Mardi Gras!

Happy Fat Tuesday!
I hope you all get drunk, get beads and have fun.
...I'll be working.

I'm actually excited about Lent coming up, though. It's my favorite Christian season. Seriously.
I usually give up chocolate or swearing or soda, but I think this year I'm giving up alcohol.
Er, drinking more than 2 cocktails a night.
Er, drinking more than one drink per venue.
No. I can do that. I can. It's 40 days. Just 40 days.
The whole point is to strive to be more Christ-like. And I'm sure the more Christ-like version of Roar involves less alcohol. Actually, I'm positive.
Perhaps this will also help with the budget crunch of late. We'll see...


Daddy Savage

Daddy Savage was in town on business last night. It was a pleasant evening. My Father and I have our *ish, but I have to give him his props. (Credit where credit is due kind of thing).
  • He was the youngest and most handsome Dad in my elementary school. (New Yorkers wait 'til their 30's to have puppies and Dad was 26 when I was born). Bubba won't ever know him like that.

  • Dad was nicknamed 'Daddy Savage' by my sorority sisters on my 21st birthday. He stayed at the bar with us, paying for shots and playing bouncer while I took my 21. Girls wrote in my shotbook that night: "Daddy Savage is HOT!"

  • He's cooler than I am. Dad bought me my first Death Cab for Cutie CD this Christmas. I had never heard of them. We'll both be going to the concerts when they come to our respective cities.

Dad's Quote of the Evening:
"Why don't you wear more turtlenecks?"

...He may be cool, but he's still a Dad, ya know?



Instead of the bars, last night I saw "Munich." The movie had a real affect on me.

I'm remiss to admit that I had not ever heard about the Israeli hostage massacre at the '72 Olympics before the movie hit theatres. There's a NYC public school education for you...

But a month ago, while I was still shaking my head in horror each time the trailer came on, my Jewish friends were almost excited.
"O that? O yeah. EVERYbody knows about what happened in Munich."
I got the feeling that their information didn't come via their public school teacher.

My Mother was a Junior, my Father a Freshman in High School when it happened. They both lived in different cities in Oklahoma. I doubt that the massacre affected their lives much. I doubt they knew a Jewish person at the time.

My Grandmother had her second of 4 children in 1957, my Mother was 2 at the time. But it was 2002, when I was a freshman in college, taking a contemporary American History class, when I came home excited to talk to her about what I was learning.
'You were there, Grandma. Living one state away from the Little Rock 9. What was all that like? What was the country like?

She stared at me, blankly.
"I didn't even hear about it."

Earlier that year, in the halls of my freshman dorm, I watched girls crying, frantically trying to get through to New York. Even 9 miles outside of DC, it was all so close and so real. But I went home to my family that Christmas and no one felt much about it- not the way I did. It was as if 9-11 created a palpable hole- but only the East Coast coast could feel it. Everywhere else it seemed to be an empty excuse for... something. It was clear to me, though, that the people listening to Toby Keith's "We'll put a boot in your ass..." didn't get it.

It's just interesting.

I know my parents, in Oklahoma in '72, never would have guessed that a mere one generation after their own would be so familiar on a daily basis with people of a culture they had yet even to discover. It never would have occured to them to pay attention at that time, as it didn't for my Grandmother when she was 23, because whatever was happening, however far away, might directly affect the lives of the people their children would become intimate with. And through them, their children's lives would be affected, too.

American ignorance is nothing new.

I just hope I can open my eyes enough now so that I don't forget to teach my own children things about the world I live in, the world that I'm bringing them into. Because I'd hate to have to stare blankly at any of my progeny and say,
"I didn't even hear about it."

This movie had a real and powerful affect on me.


The Peanut Gallery

The nosey cooks at job #2 always have something to say to make me feel so... hot. Forgive the broken Spanish. It's the only way we communicate. I should learn more.

"Tu. Gordana. Aqui." (Pointing to their hips).
"No. ... Si? ... Pero solo un poquito gorda...!"
They shrugged. I think they thought I would be more combative, affected, whatever.
"Si." They're both nodding.
"Yo gusto." (Now I'm holding my own hips). "Quiero mirar como una mujer."

