Grr! So about 8 months ago I noticed that I have a small wrinkle between my eyebrows. (The downfall of being unable to hide my emotions, i.e. furrowed brows.) Every now and then when no one's looking, I'll sit with my eyebrows raised, therefore widening the space between my brows, hoping to flatten the wrinkle.
Last week I noticed that I have six more wrinkles on my forehead! Three above my left brow, and three above my right. If I lower my eyebrows, stretching out my forehead, thereby flattening the wrinkles, the one between my brows deepens. I'm stuck! I'm stuck with wrinkles! At 23! No matter which way I smoosh my face, the wrinkles worsen. I hate getting old, but I refuse to succumb to Botox. I use night cream, wrinkle smoother and four different kinds of moisturizer. I'm a beauty editor for pete's sake! I get the best of the best! But I still have wrinkles. Boo.
Thursday, February 3, 2005
Monday, January 31, 2005
A Story About Four Boys In Jersey
Friday night, The Bar At Tenth And Willow.
11:35 p.m.
Me (to bartendar): Can I get a Red Bull?
Boy w/ spikey hair: You have really shiny hair.
Me: Thanks!
Boy: What do you use on it?
Me: This intensive conditioner stuff, I don't know. And some shine enhancer stuff.
Boy: It's just that a lot of girls have this big hair.
Me: I guess. (Awkward silence. Get Red Bull.) Well, I gotta get back...to my friends.
Boy: Later.
1:45 a.m.
Boy w/ green sweater: You look really sober.
Me: I am.
Boy: That's cool. You have good karma.
Me: Thanks. (He then proceeds to rub my shoulders and those belonging to all of my friends, including guys.)
2:50 a.m. Outside TBATAW.
I spot Courtney talking to two guys.
Me: Don't talk to her! She has a boyfriend! She's married!
Boy #1: Hey, you're cute. Wow, you're really cute.
Me: Wow, thanks!
Boy: I saw you inside. Hey, I have a beach house in Belmore. (He's already making plans for us! Why do boys make plans like that? Then they just stomp all over your really cute heart. I'm a drama queen, sue me.)
Me: That's cool. I'm Tina.
Boy: I'm Joe Renaldi. (Or something like that.)
Me: Is that Italian?
Boy: Yep. Hey, can I get your number? I might call you in two days instead of three! (Referring to the Three-Day Rule. Bold move, I like it!)
It is now two and a half days later. I don't really care. I had my fill of Jersey Italians last year. What was that kid's name? Sam? On our third date, he made up some excuse as to why he couldn't take the train back to Jersey, and the sweet kid that I am, I said he could come to my Brooklyn apartment. He never called again when I said I didn't want to do "that" with him.
11:35 p.m.
Me (to bartendar): Can I get a Red Bull?
Boy w/ spikey hair: You have really shiny hair.
Me: Thanks!
Boy: What do you use on it?
Me: This intensive conditioner stuff, I don't know. And some shine enhancer stuff.
Boy: It's just that a lot of girls have this big hair.
Me: I guess. (Awkward silence. Get Red Bull.) Well, I gotta get back...to my friends.
Boy: Later.
1:45 a.m.
Boy w/ green sweater: You look really sober.
Me: I am.
Boy: That's cool. You have good karma.
Me: Thanks. (He then proceeds to rub my shoulders and those belonging to all of my friends, including guys.)
2:50 a.m. Outside TBATAW.
I spot Courtney talking to two guys.
Me: Don't talk to her! She has a boyfriend! She's married!
Boy #1: Hey, you're cute. Wow, you're really cute.
Me: Wow, thanks!
Boy: I saw you inside. Hey, I have a beach house in Belmore. (He's already making plans for us! Why do boys make plans like that? Then they just stomp all over your really cute heart. I'm a drama queen, sue me.)
Me: That's cool. I'm Tina.
Boy: I'm Joe Renaldi. (Or something like that.)
Me: Is that Italian?
Boy: Yep. Hey, can I get your number? I might call you in two days instead of three! (Referring to the Three-Day Rule. Bold move, I like it!)
It is now two and a half days later. I don't really care. I had my fill of Jersey Italians last year. What was that kid's name? Sam? On our third date, he made up some excuse as to why he couldn't take the train back to Jersey, and the sweet kid that I am, I said he could come to my Brooklyn apartment. He never called again when I said I didn't want to do "that" with him.
Saturday, January 8, 2005
Gee Whiz. It's Dandy Being Sweet, Ain't It?
Hot Boy I've been eyeing around town for two months talked to me today. We got pizza at Benny Tudino's (Home of America's Biggest Slice). He ate two big-ass slices and bought my slice.
HB: So what do you do?
Me: I work for a teen magazine. I'm a writer.
HB: Oh, my girlfriend's a writer. She works for The Queens Ledger-Times.
Me (Fuuuuck.): Oh, that's nice. So, how'd you meet her? I find it so hard to meet people here!
HB: Blah blah blah. Blah blah. But you're so, uh, sweet. You'll be fine, believe me. You're a sweet girl.
Fuck you. Fuck you and double fuck you. Story of my God-forsaken LIFE!
HB: So what do you do?
Me: I work for a teen magazine. I'm a writer.
HB: Oh, my girlfriend's a writer. She works for The Queens Ledger-Times.
Me (Fuuuuck.): Oh, that's nice. So, how'd you meet her? I find it so hard to meet people here!
HB: Blah blah blah. Blah blah. But you're so, uh, sweet. You'll be fine, believe me. You're a sweet girl.
Fuck you. Fuck you and double fuck you. Story of my God-forsaken LIFE!
