So, I finally got around to learning how to email photos from my cell phone. Even semi-regular readers can probably guess with some degree of accuracy what I take pictures of:

Pandas! (With rainbows! And Maisy! All things that make me happy!)

Whiskey. Why do I take pictures of my drinks? BECAUSE I LOVE THEM, that's why.

My doggie's sad little surgery stitches and shoddy shave job. Which I only laughed at a little bit, and always behind her back.

THIS I laughed at to her face, though. You can tell she's like "Yeah, yeah, get it in now. But sleep with one eye open, fucker".

All in all, nothing incriminating. No, I know better than to leave evidence behind.

Oh, but there is this one:

And that's what we call SHITFACED, kids. At 10am, even. It's what happens when someone makes me get up at the fucked up hour of ANYTIME BEFORE NOON. Or takes me out to breakfast, whatever. I made up for it by ordering Bloody Marys. And mimosas. What? I like juice! (Did anyone buy that? Anyone?)

Now that I've learned how to do this little bit of technological wizardry, you can expect more shitty cell photos to pop up around here. Or, come to think of it, maybe not. Because really, it would just be pictures of the exact same things, over and over: pandas, whiskey, my dog, and an intoxicated me.

I never claimed I was deep.

(Just awesome.)

Does the 6-inch heel scream WHORE just a tad too loudly? Should I go with the 5-inch heel then, which just whispers it? Ok, stage whispers it?

Since one of these is black and beige, and the other black and white (huge difference) can I justify buying them both?

And even though these are redonk expensive, wouldn't they make a great graduation present to myself?

Am I not only looking at shoes on-line (daily occurrence, no joke) but also POSTING ABOUT IT because I have nothing else to say but if I don't post then that means I'll actually have some free time to work on schoolwork and I really, really don't want to do that today?

Yes, yes, yes, and YES.

Dear readers, I apologize for the above. But even though I made the ultimate sacrifice of staying in last night and even went to bed before midnight, I was somehow still up tossing and turning at 4am. (Lesson learned: just go to the damn bar already. At least then if you feel like shit in the morning, it's because YOU EARNED IT.)

As a result, my brain is not working so well today. It's a taxing effort to just stare at shoes on-line, click "add to cart", and make happy faces on my calendar to denote their anticipated delivery dates. (I only wish I was kidding about that last one).

Any attempt at homework, or a coherent blog post, would likely read: akjdokualkyhjkajlsdfhjklal'p;a.

So thank goodness I didn't try, eh?

Wooooooooohooooooooo!

That translates roughly to: PARTY! IT'S SPRING BREAK!

Though not for me though; not really. Since I'm not attending regular classes this semester (just corresponding with my advisor via email) I don't really have anything to actually take a break from.

Of course, that's not going to stop me from trying.

Even though I'm working a fuck-ton this week, and have that pesky little paper to work on, I'm determined to participate in my most favorite college tradition (much preferred to that "going to classes", "doing homework", and "studying" bullshit) in at least some small ways. The baby steps I plan to take this week:

Drink pina coladas and strawberry daiquiris without shame. I don't know if this is possible, but I'm game to find out.

Work on my pinball skillz, because mad they are not.

Go skinny dipping

Eat a Dodger dog or three in eager anticipation of opening day (6 days! 6 DAYS!)

Wear every bathing suit I own at least once (2 vintage one-pieces, 2 bikinis, 1 slightly embarrassing by it's girlyness yet also totally fucking adorable striped/ruffled/off-the-shoulder terry 2-piece. What? At least it doesn't have JUICY splayed across the ass, and that's something.)

Get drunk and make out with my man (yeah, you read that right) a lot, A LOT.

It should be grand, if the past is any indication, because Spring Break is just one of those things (see also: drinking whiskey, storming out, wasting whole days reading in the bath) that I do SO, SO WELL. Evidence:

That was Spring Break a few years back. I was with a few girlfriends, drinking it up (heavily - that explains the makeup) in a Vegas hotel room, getting ready to go see Motley Crue play.

I do not think I will be able to top that Spring Break this year, what with the having to show up to work and be coherent for most of the week.

But I'm all for trying.

Cheers!

So, how pretentious was that "posting will be light while I do school shit" comment I made yesterday? Like I really invest so much time and energy into these incredibly detailed, well-thought out, and totally carefully edited posts. And that to give this site anything less than my best would JUST NOT DO.

