That's Right, I'm Hard Core Like That

I read this article on Cnn.Com today that really irked me.  Some airport TSAs forced a woman to remove her nipple piercings (one with pliers) at the security line while snickering the whole time.  They also called for back-up.  For nipple rings.  Now I may be passing some racist judgement here, but I don't know of a lot of female terrorists who use their nipple rings to blow up planes from like, San Diego.  

Full disclosure, I used to have nipple rings for many years.  I finally took them out about  a year ago.  I also have a tongue ring and my belly button pierced.  I got my tongue pierced on my 20th birthday, and as sort of a rite of passage I am taking it out on my 30th. FYI, I blame my mother for all this. (Hi Mom!  I know you're reading!!  Just had to throw a little guilt trip atcha!)  I wanted more than anything to have my ears pierced when I was in grade school and she refused.  I was the only girl in my grade who didn't have pierced ears and this was very traumatic at the time.  Her friends finally broke her down and she reluctantly agreed to let me have my ears pierced if I got ten A's.  I did that, and then she had to have her friends convince her that yes, in fact, getting an A in PE does count as a "real A."  So I got my ears pierced.  Like I said, I am hard core like that.  Despite my obvious and self-stated hardcoreness, I still have no intentions of blowing up an airplane with my boobs or any other body parts.  So screw you retardo TSA agents who obvs just wanted to molest a woman under the guise of so-called Homeland Security.  Screw you.

An Open Letter to The Sweet BuBaby Bejezus (because he's my favorite Jesus)

Dear Sweet BuBaby Bejezus (because you're my favorite Jesus!),

What, may I ask, exactly did I do to deserve this disease? I have been told how horrible I look more times than than I care to say this week. I have been forcibly dismissed from work this week all the days I have come in. I have gotten worse, not better, and did not make my goal of staying a full day. I was in fact told to go home about 5 minutes after I dragged my sick ass there in the freak snow storm we have had today because I apparently "not to make me feel bad but look like hell." I woke up about the time I would normally get off work.

So, Sweet BuBaby Bejezus (my fave!), what did I do exactly? Is it because I enjoy the occasional box of wine? Or that some dude at work is pissed off that the bracket my cat Taco Del Gato filled out for the March Madness is doing better than he is? I am pretty sure I haven't committed any true crimes against humanity like Paris Hilton does just be being her. So what is it? I implore you Sweet BuBaby Bejezus--What did I do?

PS BuBaby BeJezus. Thank you at least for taking away my ability to eat food whilst I can't work out. My jeans are much looser and that makes The Wonk happy (as long as its not Ebola that I have and my insides are melting and that's why my jeans are loose).

I Have Goals

Since the Death Flu has robbed my of my health and possible sanity I have discovered I have new goals in life.  Yesterday my goals were, in order of importance: 1) Not die.  2) Not die before 10am so I could get some actual work done.  3) Not die before 12pm so I could go home and die watching the Tyra show like a normal person.  Guess what??!!  I accomplished everything I planned except that I lived through Tyra to face another day of Zombie Death Flu!  Yay!  I thought I felt better last night, which I did, but when I woke up this morning gasping from near-asphyxia due to severe congestion (Clever, clever flu.  A fake-out and a new symptom!  Awesome!) I knew I was very, very wrong.  I had pretty much the same goals as yesterday, but I felt like if I made it to Dr Phil to die, that would be an improvement.  So that was my goal.  Work until 3pm, which just seemed impossible.  I made an emergency run to the store for the drugs at 10am, but they made me feel so weird I couldn't tell if I was cured, high, the Pope, or all of the above.  I hate the cold medicines.  I was finally dismissed at 3pm.  Goal achieved!  Tomorrow I am going to try and work *gasp* a FULL WORKDAY!!!!  Krazaziness, I know.  Like a whole 8 hours??  Shut UP! 

Oldness=Miserleyness

One thing I have noticed about growing up or "maturing" or whatevs you want to call it, is that I have become, umm, shall we call it frugal?  When I was in my early 20s I would drop a couple hundred bucks on a pair of boots, no probs!  Now I go to Tar-jay or Payless and think $20 bucks? You have got to be kidding me!  And the thing is that I make way more benjis now and could afford the boots if I wanted to, and I still just can't do it.  Maybe because my BF (who happens to work in the banking and financial advising industry) says that we need to "save money" and actually "keep it in the savings account" because we want to do things like "buy a house."  Dammit. Grown-Upedness sucks.  But maybe the fact that I am not dropping every last penny I earn on fleeting fashion trends helps the whole keeping-the-money-in-the-bank-for-a house/possible Mini Weezes-thing.

Here's the crux:  I can no longer bust out the card without extreme guilt at Nordy's, but I'll drop 8 bucks on an sliver of cheese at the gourmet grocery store.  But only 6 bucks on my box of wine at the Plaid.  Yes, I went there.  I said box of wine.  Fancy Pants French cheese to go with your box of wine and dollar store shoes?  That's me!