I woke up for the gym at 6am the next morning. Iris (pronounced Eee-reese) just loves that she can get to me like that.


I swear I'm not Jenna Bush. Really.

...and other thoughts from & about last night's Happy Hour.

Having a condom named after you... and it's "for her pleasure," well, I think this settles a few things, don't you? I used to want a "Welcome to Savage" sign that I could hang (uhm, above my bed, perhaps?) but no one wanted to steal if for me. The condom, thankfully, is legal. Thank you to Nic for finding this treasure. That I ultimately lost mid-after-party. Just have to go back, then, I guess.

If a future Doctor thinks you can eat random fries, who am I to do anything but join in the fun?

I loooved talking to Circle V last night! (And her rendition of an Okie accent was WAAY better than mine. I just think hick accents are so hot!!) I'm setting up my appointment at Blue Mercury as soon as I get paid, hehe.

I will break 66 of his Jaeger beef. Jaeger is the nectar of the gods. When mixed with Goldshlager it's heavenly. I call it a Starry Night. BTW, 66, why do I always scowl in pics with you? I promise to work on this. I looked at one pic and I was like, "Gawd! It doesn't even look like I like him."

Fave quote of the evening(not telling who said it): "I'm straight-ish."

Marci and I are the spanking-giving queens. And DAMN, is this one Down Ass Chick or what?

Greg (non-blogger) totally came through with the car bombs for Nic and I. He followed us to 2 of our 3 after party venues (you guys remember 18th St?) but peaced out at Citron. He must've gotten the hint that no one was feeling him that much. Sadface.

Steve's. Isn't it so speak-easy-ish? All I had to do was walk up to the DJ and say, "I told my crew this was an 80's place. Will you play 80's for me?" And just like that, we were boogie-ing to Michael Jackson and Madonna. Score!

And last but not least: Who was the last girl standing at the after party? THIS GIRL!

...Now you guys have seen Nicole and I in action. As she's already mentioned, if this had been a weekend night, we would have been on the main floor of Citron, dancing on that bar (or one of the booths).

But I maintain: I am not Jenna Bush.


World's Smallest Violin

I hate whiney blogs.
And I find those bloggers (and people in general, really) kind of insipid. 'Where's the empowerment, people?'

Which is why I don't have a lot to say today.

Except that I really feel like I deserve a chauffer on days like these, for the walk between my apt., the metro, my office and back. Or, at the very least, an umbrella.

**Pouting to myself**


*Huge* Sigh of Relief

3 days ago, I thought my trip to Midas would be as pleasantly uneventful as it has been in the past. The last time a light came on the guys said it was the coolant. They checked it and filled it- no charge. Saturday, I had been seeing a different light, but I figured the boys would take care of me all the same.

Do you know how much an oil change, diagnostic, tune up, coil pack, labor and fluid flush run you?
Me neither.
I went deaf when Midas Michelle told me.

Do you know what the basic have-to cost is of a misfire, aka- what is happening when your engine light comes on?
More than it would be couth to share. And a hefty chunk of my savings.

I called Mom, panicking.
"I thought you were putting 10% of your savings away." And an unrelated, "What do you mean they wanna see your passport at the DMV?"
I went deaf again.
Primo Panic Mode. Meltdown in Roar's cube. Yes, there were tears.

Then I called Grampa.

My Grandfather owns the oldest family-run FORD dealership in the state of Oklahoma. He was already looking at the file on my car when I called.

This is not the first time Grampa has helped in a pinch. Two months ago, after seeing Pride and Prejudice by myself at the E Street Cinema on a Sunday night, my car wouldn't start. It was cold, I was alone, but I figured I could handle it myself.
Thought bubble: 'I'm Roar! I'm a strong woman! I come from a car family!'
I called Triple A. Then, while waiting for my tow truck, I called my Stepdad's auto parts store and talked to one of the NAPA guys. "Sometimes cars just die in winter," he told me.

