Just another not much-post.

Youn know what my friends? I'm going to a BUFFET today! An asian buffet! With Psych and TopNotch. I almost have high expectations because I'm not really hungry yet, but that's fine because we're not leaving yet. Psych and I have the day off, and coincidentally, within five minutes, we got phone calls that questioned our free time and tried making us do stuff, instead of not doing stuff. Didn't pan out. Cause ya know, why do stuff when you can eat an asian buffet and giggle around town. Just doesn't make sense.

Other than that, I have absolutely NOTHING interesting to tell you all. You'd think that being away from home in a big city, hanging out with my beloved ones would at least feed me some blog material, but it hasn't. I'm gonna take that as a positive thing, because the interesting things that happens in big cities when not single is like (yeah I totally made a fool of myself while single, but it's awesome), being shot, or being molested on the subway, or bumping into all kinds of people from your past, or.. uhm, being.. uhm.. I can't think of much more.

I'm sure this trip would be so much more interesting if I was a free and loose spirit, and would lend me the opportunity to finish up some buisness that didn't get finished up. Instead, the dude that didn't finis.. got finis.. eh... that dude, is playing hard to get and won't even have a cup of coffee with me, being the "busy" man that he is.

Ahhh, big city dating, it's a world on its own.. No wait, I'm not single. That's right. I'mma text boyfriend now. Cheerio!

Mmm, nap.

Long time no blog! I am currently sitting in a sofa, in a what you could define as a big city, being tired. Like I wanna sleep-tired. I'm thinking about slowly shuffeling down in a horizontal position before Psych gets home and being all loud and throwing things at me like she always does. What? I would -never- lie about something like that....

Anyways, was out on the town today. You'd think the quality of work done around houses that have a square inch price of like a gabillion dollars would be higher than the conversation that follows.
Men, hacking ice off of roofs so the ice won't fall down itself and kill someone:
- It's clear! Go!
*man hacking ice that falls down, mid-fall it snatches a cable and tears it loose from the house facade*
- Oh shit.
- What kinda cable is it?
- I have no idea, one you hang christmas lights on?
- Oh well, fuck it (literally, he said fuck it), continue.

I mean, nevermind that it could contain electricity and just hangs over where people walk.
Other than that, nothing much happened. I found out that I have the best deductive insight in this whole town, and that makes me awesome. Oh, and that I actually can be comfortable in 1 inch heels. Who knew? Yes, I know this is a non-existant mystery for most of the female population, but this it the first pair of heels I've actually used.

Oh, and you'd think that people in a big city would be more accepting of (not so) weird hair colours like the one I'm sporting right now, but they're not. At first I was like "is my panties hanging out from my zipper?" or "My phone is ringing, but I've gone deaf so I can't hear it but everyone else hears it and knows it's me and stares at me so I'll notice but I won't notice because I'm deaf and that's why people are staring at me ALL THE FRIGGIN TIME!" but then after having checked all these things, having enough clothes on that people won't be afraid of my rolls poking them in the eye or something like that, I concluded that it is in fact my hair people are staring at. And that makes me disappointed. Even the emu-people reacts and looks at me too long.


I mean, THIS guy shouldn't really be staring at ME, would he?

Solemn saturday

Psych was fine earlier today. Then she started complaining about feeling ill. And then the room spun, apparently. She's never experienced this before and started rambling about brain aneurysm's and cancer and all sorts of crazy stuff. I told her to take it easy. You see, what she is currently experiencing is what you and me would call a -hangover-, something she's never been through before.

"Is this what it feels like? Who would drink alcohol if they feel like this the day after?"
"Hey, you've got pants on AND taken a shower, that's an easy peasy wonderful type of hangover that let's you do that."
"Omg."

So she laid down in bed. Slowly pulled the covers over her. Now she hasn't said anything in 15 minutes. Just laying there totally cramping* our hangover-food fest style that is needed to become human beings again. Being that hungover for the first time at the mid 20's is something I would have dreamed of, instead so far I've had six wonderful years of total carnage after drinking. And you never learn, do you.

Ah, the wonderful days of feeling like shit for 15 hours for six hours of obnoxious behaviours. Don't we all just love being humans?



