The Four Man Plan

 Disclaimer: I can’t take credit for this effectively devised plan, but I’d like to shake the hand of the woman (or probably man) who did.

I first heard about this ‘plan’ from a certain male friend of mine (who’s identity I’m not at liberty to reveal,) while discussing my newly acquired ‘maturity.’ Or as I’d like to call it, a dry spell. You see, everyone who knows me was surprised to learn that I didn’t have physical contact with a single man on my East Coast trip this summer by myself. They were even more surprised that I returned from Europe recently with not even an international pen pal. I won’t lie, I surprised myself, but chalked it up to simply ‘getting older.’ I’ve dated a lot in the past 7 years. I’m pretty sure I’ve dated about 79% of the straight male population in Los Angeles, as well as 2% of the questionably straight. When that didn’t work, I started venturing out to my second favorite US city, New York. I even managed to dabble in other, less exciting parts of the country. No dice.

“You need to get on ‘The Four Man Plan,” my friend said to me. At first I thought he was suggesting I get on some kind of diet, which almost caused me to knee him in the taint. Then I found out he WAS suggesting  I get on a diet. A dating diet.

Apparently it’s as easy as it sounds, except it’s not. All you need to do is have 4 guys (or girls, depending on your preference. The plan does not discriminate, and neither should you) on dating rotation in order to avoid getting emotionally attached to any of the participants. Sounds great in theory, especially if you really like one of them, because you’re not focusing all of your attention on said participant. Everyone knows everyone is more attractive to someone when they are not as attainable, because we are a sick race. We’ve also learned though history that everyone wants to be wanted. Thus, the plan is designed with all of this in mind.

Unfortunately for me, I don’t really have the time or energy for this plan so I’d never succeed. Plus, I don’t usually like a lot of people after the second date, so the plan would fall apart very very quickly. Maybe in 2012.

To all the rest of you, try it out for yourself. In the words of the great (yet sometimes not so wise with his words) John Mayer, “No one likes to be alone at Christmastime.”

You Can't Win If You Don't Play

Have you ever dated someone who you believed was so out of your league, that you wouldn't care if this surreal relationship ended in a murder/suicide tragedy at the hands of your extra special someone? Neither have I. (Although I think I've come close to going down that street recently but it's temporarily closed for construction.)

I imagine that is what women who date George Clooney are thinking. Or at least that's what I would think if I were dating him. I would simply treasure the trips to Lake Como with Matt and Luciana and try to move on from the best 4-8 months of my life.

The reality of my life is that, according to about 79.8% of my friends, I have been known to date below my potential.  But I've always considered myself somewhat of a slutty Make-A-Wish Foundation. I've never really had a "type." I think of dating more like the lottery: You can't win if you don't play.  Basically if you have the ability to make me laugh, you also have the ability to make me take my clothes off.

For reasons I don't absolutely comprehend, my friends seem to have me on some sort of pedestal. (It's not very high.) Don't get me wrong,  there are a few who have tried to pawn me off to any and every unfortunately dull Tom, Dick, and Harry this side of Rancho Cucamonga, and those friends can no longer be trusted in 'set-up' situations. But for the most part, they seem to be on to me in the sense that I can't trust my own taste in men. Which seems to be where the problem lies.

Let's be honest, I'm no spring chicken. Things are starting to fall apart by the day, and I need to get my ass (literally) back into sextable shape due to one too many dozen chocolate croissants smeared with Nutella on my recent European escapade. If there was ever a time to lower my standards, it would be now. However, I've decided to turn this ship around and head for some greener pastures. I'm looking to start frying some bigger fish. I'm going to start playing for the jackpot instead of the scratch-off tickets, if you will.

How To Succeed in Europe Without Really Trying

Bonjour! I've been back from my European extravaganza for a week now, and while I do miss eating chocolate bread smothered with Nutella every morning, I'm glad to be back in the land of toilet seat covers and gay men everywhere. I would like to take this opportunity to share some observations/pointers from my experiences:

-If I told you I didn't experience any jet lag whatsoever would you believe me? It's true. Nobody understands how that happened... Including me. But then again, I'm also the person who runs a half marathon and then waits tables for 5 hours after. And the kind of person who does strenuous exercise, then gives blood, then drinks margaritas immediately after. (I've also been known to have a slightly mild case of narcolepsy.) But when all else fails, chase a Benadryl with a nice glass of red wine and zzzzzzzzz...

