Wendy the Bride

I started planning my wedding before I could walk. I remember laying in my crib, trying to decide on the perfect color scheme. I could never decide between pink-yellow and fuschia-yellow. My parents were concerned that I had health issues or was just really stupid because I was really slow to do boring baby things like crawl and talk, but that's just because I was so fixated on planning my dream wedding.

Even though I am still searching for Mr. Right, I subscribe to all the bridal magazines and pore over every page. 

I like this ad because it suggests wearing three dresses on your wedding day - excellent idea!  The entire day is about being the center of attention, and some costume changes will make sure everyone keeps their focus on the bride.

Is it too early to register?  I know traditionalists wait until after the engagement, or at least until after meeting The One, but is it ever too early to pick a china pattern?

My Pink Boa Resolution - Week One Update

Ok, so it's been a week since I resolved to wear my pink boa non-stop until I find the love of my life (or, alternatively, a very wealthy and easily manipulated man who wants to marry me).  Honestly, I'm surprised that a week has passed and I'm still single.  I promise, I have been wearing this damn boa 24/7.

I wear it while reading to expand my mind:

While contemplating my fresh organic selections from the farmers market in order to decide what I will cook for the orphanage and the homeless shelter:

While listening on the phone to a friend who is going through a challenging spot and needs some support and compassion:

And of course, while getting two or three hours of beauty rest (give or take eleven or twelve hours, on the average day.  Hey, I'm very beautiful, ergo lips loquitor, I need more beauty sleep than the rest of you schlubs):

The Most Amazing Boardgame in the History of the World.

This is my favorite boardgame in the entire world: Careers for Girls. In my life, it has been a steady source of inspiration and motivation. When I was in junior high school, my friends insisted on destroying my edition of Careers for Girls in a ritual burning because they claimed it was sexist and oppressive. I was devastated but could not stand up to the peer pressure. If you call Central Casting and ask them for "Woman Who Can Never Resist Peer Pressure," they will definitely send you my resume.


But I recently acquired a new copy of the game from eBay! I am so so so incredibly ecstatic. I mean, would you look at this game? It's the "Fame, Fortune and Happiness Game." It's been awhile, but what I remember is that when the game starts, you allocate 60 points between fame, fortune and happiness, however you want. You could, theoretically, allocate 20 points to each. I always allocated 60 points to fame. Then, you go around the board trying to gather your points and the first one to 60 wins.

During the course of the game, you can aspire to several important carees: Super Mom; School Teacher; Rock Star; Animal Doctor; College; or Fashion Designer. I love how this game recognizes that women do not want to be lawyers or accountants or politicians.


Then you go around the board and you have to do things to collect your points. Like, if you are aspiring to be a Super Mom, then you need to "Tell us the names of your 8 children" and then you get 8 happiness points. Or, under the animal doctor category, you have to "Tell us about your dream horse." One of my favorite spots is under fashion designer: "Pretend to model your new swimsuit design." But under college, you get to "date with upper-classman" OR "describe your dreamy teacher." And if you are a school teacher, you might have to recite the Pledge of Allegiance, which is super hard (but you get 16 happiness points for that one).

You also draw Experience Cards throughout the game like this one: Send any opponent to Unemployment. I cannot even begin to emphasize the important lessons that young women can learn from this game. Like, if you have a job someday at an office, and there's a cute guy that your are totally crushing on, but there's this hot secretary who wears three inch heels and tight sweaters every day, you might have to scheme and Send that Bitch to Unemployment just so you can have a monopoly on your crush. (Speaking of Monopoly - that might be the worst game ever. Too many numbers. And that little man is so creepy).

Wendy the Movie Star

People always come up to me on the street and ask, "Excuse me, are you a Movie Star??" I tell them, "No, acting doesn't interest me," and then they gasp with horror and say, "Oh, come on! You are depriving the world of a tremendous talent!"

I've always thought that it would be a waste to use my star power on Hollywood, but my pink boa has me reconsidering. I did a "test shoot" this weekend and am thinking about sending it to a few agents. I'm considering my options.

I must admit I hesitated to post this video here. I'm concerned some maniac will post it on youtube, and it will go viral, and people will think I'm just a run-of-the-mill attention whore. But I'm prepared to live with that risk.

