In case I'm missing...

I had my hair cut 2 months ago. It was not "just a trim". I cut off about 4 inches of my hair; making my hair shoulder-length. I also got more bangs. Thicker, shorter bangs. It was noticeable. At that time, many people complimented my hair cut. It was THAT obvious of a haircut.

Today (2 MONTHS LATER) people are complimenting my NEW HAIR CUT !! I wish I were kidding. Today, at work, several people (that I work with on a DAILY basis) complimented my "new hair":

"Ooooo! I love your new short hair!" Seriously? But it's been 2 months. I don't want to seem ungrateful, but are you fucking kidding me?

"What did you do to your hair? It's cute!" Um...it's been cute for 2 months. 2 months. It's been cute, right? Right?!? Maybe it wasn't. And today it is? Or maybe it isn't cute. Are people fucking with me? What do you mean by "what did I do"...I did it 2 months ago.

"Wow! You got a makeover!" This compliment is my personal favorite because I know the bitch just called me ugly. Yes, dear. The "makeover" I got 2 months ago, just kicked in. I was wondering when the ugly would wear off.

I must be invisible to everyone, and that makes me sad. I tried to tell myself I was transported to a different planet overnight, but I'm not falling for it. I tried to remind myself that I work with a bunch of pod-people, but those same pod-people noticed my hair 2 months ago. So what the hell? I must be invisible. Insignificant. Inferior. Trivial. Incidental. Un-mentionable. Un-seen. Un-heard of...or better yet, never to be heard from again.

I realized that if I went missing, it might take people 2 months to notice. I could be dead or dying, and not until 2 months had passed would anyone bother to wonder. 2 months. That's a long time, right? I'm screwed.

Another sign...

So today igoogle horoscope blabbed on about my job; how I'm worried it isn't offering the security I want, something about benefts and responsibilities, THEN it said...

...you will feel better once you know your new direction...holding on to the past can prevent the next step of your future from unfolding...

Whoa.

I'm so glad my "horrorscope" stopped taunting me...

Finally! A nice Horoscope....

If you've been reading "Angry Ursula", you know that my daily igoogle horoscope has been taunting me. Kim says "Horror-scope". Anyway, today (finally) I got a good horoscope; one that I am going to take as a sign because (get this) all of yesterday and the day before I couldn't stop thinking how much I would prefer to be doing something....CREATIVE.

There are many ways to be creative and it makes sense now for you to explore as many of them as possible. Your penchant for variety allows you to shine as you try different modes of self-expression. . . . you are dancing to the beat of your own drummer, and the ryhthm keeps on changing.

Okay...for the record, this could take months for me to fully realize, but hey, it starts today. Well, actually, it started 2 days ago. This is just my affirmation. Also for the record, I conveniently removed the part where the horoscope warns me that people will try to tell me what to do. Hmph...nothing new there. I will play dumb to their words or ignore them. Wait...this is supposed to be Nice Ursula!

Oh, what was that? You heard me! "Buh-Bye Numbers! Buh-Bye Crapa-faction! Buh-Bye Dead Cubicle!" One day anyway...my horoscope says it's okay.

Jodi is trying to kill me - Part 2

Jodi keeps inviting me to the USC Homecoming Football game. I keep telling her "Thanks, but no thanks" because I would be no fun (as a UCLA Bruin) at a USC game. Frankly, I believe I will be taunted and beaten. They will pour beer on me. Then try to toss me from the stands. Not fun for Ursula.

So Jodi asked me again today, and I said "No. Sorry. I am sure I don't want to go. I know you want me to go but it would be torture for me. Chinese Torture. AND...I might die." To which Jodi says, it would be "character building".

You see that?!?!? My pain and death is CHARACTER BUILDING for ME.

She's trying to kill me. She's trying to kill me. She's trying to kill me.

Stupid Daily iGoogle Horoscope

So last Friday, my daily horoscope flat-out told me to be a "team player" (as if it didn't know me at all). "Fuck that," I said. Team player scheam playaaaaaa. When have I ever....? I thought it was funny, but secretly I was irked. I shook it off, and went back to playing on the internets and stuffing my face with sugar and snacks, like the true TEAM PLAYER that I am.

Then on Monday, my horoscope told me not to try anything new. "Play it safe today," it read. I was starting to get pissy. Duh! Of course I would "play it safe". When have I ever not...? But then I got confused. Was my horoscope telling me that I had NOT been playing it safe and now I need to try? Or was it being sarcastic and mocking my "play it safe" day? You know...like this..."Ha! Humph! Yeah. Play it safe you big, boring dummy. You've got nothing else going for you..."

Okay...then, on Tuuuuuuuuuuuuesday, my horoscope told me to "soften my words" and "don't upset people". Now I'm angry. The stupid igoogle gadget IS taunting me. I don't upset people. Really. I am angry, but everyone knows this, and I think they think it's funny (which p.s. is like mocking me, but whatever). OKAY SO NOW I'M UPSETTING PEOPLE?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? How can it be my horoscope if it doesn't even know who I am?