Ha.

If anything, posting may be more frequent while school is in full force because my powers of procrastination are an awesome, awesome thing. (Rivaled only by my powers of throwing shit with much passion if not precision, drinking large glasses of whiskey, and kicking your ass at table hockey. That's right, I said it. KICKING YOUR ASS.)

I came into work early today to fill in for a coworker's Toddler Storytime. This means that I pretty much woke up to 30 screaming, yelling, crying little bundles of love and sweetness. There is not enough coffee in the world sometimes...

Thankfully, coming in early also means that I get to leave early, and therefore get a bit of a head start on my weekend (no work tomorrow - yay!).

While the focus will be primarily (should be! we'll see!) on schoolwork, I'm thinking that tonight I just may have to stop by the bar, as I am beginning to forget what one looks like.

Cheers!

Early on St. Patrick's Day I got a text message from someone whom I'm on a bit of a break from while I work on this whole "sanity" thing. (Verdict: OVERRATED.) The message read:

"Let's go get shamrock tattoos in Hollywood tonight. What do you think, Babe? Then we can drink Jameson afterward."

Well DAMN. He knows me, people.

We made it up to LA by midnight, had a few beers at the tattoo shop, and true to the plan got shamrock tattoos. (Not matching ones, though. This is a step in the right direction, since the last time we got tattooed together we got each other's initials. Um. Yeah.)

It was a lovely night. And that's all I really have to say about it.

Cheers.

Posting will likely be light for the next few weeks as I finish up work on my graduate thesis, which is due in just over a month.

(Or start it. Whatevs.)

I don't know how or why, but my site has gotten more than double its normal amount of hits every day this week. I have a sneaking suspicion that someone may have put the word out that I post nekkid pictures of myself. (Nope! Just stupid ones!) If that's the case, THANK YOU, kind stranger.

For all the new people, I feel badly that you were greeted with the sentence "So, my dog has cancer". I mean, way to bring a motherfucker down, no?

So allow me to touch on some things that are less depressing than the dog whom I love dearly that may or may not be dying. (Quick update: she's home from surgery and doing well, but is drugged out of her fucking skull. She walked sideways and bumped into things for a few solid hours. It was only a little bit funny.)

For the newbies, a brief introduction about me is here, and information about the site and explanation of why I have it (summary: free drinks) is here. A few other notes on what I'm about, and what goes down here:

I like to read. Most recently I've talked about books that I've read/am currently reading here, here, here, and here. Right now I'm working on my master's thesis for library and information science, and I currently work at a library. So yeah, it's pretty much books up the yin-yang.

I also like to drink. Whiskey primarily, though beer and wine are making a strong showing in my diet this year. Occasionally I get drunk and do stupid things (like sleep through Christmas) and then write about them on the internet. Yet another in a sea of endless examples of stellar judgment.

This is my senior college picture, and it should tell you two things: that I am very, very fun and that I am not a bit afraid to look completely ridiculous. The latter aids the former.

My mother steadfastly demanded that I don the icky loaner cap and gown for posed senior photos, so I made a deal with her that I would IF she agreed to pay for a photo which included a bottle of Jack and a beer hat.

I was positive the mention of the words "beer hat" alone would get her to back down. She didn't. While this photo was being taken she was off to the side, laughing the entire time. She carries it in her wallet next to the formal one.

Well played, Mother. Well played.

I'm already thinking of ideas for my graduate graduation (is that right? It sounds off.) photo. How I'll top the this one, I don't know. But I'm thinking a baby panda would do the trick.

As school is beginning to wrap up (done in May!), I realize that come fall I'll need to make mature, rational decisions in regards to housing, employment, and the possibility of going back for even! more! school! (ugh, I can't even think about this one right now).

So you know what that means. This summer? MOTHERFUCKING FREE-FOR-ALL.

The only set goals at the time are to restore the Nova (I've driven her to death for 8 years, she's earned it), drink a shitload of wine in France, hopefully as much beer in Slovenia (I'm entertaining the idea of going on to Slovenia by myself since no one gives a damn about this country BUT ME), and try to find the time to recreationally abuse some (totally legal!) painkillers on the beaches of Catalina in between .

