Yes! We Have No Bikini Stories Today!

I am back from vacation, all. And, yes, it was a dandy time even though the resort lacked the Argentinian football team that I was pinning all my slutty hopes and dreams on.

Sigh. For shame.

And since I'm disappointing you with that, I'll add one more sad fact into this blog post:

I didn't wear the homemade bikini and therefore avoided the humiliation that was greatly foreshadowed in my previous post.

Sorry.

I brought it.

I put it on.

And then I felt a familiar feeling.

I looked in the mirror in the hotel room and could see that I was already starting to sport the Coppertone Girl look. But there wasn't an adorable black poodle tugging at my bottoms, but my old nemesis, gravity. And this was without the weight of water dragging my drawers down, so Newton only knows how long they would have lasted had I dog-paddled to the swim-up bar done a few laps.

And, yet, I still considered going out to the pool like that. For the blog. Because I am that much of a whore for an awful story to tell.

But then a voice I so rarely hear peeped up.

"Jen ... what about your diggimy?"

"My what?"

"Diggimy. Or is it dimnity?"

"Come again?"

"You know, that thing that you're supposed to have? The belief that you're better than that so you act better than that. Diginimy."

"Wait. Do you mean DIGNITY?"

"Yeah! That's it! Dig-ni-ty," the voice said, familiarizing itself with the word for the first time in years.

I glanced back at myself in the mirror and could see that the voice was right. That there was no diggimy or dimnity in exposing anyone's eyes to the Bikini Bottom Blowout that was getting worse by the second.

So I instead put on what was my most matronly of bathing suits and promptly burned the only skin the suit exposed, my armpits.

Sorry.

But the trip was overall pretty fun. So fun in fact that certain details cannot be revealed or I'd be straight-up murdered by my travel buddy. If I were to edit out any words that would require a Daddy Disclaimer, the trip could be summarized as: tequila, sun, ceviche, tequila, catamaran, Americans, tequila, sunburn, weird ice cream, tequila, mojito, tequila, Thank-God-no-one-here-has-a-camera.

Weeeee!

And now I'm back and trying to settle into reality.

Weeeee?

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Happy Birthday To My Mom! Now Let's All Look At Her Ass.

(My hot mamma, about 40 years ago. And, yes, she looks exactly the same now.)

Happy Birthday to the best mom anyone could ask for!

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I'm Basically The Worst Unemployed Person Ever

Image Source: FunCheapSF

... because instead of refining my résumé for the millionth time and glumly living off of Sapporo Ichiban, I'm going to Mexico this week.

HEEEEEEEEEEEE!

It's my incredibly irresponsible way of rewarding myself for not having a job or a husband anymore. (And I must say, I've really excelled at both.)

I'm going with a girlfriend who also had a crappy 2012. We've vowed to make it one of those trips where the details of what goes on during it aren't allowed to be shared with anyone we know, and that probably includes "The Internet". (Sorry.) Just know that in reality, I will most likely spend at least two days of this vacation watching episodes of Friends dubbed into Spanish in the hotel room while I recover from a sunburn brought on by falling asleep by the pool. But let's all at least pretend that I'm going to have a wild and glorious time in the land of sun and tequila, ok?

After booking the last-minute deal, we started diving further into the reviews of the resort and there was one - a complaint - that gave both of us hope that it may indeed be a dandy of a trip after all:

... everything was great until a new group of guests came in, which unfortunately included a couple Argentinian football teams. These guys were interested in anything in a skirt ...  

To which my friend and I responded:

Oh, please, Baby Jesus, make it so.

And if going to Mexico isn't indulgent enough for someone with no income, yesterday I went and got eyelash extensions (so that I didn't have to bother with mascara on the trip), a manicure and a pedicure.

You see, I received a bit of Christmas money from my grandfather, and I'm pretty sure at the bottom of the cheque it said, "For whoring it up." - so I kind of had to spend it on this:

Local Business Plug: I am wearing zero make-up in the picture, and look at how dolled-up my eyes look! If you want to get eyelash extensions in Toronto, I highly recommend Balanced Beaute - she is so good, won't make you look cartoonish, and is probably one of the most affordable pros in the city. Yay!

My other bit of prep work from this trip actually saved me money: not buying food. Not buying food meant I couldn't eat anything, which resulted in me going down a glorious 11 pounds since Christmas. Thanks, starvation! High five, desperation! This weight will all come screaming back on as I stuff my face at the resort's buffet and swim-up bar, but whatever.

The final thing I did in anticipation of going to Mexico involved harnessing my very novice skills as a seamstress: I made my own bikini. I can already smell the humiliation that will surely happen while wearing this. Not simply because it's a bikini (GAH!) but because I chose the fabric based on how pretty it was and not based on the trivial matter of how well it deals with water. Heh. So, you have that account to look forward to, readers.

I'll probably do one more tiny post this week, but that will likely be it until I get back. And then hopefully I'll become a bit more regular with the updates and thoughts and first-world gripings after that.

Your notes from my previous post were all really appreciated. How did such nice people end up stumbling on this blog? Boy, I'm lucky.

Adios for now, muchachos!

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The Year That Was

MAN HANDS is BACK!

Hello.

So, it's been a while, right?

First, I want to thank everyone who commented or wrote to me over the past few months. I appreciate the notes. You're all dollies. I also apologize for the fact that I basically responded to no one like the ungrateful slob I am. I guess I mostly didn't know what to say.

Perhaps I haven't written back or updated this blog because I didn't want this place to rival the depressing vibe of a departing gate in the Las Vegas airport. Don't get me wrong, my life really isn't that bad (in fact, I'm a lucky person in a million, zillion ways) but I just didn't have it in me to put on a brave, smiling digital face for everyone. It's tiring enough to do that in real life.

I was also worried that if I turned to the ol' blog during this time, I'd use it to vent and lay out some dirty, dirty forklift-foot-level dirty laundry about a certain someone and that would interfere with this whole 'taking the high road' facade I'm trying to keep up.

With the exception of some very recent paper signing and key-handing-overs, I haven't seen Patrick since he moved out in May. Well, that's not quite true. I was out one day and spotted him with his girlfriend downtown. (It is taking a fair bit of willpower not to add adjectives and a different use of nouns to that sentence. *HighRoadHighRoadHighRoadHighRoad...*)

This GIF perfectly demonstrates how that encounter went:



Yep. I hid. It was either that or ... I don't even know. A million savage / glorious / humiliating / underwhelming / regretful things come to mind.

We've essentially only been communicating through very civil e-mails and lawyers. And I'm totally, totally cool with that. I probably should be bothered that I haven't had any real contact with the person I spent eight years with, but ... I'm not. I guess that's what happens when you don't want someone in your life anymore.

Besides the super-fun annihilation of my marriage, the agency I worked at and really enjoyed working at all but closed its doors. Despite having an amazing team that was doing great work, some shit happened behind the scenes that was beyond our control and the bulk of us - including yours truly - wound up without a job. This, as I was paying lawyer fees out my ass and buying Patrick out of the house.

Oh, and just as tragic, I found my first white hair. Not grey. White. Like a fucking piece of dental floss sprouting out of my scalp.

So, to recap, I'm:

• divorcing
• unemployed
• broke
• about to turn into the Crypt Keeper

Ain't that just a bit of terrific.

But 2012 wasn't all a shit show. A year never is. You especially realize how small and stupid your complaints are when, sadly, other people in the world and your community have faced truly horrible things that we can't even wrap our heads and hearts around.

So, some of the good stuff that happened included:

• I got to see my friends and family at their very, stellar best. I am so tear-jerkingly lucky to have some really solid, wonderful, beautiful people in my corner and in my life. They're basically the best humans on earth. Fact.
• I had a job that I really loved (well, most of the time) that gave me the chance to work on cool projects while paying me well enough that I was able to save a bunch of money to ...
• ... keep my lovely home and buy it from Patrick. Part of the buy-out is done which means the deed (and mortgage, hurrah) is transferring solely into my name (maiden name, y'all!) now.
• I met some amazing people when I was with the agency, including someone who is now a really good friend. He's happily married (to a woman I'm pleased to also now call my friend) and Brazilian which makes him almost exactly like a gay BFF. I also now know more random facts about Brasil than any Canadian who ever existed and have consumed more Caipirinhas in 2012 than in all my previous years combined. My liver is not amused.
• I listened to a fuck-tonne of music, discovered new bands and have basically become one with Tina Turner. I made a playlist of what I've been listening to on repeat if you're interested in hearing what the soundtrack of my life is like (but the song I've been listening to ad nauseam is at the bottom of this post).
• I enjoyed some nice walks home and stops in the park during a beautiful summer and even got myself a bicycle. Now if only I had the courage to ride it on streets containing cars.
• Romney not getting bloody elected. Yes, even us little Canadians care about that.
• I got my first thing ever from Tiffany's (from my actual gay BFF). Appropriately, it's a vessel for alcohol.
• I experienced Ontario cottage life not once but twice this summer. I think I'll have to make it an annual thing.
• I ate all kinds of stuff and in true hipster fashion took pictures of most of it. How cool of me.

So ... I really do have plenty of things to be happy about.

Which brings us to the next question: What's next?

I mostly don't know. But I'm thinking:

• I obviously have to get my career back on track. Or not. There are days when I seriously consider applying to the neighbourhood grocery store, becoming a checkout girl, and not giving a flying fuck about having career aspirations. And then there are days when I really want to afford HBO again.
• I might have an opportunity to take a totally different spin in the 50s Housewife Experiment thing (clearly different, what with that whole lack of being a wife technicality and all. Heh.). I don't want to say too much about it as it might not happen, but it could be pretty funny. Or get me sued. We'll see. (And no, some of you have asked, I had nothing to do with Wives in Beehives. I caught the show, though. It had potential but I was disappointed that the producers decided to take it in the tired 'lady dramz' direction. Boo.).
• I'll probably get a dog. (!!!) I've wanted one forever and now that I don't live with someone with allergies, I'm free to make that happen. The idea of this makes me really, really, really happy.
• A return to blog writing. I've missed it. I've missed you, whoever you all are.

And that's basically it. That's what's been going on and not going on. I'm sure to make Barbara Walter's Most Fascinating People list.

And you? How are you? Let me know.

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