THEN...today my horoscope says:

Thoughts enter into your awareness that seem to have little to do with what's actually happening. It can take extra effort just to carry on a normal conversation with so much background noise distracting you.

So basically, my horoscope just called me a crazy person. Now I'm pissed. Even though it's pretty accurate...damn it.

Monterey Manning

Monterey Manning is a Sea Water Otter that I bought at the Monterey Bay Aquarium gift shop. His name is Monterey because that is where he is from. His last name is Manning, because he looks like Eli Manning; big nose, wide forehead and a little retarded. Monterey is soft and good for snuggling. Monterey is also good for blogging...I mean, he has his own blog:

http://sea-water-otter-blogger.blogspot.com/

Important Thing I Did Today #2

Today I ate some Haribo Gummy Bears. All red. But first I lined them up on my desk like this:
Then I did a Photo Shoot of my Gummy Bears. Then I decided that they were "The Red Army" and all Chinese. Then one Gummy Soldier fell over and I ate him first.

Today may have been the best day of my work life ever.

Important Thing I Did Today #1

Today I added Seasons 1 through 7 of The Golden Girls to my Netflix queueueueue. Then I arranged them in order at the top of the queueueueeueu.

"Thank for being a frieeeeeeeeend. Travel 'round the world 'n back agaaaaaaaain. Your heart is true. Your a pal and a confidaaaaaaaahhhnt."

When a woman cheats...

I just read this cheesy article in InStyle magazine about Meg Ryan. In it she says that someone once said (about her affair with Russell Crowe and (...no surprise here...) the multiple affairs Dennis Quaid had during their marriage) the following:

"When a woman cheats, it's the woman's fault...
...When a man cheats, it's the woman's fault".

At first I snickered, because how crazy stereotypical is that quote? Men not taking responsibility, the cold woman pushing her husband away...why shouldn't he cheat? She forced him to! Then, ever so slowly, this rage creeped over me as I thought about all the situations where that quote ever so subtly applied to my life (and even the lives of some of my friends).

Now, I'm not just talking about cheating in a relationship. I'm referring to even the smallest mistakes that a couple makes with one another ("You forgot to pick up my favorite cereal at the store!") or the white lies that we tell. I'm referring to all other things in a relationship (besides being unfaithful) for which the woman somehow bears the burden of fault, or is convinced that she is partially responsible.

Example 1. Everyone has been lied to. Think back to that. Did the liar try to tell you that you had something to do with his lie? Does this sound familiar, "I knew it would make you mad if I told you"?

Example 2. You forgot to pick up / drop off / buy something for your significant other. It's your fault. Now what if he forgot? What was his initial response? Did it start with "You didn't....

So I guess I am rageful because I don't want any stereotype to apply to me, but moreover, I am rageful because even in the smallest way, that stupid old- ladies- who-lunch quote, COULD apply to me. I am also rageful because maybe I am the only one who feels this way?

My conclusion is this: there is NO happy ending to this Blog Entry. I have no words of wisdom, no advice, nor even a peppy mantra to put forth. I have only this...

It's not my fault; of that I am certain.

Oh and...hey, Meg Ryan! It's not your fault either.

Warning: Don't Eat The Beauty Drops

I almost ate these:

This weekend, I got a jar of “LUMENE Beauty Drops” as a freebie. I was really excited all weekend because I thought they were something I could eat…I mean, I thought they were vitamins…that I could eat. The drops are orange, shiny and pretty which made me excited to eat them. Also, they have “Arctic Cloudberry” which sounded delicious.

So today at work, I took them out, excited to eat one. When I opened the jar, I thought, “Oh wait. These smell really pretty.” Pretty. Not yummy. Yet I continued to admire the jar, smell the contents and push at the “drops”. I was still planning to eat one.

Then I announced to my friend Jodi, “I’m going to take my beauty drops.”

And she said, “What do they do?”

So it THEN I read the label and it said, “FOR EXTERNAL USE ONLY.”

So finally, I realized the “beauty drops” aren’t for Chubby to eat.

But then I told my other friend, Kim, who also got a jar of beauty drops and she said, “…they have those twisty things on them though…” as if that should have stopped me from eating them. I said, “I still almost ate one.” Honestly, the twisty thing just makes them look like cute goldfish…that I can eat.

So Kim also told my other, other friend, Andrea, who also got a jar of beauty drops, not to eat them. And I told my other, other, other friend Erica.

Anyway, I just want everyone to know… you’re not supposed to EAT the beauty drops.

Don't Touch My Coffee Drink!!! @#&*%!!!

This morning at Starbucks, a chubby man touched my drink.

At the counter where you wait for your drinks to come out, Fat Man picked up my drink, even though he had JUST placed his order, to see if the drink was his. He picked it up 3 different times!!!

"Hey Asshole. It wasn't your drink the first time you picked it up! It's STILL not your drink!"

