The Term Slacker Doesnt Begin To Cover It....

I'm going to try to be serious for this post and get something out in the open here. I have commitment issues. Procrastination problems. Slacker tendencies so bad its pathetic. I'm sure friends reading this are nodding their heads in serious agreement (Shannon P.!!!). Its painfully obvious. Not so much with relationships - the new ***sparkler*** on my left hand is evidence of that - and I never have a problem with work or friend commitments...But everyday nonsense I just don't want to do, things I should really make more habitual, goals that I have for myself?....Can't motivate myself to save my damn life. Setting my clothes out the night before work so I'm not scrambling around the next day like Dennis Rodman prepping for a LGBT fashion show? That didn't last past the first day of the first grade. Going running every morning so I can get my ass into better shape? Suuuurrrrrre...if I'm not hungover, sleepy, tummy achy, crampy, cuddly, whiny, or thinking there might be the slightest inclination of rain. Learning more Spanish so I can maybe get a leg up at work and actually be able to converse with half the clients I speak with on a daily basis? That's a joke. I got far enough into my Rosetta Stone to order a tequila on ice and ask where the bathroom was before deciding that it was all I needed to know and that my time could be better spent watching zombie movies...(I want to be prepared). And oh yeah, continuing to write my blog at the very least twice a month so I can vent a bit and give my friends a good laugh? Well lets see here folks...I started writing in...September of last year...it is now August of this year...and I have 4 notches on this bedpost. *Ridiculous*. And I could easily go on with the list of quickly fading fascinations. It's not that I don't find these activities important in my life. I would benefit greatly from actually doing what I commit to. Its making the time to DO them when I have a bazillion other more interesting or "important" things to do like pretending I have a mustache or googling every mundane question that pops into my head...that's where the problem lies...

SEXY BEAST

First off, being more organized and prepared in terms of my clothing is just never going to happen. Sorry future hubby, but my clothes will ALWAYS be on the damn floor more than in the closet. You did get down on one knee for me so I'm gonna assume this isn't a deal breaker for you. Obviously me being a potty-mouthed lunatic sometimes isn't either ;)  Taking time out to learn another language when the four years I took of it in high school obviously didn't stick? Yeahhhh not enthused. Hard to convince myself why I should be wasting my time learning a little espanol all over again when I could be absorbing how to defend myself against a zombie apocalypse. Lets just say I have read the manual a time or two. Personally I plan on playing defense and tripping up any fatties around me when the time comes to make a run for survival...but that's just me. And getting a little cardio in before I start my day? I need to do it. I really do. I want to be able to chase my future kiddos around our yard...not be gasping for air because MOMMY had too many beers in her glory days and cant keep up with a 5 year old. In all honestly I blame my bed for my chubs. Its just unfairly comfortable. I can get in a good 8 hours of sleep on a linoleum floor if I want to...(by linoleum I mean bathroom and by good sleep I mean no-sleep-with-frequent-bursts-of-nausea)...but a heavenly pillow top mattress with fresh sheets and a gorgeous half naked man lying next to me is just more goodness than I can drag myself away from. Add that in with the fact that my neighbors have turned my morning jog in my shortie shorts into a *spectator sport*...I don't go to sleep until 2am due to my aforementioned current horror movie fixation...and the embarrassing fact that my fiance can easily lap me and hardly break a sweat when he goes jogging with me, despite the fact that he is a few years older than me...It's damn near a lost cause. I have however perfected a way to assimilate with the zombie nation WITHOUT running away from them, so I feel somewhat victorious in that respect.

INCOGNITO BITCHES

Clearly I have also perfected the art of excuses. Me and 99% of our government. *Ba-Dum-Dum* Ahhhh crack myself up...But unlike them, I don't do it for money-grubbing, self-entitling, hateful-ass reasons. I just decided at a young age...(probably around the time I started dressing myself and realized trying on clothes is more fun than picking them up off the floor)...that life is too short for me to waste time doing things that don't make me happy. I'm a wanted woman. I have work...family...friends...a fiance...fur babies...a home...bills...bottles of wine...etc...all needing my time and attention. Unregrettably, time-consuming things that I need or want to do typically take a backseat. Like writing my blog. BOO. I know. Sucks balls to be a grown up and work and pay bills and shit. But I would honestly rather live like this than be like some people...that i won't name....that are my age, working part time at hollister, still living with momma, and getting shit-faced while dancing on bars every weekend. OK OK...that last bit is a lie. I would LOVE to get drunk as hell dancing on a bar like a tramp, but I'm a klutz. And klutz + alcohol = disaster/humiliation X 100000. That and the fact that despite my wild child ways and lack of a decent upbringing, I like to think that I do have some morals and class. And "WOOO CLASSY LADY!!" is not the first thing that pops out of my mouth when seeing women like that. Nor do I think my honey would have felt the urge to put a ring on it if his future wifey liked to play skank on the weekends. Can't turn a hoe into a housewife. True story. I have seen it put to the test...fails miserably/hilariously. But back to my point, I'm seriously seriously seriously going to work on getting a blog out every two weeks. Just need to motivate myself better. Maybe prioritize a bit. Ease off the wine & hooker-slashing-movie habit. If I start slacking again, rough me up a little. Give me ideas or rants or opinions on what to blog about. And plan to see some upcoming fun blogs. Things have changed a bit in recent months. Started a kickass new job. Began home renovations. Had a crazy fun summer. Traveled a little. Brainwashed my poor boyfriend into thinking I was stepford-wife-material. Plenty of new awesomeness to share and rants to get into...leave me some comments & let me know what you think. xoxo

