Women do get out of prison...

Once up on a time, I was having a particularly long week and I was having a little bit of drama, which is pretty rare.  Don't freak out, I wasn't preggo or anything close to that kind of drama.  Now,  Miss Sweet Home Alabama likes to call it Melrose drama.  I like it, and I am using it.

Back to the story at hand.  Miss Silky Hair asked me to go to a concert in Fort Worth on a random Wednesday night.  To pull myself out of the funk I was in, I said, what the hell?  I am in.  So after work, I headed that way.  We first met up at the Magnolia Motor lounge for some food, and it was good.  I had a crazy hot dog.  So then we headed over to the Capital Bar.  It's generally a stomping group for TCU cake eaters, but I didn't care.  Miss Silky Hair had brought her rough and tough beau, Mr. The Real Deal.  He makes me feel like if something were to happen, he would probably throw down and take his giant cowboy boot and that would be the end of it.  Perhaps they would just back off.  Mr. The Real Deal reminds me of Clint Eastwood, a bad ass.  That and he uses a lot of Tabasco while eating, which I think is cool. 

So a friend of Mr. The Real Deal comes to our little gathering.  He has giant arms and a dashing smile.  I liked him.  He was friendly and nice and later in the night, we were the last two talking.  I figured he was probably a half decent guy or my friends wouldn't have taken off if they thought I was going to get snatched in the parking lot.  So we chatted and laughed and for the first time in a long while, AND it was easy. 

SIDEBAR:  I do have a text boyfriend in Austin.  That's a whole other story.  He is sweet and perfect and I like him just that way.  Did I mention he lives in Austin?  Part of my awesome luck.

So this guy, we will call him Enrique.  He wasn't all Hispanic, but a bit of Italian too.  So he offered to walk me back to my car.  I almost dropped over with the offer.  I was like what a decent guy with manners. 
SIDEBAR: I am pretty sure meeting this guy had to do with my new very trendy haircut with the indie bangs.  I am just saying.

So he did and then I drove home.  He called me to make sure I made it.  I was like holy cow, I hope this guy calls me.  So he did, on the phone. NOT via text.  I was like OMG, is this the 90's?  He asked me how my day was and that he enjoyed my company and I found out we had many similar interests. 

Fast forward a week later.  I hadn't seen him, he would call me at the end of the day on his day off.  No plans developed, he went out of town and just as easily as he came into my life he was started to disappear.   How you make ask?  Well I will tell you.

I had breakfast this morning with some very good friends in the Fort Worth Stockyards.  So Enrique called Tuesday at around 3:15pm, and I was pretty sure he was stealth calling me.  You know when they call knowing full well they can't reach you and will be forced to leave a message.  Well played.  So he didn't leave a message and so I didn't call him back.  Why? Maybe he didn't even mean to call me!  So Miss Silky hair tells me this:  Enrique got a new number.  I was like OK.  Then she tells me the most insane story.  His girlfriend from back in the day was RELEASED FROM PRISON!  I was like of course.  I have a tractor beam on me that says, oh you're insane, then yes, you should like me.  I mean what?  That has to be only things that happen to ME!  So she says, well apparently she went to prison for signing something and they had shared bank accounts and this and that and she basically came back and this is what went down:

1) She called all the girls in his phone.  (probably my stealth call)
2) She made him get a new number
3) She made him delete his FB
4) They are back together

I am like, how do women get this power and can I take a course in how to do it.  What?  I mean she is like hey, I am out of prison, The End.

The Devil is a Dentist.

 Once upon a time, it was the day I needed to go get my cleaning at the dentist.  I HATE GOING TO THE DENTIST.  I would rather see any other doctor.  I'd rather go to the Gyno.   No one says that. 

So I go to the dentist, I am a bit early because I have a hockey game to go to with Ms. Chuck Taylor and her perfect husband Level 13.  I get there and I sign in and I sit down.  The lady at the front says my hygienist is running behind.  I am all ready annoyed.  So something like years later, I get called back.

 It's time for x-rays.  Damn it.  So the lady puts those uncomfortable pieces of film in mouth and snaps pictures.  Then I go back to the dental chair, and I sit, and sit, and sit.  Now I am going to miss my carpool to the AAC.  I am pissed.  So then I find out my dental hygienist that I actually didn't hate, but liked is gone.  Of course.  They were like "well your hygienist is still behind, do you mind if Gloria does your cleaning?  She's great."  LIAR!!!  So I get some crazy woman, name Gloria.  I am sure Gloria's goal in life is to scrap the outer lining of bone off my teeth.  She takes that pick and scraps my teeth to death.  THEN, she uses the fluoride cylinder drill thingy.  Mint.  Does she ask me what flavor I want?  Hell no.  I would pick pina colada  so I could at least day dream that I am on an island with an umbrella in my mouth.  Then she flosses.  At this point, I've missed my carpool and it's been almost an hour and a half.  I am really pissed now.  So then the dentist comes to see me.  She makes a comment about my beautiful blue eyes, but that isn't going to work.  So I tell her about the space where my crown and tooth meet and that it's a party for food to hang out at.  She then tells me that I could get fitted for another crown. 

