I love me some 'b' rated zombie movies.  LOVE them.  I had a good friend a few yesrs ago whose boyfriend was a huge zombie freak.  He ended up getting me hooked on zombie flicks, although after I lost contact with him.  Ever since, I have been an addict.  The more cheesy and bad acting the better.  Prior to him, I was a weird horror flick addicted person.  I freak myself out so bad I get bad dreams.  I know that the flicks are fiction, but I have a really overactive imagination.  I'll hole up in my room and act like a scared three year old.  I really do get an adrenaline rush from blood and guts psychokiller movies. 

I watch Freddie vs. Jason last night, had never seen it.  I know it is a horribly bad make-you-groan movie, but I watched it.  I'll admit it, I enjoyed it too.  There were parts that I physically twitched in fright, other parts that I couldn't tear my eyes away from the screen while I let out little girly whimpers (hopefully inaudible to my boyfriend who rolled his eyes the entire time, yet didn't change the channel when given supreme remote control.)  I hadn't seen a horror flick in quite a while, since Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning.  I saw it in theaters with my pal Dom, and he will never see a horror flick with me again.  I think he walked away with bruises and my high-pitched squeals left him temporarily deaf in his left ear.  It's been even longer since I saw a bad zombie film.  Now that I am unemployed and have endless time to workout and sleep, I feel the need to host a zombie film marathon.  I bet I'll be the only attendant though.  I may need a new hobby.

Wow, I had never considered the common male eating issues.  I have a friend (had a friend, thanks Tim) that had an exercise addiction and an eating disorder who was male, but that obviously is an extreme.  I admit it is difficult to imagine what the stigma is for a male to drop a few pounds without typical male ways.  As a female, I imagine you dudes staddle up to some gym, do a couple of bicep curls and call it good.  The point of the blogs was not the 'healthy' aspect, because I'm disgusted with how unhealthy females have become.  It's normal for me to respect people for obvious reasons: great intellect, good humor, decent personality, but I feel like ladies want recognition for how much self-control they seem to have in the way of eating.  Should I bow to your omnipotent will because you subsist on carrots and mustard and run 5 miles a day?  No, it's akin to someone lying to make friends.  Or, to me it is.  I hit a head yesterday listening to my friend jibberjabber about something so meaningless in the scope of life, but so incredibly hard for me to grasp.  I don't grasp normal healthy eating, I don't grasp the concept of eating to live sometimes.  Somedays they can control themselves enough not to eat, do I appluade?  The recognition they demand for such a "feat" is what I crave days I eat.  It's difficult for them to resist the temptations of food, which in our day, I feel is more taboo than the temptations of the flesh, while I have difficulties justifying eating.  Beyond basic weight control, I have not really come around to the basic common principal that I need to eat to live.  I feel more that someone, a doctor, friends, family, literature, have duped me.  Hearing friends talk about eating only almonds all day feeds this feeling of being lied to.  And jealousy.  Why can she go without almonds all day and I can't?  I want to throw a tempertantrum like a three year old, but I also understand why I can't.  While I read and comprehend the detrimental effects of malnutrition, the real reason I strive for balance in my eating ways is my body.  I haphazardly flew into an eating disorder unknowingly because I felt my body was incompetent.  Now, it will forever remain dysfunctional.  Shrug.  You can't ever go back, but that doesn't mean I don't miss it.  Like smoking.  It's bad for you, but a stress reliever, and when you're stressed, you want a cigarette.  When I'm stressed, I blame food, my body, blah and blah.  It's a weakness, but as humans, we are all weak. 

 Blah, lost the damn thread, stupid thought refuse to remain coherant!!!!

I think competition is the biggest waste of energy ever.  It has never really occured to me that I could lose, at anything so competition has never entered my mind.  I assume that I will outsmart my opponent.  It is a given, like, naturally no one can possibly be a competition for me.  This whole sting of thoughts entered my mind 'cause my friend called me to tell me her new name in aerobics class is Ms. Competitive.  Huh?  We happen to be workout partners and I have never considered her competition, but I guess when we would hit the gym together, she was instigating secret competitions with me.  Weird.  Talk about an insanely low self esteem.  Or, OR maybe I have an overinflated ego.  'Cause when I was thinking about how retarded it is to secretly have a competition with someone who is supposed to be a close friend, I was also racing some chubby who was speed walking down the street.  Subconciously I was trying to out-walk this lady.  Is it justified to secretly race some chubby lady out getting her daily exercise in the persuit of health, yet unjustified to secretly compete with your friend?  Maybe I am a hypocrite.  An egotistical hypocrite. 

