Ah Bugger

The vapid utterings of a neurotic mind.

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Location: DC, United States

I ain't too proud to bug.

Saturday, October 22, 2005

Man shopping.

I was just perusing match.com. Apparently being single is a big travesty and when people find out that I am single, they always try to get me to use one of the online dating programs that are available. So I decided to see what the fuss was about.
Now, one thing that is important to know is that it is difficult to meet people in DC. (One good way to get a boyfriend is to keep your ugly talons in some other girl's boyfriend.) But that makes for some possibilities, I guess, on these matchmaking websites.
So, I went on to Match.com. I found what I considered to be a good-looking feller. I pull up his photos and read his file. Alas, sarcasm is a turn-off for him. We'd never work out. But I looked around some more and the whole thing struck me as bizarre. Perusing men on these websites is like shopping for an MP3 player on Overstock.com. You look over the photos. You check out the measurements. You decide if the features suit your needs. Hmm, that one is too complicated. Oh, that one does not have enough memory. Oh, that one does not come in the colors I want. Bizarre.
I guess I will wait to do it in the old fashioned way.
See a hottie across the bar. Drink until I have enough courage. Head over and make an ass of myself in person.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

On a related note (see below)

I like wine. But I don't like to imbibe so much anymore.
I like to feel things entirely. I think it is the scariest feeling in the world. But I need to experience the emotions completely. Maybe it comes with my character of wearing my emotions on my sleeve. So when I am sad, I like to be completely sad. Watch a sad film, listen to desperate music, close my eyes and be completely sad. Tonight, red wine fits the mood. It is so smooth and velvety, yet heavy and (I dunno, for lack of better words) it tastes sad.
I don't know if letting myself get enveloped by a feeling is helpful, but it does seem to allow me to shake it off fairly quickly.
But I wonder if I allow myself to delve into happiness and anger as much as I do with sadness. But isn't it so much easier to indulge in sadness, because it is so isolated. There are so many songs and films and such to further facilitate this feeling.
I dunno.

I like wine.

I am sad.

I will be fine tomorrow.

I miss him

Will I ever move on?

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Gold Cup, 3 years running

Okay, it was HARD to get up on Saturday to get out to nowhere, VA to see the horse races. It may have had something to do with the snark and the vodka from the night before. Marci came over for our weekly "America's Next Top Model" get together on Friday night. But she got there late and it takes us a good two hours to watch that show as I feel the need to punctuate it with comments. We also like to wager on who is gonna be the next to go.. And Marci does a kickass impression of Tyra's ridiculous voice at the end of the show.

"In my hands I have the pictures of ten girls. The girls who are in my hands will go on to tease each other into vicious eating disorders. (Game on!!)"

Our night lasted well into the wee hours. What can I say. We like to chat. But 10:00 AM rolled around way too quickly.

To get to Gold Cup, one must take Rte. 66. GAH! Hate Rte. 66. HATE! H.A.T.E! People drives like exceptional idiots on 66. That's saying a lot in DC.

Once at Gold Cup, we had to park farther back. Whaaa? We always get rockstar parking. Oh Marci, I have a bad feeling. Sure enough, we won nothing. No bets, no baskets, no hotties. NOTHING! But we did score candy.

And booze. (Though they ran out of vodka pretty much right away, much to Marci's chagrin. She cried.) They did, however, have a ginormous bottle of Bailey's. Bailey's? Whaa? Why? There was not even coffee. Who drinks Bailey's? On a nice day? In the middle of the day..?

I wish I had some pictures of the fashion atrocities at GC. It seems that people use this occasion for the most ridiculous ensembles. Like skin-tight brown velvet pants, or a three inch white skirt on a 200 pound 5'3" girl. (NO!) One girl walked around, super important on her cell phone, never noticing her zipper was WIDE open. I would have told her but I did not want to interrupt her conversation.

Since I do not have photos of them, I do have a photo of me and Marci trying on sweet hats. I need a cowboy hat. (And those cowboy boots I showed you in July. I still want them and that means I should have them because God knows I deserve them. And I went to two churches today, so God wants you to buy them for me.)

Afterwards we hit the new wing of Tyson's Corner mall. Not that impressed, though I like all of the furniture stores. Starving, we headed off to Sweetwater Tavern where we finally were treated in the manner to which we are accustomed. There we enjoyed a pumpkin ale.

Mmmmm. I love this time of year.

Stop it.

Why do people feel this urge to tap on the glass of aquariums or cages? What makes you think that it's a great idea?
Can you imagine being in a very small glass room, probably nestled into some delightfully comfortable material like astroturf, or cedar chips; and then suddenly some idiot comes and bangs on the outside walls of your crappy home. It echoes. It reverberates. And shaken, you look up to see an ugly face peering in at you.
Stop tapping the glass.