I wanted to dump my piping hot, venti Americano all over his FACE and scream "Don't touch my coffee drink, fuckerrrrrrr!!!" But instead, I just brushed by him and grabbed my coffee. Seething. Repressed. Caffeine-starved. If I wasn't a coffee junkie, I would have "thrown down"...really. I would have.

Actually, no. I wouldn't have. He was huge.

Find Ursula

Bonus points if you can guess what grade I am in...

Hungry Ursula

I didn't eat dinner last night, which means that as of this morning, the last time I ate was at 3:00 pm yesterday. I am so friggin' hungry that I am eating everything in sight. I've made 2 trips to the office convenience store already. It's only 11:10 am. Don't get too close to the wild hungry animal. It will attack you. Don't put your fingers too close to my face. They look like French Fries to me right now, which sound like a good snack.

Jodi is trying to kill me on March 1, 2009.

Jodi is trying to convince me to run the L.A. Marathon in March 2009 (http://www.lamarathon.com/).

The "running portion" of the marathon is 26.2 miles. I have tried to tell her that I do not want to die of a heart attack. She's not concerned. Apparently, there are medical check points every 3 miles or so. I want to know what happens when I collapse at mile 4.2, go into cardiac arrest while being trampled by 1000s of running over-achievers like Jodi. When she gets to the next checkpoint over 2 miles away, will she even slow down to tell them where I am? And if she does, how will they find my crumpled, beaten body on the marathon course?

Jodi says that I have plenty of time to train. The word "train" really does not compute to someone like me. I have never trained for anything in my life. Any running that I have ever done has been from one retail establishment (think Target) to another (think Cost Plus, IKEA, Costco, Forever 21) but only because I had dinner plans later.

Jodi says, "Think how good you will feel when you cross that finish line!" I say, think how good you will feel when I cross the finish line (I am being optimistic) at 8pm that night, hours after the marathon is over and you have to drive back to shadey downtown L.A. to get me, sweaty, panting and exhausted. You better bring a friend so you can lift my body into the trunk of your car.

I asked if there was some sort of charitable cause we were running for. Jodi said "Empowerment". My reaction: blank stare. All I can see is the white light.

Hyatt Champions Resort, Indian Wells

Woodsie and Boyfriend went to the Hyatt Champions Resort in Indian Wells over the weekend. We only stayed for one night, but it was incredibly fun and relaxing.

I would just like to share the "swag" I scored. The hotel had these wonderful Eucalyptus products that make you smell like a spa; fresh, clean and mossssssy! I think I did quite well...

Yes, I am perfectly aware that "swag" implies that it was given to me as a gift and not "taken" by my own free will, and if anyone uses the word "stealing" here, you aren't my friend. Yeah, so Woodsie has a fetish for "collecting" items from hotels, but don't worry! I have limits. I draw the line at bathrobs, towels and fixtures, but not apples. I love the spa apples that are sweet, delicious and crunchy. Even days later after you had shoved them into your suitcase and driven back to L.A. they are still crunchy. Oh, and I am still smelling fresh, clean and mossssssssy!

Happy Birthday to my Whitey!

Mastercard Commercial starring Michael White

40 Balloons & a Balloon Pump to "decorate" Whitey's Office: $11.93

1 Boston Creme Pie because it's his favorite: $40

Jar of 42 Bouncy Balls because there should always be

42 reasons to bounce a ball: $14.12

Gigantic "Happy Birthday" Banner

because everyone will ask "Is it your Birthday?": $6.51

Wishing Whitey Happy Birthday the Woodsie way

while watching him JUMP on his balloons:

PRICELESS

Ursula's New Moisturizer

Fattie bought new moisturizer.

It's by Curel. It's called "Menopause & Beyond". It smells really, really good. The scent doesn't make me sick or angry (that's why I am posting on Nice Ursula...finally). And it also has grape seed extract which is moisturizing and firming for the skinsssssss. But mainly I bought it because of my new fattie theory: I have early menopause.

So this lotion is going to help me. My skin elasticity will improve and my collagen will increase. The bottle is quite inspirational too. It's light blue and friendly. Also the phrase "Life's Stages" is somehow motivational.

Fattie likes!

P.S. I'm not embarassed of my menopause. In fact, I proudly display my bottle of "Menopause & Beyond" lotion on my desk at work.

Curse of the Fattie (Continued)

Today. Lunch. With Kim Dzwonkfhsdjkfakjh. At Le Pain Quotiajhfsdfksdjk.

She. Dainty open-faced salmon sandwich.

Me. Mediterranean Platter. Not dainty. Gigantic. I didn't know. As usual. Why me?

Curse of the Fattie

So I have a problem (yes...ha ha ha...another one...shut it). Every time I go out to a nice restaurant I accidently end up ordering something that just happens to be the LARGEST plate of food on the menu.

See Exhibit 1. "Sex and the City" Brunch with my favorite girls at The Hungry Cat on June 1. I ordered "The Platter" which the skinny bitch waitress described it as "small" and enough for "one". Liar! Note that "The Platter" is so large it has to be placed in the CENTER of the friggin' table. At least it was Atkins. And yes, I ate most of it. I gave up on the last mussell though. I couldn't eat it, but I am still thinking about it. What's wrong with me?

