Que sera, sera.
Long time, no vent. My sincerest apologies. Sadly, I don’t have any basic updates to bore you with. Still going to school, still sucking at it, still not having a job, still living at home (and hating it) with mom and dad. Just been weird lately, which for me is normal.
The basic theme of this post is my repetitive yet distructive choice in men, boys actually. I took another chance and have been burned yet again. So take my hand off the oven, right? Working on it. I am so desperate for someone to tell me I’m special I go to the ends of the earth and bend over backward making concessions for their behavior and ill-treatment of my feelings. So that part, I am finished with. Not only do you not deserve me making excuses for you, I don’t deserve to have to make them. I’m literally sick to my stomach when I look back on the lengths I’ve gone to for anyone other than myself. I have to be done. If not just for myself but for the few people I have left that I can turn to for advice and support. I am pushing people away one at a time for maybe a night or two of good sex. It’s lust, which can be fun when it’s not helping me destroy my own heart.
So here is my list of things I’m holding myself to and hope someone else will too.
1. I know what I have to offer someone who is man enough to appreciate me, and I am going to focus on enhancing and maintaining those qualities.
2. I am going to work on my health, not only to make the bad boys from my past swoon, but also so I will feel better. I have to be ok with myself first right?
3. My support system needs an upgrade. I need quality people around me and will not settle for less.
4. Soul-search starts now. I’m 22 and single, I can basically do anything I want so it’s time to find out what I actually want.
5. There is nothing I can do to change how people act, only how I react to them. This is my mantra.
I’ll probably be adding to this list as my adventures progress, so bear with me and keep your fingers crossed for me. 
Filed under: Brittacular | Leave a Comment
Is this real life?
So, two really funny (and true, I swear) stories from my life adventures. I’m sure I’ll have a catchy title and some memoirs someday.
Two weeks ago, I got a little reunion with two of my best friends from high school. K moved away a few years ago but she was back for M’s birthday. We went out to dinner, I was of course thrilled to see her there, and then we stayed at the place (it was also a bar) for the rest of the night. The boys/husbands decided it would be a grand idea to buy us bottom of the barrel vodka shots (sick), and thus began the rest of the shot-taking. It was K’s turn to buy shots and I noticed her talking to a guy at the bar (not surprising, she’s stupid pretty) and the next thing I know she’s walking over to me with an unexplainable smirk on her face. The following was our exchange:
K: “So that guy I was talking to at the bar said that you were very distracting …”
B: “What?!”
K: “Yeah, he said ‘You’re friend, the one with short blonde hair in the orange top is SO distracting’.”
B: Blushing. Because that’s what I do best.
Rest of the girls: Yelling stuff about me wanting dick and other non-truths.
Then the staring begins. I still can’t really tell if the guy is cute or what. But then he walks closer to us and it’s over. Cargo shorts and tube socks, keep it. Then I realized he is much older than me (not grandpa-old, but close enough to completely scare me). Then, it’s my turn to buy shots. (Shit.) I start to walk over there with another girl from the group, and she walks RIGHT up to him and says something along the lines of “I saw you checking out my friend.” He then tells her that I am the hottest girl he’s ever seen.
OK, now I know this guy is crazy. I’m not one of those girl who is constantly telling people how ugly and fat I am. I’m pretty aware of how I look, and last time I checked I wasn’t breaking any mirrors, so I’m ok. But, the hottest girl in the world title goes to girls the likes of supermodels, not me. Duh. If I’m the hottest girl he’s ever seen, he needs to branch out. Seriously.
Then she calls me over. Fuck. So I brace myself, take a deep breath and walk over with my most convincing smile. She says “This is Chris, Chris, this is Brittney.” And literally, like 15 seconds pass before this guy even changes his expression or speaks. (Like, hello, drunkie. I’m here.) He then gets WAY too excited and practically yells, “Ooooh, HIIIIII BRITTNEY!!!!! Wow, it’s SO nice to meet you.” (I don’t know what to do at this point, I think I giggled. Yeah, FML.) Then he just stares. Doesn’t ask me any introductory questions, just stares and smiles the most creepy smile I’ve ever scene in all my life. So I order my drinks and he says “I have been waiting to meet you.” (Um, what? We’ve been in the same bar approximately 30 minutes.) So, I say “Oh, really. Well I’m sure you’ll forget me soon.” (Did that really just come out of my mouth. Get a grip, idiot.) To which he responds, “Oh, no way. I’ll never forget you, Brittney,” with that fucking smile on his face the whole time.
Ok, guys, take a memo. I know, you meet thousands of totally hot babes every day (dream on) and it can be hard to remember names. I’m sure you all have your tricks to distinguishing one hottie from the next. But, repeating my name over and over is creepy. Staring at me and not talking. Creepy. Practically drooling because I’m speaking to you. Creepy and disgusting.
So I say something like see ya and walk away with my drinks. (Literally every time he got up I prayed that he was leaving the bar, but they were just potty breaks. Damn.) I can see him stretching out and craning his neck to look at me. Ok, now I’m like what is this guy’s deal. I am doing NOTHING attractive right now. I’m taking shots and stuffing my face with cookie cake. The girls are covered and my legs are closed. (What the shit are you looking at!?)
