*blue balls not included.
the week:
The plight of a writer: when inspiration and creativity hit, it’s often at the “wrong time” or far past a deadline (not proud). But you roll with with the motivation when it strikes. I just wish I could have my muse at all times at the ready.
With that, I’m finally proud of an article I wrote. It’s probably been a year that I’ve completed something that didn’t leave a feeling of worthlessness; it’s all too humbling, and I struggle with these emotions endlessly. So, naturally, I hope everyone else likes the piece. But I really need to work on my confidence.
weekend:
Many, many things! Friday night a certain someone is celebrating his birthday at Toonseum and it’s also the opening reception for A Matter of Convenience at Future Tenant. I will probably end the evening with some pink underwear hunting at the champagne bar.
Saturday is my first spinning class. If the bone in my vagina makes it, I’ll be heading to the fundraiser for Colin Albright at OTB, then to the EatPGH Book Party (and likely, a bar crawl of Larryville).
I WILL ALSO BE WATCHING LIVE, STREAMING NORTH CENTRAL REGIONALS! WOOT!
seven things, seven days:
1. {do good} Received my first Love With Food: a monthly subscription box filled with FOOD samples. And the organization gives back.
2. {recovery} Finally hit my milestone 50 push-ups again. It’s been too long, old friend… err, wrist.
3. {sports} We joined a bowling league. Stupid excited. I mostly suck, but sucking is so much fun when you get to play with balls… WAIT A MINUTE!
4. {impatient} Already organized my closet for Fall and put away all the summer things. TIME FOR LAYERING!
5. {OCD} And the Fall comforter set is on the bed already too. Yes, I am THAT person.
6. {shoe envy} These boots from Hunter. MINE.
7. {pride} Good luck to friends and skaters competing in the Thrill of the Spill this weekend!
“This is the place you go to if you’re wearing pink underwear.”
I was wondering if I had too much to drink, hearing that direct quote from our party (ahem, boyfriend). But we all played along with the I Wonder What Kind of Underwear She Has On game. And could pinpoint the women in the room who were wearing the pink underwear.
BOY, WERE WE HAVING A NIGHT!
Back to that aforementioned champagne lounge.
Looking around, we realized that this bar had all the makings of a pick-up place. And a date place. We looked around and evaluated everyone from the cocktail waitress to those old Mean Girls (who I wrote about here) to the awkward, mismatched couple evidently on their first date (dessert date!) and the sweet glamourous older couple (man, this woman was wearing a FABULOUS emerald green skirt suit. FAB!). This could only lead to a tipsier male-female discussion, of course: What Kind of Woman Are You Based on Your Undergarments.
The boyfriend seemed to have to many opinions on the “type” of women who wear pink under-things. Certain people were boring or predictable. Others were trying too hard (hello, waitress whose underwear I could see through your pants!). But mostly, these women were nearly ALL pink underwear-wearers. And no, I was NOT going to participate in what kind of panties Green Classy Lady was wearing. Ladies, did you know that not only are you labeled a certain type of female, but there is an underwear style attached to it? BECAUSE THIS IS A THING!
And then there are those who wear none. I can’t even.
For the record, I am not one of these pink ladies. Sure, I own a matching hot pink set, but I am not that type. I know what you meant, boyfriend! I am quite proud of my low-rise bikini briefs. For my size, my ass is curvy, and I can’t pull off boy shorts anymore (which were my previous faves) and g-strings can suck my crotch because that’s about all they do for me. Those things are NOT comfortable. I don’t care what lengths you will go to discuss that benefit with me.
So what does that type say about me?
Stop judging me before I kick you in your balls, that’s what.
AND, I LIKE COMFORT, DAMMIT!
So… what type of underwear are you?
On a recent happy hour adventure (Perlé, the awesome new champagne bar in downtown Pittsburgh), I witnessed an uncomfortable encounter with a couple of old broads in the ladies’ room (OMG I’M PEEING!). OK, OK, “old” is relative, but this is how I make my 35-year-old self feel better among women in my age group.
Two friends were gabbing on about how they didn’t like another friend’s new boyfriend. The woman, topic of a heated discussion, was not in attendance in said restroom. The lovely new couple (and entourage of girlfriends… what the fuck, awkward!), however, was seated near us in the lounge.
They called him names and said dirty things about his personality (by the indignant tone of their conversation, it appeared it was their first time meeting him — and frankly, he DID sound like an ass, by their standards and vocabulary). But they carried on as if all was normal while on the Fifth Wheel Date.
I wondered if these “friends” shared in private with their female counterpart their disdain of the new romance. I guess, I HOPE that they would. But these women were no less catty than the 20-something drunk chicks on Carson Street, so I suppose hoping for any sort of maturity (aside from aging hands and sunspots) from them deserved a backwards-heavy, disappearing eye roll.
But… I’VE BEEN HERE — on both sides. I have told friends when I thought a man was no good (which never does anything for the friendship, mind you, so long as said relationship continues), and I’ve been told when a guy was a total jerk or complete weirdo. See: 10SB, HG Shady McShadester, Claymation… and strange Chocolate-covered Strawberry Guy. Need I go on?
God damn, that flood of memories was NOT needed this early in the morning. Man, now I wonder if I lost friends over my current relationship. My stomach hurts…
What would you do if your friends told you that they didn’t like your boyfriend? Would you respect them for telling you? Hate them for being bitches (or jealous, natch, because the likelihood of these other two women being single was 92%)? Or take into consideration that THE GUY YOU ARE DATING MIGHT BE A COMPLETE ASSHOLE.
Holy fucking hell. Thanks to this penis-y news article, I was forced to research “penile degloving.”
What’s penis degloving, you ask? Oh, you could ask Google.
But, just… don’t. That is, if you ever want to look at a penis as a sexy wilderbeast the same way again.
EVER.
Let’s just say that I will never cook a hot dog or sausage so hot as to split the casing.
EVER.
the week… and weekend:
So, if you didn’t notice (WHAT THE HELL, YOU?!), I took a week off to TAKE A DAMN WEEK OFF. That, and we did some tent camping and wine and craft beer drinking and cheese and s’mores eating in the Finger Lakes. I was desperate for an unplugging. Posts will be coming on THAT shortly.
After spending five-plus hours in the car ride home on Saturday, I took another one-and-a-half trip to Ohio to play in three derby scrimmages on Sunday. YES, I WAS THE WOMAN WHO PUKED OFF THE SIDE OF 76-W NEAR THE TOLL BOOTHS!
Then, I slept for 10 hours. And it was good.
seven things, seven days:
1. {exercise} starting a new training program
2. {moar exercise} …and starting Spinning this Saturday!
3. {nom} amish baked goods. hello, apple fritter bread.
4. {pamper} came home to a goodies package from ULTA
5. {indulge} poshmark is my new mobile obsession.
6. {puke} ugh, car sickness.
7. {derby} first practice Tuesday night with my new derby home team: Allegheny Avengers assemble!
This blog is about pursuit: a transplanted Clevelander (me) in a new city (that's you, Pittsburgh!), pursuing the role of a self-employed copywriter, becoming a roller derby badass and somehow merging all my to-do items into one ever-growing Bucket List.
And of MY boyfriend. His blue balls started this mess.