A Pink Boa & A Resolution

I have been having a run of bad luck - divorce . . . heartbreak . . . I accidentally got ugly.

But I now own a gorgeous pink boa and everything has changed.

I feel sexy.
Mysterious. Dangerous.

Glamorous. UNSTOPPABLE!!!

That's it. I'm declaring an early New Years Resolution: I'm not taking this pink boa off until I meet the man of my dreams. Which, I can tell you, will probably be in two or three days, tops. I have always exuded tons of sex appeal, but with this pink boa, I am officially irresistible. This pink boa should probably be illegal. I mean, seriously, would you look at me?

I Will Be Famous.

The most important thing in life is not beauty, money, or sex appeal - it's Fame. The only people who are truly, sincerely happy are the famous people. I know this because I am generally a miserable wretched; I am (sigh) not famous; BUT I am confident that I will be happy when I am famous. Q.E.D.

After a lot of thought and deep reflection, I decided that I need an Action Plan For Becoming Very Famous And Happy. I spent the entire day thinking about my Action Plan For Becoming Very Famous And Happy and realized there are really only two critical steps:

• Step One: Decide how I want to become famous (e.g. celebrity chef vs. sex symbol).
• Step Two: Become famous.

This is going to be a total cake walk. It's almost too easy.

I Hate Wikipedia.

I recently noticed an error in the article regarding cacti on Wikipedia - namely, the article forgot to mention me. I really don't know how something so egregious could happen, but I was feeling generous yesterday and updated the article. myself (even though I was supposed to be using that time to shop online for my new fall wardrobe). What can I say - I strongly believe in the free flow of accurate and timely information on the internet.

When I woke up this morning, I saw my correction had been deleted.

So apparently there is some uber-dumbass constantly monitoring the Wikipedia article about cacti. I'm sorry, but how pathetic do you have to be to devote your life to "protecting the integrity" of the cacti entry on Wikipedia?

Some day, I will be famous, and then the ass clowns at Wikipedia will dedicate an entire entry to just me, Wendy the Cactus.

p.s. one of my loyal servant-fans saved a screenshot of the accurate Wikipedia cactus entry, that includes a reference to my glorious self. If you would like to see it, just shoot me an email. I can't be bothered to upload it here. I have way more important ways to waste my time.

p.p.s. I bought a new pink boa! It makes me look extra gorgeous. It really brings out my cheek bones. I'll post a photo soon, but not tonight. I might as well give my pathetic readers something to look forward to.

Wendy the Wikipedia Entry

I understand that Wikipedia is this great online resource with tons of information. But, I discovered a horrible inaccuracy tonight. The Wikipedia entry for "cactus" did not refer to yours truly, Wendy the Cactus!

Well, you can rest assured, I swiftly corrected that problem.

I know the entire universe does not revolve around me (although it should), but I do expect some recognition, damnit. Check it out.

And We've Reached A New Low (Yet Again).

This was one of those days where I had a choice.

Choice A: Wallow in my own misery; refuse to get dressed or bathe; mix myself a screwdriver and call it breakfast; despair over the fact that I will never be loved, will never marry a man with a large trust fund; and send drunken text messages at 10:15 a.m. to all of my ex-boyfriends.

Choice B: I could vow to make a change and take charge of my life; practice yoga; sip green tea; make an inspiration board; take a long walk at the beach; and tend to my inner flame.


I think we all know how I spent my day (hint: not Choice B).

Baby Steps

Last night, I dreamed I was happy. I was engaged to a sexy French photographer named Pierre who liked to take nude portraits of me. We spent hours gazing into each others' eyes. We argued about who was more wonderful and he would read poetry to me while I took long lavender-scented bubble baths.

I woke up and for like 4 seconds, I was both awake AND happy. Then I remembered my life sucks and I started to cry hysterically. I think I'm improving. Ever since that Creepjerkpig broke my heart, I have woken up every morning, already sobbing. But today, the crying did not start until I was awake for 4 seconds. So, at this rate, I figure I might be only 50% miserable by the time I am in my 90s.

Shameful

Today, I could not stop thinking about my donut binge. I mean seriously, would you look at me?


