Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Don't Be Jealous of my Awesome Shit

While I was preoccupied with being sick and boozin' it over the holidays, I also took a little time to stop and admire all the glorious gifts that were showered upon me because hey, that's what Christmas is really about, right?
The girls and I met before Christmas like we always do except this year was toned down since it was a Monday night although I still choked down a pint of my favorite Raspberry Wheat - choked only because that was the exact moment my tonsils decided to spontaneously combust - the very beginning of what was described in the last post.
I joked and said, 'well I hope we can do presents before Christmas. Here's hoping the shit I ordered online about two seconds ago arrives before then.' Then Lacey fired back - 'yeah, at this rate, you guys might be getting Target gift cards...and I'm only halfway kidding.'
Guess what?

She totally wasn't kidding. But, that's cool because I have no problem using it since I have this little problem called I-like-to-visit-Target-on-a-daily-basis-and-try-to-match-the-number-of-useful-items-with-useless-shit-for-purchase.

A few good reads are also now in my possession:

"Are You There Vodka, It's Me Chelsea," by none other than my hero Chelsea Handler from Kate, "Me Talk Pretty One Day," by David Sedaris from my aunt and uncle, who are fabulous at fulfilling specific Christmas list requests and "The Know-It-All," by A.J. Jacobs from Whittah, who was reading it when she was my wife during Thanksgiving and throwing out details of the book at me as she read making me want to read it. I love reading, especially funny stuff that you hesitate to read any place besides home because you know you're going to do that snorty trying-not-to-laugh-out-loud-in-public-to-myself-like-a-jackass-but-can't-help-it thing. And I'm quite leisurely about it. I've been reading the same book since this summer and just cannot find time to finish it so I can move on to one of my new ones. I'm just not one of the those voracious readers that can read an entire book in one day or read more than one book at a time. I used to be when I was like, 9, had no other responsibilities and wasn't quite as neurotic. Now I'm like:
"Oh shit! Work; Oh shit! The dog; Motherfucker! Why am I always doing laundry?; Fuck! I put too many towels in the washer again and now it stopped working and smells funny; Goddammit! There is stuffed animal filling all over the floor again and clothes in the kitchen; Mmmm, pizza; Seriously? Why am I checkbook balancing-retarded?; Wait, I haven't seen my family who lives down the street in like a week; Fuck! My computer is a dick!; Awww, Boyfriend ; ); KICKBOX!; DANCE!; Goddamn non-working Internet!; I need these tights that I dreamed up in my head RIGHT NOW; Awww, friends ; ); OK, what's broken now?; And I'm seriously thinking about putting a diaper on the dog; NEED ALCOHOL; Where the fuck is my *blank*?; STARVING, NEED TO FEED SELF; Shit! I'm late!; How in the hell does this dog even have any hair left on his body since it's all stuck to every surface in this apartment including my face?!"
Daily routine: Wake up - bitch about having to wake up - spit mouthful of dog hair into sink - blow dog hair out of nose - look in mirror and freak out because I think I spy many white hairs - relax when realize they are just dog hairs mixed in with my hair - shower - clean dog hair out of drain - lint roll freshly washed pants that have been hanging in closet yet still have dog hair on them because they are within 600 yards of dog - lint roll sweater - cuss at lint roller because it fucking sucks at its one job in life - lint roll coat - drive to work/other destination - get to destination and realize wasted time lint rolling - cuss - wish would have brought lint roller - realize this is losing battle - seriously think about having electrolysis done on dog while cussing...
I need one of those life coach/organizer people to help me, but they would just look at me and say, "Miss Hastings, you are a fucking freak and we can't help you. Nobody can," then run away cackling. Assholes.
OK, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, and the best part about the "Vodka" book is this:

Yes, signed by the bad girl herself at some book signing event last July in L.A., then purchased off eBay by Kate. Some Jane Doe may have taken a Sharpie and scribbled in the front cover for all I know, but I'm totally buying the first story. Awesome. I can't wait to read this one. I thoroughly enjoyed her other book.