Okay. But now cut to the following Sunday, June 8. Brunch with my sweet boyfriend at Ivy at the Shore. Sidenote: We had a gift card (thank goodness). With my ordering problem I shouldn't be allowed to look at a menu let alone go some place pricey on a whim.

See Exhibit 2. I ordered "Fish & Chips". That is all. Fish and Fucking Chips. That's what the menu said. "Fish and Chips". Seriously. Isn't this supposed to just be a basket with fish sticks and french fries. Why does the plate of food make me look so small? Which I'm not. So logically, if I am not small and the plate of food looks bigger than me...then it really is GIGANTIC.

Really. How is it possible that I HAPPEN to order the LARGEST thing on the menu two weekends in a row? Why? What's wrong with me? Why is Fattie cursed?

Happy Birthday Jodi!!

In honor of her 29th birthday

Jodi is performing her signature booooooooooty dance!

Happy Birthday Luv-ah!

Scene 1: Penguin Man

A dramatic scene by Woodsie (inspired by Kim D).

SCENE. A sunny beautiful day in a random strip mall parking lot. Woodsie, Irina and Sarina are climbing into a dirty Ford Fuckus parked in front of a Penguin's Ice Cream. Woodsie - chatty and in good spirits - is slightly disheveled from cleaning up the trash and miscellaneous items from the passenger seat and floor of the car. Woodsie walks around to the driver's side of the car. A dusty man in his mid-30's emerges from the ever-quiet Penguin's.

PENGUIN MAN. (Scowling with stinky stink stink face. Speaking in lazy broken English because he hasn't moved all day). You park here. Next time. I tow you.

WOODSIE. (Calmly). Excuse me?

PENGUIN MAN. You cannot park here. I tow you.

WOODSIE. (Confused but still calm). What? Why?

PENGUIN MAN. You no go here. I tow you.

WOODSIE. But I went to that restaurant.

PENGUIN MAN. I see you. You no go here. I tow you.

WOODSIE. But it's all the same building. Why can't I park here?

PENGUIN MAN. They have own parking. I tow you.

WOODSIE. (Still in good spirits). Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't know they had their own parking. I'm sorry!

PENGUIN MAN. I tow you. I see you. I tow you. You no go herrrrrrrrrre. (Penguin man makes a snarling noise).

WOODSIE. (Calm but determined to make light of the situation). I'm sorry. I didn't know.

PENGUIN MAN. I tow you. I tow you.

(PENGUIN MAN Slowly lurks back into the always-empty Penguin's because Pinkberry is better, and Baskin Robbins has more flavors, and at Cold Stone they sing when you tip them. Snarls to himself and makes a noise like Golum from Lord of the Rings. Wrinkles his face like an old lady.)

PENGUIN MAN. I tow you.

WOODSIE. (No longer calm. No longer confused. No longer in good spirits.) I SAID I WAS SORRY!!!!! FUCKER!!

END SCENE.

Angry Little Asian Girl By Lela Lee

Who does this remind you of?

Urthalla

This morning at Urth Cafe, the girl who took my order asked for my name to write on the ticket. She spelled it "Urthalla".

OMG. At Urth Cafe, my name is Urthalla. Get it? Urthalla!?!?

Puts a smile on your face, doesn't it?

The 5 Life Purposes of Kim Dzwonkowski (formerly Helms)

We all need to be reminded from time to time that our lives have purpose. Today my good friend, Kim Dzwonkowski (formerly Helms) most needed this reminder because her brain disorder temporarily prevented her from remembering that she has many life purposes; more than the top 5 I have listed below.

Life Purpose #1
To be an actress who is comedic, entertaining and stunning.

Life Purpose #2
To be a muse for many people, including but not limited to, Frank Dzwonkowski and Ursula Sherwood. We would suffer and shrivel up without her.

Life Purpose #3
To overcome her brain disorder; or more specifically, to show that great art can originate in those suffering from a brain disorder.

Life Purpose #4
To write and create many, many novels, poems, screenplays and articles that will inspire and mesmerize.

Life Purpose #5
To have superior, beautiful, intelligent children with Frank Dzwonkowski and to give meaningful purpose to the back seat of Pearl-Lee.

BONUS Life Purpose
To be a good friend to those of us who would otherwise be severely handicapped or lesser human beings without your stable advice, non-judgmental love and balanced soul.

New Neighbor Lady, A Sign from the Heavens (Finally)

Tonight New Neighbor Lady and I came home at the same time. She pulled in first. I slowly crept my car down the driveway at 5 mph (I don't even drive that slow around children). I was timing my arrival so I could finally see New Neighbor Lady's evil face.

Oh thank you, thank you, sweet Baby Jesus, Ganesha, Allah, Abraham and happy, happy Buddha!