I am so deeply ashamed of myself. I am shameful. I spent the entire day thinking about what a fat stupid donut crazy loser I am ... except then I would just think about the donut part. And then I would think about how delicious donuts are, and I'd start thinking that maybe, if I was good, and just had a few pieces of lettuce for lunch, I could have one donut hole as a treat after dinner. But then I would remember what happened this weekend, and how I have no self control and how will a fabulous wealthy man every love me if I just inhale every donut I see... and then I would start to think about donuts, jelly donuts, glazed donuts, donuts with sprinkles. It's a vicious cycle.

Well, there's obviously only one solution to my donut obsession/spiral of shame. I'm going to have to get drunk.

Donuts.

It's official: I do not have any self-control. I am missing the Self-Control Gene. This is a problem.

I decided this weekend that it's time to get my life back on track! So what if I had my heart broken? It's time to buy some new shoes, show off my hot body, and date lots of questionable but attractive men.

But first, I needed a small tiny little insignificant treat. Like a donut hole. Just one little taste of that heavenly fried dough and then I would be ready to get my life back on track.


I don't know what happened. One minute, I was asking the Donut Lady for one glazed donut hole... and the next minute, I was home with a sprinkled donut AND a chocolate cream donut.

I have no idea how these extra donuts got into the bag.

I remember taking the first bite of the sprinkled donut. And then I blacked out.

Please go away now.

It has come to my attention that at some point during the last month, I deleted most of my digital photos. Um, awesome? I have no memory of doing this, so it must have happened during the vodka/ice cream stage. Why does heartbreak bring out my destructive side? And if I must spiral into a blackhole of destruction, why can't I destroy something like a box of Kleenex?

Granted, I had a lot of photos that needed to be purged - basically, any photos in which I looked fat, pimply, bloated, ugly, plain, obese, etc. etc. But no, in my insanity, I purged all the photos in which I look cute, pretty and gorgeous. WTF???

I did save this photo from last summer. Look at me. So relaxed, happy.


And this is what I look like now:

I honestly don't know what to say for myself. The good news is that I don't need a Halloween costume - I already look like a homeless zombie serial killer witch hag corpse.

Sigh.

My life would be so much better if I was friends with Oprah. We could go shopping together in Dubai and throw elaborate dinner parties. I think it would also be really good for my self-esteem because Oprah is an even bigger yo-yo dieter than I am, so when Oprah is on the fat end of her weight spectrum, I would feel extra hot and sexy.

My life would be so much better if I didn't like food. If I looked at a piece of chocolate cake or a bowl of potato chips and thought, "Ew, gross. I'll just drink this glass of warm water."

My life would be so much better if I was famous and everyone paid attention to me. Then I'd get free things, like free soda at the movie theater and free towels and maybe even free shoes. I really like shoes.

These are just some of the things on my mind today.

I Know, I Know, I Know

Yes, I know, it's been ages since I posted. What can I say? I am a horrible awful ugly malicious beast. I fell in love, and was too happy to bother with this blog. We went on long moonlight strolls, held hands, counted the stars. He kissed me softly and murmured sweet nothings into my ear. We made love for hours and hours until I begged for mercy.

And then he dumped me.

I went through Wendy's Eleven Stages Of Heartbreak:

1. Shock
2. Horror
3. Disbelief (a milder version of Stage 1)
4. Ice Cream
5. Rage
6. Despair
7. Vodka
8. Drunken yoga (I do not recommend Stage 8)
9. the Stage in which I forget to bathe until I smell like death
10. Ice Cream and Vodka
11. Acceptance

And now I think it's time to blog again. I hesitate to post a photo of myself because (a) I look like crap and (b) I'm too hungover to remember how to hook up my digital camera to my computer and it's possible I destroyed my digital camera during Stage 5.

p.s. I should probably mention that I am also officially divorced.

Dating Disasters

I have been too busy to blog because I have been on a man hunt. I have gone on 17 first dates. I rejected the first 16 candidates but No. 17, oh my. He is just too lovely for words. I am going to seduce him.

They say the quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach, but I would like to modify that old adage - the quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach if you know how to cook. If your cooking repetoire is limited to rice krispies treats and toast, then the quickest way to a man's heart is with Jell-o shots.

