shenae.com

Now it has been confirmed that someone up there does not like me. I was relaxing after a nice night out with my friend Sunnie. We had a beer and saw Sweeney Todd at the movie theater. Excellent show. But back to the lecture at hand; I was watching tv with both my cats on the bed. First, Diablo jumps up, and then Mufasa meows. Just as I utter the words, “What the french toast?” a gigantic cockroach flew on to my arm. I screamed, trying to swat it off my bed, and as expected, it crawled underneath the boxspring. I sprayed every surface around the bed and wondered what to do. My first apartment here in South Beach was a dump (but was cheap as hell) and had a very bad pest problem, to the point that one day after washing my hair, I turned on my hair dryer and a cockroach flew out of it. I selected this second apartment because it looked clean and well kept. Well, I was wrong. I found a couple of critters when it rained a few weeks after I moved in. I haven’t seen any of them until now. And this was a full on assault. I screamed as I called my best friend and waited for it to come out. It did and I sprayed it for about 5 minutes before the little fucker died. I was pissed. I am sick of cockroaches. I am tired of not getting my mail for days or the trash not being emptied because the landlord has locked the side gate. I deserve so much better and I’m still doing penance for a sin I didn’t commit. I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore!

This morning, I woke up with the intent of doing my hair, cleaning and doing some follow-up phone calls.  I watched the news, put on some clothes, and walked to the CVS to pick up a relaxer kit.  FYI, I looked like a before from What Not to Wear, complete with beer t-shirt, jeans and a beer baseball cap.  Not to mention, my hair was looking rough.  As I cross a street, I hear someone saying “Excuse me.”  I pay no mind because I didn’t think he was talking to me.  Two blocks later, I hear another “Excuse me.”  I turn and it’s some average looking guy.  He says, “I just wanted to say that I saw you crossing the street and I just wanted to say that you’re beautiful.”  I courtly thanked him and hauled ass into the store.  It’s been a while for me, about seven months, since I have experienced any romantic flirtations from a worthy suitor.  I am not at the point, however, to acknowledge an advance from some shady guy who followed me for two blocks.  But you can ask me again in five months…I may be that desperate.

I am still looking for a job, but I’m not going to bitch about it. I have been miserable the last 2 weeks so in order to cheer myself, I search for ex-boyfriends and people who made my high school experience not so musical. Oh…what…fun! My second ex-bf still looks like the Fat Bastard and spends a lot of time online, stalking girls. My third ex-bf, aka That French Fuck, has gained two chins and lost his neck. He also moved back to France. Interesting. I moved to Florida because he asked me, only to have him dump me a month later. So yes, I’m happy that I’m still hot and he’s not. Unfortunately, my Mr. Big is still happily married. Many of my high school antagonists look ten times older than they are and still live in my disgusting hometown. The overall verdict (ouch, I need to avoid all jury-related puns) is that my life doesn’t suck so bad.

I am wishing everyone a merry Christmas with lots of presents and food!

My Christmas wish list is…

a job….with benefits
a Breville juicer
Ocean’s 13 and the Transformers on DVD
a tricked out MacBook Pro

But I would give up all those things, my left kidney and my first born for my ultimate Christmas gift: Gerard Butler in full “300″ garb, with the shield and spear, in my bed. He has the looks, quit law school for acting and you know how I feel about Scottish men. *prays* Oh Santa, I’ve been a good girl and since I am stuck with 18 months of grand jury duty, I think 24 hours of hot relations with this magnificent man is well deserved.

I keep saying that someone up there doesn’t like me. Well now I can verify it. I was selected for grand jury duty. Everyone knows that I vote every year, no matter where I am. I voted for the primary and the presidential election in 2004, even though I was in France. This is supposed to be a privilege, but it has turned out to be a curse. Trial jurors are selected from driver’s licenses and grand jurors are selected from voting records. But let’s get back to yet another tale of the Days of Shenae’s Life.