New Neighbor Lady is Asian. My people. I heart New Neighbor Lady. I heart her loud, evil, taunting ways. We may never be friends, but somehow, this means that all is right in the world.

And you know what, I have a feeling...she hearts Angry Asian Girl too.

New Neighbor Lady is Taunting Me

I went to sleep last night around 11:00 pm to the sweet sweet noise of drilling and hammering against a wall coming from the apartment of evil New Neighbor Lady. I woke up this morning at 6:00 am to the sweet sweet noise of New Neighbor Lady hammering. Still?

I got out of bed and greeted New Neighbor Lady by going into my bathroom and slamming the door. HARD. Silence followed. Then after a while, I ran the shower. She ran the shower. I got into my shower quietly. She started to open and slam the shower door several times. Then she started to open and slam her bathroom cabinets and the toilet seat.

She's taunting me, right? Right? Or have I finally lost my mind to this new version of Chinese Torture? Chinese because...well know...my people?

Fattie (finally) Destroys a Pair of Jeans

This morning while leaving for work, I bent over to pick up my purse and my jeans ripped along my inner left thigh. You'll be surprised to know that even with my fat bubbling out of the tear to meet the cool draft in my apartment, I calmly went to my laundry basket, picked out (and by that I mean sniffed out) a pair of pants and changed into them.

Then Fattie went to the doughnut shop and bought a large chubby pastry.

I hate my new neighbor

The apartment next to mine was vacant for months until about a week ago.

At first, I was sad to learn that my last neighbor was gone because he was Asian (my people). Then I became bitter because he didn't say "good bye" (rude!), even though I can't remember his name. Then I found relief because I really believed that he was cooking dog in his apartment. You know, because he's Asian? That's what my people do.

Anyway, a new lady moved in (suckered into the overpriced rent) and on Day 1 of her tenancy, the annoyances began.

First she parked a gigantic U-Haul Truck in our driveway blocking all 16 units from parking their cars. Not so nice when parking is sparse on my crowded street. Also not so nice when all she was unloading was a coffee table and a mattress. Hello Princess! Her only saving grace was the fact that she was friendly with the immigrant day laborers she hired. Although let me mention here, my sweet Mexican neighbors were...well...let's just say NOT approving.

Note: up until this point, I take full responsibility for being a mean, judgemental bitch.

Then, this morning at 5:45 am, new neighbor lady decided to begin heavy construction in her apartment. There was thumping, crashing and pounding of the walls and floors that lasted for a good 45 minutes. I was jolted awake and immediately plunged into gloom and (of course) anger.

So the gloves are off, bitch.

I'm going to start my nit-picking at your car. This is L.A. Nice "Outback Subaru 4 Wheel Drive". Let me know how the off-roading is on Venice Boulevard, dumb ass. Oh, and how do you like the "outback" of Culver City?!?!?!? Did I mention she has hung those cheesy Mardi Gras beads from her rear view mirror? No doubt to remind herself (and poor me) of the slutty weekend she had in Vegas about 25 years ago. Surrender the fantasy already!

Now, let's talk about the fact that new neighbor girl is the size of a hobbit and wears those "height-enhancing" shoes that look and sound like cement blocks when she walks. It is torture when she climbs the stairs to her apartment.

But here is the the worst part: despite her teeny tiny size she sounds like a behemoth trapped in a hall closet WHENEVER she moves around her apartment. I wasn't going to bring it up because she just moved in, but someone needs a lesson in moving gracefully.

Speaking of lessons. Lesson #1 of moving in next to Ursula - don't hammer your walls to hang your damn pictures at 5:45 in the morning.

Screw You Organics-To-Go

Yesterday, I made the very sad mistake of purchasing a "Cheese Plate" from Organics-To-Go. When I opened the package I saw that the cheese glistened like the shiny plastic of a toy Tonka Truck. The rubber cheese was fake; as in sealed in an air-tight aluminum packaging and stored on a shelf in an un-refrigerated warehouse in Norco (which by the way, is a small town in California that constantly smells like cow manure because of the cows) then sent to Organics-To-Go via UPS Ground 5 day service, and sold to me...the yuppie fool.

My final realization came when I went to Starbucks this morning and for HALF the price of that at Organics-To-Suck, I got myself a REAL cup of coffee. I was shocked by the rich, soothing, delicious taste of a Starbucks Americano, and jolted back to reality. I realized I had almost succumbed to the canned organic brainwashing of Organics-To-Go-To-Hell, just because it's the closest place to buy food from at office.

Therefore, I hereby officially refuse to set foot in Organics-To-Go. You are on my list, Organics-To-Go. You faux-earth-friendly-no-preservative-health-loving-got-you-fooled-yuppie-monkey restaurant. I will never enter your premises again, unless it's to laugh at the other yuppies getting sick from the fake cheese, to mock your perverted fancy decorations or to steal a maybe-maybe-not recycled napkin to wipe my...well..you know.

Happy Birthday Erica!

Happy Birthday to our Special Tinkers!