No. 17 is taking me out to dinner tonight. Afterwards, I am going to invite him into my apartment; tell him to ignore Ralph (who will probably be weeping on the couch); and then ply him with jello shots. This strategy worked wonders for me during college so it ought to work tonight.

I carefully read the instructions on the Jell-O package. I was surprised that the instructions are only for non-alcoholic Jell-O - seriously? Does anyone actually buy this crap, planning to make a non-alcoholic version?

I added the powder to this beautiful heirloom plastic bowl that I got at Party City for like $1.49. Hey, stop laughing. As I have mentioned before, I was cheated out of a wedding and never got to register for expensive gifts, so my kitchen supplies are a little lacking. I own wine glasses, champagne glasses, 2 cereal bowls, and that's pretty much it.

I carefully measured the water. It was difficult to concentrate because Ralph was curled up in the fetal position, by the dishwasher, and sobbing hysterically. I blame Ralph for what happened next:

Disaster! My beautiful plastic heirloom bowl COLLAPSED when I added the hot water. Thank god this happened before I mixed in the vodka.

I'm never getting laid.

I'm Ready To Get Laid.

I can't believe it, I'm so excited I could hyperventilate - I'm going to start dating again! I'm going to flirt, be shameless, and have a lot of meaningless sex.

But not yet. Everything needs to be perfect - my hair, my skin, my waistline. This weekend, I am going to subject myself to every manner of beauty treatment available in Los Angeles County. Waxings, exfoliations and chemical peels? Bring. it. on.

Here is a recent photo of me:

I look disgusting - fat, hairy and pale. I am a fat, ugly beast and no one - not even the creepy guy who plays Second Life for 18 hours a day - wants to have sex with me.

Would a butt lift be too extreme? Could I just get botox injections in my tush?

An Open Marriage? Really?

Today was an interesting day. No, that's an understatement. Today was quite possibly one of the 10 most interesting days of my life (and there is a lot of competition for that list!) I am digesting everything that happened. Rather than tell you about my day, it is easier to just provide you with a transcript of a conversation I had this morning with my husband:

Ralph: Good morning, Nutmeg.
Me: [silence, reading a magazine]
Ralph: Sweet Pea, I have an idea.
Me: [turning page in magazine]
Ralph: Maybe we should see a marriage counselor.
Me: [laughter]
Ralph: I'm serious!
Me: I know you are. [more laughter] That's why I'm laughing.
Ralph: We haven't had sex since our honeymoon. We never talk. You are always mean to me.
Me: That's because you revolt me. A marriage counselor is not going to change anything.
Ralph: Oh.
Me: [several minutes of silence. I hope that maybe Ralph has slipped into a coma.]
Ralph: Cinnamon?
Me: [damn, no coma.]
Ralph: What if we have an open marriage?
Me: What?
Ralph: An open marriage. Like, we are allowed to date other people and have extramar-
Me: I know what an open marriage is. Seriously? I can date? I can sleep with other men?
Ralph: Yes.
Me: And we're still married?
Ralph: Yes.
Me: And you'll pay the rent?
Ralph: Yes.
Me: And my credit card bills?
Ralph: Yes.
Me: Then we have ourselves a deal!

I Can't Sleep.

It's St. Patrick's Day and I should be happy, but instead I am depressed and unconsolable. Or am I "inconsolable"? Oh holy crap, I don't care, I just wish I could SLEEP. But no, all I can think about is the fact that it is St. Patrick's Day, the greatest drinking holiday in the world - except for maybe Cinco de Mayo (oh and 4th of July (and also Halloween)) - but anyway, St. Patrick's Day is definitely one of the top 5 Drinking Holidays, but I need to stay sober. Because these days, there is no upside to intoxication. I might get blasted, and accidentally have sex with my loathsome husband. Or, even worse, I might get blasted, and my husband will just watch t.v., and my self-esteem cannot handle that sort of rejection.

I am not feeling very rational. I am normally very levelheaded and reasonable, but now I am just stressed stressed stressed and apparently I am never going to fall. a. sleep. I'M FALLING APART!!! Should I wear green tomorrow? If I wear green, I might get carried away by the spirit of St. Paddy's Day and start drinking. But if I don't wear green, people will think I am one of those depressed married people who just watch Wheel of Fortune instead of going out drinking to celebrate one of the Top 5 Drinking Holidays (in America at least, I'm sure Italy and France have different exciting exotic drinking holidays).