I still think competition is a waste.  I would be the person told to race a mile and find the flatest mile to run just to beat someone's slow behind in wits and speed.  I need to know how to handle this competition thing because I am uncomfortable with her chilling on the elliptical trainer next to me trying to out perform.  What if she keels over in an attempt to jog faster.  I'd feel guilty for ever.  Huh, an egotistical hypocrite with a conscience.

If I had gone to prison, I would never go back.  I'll admit it, I'd die in a blaze of machine gun pops and fire.  But first I'd got butt-ass crazy and demand some outrageous stuff, like a helicopter and like, a friggen cotton candy machine.  Only because I'm sure if I was an ex-con, I wouldn't have had the deliciousness of spun sugar in a while.  Running from the law makes me think that maybe you just don't have time to stop off at a carnival for a ferris wheel ride and party foods.  blaze of glory.  I should take proactives step immediately to avoid prison right now to prolong my life and virtue.  The life of crime is easy to get into.

I am so damn excited for the Sopranos on AE that I'm thinking about the life of crime.  Propaganda has got me in it's intriguing grips.  Italians are dangerous.  And HOT.

Sitting in a coffee shop (I'll admit it, it was a starbucks), I ws thinking about the phrase 'flipping you shit' 'cause I use it all the time.  Who came up with this phrase?  I find it slightly distrurbing that my favorite excuse for insulting someone or thing is that I am just 'flippin them shit.'  Was this at one time a literal term, like on a farm?  Like a bunch of cowboys being asses and flipping horse shit on some other poor cowboy and saying 'what?  i'm just flipping you shit.  calm down.'  I'd hate to have shit flipped on me.  If fact, i'd be down right pissed and I'd tackle that pissant and rub their face in said flipped shit.  But, I am always flippin people shit, and it surprises me that people take offense to me joking around.  I always state the shit flipping I am doing, like I it is okay for me to make fun of them, or that I am instantly obsolved of all insults and mean remarks.  So I asked myself what would I NOT mind being flipped with.  Marshmallow fluff.  I wouldn't care if I was flipped marshmallow fluff.  I tried it out at the starbucks, insulting the overly cheery barista boy, and following it up with 'i'm just flippin you marshmallow fluff.'  He gave me the weirdest look.  Either, way I'm not gonna win.  I probably shouldn't say anything.

Literally working on my 11th cup of coffee, I know this because I only brew a 4 cup pot at a time.  This is in hopes that I will stop my coffee consumption at the first 4 cup pot and also because my gigantic glasses hold precisely 4 cups of black sludge with Splenda, no cream/milk/dilutions.  I'm on my third pot, 3/4's done with the cup.  One cup on my coffee is like 3 of someone else's inferior brew.  I want my coffee so strong you cannot see through it; that is the first indication of a good cup, complete opacity.

I was perusing the B4M website and it's insane how much has change and what predictibly has remained the same.  Joe's got a ladyfriend, shiet!  Pheonix sent Ness a hokey pokey Elmo, shiet!  Cavutto still has the same pictures up, shiet!  And Cappy's got herself some bottle-opening Reefs, shiet!  I remember a time when I would spend a good 6 hours on this joint.  Whoa. 

I was thinking about what I want for Christmas, and I want a Sonicare toothbrush.  I have wanted this dental hygiene implement for the past 4 Christmas' and still have yet to receive it.  I also previously asked for a robe all of those Christmas' and ended up breaking down and purchasing it myself.  I really want the Sonicare tooth brush though.  Or some SPD bike shoes.  I think I'm not gonna get the toothbrush again.  Damn. 

Why people quit their amazing high-paying jobs with great benefits and power-tripping priviledges to open a doggy daycare in LA.  You're brain literally tries seeping out of your ears some days and you realize you'd be a hundred times happier and have a good 5-7 additional hours to spend sleeping and you don't actually need that fat bank account.  I was drunkenly stumbling home after a depressingly short yet alarmingly draining work day and I made the above realizations.  I wasn't actually drunk, I was having a moment of extremely low blood sugar caused by my brian trying to focus, thus not leaving my office and all that I could reach was cookies all damn day, and I was dehydrated because my coffee pot is closer than my water jug.  Needless to say, it was a sorry state of mind, but all I wanted to do was get my spin certification and be a Spin Coach.  Spin Coach Chy!  All I'd have to worry about is maintaining a high a perky ass to bounce a quarter off of, and making sure the morbidly obese girl in the corner that is red-faced and sweating like a stuck pig does keel over on her bike and make a coronary run towards heart failure.  That's all.  Life would be good.