-The fact that I survived 4 cities in Italy with SO MANY TOURISTS and managed to come back without a foreign criminal record is an accomplishment I'm extremely proud of. I love Asian people, I really do. In a perfect world, I would produce an adorable set of boy/girl twins, and then adopt myself a future United Colors of Benetton catalogue with two different types of Asian babies. But the world isn't perfect. And neither are Asian tourists. They travel in large packs, they walk ridiculously slow, and they stare at things FOR. EVER. If you see a large group of them, do whatever you can to walk as far ahead of them as possible, or kill yourself. On the upside, if you need someone to take a picture of you, always ask an Asian. They are eager to please and always happy to help. (Which oddly enough is what also makes them great massage therapists.) Also, they are the least likely to take off running with your camera. God bless Asians.

-Europe seems to operate on a different "gaydar" frequency. I learned that the hard way when I was fondled by my waiter in Rome. I still thought he was gay until he made animal noises at me and demanded I meet him by the toilet. Fortunately, I was able to resist his romantic advances. From that point on, and thanks to my brilliant little sister, I decided to assume no man was gay for the duration of my visit. It turns out NO man was gay anywhere. Just European and, at times, just plain creepy. Nevertheless, I managed to return to LA with my vagina unscathed. Hooray!

-All of that being said, it never really hurts to show a little cleavage. Cleavage is a universal language and it can really get you out of a bind when you don't know how to buy a subway ticket in a foreign country.

I hope these little tidbits of wisdom will help in the success of your future European endeavors. Until next time.

Here's a little "tip" for you...

I'm not going to lie, I'm an amazing waitress. Especially under the influence of alcohol... But that's a whole different story. I think every single person should wait tables for at least one week of their lives, no matter what kind of life you lead or were born into. Yes, it builds character, but waiting tables also makes you realize just how ridiculous and stupid people are. Here are a few tips to help you not be an asshole when you go out to get served:

1.) If you are over the age of 19 and ordering a Long Island Iced Tea not as a joke or during a bachelor/bachelorette party, you should really take a long, hard look at yourself. If you complain that your Long Island (or "Strong Island," as the classy folk call it) is not strong enough, you should probably speak to a professional about your problem. No judgement.

2.) If you give me 2 credit cards that decline for an $8 drink, you should have stayed home. Times are tough sometimes and that's ok. Let's not embarrass the both of us. Sometimes it's not in the cards.

3.) If you ask for a to-go box for your french fries, you're really disgusting. I speak from experience when I say old, cold fries are disgusting. Next day fries are even worse. Cut your losses.

4.) If you call me over frantically because you're ready to order and then you ask me, "what's good?" and proceed to FINALLY take a look at the menu, you're a real asshole. Get back to me when you have a plan. I have better things to be doing. Like facebooking. Same goes for people who make up menu items that don't exist on the menu because they can't be bothered to read and see what we actually have. When you assume,  you're only making an ass out of yourself. I have nothing to do with your stupidity.

5.) If you are vegan or gluten-free and you are at a place with a bar, chances are we may not be able to accommodate you. Take care of that on your own time. It's not my responsibility to keep up with your dietary restrictions, just like it's not my responsibility to keep up with the Kardashians. I can offer you something in a green olive from our fruit tray. Take it or leave it.

6.) If you order a drink and then vanish, leaving me walking around in circles with your drink in my hand wondering if I hallucinated your order, you're an asshole. At least wait until I get back or let me know where to leave your midori sour. Thanks.

7.) Farting in your waitress's personal space IS NEVER OK UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE. You'd be surprised how often this has happened to me. It's never ok to fart on anyone. Except maybe your roommate. (Depending on your dynamic, it can be really funny.)

8.) If you ask me to list all 19 beers we carry and then order the first one I said, you should know you're kind of an asshole. Stop me when you hear your beer!

9.) If you ask me if we have Diet 7up, Diet Dr. Pepper, or Coke Zero, ask yourself how many bars you've been to that carry any of those? If you can name 3, I will pay the Mexican busboy to go to the nearest 7-11 and get you a liter of any of those.

