I left my bad habits at the border

I did. I had several bad habits that I've been battling on and off for years, so I decided to leave them behind. I was hoping to not bring them to Portland when I moved out here, but I was also hoping to not have been lugging some of them around for as long as I had been.

Things that I left behind at the border

-Another phone charger.
I'm 2 for 2. The charger was to a phone that is virtually dead anyway. So I guess the bad habit I'm leaving is treating my phones like crap. When I get a "new" one, I'll treat it like gold.

-Coffee.
I have on-again-off-again romances with coffee every few months. I'd been really bad lately, blowing my money on venti non-fat lattes and feeling like crap afterwards. So no mo.' Back on the tea wagon, and I feel better already.

-Cigarettes.
As most of you who know me know, 2007 totally blew. For a varietal of reasons. It was also the year I started regularly smoking again, after over 3 years of not having even a drag. And I really picked it up with a vengeance. If I have a pack of cigarettes, I'll smoke a pack of cigarettes. I'm not drawing any lines in the sand though, if I'm wasted and I bum a drag, don't give me shit. But as it stands, I haven't had even a whiff of butt smoke since Sunday night. SO yeah. That's something eh? Plus I'd made a commitment to myself that if I got drafted to A o A I'd quit them. So there it is.

-Nail Biting.
Just like my coffee habit, I go through phases with biting my nails. I'll go 5 months with perfectly maintained, high-gloss, long nails perfect for scratching that itch, and the envy of many. Right now, they're little nubs that look like they did in High School. No bueno. I've got other things to be self-conscious about...and I'd rather not be self-conscious about anything if I can help it. James treated me to a mani-pedi while I was up there, so I'm gonna stick with it. Well, I'll do it myself. I'm broke as a joke.

-Predictable Heartache.
A certain Canadian man that's never made me feel very good about myself, that I've put too much stock in, and that doesn't really care to be the object of my affections. Rather than waste anymore time, energy, self-depricating thoughts, or blows to my self-esteem, I've really decided to move on. Like, for serious. Because where as before, I had been leading MYSELF along a path of "well, maybe we could make it work," and had experienced the same sentiment from friends who dubbed themselves hopeless romantics, where the hell has it gotten me? Another day older and deeper in heartbreak. So Saint Peter don't you call me, cause I can't go. I owe my soul to...well to someone that's deserving of it. Whereas I used to think I would be rewarded in the end, I've just been feeling pathetic. It's too pathetic to pine over, it's too pathetic to talk about (anymore than I've already done) and it's too pathetic to cry over. And I've worked too hard over the past year in the decisions I've made to let myself be so stagnant, let alone blatantly pathetic.

Onward and upward.

Breaking up is (not so) hard to do

Dear East Coast,

First of all, I want to say that you've been mostly great to me over the past 28 years. I don't think had I had the opportunity I would have done many things differently. For the most part, you've been nurturing. And though I'm sure this isn't coming as much of a surprise, given my departure in March, I'm afraid that this break wasn't temporary.

East Coast, I'm leaving you for something better.

I'd like to say "it's not you, it's me," but I can't take all responsibility for our inevitable parting. I think the blame really lies on both of us. Rather than mull over all your flaws and idiosyncrasies, I would rather be positive about this separation. You weren't happy with me, and I wasn't happy with you, so in the end, why designate blame? Better for us to just move on in the right direction, separately.

I'm just happier with the West Coast. Yes, she's better looking. I'm sorry, that was a really low blow, but that's not all it's about. I'm really not THAT superficial. Ok, maybe I am. Seriously, all the people* here on a whole are just more attractive, happier, more welcoming, and more fun. Maybe I'm still coasting (no pun intended) from romping in the woods all weekend in the sunshine, but I really don't think that's it alone. You're allowed to be bitter for the time being, but don't hold on to it for long---your bitterness was one of the things that drove me away.

So I bid you farewell. Good luck in all your future endeavors, and I'm sure at some point we can get together for a little visit to reflect and reminisce about good times spent. Until then, take care.

Warm and sunny regards,
Layla

*The only thing I DO miss about the East Coast are my friends. But all you betches know that right? Come visit me, see what the fuss is about.

