Hot People Feel Dirty Sometimes (and not in the good way)

So, I was absent-mindedly checking my blog analytics this morning. As some of you may remember from that cryptic post of approximately 5 months ago, my blog analytics allow me to see what search terms people have used to find me on google. Sometimes it's a no-brainer that they're looking for me - they'll search things like hotmisst or hot in 6 months blog or something like that. Sometimes, I'm not sure what they're looking for; when they search things like why did people use to ware capes and white tights male dancers, I'm genuinely unsure of what they hoped they'd find. Other times, I know exactly what they're looking for. Today, I found this (you might have to click on it to read it properly):


















But, for those of you who don't read teensy tiny writing, what you're seeing there is big boobs red bra. Someone, somewhere in North America, was looking for someone with big boobs and a red bra...and they found me. And faithful readers will know, I delivered. In conclusion, there's a very good chance that someone in North America was jerking off to my boobs.

...


Yuck.

So, guys...does this mean i'm hot? Because if THIS is what hot feels like, I can do without it. I recognize that this is partly my fault for having a picture of my big boobs in a red bra posted on the internets, but my culpability in the matter is doing nothing to relieve this slightly sticky feeling I'm encountering right now.

Because if I get right down to it, this isn't really what I had in mind when I started talking about being hot. Sure, I wanted to have some sex appeal, but I was never really interested in being an object in this way. I wanted people to desire me (or desire to be like me) because of some kind of confident je-ne-sais-quoi, not because of an accident of anatomy.

I know I sound like one of those girls who looks like a model and complains because "she can't help the way she looks...she just wishes that sometimes, men would leave her alone," but I know I don't look like a model...and once upon a time even this kind of attention would have been satisfactory to me. Well...perhaps the fact that it is no longer satisfactory (it is in fact unsatisfactory) is a good sign. No?

Hot People Clean Up Their Acts

Once upon a time, about a year and a half ago, I excused my drunkenness and the occasional resulting blackouts by saying that...hey, I remember the IMPORTANT things. I think I continue to excuse that behaviour in my slightly-younger-than-now self because it was occurring at a time in my life when I was emerging from a lengthy period of hazy mediocrity and the fun I was having on those evenings was bordering on legendary. And, to be honest, it was shortlived; I think that was the last (or at least, amongst the last) time that I blacked out.

Until last weekend. And for some reason, I'm not really inclined to excuse myself from that particular blackout. Perhaps because I'm slightly older...but probably not. It happened innocently enough. I accepted a few drinks made by a trustworthy friend (I say trustworthy to absolve him of any culpability here. Everything that happened here is my fault). I knew what was in them...including the sizeable shots of tequila. I also, in an effort to be gregarious, imbibed one or two shots of tequila. And then we cabbed to the dance bar. And then I don't remember anything afterwards. The rest of my night has been pieced together by a series of witnesses. And it causes me to shake my head. Vigorously.

A friend demonstrated my dancing (?) that evening. Face. Palm. I like to think of myself as a pretty good dancer. And when I'm in my usual state of comfortable buzz at the bar, I frequently enjoy myself by laughing at people who just haven't got it going on. Examples of this might include the cougars two-stepping to Will.i.am last Friday, or the trio of girls awkwardly grinding with each other when my boyfriend and I went to hear the final performance of one of the djs in the area we think is kinda fly. Those are the people I laugh at. And I became one of those people on that decidedly uncrowded Saturday night.

Also, I drunk-dialed my boyfriend who was sleeping soundly after a hard day of work while I pickled my liver and gyrated awkwardly. I think I did this from a snowbank I'd fallen in. I suggested that if he were awake, then he should call me. If he were not awake, then he should remain asleep and forego the phone call. Clearly, I'm a genius. I may have waited for him to call back for a few minutes. Thank goodness I gave up and walked home, because if I'd waited there all night, I'm sure the blue-haired biddies tottering off to church the next morning would have discovered a splayed-out Miss T Popsicle.

The pièce-de-resistance of the whole evening, thank goodness, was witnessed only by my cat. I vomited. But where? I'm actually too ashamed to say. Rest assured, though, that it was not in a garbage can or a toilet or any other receptacle appropriate for vomit. I don't remember the actual act of vomiting, but I was horrified to find it when I woke up. Ugh.

