I am not a girl.

Something about me.

I have learned in my life to accept something about myself. I am not like most girls. At least, I am not like what most girls pretend they are.

Example #1.

I don't know what I weigh. I could care less. I have not weighed myself in YEARS. This is the honest to goodness truth. In fact, the only time I DO get weighed is when I am at the gyno. The nurse weighs me each time I visit. And that's once a year. And when she does, I am not curious about the outcome. I never pay attention. I asked her one time what my weight was, but honestly, I have forgotten the answer. I am always more nervous about the fact that I have hit a point in my life where my doctor is not only sticking his finger in my crotch but other places I was never prepared for when I had the menstruation talk back in 4th grade. No one ever mentions you will also get fingered in the butt at some point in your health check life. Sucks.

I digress, I have no idea what I weigh.

That said I would like to side bar for a moment.

I hate soda and I think it's the downfall of humanity. I do really. I think soda, in itself is the reason for a great deal of the weight gain that many people experience. True, a big mac isn't fat free - but sodas are worse. There is nothing REAL in them. It is a fat making potion. I swear it.
Ok- totally unneeded extra note - sorry - moving on.....

2nd point as to why I don't think I am a girl:

I talk boy. As in the language of boy.

Not like I sound like a man or anything. It's all woman. No adams apple inflection er nuthin. I just don't get all giddy and squeal at things. I hate the fake high pitched voice that some girls use. I am blunt ( most of the time), I swear too much and relate my comments in a boy like manner. I talk boy.

Example: Went to a wedding this last fall. Everyone knew everyone there. Most of the wives/girlfriends had retired to another hotel room to hang and unwind and the men were left alone smoking cigars in a central patio area. They began the boy locker room talk that men do, but would shut up the minute their wives returned. I watched this happen several times. Once the wife would leave, they would resume their dirty jokes, their super foul language, the mocking of their drunk comrades and the smart ass comments. I decided to walk in and sit down with them. True to their past actions - as I opened the door and they saw a chick there they all shut up and reverted to husband chatter. Then on a double take, they saw it was me and all joked - no worries it's Anna and resumed what they were talking about, in boy talk. Because they knew, I talk boy. As I sat there, 2 other women came by to see what was up - the men would shut up and act grown up- when they left they would resume, all while I sat with them and watched. It was like guerrillas in the mist. The monkeys allowed me into their pack. Why? Because I am fluent in boy.

Reason # 3

I hate chocolate. Ok - hate is a strong word. I should say I don't crave it. Not one bit. If I had a choice between vanilla or chocolate, I would pick the invisible 3rd option- vodka. Chocolate is just an uninteresting flavor to me. Don't get me wrong - I have had some pretty tasty chocolate and have been impressed. But I don't worship it. Don't want to throw myself in front of a train for it. Don't hope to hump it, wish to smother myself in it, feel the need to buy it, nor have the inclination to smell it. Nuthin. Nada. My girl wiener is limp over it.

Now these things don't make me a lesbian or a 18 wheel truck driver named Large Marge or anything like that. (I still like me some sweaty pool boys - come on over here Jesus, you hot little import you) - I am just not like many girls I meet and know. I always, always, always feel just a little less girl like around most chicks - except fellow blogger Sam. I have never physically met her - but I sense she talks boy pretty fluently too.

Seacrest OUT!

Ha -I love haten on him.....

Back in action

So you can feel bad for me. It was tough. I was FORCED, yes - really I was pissed I had to go to Hawaii.

I realized something though when I was there.

Work sucks.

I am gonna be a bum and hang out on the beach and drink everyday.

Learned a trick. If you ever make it to the big island - head to the Four Seasons in just north of Kona. They have a public beach there that kicks ass, AND if you are sly enough you can crash their pool right on the beach. I love that shit.

Now, some gratitude.

To the locals who took me and my man out rowing on your out rigger - Mahalo - never could I have paid for such an experience - it pays to pick up hitch hikers in Hawaii.

To the geckos who kept stealing my Daylight Donut stash - I am at peace with you... just keep your little squishy hands off my donuts from now on.