 I immediately stated that it better be free.  I said, this is the second crown right now, I had it done here and I am not paying for another one.  She tells me that there is a fee.  Of course there is.  She says well you could get a night guard.  I tell her I all ready wear a retainer at night because I am also not ever getting braces again or for the remainder of my life.  Heaven forbid you just fix the damn thing.  So then I ask if there is anything medically wrong with that tooth or the tooth next store.  She says there is not, so then my question is why are we even talking about this?  There is a space, yes, I know.  I was making her aware, that is all.  I floss, food comes out, it's all good.  She says that she can watch the tooth.  Yea, you do that.  Watch it and make sure nothing goes wrong, isn't that what I am paying for?  For the love of Pete, it's like since I didn't have any cavities, they had to find something that they could charge for me for. So I go to the front and tell them I am not getting another crown and if I do need another one for any reason, it better be gold.  I want some bling in the back of my mouth if I have to go through that pain again.  I will be pimping in the back of my mouth, and cruising with my sweet skull gear shifter. 

So now I am leaving the office at 5:30 PM.  I have to run by the house, get money, throw on my red wings shirt and head out.  I park in the million dollar parking area and haul ass to the will call.  I had to park there because I was alone and didn't want to get snatched after the game.  You pay to park in a well lit area.  I think I will rather than die. 

I also didn't get a bobble head. 

The End.

The Worst Hangover EVER...

Once upon a time, I thought I was 21 again.  It started one Sunday, let me rephrase, Super bowl Sunday.  I woke up in a good mood thinking about queso and chips.  I was excited to see the half time show because I am a material girl and this is a material world.  Who doesn't love Madonna?  So I woke up thinking about what fabulous t-shirt I would be wearing since I knew my friend the Bar maiden would be working.  I feel like I am cheating on her when I wear a clever t-shirt.  I can hear her in my head say, "Diana, you need to look nice, what if you meet someone new?"  Well if I meet someone new, it would be first, a miracle, and second they should love me for my magnificent sense of humor.  So naturally I put on my Chris Farley, "I live in a van down by the river" shirt.  Awesome.  

So I head over to the Tiger's house, since he is having the Super bowl party.  I go a little early because for starters he asked me to help.  But the real reason is that he has the attention span of a goldfish.  Ooooh a castle….10 seconds later….ooooh a castle.  You get it.  So I arrive and the first thing he says is, "I think we need more Velveeta."  I freaking knew it.  I knew I would be sent to the store.  Now mind you, the day prior, we went to run errands for the party.  This was the Tiger's first trip to the Dollar Store.  It must be nice to roll deep with wads of cash bulging out of your pockets.  The benefit is that I can usually get a new Pez dispenser out of the deal if I help.  The Dollar Store is a staple in my life because I live on an actual budget and that store has 2 categories, according to my gaybors.  "Things to eat off of"  and "Things to wipe your ass with"    I will also like to add "Aisle O' Candy"  It has an excellent candy section which will include Pez.  The Tiger was in that aisle the longest.  Besides the errands, he needs someone to keep him on task.  He has also recently learned about "the list."  If you make a list, you know what you need.  It seems to make sense to me, and I of course, love to add items to his list, and then he finds them days later.  They include items like lube, tampons, mint chocolate chip ice cream.  Basically stuff that I find amusing or stuff that I want him to buy for me.

Back to the story at hand.  So I went to the store to get 2 things.  (since the Tiger hadn't even showered yet) Velveeta and Excedrin.  So I wandered around looking everywhere for Velveeta because no grocery store puts it in the same place.  Then there is NO Excedrin.  I am like what the heck?  So then I learn that there was a recall.  So I mention this to the Tiger, and he goes, oh yea.  Ugh.  He could have clued me in!  So I come back and he starts cooking chili, and I proceed to have a beer, then 2 more beers.  All is good, the gaybors arrive and we eat some Mexican dip and it is so awesome.  So I proceed to have a few more beers during the first quarter.  I am starting to feel pretty good.  I have a nice little buzz going.  We are all laughing and having a good time.  The Tiger is swearing like a sailor and my poor mother is twitching.  She can handle the F-bomb, but you have to know that this is a scene out of Good Fellas.  The Tiger is similar to Joe Pesci.  

