LeBron, no one cares

Kobe Bryant: Hey, LeBron, it's Kobe. Call me back.

**LeBron James, distracted by something shiny, returns the call 2 days later**

LeBron: Kobe, man, what's up?
Kobe: LeBron, we need to talk.
LeBron: Obvi, why else would you be blowin' up my phone?
Kobe: Seriously, I called you once. Left one message. Didn't even text.
LeBron: Whatevs.
Kobe: Look, I'm here to help you.
LeBron: Help me what? I don't need yo help.
Kobe: Yes, you really do.
LeBron: Man, you're irrelevant now. Why would I need your help.
Kobe: ::silence::
LeBron: Kobe, you there?
Kobe: Yeah. So, here's the thing. No one cares about you anymore. It's all Jeremy Lin and Linsanity. You need to get with it.
LeBron: Naw man. That shit ain't right.
Kobe: Look, I've been through this. I was hot shit forever. And then you came along. You were the little brother I didn't want.
LeBron: Like a brother from another mother?
Kobe: Uh, yeah. Like that.
LeBron: So, now Jeremy's my brother from another mother?
Kobe: Yeah.
LeBron: Aw damn.
Kobe: So stop saying stupid shit, like you'll dunk for a million dollars. Be classy.
LeBron: ::sucks in snot, voice wavering:: Okay man. I feel you.
Kobe: Seriously man, keep it classy.

LeBron James said he'd participate in the dunk contest if there was a $1M purse. Here's my question: Does anyone care if LeBron does it?

First of all, the dunk contest is ridiculous. Earlier today I walked past the TV when they were talking about ridiculous it's become. Back in the day, when people actually played the game, rather than passing the ball high to some guy whose parents obviously overfed him steroids as a kid to dunk it, it WAS something to watch. Now you have to jump over 6 flaming cars, while wearing flame attracting material and singing Lady Gaga's latest song in French for anyone to care.

Second, I don't pay much attention to basketball (since it's all about big players and dunking, with no basketball SKILL), but I have heard ALL about Jeremy Lin. HE is the new IT GUY of basketball. Sure, LeBron's all amazing, but so was Kobe Bryant, and who's talking about Kobe these days? Granted, Kobe had that nasty little "alleged" rape situation and it didn't help his popularity, but he's still playing and he's still good.

Third, what's with demanding a big ole heap of cash? I seriously doubt that LeBron needs a solid gold Humvee or diamond-studded swimming pool (thank you, Weird Al). What's $1M to him? Maybe he's got a crazy hookers and blow habit we don't know about. Maybe it's his collection of women's lingerie. I don't know, but I seriously doubt $1M is a big deal to him.

It's just gross. The whole thing is just for publicity and money. Not everything an athlete does should or needs to have some crazy high price tag on it.

Will someone PLEASE send LeBron a memo to tell him to get over himself?

Ignore that I look like a nutter

A picture is worth a thousand words. I think this one certainly deserves more than a thousand, but most of them would just be "OH MY GOD WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR FACE?" on repeat.

 

That look, my friends, that look is called STREET WALKER. And I thought it was SEXY. I was browsing through the pictures on my phone one day and I realized just how awful it was. A friend of mine sells Mary Kay products and ALWAYS looks very well made up. I sought her out. And spent a ton of money. And then decided to do for others what she did for me. 

 

Last night I was chatting with a friend about selling Mary Kay products. She responded that she couldn't even imagine me wearing makeup. I gave her the run-down on what I wear and she commented she'd never worn eyeliner, wouldn't even know how to put it on. Naturally that meant she couldn't imagine it on me. I suggested the most brilliant thing in the world - I would do BEFORE and AFTER shots of me in makeup. Taking the photos myself was a bit challenging as I'm a bit of a dumbass with self-portraits. Not one of these photos has my whole face in it. However, I think you can still tell where there's makeup and where there's not. Maybe. I hope.

A hint: I'm wearing makeup in two of them and I happen to think I look better in those two. I leave you to be the judges. 

And yes, I do realize I have creeper eyes in that upper right photo. I'm not a creeper. I swear.

This Means War: A Movie Review

It was inevitable that I would see this. A romantic comedy with Reese Witherspoon and two guys that you can't help but drool over. It's a no-brainer.

Don't bother reading critics' reviews of the movie. You aren't going to see this because you expect an Oscar. You're going to see it because you want a little dose of love in your life. It's an ensemble cast of gorgeous people doing things that no one in real life could do. (Seriously, using CIA resources to launch war on your best friend because he's dating the same girl you are?) IT'S NOT REAL. We get that. 