10.) If I come over and ask you and your group if you need anything and you all just give me a blank stare and say nothing, you're not capable of being out in public because obviously you don't know how to act in society.

11.) If you are part of a birthday or any special occasion and you have a cake and you don't offer me a piece, but you take the ENTIRE leftover cake home, you're a FAT asshole. I've been waiting on you all day or night. The least you could do is offer me a piece of cake. In that instance, I will just politely offer to box the rest of it up for you, and then slice myself and my fellow co-workers off about an 8th of your cake. I play dirty.

12.) If you leave me a tip under 16% and then ask for my phone number, you probably won't get the correct one. Bad tippers are a HUGE turn-off.

And last but not least... This is one of my biggest pet peeves:

13.) If you are practically having sex in front of me, there is obviously something else you'd rather be doing. GO HOME AND DO IT! Stop eating bread in front of the poor, as they say. I'm all for people having sex. Go get it!

This has been a public service announcement. You're welcome.

Save the Date

"I think we both make people not like us." (Actual text from my roommate, Kenny Kelleher, last Friday at 1:05am.)

"Oh yeah? No shit." (Actual text back from me, last Friday at 1:05 am.)

In the almost 6 years of living together, neither of us has had a boyfriend. Well, I've come close. And by close, I mean a couple of seemingly promising long-distance relationships. (So actually, not close.)

People can never believe that either of us are single. I can't say that I blame them. I mean, we're pretty awesome. So awesome that I kind of think we THINK we're more awesome than we actually are, proving Kenny's theory that, in fact, "We both make people not like us." The point is, if we both had a dollar for every time people asked us why either of us are single, we could live somewhere where we aren't constantly woken up by leaf blowers, trash trucks, construction, ambulances, motorcycles, saxophones, opera, and car radios.

December of 2012 will be 7 years of living together. Thus, we will be "Common Law Married." Time flies when you're scaring the shit out of each other in your apartment. It's only right that we have a ceremony to celebrate our domestic bliss. And although I'm pretty sure he'd like to be registered at either 7-11 or Taco Bell, logic tells me we should definitely register for a nice set of plates for all the cooking we never do. We are grown adults who eat our take-out and fast food off of mismatched plates with cartoon characters on them. I'm not proud.

Also, if anyone has a connection to Katy Perry or Beyonce and could get them to perform at our ceremony, that would be awesome.

Bridesmess

I don't go to many weddings. I live in LA, so I don't really know people who get married. Therefore, weddings are a novelty to me and I love them, even though I usually break out into a reocurring rash all over my body when one is approaching. (True story.) But what's not to love? Lots of food, lots of drinks, DANCING, people happy and optimistic about love and the future (unlike my daily life.) I haven't been to many weddings, but my fondest memories are of one where I ended up in the hot tub of a certain television star with my closest friends, of which there is a lost tape circulating this earth. That was after I cried all my makeup off during the ceremony, of course.

The other fondest memory I have is of the only wedding I've ever been in. I was lucky enough to have my very best friends with me. That one ended in many different ways. One of those ways includes my "homosexual" roommate stripping my bridesmaid's dress off of me in the hotel room and forcing me to dance with him. (Ok, he didn't force me, per se...) The other ways, I'm not at liberty to discuss. Let's just say it was a lot of fun, and I cried BEFORE, DURING, and AFTER the ceremony. (See picture below.)

You're probably reading this and thinking "Who gives a shit, you crazy basket case?" I am, too.

This past weekend, I was somebody's wedding date for the first time! (My "homosexual" roommate's date.) Shocking, since from what you have read above, I'm a good time at a wedding. Personally, I was looking to make a living out of being a professional wedding date. But then my good friend Steve pointed out that that position has already been created. "They're called 'escorts.'" Touche, Steve.

What I learned form that wedding, aside from the fact that if you have an empty seat next to you, you can get two different entrees and pawn one of them off as the invisible guest's next to you, is that bridesmaids are supposed to smile when walking down the aisle and not look like they just watched "Marley & Me." Note taken for the next wedding I'm in. I also learned that while I love my cocktails, I should probably not get wasted if/when I have a wedding day of my own. I'm going to have to speak to people and most importantly, my husband will be expecting to finally get a piece of this... Wait...

