Scorpions, A Very Bad Blogger, and The Job

I was punished for my absence but good. Walked into my friend’s house last night and stumbled upon my first scorpion (and tiny baby scorpion to boot).

Actually, I wasn’t really punished as much as I was surprised and angry because she can NOT have scorpions running about in her home. So I stuck a glass on top of it until she got home. It then took two of us to get it scooped up into an airtight container.

Look, I’ll rescue and relocate rattlers. I will kiss tarantulas. But I draw the line at scorpions. Especially ones dropping babies as we’re trying to avoid getting stung.

Blah blah blah. The really BIG news of the moment is that I have a new job as a full-time, live-in nanny for a sweet family and their beautiful little boy. I am very excited about this. Over the moon, in fact.

And with that, I should tell you that DaGoddess.com is back, what with being rescued by Jay and Pam. (Thank you, mi amigos!)

This will be my last post here and hopefully my first post back on my own domain will follow shortly. Oh hell, I’ll just post this there, too, and we’ll be on our way.

Chef, Forgive Me

I’m not eating a lot these days, as we’ve covered in the recent past. Between the teeth and the stomach, it’s not exactly high on my list. Although…sometimes I just get all starvy and have to have something. Like pasta or broccoli. Most of the time I simply give up on food itself and resort to cooking shows.

Currently, I’m all about Gordon Ramsay. Watching Kitchen Nightmares. Watching people get their asses kicked and their restaurants whipped back in shape. I like that.

When I worked in restaurants, I was the clean freak. I was the by-the-book cheerleadin’ “let’s do this thing!” worker. It’s just how I was. I liked the food to be good. I liked the place to be clean. And I liked knowing it was a place where I’d confidently eat.

I think shows like this are often successful because — aside from the f-bombs and attitudes — they are all about teaching stubborn people (as most of us are) to break bad habits and form better habits, create new paths for ourselves. In other words, Ramsay’s not just saving a restaurant, but helping people reignite their passion for life.

I kind of think my sister would be good like that as well. She used to do catering and is still the Holiday Meal Queen in our family. She’s extremely good in the kitchen and rarely do you have a dish come out of there that isn’t 100% deliciously perfect. It’s not just what she learned from my mom and my grandmother, it’s this extra little something that only she can adds to whatever she makes. It’s a little bit of magic, I think.

Anyhow, so as I’m watching Chef Ramsay do his thing, I wonder how it would be if he had a sidekick…like my sister. My sister can kick ass, too, but there’s also something about her that makes you just want to try harder. I think she’d be a natural on the show.

Think I should write ol’ Gordo and suggest it?

What Changed?

I’m still giggling over last night’s surreal events. So what changed to bring the horny boys my way? Mostly…nothing. Yeah, I mean, I went out just to have fun with my girl, J. Wasn’t thinking a thing about men.

My hair? Up in a french braid. Not even a stellar braid. Hair totally pulled off my face. I never let people see me like that. Not in public.

My pants. The ones I haven’t been able to fit into for a year. After the last three days of kind of being an eating machine, I was dread to try on ANY pants…even the ones that have started to kind of fall off me. But ever brave, I grabbed the jeans from the box in the corner (yes, living out of boxes and suitcases sucks especially since I can’t find my eyeliner pencil sharpener) and began to pull them on. I fully anticipated having to squeeze into them and be disappointed that I couldn’t zip them. Nope. Up they went. Up the zipper went. With ease. And there’s actual give in the pants everywhere. Yay!

What else was different? I guess my eye makeup. My black eyeliner was out (see above missing pencil sharpener) and so I opted for the purple. No big.

I guess what changed the most was how I looked at myself and how comfortable I felt in my own damn skin. It was a good feeling. And it wasn’t meant for anyone else but me. I wanted to feel happy and I was. I guess it transmitted to others.

It’s the only explanation I have.

That and a chemical spill somewhere nearby.

Cougarville? Me? WTF??!?!

There must be something in the air. Some weird “let’s make horny young guys chase the ‘cougar'” sort of chemical. What a weird fucking night.

My friend J hauled me out to a jam earlier and we were all prepared to listen to music and talk about her wedding plans. We hadn’t gone out in a while and we needed to catch up. I also knew we were meeting up with this bass player friend of her fiancee. Fine by me. Most of the people I know in town are musicians and we were going to a jam. I had no reason to believe the night would unfold as it did. Like, I never would have guessed that I’d end up having to push some young buck off of me.

Still…

Nothing like having a 25-year-old cutie to make an old broad feel good again.

Right?

Yeah. It’s just at some point, I felt like I had a puppy humping my leg.

Look, I appreciate a good flirt, but the full court press just ain’t my thing. And as cute as this guy was (and seriously, he was really good looking…like…CW teen angst drama good looking), I’m not gonna go further than flirting. He gets an A for effort though.

After the jam, my friend (who was the whole reason I went out in the first place) says she wants to grab some Roberto’s. Fine by me. But then the guy at the counter (who was also on the young side) is asking her all sorts of questions about me. “Is she single? Do you think she’d go out with me?” J’s giggling because they’re jabbering away in Spanish and it’s all Greek to me. I can pick out a few words but I’m not exactly fluent. So then J starts translating the conversation. WTF? Honestly, I must be putting out some weird pheromones or something because I don’t get that kind of attention. (If you saw J, you’d be asking wtf, too, cuz she’s young and gorgeous. SHE’S the one who commands attention everywhere.)

I don’t get what went on at all tonight. I’m not even gonna try to figure it out. All I know is that it was nice to have that sort of attention. Weird, though. Very. Bordering on “am I being Punk’d?”

WTF? I probably shouldn’t complain. It was funny. Weird, but funny. Yeah, well…

Now, if only that work on guys who were a bit older and more suited to the kind of relationship I want and need. Or men who would offer to make me a kept woman.

Still, hot, blond 25-year-old and a cute, young latino are welcome to flirt with me any time.

Stupid Things People Say

I love overhearing conversations when people have had a bit of alcohol or something to prime the pump.

True stories:

1) (In bathroom, quickly filling up with 20something women in tight dresses, one of which was white, with the woman wearing a veil covered in penises.) Damn. I just got my period! Guess I won’t be hooking up with hot strangers tonight for one last fling! Periods ruin all my fun!

2) “So, what’s the gayest thing you do?” asked clueless man #1. Gay Man replies, “You mean beyond blowin’ my husband? I guess it would have to be beating down clueless guys who ask me stupid questions.”

3) Crazy woman at bus stop, “Do you think I could convince the driver to take me further down the road so I don’t have to transfer and then walk to the mall?”

4) “Do you carry steak here?” obviously drunk/stoned guy to 7-11 clerk.

I love Las Vegas.

Fail #198,197,443

My friend and I go into the store and I’m told to grab some sort of soda. Fine. I grab a bottle of Coke because 1) it’s on sale and 2) I think, “hey, it’ll be great to have a Beam and Coke”.

We’ve done this several times, always with me having the same internal 2-point conversation. And despite the fact that the last couple of months have been amongst the more difficult in my life, I always forget to add alcohol.

1) I’m either very forgetful.
or
2) I’m a terrible alcoholic. Meaning, I forget to add the alcohol.

I’m going with the latter. If I’m going to fail at something (which is becoming an ever-more-popular occurence in my life), I may as well fail at something worth failing at. Dangling participle and all.

Beginning Anew

Gottta happen sometime right? So here we go. New blog, new adventures, none of the expense.

Now, if only I could somehow use this to find me an eligible bachelor willing to take care of me, love me, worship me, and all the fun stuff — it could be interesting!