Fashion Friday (The Grateful Edition)

Here it is, not yet 7 AM and I've already had a dose of humble pie this morning. As I pulled into the driveway after hitting the gym, I noticed an older gentleman politely sorting through our recycling bin.

This pissed me off. I mean, sure, we're wasteful, but that's our choice, right? The sifter and I made eye contact and I know he saw the dirty look I was giving him. As I shut the car off, I had it in my mind to tell him that it is not okay to go through our garbage, that I'm pretty sure it's illegal.

But as I stepped out of the car, he gingerly approached me, held up his hand in a surrender sort of way and said, "I'm sorry."

It hit me then that he had no malicious intent; he, like the rest of us, is just trying to survive. Sure, he's taking advantage of our wastefulness, but to him it might just be that night's dinner.

And here I am, worried that today's Fashion Friday picture isn't that great.

I'm a giant whorebag.

But I did give him the green light to help himself. And realized that, yet again, here I sit in judgement. I'm working on it.

So I guess my point is, I'm not going to whine about how I can't wear jeans and flip flops to work anymore. I'm not going to complain about how much or how hard I work.

Today, I'm thankful that life has not forced me, up to this point anyway, to sort through someone's trash just to survive. I am lucky in so many ways, the least of which is this fabulous gray sweater Sarah forced me to buy:



It's getting all sentimental and reflective up in here. Quick, someone say something funny.

Or just realize how great you have it.

Happy Friday.

The Theory of Relativity According to TheKel

The first thought that went through my head when she said "You are so disciplined" was: If by disciplined you mean cheap, then yes.

I didn't put on 3 layers and ride my scooter to work in the 40 degree weather because I have discipline. I rode my scooter because I'd rather pay for gas at 80 mpg (scooter) as opposed to 15 mpg (car).

What my friend, who made the comment, views as "discipline" is nothing more than my preference to spend money on my own materialist tendencies rather than Big Oil.

The comment, however, did cause me to reflect on one of my favorite cliches: "Everything is relative." (is that a cliche or some other figure of speech? I'm not sure.)

Of all the adjectives I'd use to describe myself (bitchy, anal, bossy), disciplined has probably never crossed my mind. Because if I were disciplined, would I drink so much coffee or eat so many carbs? Would I be riding my bike to work sporadically as opposed to every day? Would my back patio have gone this long without being vacuumed?

My sister gets up at 4:30 every morning to work out. She never goes to bed with dishes in the sink (actually, neither do I, but she's trained her boys better, because sometimes I wake up to dirty dishes, whereas she never does).

That is what I consider discipline, especially given the fact that she's considered "crippled" and is supposed to be walking with a cane.

But, then, that just goes to show that everything is relative. Because, even though there's a million things I should either start or stop doing, I am disciplined. Allegedly.

Whatever.

Um...I'd Be Scared But I'm Too Busy Envisioning Myself if That Dress...

Holy crap up in here, I'm getting married. Like, officially.

Like, the Real OC's town hall has already been booked. Like, I'm waiting to confirm that the local band, The Moonlighters, will play. I'm wondering how many times they'll play The Bunny Hop and if I'll be able to do it in my dress. The Bunny Hop, that is, not the IT that you're all thinking. Pervs.

And, oh yeah. I'm buying that dress I've been drooling over. It's expensive, but who needs to eat for the next 5 months? Not me if I'm going to fit into that dress...

Despite my best intentions, this wedding is going to happen. I'm going to be forced to be a grown-up and finally commit to something. I haven't been able to get the thought out of my head. The taste it leaves behind is somewhat bitter. Goodbye, carefree 20's.

Hello, adulthood. Finally.

But in this sorrow over my lost freedom, there's also excitement. This is going to be so much fun. The marriage aside, the wedding is going to be a party like The Real OC has never seen.

There is a slight glitch, however. OC is 96% Mormon. Scott's family is 100% Canadian. Translation: Scott's family loves to booze, which could potentially scare my poor Mormon mother to tears. I wonder if she'll bring her scriptures for comfort?

This might be a problem. But can't someone else deal with it? I refuse to accept the fact that I might be caught in the middle. Why should I be, when this is my celebration?

Sigh. Being married is so hard. You know, if I were actually married yet.

Holy crap up in here.

Peace.

My Last Name Isn't Kardashian, But I Still Have a Booty AND Am Boinking an NFL Player

I'm cheating on Scott. But it's with a celebrity, Luis Castillo of the Chargers, so I'm pretty sure it doesn't count.

Oh, and also, it didn't happen in real life, just in my dream last night. So really it doesn't count.

And now I'm awake and wondering what it all means. I suspect this dream is the result of a conversation I had with Sarah the other day, about how everyone has their celebrity list (in my case they're all football-related), but what happens if you actually get a shot with one of those celebs? Do you really leave the one you're with for your celebrity crush?

