I'm afraid to be loved, because I have low self-esteem.

EXACTLY. I'm going to guess and say you all thought, "WHAT THE F--K?" when you read that, just like I did when I read it. It came from a "closure letter" from my ex. Apparently, those are his thoughts on why I booted his sorry ass to the curb. Now, I'm not one to air my dirty laundry...but I will air someone else's. And according to his letter, I'm still in love with him and I don't even know it. To answer those questions, YES, I told him multiple times that I wasn't. I guess he just wasn't so smart afterall.

According to him, the following reasons weren't legitimate for me to dump him:

~ Doesn't shower regularly
~ Eats all my food
~ Doesn't do shit
~ Breaks lawn chairs and toilet seats because of weight issues
~ Talks nonstop about (snooze) school, and barely acknowledges a world outside of that
~ Has no real life experiences; can only discuss movies, books, sitcoms, computer games and cool things his friends have done

Awesome. What on earth was I thinking? How could I even think about walking out on such a gem of a man?

According to him, none of that mattered. Deep down, I have low self esteem. I'm afraid to be loved. HUH??? That doesn't even make SENSE! And since my time is limited and the year is almost done, for the sake of the blog I'll put that all aside and bring up a new point, now that I'm a free (or rather, "single") woman:

Hotness Scale based on STDS:

Chlamydia Hot - Think Chandler (Matthew Perry) from "Friends". Hot enough where you're cool with catching it, because 7 days of antibiotics later and you're in the clear. Plus, he's generally a good time.

UTI Hot - Think Johnny Depp. Definitely worth the pain and discomfort, but really, you only did it more out of curiosity than anything else.

Herpes Hot - This one is George Clooney. You're perfectly fine with catching it because when it's all said and done, you can still say you banged George Clooney.

AIDS Hot - Jesus Christ. (bear with me) I can't really think of anyone worth sleeping with if you knew you would catch AIDS...so I would have to say the Son of God. If nothing else, at least you've covered your bases. Sleeping with him is like slipping the hostess at Perkins a $100 bill for a window seat - you're covered, no worries. It's Jesus Christ for crying out loud!

I guess the point of this blog is to bring to light one very important thing: You have to stop the Q-Tip when there's resistance.

Don't say you never learned anything from me.

Someone stole my Christmas tree!

I shit you not. I undecorated last night and dragged my dry, brittle Christmas tree outside. It sprayed pine needles everywhere - on the tables, all over the floor, down my shirt, up my nose, in my mouth...ugh. It sucked. I figured I'd leave it out on the patio and cut it up today after work - I had every intention of making it suffer, too.

So imagine my surprise when I got home and the tree was GONE. All that was left were some pine needles, but considering how windy it had been all day, not even many of those were around.

Now, I'm not saying I believed I lived in the world's safest neighborhood, but come on. Are times so tough that people will steal a dead Christmas tree after Christmas? I just cannot wrap my head around this. I know the garbage dudes didn't pick it up, for several reasons: 1. They barely show up to get the trash as it is, 2. I didn't tip them this year, and 3. Garbage pick up isn't until tomorrow.

Which brings us back to ghetto thieves. I've made some calls and as of right now, no one knows where it...

**NEWSFLASH!!**STOP THE PRESSES!!** The tree has been found!!!

The neighbor's boyfriend just swung by about 15 minutes ago. Apparently, my tree wasn't stolen; the sneaky bastard rolled down the hill. The 40 mile an hour winds surely had something to do with it. Thank God for nosy neighbors. Needless to say, I just got back from dragging the son of a bitch back up the hill. In my pajamas. And a ski jacket. In sandals. Bite me.

If I had the storage, I would totally get a fake tree for next year, especially now that they're all on sale. But I have no place to put it during the off season. Looks like I'll just have to buy a bigger house in 2010 to accomodate said tree. That makes perfect fiscal sense!

Another one bites the dust.

That's all she wrote, people. The fat lady has sung. It's over. Gone. Elvis has left the building. Stop asking me if I'm ever going back - I'm not. 2009 is wrapped up, put in storage, locked up and the key has been thrown.

2010 has got to be better, because really, it can't possibly get any worse.

Earlier this week I almost ran over the CEO of my company with my car. All I can say is, for an older man that dude can hussle! I stopped just in time, but there was a part of me that regretted not wiping him out, if only for the story. It would have made for the best, "Guess how I was fired?" tale in the world.

So imagine my surprise when earlier today he swung by my cube. Not just mine, but every.single.cubicle...to say Merry Christmas. What a guy. After he shook my hand and moved on, I told my coworkers he whispered, "Thank you for the gift of life," in my ear. Two out of five believed me. That's enough for me.

But anyhooties...

A lot has happened this year. There were a few deaths, there was a birth...a very brief engagement slipped in there and then the break-up. A few people lost some bets on me with that, so a general "I'm sorry" goes out to you guys. But in my best efforts to find that silver lining, I've kick-started a joke about it, telling people that the day of my break-up my credit score actually went up 100 points (that legal union would've tossed 125K in debt on my financial plate - yuck). Short of turning to stripping and pimping (neither of which I am very good at), there wasn't any way that shit was getting paid off much before the year 2060. Thank God for small favors, long distance, and random mini-strokes.