I can't keep doing this. By "this" I mean "this awful crap b.s. marriage that is sucking all the joy out of my life and have I mentioned that we didn't even have a wedding and I didn't get to be the center of attention and I am wasting the best years of my life sharing a bed with a man with frightening halitosis and who cannot take a hint to save his life and oh my god if he tries to hold my hand one more time I'm going to cut off his balls."

Ok, so this whole "having insomnia and hyperventilating at 3:30 a.m." thing sucks but on the uspide, I will be too exhausted to do anything more than watch Wheel of Fortune tomorrow.

You know, it might be time for a change. Maybe I've been married long enough.

Happiest Place on Earth My Ass

I know you are all eager to learn about my March giveaway to celebrate my blog's one month anniversary. And, frankly, I think you are all a bit pathetic. Don't you have lives? Or at least t.v. shows that you like to watch? Anyway, I have been too busy to organize the gift for the giveaway, but I promise it will happen sometime in March (or June at the very latest).

On to more interesting news: last Friday, I went to Disneyland with some friends. I hate hate hate Disneyland and would ordinarily have refused to go. But, my husband Ralph loves Disneyland. And he had to go to work. So, I went and tortured him with updates throughout the day. (Suck it, Ralph).

Here is a photo of me having lunch at the godforsaken dining area by Splash Mountain. This dining area is the first reason why I hate Disneyland. We went to Disneyland for a field trip when I was in the 8th grade. I was really excited for the trip because it meant I got to spend a lot of time holding hands with my boyfriend Craig and making all my girlfriends jealous. We went on the Haunted Mansion and totally kissed like 5 times. But then at lunch, in front of all my friends, Craig dumped me. He said I was a bad kisser and everyone laughed at me.

I was humiliated. I spent the rest of the day gorging myself on junk food to keep myself from crying. Churros, funnel cake, etc. etc. Then we went on Small World because we thought it would be cool in a lame retro sort of way. This is the second reason why I hate Disneyland. I was flirting with Danny, who was a really good volleyball player, and I thought I had recovered my dignity...

And I threw up. On Small World. The boat floats along at about 0.3 miles an hour - a newborn infant could ride this thing - but I, Wendy the Cactus, threw up. I can't talk about this wretched experience anymore. I'll show you the rest of my Disneyland photos later (assuming my self-esteem can handle it).

One Year Anniversary

Holy crap, my blog is celebrating its One Year Anniversary this month. Can you imagine anything more depressing? I can't. I have been blogging for an entire year, and I'm not famous. I'm not even infamous.

But, this blog is the longest monogamous relationship I have ever had in my life. I don't cheat on my blog, and it does not cheat on me. And that sure as hell is something. So let's celebrate! I am going to give something away to one of my lucky readers. Please remember that you are all lucky because you have the opportunity to read this blog. But, one of you will be exceptionally lucky because I am going to give you a present. I don't know what the present is yet, but it will be really cool like a llama or some nail polish. Stay tuned...

Oscars Schmaschars

I am officially boycotting the 2010 Academy Awards. I cannot support an Academy that nominates the following "actresses" for the Best Actress statue:

• Sanda Bullock
• Helen Mirren
• Carey Mullig-who?
• Gabourey Don't Know Her
• Meryl Streep

And worse, I heard that Sandra Bullock is favored to win the award. Seriously? Are you telling me that I live in a world where Sandra Can't Act Bullock is allowed to win the academy award for Best Actress? At least it's not Hilary ManFace Swank, but still. I am a better actress than Sandra Bullock. Every day, I wake up and I face the world with a happy face even though I am enduring quite possibly the Worst Marriage In The History Of Marriage. I am an amazing actress, and have I ever been nominated for an Academy Award? Of course not. The Academy just doesn't recognize true genius.

And the other nominees are not much better than Sandra. What about Paris Hilton? Kim Kardashian? Britney Spears?

I am officially boycotting the Oscars until the Academy nominates some true talent in the Best Actress category. Women who are really rich, famous, wear expensive yet trashy clothes and make really bad dating choices.

Here Comes the Bride...

Look at what a beautiful bride I would be! My veil is so shimmery AND it makes my butt look really cute.