Apparently I do. Apparently I don't give a what about any commitments I've made, because, while I was hooking up with Luis Castillo, Scott was walking around all hurt and stuff. I continued on with my new love. Sopko was also involved and talking smack because she claimed Luis Castillo first.

In my defense, though, anyone on your celebrity to-do list is a free pass. (which, BTW, Luis is not on my list, or at least not in my top 10, but I think that's beside the point. Everyone knows that when you're with a celebrity, you get to act however the eff you want and it's okay.)

But...if dreams are really your subconscious talking to you, then it turns out that, deep down, I am a giant slut whorebag with no loyalties whatsoever. I feel it's my duty to warn you so you know not to trust me anymore.

So consider yourselves warned, and don't come crying to me when I double-cross you. I've done told you I'm a bad seed. The rest is on you.

The end.

Fashion Friday

If you take yourself too seriously, you're never going to be happy.

Part of the human experience is that we know failure, pain, hurt. What defines our character is how we react to the negative situations in life.

Take yesterday, for example. I got a flat tire on a day I didn't even have time to eat lunch. The old me would have freaked and ultimately would have ended up apologizing to whatever person happened to be in my path of anxiety and subsequent bitchiness.

But now? I just called Scott and told him to come pick me up. This may have been my handling of a situation in an adult way, or it could have just been that I was too lazy to change the tire and ride home.

Either way, I think I've learned something about life, and that is that it all works out in the end.

Okay, so this week's Fashion Friday is just a random shot of me not taking life seriously:



See how I didn't even freak out that Scott left the fan and ugly extension chord in the kitchen for days? This is progress.

Or just me not having energy to deal with the little things.

Regardless, it's Friday and this thought alone makes it all okay.

Happy Friday!

Not Being Prepared Is Actually a Good Thing

Can we just for a second think about what a bad ass gangsta I think I am, cruising through inner-city San Diego on my black-laced with pink Trek Fuel?

Only...today I would have looked like more of a bad ass if my hair weren't down, flying in the wind, fresh from its blow job (think Harlequin cover girl right now). Also, I had purple nails, still wet, so I was holding them like a complete priss.

Do gangsters even paint their nails? I'll have to check into that.

Also? Talk about The Secret.

I've been riding my bike to work for the past 3 years. During those 3 years, I never once brought along an extra tube OR any tools to change a tire in case I got a flat.

Nor did I even know how to change a flat. (Hey, there's a reason I bike with boys. They do everything for me, and all I have to do is ride and occasionally flash my boobies. Kidding.)

So....randomly, today I decided I'd better bring a tool and tube just in case.

And of course I got a flat.

Lesson? It's better not to be prepared, because then shit won't happen.

Take this lesson to heart, kids. The Universe has a sheisty sense of humor like that, and She'll open up and take a dump on you just for kicks.

And then you'll smell like poo for the rest of the day.

The end.

Football Top 5

I feel sorry for you if you don't watch football.

I love everything about the game, but, most importantly, I love the feeling of being a part of something in my community, a common interest I have with random people. (Is that sentence redundant? I don't want to have to think right now, so I'm leaving it.)

I know some people, like Sarah, hate the NFL. But Sarah doesn't know what I know.

Football players are fucking delicious to look at. And not just the players. The coaches, the cheerleaders. The water boys.

So, in case you're not a regular fan, I encourage you to study the following list of reasons you should be watching the game. Here are the top 5 reasons I watch football:

5. Kurt Warner--QB, Arizona Cardinals. Dude is hot. Or at least he used to be. I was in love with him last year but have now realized he's too old for me. Plus he has a wife and kids,and I'm not quite sure I want to be the bitch who breaks up the family.


4. Joe Flacco--QB, Baltimore Ravens. Pretty hot. And the good news is, he's single. Well, he has a girlfriend, but some would call that fair game.


Except he lives in Baltimore, and I believe it's cold there. And I hate cold. I guess he can keep his girlfriend for now.


3. Number 50, San Diego Chargers. I don't know his name. I can't figure out who he is because I think he's a bench warmer. All I know is he plays defense and lives in San Diego. And do I really need to know his name? All that matters is that he makes me really wish I were a groupie in every sense of the word. If you're not catching my drift, think Kardashian. Nuff said.

2. Matt Cassell-QB, Kansas City. He makes me want to sin really, really badly. There are, however, 2 reasons Matt and I wouldn't work: a) he lives in Kansas City. Um, I'm in Diego. I think I'll stay. b) his team never wins, which means he might just be a loser. And I'm not into comforting guys. Life is about being manly, yo.


1. Josh McDaniels--head coach, Denver Broncos. Just wow. Dude is smoking hot AND phenomenal at what he does. He and I fell in love the moment we met. You know, if we had actually met in person and not just via the telly. The point is, he wants to have my babies and live happily ever after in Denver. For this amount of hotness, I could endure the snow.

Please study list and determine which team you'll be watching the rest of the season. I promise you won't regret it.