Fat day, fat day...
I didn't ever really believe in the tooth fairy. But I believe in the Fat Fairy. That evil little winged bitch who comes and waves her cellulite wand over you while you sleep and poof! when you wake up, it's like magic: nothing fits.

Tell me you have days like this:
Days where your clothes don't look right on you and your thighs touch in just too many places and the world would be a much better place if you could go to work in your pajamas--clothes without waistlines or shape at all. Days where the only item of clothing that fits, you're wearing on your feet, and even those seemed to have put on weight over night. Where are my ankles? Just how much sodium did I ingest yesterday?! A ring that was too loose yesterday is now snug on my finger. I let my belt out a notch. I actually fill in all the space in my bra (Ok, that's a bonus).

And NO it is not that time of the month.
I used to think that the Fat Fairy worked for my little sister, so that on Fat Fairy days, I'd just throw a tantrum and give her all my clothes. I don't think that anymore. Nope. I'm convinced that she works for a greater evil. A dark, dark force as yet unidentified. I'm on to her though. And one of these days, I'm bringing her evil little fairy ass down. And I'm putting it in jeans 2 sizes too small.

Ok, so some hacker punk destroyed the site we use for comments. Caryn is looking for alternatives, so just chill and use email if you've got somethin' to say :)

And on to this:

Those of you who are familiar with the wonder that is my closet, will be amused to know that I just may be spreading the my message of color-inspired organization. A New York based magazine, Real Simple, is looking for stories like mine. Stories of obsessive and strange closet organization. So, I submitted a short description. And, I guess...we'll see if anything comes of it.

On pain of sounding like a hippie (I know you all think I exist in some fantasy world where everyone holds hands and sings songs from Disney animated features), I have something to say in response to Will's current stream of commentary, and to life's happenings in general:

We can't be contributing members of society if we do not attempt to understand one another.

And then I wrote, and subsequently erased, a long, drawn out diatribe. Instead, I'll say only this: to judge a person's value based on their virtues and vices as compared to your own is useless and selfish. Only when weighed against their own unique circumstances will people's actions and personalities be understandable. I know there are those of you out there who don't necessarily want to be bothered with understanding. And to you I say, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you've quit trying. It'll be lonely in that perfect sphere that only you're worthy to exist in.

It's Pet Day here at the goddess blog--A day set aside to honoring (in rhyme) past/present friends from the animal kingdom.

Touche the Tortoise, who liked to eat roses
Emma, my dog, whose scent offends noses

Then there was Harry, who died of a cold
A tarantula furry, and funny to hold

We had Rusty and Spatzel, rambunctious dogs
And tadpoles a-plenty that grew into frogs

Poncho the parrot who once yelled my name
And Nora's Iguana who just likes to mame

Kitty Muck, Kitty Muck, where have you gone?
Billie the Cat and Soapy Sophie, who's mom's

There were duckies, geese and bunnies to love
Parakeets and cockatiels in nests up above

Lest I forget Renner, who the angels took away
to racoon heaven where he gets to play

And Auggie and Goik, the greatest pets of all time
Who when they were small, did anything for a dime.

Yay pets!



....Time for lunch....I'll finish later......

First, I'd like to thank everyone for their comments! If this weekend plays out correctly, Eleanor will have a new monkey, Nora, a new car and Jen, new coffee. My sister, Joyce, will have some new track marks, an STD and a lot of 'splainin to do.

I think it was a very wise woman who once said,

"There are very few joys in life that surpass that of a sunny day and a popsicle. Unless you're taking me shopping."

Wise words, indeed.
Isn't it gorgeous outside? People who see sunshine and trees and birds on days like today and still have no use for God, are out of my realm of understanding. I'm having a bit of a hard time keeping my mind on work when the sun is streaming in my window and I've got a tank top on under this sweater. Must escape. (Those of you know, will pronounce that es-KAH-pay).

I think the fact that I'm inconceivably chipper in the mornings is starting to bother Nora. All that energy wears off my noontime, but I swear, she gets it full throttle every morning in front of the bathroom mirror.

