Spherical Obsession.

I have learned this about myself. I love rocks. I'm not sure if it's rocks in particular, but I'm finding myself obsessed with spherical, smoothy things lately.
Go figs.

PMS. You slay me.

Signs that I am completely PMS'd out of my face:
1. Celine Dion (whom I like to refer to as "The Devil"), made me cry on Oprah.
2. I consumed half a loaf of banana nut bread at work.
3. Shot the bird to two people driving.
4. Got home, realized that I had left all my lights on, and seriously almost teared up.
5. Listened to John Denver.

Torture.

I just realized that the worst possible thing might be to have to sit through a Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert. Thankfully, I was only subjected to minor torture in seeing them on Good Morning America.

I'm losing it today.

Today has been the weirdest day. Around 11am, I meet Gilbert Gottfried, who was very small, almost kid sized, and very pleasant. This is him after seeing what my co-worker was wearing today.




Then, the two richest, Paris Hilton hangin' mother-effers in Las Vegas roll in with some huge NBA player, a funny contrast to Gilbertito. All go off to their respective places in the building and I am gifted with the clever ruminations of my co-worker (whom we'll call....Payless.) such as, "Those guys were dicks," and "I wouldn't fuck him just because he's rich. Well, he IS pretty rich. Heeeeee heeeee heeeee haaa haaa eeeiiie!", and "I don't have many girls who are friends, because most of their boyfriends want to fuck me." Trust me, sweet tits. No, they don't. Sometimes, it takes all I have not to jump over my desk and clear mail-tape her face shut. I think I will have to start a daily Payless report. I digress.

Then, I stop by the grocery on the way home, where I pull into the parking spot and crash into a cart that some Nevada brainiac was just tooooo tired to put in the CART RECEPTACLE/ CART WRANGLER THINGEE RIGHT NEXT TO THE SPACE. I go into the store, realize I only have a $20, and have to decide what was going to make the cart cut. The winners? Wine, tampons, US Weekly and Balsamic Vinagrette. I randomly envision myself freaking out in the store and ripping down all the Christmas shit. I wonder if I'm losing it. I head to the check out line, where the woman in front of me is crying (profusely) on her cell phone, and neither I, nor the check-out chick, nor the 15 -year -old bagger dude know where to look, so I pretend to look for my Value Savings card, even though it's on my keychain.

I then get home and my neighbor is walking his cat on a leash.

Dear God, Where do I live? Love, Me.

My thoughts after Xmas cookie making.

Wallet Inventory.

Here's what is in my wallet as of today:
Bank of America debit card
Costco card
Sam's Club card
Gym ID
Grocery cards- Smith's, Albertson's, Vons
Library card
$62.37
AAA card
Nevada drivers license
$25 DSW credit
business cards from: club guru, architect, loan officer, printer, CFO of major restaurant group, general contractor, wine seller
Insurance cards- health and auto
Gift cards- Trader Joe's, Bath and Bodyworks, Barnes and Noble
Frequent flyer cards- Southwest, Amercia West, Jetblue, Airtran
DSW Rewards card
Office Depot Advantage card (never used)
Calvin Klein preferrred customer card

Need to downsize.

Stayin' on the sidewalk.

Oh, Kelly Clarkson. I want to hate you so bad. But that fucking song sticks with me. Because of you. I also love how you have no boobs whatsoever and you're totally fine with that.

Diddy Homage

There's a reason this blog is called "Maintain the Sexy". I'm watching the finale of "Making the Band 3". I'm totally addicted. Diddy done right..... Anyway,I'm watching the finale and this dude has all of his bases covered. The Diddy, the man WHO SAID "CALL ME DIDDY", has such a monsterous grab on the nuts of the media, that it's totally fascinating. Not only do I think this show is produced so well, it makes me want to hang out with tha' Dids (Diddy, if you're reading this...call me. You rule supreme.), but it's just...good. Lates.

I got the Rolly on the arm...

...and I'm pourin' Chandon because I met Pharrell yesterday. It took everything I had not to make the "clicking" tongue sound. By the way, Pharrell = HOT. And pleasant. And refreshingly non-short.

Blood at the Outlet Mall

So, I was Christmas shopping at the outlet mall because I love my friends and family, but only at a discount, when Bloodfest '05 occured. I was approaching the Calvin Klein outlet with visions of discounted pants dancing in my head, when I saw a well-dressed woman opening the door ahead of me. Keep in mind, there was a fierce, cold desert wind kickin'. It went down like this. She's holding mad bags, on cell phone, holds door open with ass, drops cell phone, picks up cell phone, releases ass, looks behind her and WHAM-O! Door hits face, woman hits ground, broken-nose blood splatters everywhere. I ran over to make sure she was alright (I almost felt bad for her, until I saw the great deals she got at Theory), CK employees go into emergency holy-shit mode, call EMTs and all was well. I then bought some pants at a 60% discount, in addition to sunglasses I didn't need, yet did need. Make sense? Merry Christmas.