Girl, you gotta use what mommy and daddy gave you but you can't rely on the Lord's gifts...

I might've said this already, but one my of favorite Edith Piaf songs is "Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien."  I wish that that could truly encompass my life.  Unfortunately, I have some regrets.  Most of which are things I cannot change, even if I tried.  For instance, I wish I could sing well.  Desperately.  I sing a lot (in the shower, in the car, while drunk, etc.) and I love it.  But I'm awful.  Like Bai Ling has a better chance of getting a record deal than me.  But, to my credit, I don't wear band-aids as a shirt.  I like to think my class stands  in the way of me getting a pop-deal.  What?  I just took a facebook quiz that said my sexiness is poised and classy.  If a facebook quiz doesn't know the true me, who does?  

I think the best I could do is a drag act.  Besides the fact that I can probably safely wear six-inch heels and a 10-pound wig without much trouble, the real reason I feel this way is that I have a strange voice.  A little feminine, a bit nasal, low, quiet.  Obviously tons of fun.  I can make it raspy and sound like a drunk, 70-year-old potentially Jewish woman, but how far will that take me in life?  (Boca?)  But who really wants to do a drag act?  If I wanted to wear a skirt and get paid for it, I would go take some hormones.  I mean, I could probably land a spot on the Tyra show.  Which wouldn't be half-bad...I'd love to see that nut-case try to relate her life to being a transsexual.  (She must've already since she had that tranny on ANTM.)  Still, can't you just hear her?  "Girl, everyone always told me that I was too fierce.  It wasn't normal.  But I knew that my inner fierceness just had to be let out.  Just like your femaleness, I wanted to show the world that I'm a fierce woman with a great badonkadonk.  Sometimes you got to use more than what your mommy and daddy gave you."  I think that's too sane for Tyra, but I digress.

Other regrets have to do with my boring self-esteem fluctuations, but the one that remains despite my mood is always the singing.  If only I had been more a virtuoso instead of a gorgeous, intelligent, thin, good writer.  

I feel like a bald man.

I cut off all my hair again.  It seems I always go in this cycle.  I just get so fucking bored and then chop chop chop my hair's gone.  While, true to form, I am not sure if I actually like my hair cut, I have to say that the woman who cut my hair was hilarious.  Let me break it down...

Renee, Stephanie, and I walk into one of those Supercuts places and see three hairstylists.  I knew, immediately, that I would end up with the black woman.  (Stick to your own kind, perhaps?)  We had a little bit of a wait, so we meandered over to Wal-mart.  I bought a card, and we all got some yummy iced coffee.  (Sidebar:  I'm totally into coffee now.  I blame Amber.  I don't know if I've just grown accustomed to its taste [Yeah, I'm now thinking about My Fair Lady...] or my addictive personality is truly that insane.  Anyway...)  When we returned, Stephanie and Renee went first.

So I go up and I immediately want to die because I do get the black woman with the vaguely Caribbean accent.  While I'm showing her pictures of possible styles, she's going like "Nah, do you really like that one?"  HAHA.  And then she validates what I have said my whole life and why I cannot go to a barber:  "Oh, child, you have the finest baby hair in the world.  You cannot be buzzed!  You'll be showing too much scalp, it'll be like camouflage."  Yes.  If you have never touch my hair, I truly have the finest hair in the world.  Next she asks me which one of my parents have fine hair "Your mommy or your daddy?"  I explain that both of my parents have fine hair and she about dies.  "Oh, you were just plain ol' stuck then."  I inform her about my one sister, Amber, who has thick hair and cuts it all off, etc. etc.  "Oh!  Life is too funny, too too funny."  

Basically we had a blast.  I felt like I was at the Beauty Shop of Queen Latifa infamy.  Wouldn't that be nice?  Someone making you laugh and consoling you?  While I love my typical hairstylist (I sound as if I pay more than $18 on my hair...), she and I typically don't talk much.  We're both pretty content in the quiet.  Apparently, though, I had this longing to be a chatty mothafucka.  Because this woman swoops in and suddenly I feel like telling her my life story.

In conclusion, I gave her a three-dollar tip.  Because I don't know how to tip a bitch to save my life (I overpaid at a strip club) and I'm also kinda a cheap bastard.

Put Some Ice on 'Em

Dear Showgirls,

          You are the funniest movie I have ever seen.  I sincerely wish that you were supposed to be as humorous as I find you.  What other movie has such overacting and so much pussy?  Has there ever been a better script?  I don't think so.  I love you so much and I want there to be a sequel.  Nomi Goes to Hollywood.  Please.  Pretty please with cocaine on top?  

Love,

Wally

I hate myself for loving you.

I can't quite believe that I do this time and time again.  It's easy for me to wallow and preach at the same time.  I'm a shitty parent, what can I say?  I don't want children.  But, you know, that's something I admire in myself.  What is it with selfish people having babies?  You aren't magically going to care for other people, nope, you're just going to fuck up your child's life.  You might as well send your terminally ill child to sleepovers at Michael Jackson's house.  (Still haven't gotten over that.)  Or shoot yourself up with fertility drugs and then finance your greed through a reality show.  At least then your children will have enough money to become heroin addicts like every maladjusted child should.

Anyway, I digress.  I'm tired.  (Unfortunately, unlike my girl Maddie Kahn, it's not from being desired.)  Moping is so lame.  It makes me wanna kick myself in the face.  I cannot actually do that.  I tried getting my Rockette girlfriends to show me how, but apparently I need to loosen up my quads.  Furthermore, Nastia isn't returning my phone calls after realizing how excited I truly was for Shawn's DWTS win.  *sigh*  Gymnastics olympians are DIVAS.  I try not to be, but it's difficult now and then.  I blame boredom.  If I had more work and things to do, I wouldn't have time to think and to get so freakin' moody.  Truth.  Which is my new plan.  Busy bee, y'all.  Not to be confused with Busy B who needs to get me a backstage pass to her concert @ the IZOD center.  

It has been a while.

I'm frankly worried about my Sims dying.  I started a family of two sisters:  Bambi and Bunny Benson.  They each married.  Bambi and Hank had a daughter, Barbie, who's almost a teen.  Bunny and Zelda are happily childless.  Unfortunately, all of the adults are now elders.  Zelda is rather old, and I just don't want them all to die.  Barbie will easily make it to her teens, but if she doesn't get to be a young adult by the time all the adults die, I don't know what will happen to her.  I don't want child services to take her away because Bambi had her late in life.  Yes, this may sound silly, but when you've spent days of your life on a family, albeit a virtual one, you get emotionally attached.

Pushing Daisies ended last night and thus my dose of whimsy and true romance has expired.

I loved The Color Purple.  I read it yesterday while at work and it might be my favorite book.  I loved the strong women in that novel.  They were so rich and full.  I wanted to know them, so badly.

Now you know what I've been doing for the past several days.  And frankly, I don't care to go further back in time than that.