My job is just too much stress for no reward.  I cop a huge attitude, and think it's justified because I'm the only one getting their ass outta bed and into work at 6:30 on mornings I don't hit the gym and 7:15 on morning I do.  Yet I'm still there at 5:30, and if it weren't for the fact that I have a gorgeous and great boyfriend who may just want to see me occassionally, I'd be there later.  I have 6 days till Christmas and all I have managed to purchase was a singular leather jacket that I promptly gave to the recipient because the thought of sneaking back to the store, purchasing it, taking it home, wrapping and taking it back to the man that is standing IN FRONT OF ME was too much effort, time and thought.  Here you go, Merry Christmas, done.  I just want to be able to leave my job at work, and enjoy my sisters, my dad and step mom.  I don't want to lay awake in the middle of the night wondering if I forgot someone, something and tomorrow one of my clients is going to call me and tell me their bank account was frozen and they didn't buy presents for their 15 Jersey kids and the mortgage is already in arrears and they no food.  I know I put it on myself, but it don't make it go away. 

I love the constant pressure of work, I know I'll need to be challenged at whatever I end up doing, but at least by then hopefully I'll be making my own hours and be able to use my Mariners knowledge to smack some smarts into Bivasi.  And have the dough to fly my brother out for a week long Mariner's/Yankees baseball binge.  I feel that I have almost mastered tax law, without passing the bar, and I want to learn other parts of law to be able to market myself better while funding my insanely expensive tuition I am anticipating, but I'll never make it to law school if I don't cut back, let alone learn another market.  The rate I'm going, I'll be lucky to see one Mariners game this year, although, they are starting to look remarkably like the Royals right now.  Did anyone see they let go PINEIRO!!!!!!!  And, with my luck, it'll be the RSox against M's playing like they are 29 out 30 ranked MLB franchises on my birthday and I will cry 'cause no Pineiro, no playoff hopes, no REAL baseball in Seatle.  I love baseball.

If I became a spin coach, Spin Coach Chy, I'd probably end up trying to have an intellectual conversation with some gym rat whose concern with bicep measurements was temporarily interupted by his remembering the spin coach has an ass to bounce a quarter off of, and stumbled into my perky cardio bike hell.  He'll think my thoughts on tax and immigration are a come on and I'll end up a statistic.  Maybe I'll stick with law.

The big 'ol turkey day scares me like none other.  Everytime November hits, I'm like a scared child for 3 good months.  There is no other time in which not only is it acceptable to gorge yourself, it is encouraged.  November 1st comes and all the sudden people are spouting off paragraph long menus, intricatedly created dishes with the sole intent to make you loosen your belt, unbutton those jeans, over eat, gain 15 pounds in 37 minutes.  Thanksgiving not only means eating copious amounts of food, it also means eating this in front of others.  I hate eating in front of others, but strangely only around the end of the year.  I don't care if it's family or friends, or complete strangers.  I'd rather sit back like a fly on the wall, plate empty, entirely unnoticed, oking at others as the talk and laugh, all through the endless repeatitive motion of fork-to-mouth, fork-to-mouth. 

This year I had the unfortunately occassion of spending thanksgiving in the company of complete strangers.  I didn't want to be there, I dreaded it like the plague, but attended for a close friend.  A day centered around cooking, eating, socializing.  I was in heaven.  It was complete hell.  I'm obsessed with food in an entirely unhealthy way.  I covet it like a worshipper to a diety; purseing acknowledgement of unwavering respect and adulation, ceaseless journey to finally become worthy of their blessing.  Yet, I am certain I do not need it.  So I fixate. Other people's eating habits become fascinating.  Like I can learn what it is like to be 'normal' just by observing those that are 'normal.'  "She subsists on carbs and jelly, hmmm."  "He eats shakes and wafers, interesting."  Everyday is puncuated by what I ate, what I didn't eat; in other words when I was strong, when I was weak.  I come home and recreate my day for those that ask in what I feel others would think is important.  Everytime someone asks me how my day was, I want to say something along the lines of: "I had miso soup and nothing else, pat me on the back!" or "I can't even tell you everything I ate, I had so much.  I'm depressed."  Purely pathetic.

