So This Is Where I Officially Lose My Soul...

...because I'm going to mock my family.

Old photos are horrifying. To me. I can't figure out why. I hate history, I hate learning about it, hate hearing about it, and detest looking at old photos. Why? I don’t know, maybe in a way it’s a reminder of how insignificant I am and that we’re all going to die. Sure, it’s a bit of a leap, but that’s how the gears turn in my head. It’s all about me, and how eventually I am going to die. 



Today in my inbox was a link. Someone in the family had uploaded a bunch of old pics online. As I scrolled through the photos two things were immediately clear – one was that most of the photos were terrible and I could barely tell if there were people in the pictures, the contrast was non-existent. The second revelation was that, of the photos where I could detect relatives, I decided I wasn’t sure I wanted to be related to any of the odd-looking anorexic bobble-heads, because Oh My Gawd, my aunts, mom, and uncle were seriously underfed.

So skinny. So so skinny. All razor-sharp elbows and knee caps jutting out from heads that look 3-times too large for their stick-figure bodies, with too-large facial features. 

I’m not so sure if I should be worried that my mother was anorexic, or if grandma had a close encounter of the freaky kind and genetically I am one-quarter alien species. You decide. 



It's just a waiting game...

....to see if I can survive winter.

Re: the comments

I got a few complaints about having to sign-in to comment, so I've disabled that feature now and you (hopefully) can comment at will without any tedious hoop jumping.

I'm reading, y'all.

So I haven't really gotten into the blog groove of late, and I feel crappy about that, cause I have things to say! And stories! Because I ride the City friggin Bus, y'all. My immune system is growing by leaps and bounds. BRING ON THE SWING FLU, BITCHES!

Ok, I'm a bit crazed with the exclamation points right now (!!!!!!!!!!).

Aside from interactions with people I didn't know existed - ! Dude, a big black man twice my height and my girth asked me if he could smoke in the bus shelter and I was like "DUDE, You can't smoke in here, do it outside," and HE DID. Last week an old drunk yelled at me to sit down and I yelled right back that I didn't want to sit cause I'd been doing it all day. And he shut the f*ck up. Apparently I have powers over the impoverished yet rude people of the city. - wait, what was I talking about? Oh right, I have had plenty of time to start reading again. Something I haven't done in about 5 years. I'm currently juggling two.

The first is by Bruce Campbell, of "Evil Dead" fame. I am enjoying it, because he is a hilarious writer (or his ghost writer is). My only complaint is he drags on in certain sections describing movie camera shit that is not at all interesting to me. But I read and re-read the parts about growing up with his brothers. Growing up with brothers, as it turns out, isn't all that different from growing up with sisters, in that we all just pounded the crap out of each other while our parents tried to balance the checkbook.

If Chins Could Kill: Confessions of B Movie Actor

The other one is more serious in nature, "Hungry," by Crystal Renn, who is now a plus-sized model. I thought the beginning dragged, but it held me captive because she grew up in a situation similar to other people I know. And let me tell you, being tall I had my share of people saying I should model (because I was tall, I'd like to point out, never because they thought I was pretty) (assholes) and reading this is chilling me to the bone and making me beyond thankful I never really tried. I thought I had some body image issues - but I wasn't 98-pound teenager being told by adults to loose weight. This book is heart-wrenching and infuriating and absolutely fascinating.

Hungry: A Young Model's Story of Appetite, Ambition and the Ultimate Embrace of Curves

So what are you reading?

Hmm..

I bought a can of bean dip the other night. That alone isn't so remarkable, but I ate most of it. The problem really began the next morning when I put on a pair of control-top tights. I don't know about anyone else, but when I wear a control top to keep things nice and sucked in my gut gets a little angry. After lunch it was especially pissed and I knew it wanted some room to "breathe."

At the end of the day I had an appt with a chiropractor. Once in his office I quickly changed out of the tights into a pair of yoga pants. My stomach seemed quite pleased that it was no longer restricted, and made a happy gurgle. And I thought all was well.

A few minutes later I was lying on my side, while the doctor told me to take a deep breath and relax. As I did so and he leaned forward to squash the hell out of my back, I realized I was a little "too relaxed." A split second before he adjusted me, I knew what was going to happen, and I had a choice. I could tense up and probably end up injured by the doctor, or I could just let go and let God.