* I totally know what that shit feels like, it's okay ;)

WARNING: NOT for the faint of heart.

(Here be a TMI Thursday post hiding. It's too gross to have lying around out in the open)

Yes!

IT WORKED!! I dug out some old purple glittery polish and covered it with Matte Magic. Moahaha! Looks close enough to Zoya's Matte Velvet, I'm so pleased. SO pleased!

Holy hell! A C?

So, instead of doing anything that I should be doing today, I went downtown and did a little shopping. And if you by buying things needed to make me look like I have a home and didn't wake up in a ditch that morning, then yes, I went shopping.
One of these necessities was a bra. The only one I had is broken. And you know what that means. Nothing hightens the sex appeal that you slowly have built up in your mind since the last bra-tryout, like standing around in a booth, lit from above to further highlight the rolls of fat on your body while trying to squeeze into a bra that apparently is too small/ill fitting, in a 360 degree angle. Ah, the pleasure of watching your boobs be parted in two by the edge of the bra. I'm always in the best of moods after this. I tried two or three at the first place. Staring at myself. Feeling the sexyness that I had built up after the weekend with bf disperse into thin air, just like the floor at the Weightwatchers weigh-in.

But, I thought to myself. They just moved the scales to another room and continued there. So I moved on to another store. Looking a little closer on the bra's. I wonder... Took one and pressed it secretly against my right boob. Hm. I... I will try. Decidedly I made my way into a booth of death and tried it on.

And hello ladies! And gentlement, but mostly ladies, because you know what? MY ladies didn't like the previous bra's because they were a B-cup, and apparently, I'm a C-cup. Who knew?
Well I sure as hell didn't. I've always seen myself as one of those people who -hasn't- thought they're a cup size smaller than they really are, but I was wrong. Had to text bf about the news. All I got back was "Aren't you changing your size all the time?"
Uhm, if you mean from nothing to A, A-B, and B-C over a stretch of 13 years, then yeah, all the time.. at least he's not jumping with joy because he's actively fantasizing about them being bigger right?

And I may or may not have bought foundation, mascara and a pair of pants too. But that's our little secret.

Rant.

Oh, I'm sorry. Did I ask for this? No I didn't. I don't remember checking any little square that said "Please, send the big is beautiful-clothes magazine to my place" when unfortunately ordering clothes from the "larger" section of the site. Yes, I am aware that I'm plus size (sometimes, always in pants) and yes I am aware that everyone knows this because they have like.. seen me in person. But getting a fashion magazine especially for larger sizes is just embarrasing. Can't help it.

And, wtf women and dudes, if I were to order stuff from that magazine, I would age like 15 years. I'm in my mid 20's, not my early fourties. Why is plus size clothes always so friggin BORING? Tunics in ugly colours and patterns and hang loosly over your boobs. If there's something to enhance when wearing plus size clothes, it's your friggin' boobs! And don't get me started on the white, big, covering underwear. Please. What's wrong with lace in pretty colours on not skinny people? Pscht.

End of rant.

Oh, and I truly believe that Martha Stewart is related to the devil.

Guest blogging!

MY FIRST GUEST BLOGGER!!! Okay okay I'll leave you alone to get to know eachother. While peeping through the key hole. And pressing my ear against the door. At the same time! Beat that! Anyways.. *backs out of room*


Hello, pretty people who read this amazing and funny blog written by one of God's precious little gemstones!

I am one of Wynn's ”friends”. I may or may not have been featured in this blog, it will forever remain a mystery... or something like that. I'm not at all cool nor funny, please bear with me! I make delicious cookies! Yeah, I should just do what I was allowed to do... yeah.

I have a sort of delicate problem, and Wynn was kind enough to offer me some room on her blog and perhaps manage to get some response from her smart and kind readers (no, I don't suck up to you, unknown internet-people. Whatever gave you that idea? Tssss...)!

I am rather recently single. That's all fine and dandy, no broken hearts and such. But! While we were together, my then bf thought it would be a good/funny idea to clone his willy and let me have full custody of the... outcome. I moved out from our apartment and we had a discussion about the ”item” and it came to follow me to my new home, for reasons I still don't understand. Now we're broken up (but still remain the best of friends, can I hear a ”naaaaawh”) and I just don't know what to DO with it! And yes... I do know what the obvious answer is, so you can just keep that one to yourselves for now. I need your opinions on how to handle ”the situation” (blah blah Jersey Shore blah). Should I just keep it for the memories (I never wanted to use it while we were together because, daaah, I had the real deal, and now when we're broken up it would feel so wrong and weird to use it, and I have better stuff for that, ifyouknowwhatImean), or should I just throw it away? Wouldn't that be disrespectful to his... will-y? I don't know... help me!

I occasionally have other guys spend the night, and the nightmare is for one of them to find it (because they DO poke around in things they have no business poking around in) and start questioning me about it. I don't handle interrogations very well. At all.

So, I hope you understand my problem. Keep it or throw it away? I appreciate all of your insightful answers! Thank you for list...reading!

Ah, what's the point in trying to be all secretive and shizz? // Psych

GIRLY STUFF

Now, inspite of Psych's distressed calls that I should update on the girl-date, I'mma be a little girly.

.. 4 minutes pass..

Oh god I'm trying to leave the pie that I baked earlier today alone to write this post but it's friggin HARD because it's SO GOOD.

Anyways, I'm very interested by the usual girly shallow things. Like makeup, nails, high heels, hair, etc, but also waaay to lazy to engage in it myself on some more serious level than the occasional makeup in the daily life and the more elaborate makeup when it's time to slut up, I mean party. I own exactly two pairs of heels, one of which I've used like two times, and the other pair never.

But, this post is not about my overall lack of pimpin' myself, it's about nail polish. After stalking nail blogs I've seen so many polishes that I would LOVE to get my hands on, literally. My absolute faves so far is Zoya Matte Velvet. That's right beatches, google it. Or just look at this picture to see what I mean.

Isn't it go-hohohoho-rgeous? Velvetty matte wonderfulness.

But because I live in a dorky little town that does not appreciate all new trends, I haven't laid my paws on it. BUT! Another runner-upper brand is China Glaze. That, my friends, they have here. AND, I knew that China Glaze has a top coat that's matte, so you can make any polish matte! Matte ftw! And yes, I am well aware that either you don't care at all, or already know about this, but whatever this is my blog!

And after stalking a few stores, I went into this old cosmestics classic in the mall, and what did my right eye spot? It was China Glaze Matte Magic!! 12 dollars less on the account, one matte polish richer.

The only polish I could find that I thought I'd try it on was an old red one (I'm running out of polishes) and so I did. One coat of red because I'm a lazy bum, and one coat of Matte Magic. It dragged the red along so I had to be careful. It's uneven and some shiny edges are there, but I LIKE IT. AND, you get the bonus of a picture. Yeah you heard me! And the red is much redder IRL, but whatever, you get the point.

I'm so gonna have to buy a new pretty purple polish and try this properly. Fuck yeah!

Second part of the 36 hours, thursday suffering

Oooh. Aaah. Mmmm... You better imagine these sounds of pleasure in your heads, because that's exactly what my head did earlier when I took a LONG and crazy hot shower. GOD I love showers when coming inside from a blizzard. Which has been like 100% of the times I've gone inside the last two months. With no end in sight. Moooom, the weather makes me sad, make me a pie.

But, I'm not here to revel in the delights of a shower (that's my next post), I'm here to tell you about the second half of the 36 last hours I was talking about earlier.

Cue thursday "morning". I woke up face down in my bed. The sound of an incoming text had awaken me. Who's texting me now, daring to disturb the dragon? My left arm tried getting ahold of the phone while my right arm tried really really hard to locate the pain and suffering that I under no circumstances could have escaped inspite of my gut spilling escapades some hours earlier.

To read the text, I slowly rolled over. And the pain and suffering located me. I can't see it, it can't see me? Anyway. The phone showed me a lunch-date invite. In 40 minutes. With Poetry and her co-worker. I managed to answer that I would try and sit up and get back to her.