I will work on my game plan. All I know is Kenny and I on the dance floor is definitely on the itinerary at any wedding. We also do bachelor parties and bar mitzvahs.

Luchana Gatica: The Black Man's Kryptonite

It's no secret that Kim Kardashian and I have a few things in common: We both have some junk in the trunk (although i don't really think my junk fills up the trunk as much as hers, or as my friend Scott Cushing would describe her, "She looks like she's wearing adult diapers,") we both suffer from psoriasis (a big shout out to Kim for making psoriasis, and asses, cool) and we are both popular among African American males ages 12-99.                         

(If you thought I was going to say "We've both made tapes we're not proud of," then I guess we will just have to wait a little longer to see what happens when I get famous.)

I've had a busy week when it comes to that last example. 

Sometimes I think it might be all in my head... Until I walk into a room full of these gentlemen and feel like I'm walking through a prison (see my comedy routine,) or the Main Room at the Comedy Store on a Tuesday night. That is precisely where things took a turn this week.                                            

This can only mean two things: A.) I need to up my cardio regimen. B.) They can sense that I am 'uncharted territory' when it comes to the chocolate thunder, kind of like how all the Cullens are oh-so-eager to suck Bella's blood in "Twilight."

Saturday night was particularly special when we had several basketball players at my place of employment. Need I say more? Obviously. Let's just say, as I was leaving, my boss was re-enacting what he saw every time I went over to the table in question. Let's also say that I'm going to start requesting extra security on nights like those or at least someone to escort me to my car, as I don't feel safe in my work environment and also feel like my sexual health is in jeopardy.

Sunday is the Lord's day. One would hope they would be a little more tactful when oggling... Especially at hospitals. As I was getting a visitor's pass, I could feel stares behind me. My suspicions were true. As I was walking out my friend said to me, "Did you see those..." And I stopped him immediately and said, "Yes. Staring. I know all about it."

The moral of the story is 2013 is right around the corner, and we are all aware of the pact I've made before God and my 19 faithful followers. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you should subscribe to my blog and stay in the loop. Big things happening. Until then, hold on to your do-rags.

25 Things You May Or May Not Know About Me

I know all my blog readers have been on the edge of their seats waiting for my latest entry. I apologize, but my juices have only been flowing for new stand up material which is not necessarily suitable for internet audiences. I figured that instead of just not writing, I would give you all a little insight about me. Some of these facts are important and some are as useless as my roommate on a Monday afternoon during a rerun marathon of America's Next Top Model. You're all welcome.

Here are 25 things about me:

1.) I would eat sticks of butter if it were socially acceptable and I didn't think my ass would multiply like Gremlins. (AKA a perfect world.)

2.) I have a tiny scar right under my nose from an unforgettable tantrum I threw back in '88 when my mom sent me to my room and I rolled onto a wooden clog that got stuck to my face. (I like to think that was the beginning of a very promising career path as a performer.)

3.) I have never wanted to do anything other than pursue acting and I don't think I ever will.

4.) If I knew when I moved here that it was going to take me this long to make something of myself, I would have started dating for money about 3 years ago.

5.) My longest (and best) relationship has been with the gay man I have been living with for the past 5+ years. We will soon be married under "Common Law." (That is both depressing and awesome.)

6.) You can always tell when I'm drunk because I smile a lot and get quiet. (Unless I'm dancing on any type of surface, which is also a huge indication of my intoxication.)

7.) You can always tell when I'm about to get my period because my boobs really do get a lot bigger (so awesome) and I'm a raging bitch who will eat anything on anyone's plate.

8.) I will eat anything on anyone's plate no matter what time of the month it is.

9.) EVERY man who has ever crossed me has come crawling back with his tail between his legs. (There have been too many of those.)

10.) My godfather is Julio Iglesias, but I've never met Enrique. I'm actually okay with that because his music makes me want to scratch my eyes out with my toenails.

11.) I don't watch ANY REALITY TV, WHATSOEVER. I think it is THE DEVIL.

12.) I have seen the movie 'Clueless' over 150 times.

