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.