And this is what I KNOW happened. To whom did I speak? WHAT DID I SAY TO THEM? Gawd! When I was doing my undergrad, a guy I knew in residence produced a number of business-card-looking things. They were apology cards, with a generic apology to account for the usual amnesia associated with the binge-drinking. And I feel like I need a stack of them right now. And I don't think that's acceptable. Or hot.

Now, the general response to an evening like this is the ol' faithful "...and I'll never touch another drink ever again." I think we all know that would be false. But I think a certain amount of responsibility is in order so that I can maintain that comfortable buzz without the uncomfortable awkwardness I'm feeling every time I see someone who might have been there. I hate weeks like this.

Hot People Plan for the Future

Ok, before you start thinking that my penultimate post actually had some truth to it, stop panicking (like I would be). It's just that it's January, folks. Time to evaluate the past and plan for the future, hotness-wise.

It seems I was once again a steaming pile of failure at keeping my New Year's resolutions for 2010. Of the 5 that I had made, I managed to ACTUALLY only keep one - be employed. I've already discussed my feelings about plan ab-tastic and how it will continue into the future, but the remaining ones were sorely neglected. I can neither speak french fluently, nor reliably play any songs on my guitar. And though I downloaded all album suggested last year, and enjoyed them, I still have a soft spot in my heart for the truly terrible. Matchbox 20 and Hootie and the Blowfish still command a few bytes of space on my ipod.

But instead of abandoning these resolutions and languishing in my continued failure at being hot, I've come up with a cunning plan for this year's resolutions. I had some drinks with a few friends just over a year ago, and one of them finally said to me, "You know, the only thing that all hot people have in common is that they mostly just do whatever the hell they want." As a result, I've come up with 4 new resolutions that will catapult me, hopefully by January 2012, to a state of extreme hotness (or, doing-whatever-the-hell-i-want-ness). They will also, I believe, help me achieve those failed resolutions from last year as well.

1. Drink more. I have a two-pronged attack here. First of all, drinking more really means drinking more things that I like (and consequently, less of what's just ok). So, no more Rye & Diet Coke at the dance club in town just because it's an easy thing to remember. 2011 will usher into my life more wine, hard cider, and vodka/soda/lime. Prong two will involve making more cocktails at home in an effort to find my own signature drink. Plus nothing's hotter than a well-stocked bar, no? My liquor cabinet already features 4 different kinds of scotch. What else is a must-have, I wonder?

2. Eat more. This may sound counter-intuitive; just work with me here. I've spent much of the last year almost literally run off my feet. As a result, I make very few of my meals at home. As a further result, I have no leftovers to take to work. And as a concluding result, I frequently eat gross microwaved dinners for lunch, thus consuming pounds and pounds of salt and chemicals on a daily basis. So when I say eat more, I actually mean eat more FOOD. Like, food in the Michael Pollan sense of the word. This will be difficult, since, as I've mentioned, I'm pretty much run off my feet. Sooo....

3. Do less. The last 10 months, since moving to Northern Ontario, have been a massive exercise in insinuating myself upon the community. I did this by not saying no to anything (except the pipe band...and a few dates). Unfortunately, when you say yes to everything, people continue to ask you to do things, and you are often expected to continue to say yes. And the result is that you have NO TIME TO MAKE FOOD OR SLEEP OR WASH YOUR UNDERWEAR***. When all of these things happen at the same time, the result isn't hotness, as I'd hoped. It's usually that you walk around like a cranky-faced zombie all the time. Therefore, I've resolved to commit to only 3 regularly scheduled weekly events at a time, and will evaluate one-time offers on an individual basis, giving preference to those things that I REALLY REALLY WANT TO DO (I'm looking at you, dragon boat festival). Hopefully, this way, I'll have more time for cooking real food, doing real exercise, and wearing clean underthings.

4. Do more. I know what you're thinking..."isn't that in direct conflict with resolution #3?" Well, no. This one is about something different. In searching for that quest for hotness I've really had to consider whether an item or an activity was generally regarded as hot, or if it made me feel hot when I had it/did it. And when I considered it, I generally found that when I felt hot, other people found me hot as well. The necessary conclusion here is that I should do more things that make me feel hot. Like this:

<---- And also ziplining. And also skiing. And also making brownies. And since I've set aside time by doing less, I should have more time to do all this stuff. In conclusion, I'm a genius and I'll be hot in no time.