13.) When I was little, I had posters of Tiffani-Amber Thiessen (AKA Kelly Kapowski) all over my bedroom walls. My brother thought I might turn out to be a lesbian.

14.) I had a really unfortunate fat stage from about 4th grade til I got my heart broken at 14. (See picture for this blog.)

15.) When I lost all the weight, my mother would bribe/blackmail me with my fat pictures and would threaten to show boyfriends of mine if I didn't do what she asked.

16.) I want everything to do with anything containing the word "truffle" in it.

17.) I will do absolutely anything for somebody I love. Friend, family, or significant other.

18.) I won 2 beauty pageants in Texas before I moved to LA.

19.) I got to work with Spike Lee and Mariah Carey on a short film and it was the single most rewarding day I've ever had as an actress.

20.) I can (and have) flirt my way out of anything.

21.) When I was young, my mom always told me to only eat what I wanted on my plate. That plan backfired on everyone because now I eat everything on everyone's plate... As previously stated.

22.) I grew up riding in Rolls Royces, Lamborghinis, and Jaguars, and having a dozen servants, but I've never been unemployed since I my first job at 15.

23.) I've met Tiffani-Amber Thiessen twice in my life and declared my love for her both times.

24.) My biggest dream of becoming successful is to be able to take all my friends and family to dinners, vacations, and pay for it all!

25.) I'm pretty sure I was black in my past life.

2013: The Year of the Black Man

The world is coming to an end and I have never dated or been with a black man. This is for no particular reason. I am not racist, being a minority myself. I just never have.

If you have ever seen my stand-up or have been in the same as room as me with a black man or are a black man yourself, you know that there are 3 certainties in this life: Death, taxes, and the fact that if there is a black man within 100 feet of me, he will hit on me.

Fact: Black men have QUITE a way with words. These things have been said to me by said individuals:

-"Damn girl, look at them legs. Imma call you squat rack."
-"MMM... you are a BRICK... HOUSE."
-"You keepin' that body BAM BAM."
-"Damn girl, you got booty! I see you with them shorts on." (That was actually a black woman.)

Charming.

And last week one followed me through a CVS drug store, right into the tampon aisle, and hit on me while I was holding a box of Tampax. (Regular, in case anyone was wondering. Aunt Flo is fairly good to me.) When he finally stopped talking to me, I just looked at him and he then realized what was in my hands. Embarrassed, he said," Ohhh, I didn't realize what aisle we was in..." to which I responded, "That's what you get for following someone around an entire store." And walked away.

After that courteous exchange, I lovingly threatened God. I mean, I've been single for 6 years. Maybe I could be in Happily Ever Afterville by now if I took one of the many 762,913 advances that came my way. Maybe.

I told (threatened) God that if I'm still single by the time I'm 30 in 2 years, I will cross over to the 'dark side.' For all I know, God is like "You stupid bitch, I've been trying to tell you that since your ass grew in. Take a hint!"I guess only time will tell...

Will You Marry Me... Anyone?

With all this "Royal Wedding" stuff, (which, frankly, I don't care about) I started thinking about weddings in general. Well, let's be honest, I'm a woman and I have thought about this since I walked Barbie and Ken down the aisle before I took off all their clothes and forced them to have plastic doll sex. That is what little girls do.

According to the life-plan schedule I made when I was approximately 8 years old, I was supposed to be married by now. With at least one kid on the way. (And by "at least," I mean that I was/am supposed to have twins... Boy/girl twins.) Just like J-Lo. We have so much in common.

20 years later, I live in LA. I rest my case. I'm not saying I would want to be married right now, where I am today. Frankly, when I think about being in a committed relationship, sometimes I think I would rather join the Witness Protection Program. Sometimes. I'm working on it. HOWEVER, it would be nice to have been asked by now. I remember being a little girl and thinking, "What if I grow up and no one ever wants to marry me or asks me to marry them?!" And then I thought, "That would never happen. My mom was married at 19... And 27... And 38." Basically, my biggest little girl fear is on it's way to being realized.

I never thought I would be 28 and living with my gay soulmate and scaring the shit out of him and vice/versa 24 hours a day, but that's pretty cool, too. Plus, as my mom said, I can't leave Kenny alone. He will have to come with me when I get married, so we better step our game up.

