Note to all single guys

Asking a woman if the "carpet" matches the "drapes" is not a winning start to a conversation or email.

Unless she happens to be an interior decorator.

But even then, I bet she'd think it was icky.

MIA

Dude.

Leaving town for a week and not having regular fast internet service has really taken it's toll. I am so very behind in blogging AND I haven't even begun to read the myriad of posts that are piling up in my Google Reader.

UGH.

I actually have a couple of funny topics to write about and have some other things that I've been processing that I'd like your feedback on...but for now, I'm being lazy.

So there's that.

And now...page two.

After I saw one of the Backstreet Boys at Elizabeth's graduation, I had to capture these moments... I won't donate a whole post to each one of them...mostly because I'm pretty sure you're tired of hearing about weird things in El Paso.

First, there was the photographer at the graduation that only had one leg:

And the celebration dinner afterward? It was held at a Mediterranean restaurant that had a belly dancer.
Oh and also BLARING music overhead. Don't believe me? Look at our friends having a fun time. Why, you can almost see the headache forming...
And no, he wasn't posing for that picture.

But hey, the place had hookahs everywhere...and that was nice. :)Alright, truth time. The food was excellent, the photographer actually had two legs, and the music was loud AND horrible.

Backstreet's back (all right!) (also called Craziness in El Paso, take 3)

Last week, I was in this hellhole El Paso for my younger sister's college graduation.

While waiting for the group to arrive in the Don Haskin's center, we noted that there was super secret service/security working the crowd. Now, Elizabeth graduated with an associates degree. I think it's safe to assume that no one in the crowd wished to harm a future nurse, baker, photographer, or even cosmetologist. Therefore, I didn't quite understand the guys...in suits...guarding the people. Which people? THE PEOPLE. Which people? Us, graduates, veterans? Who knows.

They were guarding the people from the dangers. It was like LIVING a 6 o-clock news broadcast (as in: What common graduation gift could kill you and yours? More at 11 - here on Channel 2). Apparently balloons are bad. So are flowers. So are air horns. So are cellophane wrappers. Also packages of peanuts.

Anyway, the super secret service/security guard in front of us took his job very seriously. So seriously, that I stared at him. They were wearing suits and headphone thingies. And that's when I noticed that I have seen him before. He's totally an old Backstreet Boy singer! You know, there's Mickey, Justin (oh la la!), Phil, Ted, Clint, and Howie.

Anyway, this is clearly one of them - the guy in the suit... you know, the one humming "The Right Stuff."Here he is scanning the crowd for any Tiffany posters.

And here he is telling a reporter that he's not available for comment as to whether he's the "gay one" or the "bad boy":
So there's that.

Yes, it really is that big :)

Chassis is huge. How big is she? To approximate, take however big you THINK she's going to be and multiply that times how many small dogs you have been around in your life. Then double it.

Here she is a couple of years ago at my mom's house in El Paso.
And the dog next to her? That's a 40 pound dog. Note the height of the door handles. Yes, she's THAT big.

So on the ride down to El Paso (Saturday) I wanted to make sure that she was as comfy as possible in the MINI. Which meant padding the back area, packing all of my stuff in the passenger seat, and renting a gas mask for me for any farts. Seriously, it's like a gas chamber/hot box in there.

To demonstrate the storage space of the MINI (I'm talking to you Guadagno), I give you Chassis...
Because the just wasn't quite as close to me as she'd like, she decided to sleep closer as the trip wore on.
Note the close proximity of her face to my face. This is so that when she got hot during the trip, she could turn her head slightly towards me and then pant. Hot. Smelly. Breathing. In. My. Noseholes.

I've never been so happy to get out of a car in my life.

Craziness in El Paso, part two (also called "Yeah, why?")

Again, at the airport.
Since sometimes blogger shrinks your images and you can't get a closer look, I'll tell you what it says.

First, it is for a place that handles logistics of shipping - i.e. a trucking company with extras.

Second, the sign says, "If you need and experienced Warehouse Provider, then why use a Trucking Company/Customs Broker that also has a Warehouse?"

Further below it talks about how this company DOES have a warehouse. And also "Exceeding Customers' Expectations Since 1962."

There are so very many things wrong with this poster, I don't even know what to say. Except that whatever employee was in charge of editing is fired. The punctuation alone is enough to make me tear out my hair.

This post is like a Clint Eastwood movie

The good:

Tuesday afternoon, I went to a doctor that I have been seeing for SEVEN weeks about an health issue. Seven weeks ago I was told to stop working out - cardio and weights. Tuesday he cleared me to start being able to exercise again. The happiness that I felt after he said those words was pretty cool and it helped me realize that my mind is changing into a healthier mindset.