Three weeks ago, the most horrible foil to my existence came in the mail. No, not another wedding invitation or baby shower invitation (although, I should be featured in the new movie “27 dresses,” but that’s another story). No kiddies, I shrieked when I read the words “Grand Jury Summons.” It gets worse, folks, so bear with me. I am supposed to be there at 8am, and I get there on time. I show them the summons and ID, and I wait an hour. Then we were given a speech on why we couldn’t get out of this for work (as in unless you are caring for a parent that is dying of cancer, you are stuck here) and what to expect. Afterwards, we were forced to watch some stupid movie that was made in 1968 about what to expect. Our names are called again and we were shuffled to another court building. Then we sat and waited more. There were 2 people that came in late and they were excused. Lucky bitches. They needed 23 people. Guess who was number 23? That’s right, I was dammit. Do you want to know the worst thing about it? I have to meet every Friday for 18 months…18 MONTHS, people. No that’s not a typo, grand jury is different from trial jury. I have to see all the evidence and deem it viable to press charges. This would be for narcotics, murders, assaults and other stuff on the state level AND the national level…for 18 fucking months.

Sure, I thought this would be some Law and Order shit, meaning someone like Angie Harmon or Stephanie Marsh (that stick figure with no soul who married my future baby daddy Bobby Flay) would be working as Asst. US Attorneys. And the lawyers would be hot and single. Can a sista get a Blair Underwood at least? Nope. All the lawyers I saw, even the hella ugly lawyers were married. The assistant US Attorneys that we will be working with, are even fuglier. One looks like the butch lesbian, complete with a man’s suit, that stole Cynthia Nixon (you know, Miranda from Sex and the City) and the other one, well, you could tell she had a litter. And yes, both were married. Interesting. Concerning the members of the jury, well let’s just say it’s a very shallow gene pool…more like a murky, staph infested puddle.

So in summary, I have to spend one day a week for 18 months with these people, with absolutely no romantic prospects, and I have to tell my future employers about it when I interview. Great. Now I really can’t get a job.

9am @ the courthouse

Pamela Anderson filed for divorce from Rick Solomon. Interesting. This is her third failed marriage. She is catching up to JLo. This makes me wonder about serial monogamists and if it’s worth it. Most of my exes and men I have dated jumped into a relationship right after they chucked me. I’m not exaggerating. That damn drummer (aka My Mr. Big) was married and had a kid a year after I stopped bludgeoning myself, err, I mean, I decided to no longer date this man who said “I have to go home” after I told him I loved him. We “dated” on and off for over 4 years. We were never in a relationship but I wasn’t allowed to see other people. He never really saw other people, he would just go out to dinner with other women and if he decided he wasn’t interested, then it wasn’t a dinner date. Yes, I was that stupid, naive and young. The frenchman had a girlfriend 2 months after he dumped me. I have always been single for long periods of time. Not weeks or months, I’m talking years. In fact, I never had a boyfriend until I was 24 years old. But I digress; I love when Paris Hilton says she wants to be single for a while and doesn’t have time for a relationship and then miraculously appears with some rich boy toy the next day. I mean, let’s face it, using work as an excuse not to have a relationship or to end a relationship is lame. Even the president of France has time for a new relationship, incidentally, 2 months after his divorce. Maybe I should commit too early and burn through men like Lindsay Lohan, but there’s that problem I have of actually meeting a guy that needs to be solved…

First, Christina Skankillera was pregnant, followed by Nicole Ritchie, and then Halle Berry got knocked up. JLo is carrying twins and now Jessica Alba just announced she is pregnant. What is going on? My friend Joanie said it’s proof that everyone else is having sex but me. I had to laugh but it is true. I grew up in a time where you met in college, you dated, he asked you to marry him, there was a nice ceremony, and you started filling up the mini-van with babies. But now it’s first comes baby, second comes marriage. It doesn’t make sense to me, but I am more accepting of the changes.  Besides, I only have 5 eggs left.