"Nora?"
"Hmph?"
"Don't you think it's funny how...fill in blank with retarded, yet somewhat comical statement?"
"I guess."
"You guess? Blah blah laughey laugh, blah...."
"Go away."
"You don't mean it."
"Yes I do. Go away."

And then, off I go to work to annoy Cro-Magnon Coworker (in her ever-expanding pregnant state). Since when did women start carrying their babies in their asses? Not a cute site.
I'm going to stop blogging now... I have nothing to say but silliness...

As the countdown begins to the only long weekend we'll have for more than a month (in this fine, fine working world), the question presents itself:

How to spend it?

Time out of work deserves a very close look. One must optimize those precious moments so as not to waste them. And for the record: Sleep is NOT a waste of time. Ever. Well, unless it's sunny out. And then, you must be sleeping in the sun.

I'm not one to plan away all of my free time, so I'm trying to refrain from looking too far forward. After all, it's only Wednesday.

What are YOU doing? See that little "comments" link down there? Use it! Let me know what you're up to! Unless it's painting the breakfast nook. Cause I already know that one. ;)

Good news, kids.
I got the raise I asked for.
Actually, a little bit (and I do mean a little) more than I asked for.
Yippee... Heather can pay rent AND eat!
It's the little things in life....

My blog is broken. Why? Who knows.

Have you ever felt desperate for a change of scenery and realized suddenly, that it had nothing to do with location?

I found myself getting ready, thinking that if I'd just jab that mascara wand into my eye, the result of which would be excuse enough not to have to leave the house and face people. Realizing that it was clearly hormonal, I refrained from self-imposed ocular injuries and got dressed (in clothes that felt too small), put the finishing touches on hair (which never ended up looking right), and did indeed leave the house to face people.
But I didn't stay long. When I couldn't grin and bear it, and was cajoled to do so, I had a minor attack of Annoyed-With-The-World-Itis, and escaped. God knows, I love Eleanor, who, when I left her birthday celebration early, didn't get offended. She didn't try to get me to stay. She said she understood, and I think she really did. Even when I don't understand that incomprehensible inner-workings of my neurosis... Eleanor does.
But even on the T, when I had left that social nucleus, I didn't feel any better. So I realized, on a train somewhere between Boston University and the Store 24, that all the while I have been thinking I needed a change of scenery, that had nothing to do with a lousy restaurant, plastic cups, lack of napkins and bad service.
It was other things... bigger things…things harder to take a break from.
Is a mental vacation in order? Would separating myself from society cure anything? I highly doubt cloistering myself would do any good at all. Usually, when I feel this way, all I need is a hug and a nap to set things right. But this time, I needed more.

So this morning, I asked for a raise.
And I deleted certain phone numbers from my cell phone.
And ate a brownie.

Things are looking a little better.

I would like to take this opportunity to introduce my cause.

SAVE THE GAP!!!

Taking a pretty drastic plunge in April, Gap's stock prices are not as healthy as I would hope. AND as the Wall Street Journal reports, Gap might be heading toward a more department store / discount chain atmosphere if they can't pick up the sales. And so, my brothers and sisters, it is up to US to save the Gap from making serious financial and fashion blunders.
This is the time to buy white linen pants! To buy your spring denim jackets and white cotton pajamas. And buy them from the Gap! They may be a tad over-priced, but you're investing in a solid fashion future. My solid fashion future and yours.
This is the time to invest in the fashion futures of our children and our children's children. It's time to take some action, boys (and girls)...it's time to...
Save
the
Gap.

Today is list day

Things I need to buy Nora:
popsicles
bread
2 frozen dinners

Things I need to buy my officemate:
Parenting Magazine
A muzzle

Things I must go without
(in order to buy a car)
Alcohol (easy!)
The Gap (not so easy)
Eating out (whimper)
Fresh Flowers (sigh)
New Shoes (is there any justice?)
A T pass (these feet were made for walkin)

There. List day is complete. I was thinking, though...that if I resumed contact with men, I wouldn't have to worry about buying my dinner or drinks. That's what they're for, right? ;)

Conversation overheard last night on the T:

PotHead McStoned: Dude, love is so cool. It's like... beautiful. You should get a girlfriend. We're like, so in love that we're going to go do the Cali thing all summer. You reeeeally need a girlfriend.