I can imagine him yelling about the shine box to my mother.  My mother is viewed as an innocent, delicate little flower.   I mean she isn't compared to Martha Steward and June Cleaver for nothing.  So his friend arrives with her 2 friends.  His friend is clearly a professional drinker.  She is drinking something in a cup with ice.  That is like a mystery drink and probably stronger than a beer.  So people start to leave.  The Gaybors head to a movie because they don't give a crap about football.  So there is only a few of us left.  So around midnight or later, heck I don't know, we decide shots would be a great idea.  At this point, it is always a good idea.  So several shots later, I have reached beyond my limit.  I decide to do my magic trick and disappear to go to pass out. 

The next morning…

Where am I?  I am thirsty.  It's dark.  Oh shit, do I have to go to work?  

Well I was awake and I was certainly close to death.  Picture Bradley Cooper in the hangover.  Remember his bloodshot eyes?  Well, I looked exactly like that, I only I wasn't waking up in Vegas with a missing friend, I was looking at myself in the mirror. 

SIDEBAR - I am calling in sick if I ever feel this bad again.  Mark my words!  I go to work because how I feel after a power night of drinking is my fault.  What I have learned is that I am not 21, not even close, and that I am never going to work again if I feel as bad as I did that day. 

I arrived at work (how- I don't know.)  I got there, and the look I got from Miss Silky Hair and the Flamenco dancer was a look of true horror.  They knew.  They could look in my red, bloodshot eyes.  I went back to the break room to get coffee.  I sat there, took one sip.  Miss Silky Hair bought me 2 Rockstar Recoveries.  I went back to my desk to stare aimlessly at my computer screen.  The coffee went cold.  People started to panic around me.  The day I can't drink a cup of coffee, is almost like the apocalypse has begun. 

So if things couldn't get worse, I was super nauseated.  I mean, I thought an alien was going to spring out of my stomach like in Alien.  Instead, I calmly walked to the bathroom and hurled my ever loving guts out.  I thought, surly I will feel better now.  But just an hour later, the same feeling came back around and I had to hurl AGAIN! 

 SIDEBAR: the actual title to this picture is "woman in her 30's with a hangover"  I thought it was rather appropriate

 I decided that I was never drinking again.  Then, after wanting to die for several hours, Miss Booty Shaker took me to get a greasy burger to save me.  I went ahead and ordered the cheese fries.  Why not?  It could have been my last meal.  

The day drug on as I knew it would.  There was a moment where I even shut my office door and closed my eyes.  Just for second.  My luck, and it's always my luck, the second I shut my door, is when someone knocks on it.  I mean, my door is almost NEVER closed and the minute it is, some idiot wants something.  It makes me absolutely crazy.

So finally I leave to go home, and I crawl into the fetal position on the couch with my laptop.  It was time to order a pizza and cheezy bread.  I mean, why the heck not?  My stomach was still needing some comfort and I needed someone to deliver this to me.

Then I went to bed.  I am pretty sure it was like 8PM, but what the heck?  I was tired!

The End.

Quote from my best friend Mr. Pacman, "Always a Bridesmaid, Never a Bride"

Once upon a time, I was asked to be the MAID OF HONOR.  When you read that make sure you say it in a voice that echos.  I have never been chosen as the maid of honor, but I can tell you that I have been a bridesmaid half a dozen times.  With the Maid of Honor comes a sense of great happiness to me.  I mean, it's like being #1 or the MVP of the wedding.  I have learned a great many things while being in weddings, or even attending weddings.  Here is a quick break down:

1) When the bride asks you what you think about her soon to be groom, smile regardless of what you think, and say these words, "if you are happy, then I am happy."  Now I will add this disclaimer.  The older you get the more you find who your real friends are.  If you are over the age of 30, you can actually be honest...either way.  

2) The wedding will always be different then what you want.  Keep that it mind and when discussing details, just say you like their ideas and know that you don't have to do it that way if one day you get married.  SIDEBAR - there will be a Pez Bride and Groom on my cake.  I am not sure others would not want to do that.  That is why it would be on MY cheesecake Bride cake.  (yes, I prefer cheesecake) White cake is stupid.  Plus, think of all the different flavored cheesecakes you could stack.  HELLO! 