Lauren (Reese Witherspoon) gets thrown onto an online dating site by her best friend Trish (Chelsea Handler). Through an odd twist of fate, she meets Tuck (Tom Hardy) and FDR (Chris Pine) on the same day - after a date with Tuck she stumbles into FDR who eventually forces his way into a date with her. The rest...is the movie.

Reese Witherspoon turns in an excellent performance, as usual. I think she even gets to break out and have a little more fun than we've gotten to see out of some of her other movies. She almost seems more like one of us. There was even a scene where I felt embarrassed  for her. Amazing, right?

Chris Pine and Tom Hardy play very well together. As young CIA agents, they bring enough action to the movie that any guy forced into seeing it should be amused. The movie blends the action and the romance together well. Not quite enough for it to be an action flick, but not too far off either.

Adding Chelsea Handler as Reese's sidekick was a brilliant touch. It adds edgy humor (can Chelsea do it any other way?) and I found myself laughing out loud quite a bit. We all need a friend like her.

All in all, a fun movie. It's not original. It won't win any awards. Yes, you'll know the ending before it happens. But who cares? It's like getting home after a long, hard day at work, and crawling into your warm unmade bed.

I bet you like your ribs too much

As you all know, I'm into the online dating. Recently, I started seeing a rash (poor choice of words, methinks) of profiles that mention "GGG." I'm pretty sure that the guys aren't talking about supersized boobs, so I googled it. Turns out, GGG stands for "Good, Giving, Game." It's a concept created by Dan Savage who is the author of Savage Love, a column in the Stranger, a Seattle weekly (?) publication. It's an extremely popular column, and worth a read.

Anyway, Good, Giving, Game: "GGG stands for 'good, giving, and game,' which is what we should all strive to be for our sex partners. Think 'good in bed,' 'giving equal time and equal pleasure,' and 'game for anything—within reason.'"

This came up today because I got into a conversation with a friend about a dating situation she's involved in. She was sort of trying to avoid the guy today, and I told her I couldn't understand how she does it. She was like, "do what?" And I responded (perhaps not entirely truthfully), "I ALWAYS go where there is sex to be had." she was like, "meh, it's not that good," which led to me revising my statement to, "I ALWAYS go where there is good sex to be had." (Not sure why I'm mentioning this since it's not entirely relevant to the story.)

So we get to talking and she further explained that he likes to ask for things, but not do things, if you know what I mean. And you know what, that's totally unacceptable. It's just completely wrong. You don't get to ask for things if you aren't willing to do them.

I'm going to be super clear about something right now. Men, any time a woman decides to pleasure you with oral sex, it's not because your penis is a Rod of God. It is NOT a gift for us. We do it because we know it makes you happy. And, also, in case you didn't know, IT DOESN'T TASTE LIKE CHOCOLATE.

So here's the deal, if you're going to ask for us to enjoy your lollipop, you better be ready to tend to the Lady Garden. That's the "giving equal time and equal pleasure" the wise Mr. Savage speaks of. Get over yourselves and do the right thing. Or, you can have a rib removed and take care of it yourself.

Damn VD

Last Valentine's Day I moved out of my boyfriend's house. Looking back, it's clearly one of the best decisions I've made, though it was hard to make at the time.

Never having been with anyone on Valentine's Day, I was so hopeful that it would turn out to be a great day. A card from someone besides my mom, flowers from someone other than a friend who understood my love of black flowers. But it wasn't to be. No card, no flowers. The excuse for not giving the card? He didn't feel well that day. Because Valentine's Day is a surprise every year. You never know when it's going to pop up on the calendar. Oh wait, IT'S ON THE SAME DAY EVERY YEAR.

A year later, I'm single. Living in my parents' house. Unemployed. No idea where I'm going with my life. I got a card and package of candy from Joanne. My mom told me I'm her Valentine.

As lame as all of that is, it's still better than last year.

I know Valentine's Day is an overcommercialized and obnoxious day. I think we should celebrate the people we love every day, but sometimes life gets in the way. Whether you're married, engaged,  partnered, or single, take some time today to tell the people in your life that you love them. You never know how much it'll mean to someone else.

"Remember, the light at the end of the tunnel may be you." ~Aerosmith

Want, want, want

We all have lists of things that we want. Sometimes we write them down, sometimes they're in our heads. I'm not just talking about grocery lists here either. I'm talking about big life goals too. If we're not careful, these lists will make us crazy.

On any given day, there's a long line of things that run through my head about my life. An average day goes like this for me:

Morning-ish: Wake up. Realize I didn't get up with an alarm. Think, "Crap! I'm late for work!!!" Freak out briefly then remember I don't have a job. ACK, new wave of panic.