Random quickies

Umm, when I heard the news that Clay Aiken was going to be a father, I was shocked. And then I heard it was by artificial insemination to a 50-year-old woman and I was just like "oh, right. obviously." It was much less shocking, and that says a lot.

"The Strangers" was fucking scary. Scary.

Outback Steakhouse is pretty much the shit. And while we're on food, let's talk about Dairy Queen. I had a kit kat blizzard made with chocolate ice cream and it's right up there with corn dogs. Beckstasy was in ecstasy, babaw.

I apparently have the Lyme disease again. What, with all the woods in Jersey City and all the hiking I do, it's no wonder the ticks find me. Even though I've never found them. I'm totally going to a specialist for a second opinion.

My bed was christened. And not by me. LAME.

Ashlee Simpson is married to Pete Wentz and they're having a baby. The poor kid is going to be born in a Massengill box.

"Rejection is the greatest aphrodisiac"

Per Madonna, anyway. And I agree ... we always want what we can't have, right? This may be a bit mopey, so get ready.

I had to reject a dude (pronounced DOOOOOOOOOD) tonight and it doesn't feel good. It's actually pretty shitty. We went on a "date" and I had a genuinely good time with him but it just isn't romantic. And I could probably fake the funk or convince myself to just go with it because he's got a ton of great qualities and he's not mean to me, but it's the year of MIH and that's just not acceptable. There's is no settling anymore -- not fair to him and not fair to me.

And so I'm trying to explain myself to him and being so honest and genuine (if you think there's any other way, you're wrong ... the truth, no matter how much it hurts to hear or say is always fucking better than lame-sugarcoating ... and that's coming from a girl who's had her fair share of an assortment of rejections) and saying the most cliche things: "You're a great guy," "I really want to be friends," etc. And every one of them is true but I still end up sounding like a dick. And I don't know what he thinks ... I can't read him yet.

And there it is. Perpetually single Beckstasy passes a decent one up. Makes you wonder where the actual discrepancy lies.

Whatever. Someone go get laid for me. Oh, that'd be you Layla.

*** Beckstasy ***

Ex-wives is CRAZY

For serious. Like a fucking tornado of crazy. You'd think for me to be having ex-wife drama I'd at least be boning an ex-husband. So not even the case.

I understand why men think women are fucking crazy. Seriously. I'm just so blown away. I don't even know what else to say, aside from bitch is crazy.

I don't think I said crazy enough.

BATTY. CRAZY.

Status Cars and other musings

OK, I was KNEW GM was gonna come out during Idol (pretty much the only minutes of the show I watched). I would have wanted him to do something a little more jazzy though. I would have LOVED had he done "Freedom '90," but secretly I really wanted Gayken to come out and duet on "Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me." I'll never forget when Gayken did it during his tenure on Idol. It totally gave me the chills. Wow, is my stock plummeting or what?

I miss pedicures. I miss my feet not looking a hot mess. I mean, they're absurd enough as it is, with all my toes being pretty much the same length. They look like bears' paws. For serious.

So I got to thinking about status/sports cars a few days ago. I mean clearly, that stuff just ain't my bag. But what really got me thinking was about how much of a commitment owning one of those cars must be. Not in terms of maintaining the car itself, but about maintaining your image. I don't know one new model from the next, but those who keep up with this sort of thing sure as shit do. I mean, you have to have the newest, fastest, shiniest, most banging model right?

Like, I'll see an old corvette (not vintage old, just like 80s old) and think about the schlub driving it. He probably got so much pussy back in the day, when he had all his hair, an eight-ball to spare, his brand new shiney red corvette, and new all the words to "Wall Street" by heart. Greed was good. But really, who can be bothered?

Random thoughts for 12:40 a.m.

Harrison Ford is a funny DOOD.

Leona Lewis has an awesome voice.

I need a manicure with a quickness.

They always come back. Honestly, they do. You can only hope that by the time they come to their senses you've moved on.

I'm pumped for "Idol" to end and "So You Think You Can Dance To Start." Seriously.

Cover letters kill my soul.

"The Motown Song" by Rod Stewart and The Temptations is the J-A-M, jayum. Listen to it.

And that's the best I can do right now. I have a career day tomorrow at a middle school (isn't that a bit early?) so I need to get my beauty rest for the kiddies.

*** Beckstasy ***