SERIOUS FACE -->


***Note: I've not yet worn dirty underwear. I HAVE stayed up till 3 a.m. doing laundry on a weeknight so I wouldn't have to wear dirty underwear though.

Hot People Admit Defeat

Alright - so you probably noticed a considerable lack of activity coming from this little corner of cyberspace. There are a few reasons for that.

But first, I have terrible news. Plan Ab-Tastic was a failure. I cannot say that my abs were rock hard by my twenty-seventh birthday. I can't even say they were on their way. I'm certainly not ready to post pictures. Sadness.

The good news is that I know why this has happened. The bad news is that I am solely and completely at fault here. In an effort to integrate myself into this community, a community I'm still reasonably new to, I took on a little too much. And by "a little too much," I mean that over the last two weeks, I've had commitments seven days per week. As a result, I've had little to no time for a. cooking actual food for myself, and certainly no time for b. moving my body any more vigorously than is required for playing the piano. Probably this has contributed to the anti-hardening of my abs, because if I want to be really honest with myself, my abs actually got softer in the last month and a bit.

Admitting defeat is harsh. I don't like it. However, if I consider the overall cost-benefit analysis, I think I gained so much more in terms of spiritual nourishment running around to rehearsals for eight billion different concerts and performances than I ever would have by losing the fat around my middle. So many people know my name now, and that was really part of the goal. I exceeded the legal capacity of my apartment with a party I threw for my own birthday. In the past month and a half I learned to play (quite well, also) 30+ reasonably challenging pieces on the piano - a talent I'd let go to seed when I was in university. So the time hasn't been a waste, even though I did waste a month or so of my gym membership.

And, really, just because I didn't succeed right away with this ab-tastic goal doesn't mean I really have to quit it altogether. I'm planning some trips in the spring and summer. Trips where I might be wearing bathing suits. Hrmmmm.....And I've also learned some valuable lessons about time management and saying no to things that I don't absolutely want to do. I am armed for the future, and a sweet-looking midsection is headed my way. Eventually...

Hot People Are Big News

Ok - so I've been terribly errant in my posting. Please just believe that my life has been IN-SANE. I just did the dishes for the first time in about 2 weeks on Sunday, and the pile is getting big again. I found myself doing laundry after midnight last night. It's been that kind of November.

So, you can understand why sitting in front of a computer to hammer something out for you guys has been difficult. To put it in perspective, I'm totally at work right now (ok - it's a break - but I'm still at work.) To keep you all from chewing your arms off in anticipation, I have a hilarious story to break up the monotony of a lack of Miss T antics.

Big news: I have a boyfriend. A real live one. Last weekend, we had planned to enjoy the beginning of the festive season by watching the Christmas Parade in his very small hometown. We met up with a few friends and watched all the heavy machinery within a 40 mile radius of town drive down the main street decorated in lights and shrubbery while drinking heavily Bailey'd hot chocolate out of travel mugs as the first major snowfall of winter pelted down upon us. We followed this with drinks at friends', followed by drinks at the curling club, followed by drinks at the only bar in town. Needless to say, we were not in any state to drive the 40 minutes back home that night, especially given the snow. So we stayed the night at my boyfriend's parents' house.

In the morning, his mother insisted that we attend the local Christmas arts & crafts show. So, like good little children, we did.

On of the things that's making my life INSANE right now, is a play I'm performing in. My character is 9 months pregnant and, since I am not, requires some prosthetic costuming. I had a number of things planned for Saturday, and in my hungover stupor I needed to give myself verbal reminders. One of those things was to see the costume designer about my prosthetic. I told my boyfriend "Oh yeah, I need to go see that lady about my belly." The boyfriend looked at me, confused. "You know, my pregnancy belly." I remembered this AT the arts & crafts show. Beside my boyfriend's mother. Who looked at me aghast.

"Good God!" I exclaimed, realizing my tragic error, "For the play! It's for the play!"

She looked relieved. "Oh, you're in the play. The same one that he's in?" (I had roped my boyfriend into performing with me when our previous leading man dropped out).

"And do you play a couple?" We answered in the affirmative.

"And is the baby his?" We answered in the affirmative.