And by god, did I let one rip.

So cute, I want to eat their faces.

More Critters

If I played my cards right I could probably have an entire gallery showing of these. :o)

(note: the dog isn't mine)

Say Cheese

I've developed an odd habit/tradition, of photographing myself and my critters w/ the Photo Booth app on my computer. Lately I've extended it to any critters. Pet sitting for a friend turned into a photo op for Ally and me, but she couldn't quite get it right.

I will also pay to be slapped*

For the second time in my life, I have gone to a salon, requested a hair cut, and been denied. Or more exactly, been told, "oh no, you should grow your hair long," and then paid a lot of money for someone to basically run a comb through my hair (which, let's be honest, I don't do that, so I guess there is some benefit).

I'm not sure where this falls on the spectrum between "you are so ugly you should hide that face with as much hair as possible, and add some more to it just to be safe," and "I, the stylist, whom you will pay lots of money to, am hung-over beyond belief and pissed that you booked a 9 a.m. appt. I can barely see the numbers on the clock, let alone try to figure out how to use sharp objects around your head without bodily harm. Just let me tell you you're pretty, and tip me well."

I tried to be pleasant while I was there, but when I get home and realized I paid to look the same I almost took scissors to my hair. Instead, I decided to be rational, and called the salon back up, asking, "bang trims are free, right?" Oh sure, I don't want bangs, I had wanted a bob, but you know, at least I'm getting something for my money.

*Actually happened. I had a gift card at a salon and got a "facial" that involved being hit (they referred to it as "tapped") repeatedly in the face.

Things that have made me laugh today.

The lady at Target, who didn't move away from the card swiper after she had paid, and then yelled at me when the cashier rang up my items and gave me my total. Not exactly sure what her end-game was.

The fact that Roger inhaled her breakfast this morning and then promptly barfed it all back up in the water bowl. Birdie and Luna watched in disgust.

It was the disgust on their faces that killed me.

My New Favorite Quote

"If it were true that women are turned on by a man who makes them laugh, Woody Allen wouldn’t have had to marry his own daughter."

A Girl Under the Influence

I just discovered that I'm growing an ass on top of the one I already have. I have a flat chest and a flat stomach, which is a mean trick as I don't gain weight there, but I do on my backside, and area I don't ever catch a glimpse of. If I want to see what's happening back there, I have to commit to a getting out several mirrors and performing a bit of a magic show. Which I don't often do. So I wasn't even aware of the extra ass situation until I got out last year's slacks and put them on. Or tried to put them on.

I occasionally bemoan that my clothes are getting tighter, but right now I can't actually button up some of my pants. And that makes me want to throw myself off the roof. Besides the obvious horrors of gaining weight, I am dealing with an issue of economics. I spent a lot of time and money over the years, not only buying clothes, but paying even more money to have them altered so they will perfectly fit. And now they don't.

I've evaluated the situation, and decided the cheapest solution is obviously to get rid of the second ass. I think even surgery would be cheaper than new clothing. And before I'm accused of being a bit dramatic, I should point out that I have a 35" inseam, which is 1" too long for most "long" pants, and 1" too short for most "x-long" pants, making finding perfectly fitting pants a full-time job, people.

I'm perhaps deluding myself right now, as I believe all will go back to sanity if I just lose 10 lbs. (yeah, I know, that makes me a member of the just lose 10 lbs club, ha). I have separated my clothing into several piles. A pile of clothing that doesn't fit that I am willing to part with (it's very small), a pile of clothing that I can currently wear (also small), and a pile of clothing that I believe I can fit in to if I lose some weight (that pile is not so small, rather a lot like my ass).

As I was going through all the clothes yesterday and trying not to become suicidal a friend texted me a question, to which I replied, "That is the least of my problems. I'm looking at myself in the mirror trying to figure out how to stand in my pants so I don't have a camel toe."

Yeah....I think I might go ahead and put those pants in the give-away pile.

Injured

I fell off an elliptical machine today. You know, the machine in the gym where the platform moves so your feet don't have to? And there are poles on the sides for your arms to hold on to.

I'm icing my ankle to keep down the swelling.