Bottle Rat Status: RETIRED

There are a lot of things that I don't want to do that I will do for my friends. Drive them to the airport at 4am, delete their ex from facebook. I would even help a friend who suspects she has lost a feminine product inside of her, because I know they would do (and HAVE done) all of those things for me. What I DON'T want to do is go to a Hollywood club.

I would have never in 2 million years thought I would ever utter those words. It seems I've come a long way from the young bottle rat* who landed in LA 8 years ago with big dreams and cubic zirconias dangling from her pierced belly button, which she exposed EVERYWHERE she went. (Yes, even at work. No, I was not a stripper... But I'm sure I could've fooled a few people.) I remember the days when my roommates and I would spend all of our money buying new outfits on Melrose so we could go to all the hot spots with our fake ID's that we bought from Alvarado Street, just to see Britney and Justin under the same roof post-breakup. (We were there the night of the infamous "dance-off," not a big deal.) So broke, we would order 1 Long Island Iced Tea and share it between the 3 of us until we found some suckers to buy us drinks. After parties in pools with married A-Listers (unknown to us.) Oh, Hollywood...

Maybe I grew out of clubbing 3 nights a week, maybe I've grown up, or maybe working at Hyde for 8 months and seeing how awful people who go out 3 or 4 nights a week are when you're on the other side of it really got to me. There seems to be a direct correlation between working there and when I became fed up. I think once you are handed a carafe full of vomit from a drunk slut without warning, the "fun" aspect of nightlife goes out the window. (Yes, that happened to me, because those things ONLY happen to me.)

Things I rather do these days: Happy Hour and pass out in my bed to questionable CW programming, terrorize kids with my affection, spend an evening at the Grove watching a movie and eating at the Cheesecake Factory. I'm happy to have retired my half-shirts to a new generation of bottle rats, and happy to be left with only stories that I can tell my grandchildren... Or sell to the tabloids.

*Bottle Rat- the girl(s) at the club waiting for guys to buy them drinks/bottles. (See picture above.)

I'd Like to Know Victoria's Secret.

I've always thought lingerie seems like a fun concept. It's been a really long time since I've come in contact with any which is one of the perks AND downfalls of being single for a VERY long time. (Perk: Saving a lot of money. Downfall: Slowly dying alone.)

I like lingerie, even though I don't really understand it. It makes sense in movies but I just don't understand how it works unless you are jumping out of a cake or wearing it before the recipient arrives at your destination. But if you and the person you are wearing it for are in the same place do you go to the bathroom to change? I guess it would be stupid to put it on in front of them. And are you supposed to wear high heels? So you come out of the bathroom all of a sudden in lingerie and heels and then you wear it for like 10 minutes or so? All of the logistics confuse me. I remember giving a friend of mine advice on this subject a few years ago when I knew things, but now I'm rusty and confused.

Anyway... I'm currently in the market for some lingerie (for reasons I'm not at liberty to discuss,) so I decided to make a trip to Victoria's Secret today. It was highly unsuccessful. I felt like I was 12 years old, shopping for my first bra.

First of all, they don't have as big of a selection as one would think unless you are a bride-to-be. I learned that the hard way. I saw the big section of white, lacy, pretty, girly white lingerie and thought "Spring!" "This seems like a good color for my skin tone." It would be... If the tags didn't say "I Do" on them. Good thing the sales girl in the dressing room asked me when the big day was. That was a lot of fun.

Also, the lighting in the dressing rooms is enough to give somebody an eating disorder.

In the future I will probably order from the catalogue so I can try it on in the privacy of my own home and skip the part where I try to hang myself with a garter.

Roses are red, Valentine's Day is stupid.

I've never been a fan of Valentine's Day. Not just because I'm bitter and I've been single for 6 years, I just don't like the pressure. If a girl comes home empty-handed to a a guy on Valentine's Day, it's all good in the hood. If a guy comes home empty-handed on Valentine's Day, HOLD ON TO YOU FUCKING HATS. That's not fair.

BTW... As I'm writing this, a uterine contraceptive commercial is playing.

Now a match.com commercial is playing. (True story. I swear on my birth control pill.)

Thanks, universe, I get it.