In the end, I think we should all look back at 2009 and try to remember only the positive. Aside from the obvious "weepy" stuff of being thankful for family, friends and jobs, I'm pretty goddamn grateful for beer, dive bars and small towns.

As Billy Currington sang, "God is great, beer is good, and people are crazy." No truer words have ever been spoken.

Goodnight 2009, and I'll catch you on the flip side!

Any song sung by George Strait is country at it's best. - Eric Church

(The only reason I posted Bradley Cooper's picture is because he is SO FREAKIN' CUTE, I can't hardly stand it.)

I think for the next several blogs I'm going to be cryptic, mainly because I've learned a lot of very important life lessons over the past several months, and yet, I don't want to reveal my entire stance on the meaning of life just yet.

I've been told recently that I have every right to be a pain in the ass. I've earned it ~ I am set in my career, own my house and do not have any kids. I have to say, I agree with that completely and I see myself abusing my position in life as we move into 2010. Society, I have officially put you on warning.

Life lesson # 2:
"You like someone for their qualities and love them for their faults." - patron at my local bar.

It's a pretty cool sentiment. Assuming, of course, that those faults aren't the kind that put YOU into counseling. Been there, done that, and it sucks. So let's not do that again, okay? GREAT.

Sidenote on weird people: There's a chick at work who pretends to have a boyfriend and who was recently spotted having a baby seat in her car. It's crazy enough that she makes up a guy; it's even scarier that she makes up having a baby. I bet that imaginary labor was horrible. Cutting the invisible umbilical cord must have been amazing. But I digress.

I guess the point of this blog is mainly to point out that 2010 is going to ROCK, and just like Bradley Cooper, I can't hardly stand it.

I don't kick asses and take names; I slap asses and give them MY phone number.

I have to admit, there are some days when I just want to fill a van with barrels of gasoline and drive it through a high school bonfire on Homecoming Night. Then there are days like today, when I'm just f*&king awesome.

Let me preface this story with how my heating system blew up. Literally. The service guy came and the moment I saw his mustache, I knew only good things could happen. Apparently the compressor thinger (not his exact words) literally exploded inside the unit, causing the system to shut down. Thank Darwin (you're welcome, Jess) for the Auxillary heat function, or my buttcheeks would've frozen together. It should be fixed by next week. Merry Christmas to me.

Then I called back a former manager I used to work with 2 companies and 1,327 beers ago. He left a voicemail for me this morning. I was so busy being awesome all day, I never got back to him until 5:30pm. He casually asked me if I'd consider working for him again. I explained how I just started a new gig and wasn't really looking. Then he launched into crazy detail about how he's involved in a start-up, and these brand-new positions will have a lot of potential, especially for someone with my [mediocre] experience. (Translation: They don't plan on paying shit for anyone right now). I told him I didn't really think it was a good move for me at this point, all things considered. THEN he says, "Come on, you had a lot of fun working with me!!" To which I responded, "You're absolutely right, I did. But you had a BLAST working with me, which is why you called me today." He forced a laugh.

We ended the call with the empty promises that I would think about it, and he'd meet up with me for a few beers later in the week.

Man it feels good to be a gangster.

I will never be the woman with the perfect hair, who can wear white and not spill on it.

Day 8 of my new work out routine. I wasn't in the mood to hit the gym, so I did 50 minutes on the stationary bike while I watched a True Hollywood Story about Angelina Jolie. Slap my ass and call me "Wild." Because yeah, I am.

Last week, I had hit the gym a little later than usual. As a result, I've met some people in my complex. In no particular order, they are:

~ The chubby married couple. You two are a pain in my ass. I don't care that you want to use the treadmills, but come ON. There are only two, and walking at 3 mph for 3 WEEKS won't get you any thinner, so stop wasting your time and mine. One of you needs to get off the damn machine and waddle over to Dunkin Donuts, because we all know you're going there afterwards anyway. It's my turn!

~ The two 14 year old Asian guys. Now that I think about it, they could be 5, or they could be 27. It's so hard to tell how old Asians are. Every single time I walk into the gym, they are just wrapping it up. What's "it," you ask? Initially, I thought "it" was doing P90X in the back of the gym, watching it on their laptop. But now I'm beginning to think it's a little more homosexual than that. I've run into them about 1,000 times already, and each and every time they are wrapping it up? Yeah, RIGHT. Something's getting "wrapped," and something's going "up," and it ain't no exercise routine. AND, they never turn the lights on. It's all very suspicious.

~ The 10 year old married guy. Okay, maybe he's older than that, but he's got super skinny legs and a baby face, and he's got a bracelet-sized wedding band (or maybe it looks that big because he's so little). We play this little game when we overlap. I usually get there first and put on the TV. I'm a sucker for realty TV shows, especially Keeping up with the Kardashians (Pregnancies!!! Weddings!!!!) He shows up a little later, starts his workout and pretends he's listening to his Ipod (when I can tell he's really locked in on whatever lame-ass show I've got on. I've seen him laugh at it). I get done first and on my way out I'll ask if he wants me to shut the tube off, and every time he waves me off and says, "Nah, that's okay." All nonchalant. Mr. 10 Year Old, you can act cool about it but you dig my shows. Loser.