The bad:

He told me not to work out very hard and start at 20 minutes. Also, for the time being I should stick to cardio only. I realized that I would have to ramp up to the level that I was at before this happened, but wasn't too worried about it. Umm...I can't really come up with much else that is soley bad...everything is pretty much overshadowed by the "good" so I have to stop this paragraph. :)

The ugly:

So there I am working out... I'm hitting the elliptical at the same rate I was before (albeit on a lower intensity level). I was at a high number of steps per minute and I'm feeling pretty great actually. I'm listening to my new workout mix - full of songs that I have deliberately tried NOT to listen to because I want them to feel fresh during my workout. And that's when it hits me.

I cannot remember the combination to the lock. You know, the one that I just put on the 24 Hour Fitness' locker. The one that has all my stuff in it.

For the rest of the work out, I'm trying to think of any memorization technique to bring back the combination. I tried to use "The Secret," I tried to picture the combination on the piece of paper that was stuck to the lock when I bought it. I was remembering numbers! It worked. I was sure that 3 was in it. I was sure that that was the second number. And I was sure that there was a 36 and a 25.

I walked up to my combination lock, took a deep breath and tried 36, 3, 25. Which did not work.

So there I am, sweating profusely, and trying not to look like a creepy person that is trying to break into someone else's locker. All I can remember is that there was a 3 in the combination. And then I convince myself that the other two numbers are multiples of three. All of the sudden, I turn into that guy from "A Beautiful Mind" because I'm coming up with all possible combinations of three, or multiples thereof. I'm practically using Differential Equations and graphs of derivates of x to come up with the stupid fricking combination!

Every time, I think to myself, "Yes! That's it!"

Except that it's not.

For a moment, I consider living in the locker room. After all, I have an iPod, I have access to a shower, and 24 Hour Fitness gives out samples of power bars often. But I figure that people may actually start to notice and I think it's against the contract that I signed.

I finally break down and go to the front office where Dimitry is and tell him that I am an idiot. A sweating idiot who cannot for the life of her remember the combination.

Then comes the walk of shame - with an employee caring bolt cutters that are almost bigger than her past all of the people I just worked out with...all the way through the locker room...to cut my lock.

Afterwards, I went to go looking for a new lock. My old one was a Masterlock and was pink. Very cute. But it turns out that many women get a cute lock...so sometimes it was hard to remember which locker was mine.

All I saw at the local Safeway was a plain old black lock. I was torn. I want a new lock so that I can work out...but I didn't want a boring black one. My little sister suggested putting a sticker on it to decorate it. I was thinking about how I could never find a sticker that would look cute on the lock, when a vision of our office's jackass hit me.

So here's my new lock.

Isn't it cute? And no, I don't know the combination. :)

Having sex in a pan

Remember the last time Lance and I played each other in Fantasy Football?

This past week, we played in the finals...and before that we made the same bet as last time. The loser has to be the girl and make something sweet and delicious from the kitchen.

I won.

So Lance made a thing that Larry called "Sex in a Pan." I'm never had sex in a pan, so I can't quite comment if they taste the same.

However, Lance was not quite as creative as I was in the decorating part.

Here is how the dessert looked when it came to work:

After a quick bout with Microsoft's Paint application, we have what I think Lance would've written on the dessert...if he had hot pink icing:

Mmmmmm....victory tastes good.

You've GOT to be kidding me

According to weather.com, it was -11 degrees when I woke up.

By the time I got to work it was a balmy -6. Yay fun.

Craziness in El Paso, part one

While waiting in the El Paso airport, I saw this sweatshirt:At first glance, it doesn't look so different than any other hooded sweatshirt.

A closer look reveals a separate pouch. FOR YOUR BOTTLENECK BEER.

As if the dentist's office wasn't bad enough already

Yesterday morning I had my bi-annual dentist check-up.

I have gone to the same dentist for 5 years...and I love her.

I do not, however, love the hygenist. My first experience with her was six months ago (go figure). I have worked very hard to get over that visit...so I can really only recount yesterday's visit. It is strangely VERY similar to the last time.

Her: Hi there. I'm about to put sharp objects in your mouth. And also I am weird.
Me: Great to meet you. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm tall. Maybe you could adjust the head rest thingie?
Her: Sure. I'll pretend to, but really I won't. That's why I suck. Oh, also? Did you know my nickname all through my life? It's "The Riddler."
Me: Why would that be?
Her: Oh...you'll see...