S. Mokesalot: Yeah, but I'm not really ready for settling down or anything.

Pothead McStoned: It's so beautiful. Love is, I mean.

S. Mokesalot: Yeah.

Pretty McPerfect: My god. One of them has a girlfriend??

Heather: Kids these days.

Today is Opera Day. No, it's not like in Mister Roger's Neighborhood of Make-believe where we all run around the office singing our conversations. Too bad though, huh? It actually means, I get to get dolled up and go pay way too much to see fat people run around on stage singing their conversations.

And so in preparation, I went into the bathroom at lunch with my morning face on and came out hair curled, face painted and such and Harvey, who'd curiously enough been standing in the same spot when I went in 30 minutes earlier, said, "Wow...it's like that Coke commerical where Cindy Crawford goes into the trailer looking all gross and comes out drinking a Coke and looking stunning."

I started to reply, "Awww Harv, thanks..." But then in struck me. "First off, Harvey...it's Pepsi. She's drinking a Pepsi. And are you saying I looked gross???"

To that Harvey replied, "Oh my God... is this what it's going to be like when my daughter gets older? I can't take it." He then offered to buy me a Snickers bar as penance.

Silly men.

There's nothing I'd rather get on a rainy Monday than a compliment from Michael Smith. Well, almost nothing. But today he said, "Heather, you have such nice colarbones! That sweater makes you look very regal!" God love 'im!

I think Miss Karen Carpenter said it best, "Funny but it seems that it's the only thing to do. Run and find someone who loves me....Rainy days and Mondays always get me down."

Today is the kind of day that makes you feel like taking up golf. Ok, no day is that nice, but I'd still like to be outside, running around in the sun on some green grass. Barefoot.
John Jackson is the kind of person you refer to as "a nice guy," but you'd never leave him alone with your puppy. What a strange character he is, plodding around the office looking something like Lenny from Of Mice and Men. It's a good thing we're an architecture office and not a pet store.
I am in the kind of mood that can get a girl fired from her job. I've made at least half a dozen threats on people's physical well-being and openly mocked a Vice President, among other things. I think they should just let me go outside and play. Would solve attitude issue, I think.

You are Daphne! Looking good is your first priority. It will get you a rich husband or a good lay. If you find a potential bank account, (err…mate) you’ll follow him anywhere. A haunted house, a graveyard, an old castle in Scotland, or an abandoned amusement park, you’ll do anything to secure your place as a rich and lazy spouse. You do have your own kinky fetishes to attend to, but that’s what affairs are for!

Take the What Scooby Doo Character Are You? Quiz

Ok, so I just read the purpose of a blog is to comment or report on social, political and otherwise important issues. Oh, really? I thought. Forget that! If I want to write about my issues with the government, I'll go back to school and re-take Poli-Sci. The topics you will find here are more varied and slightly less weighty. Like Lip Gloss and up-and-coming musical acts. And the monthly breast self-exam. (Sean has volunteered to help any of you ladies with that one, should it be necessary.)

Today, I want to talk about my love handle.

For those of you who are not already aware, I have ONE love handle. Being of the "pear-shaped" variety, I carry most of my weight in my Delaware-sized ass (thank you, Jeff), and can usually maintain a pretty decent waistline. But recently, as I became more sluggish in the long, way-too long, winter months, I found a new addition to the fat frat. A love handle. Nora can vouch for its existence...and the lack of an accompanying one on the other side.

