The First Noel

A long, long time ago there was a little girl who loved to sing. What she lacked in talent, she made up for in volume. Typically, her song choice revolved around what was sung by Little Orphan Annie. But as Christmastime grew nearer, she's start singing all the Christmas songs she knew - which basically meant hours and hours of "Jingle Bells" and "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer."

Her parents had long since tuned her out, oblivious to the talent that she undoubtedly possessed. However, when her grandparents visited, she found that she had a fresh audience that would give her the attention she so clearly deserved. And so she sang for them - over and over again. Sometimes they would try to sing along, but she was always quick to point out that it was their job to listen and her job to sing thankyouverymuch.

One time, she was overcome by the Christmas spirit and allowed her grampa to sing WITH her ON CASSETTE TAPE! This, surely, was a sign that she was a *good* girl and that Santa should reward her with lots of gifts. For some reason, he insisted on singing "The First Noel" and since she had just learned the first verse in school recently, they compromised to sing the first verse over and over again.

Years later, the girl found the tape and listened to her childish voice and her grampa's deep baritone sing the Christmas song. She smiled, laughed at her own gusto, and the put the tape away to be listened to another day.

Throughout the years that followed, the girl would smile when that song came on the radio or was sung in church.

At first, she smiled because she remembered her own loud and boisterous singing.

A decade later, she smiled because she remembered how happy they were - singing in unison.

A few years after that, she smiled because she missed him - the man that loved Christmas like no one else. She remembered how he'd giddily exclaim that Santa told him that we were going to get great gifts that year. She remembered slinking down the stairs early in the morning to climb into the hideaway bed that her grandparents slept on when they visited from so far away. He never yelled at her for cuddling up to him - even when her cold feet touched him. She'd lay there as still as she could (which wasn't very still at all), thinking of all of the magic that was Christmas and relishing the feeling of being safe and loved. When her grandparents couldn't stand the wiggling any longer, they'd go upstairs to open up the gifts.

Did he love the holiday so much because he was born on Christmas? Or was it because he loved experiencing it with three little grandkids and finally got to see the holiday for the true gift that it is?

Whatever the case, the not-so little girl recently heard this version the other day...and just so you know, she still has a hard time not tearing up when she sings along.





I miss you, Grampa.

Believe it or not, this post actually is about pants

You know that tagline below my headline? The one that reads, "Note: This blog is not about pants."

Well, today it is wrong because this post actually *is* about pants.

Last week, I went to my doorstep and saw that I had a box waiting for me. I was pretty excited because I thought that the 3 pound ball of cheese that I had ordered from Mississippi State had arrived.

I looked at the label and saw that it was addressed to someone by the name of "Austen" and it had a last name that is CLOSE to mine, but not actually mine.

Upon closer inspection, it turns out that my address was actually printed out (via UPS) on the label and then slapped on top of the original label. The original label was sent to Austen in the city of Elizabeth, Colorado.

Apparently, someone at UPS thought that our names were similar enough and changed the shipping address.

What I found when I opened the box (what? At this point, I had no idea if it was to me or not) was this:

That's right. What you're looking at are two pairs of pants. One looks worn and one looks new. Both are size 34 pants - men's pants.

No note. No explanation. Just pants.

Even the "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants" had a note, right?

I've since contacted the sender who doesn't want to call UPS to straighten it out. I've called UPS who insists that they would never change addresses.

And in the end, I STILL have two pairs of pants and NO CHEESE.

I just think it's so strange, don't you? Like, I really want to take pictures of the pants in various situations - so that when the rightful owners get the pants, they're able to feel good about where their pants have been.

Should I name the pants?

Should I write a short story about the pants and all the things that they've seen?

Should I put all sorts of weird things in the box when I send the pants on? Like pictures from Awkward Family Photos and indicate that those pictured are my family members? If so, just so you know, my favorite is this one.

What do you think?

What's the difference between Tiger Woods and Santa?

Santa stops at three hos.

:)

Welcome to the Christmas edition of HFP.