And here's to the Pittel-Tink Pout!

No one pouts better than our Erica (So Golden) Nugget!

Organics-To-Go

The building I work in has a little cafe called "Organics To Go". It's very clean and shiny. They put up posters with informational quips about eating organic, healthy, pure food. The posters have photos of friendly, ethnically diverse people. We should all eat good pure food. They have colorful, artsy furniture. They have a salad bar. They have special water, and special chips, and a fancy fruit basket. Everything is organic.

This morning, while getting my usual cup of seemingly organic coffee I noticed the Organics-To-Go staff preparing food for the day. There were opened CANS of food behind counter. And not just your regular sized can of beans. I'm talking about the gigantic can of beans that you buy at Costco because you have 8 kids to feed, and that is how you save money. The gigantic can of corn that ends up on a shelf at the 99cent store because it is so frighteningly BIG.

I realized that all of the seemingly organic food at Organics-To-Go WAS COMING OUT OF A CAN!!!!

Now I don't mean to state the obvious but doesn't canned food imply chemicals and preservatives, and organic food imply no chemicals and no preservatives? And not to beat a dead horse but how can Organics-To-Go be pure and organic if it comes out of a can?

I hate being right

I am pessimistic.

I expect the worst. I expect that people will fail me. I know that humans make mistakes, so I should just expect them. I know that people make poor choices. They can't move on. They love reverting to the past. They are selfish. They are manipulative. They are hurtful. They are predictable. So I predict disappointment. I predict hurt. And you know what else? I predict I am right.

But let me confess something here. Let me tell you one absolute, unchanging truth about myself...

I am always waiting to be proven wrong.

Who really wants to be a crazy, cynical bitch? I might hate being proven wrong but I loathe even more being right.

Now I know...it doesn't take a medical professional to point out that I must come from some sort of dysfunctional background; that I have trust issues, and anger issues, and that I project my own fears through my pessimistic opinions onto...well...everything. Yet, inside me, there is always a silver lining holding out hope that my cynicism is not legitimate. That there are exceptions. That I might be wrong.

Well, my good friends, there has been a build up of several days upon several months, but my cynical fears came true again in people. Today I realized after putting these days and months together that I was right. Again. I hate this. The disappointment I expected...it came. Damn it. The same hurtful actions I predicted in people were made, just as I guessed that they would.

So I post this here...because it needs to be said about myself...I hate being right.

For the love of God, Allah, Abraham, Buddha, Ganesha, ANYONE...
I hate being right.

Who Belongs to this Cup of Water? Part II

Someone is taunting me. Someone left a cup of water (just like the one in my previous blog) on my desk.

Gross.

I almost DIED at lunch time

Today I went home for lunch, and while driving on Robertson, a white car in the lane to my left pulled into me, running me off the road and almost killing me. I know it happens all the time to all of us, so why should I care, but her car was literally inches away from my face (ie. the driver's side door).

I slammed on my brakes and swerved to avoid death. Then I honked at her. A lot. And for a long time. She had wandered more than halfway into my lane, before she realized what she had done. NOTE: she was NOT using her turn signal.

Now, I would have let it go but she didn't even acknowledge what she had done; not even with the courteous apology wave. So I pulled up next her at the first red stop light. I was still honking. I motioned at her "Hello?" Nothing. No response. We drove further. Stopped again. I honked. I motioned at her AGAIN. She saw me. Still nothing.

So here's my thinking, if you ALMOST kill someone by running them off the road, you should give them the courteous "I'm sorry" wave.

Once, this guy in a truck almost ran me off the road, and he not only waved, but yelled "Sorry!" through his window (so loud I could hear him) and also gave me a peace sign. That is the ideal response to give while driving if you almost murder someone.

So lady...I wrote down your license plate to post here for the world to see.

If anyone sees her, give her a honk for me.

White Toyota Corolla (newer model) - License Plate 5LRE785 - driven by a shorter, mid-50's, Caucasian woman with dark brown hair styled like Meryl Streep in "The Devil Wears Prada". Yeah, I took the time to notice her hair, but it was quite lovely, okay? Honk anyway!!

My Glorious Monday Morning

There's nothing better than a Monday morning meltdown on your way to work.

Honestly, I make every effort everyday to wake up on time, drive to work calmly and breeze through my work day. This did not happen today.

At 8:25 am, I dropped my peace of mind on the floor of my car while scrambling through my purse for my debit card and thinking, "All I want is a strong cup of coffee from Starbucks. I love my purse. It's new. It's black with braided handles. It's stylish and not big so I can use it all the time. It doesn't hurt my shoulder. Why hasn't anyone complimented by new purse? The lining is pretty. I'm not mad at the purse. Where's my debit card? All I want is coffee from Starbucks."

By the time I find my card, I have broken a frustration sweat and called myself an "asshole".

There. Right there. That moment right there. That, my friends, is the beginning of my glorious Monday meltdown.