 MWAHAHAHAHA! 
LIKE CANDY FROM A BABY







Winter Is For Masochistic Jerks...

If you just L-O-V-E snowy winters....relish in watching those first fluffy flakes falling from the sky...count down the days until you can tuck your jeans into your little furry boots and get a matching scarf & gloves set...JUST SAVE YOURSELVES SOME ANNOYANCE AND STOP READING THIS POST NOW. Seriously. You will think im a whiny southern brat after reading this. Or dislike me even more than you already do. Impossible right? Not at all :) Unlike most people living in the mid-west, I have no qualms with admitting that I HATE the snow. The winter. The Cold. Ice. Slush. Frost. All of it. I loathe it. With a deep murderous passion. If I was rich...I would literally find a way to scientifically end the change of seasons that deprives me of my flip flops, t-shirts, and back-yard barbecues. I would propagate zoning all cold territories as burial plots - seeing as to how I feel like dying every time I look out the window. I would buy a deserted island and live my remaining years in my own Margaritaville. Searching for my last shaker of salt. (If you don't know, then ya don't know. RIP: Jimmy Buffet) Selfish of me? Sure. But that's part of my charm ;) Want evidential proof of my obvious disdain for all things wet and cold?

This is me the first time the snow started to fall...On the left: Me looking glamorous per usual...On the right...Me after apocalyptic snowfall....

                 *Glamorous*                                                                                   *Ridiculous*

Needless to say, I was not jumping for joy while making snowmen and igloos in my front yard. My hair fell flat...my makeup slid right off...my nose was running like i had been on a week-long SNOW binge...the good kind of snow...Know what im talking bout friends? The kind of white powder people actual enjoy? The frost that can make you forget what fucking SEASON it is...? *(Side note: Do not take side-view pictures of self while wearing color contacts. I look like a cock-eyed idiot. Pathetic. Oh, and don't do drugs. I have been told that they are bad for you. Not that I would know personally or anything...Seriously, mom.)

Don't get me wrong. It is pretty to look at...when its on a freaking postcard. But when it is interfering with my wardrobe...my choice in footwear...my drive to work...my work-outs...letting my dogs out...my social life...grilling out...my poor cars health...MY own personal health...my already chaotic mental state...THAT is when I start to have a problem. And the worst part of it? Its a sneaky little bastard. OH YEAH! It gets warm out...then the temperature plummets...it snows...it melts...it turns sunny again...then its back on with a vengeance. Do you like fucking with me WINTER?!? Killing my hopes of a early spring? Teasing me into thinking its okay to bring out the sandals and capris...only to give me the finger and another 6 inches of crap!?! OK...that last bit was a lie...Capris are for douchers. But you get where im going with this. It sucks. I only brave it when I absolutely have to. And agreed to play in it just once...only to pummel my younger brother and sister in a snowball fight.
                                                     

I seriously massacred them:

HA HA! Victorious!