Third time's a charm. "It's yer bump button!"
Can you hear an Oklahoma accent in your head? It's mostly twang, very little Southern drawl. We're not that dainty. I'll do an impression for anyone who needs clarification at the HH tomorrow.
Grandpa had me crawling around the passenger side of my car to find the button below the glove box that would deactivate something that was set off when another car tapped mine, trying to get out of their parking space. No damage, but my smart FORD turned off anyway. I called Triple A and canceled the service. Grandpa had fixed it from 1500 miles away.

And he did it again today. After a short phone call, Grandpa instructed his Service man to call Midas' Service woman. Thank G-d for Grandpa! Now I can breathe again.

I may still have to pay a huge chunk of change, but at least this time I called the right person first (er, second).



I feel bad for all the schlubs at their desks today (Monday). (Even though I went into the office both Saturday and Sunday...)

I'm in NYC right now. Actually, most of the day my butt will be on Greyhound. Cuz I'm bussing up and back. Cuz I'm cool. Er, cuz my car's in the shop. But mostly, cuz it's called determination, folks.

Talk to y'all tomorrow.



VD Answered: One man's flipside

So, The Man has me working pretty hard today at job #1. And then it's immediately job #2. And then it's K's birthday in Adams Morgan. (Happy Birthday, you sexy, sexy girl!)

Needless to say, I have very little time to pontificate. Why don't you check this out instead? One man I respect in the blogosphere took the time to do a flipside to my own "5 Types of Guys." It's amusing. Which one of his types are you? Which ones have you dated? As you'll see, I've already labeled myself...

Have a lovely weekend!

One more thing: according to my sitemeter, someone at the Pentagon thought that my last post was entertaining. For, like, a WHILE. Between all the work I'm doing today, I think I'm gonna call my lawyer...


Firecrotch & his Red Friends

Only in DC.

I'm a huge liberal. And though I can respect others' opinions, I also really don't like republican men. Here's why.

I used to wait tables at my bar on Wednesday nights. Management would let me come in at 6pm, after my day job and before the dinner rush. Even though I was 2 hours late I was still able to make decent money.

It was one such Wednesday a little after 6 when I met Mike. It was busy that night and I was standing around waiting for some tables to turn over so I could take them over. He asked if I could help him get a drink. I gladly cocktailed for Mike and his friends, picking up a couple extra bucks. Then Mike made a play for me.
Can I get your number?

He was a medium-height, medium-build guy with red hair. I wasn't particularly attracted.
No, I'm sorry. I can't give out my number at work. I can take your card, though.
This is my stock response. I like it cuz the ball's then in my court (so I can drop it). A bitch may not call, but you seem at worst flaky if you lose someone's card. "I'm in government," he said, handing it over.
Which branch?
What? So you're a republican.
Yes. I work in the White House for the President.

I rolled my eyes and looked away.
A compassionate republican. I'd still love to take you to dinner.

I have to admit, besides the bullshit line, my enemy had me intrigued. His eyes looked genuine, sincere. Besides, 2/4ths of my parents are republicans. You can't make blanket statements about people. And then, from deep down inside, my inner Gold Digger began wondering if I could use him to finally go to Butterfield 9. Then for added measure, my less-inner Industry Whore shot me a fast-forward of years later, being able to tell my grandkids about my date with the White House Staffer: 'Before I married your grandad...' (Come on, at least I'm honest!)

Mike and his other Red friends ended up having dinner in my section that night. They ordered at least 2 pitchers of mojitos, and the conversation got more and more inappropriate.
As I cleared their plates, my hands already full, they tried to put a pen that was left on the table in my mouth.
After bringing Mike the dish of whipped cream he wanted for desert, he tried to feed me the cherry.
When I flirtingly asked him if he were metrosexual, Mike replied:
I'm so metro, I could fuck that guy's dog!
(Comparing homosexuality or even metrosexuality to beastiality is no way to win points with me).

And then it happened.

Mike was drunk at this point. He insisted on getting his card back so he could give me his cell number.
When do you get off? You need to meet us out!
How about, instead of dinner or drinks later, we do lunch tomorrow. Right after I get done picketing.