I bought this veil about 5 years ago when I was dating a really hot guy named Chip. After our first date, I knew that Chip was the hottest man I would ever date, so I immediately invested in this bridal veil. Look, I was just being realistic. I know I am gorgeous, talented and sexy, and most men would sell their souls to just to have coffee with me. But you see, I'm only an A. I was only in the prom court, I wasn't actually the prom queen. But Chip, he's an A+. He was the Prom King at his high school AND seven other high schools in the county.

I wanted to marry Chip and the only way to accomplish that was through deceit, fraud and trickery. I knew I was going to have to use the dating equivalent of black magic to trick Chip into proposing; and if he proposed, I'd have about three weeks to pull off the wedding before he realized that he should actually marry Charlize Theron.


So that's why I bought the veil. I had to be ready JUST IN CASE. Once I had the veil in my closet, I was able to relax and enjoy our second and third dates. After our third date, Chip never called again BUT I STILL HAVE THE VEIL. You know why? Because I'm an optimist. Even though I'm married to Ralph and my soul dies a little every time he tries to hold my hand in public, I still believe in happily ever after. Or, at least, I'm going to have a really expensive wedding someday and get to be the center of attention and everyone will think my life is perfect.

Meditations and Reflections

I live in Los Angeles where it is important to be hip, trendy and fashionable if you want to have a happy life. You need to follow the example set by beautiful celebrities. Trust me, they are all obviously very happy and content because they are rich and famous.

One thing the celebrities do is dabble in religion, meditation and spirituality. Since marrying Ralph, I have neglected my spirituality. I don't know what color my energy is. I do not drink green tea. I have not visited an ashram. I might have lit a scented candle a few months ago, but it was because the apartment reeked from the smell of Ralph's farts.

In Los Angeles, it is not enough to be gorgeous, witty and charming. I also have to be spiritual - in a cool, Madonna sort of way. So yesterday, I found a scenic spot and meditated. I read somewhere (probably People magazine) that it helps to chant a soothing mantra while you meditate. So I sat next to this pond quietly and silently repeated the word "Bloomingdales" about 600 times. It really worked! I thought about shoes, expensive handbags, and clothesclothesclothes. After about 10 minutes of meditating, I felt so refreshed and whole. I must have reconnected with my inner chakra or something.

I WANT A WEDDING!

I think it's really selfish that my "friend" Veronica expects me to be her bridesmaid. Way to rub the tragedy that is my life in my face. Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed about my wedding - I had everything planned, from the proposal to the place settings. He would propose in the spring - probably during a romantic candlelit dinner at a very expensive, trendy restaurant. We would be engaged for a tasteful 14 months. I would have at least 10 bridesmaids, and they would treat me like a Princess. We would go shopping every weekend for at least two months searching for the most beautiful white wedding gown. Then, my bridesmaids would agree that they should wear shiny orange dresses so that they all looked hideous. (In my dreams, the shiny orange dresses involve a big ridiculous sash).

Instead, I accidentally got married in Vegas while on a "romantic" weekend trip with a man I had been dating for two weeks. I only went to Vegas with Ralph because I was feeling fat and vulnerable and lonely and wanted some free booze. And now Veronica is living my dream! She got the romantic proposal; she gets to torture a battalion of bridesmaids; and I get crap. No, worse - I get to waste my Saturday pretending to be excited about bridesmaid dresses.

Do you know how hard it is to pretend that you are interested in color swatches when you are secretly dying inside? Also, it's really unfair that Veronica gets to have this wedding because she is just the dumbest bride ever. She actually wants the bridesmaids to look pretty and feel comfortable in attractive dresses!

Oh, could this world be any more cruel? I am stuck with Ralph, and I do not even have the memory of a disappointing wedding. No photo album with photographs of me looking radiant and my friends looking like dog sh*t.

I tried to keep it together, but I ended up alone in a dressing room, sobbing, and wondering who would be my flower girl in the fantasy wedding that is never going to happen.

Friday Night Lament

Another crappy Friday night. This Friday night is like all other Friday nights, except it involves the Olympics. Whoop-de-effin-do. I'm still married to Ralph; I'm still leading a crap boring life; and my wardrobe is just one big disappointment.