I Am About to be an Old Fart

I am turning 30 in less than 2 months and I am not ashamed to say that I AM FREAKING THE EFF OUT!!!!! I am old. It has be 12 years since it was leagal for me to pose in Playboy. My dad has had girlfriends younger than me for like 10 years now (I know, I got over it at about 23). Even though I think I look pretty good for a geriatric, I just have to wonder when I will be be the overly-medicated cuckolded partner trying to stand by her man after he has spent our (not yet existing) childrens' college funds to get Hot Carled by a 22 year old hooker.
I blame this trauma all on a good friend of mine. So far I had pretty been zen with the fact that I won't be able to say I am in my 20s anymore. I was taking preventative measures. Walking everyday at lunch. Gym after work. Gym classes in Satan's Lair after work. No fried foods for God's sake!!! So we went to her 30th birthday party a couple weeks ago and she told me to beware. She said that she thought turning 30 was OK, but when it actually happened, she freaked the eff out. Great. So I am all worked up and too sick to walk or hit the gym to meet Satan (read: personal trainer). Did I mention I am freaking the eff out about turning 30? Oh, also, my friend who is newly very old has a good job at a daycare, a husband, a home they actually own, 3 super cutie pie kids, and her pre-baby body back. So what does she have to freak out about?? Where does that put me?

I Have the Death Flu

Today I am finally feeling like a human and not a zombie wearing a human skin costume.  What IS this thing?  I had to leave work Monday morning and take Tuesday off.  I actually had to go in today and managed to make it to noon today (my goal--yaya!).  But the last 3 days have been a blur.  I was so sick I didn't even want to surf the Interwebz all day.  For me, that's SICK.  Ask my BF.  He is terribly jealous of my computer, and especially PerezHilton.com.  And, thank the Sweet BuBaby Bejezus for the gift of DVR.  I am enjoying all the awesome TV I missed now that I can stay awake for more than a minute.   

I Hate the Make-Up Counter Ladies and THIS is Why

I try to order all my make-up online (thank you, Interwebz!) because I hate the make-up counter ladies.  And this is why.  I had been horribly defunct in ordering online and was FORCED to go to the mall.  The mall is a humbling experience to begin with, what with all the 16 year old tiny, perky, blondes with Daddy's credit card.  But the Evil Condescending Make-Up Ladies are the absolute worst.  So I suck it up and go to the counter and deal with the Plastic Ones.  They are just so put together I feel like a slob on my best days.  As I go up to the counter, I immediately start to get nervous and uglier by the step.  I try and do a quick in and out-state my needs and get out like I've got the freaking mafia on my heels.  But, of course, we are close to Bonus Time and they have to sell sell sell.  She lets me know that for just a few dollars more and if I buy some, oh, I don't know (dramatic pause) *moisturizer*, I can get the free gift.  So would I like to purchase some (pointed pause) *moisturizer*?  No, no thank you Plastic Lady with a weird Southern Louisiana/Eastern Block European accent.  Ok, she says conversationally, but did she mention that the new (evil eyebrow raise) *moisturizer* they have works really well (glances at me over her glasses with disapproving, pursed lips).  Fine, fuck it, she has shamed me into buying the goddamn moisturizer because I am apparently by her determination am the severely unmoisterized version of the Elephant Woman.  You win Evil Plastic Make-Up Counter Lady!  You win.

I Very Nearly Died Tonight- A Retrospective

So I met this girl who is a checker at the grocery store by my work.  I always go to her when she is the because she is so genuinely nice and she has the most gorgeous, thick black hair that goes to her waist.  The next time I went to the gym I was washing my hands in the bathroom post-workout (EW--I might have Other Peoples' Sweat on me!) and I saw The Hair in the reflection of the mirror next me. So the next time I go to the store, I see her and ask her if she goes to the same gym.  We get to talking and she tells me about this class she takes there. I believe its called "A 30 minute Trip to Satan's Lair."  I agree to to join her the at the next one because I am turning 30 in a couple months and have decided to be in better shape than ever to try and avoid the inevitable emotional breakdown.  So I went.  And almost died.  I swear by the end of that effing class I was a charming shade of eggplant and my head was about to explode.  What with The Death Flu and my gym classes I'll be lucky to make it to 30 at all.  

Wonk 101

So for everybody who will be reading this (not because you want to, but mostly because you have to because I will be administering pop quizzes Hot Shots), let me tell you how this blog is going to go down. 

I love Celebrity Gossip.  LO-OOOVE IT!!!  I love it so much that it has actually become a part of my job description to inform 1) My Boss and 2) My lovely colleagues if there is something going down in Tinseltown.  I actually get written up if I fail at this.  OK, not really.  But a verbal thrashing I think is fair to say.  

I love food and I love to cook it.  I do have hits and misses because I like to experiment.  My poor BF is the (sometimes unlucky) guinea pig.  Good news though- I haven't poisoned/killed him yet so I can't be that bad, right??  Right?

I love to read.  Especially memoirs.  Even if they are not true all the time.  Ahem, I'm looking at you, James Frey.

I love to watch TV.  Deal with it.

And most of all I love my kitties!!!  I have two and they are my obsessions (no actual human kids to obsess over, obvs.)  But I am not a crazy cat lady because I have a BF who co-parents and is just as obsessed.  So there.  

So, in summation, my readers, this is what you will be subjected to: Photos of celebrities caught acting drunk/high/just plain dumb, food and recipes including restaurant recommendations, book reviews, TV show reviews, and TONS of adorable pics of my cats.

Finally, as I am fairly new at this, please forgive the many hiccups I inevitably will have.  

Thanks for your time and loyalty.

The Wonky Weeze