The Red guys laughed.
What will you picket?
Oh, I dunno. Judge Roberts?

More laughter.
Oh, you know about Judge Roberts?!
(I guess the skimpy shirt and tight jeans don't scream 'intelligent.')

Mike raised an eyebrow.
But do you know his first name?

I didn't.
I dunno. Judge Dickhead-Who-Won't-Let-Me-Get-An-Abortion Roberts?

The Red boys roared. Then Mike leaned over, closer to me, so I'd be sure to hear him:
Roar, after tonight, I WANT you to get an abortion.

I froze. I knew it was one of those defining moments that I would one day look back on. I could either kick myself for continuing to ingratiate myself for their tip, or I could do what I did.

I dropped his card on the table and walked away. Within two minutes, I was back to drop their check. I was done with them.

I had known before they sat down that, on an ideological level, I did not get along with these guys. But the fact that a representative of the President would suggest he wanted to pork me raw so I'd have to have my insides scraped out, well, that really drove the point home for me.

And ps- I now ignore the Gold Digger and Industry Whore in my head. They're only trouble, anyway.

S.A.D., Schm-A.D.

Valentine's Day got it's ass kicked!

Official night's tally: 5 venues, 6 drinks, 2 shots, 4 girls, 3 guys & 5.5 hours of debauchery with this girl.

Things learned:

Whenever possible, begin an evening out by having dinner with two really cool chicks, AB and K. (No, this wasn't included in the above tally. But I did have some sake...)

They don't do kareoke on Tuesdays at Cafe Japone. They do have lame-ass amateur stand-up. To the only person we heard before turning to leave, I have two tips: 1- No one thinks jokes about how skinny you are are funny. 2- It would've been funnier as 'labia majora.' I left saying, "They're gonna draw her hmm-hmm candle-holder??

All the hottest places don't have signs.

"Oh, right. Yeah." is a British thing. Judging by Phil, they say it all the time.

Whenever possible, step down from the table you're dancing on to take a shot and pass the unfinished half to the guy who's been watching. As he's holding it, lean over and say, "I don't know why guys hit on girls who dance like sluts." Then climb back on the table.

I still need to come up with a response to: "Where did you learn to dance like that?" But honestly, what do they expect? Jamaica? Cape Town? Strip Club?

Citron on Tuesdays is a good place to quickly scratch the Salsa itch.

It's hard to stick to my resolution cuz I want everyone to find Steve's as fun as I do. Even if there is a vicious rumor that it's the White House.

Play will always be packed, no matter what night it is (and evidently filled with married bankers sans their wedding rings. All I'm sayin').

By boycotting dating, i've wasted too much time (aka this past weekend) already. It's time to get a new rotation going. I like Puerto Rico.

And finally, Ash reigns supreme in bathroom pow-wows. Nicole and Maggs hold the title for best cab-huddle.


Happy Valentine's Day!

For the record, though the Countdown was very cathartic, I know that there are good guys out there. I've even dated a couple of them.

Pictured is Eric, a guy I dated Freshman year. He is smart, sweet, funny, and could always keep up on the dancefloor. He even stayed up all night with me to box up my entire dorm room to send home after finals. We're still friends. He's been a permanent fixture at all of my birthdays and I'd do anything for him. He's now a teacher and getting his Masters at Hopkins in Special Education.

(A close runner-up would have to be my High School Sweetheart, Tyler. He's a Dad now, and getting married soon, but he's such a part of the family that he still calls my Mom on Mother's Day. He's one of the kindest people I know. He was even studying to be a minister at one time).

Cynicism aside, on Valentine's Day (if I think about romance at all) I think about those two great guys. I know there are more like them out there.


Countdown to VD: 5 Types of Guys

Zero hour is upon us. Tomorrow will be Valentine's Day, and I will have fulfilled my obligation to K-- the week-long "Countdown to VD" will be over.