That is all.

Things are good, things are bad. In short, it's all the same.

Since Sunday I've had a visitor of the 4-footed variety. I'm not too bothered by it, but Luna and Birdie are in near hysterics. That low rumbling you felt in the earth? Just attribute it to the constant spitting and growling that's happening my apartment.

The little kitty was found on the Monon Trail, screaming in a tree. She was rescued by a passing biker, and promptly placed in my arms, I guess because I had been standing there talking to her. (Yes, that's right, talking to her. I'm sure the cat was screaming in her own language, "Woman, what the f**k? Get me out of the tree and then we can have a conversation.")

The amazing thing was not only did the cat not scratch the guy who pulled her down, she immediately curled up as I held her and started purring. I was with a friend (of the male variety, and I cannot believe he is still willing to take me out for dinners after seeing me converse with a screaming tree cat) who drove us home, and the cat sat very comfortably in my lap.

I tried, for about 3 hours, to leave the cat in my car while I figured out what to do. It being Sunday didn't leave many options, so eventually she gained admittance. She walked bossily through my apartment, and didn't seem fazed by the commotion she caused.

I've worked it out where she stays in the bedroom, and Birdie and Luna get the living room. Not that it matters, because Birdie has been firmly in place on top of the fridge since Sunday, while Luna has taken up residence behind my potted tree.

I'll give Roger (current name of kitty given before the sex was verified by a vet) credit - not only is she unfazed but their hate, she seems to be breaking them down. She's started with Birdie - probably the easier mark of the two. She's been stalking Bird all through the house - when Birdie is brave enough to venture down from the fridge. She'll slink slowly behind B, who will turn around, see Roger, and then hiss. Then B will walk on and Roger will continue the hunt.

This morning I saw Roger lying on the ground several safe feet away from Luna, but I am a little worried the Chipmunk Murder may strike when I'm not looking.

I've posted ads on Craigslist and in the local paper, as well as put fliers up in the neighborhood she was found. I've only received one response from someone who isn't her owner, but who is interested. Which already has me a bit paranoid. I don't want Roger living with just anyone. You know, I'm concerned about the welfare of this cat. That's all.

Which is why, this afternoon, when I came home and realized the bedroom door was open, I had a freakin heart attack. I raced back there, and ran smack into Birdie and Roger sniffing tails. Until they saw me. Then Bird put on a little growl show for my benefit. I couldn't believe that Roger was still alive given that she and Luna could have crossed paths while I wasn't around.

But Miss L was stretched out on the bed, looking delighted to be there instead of behind the tree. Five minutes later, Roger was on the corner of the bed, patiently lying down and staring at Luna, who let out a warning growl and went back to grooming. Five more minutes and both cats were busy working on their respective backsides, with no mind given to the other.

So who knows. They may not kill eat other, but I can't have 3 cats in an apartment (in theory). The thought of giving her away to a stranger isn't nice, so I think I'm going to start looking for a friend in need of a little furry friend.

And in case you're wondering, the little shit looks like a miniature version of Birdie.

Things that make you go.....blog?

My three faithful readers have gotten hostile, and since I am concerned for my safety, I will blog to shut you up. I do appreciate the demands, though.

I'm still in a depressed panic about not having a job. Unemployment is getting ready to run out, and I feel completely worthless. Because of my sitiuation, I've been slightly obsessed with the idea of "going off the grid;" people who do not work and choose a simplier life. Of course this is all fun and good to read about, until the fall fashion magazines start arriving in my mailbox.

Which, by the way, is driving me INSANE, because fall is the favorite fashion season of any red-blooded woman out there. Not only do I not have money to splurge on lovely new clothes, I have nowhere to wear them, which is killing me. KILLING ME. I've started dressing up just to put gas in my car.

It's always that way. When I had a job that required me to wear a suit, I looked like shit the rest of the time, and refused to even dress up for parties. And when I had a job where I could work from home, I started dressing up to go to McDonald's.

I have bigger issues than that at the moment, such as whether or not I can get a job in time to renew the lease on my apartment. After a big depression about 3 years ago that resulted in my moving in with roommates for a year, I've found a nice balance once again of having friends and living by myself. I've learned I'm happiest when it's just me and the cats, but I also learned that living with roommates is a hell of a lot cheaper, although it does give my cats a few nervous tics.