And this morning, as I was wandering my hallway in my bra and skirt, Nora remarked that I looked thinner. Now, I think this is true as well, but I will have to make another trip to the scales at Kmart to be sure. But Nora said this while looking at my right, love-handle-less side...so I turned to give her the full view. "Weird," she agreed. "But at least you can still pinch it." I got a good laugh out of that one. Yes, at least I can still pinch it. It's a small lovehandle. I mean, it doesn't overlap my belt or poke out of my tighter shirts. But it is there, nonetheless, taunting me with its asymmetry.

I suppose a possible solution would be to grow one on the other side, to create symmetry--which, as we all know is the key to aesthetics. But that kind of "aesthetic" would not be...and would certainly rule out any co-ed, clothing optional activities. Will the Ab-doer save me? Or am I destined to live out my life as a lopsided individual? I know many people lead perfectly normal lives with lopsided bodies. I have had many roommates with one foot bigger than the other...one breast bigger than the other. I have two matching feet and two matching breasts.... so I suppose I deserve this:

The love handle of shame.

I also took the How Gay Are You test. And here are the shocking (or not so) results:

The Channel 4 Gay-O-Meter has calculated that Heather is 43 percent gay! "Congratulations. You've scored right in the middle and are a happy and well-adjusted hetero babe!"


Phew.

I'd just like to say, I love my sisters.
Of course, I love my brother, too. But there's something uniquely wonderful about being a sister and having one in return.

One of my sisters is closer than a stone's throw away. I can walk out my bedroom door and find her, most times. That sure makes it convenient for things like arguments and trips to the mall.
But the other two, bless their teen-angst-filled hearts, are much farther and it's much more of an excusion to get to them. Perhaps someday, before they figure out that I'm not as cool as they think, I'll get back to Dallas to reinforce (with hypnosis, if necessary) my super-sophisticated-big-sister status.

To Goik and Autistic Audrey: I am the wind beneath your wings. And don't you forget it. ;)

Sunny day, sweepin' the clouds away...

It's gorgeous out. And so for my lunch break, I passed the time sunning on our company's balcony in my tank-top, defying the white-hairs who run this place and daring them...just DARING them to say anything. They're joy suckers. If anything makes you happy, they want to wrestle it away from you. Only one person commented...and to him I said, "You want to borrow one of my tank tops?" Take that!

I stepped on a scale this weekend (they were on display at KMart) and learned to my surprise, that I weigh-in at exactly 145lbs, the same weight I was at last year at this time. Now, this is a curious thing, as I was much thinner last year (as all my size 6 clothes will tell you). Perhaps all the muscles that I accumulated last year have just melted into globby fat cells, which, though they take up more room, weigh less. Whatever. This is my body...and it's getting into a bikini in four weeks and I don't care if you like what you see or not. Just don't tell me if you don't...I do have some feelings.

And I love my freckles. So if you ask to play connect the dots, I will let you.

I'm beginning to see some validity in Caryn's assertion that I have some sort of oral fixation. I was cleaning out my work bag, in search of a missing receipt, and here is what I discovered:

THREE packs of gum (with varying amounts remaining in each pack)
NINE tubes of lip gloss (in varying shades of pink)
ONE toothbrush
ONE tube of toothpaste
ONE box breath mints

It's the lip gloss that concerns me most. NINE colors of lip gloss. Why? God only knows. I mean, the three Clinique glosses alone run me about $35. Two impulse-bought Gap glosses, maybe $3.50 each (those stands near the checkout counter are a TRAP, I tell you). Two tubes of Softlips, maybe $8. Two tubes Bonnie Bell: $8. And Oh, dear God, there's one in my desk. Maybelline. $5.50. And one in my coat pocket. Cover Girl $2.99. There are probably more at home. But let's not go there.

Cost of carrying around ELEVEN different shades of lipgloss? $66.49. Knowing that I'll probably go out and buy more on impulse this weekend? Priceless.

playin dress-up

If I put on smarter shoes
And stop
Biting my nails
If I stand up straighter
And stop
Saying “whatever”
Then
Will you take me
Seriously?

‘Cause with you,
it’s like playin dress-up
trying to
fit in this space
Made more for a grown-up

Am I
acting my age?