Okay...okay...I cannot tell a lie...in print....I technically made them lie down in the snow and act dead for about ten minutes until I got the perfect picture. But in my defense...they were moderately warmly dressed...and they did gang up on me and crush my snow fort. Ok...thats a lie too. Me and my sister actually ganged up on my brother until he forfeited during a game of human bowling. Kids these days give up so easily. Its not my fault he is slower than us and more fun to watch cry. He should have been wearing gloves anyways. I would have given him some but one pair wouldn't keep my hands warm enough so I had to wear two. Regardless, that was probably the most enjoyment I got out of this mess. Sliding through a intersection during a red-light in my car? Terrifying. Falling on my ass because I forgot to salt the drive way? Embarrassing AND irritating. Having to pick up puppy poop all over my house because it is too cold to correctly house train my new puppy? Don't even get me started. I don't know how something so cute and tiny can continuously defecate something so disgusting and *vomit-inducing*. The intake to output ratio of this thing should be physically impossible. 1 cup of food is somehow equaling 1 lb of poo!!! How do I know this? I weighed it. Yeah. I get my facts right kiddos. Serious business here. OK...no...not really...But I swear that's on point. Luckily...I got smart and realized that if I don't pick it up...my loving and adoring boyfriend will. YAY! He thinks she just has an over-active poo-factory in there...and that even though I "pick up poo all day long"...there are new piles everywhere when he gets home. Mwahahaha. Besides, how can you even be mad at something that looks like this:   

 Zoey:

       

(Baby...I just want to say that me saying I don't pick up poop was totally untrue and ummm I think maybe we should take her to the vet or something because as much poop as we COLLECTIVELY pick up...I think something may be wrong with her or something...Also...I was misinformed...Jimmy Buffet is still alive and well. I verified this at a scientific database. My bad. Just hadn't heard ANYTHING from the "leader" of the Parrotheads since uhhh...before I was born.)

And by the way...the lack of blogs over the past few months was due to the fact that the only thought processes I had were suicidal ones because of the damn weather. NO ONE wants to read those ramblings...not even me. But  thankfully, I started drinking Rockstars again and feel MUCH better :) Until next time...

It's a Hard Knock Life...Good Thing I Know How To Brush The Dirt Off My Shoulda...

So today is kinda a blah day in the world of Holly. Which is a rarity. Usually on my most boring blah days I am still able to fit in some excitement, like almost getting arrested for posing on a cop car or getting kicked out of Wal-mart for trying on Hannah Montana clothes in the middle of the children's section. (Note to self: I definitely do not fit into a size 6 in the little girls department no matter how hard I suck it in...and I need to stop getting into situations that involve police.) Looking back...those days turned out to not be so blah after all. This day? This day will end shitty. I just feel it. You know how you can just tell at around 4 pm that your day is not gonna get any better so you just throw in the towel and do dumb shit the rest of the day, like organize your rubber bands by size and THEN by color. Yeah...one of those days. And that is just at this general moment. Ask me in five minutes how I'm doing and I will probably ask you to explain to me why I have a little turd of a stuffed animal buckled into the backseat of my car:

True story. Its cute though, so I let him ride. Even though he looks absolutely terrified to be in the car with me. Not that I blame the guy. I tend to drive like Ricky Bobby on speed with a slight Tourettes problem jamming to Highway to Hell in the rain with no wipers or lights on. Or license. That said, seat belts are a must. And I refuse to pay psych bills for anyone who gets post-traumatic stress disorder as a result of riding bitch with me...

 So why am I feeling shitty? (Note how I went from blah to shit-tasmic?) Well, it's been a few minutes since I said that and I have now momentarily forgotten the original reason. I'm not bi-polar. I may be ALOT of kooky things. But bat-shit-blink-of-an-eye-mood-swings-that-have-me-flipping-out-with-a-bottle-of-bleach-and-some-razor-blades-at-the-drop-of-a-dime is not a tendency I harbor. Unlike my nutcase of a step-mother. But I'll play nice for now... BACK to the topic at hand...(Told you guys I have adhd tangents)...Why in the world is my perpetually happy ass shitty today? PEOPLE. People annoy the piss out of me and piss me off like crazy. Not on a daily basis. Not even on a hourly basis. But minute to minute. Maybe customer service is not the best job placement for me. But I'm good at talking sweet and solving the problems for the customer while deep down I'm mentally plotting this on them:

                           

 God I love google maps :) In case my boss reads this, I want to say first off that this is a pic of my old place...(I hope to the heavens that my old slumlord was there when I mentally bombed/deposited horrible creatures at that hellhole)...AND, beautiful boss, I can multi-task perfectly, so there is no need to fire me for these thoughts. Or call the company shrink. Not that it would help...I'm immune to that mumbo jumbo...HOWEVER..there might be a couple coworkers of mine that could benefit from some QT with a professional and maybe some crazy pills...just a opinion...