I intentionally turned down the offer to bring home leftovers, stating instead that my family will bring home plenty, there will just not be enough room.  Knowing that if I did, I'd awake at 1 in the morning, hungry, but not physically.  Hungry only becuase I know there is food , dazed walking to fridge, eating turkey-ham-marshmallowed-yam-cranberry-mashed-potato sandwiches in the dark.  A slim triangle of light seeping from the refridgerator, cutting through the dark kitchen, illuminating me.  A crazed lady with the mentality of an ex-con, recently escaped from starvation penitentiary.  Dramatic, yes.  But aren't we all dramatists; beneath the cranial interiors of the skull, through the gray matter of brains, deep in the firing synapses we create and star in the melodramas of our lives.  My just happens to be on the stage of a plate, pie and cottage cheese my supporting actors.  We sway and twirl in choreographed dances, all saying "i need you/i don't need you."  Geez, I can't wait for Christmas dinner.

Addiction.  My step-Ma introduced me to CSI: Miami and I have an addiction now.  Full fledged.  Day after turkey day is CSI: Miami marathon and I have been watching since, I dunno, 11:00-ish.  I love the horrible acting by David Caruso, he's just so, so, so Barry White-faux-deep-voice-serious-all-the-time fake.  LOVE IT!  And how many red-headed lead characters do you know.  NONE, that's right.  Okay, maybe one,b ut still, they are a minority when it comes to high-drama cop show stars. 

Can we pay beautiful respect to Eric Delko for half a second?  Grr. 

And I've got a HUGE sweet spot for goofy nerds, so I think it's serious infatuation with Ryan Wolfe right now, although, I have to say, he needs more screen time.  He's a dork, he's a smarty, he's a smart-ass! 

CSI: Miami is great.  I'm not a huge t.v. person either, but for some reason I just can't get enough.  Maybe I'm morphing into a couch potato.  I better purchase Tony Little's Gazelle so I can work out during my endless crime show marathons.  I have been known to simultaneously watch CSI the original, and CSI: Miami.  I even watch SVU.  Dweeb.  Ooooo, Horatio's on!

A client called me yesterday and made me feel like the biggest idiot ever.  And I hate that.  I hate feeling inferior, especially in the intelligence area, and double especially when it's a commercial fisherman that is making me feel that way.  He didn't actually say thing and I didn't say anything that would lead anyone that I am lacking in the brains department, but just yelling at someone, losing your cool and all-out shouting makes me feel dumb. 

I pride myself on being extremely cool, dipolmatic, knowledged and even keel when I talk to my clients.  I always feel like another person comes out because normally I'm a ditz, klutz, loud-mouthed goof ball.  But to clients you'd think that I get my kicks out of chess and botany, the most emotion drive outburst is a smile showing teeth at a small child.  This dude yesterday made me lose my cool and it made feel like I'm not good at what I do, or I should be doing something else that doesn't involve communicating with other human beings.  The entire office heard me shouting at this guy, other people were sticking their heads in my office to look at my beet-red face and mouth questions like 'are you okay?' and 'what's wrong?'  Sometime during the conversation I composed myself, lowered my voice and tried to present rationale to this guy.  The whole time he just yells and yells and yells, won't let me tell him how I can help, what he needs to do, he just basically repeats the same three questions and calls me a liar.  Only once did he call me a liar, but boy, that chaps my ass.  Hate being called a liar.  I courteously told him I was tired of listening to him yell, we weren't getting anywhere and would he call back and talk to the owner when he returned from his hunting trip. 

That damn dude called back, was transfered to my attorney and was an entirely different guy.  Sweet as pie, said things like "I am your puppy dog, tell me what I have to do."  "My balls are between my legs, I am scared."  Furious.  So friggen furious, I wanted to start the yelling match all over again knowing he was lying.  The worst was, the attorney got the info out of him, calmed him down and actually made progress.  A day later I feel like a failure.  Why couldn't I have done that?  I know he needed to vent and it's not as cathartic to yell unless the other person is yellng too.  That's where I came in, but a truly successfull person should be able to yell, scream, allow the other person to vent, calm, satiate, and make progress.  I got the first part, now I think I need angermanagment.