I thought I'd take the opportunity to stop complaining about the state of things and dispense some wisdom-- cuz Lord knows, you can't get through all those scrapes without *some* insight (or, at least, you'd hope).

My experience has led me to formulate the theory that there are 5 main types of guys out there. (There are definitely more, but I find that all of those that I have come across are just variations on the same basic themes. Secondary colors, if you will, to the primary that are the following five). Which of these have YOU come across?

The Prep:
His crisp, popped-collar and perfectly creased dockers are telling you something about his personality- and no, it's not that he cares enough to pay attention to detail. The man is anal. Whether he won't let you touch his keyboard, his car stereo or his hair, he has control issues. He feels the weight of the world on him- pressure to be successful, intelligent, built. He's holding his sanity together with Scotch tape- so get used to the quirks, they're the tip of the iceberg.
The Downside: In the extreme, this anality even manifests itself in their sexuality. After 5 weeks of dating one noteably preppy boy in college, he would do no more than kiss me. I later found out he had been scarred for life on his first sexual encounter: the sex was fine, but the day after she was seen sporting a cold sore.

The Playboy: You heard he dates Redskins cheerleaders, but you only ever see him out and about with his boys. He's fun, polite and even great with the email banter.
The Downside: It's going nowhere. He sees girls in 2 categories: ones he wants to screw, and ones he wants to talk to. You got an email, right? You know which one you are. Many of these guys have "that one girl" from their past that encompassed both for them. That was a while ago. Now he's either waiting for her to come back or he's looking for her duplicate. It's not you (and why would you want it to be?). Stop crushing NOW.

The Loser: You invite this guy to hang out cuz he's nice and non-threatening. The problem is his verbal diahrrhea. In his un-socialized mind, he thinks his "straight-forward" approach is witty, when it's really just unnecessary. Classic: You mention your friendship and he quickly says, "Whoa! I'm not trying to date you!" Yeah, sure buddy. Or, "I can tell you like to be persued, but I'd like to see your interest in me now." (I've gotten this a few times, actually).
The Downside: he might not be so grating if he'd play his cards a little closer to the vest (and stop pretending his lack of internal dialogue makes him original).

Mr. Narcissism: No question, while dating in DC, you'll more than likely come across a man who has generated some hype for himself. It's sexy, it's fun, and both of you buy it. Just make sure your own ego is big enough to handle it when he books that Disney movie. (Yes, this has happened to yours truly).
The Downside: Don't take it personally when he's not eager to get to know (or even talk about) you. In fact, speaking of eager, if you like that can't-wait-to-have-you feeling a good, passionate bedmate can give you, look elsewhere. Sex with him is more like mutual masterbation at best. These guys have never had to be good in bed- (cuz there's a line behind you, Sister!)- so he's never tried to be (he thinks he already is). By all means, close your eyes, pretend he's not there and go for yours- cuz he will.

The Workaholic: He loves his job and he's probably successful. He's intelligent and has a great work ethic. He even wants the picket fence- eventually.
The Downside: He's looking for his Queen to complete the dynasty that he's so doggedly trying to create (and she's not necessarily an equal). If he begins regularly breaking dates for work-related obligations and doesn't seem all that apologetic, he's decided you're not that girl. Have fun while it lasts, but don't stop building your own empire, either. You may not end up combining assets.


Countdown to VD: Dan Savage, my Sense

(Thoughts for the weekend)

Speaking of casual sex:

In one of my favorite books, Dan Savage's "Savage Love" a man wrote in:
"I know there is passion out there, but what prevents them (straight women) from acting upon it?...In fact, the entire gay communiity seems more relaxed about sex! Why can't straight women be more like gay men?"

After calling many straight men "slimy shits," Dan explains to the writer "...straight women might be more like gay men if straight sex was more like gay sex."

He explains: "To be penetrated is to assume most of the risk, not just of pregnancy and disease, but the psychic risk as well. Letting another person in your body is sometimes as big a mind-fuck as it is a body-fuck, and not something everyone can be casual about."

