Cyclothymia

Girlfriends' Guide To Self-Tanning

1. If the self-tanner you have chosen says "for face and decollete," take a moment and consider whether there's a reason for that. Then say, firmly and decisively, "screw it, I don't want to buy two, and the face is more important, right?" Don't bother to ask the sales person, you'll worry about that later.


2. If the instructions for the self-tanner you have chosen involve using a cotton pad to "gently and evenly sweep" the tanner across your face, neck and decollete, do not stop to consider what "gently and evenly" sweeping a cotton ball over your entire body will entail. Just go ahead and get started, you'll worry about that later.


3. If you notice spots that look a little streaky, alternate whether you go over them again or just leave them be. Consistency is overrated, you'll worry about that later.


4. When you get to your hands and feet, just pinch your fingers and toes together and swipe blindly. Who knows whether having a tan between your fingers is more unnatural than stark lines of brown across the tops of your fingers? You'll worry about that later.


5. Having used several hundred cotton pads to wipe every square inch of your body, spend a surprising amount of time debating the crack of one's ass, and how tan it should, or should not, be. Let's worry about that now.


6. Wake up in the morning and discover it's officially "later," and therefore time to get down to worrying.


7. Exfoliate ad nauseum, and consider canceling your swimming plans for later in the week.


8. Fret.


9. Exfoliate.


10. Definitely decide to cancel swimming plans. Consider calling in sick to work.


11. Notice the fine job you've done on the crack of your ass and face (in that order).


12. Say "fuck it," put on some long sleeves, long pants, and put hands in pockets.


13. Go to work.

Happy tanning!

Things I've Learned Recently

• Given my shockingly paltry alcohol intake lately, it is somewhat imprudent to go on a wine-tasting date. Two drinks in a month?! Oh, my poor neglected vodka. I have a loud mouth to begin with, but getting hammered in the first 45 minutes of a date seems to knock out whatever ragged bit of propriety I had managed to scrounge up for the occasion.

"You, sir, need to learn all about hyenas and their bizarre PENISES! No, really, they're fascinating! Sure, I'll take more wine. Anyway, the females have PENISES! Well, to be precise, they have PENIFORM CLITORI, but they're basically PENISES. Seriously! Isn't that, like, TOTALLY AWESOME?! But wait, it gets better, or worse, depending on whether you're a hyena or not - the females GIVE BIRTH through the aforementioned PENIFORM CLITORI. Max tip stretch? 2.5cm. Average cub head diameter? 7.5cm. You do the math. Let's just say a lot of dead puppies are born to first time hyena moms. Thankfully it (by which I mean the GIRL PENIS) rips during that first birth, so the others are fine. Isn't that soooooo weird?"

Cute, smart, funny, athletic, and apparently completely inhibition-free...dating me is a dream.

• One person's "rolling hills" are another person's "death march". It's just lovely that we have our own individual experiences isn't it? That is such a special part of the special gift of life. I went for my first outside ride of the season; 20 miles on what was described as "rolling hills." The funny thing about "rolling hills" is that what they really are are "endless hills." Before you have time to say "thank jeebus, a downhill," you look up and, shocker of shocks, oh yes, it's ANOTHER fucking uphill.

This experience has convinced me to buy proper bike shoes. My regular pedals with runners ain't cuttin' it anymore. I refuse to get my ass kicked by my riding partner every week for the foreseeable future. I WORK OUT DAMMIT, IT'S NOT FAIR. But you know what, it was a spectacularly pretty day,  and we managed an acceptable pace for my first outside workout, especially w/out the clip in pedals, so I should probably retract the whole "death march" bit.

• I have discovered the source of childhood obesity in America. It's Kimball Farms ice cream. Their kiddie size is...a pint. I'm not kidding. You would have to see their banana split to believe it. We both got kiddies and couldn't finish them. We, brace yourselves, THREW OUT ICE CREAM. It's a sad, sad day. Next time we resolved to get one and split it...but when I've got low blood sugar and ice cream within view I'm not necessarily at my most cooperative, or patient, so we'll see how that goes.

Pretty In Pink

A little while ago I decided to stay with a friend for a few days. Well, actually it was more like he showed up at my door and was all, pack a suitcase, woman, you're coming home with me. I was like, I'm not that kind of girl. So he packed for me. Never let a man do that, unless you want to be wearing your itchiest, most uncomfortable lingerie for a while, and have no pajamas to boot.

Preggers was on antibiotics for an abscess from a bite, so she had to come with us. We stopped on the way to get a litterbox and other basic supplies. Which apparently includes a scratching post.

Me: You hate cats, why are you getting her a scratching post?
Him: Just because I hate her doesn't mean I want her to be unhappy.
Me: You know, she also likes automated water fountains and those leopard print snuggle beds.

Night 1: We are watching a movie and Preggers hops up on the couch.