Anyways...basically what I'm trying to get across here...even though taking time out to giggle over creating the above pic probably took more time than me writing this entire post out...Is that people need to relax. Its not that deep. Seriously. Flipping over a $38 dollar purchase you cant remember making but swear we are trying to stick it to ya about when you have $30K sitting in your damn bank account. SHUT UP. I'm sorry you were so hopped up on your anti-depressants that you forget about stopping in our store in Santa Monica last Friday to purchase some hand towels. Hey, guy behind me wigging out because I'm driving like a maniac?!? Guess what? I'm a crazy motherfucker on the road. But I don't ever drive drunk. So stop waving your imaginary gun at me and count your blessings. Could be a hell of a lot worse...I can drink Jack like we are in the middle of a drought... And oh yeah...now i remember why I initially became so shitty...You, stupid boy that was a little bleep on my dating record and hardly memorable other than the laughs I got over describing your pathetic attempts to hook up with me to all MY friends at work...you, little idiot man, that randomly decided to text me out of the blue to tell me "gratz" on my "egocentric blog" and for being your first "fat chick"...yes you darling...thank you for annoying the piss out of me for no reason and fueling my blog post/rant today. I love how your life is so horribly lame that you feel the need to text this "fat chick" just to congratulate me on all my greatness. Haven't been called fat in ummm...NEVER...so congratulations on your originality and wit. Perhaps I do seem a bit on the heavy side compared to someone whose 6ft 5in frame weighs in at 145 lbs AFTER staying off the meth and self-induced food deprivation. Guess what, honeybuns? You can suck my cahones. Because I deleted your number weeeeeeeeeks ago. Just like I deleted the...*shudders*...memory of your skinny ass trying to feel me up. So "gratz" on making it into my new "egocentric" blog post. I write it for me. Not for you. And I feel great now that I have. Fucker.

Oh, and my current boyfriend, real man that he is, loves how I look and makes me feel like this:     

And in that scenario, I have no qualms with being the chubbers on the right. Look at how damn happy I am :)

Corporate America...Damn it feels good to be a gangster...

Somewhere between scooping ice cream into cones for tyrannical kids to being a hostess and eventually a waitress, I realized I had to eventually grow up. Granted, I hadn't yet graduated from high school...but I knew life had bigger plans for me than making $6.75 an hour plus the occasional tips/ass-grabs while working in the restaurant industry. It was time to be an adult. Spread my wings. Put on my big-girl panties. Or be adult enough to decide not to wear any. Not that that's anyone else's damn business. But I was evolving. Deepening. Switching gears. And I needed my career to be a reflection of the woman I was becoming.

---(While writing this I'm waiting for my Chinese food to be delivered....can you believe they charged me a 7 dollar delivery fee!...yeah, guess who is soooo not getting a tip.)---

Fast-forward 6 years, a diploma (high school, that is..lets not get ahead of ourselves here kiddos...), and many many...MANY...hangovers into the future. I'm an adult now. A grown ass woman.I have my own place. I pay my own bills. I pay taxes. I even actually have health insurance. That alone is very grown up of me, but also smart because I recognize that one day I'm more than likely going to need to cash in on a new liver...the long island ice teas call to me...

Furthermore, I have a great job. Not the kind that I go skipping into the office everyday. But the kind that pays the bills. Has benefits. Gives me every Friday and Saturday off. I dig it. I dig the fact that getting off at 10 pm and not having to be in until 2pm gives me adequate time to get over my long-island-iced-tea-induced-hangover. And I dig getting along with everyone I work with...mostly. I know there are probably a couple people i work with that wouldn't think twice about pushing me and my smart mouth in front of a bus...but I'm sure my own parents have thought about that more than a few times... But even more so, I dig having my own "office"...if you can call it that. I would have more room working out of a prison cell at Guantanamo Bay and I would probably have to watch my back less...but between the hours of 2 and 10pm, this little 4ft x 6ft cubicle is my home. (Actually I would definitely have more room for my professionalism...their prison cells are 6.5ft X 8ft...lucky fuckers...) Anyways, calling it my office is just me using creative liberties. Me creating a office door for my cubicle was an extension of those creative liberties:

Although my office door was constructed out of cardboard and tape, and i accidentally cut out a door more suitable for a midget than my 5 ft 8 inches, I loved it. We made memories that day. It was Holly's World inside that archway. I felt true professionalism take the reins. Me and my poster of Marky Mark finally had the privacy that we yearned for. Never wanting to lose that feeling, I proceeded to send my boss this email:

   

I made sure to blacken out all the important stuff to cover my ass...and although I know my boss read this email...she never responded to it...or agreed to a meeting in my office. Instead she met me on the way in and politely told me to take down my "play house" when i clocked in to work. She was nice about it, but she was probably wanting to punch me in my throat...