In case you didn't know, Savage continues: "When a guy goes to bed with a guy, penetration is never assumed. It has to be agreed to, and very often, isn't even on the menu. And, unlike most breeder sex, both the participants in gay sex have most likely been penetrated themselves, so both understand why someone might not want to for some reason, and are willing to 'settle' for hand jobs or head instead."

Right on, Dan!

(I personally think the Advice-Seeker lived in the Washington Metro Area. Just sayin'.)


Countdown to VD: Disillusioned

He still teases me about this. It was a couple of summers ago. I was still in college and was crashing in VA with DistrictSiren. I was talking on the phone to a good friend and ex who had graduated 3 years ahead of me. He and I were making plans to see each other that evening.

With our friendship in mind, wanting to keep everything on the up-and-up, I said:
"OK, I'll come out. But I'm not gonna hook up with you."
He just laughed.
"Roar. I've graduated-- I'm an adult. We (adults) don't hook up. We have casual sex."

I at once felt very naive and silly.
Once that wore off I then had a sinking thought: "Is that really all I have to look forward to?"

What has poignantly disillusioned you?
***After a trip to dictionary.com, I decided Daddy was right: the above wasn't SO poignant afterall. But I can't help my grandiose language. I score "very high" as a Histrionic... (root word, hysterical??).
What are YOU?


Countdown to VD: Horrifying Date Quotes

My friends (nearly all of whom are attached) tell me that my (mis-)adventures in single-dom allow them to date vicariously through me. I can't help thinking, however, that my stories only serve to keep them holding onto their own relationships for dear life.

In the spirit of the CVD, I thought I'd share some of the highlights. After all, why should only my close circle of friends benefit from my horrifying experience?

Keep in mind: each of the following were uttered by someone I was interested in while on a date with yours truly. And, for the most part, unless it had to be condensed (or unless noted otherwise) each of these are quotes, verbatim. A few are the same person. Many, however, are not. (There's a lot of duds out there, what can I say?)

What I think you'll find the most astonishing (at least, my friends do) is that I always manage to pick myself up, dust myself off, and head out the door to hear another horrifying quote. Er, go on another ill-fated date.

I graduated the University of Maryland in May of '05. We'll pick up the month after.

  • What do you mean you don't want to be my girlfriend?
  • What I need to see from you now is an interest in me.
  • All the women in my family wear traditional muslim garb.

  • July:
  • I'd love to see you when you're sober.
  • The little man under my desk needs to get out more. (Yes, he was talking about THAT little man).

  • August:
  • I'm moving to Prague.

  • September:
  • I sleep around cuz I'm good at it.
  • Paraphrase: I called him a diva. He called me a negro. (!!!!)

  • October:
  • I used to weigh 300 pounds.
  • Are you always this sensual?
  • I'm really terrified of confrontation.

  • November:
  • I'm a Republican. (I cancelled the date).

  • December:
  • I've never been in a relationship before. My boys are my life.

  • January:
  • I live with my parents, and did all through college, too. My Mom makes my lunch for me every morning.
  • Can our next date be a sleep-over?
  • I'm divorced.
  • His favorite book? "Goosebumps."

  • February:
  • I'm not a nice guy. I have a lot of hatred built up. (Dude, look at this list. I'm getting there...)
  • I haven't been on a date in a long time.
  • I get hit on by gay men every time I'm in Dupont Circle.
  • Actually, I'm 36.

So... yeah. How scary is this? Have you ever gotten any of these?


Countdown to VD: There are no men

It's true. There are way over 100,000 more women in the District than there are men. And not even 200,000 of those are in the 25-44y-o age bracket. (Rather wide, don't you think? This might explain why those old dudes have been hitting on us with straight faces...)

Being single in DC is like always being the odd man out in musical chairs. No wonder there's so much UGC here. People are just happy to be coupled up.

But back to me. Do I really have to move to a red state to get a decent date?

Announcing: The Countdown to VD

K suggested that I write a post about how much Valentine's Day sucks. A natural go-getter, I'm gonna do one better.

Welcome to the week-long Valentine's Day Countdown, aka,
Why Dating In DC
(or anywhere) Sucks.