I sat up and instantly regretted it. Tilted my head forward to check my e-mail from school (because ya know, I didn't go there) and regretted it. But hell, I can't miss out on a lunch date. And that co-worker I'm sure will act perfectly as a ice breaker. Shit. Yeah, I answered, and agreed to meet them at a chinese restaurant. I bent over the sink to wash my face, and instantly regretted it. And then I put my clothes on, and got to regret that too. And then I went outside in the muddy four inches of snow that had fallen the night before, shaking of hangover and feeling like puking. Yeah, regretted that one too. But there's nothing to do but to hang in there. Chinese buffet lured me as much as the girly date did.

I tried my best but couldn't walk very fast, so I was late. Just as I arrived at the restaurant 11 minutes late, I got a text from Poetry. "We're a little late". Goodie, not the only one.


To be continued. Very soon (like really). Because no one reads really really long posts.

First part of the 36 hours, wednesday madness

Heh. When I wrote that I was going out and getting wasted Wednesday, I wasn’t kidding. I really got friggin drunk out of my mind (probably just because I said to Marshall and Director that I wasn’t really all-go-party but a few beers would be nice, I never learn do I) and at least managed to get home before making a total fool of myself at the pub.

Altough, I took the chance to try and burn down the kitchen before the others came home. Totally voluntarily, I swear. It had nothing to do with the fact that I put on water and a frying pan on the stove, and then realized in the midst of my wastedness that I really had to puke. Three hours later I came out, and was like “Hmm, wasn’t I about to cook?” but I was too finished to make my out to the kitchen. Ya know, because I had passed out in the shower, warming myself with hot water. With my clothes on. I wondered why my bra was wet the day after. And then I remembered that I showered while I was on my knees over the toilet bowl (they’re right next to each other). And then fell asleep against the wall again. Repeat. For two hours. My neighbors, in spite of their weird nightly bathroom adventures, must have wondered why the shower was on for HOURS in the middle of the night.

Yeah. And then I just got out of the shower, still wet, patted myself with a towel in a very sloppy manner and got in bed, hair wet and all. Woke up on an orange and 15 days worth of mail. And with a bruise on my breast bone. Always a sure sign I’ve been hanging over the toilet edge for too long.

So totally a proud moment. You should be proud too. I swear. Oh, and I neverminded the stove thing because there’s a timer on it (they really don’t trust us collective youngsters, prejudice asshats!..) and therefore it would have shut down after like 40 minutes.

BUT! I could have gotten laid twice. I was on FIYAH baby! Fuck yeah! Bf's so proud.

Ughh

Oh god, I think I'm getting hungover again. Crap! I so wanna write about my last 36 hours, but I don't have the energy. Self defence sleep seems to be the only way out of this mess. Agh.

Aweright.

I'm working from home (i e, currently laying in bed with my laptop, handling the correspondens by email) today. Apart from a short meeting at school I haven't been out, and that was totally too much time spent outside. Just gotta love those blizzards. Horizontal snow makes it so easy to see where you're going/what you're walking into/the fact that you're THAT close to getting hit by a car/how to find your way home, etc etc. I can't understand why people isn't using goggles, why are only skiers allowed to?!

I was, potentially, supposed to have the girly date with Poetry today but I, sorta, cancelled (before we had set anything, I'm not the sudden-flake kind of girl) due to the blizzard. Because I'm a lazy fuck and shit, I think blizzards are my LEAST favorite type of weather. 1½ hour coffee break isn't worth treading downtown for. 1½ hours in snow for 1½ hours of coffee.. Too sucky good thing/bad thing ratio.

Besides, I can't friggin drink coffee at coffee shops because they're all hating on us lactose intolerant people. And, she's all vague by text and I will not call her because I'm a wuss. Maybe tomorrow? Yesterday I suggested thursday, she didn't answer. I'm not gonna go all girlydate-stalker on her ass, so I'm keeping it cool.

TONIGHT though (it's like a party all day long!) I'm maybe.. potentially.. probably.. SO gonna get wasted and mingle with people. Gotta love those pubs that are so close to home, that it's faster and easier to go home and pee instead of waiting in the bathroom line at the pub.

Good god, trying to be creative is pressuring work. Maybe I need a nap..

That's right, I'm here for YOU, multiple times.

Oh. Mondays lesson: Don't stab yourself in the same finger that you stabbed with a chisel, with a knife. That shit hurts too. At least I didn't make mistakes with the brand new stanley knife...

That's right, I'm here for YOU.

Today's lesson: Don't peel and eat an orange after stabbing yourself in the index finger with a chisel. It hurts. A lot. Now you don't need to try it. You don't need to thank me.

Sucky saturday

Wow, I mean.. whatever was wrong yesterday, multiplied today. Holy cow. So I pulled out the big machinery - a whole season of The Hills. Oh god their drama almost managed to cover up my bouts of crying and the FRIGGIN CONSTANT torturing cramps and shit. I got nothing sane done today, even on my reliable pain killers. Fuckers.

MrMuscle came like a hero on a white stallion (or with his little white Ford) and gave Roomie and I a lift to the store, scraping the few dollars we had left into some candy and I got to talk and laugh which totally lifted my day.

Apart from the friggin drama on the TV, I'm closely updated on Psych and her now obviously pshycho stalker cuddler. I by cuddler, I mean that he's sleeping over at hers EVERY NIGHT (and pouts like a baby if he's not allowed to), without ever making the move. She didn't really appreciate me pointing out that he's probably on penicillin for some icky VD, and that's because he doesn't try to sleep with her. They've had it together a few times earlier so it's not all that new lovey dovey stuff either, it's just WEIRD.
I mean come on, if you wanna use an old lay as a bed and breakfast, at least give her some sugar. Man up dude, that's common courtesy.

Good old fridays.

This was supposed to be an awesome lazy bum friday (one of those fridays that are absolutely NECESSARY to live through PMS and cramps, aint it girls), full of awesome carrot sticks covered in delicious home made tzatziki, in the sofa with my little pretty computer on my tummy, watching TV that would air masses of good movies and I would watch series on my Xbox, drinking cold Coke.

Some of the plans failed. Instead of drinking ice cold Coke and slobering tzatziki, I drank warm Coke and wasn't pleased with the dip. Damnit! And whose fault is that? Boyfriends! I mean, I don't wanna blame him too much because he's a damned sweetie that GAVE me the Xbox, but he's also a random minded little freak that has the short term memory of a cute golden little fish, which resulted in me being left without IP-settings that pleased the Xbox. I mean, how hard can it be.

Very, apparently. I mean, last time he forgot, I just zoomed around in the menues and FIXED IT MYSELF. Omg, I was so proud I had to call him at work and shout that he should totally be proud of me. This time, not so much. Two hours on the phone later, I still hadn't reached my computer through the xbox. Damn it! And, my computer totally pulled a classic on me, namely that one that gives this reaction from computer geeks:

"Oh, what? I've never heard of that error/what, it shouldn't be doing that/doesn't it show up? Wtf/Uhmm.. okay... then I don't know what to do anymore/you should see those addons there, you don't?/(insert me going mad and running into the forests).
After a wide range of errors that he has never heard of before, my computer decided that it was time to kill off the good ol' classic ip config. Yeah, for some of you, that will make sense.

Taylor Swift is so not attractive btw.

Anyways, the computer told me that ip config definitely didn't exist. Wtf dude, it's like suddenly losing your pinky finger without noticing, and then denying it was ever there even if you have it on photographs from before and the short little stump left. At this moment, Bf gave up. I was mad, almost in tears (blaming the PMS for reals, yo) and told it to shove it.

I ate a piece of carrot that wasn't up to pair with my expectations that I had built up for three days before my dad lent me money so I could BUY carrots at all, washed it down with the now warm coke and glared at the "There is no connection to requested IP" or whatever it said. Fuckers. A small tinge of cramps lured in the background. The neighbours cigarette smoke seeped into my room like it does when the breeze comes from the ocean.

Managed to hold back an angry tear. I pulled out the heavy stuff. Chocolate. I turned the god damned Xbox off and zapped around the TV instead. Be Cool was on. Awesome. Chocolate, awesome. Felt a little better. Found cold Coke. Drank it, felt even better. Awesomeness.