~ The Hula Hoop Woman. Probably the best I've seen come into the gym ~ she's about 48 years old, has a horrible L'Oreal dye job...I think they call it Crackwhore Blonde. She puts her circa 1992 glasses on (with the tinted rose-hue lenses), then she pirates the TV by putting on Law & Order. Once she's set up, she starts hula-hooping. It doesn't even make sense! She doesn't need to come to the gym. It's an exercise she can do in her own livingroom! I think she does it just to show off. At first I was impressed, but then I noticed she has a textured hula-hoop. It's really hard to describe; the best and only way I can, is to say it's ribbed. (go ahead, say it: for her pleasure. Bunch of bonehead readers). All I know is, it's not one of those smooth, plastic ones that are hard to keep up. I think it's a specially designed hula hoop, kinda like a hula hoop with training wheels, designed to stay up no matter what. I need to do more research on it - I'll get back to you.

Overall, for those of you who are curious, the routine is going well. My plan is to be in wicked shape, just like the chick I've posted - it's "Kate," from LOST. The deadline is Feb 2nd, the day the very last Season Premiere is aired.

I've already taken a "before" picture. I've got the camera all queued up for the "after." Get your puke buckets ready - I make no guarantees that what you end up seeing will be pretty. Or even stomachable.

Someone parked their little penis outside my house tonight.

I've officially begun a new workout routine. It pretty much breaks down like this: A whole lotta cardio, toss in some weights, and don't eat much of anything. It's actually been working out very well for me - I'm working this whole anger thing out of my system and quite honestly, my appetite has gone to shit. So yeah, scoop me another bowl full of broccoli, chick peas and non-fat feta cheese/lemon juice salad. YUM.

In case you were wondering, the new department is working out well for me. I'm definitely a fish out of water and my new coworkers haven't quite figured out my sense of humor, but that's to be expected. Example: Man in his 40's (I'll call him...Hairy) sits across the cubicle wall from me. He cracked a joke earlier today about it being so warm in the office, he was going to take his shirt off. We all laughed and then I said, "Will someone please get this man a FAN?" AND?!?! [crickets] Really? It had all the elements of a great joke - the timing, the content, the truth... (sigh) If it wasn't against Corporate policy, I would have gone around and shook them all.

I have faith that one day, they'll understand.

And that's all she wrote, kids. I really didn't have much to offer you tonight; I just wanted to share my thought on the obnoxious Mercedes someone brought into my respectable, lower-Middle class neighborhood. I would have taken a real photo, but it's dark outside and I was afraid the flash from my camera would alert the neighbors to my suspicious motives. Luckily for me, Googling "Obnoxious luxury sports cars driven by assholes" found the exact vehicle I was looking for. Suck it, Bing.

I love the Internet. What I would love even more than the Internet would be to have an alien as a best friend. Like, someone from outter space, not the person who cleans your house and avoids eye contact.

And on that note, Good Night.

This week was the Ass, and I was the Wedgie.

I've been fairly angry all week. Don't worry, I won't go into it here. You don't care and I don't feel like sharing. However, WARNING: This might turn into an angry blog.

Today was my last day in my department. I will be moving into another gig in my company and far, far away from Douche Nozzle, the guy whose work I've been doing for the past 6 months. I'm as excited as a blonde with two dildos.

Let me tell you the shit I won't miss about this guy -

* I won't miss his disgusting Philly accent.
* I won't miss that gorilla mask on his face he calls a goatee
(gorilla mask: when a person shaves their pubes & glues them to a sleeping persons face.)
* I won't miss the, "I love you...I love YOU...No, I love YOU more" whispers on the phone to his equally hideous, shovel-faced girlfriend who has a complexion greasier than a truck stop kitchen.
* And most of all, I won't miss doing his work, then watching him get presented with a pseudo "Employee of the Month" award.

Believe me, while I have a great imagination, even I can't make this shit up. He was presented a $100 gift card and a pat on the back two weeks ago by our Regional President for how great he was at the job I was doing. I was dumbfounded. I mean, SERIOUSLY?! Who do you have to blow in this place to get recognition, because obviously this lazy turd whipped out a few Chapsticks and knee pads to get his sweet deal.

(Deep breath) But that is all behind me. It's over; The fat lady has sung and I no longer have to suffer through him (or his work) again.

I have a feeling there's going to be some crazy celebration in my house tomorrow night - just me, some wings, a 40 of Miller High Life (don't judge) and Battlestar Gallactica. Yeah, I'm badass. And you can admit it: Man or woman, you've got a crush on me. I get it. Whenever I shave my legs, I have a crush on me, too. And if I wash my hair that same night? Sweet Jesus, I can't keep my hands off myself!