexplicably depressed and spent the entire day checking her email. But then she somehow ended up watching YouTube videos of regular people covering Mumford & Sons songs, and, okay, that Taylor Swift song “Begin Again,” and something about it was really beautiful and made her feel like she’d connected with someone and someone understood how she felt and she wasn’t alone."

My Hood

Okay, is it just me or is that a black hole?

Ghost?

DEMON!?

Judgy Wudgy Was A PIZZA PLACE

Okay, Dominos.

Fuck you.

So, maybe I was in a bit of a mood last night. And maybe I ordered some pizza. And maaaybe I ordered a dessert. I needed that dessert, okay. I needed that chocolate. My soul was crying out for it.

If you're working at Dominos, and someone orders a chocolate lava cake, and you're out of cake, what do you think a reasonable substitution is? Cinnamon bread? Cheese bread? Some sort of other carb?

No.

They sent me a salad.

WAY TO FUCKING JUDGE ME DOMINOS.

I need something sweet.

Cry me a riverrr.

I am becoming far more sensitive in my old age.

I mean, I've always been a delicate flower. Yell at me and I break down, it's just my natural reaction, which can be awkward at work let me tell you. I do tend to cry a LOT. Especially if there is any note of criticism in my father's voice---I am such a daddy's girl that way.

Anyway, that's not the sensitivity I'm talking about though. I mean specifically, I didn't used to cry at fictional situations. Movies, TV, books, I was an impenetrable fortress of emotion. NO TEARS. I remember "Pay It Forward" made me sob, and the fifth season finale of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" totally tore out my heart....basically, deaths only. Other than that, I have never been easily swayed by the machinations of writers or directors. You cannot tug at my heartstrings. I WILL NOT BE MOVED.

Recently, though, I find myself tearing up at, well...everything. A manipulative commercial. A terribly cheesy TV show. Musical movies. Blind kittens. Lonely old people. Disease. War. Broken hearts. Weddings. Spilled milk.

What is wrong with me?

*cries*

Maybe, as I approach that quarter century mark, I'm actually starting to give a shit about other people? Maybe I'm developing empathy, or sympathy, or whatever? MAYBE I'M NO LONGER A ROBOT?

I don't know.

But I really need to stop crying in public.

The Self Compassion Diet

A few weeks ago I was hanging out with an old friend that I haven't seen in awhile, and made an offhand comment about myself that I didn't really think about. Until she immediately replied, "Why would you say that? You're really hard on yourself."

It's interesting, getting a little perspective on yourself from an outside source.

Because she's totally right. I am extraordinarily hard on myself, and I don't really know why that is. I always have been. But I've been having  more issues with it recently: I try to go easy on myself which results in indulging in bad behavior which makes me feel guilty when I don't WANT to feel guilty and BAM. Self-destructive cycle INITIATED. Abort code is classified information. 

This article was exactly what I needed to read after this weekend.

A few choice quotes:

"People who find it easy to be supportive and understanding to others, it turns out, often score surprisingly low on self-compassion tests, berating themselves for perceived failures like being overweight or not exercising."

“I found in my research that the biggest reason people aren’t more self-compassionate is that they are afraid they’ll become self-indulgent,” said Dr. Neff, an associate professor of human development at the University of Texas at Austin. “They believe self-criticism is what keeps them in line. Most people have gotten it wrong because our culture says being hard on yourself is the way to be.”

“Self-compassion is the missing ingredient in every diet and weight-loss plan,” said Jean Fain, a psychotherapist and teaching associate at Harvard Medical School who wrote the new book “The Self-Compassion Diet” (Sounds True publishing). “Most plans revolve around self-discipline, deprivation and neglect.”

I took the test. And I am really not self-compassionate.

This article made me think of an anecdote I've heard many times about the American attitude towards food and indulgence. Basically, when a group of Americans is offered cake and asked to say the first thing that comes to mind, they choose words like "guilt" or "shame". When French people are presented with the same challenge, they said "celebration".

Our societal attitudes towards dieting and nutrition are just so fucked up.

Food for thought.

But not REAL food. Because I'm not hungry.

Nope. I'm not.

Monday Man Musings

You know you live in LA when you can accurately predict the company a potential suitor works for based on the vague descriptions in their profile. Or maybe just big cities in general?

ShoeDazzle? Check.
Grindr? Check.
BeachBody? Check.

Hilaaaaarious.

So, speaking of online dating, like that opening there was just absolutely random in nature and not at all intended as a lead-in, last night I went on my first date since rebooting my profile a few weeks ago. He was perfectly nice. Really. We had a good conversations, he was funny, he bought me wine, he did not set off my creepdar (like gaydar, but for creeps). But I had zero desire to tear his clothes off with my teeth. Sure, I'm sure one can DEVELOP that animalistic instinct, but I am not optimistic that it will happen in this case.