Saw another old comedy classic, it just ended a while ago. Now I feel pretty good. Somehow, fridays usually straighten themselves out. I like fridays.

The greed! The greeed!

Oh god the bank is gonna keel me as soon as they get the chance. You know why? Because I've been ATTACKING my own account, consistently throughout the day because I friggin want money. Right now! I'm waiting. I have no idea when they will come. I know the transfers is at a 24-hour basis (the money usually transfers just after midnight on the transferdate) from officials to my personal account, but I have been checking it all day long because it MIGHT JUST COME ANYTIME NOW. Sometimes they just show up. They haven't. I just checked.

Gawd. Just gimme. So I can limpy limp downtown and buy a friggin pair of soles, so I can WALK home again. Without limping, or walking really slowly.
What's that? Is it unclassy to talk about money? Well, that suits me well then, miss Class McUnclassyson. Because at this blog, there is ANARCHY!! OR a tightly ruled oppressive totalitarianism (read that again, you'll get the hang of it). But I have never mentioned that, so silence.

That's right. Silence! I should turn the comments off on this post just to clarify, but I'm too lazy to do it.

Girl date, pre-date worries

I just inhaled a bowl of yellow split pea soup. With a glass of Coke. Yeah, matchy matchy right?
The PMS-munchies is a neverending mystery. According to my mom, she never found that one thing she always craved. I haven't either, I'm afraid I never will.

Anywhoo, this girl date. I'm so stupid. The last time I had a girl date I was all "When should I call? What am I going to wear? Does she really want to grab a cup of coffee with me, she was drunk when she said it was a good idea?" etc etc etc. I did it anyways because I was in the state of my life when I was all forward and happy and felt like I could get away with anything. Must have been the successes in my life and the fact that I got laid with a hott person, when -I- said so. Giggles.

ANYWHO, I'm once again all over those arguments like a fat kid on a cupcake, almost literally, but in a lesser confident kind of way. Because we've seen eachother for years, now and then. But not for a couple of years now. Let's just say that I have gotten taller, horizontally. She's a working out kind of girl and all fit and a few years older and popular because she has friends EVERYWHAR and like 700 friends on facebook (because that COUNTS!) and I've always had this kind of respecting-admiring-sillylittlegirlish-insecure-kind of relationship towards her. I don't think she actually knows this.

So now I'm fat, lazy, all my closest friends have moved away and I'm way less hott than her and she has a bajillion friends, and she would see something interesting in ME? Altough I mean, the bajillion friends is kinda reassuring because I can't possibly be the lamest person in that collection of people?

Oh I feel way too serious about this, and I really gotta make it happen soon so I remember that she's a person and that she and I years ago saw the potential. I just need money first. I can't grab a cup of coffee because I'm friggin broke out of my mind, and I can't go for a nice walk because I need money to buy these soles to support the arches of my feet, because I now and have been for some weeks, walk very slowly not to get a hurting burning sensation that lasts for hours.
No really, I'm whole and healthy. Swear..

Gosh.

Girl date

Oh god for like the second time in my life I'm having this problem:
How to set up a girl-date.

Background story:
I'll be calling her Poetry. Been acquaintances for ten plus years. We share the asshole ex. Yeah, I was after.
We tried to spark a friendship when I was still with the asshole ex but he got all up in my grill about it so I had to abandon ship.

I, being the awkward little rule-breaker that I am, thought that I would finally tell her that I thought it was a shame that we never became friends, because of someone that really didn't deserve time or effort. We both stepped out of the relationships with that dude like the winners.
So, I utilized dear ol' Facebook and sent a message. She answered, agreeing with me and suggested that we'd take that walk we missed out on years ago.

Why didn't I do this two years earlier? I have to regret it every time I don't follow my gut, annoying.

So now I may have a girl-date coming up. I'm nervous. I've only been to one girl-date before (and romantic date with a dude for that matter, but that's another post) and it was a few years ago when I totally picked a girl up at a party. We became friends and with that I found Top Notch, a valuable addition to my life even if I never talk about him here. That little bitch lives too far away. Yeah, if you're reading this, be-atch!

Anyways, girl date. What should I wear? *shrieks and runs around the.. "apartment"*