Near the end of the evening, Chris makes his way over to me. Bad idea. The entire party is laughing while I’m trying to keep a straight face to this poor guy (not my strong suit) and then I notice M’s husband is taking pictures of our exchange.
C: “So, are you staying here much longer?”
B: “Yeah, it’s her birthday so we’re out until whenever.”
C: “Seriously, you are the most attractive girl in this bar. By far.”
B: Looking around at all the other attractive girls … “Ha, well, I hope so.”
C: “So, can I call you sometime.”
Now this is where I go completely retarded. I do not have a clue as to how to let this man down gently. So I say “SURE!” (Way too much excitement in my voice. What. The. Fuck.)
He whips out his phone and I dictate my number to him. At this point I’m thinking of giving him my mom’s cell number that she doesn’t use. But then I realize I’m holding my iPhone this entire time and he will probably call it right now to check if I gave him a fake number. Sure enough. Oh, well. Now I can screen the shit out of his calls.
Then, another friend, J, says: “So Chris, how old are you?” and he says, “Probably too old to date a beautiful girl like B.” And I rudely say, “So what is the number equivalent to that?” “39.” I’m done. No. Bye. See ya. My youngest uncle is 43. Even if I wanted this to happen, my life would be a shit storm the moment I mentioned him to dear old dad.
So he says bye to me, tells me that he will “use my number” and leaves.
About 15 minutes pass. I feel my phone vibrate the table. “Text message: Creepy Chris” it says. (Yes, that’s what I saved his name. Clever, I know.) Shit.
You are so distracting!!!!! I’m so lucky to stare at you for as long as I did!!!!! You are by far the sexiest girl I’ve ever seen!!!!! You’ve got the look!!!!!
I’m. Not. Kidding. I never responded, and no I don’t plan to. Something about the word distracting sent chills down my spine.
The next story is not quite so riveting. Basically, I’m at a football party, about 4 hot guys to 2 single girls and the one who wants me turns out to be married, but doesn’t care. Really?
I wish it wasn’t true, but more to come soon, I’m sure.
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bigger.
I got dressed this morning feeling like I always do. (“You look like shit, but damn girl, you dress cute.”) I had almost forgot the text I received from Brad (I will always use fake names, btw) last night about how he loves lingerie on ‘bigger girls.’
I mean, I’m not dumb. I know what I look like and I know I’m not small but that was such an awful word. Let me also clarify that no, we were not having phone sex or not talking about anything really lingerie-related (get your minds out of the gutter). We were just chatting about being tired, which led to PJs then that text-o-doom came. I wasn’t even really offended, because I have been called fat enough times in my life to know that he did not mean that. Then, I’m reading this book called Good In Bed (which is FAB) and it’s about a girl whose bf decides to go all rogue and write this article in a big-time fashion mag called ‘Loving a Larger Woman.’ To top it off, I log-on to one of my favorite sites (postsecret.com) and find a postcard with a pic of Barbie that says ‘I don’t want to lower my standards because I’m overweight.’ It’s like someone is screaming at me to go to the gym or something (I did bring 5-days-worth of workout attire to Stillwater. I’ll update you if and when I actually put it to use).
I can’t help but think, do I really want to like someone who seems to like me BECAUSE I’m more-to-love size? I mean, in all honesty, I don’t want to look like this forever, but I’m clearly not doing much to change it as of late.
Filed under: Less of me | Leave a Comment
Tags: dating, fat, gaining weight
wicked.
My mom took me to see Wicked last night at the Tulsa Performing Arts Center. I saw it in Chicago last year with Carolyn and Chevy, and it was phenom then, but I was nervous about not liking the Tulsa production as much. I was totally wrong (of course that hardly ever happens). It was UH-MAZING. I totally cried, and my mom was asking questions like an excited 5-year-old. She loved it.
What I really couldn’t get over were the casts’ voices. They were all incredibly talented and their singing brought a tear to my eye more than once. I know, I’m a crier. BUT simple songs usually don’t do the trick.
We went to McGill’s before and had a glass or three of wine (Kendall Jackson = YUM) and a couple of appetizers. Then we totally stopped at QT after for corndogs, diet coke and taquitos.
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hook.
Hell of a past couple of weeks. I feel like I’m on autopilot, even after I slept I wasn’t rested. Welcome to the ‘real world’ right? Speaking of, those jerks never called me back. They clearly don’t know who I am or what they are missing on the show without me.
Work has been quiet the thrill ride for the past few days, and by thrill ride I mean make me want to bleed out at my desk. First of all, Bertha (not her real name, obviously) is a conniving twit. She specifically said to three interns, myself included that (because we are unpaid) that we would be reimbursed for our gas money (because we run out on pointless errands that could be taken care of with that new-fangled post office thinger). Anyway, so Tuesday after I drove myself across town she calls me to tell me to come back to the office, I have a new project. I’m sure you can imagine my excitement; I’ll give you a moment.
