Au Naturel

The wing-girl saga from a few weeks back has come to an ironic close. Evidently this/my wing-girl services were all in vain. Not only did wing-girling lead to just another douche for the "girl", but the very subject of "wing" must have had his beer goggles on the night he attacked me with his face. You see, out of courtesy, and totally out of character, I occasionally responded to his texts, partly because he told me I was being mean and of course I can't let someone, anyone, believe such a farce! Over text, he didn't seem nearly as obnoxious sober as he did drunk. So I agreed to meet him for a movie. The evening was actually pleasant and aside from his constant references to his baby momma (who is 3 months along) and his former military career, I hate to admit it, I sort of had a good time. After the movie, all texts cease. All that winging for nothing!

Quite on the contrary, I've had two recent incidences of looking completely like garbage, like literally, perhaps a panhandler, and have been pursued by the men's in this state. I don't get it. I wear real clothes and do my hair and my face and smell nice and can't get a follow-up text, but yet I can have bandages and ice packs on my furry legs, atrocious greasy hair, fuzzy teeth, smelly pits, pale face and get a business card slid under my apartment door. Or can be grocery shopping, sweaty head of hair, post BodyPump KISS eyes, probably a bit funky and frazzled because I'm surrounded by aisles and aisles of food as I'm starving since my last and only bag of popcorn all day, at 8:30 at night. It's these moments, my least favorable moments, that a kind fella decides to approach. I'm a bit shy because I can't believe I have to actually make eye contact and have conversation in this condition. Eventually, after he follows me through three aisles and encounter him in another few, I start to believe perhaps au naturel isn't as displeasing as I think it is, and perhaps there are those who like the sweaty-funky-hot-mess look, that I seem to pull off so well. Perhaps, when I blend in, I disappear, but when I bring the nontraditional look to the likes of haughty Uptown, I stick out like Martha Stewart in the State Pen as no one else would be caught dead, or alive, in my state of affairs. What is it about the look that one might find appealing, I have yet to learn, but I suspect it has something to do with the raw after-morning look. If you start out that way, one doesn't have to play guessing games as to who he might wake up with. Just saying. Perhaps it's the sporty athletic look. Perhaps it's the tight black fitness pants. Perhaps it's none of this and he was high. Who knows but I suppose, all in all, one man's treasure is another man's trash and if we were attractive to the entire world, that'd be a lot of SBNC blogging! For that, and only that, I appreciate the puzzling ways of men.

Always Good Reminders

12 Life Lessons by Marc Hack

1. Everyone has the same basic wants and needs.
2. What you do every day is what’s most important.
3. You can’t always be agreeable.
4. You’re not perfect, but you’re great at being you.
5. You DON’T want perfect people in your life.
6. Life is change. You must embrace it.
7. Your scars are symbols of your growth.
8. The truth is always the best choice.
9. It’s the small, free things that matter most in life.
10. Everyone’s story is more complicated than it seems.
11. Giving up and moving on are two different things.
12. You are not alone in being alone.

I need to remember #2, #3, #4, #8, #11 and #12.

eMeals for Realz

You wouldn't know it by the junk in the trunk, but this bootylicious puma doesn't know the first thing about the ins and outs of the most domestic area of the home. I can't cook, I don't know how, I don't like it, I am not organized enough, I don't get it. But I looooove to eat! My sister, the former dietary manager, who is more with it than me, is a wife and a mom, so she inherently knows this kind of stuff, and I noticed the last time I was nephewsitting, that her cupboards were full of ingredients and seemingly menu items. I got nosey, and discovered that by some magical way, she gets meal plans and grocery lists on a weekly basis. Someone tells her how to be the domestic diva that she is. So, in addition to my Big Friendly year of 2012, it is also my year of health, fitness and happiness. So I signed up for eMeals.