The attorney and I essentially played the tax debt equivalent of good cop/bad cop, but if I was truly good at relations, I would have done the whole damn things myself.  So now I feel less-than-average on the intelligence quotient.

if I had the chance to be invisible for one night, it would be Sunday night before the Giants play.  I would sneak in and touch their heinies.  It would be so cool!  I would start with Shockey, then Burress, Kiwanuka, Feely...Then I would sneak into the Patriots locker room and touch Brady's heinie.  And oogle him.  I love me some hot man-toosh.

Although I prefer baseball to football, baseball does not require as much physical fitness.  Football players are always running, and squating and being tackled and that makes for a very nice toosh. 

I love that Sierra mist Cranberry commercial.  So funny.  Made me laugh out loud.  Guess that does constitute funny.

I've a grunter at my gym.  I just so happen to know the dude, and I never noticed his grunting before, but all the sudden, grunt grunt grunt.  All the time.  Drives me crazy!  I've been cracking nasty comments about how weak he is if he has to grunt while working with the free weights, but nothing has stopped.  Come to think of it, I think my gym is being over run by grunters.  A few weeks ago a bodybuilding dude I know showed up to my yoga class class grunting like a drunken rhino.  Soon the whole place will sound like a hog farm.  Sheesh.  What is the fitness world coming to?

The holiday hawk.  Funny crap

Now that is a phrase that I should incorporate into my life.  Or at least I need someone, somewhere to tell someone else a story about me and have that phrase (as part of my description) uttered during that conversation.  As in "So, you know that girl, Chy?  We were heading to that new club for a night out, right? And I show up at her house and she comes out dressed in an amazingly chic and unique outfit that accentuated her eyes, armed with a torch.  I tell you, everytime we hang out, the shit hits the fan."  Or something like that. 

I'd be more intimidating if I spontaneously showed up places armed with a torch.  "Why you carrying a torch, Chy?"  "Oh you know.  It's gonna be dark in about 6 hours.  Just thinking ahead."  Or "Last night I couldn't find my keys in my purse, tonight I brought my own light source.  Or "Firelight is more flattering, duh."  Myriad of rhetorical comments do I carry in my arsenal.  As a 5'2 lady of average looks and above average intelligence, you gotta be snappy with the balderdash.  At least no one will call me unprepared if I'm armed with a torch.  Probably look taller too.

I'm thinking law school.  Seriously thinking this may be my next career step.  Currently I have the extremely impressive (joke) big-wig job of paralegal in tax law, and now I'm thinking that simply isn't good enough.  Better than a paralegal, not to mention more prestigious, challenging and high paying would be to bite the bullet, fork over the hefty pocket change, say good bye to any pipe dream of a social life and pursue the Bar.  So, I'm mulling it over.  Like spicy wine.

I'm concerned with how well I would do in such a highly competitive academic arena that would be my daily life.  I have never felt the need to challenge myself intellectually, and I have nevr been challenged.  This would be an incredibly valuable learning experience, not just as a career move, or step on a path towards a career, but to learn how well I work under this competitive pressure.  I like to think that I am non-comfrontational/competitive, but I know I am.  Professional success acheived by others BURNS me.  I ignite with a fire of jealousy, knowing that I not only could acheive that kind of success, but I could do it better, faster, smarter.  It's not that I thinkt hat I just friggen rule in all respects, but I hold myself to a higher standard.  But essentially, I have done nothing to reach that standard.  Really, every day that goes by in which I do not have a set career path or goal is what I consider a failed day, a waste of time.

One of my clients told me today about his daughter who wanted to become a paralegal, but instead she fell in love, got married and really didn't amount to anything professionally.  Not that I look down on that, but it's not me.  I assured him that I had no aspirations of a personal life.  When I future plan my life (which is a daily occurance), I only envision my professional accomplishments.  I see myself in a profession that I love, that occupies my time, and makes me feel fulfilled.  I don't need dinner parties and social gatherings, not that I would turn them down, but what is important is to feel important in what I do.  Right now, my job makes me feel invaluable, mostly because of my particular situation.  But ultimately, I want to continue that kind of fulfillment thoughout my life.  I won't achieve the same kind of felt effect in other part of my life.  I must show that I amount to something.  I think I would be a great lawyer, and it would challenge me for decades.  It's an ever evolving field, and once passing the bar I can move from tax law to family law to immigration law to corporate law and if I really wanted to make some money and lose all respect for myself, criminal law.  I'm thinking.

I always wanted to write though.  I always wanted to do something in a literary creative field; editing, publishing, journalism, etc.  I do make a damn intimidating and beautiful breach-of-contract letter though.