First, because I'm a giver, I'd like to turn your attention to all of the Christmas tunes available FOR FREE on iTunes. There are some great artists in this compilation and I'm not sure if you know this or not, but it's FREE.

The best news? It's not like it's some cheesy musak version or by people that suck. Well, I take that back, Toby Keith *does* sing "We Three Kings." Although to his credit, he doesn't scream, "How do you like me now?!?!?" to Jesus.

Click here to launch iTunes and download these songs as mp3s. Or if you already have it open, you can go to your store and search for "iTunes Holiday Sampler" - it's on the first page.

Secondly, because I hope you're a good gift giver, I'm going to give you a great idea.

When I was at home for Thanksgiving I ate a lot. And I drank a lot of red wine. The eating a lot isn't exactly a new thing for me. But the drinking a lot sort of was. See, I've only recently discovered my love for red wine.

A friend of the family brought over a wine aerator one night for us to use. I always thought that wine aerators were these huge goblet type things that would allow air to get into the wine and make it taste better. I always thought that they were accompanied by snotty nosed people who wore furs.

I found out that I was wrong.

Basically the wine aerator that this guy brought over was a little thingie about 7 inches long. And you pour wine in the top while holding it over your wine glass. It makes funny sounds and then puts the magic air into the wine and makes it taste SOOO good. It doesn't make it bubbly or anything like I'm kind of making it sound.

Don't believe me? Yeah. I didn't believe it either. So I took a sip of non-aerated wine and one of the same wine having gone through this magical contraption. I could definitely taste the difference. Aerated wine is a lot smoother and doesn't have the bite that some red wines have.

It was, in a word, the bestmotherlovingthingever.

The cheapest place that I've seen it featured is on Amazon.com.

Here is where you can get it for $37.95 with a free stopper and pourer (what I wish I would've gotten).

Here is where you can get two of them for only $61.95 - which means one for you and one for your pal.

Or if you're really cool, here is where you can get one for red wine and one for white wines for $65.99.

Let me just tell you that I ordered one for myself, for my mom, for my sisters, and for my best friend. I have been enjoying a glass of red wine each night (or almost each night) and it is HEAVENLY.

You're welcome.

P.S. No. No one contacted me about promoting Tiger Woods, Santa, the iTunes Christmas collection, or the Venturi Aerator. I discovered all their fantasticness by myself.

A week in review

FIRST of all, I'd like to say that I have several funny posts brewing. In fact, this morning when I was getting ready for work, I thought of several funny things to write about and that's how I know that I'm getting out of the un-funny writers funk that I've been in.

But before I can get out of it completely, it might be good to have you know why I was in a bad mood in the first place.

Reason #1) Last Monday, my entire workplace was told that our VP of Sales (nationally) was coming into our office Tuesday morning because he was stuck in Denver on a long layover. While it's true that Denver had cold weather last week, it was not so bad that he would miss his connecting flight. However, being gullible and naive, I believed the person. All was fine UNTIL I saw the VP walk in with our HR rep. And then I polished off my resume'.

Because yes: the branch that I work for is being closed down. They'll close it down officially in April and we're all supposed to have jobs until then. I might get laid off, I might be allowed to work from home, or I might be asked to relocate. We're supposed to find out by January 11th which category we fall into.

The guy that's supposed to be trying hard to keep our jobs is the same one that told us that our VP just had a cancelled connecting flight. And yes, he DID know a week beforehand that our office was going to be closed down. It's hard for me to believe that this guy is going to look out for my best interest AND it's hard for me to want to work for a company that shuts down offices just because their lease on the building is up.

Reason #2) We were told that we were not going to get raises for the third year in a row. BUT hey - that new bonus structure that they promised us? Yeah. That's totally going to come through. Only so far, our year to date bonuses have equalled about $500...a far cry from what they were promised to be.

But that's okay. They told us that the company was holding out for a big payout for our 4th quarter.

And we finally got it today! :) My bonus check for today for the 4th quarter was $33.80. UGH. And if any of you even SUGGEST that I should just be happy because $33.80 can save some of Sally Strothers' kids, I'm going to kick you in the shins.