To the giant man who played the ukelele at Huggos... muchas grassy ass - you can sing Somewhere Over the Rainbow to me anytime - Brutha IZ would be proud.

To the folks who pointed out the coolest black sand beach I have ever seen - huge thanks - I think I came a little when we finally got there. Amazing. The sand feels like nothing I can explain and it looks like grainy soot all over your toes when you leave. So cool.

Lastly - to the ancient Hawaiians who named Akaka Falla, Akaka Falls. Thanks. You made my immature sense of humor run on over drive.

Click my little flash badge to the right to see the rest fo the shots - if you care.

Flying to Hawaii

So I am sitting here at John Wayne Airport. Yes, they named an airport after the Duke in OC. Anyway, I am sitting here and I love this airport. It's small, super clean and you can sit at the window and the planes are RIGHT there. From where I am sitting now there is a plane parked in front with a really hot pilot in the cock pit. Yes, I am that close I can verify - captain is HOT.

Anyway - I am going to Hawaii - will type back at you next Tuesday. Pina Coladas here I come.

I have a valium from my neighbor for my flying jitters. I used to get Xanax, love that shit - but all my supplier could get me in a pinch was valium - sooooo not the same. Slept well last night though. Anyway, the flight out will suck because of the take off that you must endure at good old John Wayne. The rich butt heads in Newport where the planes fly over on take off complain about the airport noise (duh - don't buy a house there) so now to appease them, the take off flights go at a much steeper incline and once past the troublesome neighborhood level off QUICKLY - you drop very quickly. TOTALLY makes you wanna shit your pants. Once I flew outta here with a friend of mine who had never experienced it - oh yea, she noticed.

Yeeeee haaaaaw!!!!!!

Two legged dog

There are many things I regret in my life. One of them is not carrying a camera around with me today.

Went to the post office to get me some rent checks as I am a slum lord and it's time to pay the piper. (You see, I am the piper and people are paying me and... oh forget it.) Like I was saying, at the post office and it's a chaotic day. Cars pulling out in front of me every 2 seconds, mean Asian postal employees yelling at me in broken Engrish in their sub par customer service tone what they will and won't do in a certain line. People huddled into silent and frustrated lines waiting and waiting and waiting, while my evil nemesis postal employee whom I always see there that I shall refer to as Fat Bald Korean Man With No Redeeming Qualities stands at an open counter with a 'closed' sign in front of him doing nothing to help the situation. Truly this particular post office is one of the first levels of hell. If it's not, it's a pit stop on a fast track there. Anyway, the place is hopping. A real PO Party.

I am busy fiddling with my PO box keys as the lock on my box (he he, I said 'box') doesn't always function smoothly and sometime I must pray to the PO Gods that all will run smoothly when I notice that it has gotten a bit clamer in the crazy ass post office. The hustle and bustle that once filled my little perky ears had dulled ever so slightly. Enough for me to stop and notice. Like I am a gazelle on the African Serengeti who has paused due to a change in the breeze...

Ok - yeah - that was an over the top description. I digress.

Whatever - it got quiet in the post office and I could hear a little jingle. A cute jingle. I turn and notice that everyone in the building had somewhat stopped to look at this little old lady holding a HUGE box walking in with her Chihuahua. Her TWO legged Chihuahua. As in UNO, DOS... Her little rat pup had no hind legs. But it did have one of those wheel contraptions that holds its hind quarters as it pranced happily along - helping her/his owner send a huge package to Chihuahua kibble to his/her hungry Chihuahua family south of the border or whatever the hell she was shipping. She had the dog dressed in a navy blue sweater, a little bell around his/her neck and I will be damned if it wasn't true - the dog was prancing around with a smile on its face.

Everyone stopped to ooohh... and awwww.... Even mean looking biker dudes wanted to pat the sweet happy dog on the head. Melted your heart. But that wasn't really what I noticed. I noticed how EVERYONE paid attention to this 2 pound dog with 1/2 the leg power and no one - not a single soul offered to help this 100 pound little old lady with her 50 pound package. Not even me.

Lazy old bitch. Carry your own f-ing package.

See? I have a heart of gold.