1. FIND A JOB BEFORE STUDENT LOAN AND CREDIT CARD PEOPLE ARE KNOCKING ON THE DOOR AND I AM FORCED TO WORK AS A "LADY OF THE NIGHT."

Afternoon: Search simplyhired.com and indeed.com and (ugh) craigslist for jobs. Fall into a state of despair over the lack of suitable jobs. Spy the bag of peanut butter M&Ms on the floor and begin consuming them at an alarming rate. Once hands are covered in candy-coating and stomach is rolling, realize how many calories I've just consumed and OH GOD...

2. REALIZE I HAVE TO STOP EATING CRAP AND START EXERCISING OR WILL BE A CHUNKY MONKEY FOREVER AND THE REST OF MY LIFE WILL BE SHIT

Later afternoon: Get on my bike and go for a ride to undo some of the damage from earlier M&M binge. Use feelings of self-loathing to power bike. Pass by good looking men also out exercising. Glance at them and remember

3. I AM SINGLE AND LIVING AT HOME WITH NO PROSPECTS. MUST HUNT ON INTERWEBS FOR SUITABLE MATE WITH WHOM I CAN PROCREATE

Evening: Showered and clean, sit around on interwebs looking for suitable mate. Chat with girlfriends online about lack of suitable prospects for person of my attractiveness level, or really any attractiveness level. Fall asleep sad and crying over lack of anything valuable in my life. 

My car is 10 years old. My clothes aren't suitable for living in a place where the temperature rarely drops below 70 degrees. My feet are screaming for a pedicure. I'm sleeping in a twin bed on sheets I've had since I was 4.  Yes, my life is full of win.

But the thing is, I'm in a house where my parents are supportive of my decision to quit a job that wasn't working for me anymore (mostly). My twin bed is surround by craft materials that I've used to make Valentine's cards for some really amazing people in my life; people who support me while my life takes a detour I didn't expect. Yes, I have student loans, but I also have a million college degrees that will eventually help me find a job that will keep me in M&Ms and on the internet. I may not be thin, but I'm relatively healthy - which is a blessing since it wasn't true this time last year. 

The lists that run in my head are good because they keep me striving for more in my life. And I should be striving for more. But I let myself get bogged down by all the negative parts of my life. There's a fine balance there, and I don't do a great job walking the line. I need to take some time, every time I get hit by my list, to think of something positive so I can stay steady. 

I also need to keep in mind that things happen when they're meant to. I'm not a particularly patient person. ("The hell you say, Lyndsy!" No really, I'm not. It's okay. I know it.) I want things to happen when I want them to happen and HOW I want them to happen. As though *I* really know best. 

There are probably a million songs about not getting what you want, but the one that jumps out at me the most is Garth Brooks' "Unanswered Prayers." When I think about it, there are probably THOUSANDS of things I've wished and hoped for that never came true. And I am SO thankful they didn't (me rocking some Stepford Wife outfits, leading the PTA, all while dying on the inside). There were a few things that I MADE come true for me. The universe was pushing me one way, but I pushed my own way. And you know what, they ended rather poorly (me moving out of my boyfriend's house at 10 o'clock at night, fresh bruise on my chest, for example).

I can want and want and want as much as I like, but the reality is that it's a waste of energy. I need to push toward my goals; nothing comes to lazy people (except unwanted pounds). But I also need to remember that what I WANT and what's BEST for me may be two different things. If I open my mind to the possibility that there's something amazing out there for me, even if I haven't envisioned it yet, I may be pleasantly surprised.

Day 5: Yes, I made it

When last we left off, I was trying to jump curbs in my car and fight off bedbugs at a Super 8. Perhaps because of the bedbugs, we were up REALLY early on Sunday to complete our trip. We were checked out of the hotel by 6:30am. Yeah, I don't usually know what that time of day even means.

After the night before and because of the early hour, Matt took the first driving shift. I got comfortable in the passenger seat and tried to stay awake. American Express finally seemed to catch on to the fact that I was traveling across the country and I had to get a call into them before I could fill up the tank.

Matt's morning was made when we saw a Dunkin Donuts next to the gas station. We'd been looking the entire trip, but they only became commonplace when we got to Florida. Matt pulled into the drive-thru and they took our order. We got to the window and a young guy leaned out for the money. He looked into the backseat and saw Orpheus' cage.

Guy: What is that???

Matt: It's a guinea pig [tone of "duh"]

Guy: That is a big rat.