All of this is my way of saying: stick around. That sure, I may have been a wee bit whiny lately (or for the last year, fuck you) but hey, give it a chance. I'll totally love you for it. And I don't say that to just anyone.

(Just anyone on the internet.)

So, my dog has cancer.

And before I get all boo-hoo on you, let me preface it with this: even typing "dog" and "cancer" feels weird. It's odd to connect something that kills thousands upon thousands of human beings -fathers, mothers, children, lovers, and the like- with an animal who sees chasing her tail a worthwhile endeavor.

Don't get me wrong; I'm an animal lover extraordinaire. And this is my pup we're talking about, so yeah, I CARE. I just don't want to trivialize the very real and very human cost of the disease. For those of you that have lost a loved one to cancer, or known someone who has suffered, I don't want to minimize your experience by blubbering over a pet.

But my dog? She is a loved one. More than just a family pet, she's a bit of a special case.

See, she was my brother's.

He had her for about a year. He was a baby with her, and she with him. After he died there was brief talk of giving her away to a good home, as it seemed she may be too constant and painful a reminder. My mother even took to comparing them to one another: both had a reputation for meanness and violence (him, earned; her, not so much), yet both were much more sensitive than one would imagine.

As time went on the thought of giving her away became an impossibility. Now it's as though spending time with her is a way for my parents to honor their son's memory, in a way. They can (and do) lavish on her all of the love and attention that they wish they could on him.

If they lose her, too...well, that would suck. It has been a rough few years for my parents, and this dog, all wriggles and snorts, has been a godsend.

I am worried.

She goes in for surgery tomorrow, and we'll find out how bad it is then.

So whoever decides these things, please fix it.

I generally avoid posting on my weekends off like I avoid the plague.

Which, come to think of it, I don't really take any active steps to avoid. But damn, it's my weekend off people, give me a break for the lazy metaphor. No, wait, it's a simile, because I used 'like', right? Normally I would look that up, or at least think about looking it up, but it's the weekend and the 5 seconds of my time that would take is clearly way, way too much because my weekend time is PRECIOUS.

But I felt it well worth it to make note of the fact that today is International Women's Day.

Go, visit, recognize.

Old people wisdom. More, please.

(Todd Parr, by the way, is the author of Reading Makes You Feel Good and Underwear Do's and Dont's. Very serious stuff. If you've got younguns, or like me are very immature, check them out.)

Today I celebrate my two-year anniversary of gainful employment. At one place. Full time. Two years. (Year one review is here. I won't be doing another one, because it's pretty much the same: kids, drunks, and porn. Welcome to my world.)

How I've managed to not get fired in two years, and in fact totally thrive (for courteousness I was marked as exceeds job requirements - can you fucking believe that?) is beyond me, though it probably has something to do with the fact that I actually like my job, and there are even things about it that I downright love.

Like how they let me come in at noon, a perfectly reasonable hour which allows me to go out until the wee hours of the night and still get a decent amount of sleep. Both of which -going out and getting enough rest- are vital to my mental health and towards ensuring that I don't go around bitch-smacking people. Which would probably take my level of courteousness down a notch.

Oh, and the best part of the yearly review: I got a raise. Which means hello there, top shelf whiskey. Come, sit next to me. Let's be friends, shall we?

And then there's school. So far this semester I have yet to open a single book. Write more than one coherent page. Spend more than 30 minutes, at once, on homework. So I should probably hop to it, no? Therefore, this weekend will mark the start of my getting down to business. The workload is entirely manageable, and I even find the whole process pretty enjoyable (researching and writing about comics? Ok!). I don't expect it to be too painful. Especially since my plan of attack is to snuggle up inside Portfolio, tinker around on my laptop, and sip yummy coffee drinks. Yeah. Tough. (For the life of me, I can't study/get work done at home. Because that's where I keep the wine. And the bathtub. And my bed.)

I'm still bowled over by the fact that I'll have a Master's degree in 7 weeks. I'm going to have to plan something fun to celebrate. Maybe do a little shopping, go to a day spa, or I don't know, how about a few weeks in France?

My initial desire to go to Slovenia was shot down in .25 seconds (you mean I'm learning the language for nothing?!), and while I'm still pulling for Ireland, it looks as though France may be the final destination. And there's no way I'm going to complain about that. Bordeaux and Champagne: both regions in France. And things I like to drink. I see potential. (Oh yeah, and there's all that "art" and "culture" stuff, too.)

