...and then there were...none.

It is record-setting. It is heart-breaking. It is tragic. This morning news of yet another person I once knew has passed away. Less than twenty days ago, a gentle, kind-hearted young man left us.

DC,

What the hell happened, man? We have not talked in so long, so imagine my disbelief when I found out. I wanted so hard to believe it was someone else. I was told to Google your incident to read more about it. I wish I hadn't.

What the hell were you doing? Were you fucked up? Were you really on your way to work? I know you would not take your life - so why the hell did you bust-a-u on the Tollway? Why?! What were you thinking? Your fiance. Your little baby girl. What are they going to do without you?

I hope you did not suffer. I hope you are resting in peace. You deserve the best any world can offer you. You may not have made the best choices all the time, but you always had everyone's best interest at heart. I will never forget the times we shared. Our rooftop moments. The night outside Mark's apartment. Your apartment. Endless nights at Bennigan's. Your smile and laugh were infectious. Your memories live inside of me.

Rest in Peace.

i'm real.

"Sometimes I just don't know about you..."

Though they may not seem like hurtful words, they hit me hard. Real hard. Coming from someone I trust and someone who is genuinely honest. For someone like that to not know...to have doubts about me and my actions...it does not feel good.

When I asked what he meant and what he did not know, he replied by saying I was "too nice." I must have missed the memo where every once in awhile we are supposed to be bastards to our friends so that they do not question our motives. So that we do not come across as "too nice."

I do not think I am "too nice." Not even close. I must admit that I am probably nicer to him than I am to others, but that is only because he is truly one of the most sincere people I have ever met. I have never had even an inkling of desire to be rude or mean to him, never had a reason. Maybe he needs to see the bitch in me to know that I am real.

one size does not fit all.

Dear Leasing Office Bitch,

I do not hate you because you are fat. I hate you because I partially blame you for my missing Victoria Secret Package. I blame you because you never seem to give a damn. Whether it is because you think I am a little kid unworthy of your efforts or undivided attention or because you hate your job. I hate you. I hate the way you talk. I hate the way you fix your bra strap mid conversation. I hate that you were probably responsible for my lost package and will not get off your lazy, fat ass to investigate the matter.

I know these hateful words will not bring to life my misplaced panties and bras. I know I must sound shallow and materialistic. I am just angry. Extremely angry. Again, I do not hate you because you are fat, but I do believe you would be a better person if you dropped a few hundred pounds and pretended to care.


Sincerely,

Unhappy Tenant

slightly shaken, never stirred.

Overwhelmed by a craving for a frappaccino, I caved and indulged in a vanilla bean one. If I am not mistaken, it was the first frappaccino I had had since high school. It was delicious until it became all frothy. My Tall order was just enough to satisfy my craving.

My bad luck with cameras (and cell phones) precedes me. Goodbye, Sony Cybershot. Though you did not have the quickest shutter speed or the steadiest shot, you were a clean looking camera, and I liked you. I gave into my girly tastes when I bought you. How could you let me down for no good reason at all?

Stupid Parks and Recreation show. The only line worthy of quoting during the entire first 30 minute episode was, "...what I hear when I am being yelled at are people caring loudly at me."

I will admit, there are times I spend more time getting ready for the gym than I do getting ready for work. Basketball shoes or cross-trainers? Tank top or t-shirt? Some times I even smell better when I go to the gym. Don't judge.

I am very much a local-bar girl. Though I would not consider it a 'dive' or hole-in-the-wall, Austin Avenue is far from The Living Room or Ghost Bar, even. And I love it like that. No worries about what to wear. No one to judge. Always interesting people to meet. Always a good time to be had.

Another tax day has come and gone. I have come up with my own personal slogan...

Each year I owe more and more.
The government sees me as a money sucking whore.

missing March and its Madness.

All the anxiety that precedes the Mavericks and the other teams fighting for the last few spots in the playoffs does not even compare to that which encompasses the tournament. Every year I talk about how March is my favorite month, and every year it never lets me down. Though this year's tournament did not seem as exciting to some because it seemed to favor all the top seeded teams, it was still in high spirits. I am going to step outside the box and say that this year I actually enjoyed watching the Women's tournament and the NIT slightly more than the Men's tournament.

Only in the Women's tournament will you see players on the floor crying tears of happiness and sadness (unless Adam Morrison is playing). Only would a player on the Sooners womens team offer to payback her scholarship if her team did not win the championship. Only in the Women's tournament would a coach ignore one of his top players to prove a point. Only in the Women's tournament is 50+ points a high scoring game.

Oh, and only for the Women's tournament, would a video be made with a Miley Cyrus song...



Congratulations to the UConn Women's Basketball Team and UNC's Men's Team.

bookmark this page.

For the first time since the Goosebumps (R.L. Stine) days, I finished a book - cover to cover. (So what if it took me over two months.)



It is no Shakespeare...or Stephenie Meyer for that matter. Rather, it is written in a language that I understand - caustic wit, and is about real life situations and insights, not vampires and the frivolous labor of love.

Recommended by a friend, the book has encouraged me to recognize and consider all passing intuitions and thoughts. I have an appreciation for humor, and now more so for satirical humor. The fact that words on a page can make me laugh out loud brings me hope. Hope for nothing in particular, just hope and glee. (That's right, bitches, I used the word 'glee.')

C. Parker.

When I first heard she was going to be on the cover of ESPN pregnant, I thought 'ew.' But now that I have seen it, I think 'dayum.'


Only Candace Parker can make being pregnant look hot. (Even Alba did not look this good.)