3) Make sure that if there is dancing, there is a Michael Jackson song played.  Michael Jackson is timeless.  I know that most people think it is Etta James, "At Last," but for me it's Michael Jackson.  You can not discredit a fine artist who created the song, "Dirty Diana"  I am just saying. ***this statement does not mean I don't have a romantic side, but you better have some insight into my soul before you choose a song that you think is going to get my attention.  I am an onion, and some cheezy Taylor Swift song isn't going to cut it.  Make a note.***

4) There should always be alcohol. Period.

5) The bridesmaids and Maid of Honor should always be clear that the Bride is in charge, and you will accommodate to her.  It's her day and you are there to be supportive.  You will wear whatever dress she has chosen for you.  SEE BELOW.

I once did this very act.  Now, later, I did write a tiny little article and I am just going to tell you that it blew up in my face.  I never meant to cause any hurt feelings.  It was just a dress I didn't care for.  At the end of the day, a dress is a dress.  If a friendship is strong, then it will last.  I truly believe that.  I blacked out the faces, which I should have done initially.  Hey, you live and you learn right?

Those are the wedding tips I have for you.  I am sure there are several others but this is what I find to be true.  I hope that the weddings you are chosen for are the ones where you are not taking bets on the divorce date.  I hope that even though you may attend 20 weddings, that your hope to find a soul-mate isn't the slightest bit diminished. 

I've been told I am "picky"  It doesn't piss me off any less than the first time I heard it several years ago.  I have a good life, I have good friends, and I would rather be with a man that feels like my best friend (besides Mr. Pacman - he has found his love, but he knows the real me) and wants to grow old with me, than settle on some schmuck.  I hope he is OK with looking older than me.  SIDEBAR - I moisturize.  I hope that he sees me for the real me, and I hope that he does little thoughtful things for me that shows me that he thinks I am the cat's meow.  I hope he will understand that I wake up like a bear and that he doesn't mind that I can't talk too early...

The End.

2012, The End of the World? or My Bucket List...

Once upon a time, I did see the movie, The Bucket List.  It's a good one, but I am sure like many others, it got my thinking.  I have a bucket list too.  Is it like my neighbor's?  my best friends?  Probably not.  But here goes nothing.

The Diana Bucket List...
(and no bungee jumping isn't on this list.  I am not about to snap my neck!)

1. Been a part of a hockey fight - a good one.
2. Skate backwards like Ms. Chuck Taylor
3. Watch a meteor shower
4. Swim with wild dolphins
5. Visit the Eiffel Tower
6. Watch a lightning storm at sea
7. Walk the stairs to the top of the Statue of Liberty
8. Eat a hot dog on the street in New York 
9. Buy a fake Rolex 
10. Visit the birthplace of my ancestors
11. Go on a midnight walk on the beach
12. Visit Ireland and drink a beer
13. Bench-press my own weight
14. Get scuba certified
15. Visit Australia
16. Take a swamp tour
17. Be in a movie
18. Get flowers for no reason
19. Get in a fight to defend someone's honor
20. Pick up and move to another city just to start over
21. Walk on the Golden Gate Bridge
22. Visit Alcatraz
23. Visit the Biggest Pez store in the world
24. Learn how to ride a motorcycle 
25. Drive a car faster than 100 mph
26. Have my picture in the newspaper
27. Go to Broadway to see a show
28. Visit the Fort Worth arboretum
29. Have dessert at Reunion Tower in Dallas
30. Ride a train so far you get to sleep on the train
31. Eat caviar
32. Ride an elephant
33. Publish my blog and make some cash money
34. Go deep sea fishing
35. Stay the night at a Ritz Carlton
36. Take a helicopter ride
37. Have my portrait painted
38. Learn to juggle
39. Get chosen for jury duty
40. Go to the Opera
41. Have a song dedicated to me at a concert or on the radio
42. Send a message in a bottle
43. See Old Faithful geyser erupt
44. Help solve a crime
45. Take a ballroom dancing class
46. Rent a convertible and drive to a Bed and Breakfast
47. Buy a new couch
48. Eat an entire lobster in Maine
49. Own a pair of real leather pants
50. Have someone make me breakfast in bed, with coffee, and served on a tray!