And to make matters worse, you will not believe what happened. One of my best friends got engaged! Wait, it's worse: her fiance is a total catch - tall, handsome, smart and he even likes watching American Idol.

Wait, it gets even more depressing: I'm a bridesmaid. How am I supposed to pretend to be happy for my friend's perfect life - while wearing a shiny dress that makes me look like a fat ugly beast - when I am married to Ralph?

We're going shopping tomorrow for bridesmaid dresses. Just kill me now. If I start drinking tonight, I might be drunk enough by tomorrow morning to handle the torture.

Wendy the Painfully Nerdy Cactus

I have been having issues with my contact lenses and had to wear my glasses today. Do I look like (a) a sexy librarian, (b) a smart but sassy international spy, or (c) a painfully awkward nerd girl who knows far too much about Star Trek and likes to stay home alone on Friday nights with her cat Frodo.

Please don't answer that question.

On The Benefits of Emotional Eating

So, I'm not pregnant. I should feel relieved. But I don't. Instead, I just feel depressed - why didn't Ralph take advantage of me when I was drunk? Aren't I beautiful and sexy and desirable?

I felt alone and needy. I wanted a strong drink, but I'm still recovering from my last bender. So I turned to Snap, Crackle and Pop instead.


I hate Snap, Crackle and Pop. Look at them. They look all happy and smug. Seriously, they are GLOWING. You know what I'm talking about. They are literally GLOWING over a bowl of freaking cereal. Look, I've been celibate for longer than I care to discuss, and even I don't get that excited about a bowl of cereal. (Except for Lucky Charms. Ok, and Frosted Flakes).

I'm actually not a big cereal person. I usually skip breakfast to save on calories. ("Breakfast is the most important meal of the day" my ass). But mix in some marshmallows and butter, and hello! I am a big supporter of Emotional Eating. Did your dog just die? Order a pizza AND EAT THE ENTIRE THING. Did your best friend just get engaged to a really hot doctor? You need french fries, brownies, and margaritas. And did your husband choose Wheel of Fortune over wild drunken sex?!? Make Rice Krispies Treats and start to eat the entire tray until you get sick, and then suck it up damnit and finish the tray.


Excuse me, please go away now. I am about to share a very intimate moment with the Rice Krispies treats.

I'm Not Pregnant!

Ralph came home today from work today and, looking very serious, said he had something to tell me. I ignored him. He sat down on the couch next to me and would not go away (some men won't take a hint). Then, he said, very calmly, "Wendy, you are not pregnant."

I snorted. What? He's psychic now?

But no, for possibly the first time in his life, Ralph knew what he was talking about. He told me, "That night we were drunk, we did not make love." [make love?? gag]. He continued, "Wendy, I would not take advantage of you in that way. I love you, and I want this relationship to work." I think he said some more things about "trust" and "true love" but I tuned him out. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. We didn't have sex when I was drunk? How could he possibly resist my overwhelming beauty and sex appeal when I was helpless? What, is Ralph too good for drunken sex?

But yay, at least I'm not pregnant.

What I Will Look Like If I Am Pregnant (Hint: Obese)

I am weighing the pros and cons of pregnancy. It is for the most part easy to identify whether something is a pro or a con. Having a child with Ralph? Con. I will be the first of my friends to have a baby and they will all be uber-jealous? Pro, big pro. But I'm not so certain about the weight gain - is that a pro or a con? On the pro side, I get to eat whatever I want and it is socially acceptable to wear jeans with an elastic waistband. But what will I look like?

I asked my friend Maggie to help me visualize what I will look like when I'm 7-9 months pregnant. Maggie is very artistic (she owns markers) and considered going to medical school when she was a college freshman. Maggie imagined two scenarios.

On the right, we see the "Sexy Pregnant Mama like Angeline Jolie." I gain some weight, all in my belly. On the left, we see gross, obese, miserable Wendy. I gain a lot of weight, everywhere and become Wendy the Walrus (although it looks like I might actually have some junk in my trunk).

Is it just me, or are these drawings total crap? It looks like there's a breast growing out of the side of my face. And in the walrus scenario, my head gets fat. Ok, so my cheeks might get a little puffy but am I really supposed to believe that my head is going to be encased in a protective layer of fat?