So, then I get there and I find out Bertha wasn’t even supposed to send me on the errand in the first place. I wasted $5 in gas, oh, for Bertha’s fun. I tried to let out all the steam in the ladies’ restroom but I wasn’t exactly a happy camper for the rest of the day. Then the effing printer won’t print. It’s like, Hi! You’re a printer. You have one function, thanks.
So instead of helping me fix the problem, Bertha (who is supposed to be an office assistant and a self-proclaimed ‘Excel Pro’) tries to break down all the tools on excel and speak to me like I’m The Other Sister. Does it say ‘SPECIAL’ on my forehead? Girl with a normal intelligence level at your 12-o’clock, Berty. Come to find out it’s the printers fault, not mine. So I ask Clark (still not a real name) if he’ll print it for me like he did the first time. He says, “Sure, but when I get out of the meeting.” I say, “Cool.” Meanwhile, the meeting is like 5 feet from where my desk is and when all’s quiet I hear him complaining that I asked him to print on the ‘big printer’ and how I should know how to print a document and something along the lines of ‘My name is Clark, I’m a huge douche’ (he said it, not me). Again, do I drool on myself, or something when everyone’s looking? Listen, Clark. I know how to freaking print something, thanks. Your ‘big printer’ has a password that ONLY YOU KNOW because YOU SET IT UP.
At this point I’m pretty fired up. I know I’m an intern and that involves a lot of busy work, however intern does not equal office bitch, scapegoat or any other excuse one would need to not effectively do ones job. In other words, DON’T BLAME ME WHEN YOU EFF UP! I know how to type, speak, use most programs on most computers; I can even walk upright. I don’t need you to hold my hand, or wipe my butt when I go to the bathroom. If you make a mistake, take responsibility. It takes more effort for you to lie than it does for you to say, ‘oops, I’ll fix it.’
Gosh that’s been bothering me! On a brighter note, we did the September fashion shoot at the Fire Station No. 5 yesterday. The two firemen who were there were so polite and friendly (they called me ma’am the entire time). But I have to say I was a little disappointed upon arriving. Excuse me, I’m here for the Oklahoma Magazine fashion shoot, and I’d like to know where all the shirtless firemen are? Preferably non-married, if you can swing it. Also, why aren’t they all out on the lawn playing football? Why aren’t you cooking a huge pot of spaghetti and where the HELL is your Dalmatian? Do you even have fire trucks and a working fire pole? At least I got the last two.
Warning: Fire stations are not like the movies. (Shut up.)
Speaking of poles, my brother and I totally met a hooker Tuesday night. We come out of the movie theater (after FINALLY seeing Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince) and saw this woman walking rather provocatively beside an old firebird. The follow is the exchange:
Me – Ohmygoddd, Ry, look! She is totally a hooker.
Ryan – Sweet.
Hooker – NO! HELL NO! You don’t wanna gimme a ride so just go on!
Driver – can’t hear him but I’m sure he said “SEE YA!” and then he drove away.
Hooker – (keeps walking, crosses the crosswalk right as we are)
Me – Shit. Shit. Shit. Pleeeease don’t talk to us. (Under my breath, duh.)
Hooker – Hey guys, um I just got stranded (No you didn’t? You walked off from that car?) Do you know of any place that’s still open so I can get my homegirl to come pick me up?
Me – Um, yeah. The movie theater is still open. We just came out. (Insert sigh of relief that she wasn’t asking Ryan and I to take her anywhere here.)
Hooker – K thanks.
As she walked away, you know I focused on her attire. VERY low cut top accompanied by shoes only meant for Playboy photo shoots and a denim skirt that my 5-year-old cousin probably owns, too. Ryan just cracked up and we thought of all the excuses we would have made had she asked us for a ride. S-C-A-R-Y. I don’t mean to judge, if you hook for a living, by all means, keep on keepin’ on. But, hookers scare me. Anyone who sees $20 and gets … excited scares me.
On the other hand, if it meant I could get off work early, I might look into hooking for gas money myself. Kidding. Kinda.
Filed under: Internship | 2 Comments
Tags: harry potter, hookers, Internship, photo shoot
mulligan.
Interesting roadtrip with little bro down to visit our grandparents.
It started Tuesday morning with some awesome breakfast (see tator tots below) and a carhop that cracked me up.
Then it was on the road again, second stop EZ-GO in Antlers, OK. They should be so proud.
Grandma took us to Bingo last night, which is always so much fun to me. Ryan came with us for the first time and even though he was pretty upset we didn’t win, I think he had a good time. Tonight Uncle Jeff took us to Fisherman’s Cove for Karaoke night and pool. My phone died, otherwise you know I’d have taken pictures.
We also finished THE hardest puzzle I’ve ever tried to do. Teddy bears are hell!
Have you ever gotten super stressed or nervous and splashed water on your face in hopes of it helping? And even though you know something like water can’t change all the reasons you’re stressed, you feel a sense of relief as the cool sensation hits your skin.
Alba, Texas is the water.
Visiting this week has given me the motivation I’ve been lacking for a very long time. I wish I knew who or what is responsible so I could thank him or her or it.
Back to living on Tulsa time tomorrow, but I think I’m ready. Maybe even excited? I guess we will find out!
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Tags: bingo, grandparents, puzzles, roadtrips