Me: [Glaring at guy though he can't see me]

Our progress was steady until we hit Gainesville. Matt suggested I pull up the traffic layer on the GPS. I noticed a line of red ahead of us and then gray. I couldn't figure out why there was just NO traffic. We were directed off the highway and into the city to get to 441 and back on the freeway. Wildfires the night before caused a number of car accidents and I-75 was closed off in both directions. We passed areas where the fires were still smoking a little. VERY happy we didn't go through there the night before.

From there, it was smooth sailing. I dropped Matt off at home right around 3ish - the time he asked to be home. I got home around 4 and texted Matt to let him know I made it home and to thank him again for riding with me.

Me: Made it home. I can't thank you enough.

Matt: No problem. I would do it again. Just not tomorrow.

Me: LOL, or the day after :)

Matt: Or in your car.

Me: Agreed.

He's obviously crazy.

Day 4: I still hate Texas/My car IS an off-road vehicle

Day 4 started with a delicious breakfast at Our Place in Fort Worth, Texas. It's Joanne's usual spot, and for good reason. Our server was a little off her rocker, but the food came out correctly so I won't slam her too much. I think the highlight of breakfast was watching Matt try to get the powdered sugar off his french toast, but stealth style. Joanne and I are chatting and then she's looking at him like, "WTF?" So I looked over, and there's powdered sugar flying off the table onto the floor and his phone. Joanne and I burst out laughing. Matt didn't see the problem.

Also amusing was Joanne finding a banana peel stuck to my bike rack. The day before, Matt had asked me to chuck his peel out my window since I was riding closest to the grass. I didn't get it very far and Matt actually thought it hadn't even left the car. With exaggerated confidence I declared that it had definitely cleared the car. Oops.

I don't intend to drive through Louisiana all that soon again. Matt got the morning shift for driving and we're cruising along at a nice 85mph since it's a 75mph speed limit there. Before, too long, there are some pretty blue lights flashing behind us. The state trooper asked Matt to STEP OUT OF THE CAR. Totally not how most states roll, so Matt's a little on edge. I'm sitting in the car for a while, wondering what the hell is going. I can hear pieces of the conversation - Matt's FL license, but the WA tags on the car, etc. Eventually the trooper comes over and asks if it's my car. Snappishly I tell him it is, and I had over my license and registration. He didn't even bother looking at my license.

The conversation between Matt and the Douchewhore lasts a few more minutes and I'm wondering if they're swapping recipes or something. Matt comes back, finally, and is frustrated as all hell. Apparently the first thing the Dick with a Radar Gun said was, "I'm going to give you a citation," and then proceeded to ask Matt where he was from, as though Matt would have ANY interest in chatting at that point. Ugh.

We stopped in New Orleans for dinner. It was HELLA crowded there. I guess a Saturday evening isn't a great time to make a pit stop there, but whatever. I popped into some tourist trap store and picked up a zydeco CD for my stepfather and some other stuff. We walked around looking at the restaurants in the immediate vicinity. Here's the thing, I'm not an adventurous eater. Spicy foods hit my tongue and I immediately want to expel them from my system. Some of the restaurants looked intriguing, but I wasn't about to chance it. Fortunately, Matt's not into spicy or unfamiliar foods either, so I didn't have to feel like a tool for suggesting the Hard Rock Cafe. It were delicious.

We hit the road again and drove as quickly as possible through Mississippi and Alabama. Those are great states to cruise through at night, not much to see. The night really isn't my friend though. Somewhere in Alabama we had to get gas, so I pull off the highway and decide to go to the big TA Travel Center station. I wait for oncoming traffic to pass, and then I go. *I* think I'm going into the gas station. Turns out, I was actually to the left of the driveway, on some grass. Didn't realize it until my car is flying over a curb. We landed with a thud and I looked up to see that I was actually in a gas station designed for SEMIS. I pulled into the closest parking space to inspect the damage to my car. While I'm sure he was pissed off at me, William Christopher doesn't seem to be any worse for the wear (except for the tumbleweed I pulled out of the grill...). Matt's just shaking his head and I KNOW he's dying to tell me AGAIN how he's a better driver than I am. At that point, I would probably have had to admit he was right...

After getting gas, I kept driving. No idea how Matt didn't force me into the passenger sit. We hit the Florida state line, and I started to crumble a little bit. At that point, it became real to me that I was actually moving back to FL. I'm crossing the border, in my car that's loaded down with my stuff. Poor Matt had no idea what to do while I was crying. We stopped at a seriously sketchy Super 8, sure we'd be carrying bedbugs back to South Florida with us.