The moral of my story is that I'm happy as a clam. Is that a saying? I feel like I've heard it, but I'm not sure. It doesn't make sense, but I swear I've heard it.

I am really happy, though. I know people say that, and (truth be told,) I usually want to punch those people right in the larynx, but I really am. I look back on so many douchebags that I've dated. Guys that picked the rice off of their sushi (true story,) guys that wore really deep v-necks, and guys that weren't interested in sleeping with me (if you know what I mean.) Gross.

I get to have a wonderful life with people I love who make me smile and laugh and have adventures with. I'm really lucky. So Valentine's Day can take it's pre fix menus and shove them.

I'm gonna watch my questionable CW programming now. Goodnight.

AMBER ALERT!!!

I've never had a problem with getting older. I've always had older friends, dated older men (daddy issues.)
When I turned 25 and found my first gray hair, I plucked it out. When one hair became lots, I just kept (keep) plucking them out. No problem. I've always enjoyed getting older. Every year has always seemed to be better than the last. I appreciate myself more each year. I learn and grow more. I'm happy and healthy and grateful.

Well, now it seems my body is starting to turn on me. I take back everything I've ever said about embracing age.

This week my lower back decided to start acting like a bitch. I've been a runner for years and have never had any issues with my body. I used to dance and do gymnastics and have always been very very active. Now all of a sudden it feels like someone is constantly rubbing Icy Hot on my lower back for no reason. I got a massage and thought the problem was solved until Queen Latifah's girlfriend kicked my ass in the gym today.

Another awesome thing that happened was I thought my boobs were getting bigger which was really exciting... until I realized so was everything from the waist down. We're not in Kansas anymore. I can't eat cake 3 days in a row without consequences. (But I did it anyway this week.)

Even so, I can deal with all of that. I'm an adult, shit happens, I get it. But what really has me concerned is my potentially threatening case of BABY FEVER!!!!!!!

WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?????!!!!!!!!!!!!

I've been single for 6 years and up until last year, I was never really sure if I wanted kids. Let's just say  if I don't have kids in 5 years, I fear for the safety of other people's children. More that I already do. I feel so betrayed by my biological clock. How did this happen to me??? I'M SINGLE! I'm in no position to have a kid, so why the fuck is my body getting ridiculous ideas???! I used to think babies were so annoying. I used to cross my fingers every time I saw a baby come onto an airplane I was on, hoping and praying that it would be nowhere near me. It ALWAYS would be. Crying and screaming as I gave the parents dirty looks and set my alarm to take my birth control pill.

Now I can't stop creepily staring at EVERY BABY I SEE. Like "Hand That Rocks the Cradle" style. You know you're getting older when, at a party, you gravitate towards the babies instead of the cute guys. A baby threw up in my perfectly coifed curls recently and I could have cared less. I would let a baby throw shit like a monkey at me if it would make him/her love me. (Okay, maybe I took it a little too far with that last statement, but I probably would allow it.)

So basically this is a cry for help. In the words of Antoine Dodson, "hide yo kids."

I Will Never Be On 'Mad Men...' (and other short stories)

I know all of you 9 followers have been on the edge of your seats, waiting for my next blog entry. I'm sorry. I've been really busy doing things. I made my first New Year's resolution (which I'm failing miserably at.) I am resolving to keep a journal of my life, since apparently I don't remember things no matter how important (or not) they are, such as guys I've gone out with, which can really get awkward. Guess how many journal entries I've written in 25 days: 1. Awesome.  

Also, I turned 28 last week, which is really exciting because I enjoy getting older. No, really...I do. Mostly I just love having a birthday party. Fun fact: A certain young gentleman I know who wasn't able to make my party offered me an hour of oral sex to make up for it. Not sure what to do with that, but if anyone is interested I can ask him if it's transferrable.

I watched 'The King's Speech' the other night. Great movie. I really wish I could do a British accent, except I realized that probably won't be coming in handy for me... ever. I will never be cast as a British person which got me thinking something I have already thought about before. I will NEVER be on one of my favorite shows, Mad Men. Apparently they didn't have hispanic people back then. Even the housekeepers were not hispanic. Such an injustice.

Let me clean your house!!!!!!!!!