(alright the above part is a bit of an exaggeration...but the following IS what happened - no embelishment...okay, very LITTLE embelishment)

Her: So, have you done all of your holiday shopping this year?
Me: (remembering that she is "The Riddler" and trying to answer in one word answers) Yep.
Her: Wow. Great. I love Christmas. What is the present that you're most excited to give?
Me: Um...it's a long story.
Her: Oh. Okay.
COMFORTABLE SILENCE (apparently not so comfortable to her)
Her: So, are you working today or are you off?
Me: It's 7 in the morning...so yeah, I'm working today.
Her: Well, you never know! Some people just love coming in in the morning.
COMFORTABLE SILENCE
Her: So...do you know what the weather is going to be like this weekend?
Me: No.
Her: Why not?
Me: Because I'm going to be out of town. (and then I did a mental head slap for being so stupid)
Her: Oh really? Where are you going to go?
Me: El Paso.
Her: Wow. Where they make the sauce?
Me: No. (I still can't resist wanting to punch people who think that El Paso is where the salsa is made. PEOPLE WISEN UP!)
Her: Are you going for work or fun?
Me: Fun
Her: Oh really? Are you going for just the weekend or for Christmas?
Me: Both. (Tricky, really. I'm going for the weekend, coming back, and then going home again for Christmas)
Her: What?
Me: Both
Her: I don't understand. What do you mean?
Me: It's a long story.
COMFORTABLE SILENCE
Her: So are you moving there?
Me: What?
Her: Are you moving to El Paso?
Me: No.
....and SCENE!

Seriously, it went like this for AN HOUR.

It's as if somehow me giving one word answers was the go-ahead she needed to ask more detailed questions. I couldn't figure out if she was just crazy, needy or possibly wanting to rob my house while I was gone.

And yes, I'm asking for a different hygenist if they have one - if not, I'm asking for recommendations for dentists.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus

I know some of you *think* you know how dorky I am. But the truth is, I am a HUGE dork.

A month or so ago, I was talking to Larry (the guy that hired me and the guy that is sort of my boss). I was telling him a story about something COMPLETELY unrelated to dorkiness. Only I said the phrase, "So my friend Will, whom I met at Space Camp..." and Larry stopped me and made a huge fuss about how dorky I was. I insisted that going to Space Camp was super cool - especially when I was in 7th grade. I will save my space camp travel adventures for another post, but suffice it to say, I was thrilled. And there were CUTE boys there. Like Kyle. (sigh) He was dreamy.

Anyway, Larry thought this was funny. So he took my picture of my mascot for fantasy football (which was this):

and put his own version up over it (which was this):

In case you can't tell, my new mascot is wearing a space helmet and carrying a light saber. Despite several statements of how "Star Wars" is not the same as "Space Camp," everyone thought it was funny. And besides, the mascot looks cute in any thing. So I kept the picture up. My picture of me in glasses in my cube from earlier even shows it - look!

Fast forward to this morning... the guy from the receiving department walks in the door with a HUGE package. I, being the smart ass I am, started asking in an annoying way if the package was from Santa and for me. About 15 times I asked.

Finally the warehouse guy turns around and says, "Well, I'm not sure which Anne it's for" (there are two Anne's in my office).

And I see that the package looks like this:

My heart literally lept inside me! I was disappointed that Santa didn't know how to spell my name, but depending on the gift inside, I was prepared to forgive him.

I opened up the package only to find a light saber! :)

And a note from Santa!

The note says:

Dear Anne,
Even though youhave not been all that good this year, I could not help but to give you a little something. I know it has been a few years since "camp" but I thougth maybe this would spark your Jedi ways again. Try to be a little better this year so I can do more for you next Christmas.
Love always,
SANTA

And I think that proves something significant.

Santa DOES know how to spell my name. It's just his elves that messed up on the package.

Why you should join Facebook and why my friends want to de-friend me

I'm a smart ass. This we know.

But once upon a time, a long long time ago, I wasn't such a smart ass - at least not out loud. I mean, I still thought the same comments, but for some reason I tried to not let others know, for fear they would think I was bullying them.

These days, I've embraced my smart-ass-ness. I really just want to be funny. I am never a smart ass with the intent to hurt someone's feelings. So if I find out that it offended them, I am quick to say I'm sorry.

But the thing is, some of my friends from a long time ago don't know that. And so now I'm on Facebook and I can't help being a smart ass. BECAUSE IT'S FUNNY.

So like this morning... I was on Facebook and saw a "friend" (I'll call him Sam Bird - but that is clearly not his name) who had a picture of his two little kids. His kids, for the record, are cute. I mean, I'm not sure if they're cute in the face or not, but their bodies are cute. Here is the picture.

Cute right? But also, really funny to me. So I posted this comment:

"Okay - after being on here a week, I decided to break down and ask.
Is your daughter:
a) stuck in a pumpkin
b) eating the shell of a pumpkin
c) throwing up the everclear that you put in her bottle in the most convenient place (i.e. a recently hollowed out pumpkin)?"