I figure I have LOTS of material. And notice the appropriate title? It's what dating inevitably gives scads of unsuspecting schmoes each year, anyway.

So check back with me this week to let my tales of how cupid has fucked up entertain (or scare) you til Tuesday.

It Gets Worse

"She's off her meds."
I was jolted out of my Monday Mope by a huge dose of reality that put it all in perspective, so to speak.

My close work buddy, AB, told me during lunch about a breakup a close friend of hers was going through. She'd been updating me about this guy's love life for a while between our lunch breaks and trips to our shared yoga class. Last I had heard, AB's friend was trying to end it with a girl who was terminally ill and who had no support system-- evidently, she came from a dysfunctional home (who hasn't?).

AB's friend has finally found his way out of that relationship, but the girl has now very literally decided she wants to give up on life. (Every dumper's fear).
"There's nothing the doctors can do. The meds make her sick, and she wants to live her last few weeks not sick."

If that wasn't bad enough, now this girls ex, AB's friend still had to meet with her Father to fill in the blanks for him in her medical history-- things the Father had missed due to the family's dynamic (absent).

This didn't happen to me, but I'm shaken all the same. If you were her, would you go off your meds, ever? I'm a Kevorkian fan, but I'm also an optimist. What ever happened to the hope of a medical breakthrough? Am I heartless for thinking (even a little) that her timing spells less of a proactive choice and more of a passive agressive personal vendetta? And, in this guy's shoes, how do you ever get over something like that?


Happy 7th, Bubba

Seven years ago today, on Groundhog's day, I got a present way better than any winter forecast. At 15 years old, I became the proud big sister to my very own Bubba. My cousin Kasie got a little bubba when we were 12. I had been envious for so long... and then it finally happened. I got one, too!

I spent the Summer after Bubba was born at my Dad's house, and would go to the hospital with my Stepmom to her New Mommy classes. When Bubba would get fussy, I would take him into the hallway and push him in his stroller or bounce him up and down, hugging him in my arms. More than one couple that summer gave us dirty looks as we walked up and down that hallway, thinking that Bubba was, in fact, my son. I didn't let them bother me. It was Dallas, afterall. And I wasn't about to let small mindedness affect my joy with my new toy.

Bubba has continued to be such a blessing, and one of my favorite playthings. He teases me like I deserve and is the only person that will all-out wrestle with me anymore.

I love you, Bubba! Happy Birthday!!!

(Isn't he handsome?)



:acronym for Ugly Girl Complex.
(This is a term close to my heart, one that I've coined and I hope will catch on cuz it's oh-so-relevant. I sometimes use it several times a day).

UGC is a condition that many women (and some men) suffer from that makes them settle for less than they deserve.

Your hot friend Veronica dating a bad-dressing dork?
Unless he's a specific enthusiast, she's suffering from UGC.

Taking bullshit from any guy, who's stringing you along?
You've got UGC.

Your hot guy friend still dealing with that busted girl that brings nothing but drama?
He's a victim of UGC.

UGC has varying degrees. Settling for someone who's looks or behavior render them beneath you, well, that's UGC. Settling for a combo of both- an ugly, mean person- and you've got UGC BAD!

The motivation for UGC is simple. These poor afflicted people are afraid they won't get anyone better. Friend with a victim of UGC? You can't down their partner. Remember: your friend may be in denial (you'd have to be!). Instead, take them out and let them see that normal, hot and nice people will find them interesting. UGC, by definition, is an unfounded fear. If it's founded, it's something else...

Start feeling this way yourself, just remember: You're not doing anyone any favors. Your 'beneath you' person deserves to find someone on their level that can love all of them. And jerks should know they're jerks (by being dumped)- and possibly find other jerks that can appreciate that, too.

HTML is (almost) my Bi-atch!

That's right. If you click on me at random points during the day, you're going to see different things. My header was black before it turned this beautiful green. There was some white on the page earlier... well, you get the idea.

Slowly but surely, my blog is gonna be WHITE HOT!

If you have any suggestions, leave me some love.