---((Where the fuck is my food at??? Are they delivering it from China direct?  Are they riding over in a rickshaw pulled by a jogging Asian man? Are they slaughtering the "chickens" for my Chicken & Broccoli?? (I'm sorry if you are reading this, Nugget. Mama was hungry.)))---

 Personally, I'm thinking the only reason I had to take down my office was because they didn't want my other coworkers getting jealous and rioting..or having the office door inflate my already overwhelming sense of importance even more so than usual...not to mention the fact that some of my coworkers not being able to fit in the doorway was a bit awkward (not calling anyone fat, just saying).Truth be told, I felt a bit suffocated and claustrophobic in my cell...i mean..office, anyways, and I didn't like the invisible harness it placed on my creativity vibes. That and I kept ripping it off its cardboard hinges every time I tried to get in and out of the door.

(((Fun fact for those of you who didn't notice, next to the door is my "name plate"...and by name plate I am referring to the Jimmy Johns wrapper where they referred to ME as "Spanky".)))

God, I'm such a gangster....

---(And by the way, my chikity Chinese chicken was delicious, but someone should really tell the Chinese about sporks...eating rice with the fork they delivered it with was a bitch.)---

--That's all for now...Oh yeah, and this is me...in my future office:



First Post...let's see how far I get before my ADHD kicks in...

So this is my first post. I want it to be exciting. Titilatting. Fireworks-worthy. But i'll settle for finished.

First off, I feel like maybe I should introduce myself to the 0 to 5 people/random strangers that might ever be so bored as to stumble across my blog. Hello. Im Teddy. No, its not my real name. But having the last name Graham and having worked my youth through a public school system, my classmates decided to be inventive and original and nickname me "TEDDY"......wow. The brains of the world united to create that one. Nicknamed after a sweet snack cracker. I don't even like "Teddy Grahams" to be honest, but you can't exactly pick your own nickname so thats what I got...and it stuck...and was better than the one time I was referred to as Nutter Butter....or the Pull-Out Bandit.

I'm chatty. Way too chatty for my own good. But I have alot of thoughts. And im not sure how it works with humans, but I remember someone telling me once that there are types of animals that can die if their brains get too big. Maybe they were lying. Maybe they were fucking with me. But it made an impression on my young mind. So as to NOT die from an inflated mind, I chose to randomly release thoughts and deflate it a bit. Working in customer service is a great way to chit-chat with people, but unfortunately, i'm only allowed to talk about espresso makers, what kind of knives are great for cutting steaks, and why the customer was charged shipping on their order. Not about the time I stole a baby chicken from the state fair...but more on that later.

I am also a pain in the ass. I know this. Not because of the many times I have been told this, but just as a sense of self. Im aware, okay?  Im stubborn and tempermental and think im the shit even though I acknowledge that there are way cooler people than me out there...Like, Robert Downey Jr and iJustine and the main charactor from "The Ladies Man". Not Tim Meadows, but the "Ladies Man" Leon Phelps. If a man every tries to pick me up by saying something super classy like"Hey, can I buy you a fish sandwich?"...well, that will be the man for me.

I type the way I think. If you are still following me at this point then I am amazed because I know how I go off on tangents...and then forget what I was talking about in the first place. But thats just part of my charm. Another part is that I am super picky about things that I eat, clothes that I wear and people that I associate with. I eat, dress, and associate with people depending on my mood at the time. If I feel like eating a gyro at 7am...you best believe that I will be making a trip to the grocery store and praying that it can be microwaved. If I feel like wearing a dress with blue jeans, rain boots, and a cowboy hat, then guess who is going to work dressed like a insufferable 5 year-old? This girl. And, if I don't like someone, they will know about it. Nearly instantaneously. Conversations usually go like this:

Annoying Person: "Hi, im <insert annoying person's name here - usually something like Brittany but spelled in a random dumb way, like Brittoni>, Ashellie's friend. Nice to meet you."

Me: "Is that the American spelling of Brittany or the French spelling?" <--I like to be a pain in the ass and ask customers this question when they call in to place an order, even if their name is Bob or John. Their confusion makes me giggle.

Annoying Person: "You're totally funny! And I love the cute way you are wearing your dress over jeans. So retro! We should grab a drink or something sometime...do you like to Zumba? I try to fit it in between tanning and not eating...We should go sometime!"

Me: "....."

Annoying Person: "Why are you walking away.....?"

It's just alot easier for me to walk away from people I dont like, rather than sit and ruin their low self-esteemed induced from too many nights of watching The Hills reruns with a pint of Chunky Monkey.

I don't have alot of friends that I hang out with on a normal basis. But thats okay with me. Im a bit of a loner, honestly though, I just prefer my own company to that of most people I know.


Oh yeah, and this is Nugget, the baby chicken I stole from the State Fair: