Tag Archive for 'me'

Name game.

Published
by
untitled
on March 17, 2006
in untitled
. 94 Comments

About 500 people read untitledlife each day. That’s like 10 people in each state. It’s not Dooce traffic or anything, but I’m a slut and it’s enough to make my panties wet.

Since I’m doing this all anonymous and such, I have told no one about this blog. No. One. That means it’s quite possible that one of you might know me. I could be anyone - your co-worker who just burned a bag of popcorn in the microwave, an old college roomate who worshipped The Cure and had her stomach pumped for drinking too much Zima, or the girl who whupped your ass in tetherball in the 3rd grade. Did you ever think that I might be someone you know? How fucking weird would THAT be?

Well, let’s blow the cover off this bitch. Post a comment with your first name in it, and maybe the state where you live. Lester, Idaho. Mary, Wisconsin. Aloicious, Alabama. That means you too, lurkers. I see you out there, in the corners, picking your noses. It’s time to come out and play. If I recognize a name and a state, I will let you know.

All of a sudden, this is starting to feel like “Clue.” But I promise I won’t beat anyone with a lead pipe. Unless, of couse, you like that sort of thing.

Five things you don’t know about me.

Published
by
untitled
on January 20, 2006
in untitled
. 13 Comments

I was recently challenged to reveal five things that you don’t know about me. I thought learning that I put ketchup on my macaroni and cheese didn’t really qualify, so I decided to dig a bit deeper. Some of these things I haven’t even talked about with untitledhusband. This wasn’t easy, but I feel better now that I’ve put it out there.

1. I was a cheerleader in high school. I didn’t really enjoy it, but I liked the idea that I was able to achieve the ideal of being a cheerleader. I still have the uniform in my closet.

2. When I was in junior high, I was fat and unpopular. When I was in high school, I was regular-sized and popular. Life is so much easier when you’re not fat.

3. When I fly, I tuck the seat belt in by my side so the stewardess won’t see that it doesn’t fit around me. I know they have seat belt extenders, but I’m too humiliated to ask for one.

4. The first record (OK, cassette) I ever bought was “Get Lucky” by Loverboy. The last record (OK, CD) I bought was “1000 Kisses” by Patti Griffin.

5. I have a successful career, a nice house, a gorgeous husband and a beautiful child, yet I cannot find the courage to attend my high school reunion — all because of my weight.

Golden child.

Published
by
untitled
on October 3, 2005
in Life and Rants
. 2 Comments

I admit it. I go to the tanning bed. Not all the time, mind you. Just 15 minutes, once a week. I’m not there to get all George Hamilton on your ass. I’m just there to keep my acne at bay, and to put a wash of color over my pasty Nordic skin. You know you’ve spent a few too many weekends in front of a glowing computer screen when your perfect shade of foundation is called “Kabuki.”

Before I started tanning, I was all self-conscious about it. I thought I’d be a pariah in there, rifling through the Cosmos in search of the sole copy of Good Housekeeping, waiting until bed 14 opened up. But as it turns out, all you muthafuckas out there are tanning. How come you never said anything! Jeez.

Your co-worker who comes in on Monday with rosy cheeks and impossibly tan forearms? Tanning bed. The guy who says he golfed all weekend? Fake bake. The admin who claims she has naturally golden skin (along with naturally platinum blonde hair)? UVB whore. Look for the telltale “reverse racoon” — white circles around the eyes, while everything else is dark. It’s a dead giveaway.

I mean, rarely do I see a 20-something hardbody there. It’s all these geriatrics, like me. What a mindfuck! I can’t tell you how many times I’d see these other people, all bronzed out, and wonder what they hell they were doing all weekend while I was getting down with the Scrubbing Bubbles. Surely, they must be laying in the sun somewhere, soaking up rays and margaritas all weekend.

Well, now I, too, am part of the golden sorority. Our mascot — an lifesized bottle of tanning accellerator wearing purple eye goggles (strapless, of course). Whenever he enters a room, the song “Kokomo” starts playing and coconut-scented air freshener jizzes out his cap. So do I break the code of silence? Hell no. People, I am too busy lying in the sun all day. Starting a revolution, that would be, like, too Che Guevara for a woman of leisure like myself.