If I balance my checkbook
And stop
Buying “Vogue”
If I laugh at your lame jokes
And stop
Droppin F-bombs
Then
Will you let me
be one of you?

‘Cause with you
it’s like playin dress-up
I’m not
One of the kids
And not part of you

Am I
Missing my self?

Am I missing myself?
Cause you’re not the answer
Missing myself
In this distraction; work’s just a job
Am I Missing myself?
I’ll take a vacation
Forget playin dress-up; it’s not fun anymore.

From Kate Chopin's "The Awakening"

"Do you suppose a woman knows why she loves? Does she select?"

"Why do you love him when you ought not to?"

"Why? Because his hair is brown and grows away from his temples; because he opens and shuts his eyes, and his nose is a little out of drawing; because he has two lips and a square chin, and a little finger which he can't straighten out from having played baseball too energetically in his youth. Because--"

"Because you do, in short."

Grrrrreeeeat. Just great. Just because I like gum and lip gloss???





Take the What High School
Stereotype Are You? quiz, by Angel.

A curious thing: After reading a handful of blogs and the comments of those who have abandoned theirs, I have come to see that I don't understand the Blog Dynamic. Why have a blog?

Some who have quit blogging say that it takes too much effort...that they no longer have the time to meet the demands of a blog. Whose demands? In case there is some misunderstanding about this blog in particular, let me clarify: This blog is for me. If I have a readership, I am, of course, delighted. For you, sometimes I will censor many of my random thoughts and be silly for amusement's sake. But ultimately, I write for me and thus do not feel this "pressure" to keep it up on some schedule. I spend a good deal of time scanning the virtual diaries of my friends, snatching up little tidbits of their personalities and goings-on (especially when they're in far-off, exotic places like New York, San Diego and...Brighton). But I don't expect them to entertain me. That's what Instant Messenger is for. Hee hee.

And one blogging friend (we'll just call him Bobby Orlando), has quit to find himself. Is that what I think I'm doing here? If I spit out enough silly rhetorical garbage, it's possible I'll get down to the naked truth. And if I take you all along on that harrowing ride, well, all I have to say is: you chose to come along. Seatbelts, everybody.

I have consumed 100 calories today in GUM. Yes, that's an entire pack and THEN SOME. I have issues.

Someone help me!!!

Do you know the muffin man?
The muffin man?
The muffin man?
Do you know the muffin man...that's driving me insane!

Beyond the catchy, "muffin man" part of the song, I don't know the words. But for some reason, it's stuck in my head. Ahhhhhh. I do not know the muffin man so leave me alone!!!

This is where it’s at, my friends: Leah Siegel. She plays the guitar. She writes the songs. She sings. And Lord, does she sing. If the only thing she had to add to this world was her voice, that would be ample contribution. She could be a miserable person, void of any human decency, yet she would still have my admiration as long as she sang. She is oh-my-god good and puts every soulful, southern black spiritual singer to shame when she offers her version of “Wade in the Water.” And that is all I have to say about that.

On another note, I just looked around the office and said out loud, “How did I get here?” Someone passing by said, “Didn’t you ride with Michelle?” Yeah, thanks for your help. That is not what I meant.
I’m 23 years old…with grown-up bills, grown-up rent, grown-up debt and a grown-up job…but every once in a while, I still feel like I’m playing dress-up. Is this really my life? Not that I don’t love my life. The job could change and I would be delighted. The apartment could be nicer, etc. But I’m ok with things the way they are, for the most part.

It’s just surreal that THIS is what came after all that waiting. All those deadlines. All those semesters spent saying, “Just three more finals…” And here I am. No more finals. No more grades. Now, I show up here every day and contribute to the Gross National Product. Does that seem really silly and pointless to anyone else? I say, let’s all run away to the islands for a year and adjust our attitudes. Some sun, some sand, a little blue sky. Couldn’t hurt us, right? Who’s with me!?

You know what's strange...is that I gave Caryn credit for that article YESTERDAY at 4 something...and it didn't show up until this morning, AFTER she read it...and slapped my wrist. Stupid blogger.