Another Entry in Which I Do Something Stupid

Sunday I went to the gym. This alone should signal the end of times or at the very least a plague of locusts, but I digress. So there I was on the elliptical jamming out to my iPod. I had just downloaded a bunch of new music, and since I am white, that music was old school rap. During the download process when given the chance between the radio version or the explicit version I always chose explicit because well, I like curse words, I know, you are shocked. However, I have mostly never heard the explicit versions of these songs. This is key.

So there I am, rocking out, volume all the way up when one of the songs that I had not yet listened to came on. And internet, I fell off the elliptical. Literally. I have apparently turned into an 80 year old woman who when confronted with super dirty, super unexpected lyrics just topples on over. Needless to say those around me giggled. They are far kinder than I as if I had seen me fall I would have pointed, laughed and possibly tried to high fiver the faller. Instead they giggled and tried not to make eye contact. I then gesticulated wildly trying to show everyone that I know how to make my feet go but I just had the lyric 'beat the puss up' shouted into my ears. I think I accurately conveyed this through mime. Or at least looked like a girl who had fallen off a piece of exercise equipment and then was flapping her arms like a 'special' flamingo. Toss up, really.

An Interesting Injury

On Saturday a friend and I decided to hit up the gun range. She nor I had ever shot guns in our life, but being from Texas and Arizona respectively figured it must be in our DNA somewhere. So, we hopped in my car and headed to...Inglewood. You know, the one from the rap songs and the national news.

It wasn't until we approached the gun range, blasting music that I said out loud, 'you know, we are two white girls in a Jetta, blasting Ne-Yo and driving through Inglewood in the dead of night... do you perhaps think this is dangerous?' The answer was, apparently, no. So into the gun range we went.

We approached the counter and this is a brief recap of what happened when he asked what kind of gun we wanted to shoot: 'well, we're girls. Delicate, etc. So we want one that goes Tink Tink instead of Bang Bang. You know, like a wee little one.' Thus, we were given a .22 and sent on our way. I don't know why I was somehow operating under the illusion that we would be shooting blanks so I was a bit taken aback when given a giant box of bullets. My brain is a special, special place that is decorated in pink and rainbows.

Once we got the gun loaded (and had the guy come show us, again, how to actually make it shoot because we couldn't figure it out) the fear set in. What the fuck am I doing standing with a .22 in Inglewood? How did my life come to this? Then I started shooting and all that fear went right away. In it's place came adrenaline mixed with something I like to call 'Motherfucking Power'. Dudes, shooting guns is AWESOME. I LOVE IT. I was walking around like a serious bad ass, swagger, the whole 9 yards. Then came the moment when my true colors shined on through and I became an idiot.

You see, to go to the gun range I figured I didn't have to dress up, so I threw on a pair of jeans and a v-neck shirt. This was my ultimate mistake. Apparently guns discard bullet casings, who knew, right? And those bullet casings are Very, Very Warm. It was one of these bullet casings that somehow flew straight up in the air, went right down the lovely v-neck I was wearing and got lodged in my bra.

And this is how I flashed a gun range in Inglewood.

The arm flailing and bra pulling off was legendary. In fact I am sure the security camera footage is on its way to YouTube as we speak. Essentially I set the gun down gently (apparently even when being seared I have respect for firearms), pulled my bra away from my skin and screamed 'motherfucker! that hurts!' and then exposed my boobs. Well, at least the left one. I know this because it was the dude's on my left hand side that clapped and then couldn't look me in the eye. Good times.

Once I had dislodged the bullet I put my bra back on and finished up my round, then held my head high, walked on out and drove the hell out of Inglewood. On the plus side I now have the most bad ass injury of all time: a burn mark IN MY CLEAVAGE in the exact shape of a bullet. Oh yeah, that's how I roll.

Oh and boys? Be warned. I shoot to kill.

Curious...

Apparently there was an earthquake in LA last night. I found out about it this morning and was rather stunned. As we learned from the last earthquake in Los Angeles I don't deal with the earth moving all willy nilly. Generally I hide, cry, hug cats, etc. This time? I didn't feel a damn thing. This may have been because I was out in a bar and on my second glass of wine. The moral of this story? If you live in Southern California you should just drink more, then natural disasters are merely amusing news blurbs and not something you need to concern yourself with. Consider this my public service for 2009. Man, it was good to get that over with early.

Thanks, I'll Pass

So the bad speller contacted me again. Apparently me going silent for 3 days was taken as playing hard to get. The solution? To text me with 'I want to cook you dinner and film a fake beer commercial with you'. Um...thanks? But no? Because I don't want my head to end up in a freezer?

I contend he's probably not a serial killer but the potential for non wanted touching is very high. A note to all dudes out there trying to woo ladies from the internet: offering to cook for me before we've even spoken on the phone is creepy. Very creepy. And the potential for roofies is very high.

I declined. Back to the drawing board.

Gather Your Loved Ones...

Because dudes, apocalypse time. I had a good date. He looked like his picture. He was charming. He bought me french fries and helped me put on my coat. What. The. Fuck. Sure, he was easily 2 inches shorter than he claimed, but whatever. We're going out again. I'm sure it's then I'll find out that he's really not employed and his sexy accent is fake. It's a matter of time.

Ok, off to answer emails on my datin' site. You know, like the one without any introduction that says 'you're hot, let's hang out'. He clearly knows the way to a woman's heart.

Side note - Chuck, the comment on my last post made me do a spit take. Well done sir, well done.

And So It Begins

Got a text from an internet dude. In it he spelled the word jealous like this: gelous.

Not ok, dude. Not ok. The worst part? He had to manually enter that word and his phone probably tried to correct him. And he ignored it. I have thus far chosen not to respond. I think I've made the correct choice.

Here We Go Again...

Apparently I am a masochist. Or just easily amused. This weekend? I signed up for some online dating fun. Yeah. I did.

I have actually been doing this for the last 3 months but through one of those sites that makes you answer multiple choice questions first as apparently I really need to know what someone's idea of adventure is, in a very generic way, and that will determine my soul mate. This site, which I will refer to only as 'the one with the scary christian dude', was not for me. I did not like the question song and dance.

I have decided that this year I will do things that are fun, things that scared me previously and things I have been talking about but haven't done. Thusly I have resolved to: do more improv shows, shoot a gun, ride on a motorcycle, take kick boxing classes and date some more dudes from the internet. The last one scares me most of all to be honest, it's a lot of effort, a lot of wasted lip gloss and inevitably some stories that will make others cringe. However, I've decided it's worth the risk. It could be fun, right? And I think above all else, I deserve some fucking fun. I am tired of having my heart broken after I fall for guys who are all shades of wrong, so instead I will date all shades of guys. I went in to it deciding that I would say yes to the first person who asked me out as long as it didn't look likely that I would end up with my head in a freezer at the end of the night. And I did. So on Monday I am meeting random internet dude for drinks.

Buckle up, it's going to be a bumpy ride.