His response:
"Ha, hi Anne, it's been a long time.
No, when your 2.5 your arms are short enough that when you reach to the bottom you head happens to come in contact with the top of the pumpkin."

Gramatical errors aside, I think his response is funny. First, um...yeah, I did not actually think you spiked your kids' sippy cup. Because that's just mean. Or very helpful and useful. I don't quite know because I don't have kids.

What I do think is VERY funny is his first line: Ha, hi Anne, it's been a long time. As in, "Boy Anne, you are not funny. And quite honestly, you exhaust me. It's been a long time, but not long enough if you're going to post comments like that on pictures that I love of my innocent kids. Also, I'm de-friending you."

So there you have it. If you haven't joined Facebook (cough cough - that means you) you are missing out on me posting smartass comments on YOUR photos.

And that is the gift that keeps on giving.

Now that's what I call old

This weekend I was wrapping Christmas presents. When I started wrapping them, I was watching a show on MTV called "Celebrity Rehab." I found I'm not a big fan. But since the remote was all the way up on the couch arm and I was on the floor it seemed like too much effort to change the channel.

Anyway, the commercial for "Now That's What I Call Music" came on 28 times during the half hour of TV I watched. Around the 17th time, I realized that I am old.

I used to know all of the songs that they featured on the commercial. Ride the Train? Check. Total Eclipse of the Heart? Check. Tootsie Roll? Check.

But now, with their latest version (I think they're on 853,921), I've realized that I recognized two songs and only four artists. Ne-yo is one of the many artists I don't even kind of recognize. Seriously? That's this guy's name?

(sigh)

I am old.

To make me feel not so old, please let me know what your favorite dance song is. It does not necessarily have to have been featured on "Now That's What I Call Music" but you get bonus points if it has.

I'll start you off...Mine? It's "Ride the Train."

Don't let the picture fool you

I don't like cats. They are evil.

I don't like them. To be fair, I guess I should say that I don't like 99% of them...since I haven't met EVERY cat. To date, there are three cats that I have liked a lot. Their names were Clyde, Calvin, and Link. And only one is still alive.

Reasons I don't like most cats:

1. They seem to be mean. You pet them and they purr and purr and purr...that is until they bite you. You have about 0.1 seconds of warning. And then just pain. I don't get it. They're clearly enjoying it. I'm not changing how hard I press or where I'm petting...they just bite for no reason.

2. Cat Scratch Fever is NOT just a catchy tune. Lance was bitten/scratched by a cat and had to go to the hospital and have surgery because of it.

3. They walk on counter tops... the same counter tops that you prepare food on.

4. I am allergic to them.

5. They scratch the furniture. And since you can't really crate a cat, you really can't have any preventative measures.

6. They are hard to train.

7. They walk all over you whenever THEY want to.

8. They are finicky eaters.

9. They suffocate babies.

10. They don't want to be cuddled or loved on.

11. They are not like dogs.

Don't get me wrong, I don't want bad things to happen to cats. And I don't think that all dogs are fantastic. I like well behaved dogs - and I guess that's my issue with cats. You can't train them...so they're like ill-behaved children running around.

The cat pictured above is my dad's cat, Talley. She is also crazy. But she sort of looks like a muppet...and that makes me half-way like her.

Slow

Sometimes I'm slow. And I'm not just talking about the times when I'm walking around the mall and stuck behind other people who are walking in a zig zag fashion at about 0.1 mph.

I'm talking about how I just ended NaBloPoMo and I'm posting today.

AND I'm talking about how people told me how cool Facebook was and I was all, "Dude. I have a myspace page. And it is pretty fly. And I've contacted people via myspace. So what can Facebook really bring me?"

And then others told me of it's general fantastic-ness. But I found out that you had to put your full name on Facebook. Having been stalked by ex-boyfriends, I didn't find this too exciting. But then I learned that not just anyone can see your profile...you have to approve them. And that is something I could get behind.

So this afternoon, I joined.

It is a mecca of people that you forgot. Lots of people you wish you still could forget. But buried in there are people that you didn't want to forget - it just happened.

Facebook is smart. It takes people you are friends with and then suggests people that you might know too. So it's like searching for people lazy style. And hello! I love lazy.

The best thing is that you can post smart ass comments about people and things via a wall. A wall of comments. Facebook had me at "smart ass comments."

So I'm here to tell you that Facebook rocks. Perhaps I love it so much because I went to high school in Texas and college in Missouri. So I don't exactly see Michael Guadagno every day. And how can you NOT want to be friends with a guy who has the last name of Guadagno? It's virtually impossible.

Alright, friends, I'm off to the bathroom to put on my face to look pretty for a first date tonight. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure it'll end in drunken craziness and a perscription for Plan B, but it should be adventurous all the same.

OMG I AM KIDDING. You don't need a perscription for Plan B anymore.