Him: Is she allowed on the furniture?
Me: It's your house, you set the rules.
Him: What's she doing?
Me: It's called snuggling.

Night 2: We get home and Preggers runs over to meet us at the door (like she usually does for me).

Him: Does she always do that?
Me: Yep.
Him: Weird.

Night 3: Friend runs out to pick up dinner, and he's gone for a long time. I'm close to calling to see if everything is alright, but just then he walks in the door with two bags. One's the takeout. The other is a petco bag.

Me: What is that?
Him: A surprise.
Me: For me, or the cat?

He has me grab Preggers and turn around (for the surprise, you know).

Him: Ok, turn around!

He's holding a pink rhinestone-studded harness. For the cat. Thank god.

Him: She's pretty fat, and I think it's because your apartment sucks donkey balls. She doesn't have room to lick her own ass, much less exercise, so you need to start taking her for walks.
Me: You totally love her now.
Him: She's obese. I'm just concerned.
Me: You wanna have, like, 10,000 of her babies.
Him: I'm taking the harness back.
Me: Chubby chaser.

There will be pictures forthcoming as soon as I exchange the harness for a larger size. Because, her size? Let's just say vanity sizing hasn't hit the pet market yet, and it turns out she can't shop in the junior department anymore. I think the problem might be the fat roll under her chin. Or the one on her chest. Maybe her corpulent elbows? Whatever the exact proportional problem is, she's headed to the Lane Bryant section of the kitty world.

Shooting For Average

Trivia was a disaster last night. We ain't just ignorant, we're also stupid. It's been long time since we've been shellacked like that.

Here are two that I'm ashamed to say we got wrong:

What is the name for the interaction of light with the surface of materials such as minerals (eg. quartz) and metals that comes from the greek word for light?

What is the common name for the common medical condition known as epistaxis? It does not usually require medical treatment. However, the condition can occur either anteriorly or posteriorly, and the posterior version sometimes requires medical treatment.

Peace In The Middle East?

Sure, it looks like a tranquil domestic scene.

But seething just below the surface is a deep, immortal fury. Pogo's all "It's touching me. GET. IT. OFF." And JJ's all, "Dude, it's YOUR paw on MY paw, don't get all up in my grill."

Ur So Dmpd

I broke up with the BT last week. I am positive it was the right choice. It was a relationship I could have hung out in for quite some time, but there was something off. I got some good advice after the last go round: if something feels wrong at the 3 month mark, pay close attention because that's when the crush hormones are wearing off. As that cloud lifts it's time to take stock.

Rather than debating it internally for ages, or trying to fix it, I decided this time I'd trust my instincts. It feels good, this is kind of a first for me - not letting the good things that should be there in every relationship overwhelm the little voice crying out that something isn't right about this specific one. I will miss the endless stream of flowers and lovely dinners though. Not to mention his wickedly funny sense of humor.

The breakup was a little awkward since we already had dinner plans and I wasn't sure how to do it. I sort of flailed and suggested on the fly that instead of going to the romantic place he had planned, we instead go to this other place right next door. Yes, see, it's right next door, pay no mind...now that we're here, we have to talk.

I've seen some really heated discussions about the best method for breaking up in various message boards. I would never consider anything besides in-person (at least at this stage), but apparently a lot of people do it over the phone. I suppose I could have taken advantage of our new social networking world:

Facebook Status: "XXX is no longer in a relationship"
Gmail Status "Single Gals Night Out! Anyone In?!"
Twitter - "Couldnt decide on the loc for the breakup, twittered it"

No, no, my friends, if there's one thing I've learned it's that there are protocols to ending relationships (and handling the aftermath), and selfish, cowardly behavior isn't something I want to have to live with. So, awkward dinner it was.

Yuppie Sausage Casings

I can't believe this, but I'm contemplating buying an $80 pair of tights. Like, $80 for probably two square yards of spandex. $40 per yard. The CW-X line styles itself as "equipment," not "apparel," because spending $80 on tights is crazy, but spending $80 on equipment which acts as an "exoskeleton, supporting and aligning muscles, improving movement efficiency, and reducing shock" makes a lot of sense. They also brew coffee and walk the dog. Girls, there's even more for us, but it would be uncouth to bring it up here.

Being the sports gadget freak I am, a poor gadget freak, I decided this bit of novelty was best left unexplored when they came out a couple of years ago. But, as with all such toys, my willpower is weak. I run with a friend every Thursday, and I accidentally brought my spinning gear instead of running clothes. Running in bike shorts and a t-shirt seemed ill-advised given the temps, so I took the extra pair of tights offered. I figured I'd be tired since it's a high volume week so far, but I swear to god I felt like sprinting at the end of the six miles.

There's also the added fun of the criss-cross pattern making one feel very hardcore. "Look at this high-tech spandex webbing pattern supporting my buttocks! So high! So tight! I AM A RUNNING GOD."

Well, no shit.

Glad I found a web page to help me figure that out.
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