Plus, okay, here's the thing: I am attempting to show growth as a human being, so I have started replying to gentlemen who perhaps don't meet my preferred height requirements. (Growth pun totally unintentional.) I'm no gazelle myself so I should really not be so picky. But see, my assumption is that if a guy says on his profile that he's, say, 5'9 or shorter, he's probably exaggerating just a wee bit. (Heh. Wee bit.) At least an inch, maybe two. And the fellow from last night claimed to be a solid 5'8, but I really don't think he was more than two inches taller than me...max. So, my theory remains intact, and I'm really glad I wore flats.

Basically, I just don't like feeling bigger. Even now that I'm significantly lighter, standing next to a guy in my height range makes me feel like a lumbering giantess, all boobs and hips and hair. I felt like I could probably squash this slight fellow with the weight of my bodaciousness. Plus, I can't wear heels. So yeah, not so hot for the thin, short guys. Give me a buff, broad shouldered one and we'll talk.

Anywho! I don't know if he'll ask for a second date, or if he picked up on the friends-only vibe, or what. But I have another date set up for tomorrow. I KNOW I'M SUCH A WHORE. Law student, tall, has a sexy name. I do enjoy a sexy name.

I'm sort of disconnected from the process this time around, which is probably a good thing. I really have zero expectations. My motivation is just to get out of the house and have a conversation with a penis-haver who isn't feline in origin. So, by that measuring stick, every date will be a success!

You know, until I actually like one of them. Feelings complicate EVERYTHING.

We'll just deal with that rickety, hazardous bridge when we come to it.

Caturday

So, I woke up this morning, face to face with Tree.

And this was the sequence of events.

Happy Caturday!

"I'm living on such sweet nothing..."

New Calvin Harris song featuring my goddess, my inspiration, Ms. Florence Welch.

Enjoy!

FUCKING FRIDAY!

I love Friday.

It's sort of sad.

All I ever wanted out of life was to NOT be one of those people who wakes up on Monday morning and thinks to themselves, "Five days till Friday!"

But I totally am.

And it's fucking FRIDAY.

Today is awesome because:

1) I went to yoga for the first time in...let's just say awhile. Even though I know I will feel better if I go, it has been very hard to drag my ass to class. And of course, I do feel better now. It's kind of annoying.

2) After almost two years working here, I have finally memorized the bank deposit address. I AM THE BEST RECEPTIONIST EVER.

3) I am in the process of cleaning out my inbox. I've already reduced it from nearly 5,000 to under 2,000 so we are making PROGRESS. AND I've unsubscribed from a wide variety of newsletters that I never read. I feel so freeee. Is it weird that I love clearing out my inbox?

4) IT'S FRIDAAAAAY!

Baby Elephants Are My Soul

I've always thought I wanted a tattoo. I used to say that once I thought of a design I really liked, I'd wait six months before getting it so I could be absolutely sure...but I've had a design in mind for over a year now, and  have yet to get it. We'll see if I ever do.

Anyway, relevant point is that this tattoo features a baby elephant, because this is my spirit animal, basically. From my oldest stuffed animal to my assortment of figurines.

And I was on Jezebel this evening and came across this article. Baby elephant orphan is adopted and taken care of by a woman whose life I would very much like to steal. They cuddle. 

OMFGBABYBABYLOOKATTHEELLIEIWANTTOPLAYYYYY.

My soul is so happy right now. Everything I want  in life.

His name is Moses.

*dies*

Change: A Tutorial

That's a Tree.

Songs for fall...

I want to put these songs on a playlist, curl up with some tea and a cozy blanket and a purring kitty, and maybe eat something pumpkin flavored.

Too bad it's still fucking 80 million degrees in LA.

Fuck you, global warming.

Hope you like!

"I Will Wait" by Mumford & Sons
     -This song absolutely KILLS ME. When the chorus swells and his voice breaks slightly I just die of a musical orgasm.



"Fire" by Ingrid Michaelson
     -Love me some Ingrid. I like the new album, sounds a lot like Sara Bareilles. I think they're buds.



"Ho Hey" by The Lumineers
     -First heard this song in yoga and it just puts a goofy smile on my face.



"North Side Gal" by J.D. McPherson
     -I just love this vibe. Makes me wanna boogie.

"Draw me like one of your French girls."

WHO WANTS TO SEE SOMETHING AMAZING?

I know, I know. You do.

Cats That Look Like Pinup Girls

YOU ARE WELCOME.