It's probably a good thing that Maggie did not go to medical school and became a lawyer instead.

Valentine's Post-Mortem

Ralph got me a Valentine's Day present! I was so excited. So what if it was a day late? So what if he bought me a crappy discounted candy? So what if I had to have a public nervous breakdown on my blog before he realized he should maybe make a romantic gesture? I got a Valentine's present! I'm not a total loser!

I tried to be sweet and grateful, but just look at this thing. This is quite possibly the most tragic piece of Valentine's candy I have ever seen. I am gorgeous, witty and nurturing. I deserve chocolates, roses and diamonds. I might be carrying Ralph's baby, and he gets me a piece of discounted candy? I got better candy from my fifth grade boyfriend!

I might have lost my temper.

I think this crappy broken piece of discounted candy is an apt metaphor for our relationship.

Worst. Valentine's Day. Ever.

Valentine's Day, I knewyou were going to be bad . But, congratulations, you exceeded my expectations. Here is a photo of what Ralph gave me:

















It's nothing. Ralph gave me a big fat NOTHING for Valentine's Day. Let's recap: my husband is desperate for my approval and affection; we finally have a night of drunken sex; I might be pregnant with his child; and then Ralph decides to pass on the whole Valentine's Day romance thing? Are you $%#ing kidding me?

I don't want to be pregnant. I'll get fat and lose my girlish figure. Then I'll have to take care of the baby, and babies smell bad and make a lot of noise. Also, Ralph is really ugly, so if he got me knocked up, the baby will be 50% troll ugly. How can I be expected to love an ugly troll baby?

Dear Period: remember how I was complaining about how much I hate you and how I never want to have my period again? I was lying. I love you. Please come back. Love, Wendy

It's Official.

Nobody loves me. I should just eat a bucket of mud and start talking to myself in public.

I Joined Facebook!

I recently signed up for Facebook. My profile is at Wendy Thecactus. I tried to register as Wendy Cactus - because that is my name - but stupid Facebook would not recognize my last name. It said I didn't qualify for an account or something silly like that. It's like the time I was rejected by eHarmony.

So anyway, I have an account and I think you can find me if you search for my email address - wendythecactus@gmail.com. But I'm still learning this facebook thing, so I'm not one hundred percent certain about that. If you send me a friend request, I will probably confirm the request. (I reserve the right to reject the following "friends": people who are ugly; people who are boring; people who are more famous than me).

Anyway, if you haven't joined up for facebook, what are you waiting for? Facebook is very hip and edgy.

p.s. I was supposed to spend some quality time the past couple of days reflecting upon the possibility that I might be pregnant. I did not. Instead, I ate junk food, got a pedicure, and opened my facebook account.

There Is A Very Strong Possibility I Will Never Drink Alcohol Again.

I suppose I should tell you about what happened yesterday. If you have been reading my blog, you will recall that I am celibate. In order to remain celibate, I've been also trying to stay sober. But I recently realized that I just need to stay sober when I am at bars, parties, etc. - basically, any time or place that I might come into contact with a sexually desirable man.

This means that I can safely drink myself into an oblivion when I am home.


Today, I was determined to be productive. I was going to clean the blinds, vacuum and scrub the bathtub. But first, I decided to improve myself by reading some non-fiction. It's important to be well read and educated.

Did you know you can learn things from books?? I know, I was surprised as well. But in my non-fiction book, there was a recipe for the Chi Chi. I did not know such a drink existed!

I immediately wanted to try a Chi Chi, but I did not have all the ingredients on hand. I could only make a cocktail that involved alcohol, Gatorade, moldy bread and raisins. Otherwise, I just had to drink shots.

This is not a problem - I love shots! I have been told that I do silly, ill advised, borderline dangerous things after I've had 3 or 4 shots. However, I have no first hand knowledge of this allegation because I always black out after the 3rd shot. Today was no different. Do you see that photograph below? That's the last thing I remember and then ...

I woke up in bed with my husband. Holy. Crap. I did not pay much attention during 7th grade sex ed classes (I spent most of the time blushing and giggling and covertly watching the Most Popular Boy) but I do know where babies come from, and I do recall quitting the pill because it was giving me a hairy lip and I don't see a condom wrapper in the trash can...

This is very bad.