The Daily Durvy

There is really nothing that makes me happier than nudity. Seriously, I like being naked, I like when other people are naked and I like seeing other people naked. I don’t know why this is such a ridiculous notion, but I usually keep this particular fact to myself because most people think it’s weird.

Anyway, nudity. I was watching Jimmy Falon and they were talking about the Italian Saturday Night Live. Apparently, in Italy, if the skit isn’t funny they just cut to a crazy-hot naked woman dancing. That is an excellent idea, because at least there is something going on.

(If you can’t tell, I’m also not a huge fan of Saturday Night Live. I’m sorry, it’s dumb. It used to be funny, sort of. Now SNL is actually the absence of funny.)

Why is nudity not allowed on television? Do we really have sticks so far up our butts that boobs make us uncomfortable? Is it the word? I mean, “boob” is pretty awkward. Or, if we look at shows like Gossip Girl, boobs are not allowed but skirts short enough to show Blair’s hooha are. Awesome guys.

Do you like my use of “hooha” as a substitute for “vagina?” My freshman year of college one of my roommates called her vagina her “koorah.” She was from Sacramento and we LA girls thought that was the cutest thing ever. So we made our 6-person suite into a sorority: Kappa Delta Koorah. We considered applying for a school charter, but we got drunk instead.

I bike really slowly. Like an old Asian lady on a grown up tricycle passed me while I was on my way to class. So I decided that I was going to work out at the gym and improve my bicycle muscles. Because those are real, and they are connected to the running bone. Apparently, I have both. WHO KNEW?

Not me, because I have gained 20 pounds in the last 2 years.

For the last 4 weeks, I have been dieting and going to the gym and I lost 10 pounds. I mean, that was mostly intentional, but I didn’t mean to lose 10 pounds so quickly. I am quite proud of myself for losing the weight of course, but I am mostly proud of my new huge new bicycle muscles and the fact I am no longer passed by old Asian women.

Though a few sorority girls on pink cruisers sail by me, I don’t let that get me down.

Small victory. I’ll take it. And the 10-pound loss. Pretty soon I’ll have to buy new pants! And then I will gloat all over the Internet about by new small pants.

I may even post pictures of my butt. Wouldn’t that be a treat?

I often wonder if people Facebook stalk me. I suppose this is me being wrapped up in self-conceitedness, but I think they probably do. People stalk me, their mothers, Sara Palin, and probably the Pope, assuming that the Pope had facebook. But the Pope has no Facebook profile, I’ve looked. However, he does have an eHarmony account.

The success of Facebook is largely due to the fact that people are nosey, which is a close second to the thrill of seeing pictures of themselves on the Internet. In this new age of information, there is no need to spy on your neighbors from your window wearing a housecoat from 1974. That same housecoat can be used from the comfort of your desk. A few clicks and BAM snooping has come into the 21st century.

I always get a little thrill when I’m facebook stalking someone from my past. Ex-boyfriends are the worst. I feel like I’m doing something scandalous, and that they can somehow tell I’m looking at pictures of them and their current girlfriends. I wonder if they also know that they routinely make guest appearances in my dreams? That sounds creepy, I know. But what’s creepier is that it’s true.

It’s even worse when I’m caught stalking Alex’s family members. Just the other day Alex came up behind me while I was on his mom’s facebook profile. He gave an odd look and simply said,

“You need professional help.”

As if he didn’t know I already have that coming out of my ass.

I’ve only been in the AA Program for about a month and a half, and my meetings have almost exclusively been in Davis at the local Lutheran church. (A fact that almost turned me off of the whole Program… a topic for another time.)

Alex and I flew down to LA to spend some time with our families before school starts up again, and I decided to go to a meeting while in my beloved hometown. I not only wanted to continue my program while on vacation, but also seeing the different types of meetings that take place in a major metropolitan area, versus THE COW TOWN THAT I LIVE IN.

So a few days ago, I went to a meeting at a meeting hall- a building used for nothing but AA meetings. Not only was this most certainly NOT a church but is was also NOT in Davis. Both were awesome.

The Hall was in Hollywood, it it was filled with Hollywood types: older men with long grey hair, young men and women in 5-inch stilettos and everyone with more hair care products in their hair than I have in my bathroom. I have never felt so at home.

This hall was simply a large, square room with mildly uncomfortable chairs and exposed bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The walls were unpainted brick and pleasantly unspectacular. The coffee was more horrible than anything I had ever ingested, and that includes the time I ate spoiled chili and pooped liquid for 3 days.

And as I sat in this large hall in my expensive shoes I felt at peace. I felt understood. But really, more than anything, I felt at home.

Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, and Billy Mays died. Not that this is new or anything, but I would like to note that when I heard about the first two I couldn’t have cared less. However, when I heard about Billy Mays I was truly upset.

I have no idea why, though I’m guessing it has something to do with my deep-seeded hatred of the 70′s as a decade and Michael Jackson’s face.