Lastly, and this one will give you a heart attack if you know me, I've started to adopt a healthier lifestyle.

I KNOW.

It took an overly dramatic situation to bring some of my less than stellar behaviors to the surface, but OH BOY, surface they did. While I don't agree a single bit with how the situation was handled (uh, understatement) I find solace in the notion that out of all the utter nonsense, ridiculous drama, and wasted time and effort that went down, at least this point was made: that I was doing stupid things, and I am not a stupid person. Something had to give. It's a decision I would have come to on my own eventually, but as the saying goes, there's no time like the present.

So I've cut down on going out, spending money, and just being a hoodlum in general. And it's...nice. I feel better, I sleep better, and according to my friends, I look better (they may be liars, but I love them still). And there's no cause for concern, as I'm not putting a moratorium on fun or anything like that. There will still be PLENTY of going out, drinking, doing stupid things, and then writing about them. Because that is just such a great, great idea.

I hope this post didn't come off too self-congratulatory. I know that was a lot of MY LIFE IS FUCKING RAD crammed into one entry. And sometimes, it really is.

And sometimes it really isn't.

This year (also known as The Year In Which Much Has Gone Awry and Much Crying Has Gone Down) has been a hard one. Death, moving, breakups, dealing with the repercussions of acting like an occasional lowlife...all of that stuff and more crammed into a relatively short span of time took its toll on me.

So let a girl have her moments.

Cheers!

Yesterday I:

Decided (finally) to move out of Long Beach this summer. California, even.

Accidentally carried a switchblade into a courthouse; ended up giving a cop my number.

Applied for yet another grad program, as I am only seven (SEVEN!) weeks from finishing my Master's.

Got kicked out of the Troubadour. Whiskey may have been a factor.

Realized that for all of the nice things that they say, some people can and will turn on you in an instant. Your cheap shots? They only make you look cheap.

Ok, who had their money on number 4?

Nope! (Not a bad guess, though.) Sorry for the tease, but as far as the rest go, I'm going to go ahead and keep my thoughts on them to myself, because to do otherwise would be inelegant.

And I'm nothing if not a total fucking lady.

Cheers.

That's me, doing what I do best. Which is acting like a raging dork. While at a party. A good party, even. (You may not be able to tell that it was a good party judging by the fact that I was sitting in the corner in a back bedroom, but it was. I'm told.)

When faced with large groups of people I sometimes tend to do this thing called 'be antisocial'. Maybe you've heard of it. (Topher, if you're reading, you know this is true. We met at a small party of sorts, when I was hiding out on the ground next to the couch, so as to stay out of the conversation. And then you and I started talking about comic books and ignored everyone else. It was awesome.)

I'm generally fine in social situations with smaller groups, and I kind of love going out, as that's where all of the good alcohol is. For me, being antisocial is less a matter of being shy (which I am, but not crippling so) and more about the fact that most people act a certain way at bars and parties, or in large groups, and that way is STUPID.

(Uh, not like me getting wasted and playing with the host's toys is any better. I don't look too fucked up, but that fact that I allowed this moment to be captured on film should serve as proof that, oh boy, I was.)

At a party I don't want to gossip, I don't want to nod my head in faux sympathy while a relative stranger bitches about everything under the sun, and I really, really don't want to be impressed (so feel free to stop trying).

I do want to play with your video games and toys, drink your alcohol, and look at your books.

So I'm going to take it as a really good sign that the party I'm going to this weekend has a singular focus: Guitar Hero. I've never played, but I'm pretty sure that the rock? I CAN BRING IT.

I may actually even talk to other human beings while there. But I'm not holding my breath.

Because my mind is crazy strong and can bend spoons as well as make things spontaneously combust (oh god, I wish!), my new love The Mountain Goats (whom I heard for the first time like a couple of days ago) are playing in LA this week. I'm pretty sure that I willed this to happen. It's so, so nice when the universe does what I want it to. Good universe. Here, have a cookie.

I'll be at the show tomorrow night, whiskey in hand, ready for awesomeness. Though the level of awesomeness depends on whether or not I have to drive. I think we're going to flip for it. Keep your fingers crossed, people.

Cheers.