So I head into Starbucks. Boyfriend stays in the car to read. I shouldn't be long....and I'm not. I see the long line but I'm insistent, "All I want is coffee from Starbucks." At this point, I'm scrambling through my mind looking for peace and optimism (forgetting that this asshole dropped it on the floor of her car). "The line will move quickly," I tell myself.

I stand behind this sweet, crusty, old man who is a regular...and a regular yapper. He once lectured me on the secret $1 cup of coffee from Starbucks. "It's a buck a cup." This nice man did NOT even speak to me, but I've already had (in my mind) the tantrum I plan to have if he DOES talk to me. "Hey! Fucker! It's a "buck a cup" at the donut shop next door. It's a "buck a cup" because there's only one friggin' sip of coffee in it. DON'T TALK TO ME!!!!!!"

I huff out of Starbucks - without coffee. I want to be able to go back there one day and not be embarrassed. You're an asshole, Ursula. I get in the car. Poor boyfriend. He knows I've lost it. I think he looked over his shoulder expecting to see my peace of mind on the sidewalk. "No coffee?" I rant about the old man. Side-note: boyfriend is reading a peaceful book about meditation.

The drive to work is quick (lucky for my boyfriend), but I (naturally) made snide remarks to every driver I see; especially the poor woman in a small black sporty car with the license plate "2SEXI4U". Boyfriend pointed it out. Poor guy.

BOYFRIEND: I hate people with personalized license plates.
ME: Me too.
BOYFRIEND: 2SEXI4U (Snicker) I hate that.
ME: (Finally noticing stupid license plate). Gawd! How pathetic. Five bucks says she's over 40 and struggling with the fact that she's lost her youth. Yeah. Over 40 and in Jenny Craig. Bitch. Or better yet, that's the plate you get when your husband leaves you for a younger woman. Women can have a mid-life crisis too, you know. It's called my husband is fucking his secretary so I'm going to get this license plate to try to convince myself I'm somewhat attractive even though it just tells the whole world I am over 40 and my husband is not fucking me.

Oh shit. I am an asshole.

Boyfriend and I get to work. Boyfriend is a champ telling me it's okay to stress out. It happens and I'm not an asshole. It helps, but it's too late. I still have no coffee from Starbucks and now I think every car in the parking structure is trying to run me over. Fuckers.

I head into work to really start my day...

Don't worry folks, I'm in therapy, and my peace of mind...it's waiting for me in my car.

Road Rage

On my way home from work last night, I was tortured by a middle-aged balding man in a black Honda Pilot (ie. SUV piece of crap), and if I wasn't so ANGRY, I would have written down his license plate number to post here (yeah, fuck his privacy rights).

So anyway, I was driving behind him through a quiet residential neighborhood on a road with two lanes and plenty of available street parking. He was driving (no joke) 5 mph in BOTH lanes. There was no traffic in front of him. There was space for him to pull over. And if he wasn't such a friggin' road HOG, room for me to pass while he snailed his way through the rest of his life.

Surprise! I lost it.

When he finally s-l-o-w-l-y pulled over to park (not to let me pass, stupid inconsiderate jackwad). I pulled up next to him, rolled down my window and (note: I have never done this before in my life) screamed like a banshee:

"ARE YOU STUUUUUUUUUUUPID ????"

There were 3 great things about this moment:

1. His window was down - so he heard me.

2. People on the sidewalk watching this man, heard me.

3. I screamed so loud and so hard I slobbered all over myself and the passenger seat of my car that the only thing left to do was laugh.

This is my boyfriend...Part 1

This is my boyfriend in Joshua Tree National Park. In this video, he proves that he can conquer the boulders of Joshua Tree.

Too Angry

So sometimes I am angry that my angry blog is so angry.

I was having second thoughts about posting my rage for all to see. My BFF Sarah confessed that even she was taken aback my anger. Her words: "It's toooooooooo angry." And she's known me since 9th grade. Someone give her a medal. Seriously.

But then I realized I could have a nice blog too. After all, I am both angry and nice. I can hear my good friends snickering but even they know it's true.

So check out my nice side on http://niceursulablogger.blogspot.com/

I haven't posted anything yet (stop laughing at me) but I will. Because I am nice. And angry. But nice. Really. Okay...who is that giggling at me?

My Hero, Mr. Charles Griffin

Mr. Charles Griffin was born at 24 weeks. As you read this, send out some good thoughts, prayers and wishes for little Charlie and his parents (friends of Sarah's).

Here's to little Charlie who will one day use those little hands to throw a ball and break a window, pull a little girl's hair on the playground, fingerpaint and perform in the school play.

Day 9: Why Won't Someone Pick Up Their Crap

IT'S GONE!!!

Women of the World - - You Disgust Me

Okay. So not all of us are gross but it has to be said - some of us just are.

It is pretty much a daily occurrence in the office building where I work for some woman to (and I did not come up with this phrase but it is the MOST accurate) "blow it up". Now look, I can understand stink-iness because let's face it - who hasn't had a scary meal once in a while. Milk goes bad. Fruit can be sour. Sometimes you can only afford to eat at the Roach Coach. And hello...anyone heard of PMS? BUT SERIOUSLY...can there be at least one golden rule?