"I Love When A Plan Comes Together"

Once upon a time I found renewed hope in someone.  Someone I think I know pretty well.  Someone I thought was almost unreachable.  I think even I, the woman who looks at the cup half full had my reservations.  But as I grew to know and care, I could see perhaps there was a heart, deep down inside.  A bruised heart.  I often think that my time and effort is wasted at times, but today I could see it was not.  I gathered with some close friends for my favorite meal of lasagna.  I say that because it truly is my most favorite meal and I generally only get it on my birthday served by my mom.  Ms. Chuck Taylor was in attendance and her very sweet husband, Mr. Level 13. (12 is the highest level, but I think he is certainly a 13, or will be).  She always makes me laugh and I have to say that even in the short time I have known her, I would consider her in the top 5.  It's not easy to break into my top 5.  Many have come and gone.  The story of the top will have to be for another blog.  But you know you will be back to find out...Do it! 

SIDEBAR:  Ms. Chuck Taylor has a creative side to her which I very much enjoy.  Her selection in cards was great, and I have to say, I like tag-teaming with her in laughter over some very small inside joke. 

"num-chuck skills, bow hunting skills, hockey skills, eating cake skills, eating a second piece of cake skills..."

Today I saw that an impression must have been made this past August.  I arrived at the Tiger's house excited because I had a picture sent to my phone and there was a pile of presents.  I know that I am sadly not a kid anymore, but when I see presents, I can't help but get giddy with excitement when I know they are for me.  Earlier this month, I was asked, "well what do you want for Christmas?"  My response was, "you shouldn't have to ask, you should know me well enough to know what I like."  I stick by that statement.  I knew if the Tiger gave it some real thought, he would know that it doesn't ever matter what the gift is, it is all about the thought behind it.  It could be a candy bar, if that candy bar is my favorite kind.  I would be just as happy with that then a diamond bracelet.  Now, don't freak out, I didn't get a diamond bracelet.  I am just making a point. (although, know that I would definitely accept a diamond bracelet regardless).

Now I happen to be a bit of a PEZ collector.  If you know me, you know this is true.  I figure 300+ Pez dispensers makes you a collector.  So he got me the Orange County Chopper Pez set.  Now, I have watched the show, but what I liked best is that he happens to have grown up in Orange County and I love Pez.  Although not a direct correlation, it is one that puts a huge smile on my face. 

Of course, it is all ready sitting on my shelf.  It is totally awesome.  I feel like if you become a Pez dispenser, you have made it.  I wish someone would make a Pez dispenser with me on it.  That would be even better than a bobble head.  I would happily accept both. 

Now he happens to be super easy to shop for, but I think what I enjoy best is when he opens something ridiculous that I have given him, he has a hearty laugh which is my favorite part.  It makes me want to laugh right along side him.  If I can keep him laughing and guessing, I think it might make it worth it. 

Even I need a little hope sometimes...

The End.

Are you born with it?

Webster dictionary defines empathy as:

1 : the imaginative projection of a subjective state into an object so that the object appears to be infused with it

2 : the action of understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to, and vicariously experiencing the feelings, thoughts, and experience of another of either the past or present without having the feelings, thoughts, and experience fully communicated in an objectively explicit manner.

 

How can we deal with those born without empathy?  I ask myself this because I know of a person just like this. Even though I am in my early 30's, I don't think I have ever come across such a person.  We will call him Mr. Tiger.  I have heard that perhaps it is a recessive gene, a sleeper gene, that surprises us with it's viciousness. It rears its ugly head by showing no compassion, no guilt, no love.  I have read that only about 4% may be responsible for having no empathy.  Do you know what I am talking about? A class of people we normally think of as criminals is actually quite normal in most respects. They are secretly hidden among us.  Someone without a conscience, without a vital part of what we think of as human.  So again, I question.  Do we learn empathy from our parents, our friends, society?  

 

Perhaps people without empathy can pass as "normal."  Most are seemingly intelligent.  However, to an outsider they should be able to access the emotion.  But, perhaps their processing difficulties and poor communication skills, impedes them to know in the same way what other people with empathy have.   Maybe they are overwhelmed by outside stimuli, they cannot focus on others because they are only focused on themselves.

So I have also learned that people without empathy are characteristically sociopaths.  They are regarded by their lack of emotions.  They are  motivated by other emotions such as fear, envy, anger, sloth, the desire to win. Really, sociopaths feel the same things as the rest of us with the one exception. They cannot love. Sociopathy is characterized by the absence of conscience. They don’t feel guilty about hurting others because they can't empathize.  They can not relate to another in pain. 

 

It's almost unimaginable to me.  I think I am can empathize with people because I don't even think about it.  Perhaps it makes me a good person, or maybe it makes me soft.  Unable to just use people and discard them.  I wanted to be the person who doesn't care.  I do.  I used to want to be that person.  The one that never hurts never feels for someone else.  The person that skips through life.  The conclusion is I know that I know how to care for others.  I am pretty sure the person with no empathy might end up alone.