It is a meal plan customized to you. You can select a normal meal plan for singles or families; you can select a low-carb, low-fat or gluten free diet; you can select your preferred grocery store with ingredients with the lowest prices. The meal plans are easy and even though I've made only three, there was enough for two to three meals. And it actually tastes good! So, if you click the icon below, you can give me a referral credit, but if not, just go to emeals.com and check it out!

I recommend it for the single folks, the busy folks, the I-hate-the-kitchen folks, and those who need a little direction.

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My Puma Card Has Been Revoked

I tried to pull off the puma as best I could. I feel I failed miserably. I have this thing called a conscience. I can't live it down. Another weekend of stupidityness which leaves me embarrassed, ashamed, and hoping that friends and the angel on my shoulder will forgive me for such indiscretions. I'm not really a puma, I just talk a big game. When the rubber meets the road, I like doing the right thing. There was nothing right about my weekend, and it's like that guilty feeling after eating McD's, it never ever goes away. The excitement and fun is diminished by inexcusable behavior. I found my puma rut and now I have to find my way out of it again - I was doing so well! Or so my conscience said!

Wing Girl

Am I a slutface? So, one of my BFF's, soon to be un-BFF'd, just let me humilate myself, being a faithful servant in the form of a WING-GIRL. Yes, it happens. We are pre-gaming, er uh, pre-flighting, our "vacation" (which isn't so much a vacation for me as it is for my "BFF"). We are hangin'. At her bar of choice (aka her place of employment) and we're pre-gaming/pre-flighting, 4-6 hours before our 6 a.m. departure to Norfolk to visit MeRy (Meghan and Ryan). Historically, Cokes and I do not have a solid record of making our departure flights, so we decide it is best NOT to sleep before we are to arrive to el aiporto en el Minneapolis. It starts with with a flite of beer samples, which turns into din, which turns into seven other full strength "b*$%&" beers, for yours truly. We noticed, the bar is full of DUDES! You'd uh thought we be psyched. Until a friendly, uber-friendly-narcisstic-former-marine-seal, comes to make conversation. In the typical Christine-way, she's not having it. But in the typical Burger-way, I'm polite and I engage in friendly conversation. Cokes departs, leaving me with G.I. Joe. GI's friends join, we have friendly rounds of shots of So-Co and Lime and then night progresses. Progresses. And progresses. We're asked to leave, it's now 2:35. Our taxi arrives on 0 200 hours. Cokes makes a friend. Friend of the narcissist. Narcissist becomes o-so-friendly. I realize that the friend is a seemingly good catch and I encourage the make-out that happens after the smoke break back yonder on the snowy patio. I try to take pictures for Facebook blackmail. Plan is spoiled by incessant giggling. I realize that in order for Cokes to "get it in", I need to be the Wing Girl. WG's commences. Insanity ensues. 20 feet apart, she's moved from the A-frame hug to the all-out pelvis smashing in the parking lot. I'm dying. I'm entertaining the Narcissist. I can only hold out so long. I can only stick my hands in my pockets and dip and dodge and dive until it becomes painstakingly obvious this WG'ing isn't going to come to a quick conclusion. I concede. I'll leave it to your imagination. FINALLY, she's had enough, we're 0100 hours to taxi ride to the airport. She says farewell, as do I, in good spirits. I enter the car, tears in my eyes. She effing BLAMES ME for allowing it to happen, TOTALLY underestimated the lengths at which I JUST wing-girled her and criticizes MY behavior over the last half hour at which I allowed our slutface to get her face-smash on! Then, we have to make a necessary pit-stop at the ol' SA across the street. The effers are IN THE EFFING STORE!!! GI Joe uses his melon and puts two and two together, realizing if she's inside, I'm outside, and comes to my window. And it commences once again. WTF. Go away. Wing Girling is OVER!!! She joins me in the Maz, and laughs at me the entire ride home, all the while, tears in my eyes. Humiliation, defunct pride, embarrassment, all for the whim and while of my dear BFF, CHRISTINE. Love you Cokes, I'd do it all again! Muuuuaaahhhh!!