FLUSH.

Today (and this is so FOUL FOUL FOUL that I can't believe I am even putting it in words) one of the ladies' bathroom stalls looked like something was GROWING out of the toilet.

Hello!?!?! How does it get that way? Who is this person? Why why why can't they FLUSH it away? Oh shit, is she coming back again tomorrow? Did anyone see her leave the stall? Where am I going to go the bathroom? Oh no...is the smell following me back to my desk?

So here it is. To the lady who can't flush...you embarrass me. Your behavior is up there with women who cry to get what they want (hello use your fucking words), women who don't know how to dispose a sanitary napkin (why are you making me go here), women who call/email/stalk their ex-boyfriends to tell them they miss/love them (jeeeeeeeeeesus, pull yourself together), and women who pee on the seat (how many times do you have to miss before you realize you have no AIM).

YOU EMBARRASS ALL WOMEN. I really believe that you just set us all back 10 years. It's a wonder they let us vote. Now I need to go burn one of my precious, expensive bras because you can't behave. And just for the record, I'm pretty sure Gloria Steinem always flushed.

P.S. If you don't know who that is, YOU EMBARRASS ME.

Day 8: Why Won't Someone Pick Up Their Crap

IT'S STILL THERE!!!

Day 5: Why Won't Someone Pick Up Their Crap

It's still there.

WTF.

Day 4: Why Won't Someone Pick Up Their Crap

It's still there.

Seriously.

This is un-fucking-believable.

Day 3: Why Won't Someone Pick Up Their Crap

It's still there.

Who belongs to this cup of water?

Someone in my office has left a cup of water and one green peanut M&M on the floor of our file room. (Image courtesy of Morgan Bleuel).

Rumor has it, this pathetic snack has been on the floor of this file room since last week. I was out sick so only first noticed it on Monday. St. Patrick's Day. Grrrrrr. Okay, someone point out the HILARIOUS fact that the M&M is green, like St. Patrick's Day. Maybe the 'friggin resident Leprechaun did it. Maybe if I clean up the leftovers of someone's miserable meal a pot 'o gold will appear. That's right. I wrote "o" instead of "of". Artistic license bitch. That's how I'm going to mock St. Patty's Day.

ANYWAY........by today, Tuesday (let's call it Day 2 of Why Won't Someone Pick Up Their Crap), I couldn't take it anymore. I sent out the following email to my co-workers:

Someone has left a cup of water and one (lonely) green peanut M&M on the floor of the file room in the east wing of the office. This cup of water and its companion M&M have been on the floor in this file room since late last week.

Naturally, there are several concerns:
1. Someone could trip, spill the water and potentially hurt themselves or one of Annie’s organized files.
2. Who frivolously wasted good chocolate?
3. Who eats off the floor in a busy office anyway?

For the record, no apology is needed, no one is angry or disappointed, nor does anyone need to CLAIM these items by responding to this email.

Just pick up your crap.

Ursula

So far most of the responses have been "LOLOLOLOLOLOL" or "HAHAHAHAHAHA". To the few people who told me that they love me, THANK YOU. Really. That's all the angry woman needs to hear.

My favorite response so far has been from Ken who pointed out that my email "implies" that I am angry even though it says that I'm not. Yeah, so? Pick up your crap.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

So there's a lady at my work who has tried to kill me twice.

Once I was walking in the parking lot and she decided she needed to park where I was walking. She almost hit me. Really. I'm not exaggerating. And don't laugh because I almost died. P.S. There were millions of other spots to park in, but I guess the other spots didn't have an Asian girl for her to run over.

The 2nd time she closed the elevator doors on me. Then, even after I got into the elevator alive and stared at her in disbelief - she said nothing. That was over Christmas. Happy fucking Holidays. Really. I almost didn't make it to 2008.

So today I see my Asian Girl Serial Killer and I decide "Namaste. New Beginnings. I'm going to smile at her." She smiles back. We get into the crowded elevator and she starts to look me up and down. I think "Get ready. She's going to eat you for a small snack." I know it's not relevant, but this lady is...um...bigger.

She says "You're not wearing green."

Huh?

"It's St. Patrick's Day and you're not wearing green. I guess you're going to get pinched."

Okay...pause. How am I supposed to respond to this? She's being friendly about it. Teasing but not in a I-wish-I-could-skin-you-alive sort of way. But I'm beginning to feel like an abused child. Is Mommy mad today? Is Mommy going to beat me? Why is Mommy driving the car towards me? Why didn't Mommy dress me in Green?

Also - not to point out the obvious because it's not relevant but it is - has she REALLY looked at me? I'm Asian. Are my people supposed to participate?

So I responded (loudly because I really have no control). "Yep. I guess I'm going to get pinched. But maybe I liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike being pinched."

Top 'o the morning to 'ya, bitch. Wanna be friends now or what?