And then she SCREAMED "Oh my GOD! I'm going to be a grandmother!"

Six blue-haired ladies from around the arts & crafts show ran over. We tried to set them straight, but they were old and hard of hearing and we're sure that not everybody went home with the truth.

And that's the story of how an entire tiny town in Northern Ontario came to believe that I'm carrying the child of one of their favourite sons.

Further Miss T antics to come. I promise.

Hot People Unleash Their Secret Weapons

WARNING: This post contains photographs of scantily clad women (me), brightly coloured undergarments and some coarse language. Also, I'm really bad at formatting when there are lots of pics. So it's kind of a mess down there. Small children and (possibly) my parents and younger brother should exercise their discretion.
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My period started yesterday. I know, too much information. However, I think many of the ladies out there will agree that very few things can so reliably make you feel gross and fat like Aunt Flo. I am no exception. My monthly inconvenience decided to coincide its arrival with some kind of clammy-skin-plus-fever-and-sore-throat plague and the result is that I want to lay about in my not-oft-washed sweatpants and watch chick flicks all weekend. Unfortunately, I had also resolved to go dancing. The obvious answer here is an attitude adjustment.

This whole thing has been about confidence. I know it, and many of my very helpful readers have suggested the same. It won't matter how hot I look, if I don't believe it, nobody else will either. But it's really difficult to just decide to believe you look smokin'. Sometimes you need a couple of secret weapons to give your confidence a boost. Especially when you've asked yourself to dance your ass off like it's going out of style and you spent most of your day wishing you could curl up into a fetal position on the floor of your office instead of actually doing your job. This kind of emergency calls for significantly more than just a few secret weapons and happens far more frequently than I'd like. As a result, I've gathered an arsenal of "things that make me feel hot" for just such occasions. Here's my top 10, in no particular order.

1. Mascara. I have really long eyelashes, but they're skinny. Mascara is like instant sexy-eyes. I derive a certain amount of glee from complaining about how after I've applied my mascara, my eyelashes transfer it to my eyelids because THEY'RE THAT LONG. My friends and co-workers are kind of getting sick of that, actually. That's like saying my boobs are too big.

2. Speaking of big boobs, this bra is also an instant confidence booster. Almost a year ago, I'd decided I'd had enough of shitty, ill-fitting bras from Sears. So I decided to get a bra-fitting. I always knew I was well-endowed in the mammary department...but turns out I actually have REALLY BIG BOOBS. Those puppies are F cups. That's right, folks, my bra size is 34F. Bet many of you didn't know those existed. As it happens, bras in size 34F are kind of like endangered species. If you've got big boobs and a small ribcage, you can't even FIND a bra at Sears in your size. No, no - you have to go to a special lingerie store. And special lingerie stores have special lingerie prices. I nearly peed myself when I looked at the ticket price on the first right-sized bra I tried on. It wasn't until a party a few months ago to which I wore one of my old faithful Sears bras that I decided I needed a change. My bra kept making appearances in the cleavage area of my v-neck. A helpful (and very intoxicated) friend tried to rectify the situation by, ahem, fluffing my pillows. As in, she put her hands IN MY BRA and pushed my boobs together. In the middle of the living room at the party. If my bra situation was so dire that my lady friends need to PUT THEIR HANDS ON MY BREASTS, I figured that the $200 I paid for that red number up there was totally worth it. And it was. See for yourself.

<-Old bra

And new bra->







3. This dress:

I always feel fantastic wearing this dress. That's because it feels like I'm wearing a giant t-shirt, but the cleavage is fantastic and the colour is hawt. I've had men carry my catfood and potting soil to my car from the grocery store when I'm wearing this dress. I went for a walk with my friend a few weeks ago and 5 out of 6 of the men we passed paid me a compliment. This dress is confidence.

4. Also, this dress:

I recognize that this dress borders on shress territory, so I always feel a little bit guilty when I wear it. But it was the dress I was wearing on that fantastic sailboat weekend, and I think the fact that I was comfortable wearing it is a sign that I'm much more comfortable showing a little bit more leg - a body part I've never been super happy with. This dress is a milestone, is what I'm saying. And I'm proud of it. I'm slightly less proud of my modeling abilities. Is my hand glued to my hip? And where are my irises?!?