EDIT: Here's one of the blogs I'm reading of a man living "off the grid." I believe he uses public libraries to do his blog postings. Whether you agree with him or think he's insane, you can't deny he definitely can make you think. Ok, so he makes me think.

http://zerocurrency.blogspot.com/

Overheard

At the ortho's today....

Ortho: How's it going?

14 year-old boy: Ok, I guess. My brother cut my hair.

Ortho: It looks like a fine Southern cut to me, son.

Boy: Yeah, but he cut off my bangs. 

Silence is Golden

I haven't blogged in eons, and one of my two faithful readers has started threatening the welfare of my favorite organ, the liver. (Judy, could you talk to your daughter about her violent tendencies?) 

I feel like a bit of a failure, starting a new blog, and then abandoning it, but I have lost my writing mojo. For months. And apparently you can't take a pill to get it back. 

Losing my job and not working feels like I've gone from sprinting on sand directly into waist-deep water. Just impossible to keep going. You'd think with several months of unemployment behind me I could have accomplished a few tasks, such as, oh I don't know, vacuuming the carpet, but that would mean I'd have to relocate the piles of laundry, both clean and dirty, that have taken up residence on the open areas of the floor. Some days I wake up and the cats look away in disgust. Even they are disappointed in me. 

The dining table in my place has become the place where resume-rewrite motivation has gone to die. The table has months of paperwork piled up on it. Binders and printed emails and notes from different career counselors sits on it, just waiting to be read and put to good use. One of my cats, Birdie has noticed and a few weeks ago decided that if I wasn't going to do anything of worth with the table, she was taking it over. She can see the goings on of the outside world (through the window) and the apartment from the table, and she perches on it all day. But to perch she has to create some space for herself, which she has done by knocking everything else off the table. She's gotta pretty territorial about the table, and if I dare try to put something else on the table, she knocks it right off. 

I suppose the cat's attitude is a reflection of my own shitty one. This week she's started swishing her tail across the computer keyboard whenever I try to type something. In fact, her exact words to me when I began this post were "Blog this, bitch." The photos in this post were taken as I was working on it. In a way it's the cat's fault I haven't written anything in a while. :o)

It's not all bad. Being unemployed means you don't have a lot of discretionary income, but it does mean you get a lot of free time to enjoy the summer and spend time with friends. I've never been more happy to have friends and family who are professors and teachers who have the summers free. As well as those who make time for me on their vacations and long weekends. It's truly appreciated

Now if only some of you hadn't moved so far away....although my liver is probably safer with the distance between us. 

My brother and I can't breathe at the moment

Mom: Skylar, I have to ask you a question, and I want you to be as honest as you can be.

Skylar: Ok.

Mom: Have you ever dropped my hot curlers in the toilet? Because every time I use them they smell like pee. 

Fabulous Old People

http://advancedstyle.blogspot.com/

Family Time

Conversing with my mom on the phone.

Mom: What was that mascara you said you really liked?

Me: DiorShow

Mom: Where could I buy some?

Me: Sephora. I was going to get you a tube for Mothers' Day, but then I remembered the check you sent me for my bday bounced.

Mom: Yeah, that seems fair. 

Crap.

I was hoping to kick things off with some wonderful blog post, but I lack the motivation to even wash my hair these days, so instead you'll just get some links to websites/blogs I visit daily. Ironically, these are all fashion blogs, but while I'm unemployed I don't give a sh*t about appearing professional and put together. If anything, these blogs make me realize I'm just a jeans/t-shirt person. But I love looking through them. Secretly I'm a clothes whore. 

This chick is a little crazy, but she looks good and I like the stories along with her outfits. 

http://whatiwore.tumblr.com/

This one might be my fav. I love that there are 3 women with different tastes, who have jobs that dictate a certain style be maintained "at the office" (or campus, as their case may be). 

 

http://www.academichic.com/

A new one I recently found: 

http://whatiwore2day.blogspot.com/

And some for the mens. And if I could pull off a three-piece suit and not suffocate, I totally would. 

http://manpurse.wordpress.com/

Welcome. 

As you can see, Luna is excited to be here, party hat and all.