Most women wouldn't hang clocks with hot women on them in their bedroom, but I'm not like most women:

Also from Kate. I've been a Gwen Stefani fan since junior high - 1995 baby. What a cool, hot ass biotch. I'd seriously consider turning les-bi-nan for her.
Speaking of, I've also been wearing her LAMB perfume for about a year and got a fresh stock for 2009:

The bracelet came with purchase according to my aunt, who thought it was a crazy coincidence that it had "L's" all over it for "Lara." Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's for "LAMB," but we'll pretend that I was Gwen's inspiration.

This right here is proof that Jim actually listens to me when I blah, blah, blah about the most important things in life:

Shoes and accessories, preferably vintage or vintage inspired. Both the book and the hat are from Anthropologie. And, the sock monkey? Yeah, Jim's still a little too new to know about my irrational fear of them which stems from a seemingly harmless gift from my grandpa when I was about 7, which I swear came to life in the middle of the night and tried to steal my tiny soul like Chuckie in Child's Play except in sock monkey form. But I decided to keep this little guy since Jim presented him to me the night of Christmas Day after we had been drinking heavily at a bar...and the wee stocking around his creepy neck contained a little white box, which contained 1/2 carat diamond stud earrings. I almost pissed myself. Then, instead, my drunk ass blurted out, "Wow! You must really like me!" So eloquent and refined...We all must face our fears someday...especially when those fears wield diamonds.
Here I am, ever so gracefully modeling them since my camera couldn't take a good close up:

Now, you're probably too distracted by the glare of the beautiful rocks of Exhibit A, but if you get a chance, take a look at Exhibit B, a.k.a. my woolly and fancy free left brow. You can't buy that kind of quality hotness.

Other fabulous notables includes these two little things from Kate:

A metal airplane luggage tag engraved with my initials because hey, if the assholes are now going to charge us for check-in luggage, then you might as well travel in style and add a little extra weight to that $15+ bag just to make sure it's worth the money.
The Larabar - something Sam noticed in the store prompting Kate to throw it in with the rest of my gifts even though it's an "all natural" health bar. And, by all natural I mean dirt, rocks and deer vomit were lovingly smashed together to make this tasty treat. I took a bite and immediately spat it into the trash can, but kept the wrapper in hopes that one day I'll be inspired to re-invent a Larabar that more accurately suites my style - something like a Take 5 (Mmmm, Take 5), but far more superior.

And this collection is the direct result of passing one of my favorite Web sites, The Happy Woman Store, onto my sister with a few hints:

This stuff is the epitome of me. Nothing is more funny than a 1950s model saying hilarious sexual innuendos and other choice funny phrases. Magnets: "It's so exhausting being fabulous!" and "How much fun can I have before I go to hell?" This is why I love Anne Taintor stuff. The little frog prince watering can on top may just save my hanging plants from certain death this summer. Now that I have the proper equipment and that equipment is absolutely ridiculous looking, all I have to do now is remember to use it.

The grand finale? A round of visits to Ideal Image Laser Hair removal from Mom and Dad. I'm hairy. Don't judge. A strange request, I know, but I'm just so done with dealing with it. The only thing is, the commercials make it seem so mainstream now, but the truth is, it really is for the rich and famous such as Miss Handler who often refers to herself as "smooth as a baby seal." If you're just a normal human and want something done, you have to be willing to live in a cardboard box for the rest of your life and give up your first born child or get very lucky with one of their promotions, so I'm lucky to have gotten this. I'll share more once the treatments are done and it looks fabulous. The good thing is, the first and only treatment I've had so far took two minutes and barely hurt especially after the little somethin', somethin' I had done the day before, but that's a whole other blog.

Stay tuned.


Kate said...

I figured that the Larabar might taste a little bit like crusty assholes - they were marked down to, like, 15 cents in the "holy crap, please buy me before Target throws me in the trash" bin.

Sam said...

Yeah, I'm not surprised in the least about the Larabar. But I think that particular flavor of Larabar has petrified wolverine urine, not deer vomit.


View my page on Twenty Something Bloggers