5. Straight hair. And curly hair. My greatest assets in the hair department are my (now antique) ceramic flat-iron, and a good-quality (not necessarily expensive) curling creme. And conditioner. I grew up in a house with hard water and no conditioner. I can't even begin to describe the clown-hair I had growing up. Things improved when I began to dabble with 2-in-1 shampoos, but truly, my life was changed when I discovered the glory of conditioner. Having great hair is a huge asset when it comes to upping the measurements on my personal hot-metre. It also helps to have kissed hairnets goodbye for (I hope!) forever.

6. Brownies. I got this brownie recipe from my grade 11 English teacher and they are the effing bomb. I rarely give the recipe away because they really are one of my secret weapons. Everyone's happy to see me, because I bring it with the brownies. If EVERYONE could bring the brownies, I'd lose some of my magic.







7. Lacy panties. Especially these blue ones (Don't worry, they're clean). These are really my lucky panties. I wear them anytime I want things to go well. And usually they do. Related secret weapon: brazilian waxes. Every appointment day I wonder to myself if I'm crazy. The next morning I remember why I'm not. It never fails. It doesn't even matter that I'm usually the only one who sees the results of my painful quadri-weekly appointment. I feel like a million bucks wearing those undies in the week or two after my appointments.

8. Kick-ass boots. For several years I've mourned the fact that my calves are too "athletic" to fit into most boots with a shaft that comes up much higher than my ankles. The last couple of pairs I tried actually WENT ON MY LEGS. And they're supah hot. I bought this pair in Scotland, just off Princes Street. I really dig all the buckles. Then, I bought this other pair from a local foot-covering merchant. Not bad for rural Ontario, I think. A few friends say they're fuck-me boots. I'm not so sure, but I do know that wearing these boots, even though most of the time the awesomesauce is hidden under my stovepipe pantlegs, makes me feel kinda badass. Which I, at least, think is pretty hot.








9. Dentistry. Remember that hilarious story about my tragic front tooth? Having a dental plan made everything better. Before (note that I'm making NO bones about using a totally unflattering pic for the before - I'm at once hilariously jet-lagged, unmade up and moderately intoxicated in this pic): And after: Now that I look at the pics, my front tooth didn't look so bad before. But psychologically, it's made a huge difference. You have no idea how awesome it is to be able to smile with abandon.

10. Dancing. I switch on a little motown if I'm feeling blue. If I want to pump myself up, I turn to Gaga or Ke$ha. And if I want to feel super sexy, I'll toss on some old-skool rap. And do this:

Actually no, that's a joke. The point is, though, if I'm dancing, I feel awesome-tastic. In fact, once I shook off the crusty feelings of my flu and my monthly inconvenience, dancing last night made me feel so awesome that my night was, in fact, epic. More on that later, though.

Hot People Play Along (And if at first they don't succeed, they try, try again)

Ok - so, I just commented on THIS blog because I thought I was invited to, and then got a comment back saying I had FAILED at accepting the invitation properly. I was supposed to post a selection of search terms that people use on google that wind them up here, my little corner of the blogosphere.

Most are search terms that have to do with my name or the name of the blog, which are clearly people who love me and my writing so much that they haven't added my url to their favourites. However, there are a number of super-funny ones that I'll share here.

1. Shress - Any loyal reader knows what this is. If you don't, just know it's the bane of my existence. A post about shresses early on in my blogging career brings continued traffic. Related search terms: what do you wear under a shress, wear stilettos and take it up the ass, 11 year olds wearing stilettos

2. Completely Hairless People - It makes me giggle a little to know that some poor schmuck looking for others who bear his terrible affliction of complete hairlessness happened upon my nascent concerns about waxing "down there".

3. White Tights Male Dancers - Not sure what this person was ACTUALLY looking for (or if it was academic rather than recreational interest that spurred their search in the first place), but I'm sure they were upset to find, not the answer, but the ramblings of a sexually frustrated 20-something who kept getting distracted from the skill and story involved in The Nutcracker Ballet by the bulges in the male dancers' tights.

4. Why did people ware capes - This person was so upset not to find the answer to his question that he felt the need to admonish me for my verbosity (rather than brush up on his google skills). On the up-side, talkin' ass bitch is my new favourite insult.

So...there...hopefully this time I got it right?