Monday, January 3, 2005
Ramblings
Boo. The holidays are over. I guess I'm sort of glad. After all, the holidays left me with a 5-pound weight gain and a $600 credit card bill. Ha. I'm exaggerating as usual. The night I walked in my apt. after a two-week haitus, my roommate's scale put me at a whopping 147 lbs. Whaaah! But the next day, I was back down to 141.5. Yeah. Still 10 lbs. more than I'd like, but whatev. I can see this going off on another Tina, weight and food entry, so I'll stop right there.
On a good note, I spent $240 today! But I got soo much stuff! Two pairs of jeans, a pair of red heels, seven shirts, a skirt, two pairs of PJ pants, two hot bras and two pairs of panties. Woooh! I know you don't give two shits about all that, but if I have any single, non-married readers left, perhaps you can relate: That fab feeling of having loads of brand-new clothes lasted all of two hours. Why? No dates, no boys. No crushes at work. No crushes. Period. No one to care if I look sexy or not. Boo.
But I did go back to the Hot Boy Grocery today. And yet again, loads of hotties for me to oogle. I did. In the deli line. For starters, Hot Boy #1 was holding everything up. He just had to get 1/2 lb. Alpine Lace Swiss, 1/4 lb. Land O'Lakes Sharp Cheddar, 1 lb. Master Choice Honey Ham and 1 lb. Boar's Head Mesquite Turkey. Daaamn. That took 15 minutes! During that time, I was racking my brain with something witty to say to him. Something like, "Hey! You're holding up the line, buddy!" (Insert sweet smile.) Or, "You gonna eat all that meat by yourself?" (Flirty laugh.) But of course, I just stood there staring at my meat of choice behind the glass: Master Choice Honey Maple Turkey. Boy #2 says to Boy #3: "Do we have to get a number or is this the line?" Boy # 3 shakes his head. Why didn't Boy #2 ask me that? Lord knows when I have a question and no friends are around, I scope out the hottest-looking specimen out there. Anything to spark up a convo, b/c Lord knows I'm terrible.
On a good note, I spent $240 today! But I got soo much stuff! Two pairs of jeans, a pair of red heels, seven shirts, a skirt, two pairs of PJ pants, two hot bras and two pairs of panties. Woooh! I know you don't give two shits about all that, but if I have any single, non-married readers left, perhaps you can relate: That fab feeling of having loads of brand-new clothes lasted all of two hours. Why? No dates, no boys. No crushes at work. No crushes. Period. No one to care if I look sexy or not. Boo.
But I did go back to the Hot Boy Grocery today. And yet again, loads of hotties for me to oogle. I did. In the deli line. For starters, Hot Boy #1 was holding everything up. He just had to get 1/2 lb. Alpine Lace Swiss, 1/4 lb. Land O'Lakes Sharp Cheddar, 1 lb. Master Choice Honey Ham and 1 lb. Boar's Head Mesquite Turkey. Daaamn. That took 15 minutes! During that time, I was racking my brain with something witty to say to him. Something like, "Hey! You're holding up the line, buddy!" (Insert sweet smile.) Or, "You gonna eat all that meat by yourself?" (Flirty laugh.) But of course, I just stood there staring at my meat of choice behind the glass: Master Choice Honey Maple Turkey. Boy #2 says to Boy #3: "Do we have to get a number or is this the line?" Boy # 3 shakes his head. Why didn't Boy #2 ask me that? Lord knows when I have a question and no friends are around, I scope out the hottest-looking specimen out there. Anything to spark up a convo, b/c Lord knows I'm terrible.
Monday, November 29, 2004
I'm an ALG*
I could really benefit from a punching bag. I am so hot right now. And not hot as in what Anne's BF's bro called me last weekend...which is so flattering b/c all I get is cute. And I don't mean that in an ungrateful way, cute is nice and sweet. But sometimes I just want to be hot and sexy — something I will never be.
I am hot as in pissed. I'm angry that I adore dunking donuts in my coffee. I'm angry that coffee could be calorie free, but I refuse to drink it without loads of creamer and sugar. I'm angry that I can't think of a better synonym for "loads," and I'm too lazy to grab my Thesaurus.
I'm angry that after 4 weeks on a specialized work-out plan, complete with free personal trainer and gym membership, I'm at exactly the same spot as I began, only my love handles are more obnoxious due to my fading tan. I'm angry that tonight I went to the gym and rode a bike (I hate riding bikes) and couldn't figure out how to work my heart monitor with matching heart-rate watch. On top of that, I'm angry that I wore satin panties to the gym. They stuck to my ass, which is soo yucky feeling. Don't wear satin panties when you sweat.
I'm angry that I'm getting an abundance of wrinkles on my forehead at 23. I'm mad that one boob is bigger than the other. And I'm angry that I have to get so goddamn personal on Livejournal.com, but my therapy appointment isn't until Thursday. I love you guys.
*=Angry Little Girl
I am hot as in pissed. I'm angry that I adore dunking donuts in my coffee. I'm angry that coffee could be calorie free, but I refuse to drink it without loads of creamer and sugar. I'm angry that I can't think of a better synonym for "loads," and I'm too lazy to grab my Thesaurus.
I'm angry that after 4 weeks on a specialized work-out plan, complete with free personal trainer and gym membership, I'm at exactly the same spot as I began, only my love handles are more obnoxious due to my fading tan. I'm angry that tonight I went to the gym and rode a bike (I hate riding bikes) and couldn't figure out how to work my heart monitor with matching heart-rate watch. On top of that, I'm angry that I wore satin panties to the gym. They stuck to my ass, which is soo yucky feeling. Don't wear satin panties when you sweat.
I'm angry that I'm getting an abundance of wrinkles on my forehead at 23. I'm mad that one boob is bigger than the other. And I'm angry that I have to get so goddamn personal on Livejournal.com, but my therapy appointment isn't until Thursday. I love you guys.
*=Angry Little Girl