Reason #3) Dude. Seriously? I need a third reason? Alright. I think it's unfair that I'm lactose intolerant.

What? It's true. I can't eat as much cheese as I'd like...and that can't be fair.

SO basically, I'm on to better and brighter things - however that can happen. The good news is that I've shaken off the bad juju of blog stuff and I'm going to post about far more upbeat things.

I'm an engineer, not a meteorologist

So today I received an email from a previous co-worker of mine. He lives in Oklahoma. Despite that, he's actually a smart guy.

But the email says:

"Hey.
Can you tell me what the weather is going to be on Tuesday? My wife and our kid are going to be flying from Seattle to Oklahoma City and I was wondering if they're going to get stuck there on their layover.

Thanks,
Paul"

Now, normally, I'd leave my rants at people who seem to have left all common sense at home to Sally, but I just can't let this go away.

So what I WANT to write is:

Hi Paul,

No. I can't.

I can't because:
1) I left my tinfoil hat at home today. That hat allows me to see the future weather patterns. It's accurate most of the time so it's really a shame that I don't have it.
2) I'm not allowed to. See, the people in Denver get a super secret forcast that we don't share with the rest of the world. So I really can't tell you what the weather is going to be next Tuesday. Not because I don't want to, but because then they'll kick me out of Denver.
3) I'm not a meteorologist.

I just think it's so strange that rather than checking out weather.com, he asked me - as if I have some sort of insider information.

Weird.

So *that's* what happens in the afternoons!

Damn you, Robert Goulet!

I need more Emerald Nuts, apparently.

REALLY Casual Friday

We've been celebrating Casual Friday at my workplace since I've worked here.

But as the weeks go on, it's getting a bit ridiculous.

First it was a nicer shirt with jeans. Then it went to t-shirt type things with jeans. Then it went to people getting to wear sweatshirts with paint/bleach spots on them.

Today, a lady at work showed up in Adidas exercise pants and a stained t-shirt.

Classy, no?

Cranky McCrabberson

I'm changing my name to Cranky McCrabberson. Or maybe Unhappy Cranky Pants.

Seriously, I can't believe what a cranky mood I'm in! I went to bed cranky and woke up cranky...and that just sucks!

I know that most of it is because I feel like I have SO MUCH STUFF to do at home - stuff that is waiting for me in huge piles. Mostly laundry. But some other things that need to be gone through and then dontated to charity. My mail is piling up and getting to the point where it's a bit out of control (I need to shred the junk mail, recycle the rest and file the stuff that's important). And that's only the mail that is actually AT my house. The mail from the past week is still at the post office because I've had stuff to do each night after work - stuff that had me occupied way past closing hours of the post office. Today will be no exception.

I just hate feeling this far behind...on everything.

Normally, I'd go home at lunch or go pick up my mail at lunch - so that at least it can be something else scratched off my seemingly endless to-do list. OR I would normally go for a run. But since it is STILL snowing out (and I almost wrecked my car twice on the way to work), I think that's a no go too.

To top it off, I'm bloated and PMSing.

Fun times, I tell you...fun, fun times.

Any tips on what you do when you're in this kind of mood?

The Mother of All Catch Ups

I just went a week and a half without posting...the longest it's ever been for me.

So I'll try to catch you up...just bear with me.

1. The "Perilous Puddin' Pig Out"
In case you didn't read the updates via Twitter on my sidebar, the puddin' challenge went without a hiccup...but not without bodily injury. Both contestants finished in under 17 minutes...but one had an adverse reaction where it made him poop out 5 pounds of waste within 45 minutes of eating said pudding. I was off work last week on vacation and neither contestant is here today so I can't exactly tell you with certainty that both are fine.

There were barf buckets, eating utensil options, a weigh in before and after the contest (both gained 5 pounds each), trophies, and even a crown.

It was completely hysterical and unbelievably gross.

2. My younger sister came into town two weekends ago and we had a fantastic time. We actually went to a restaurant that we used to love when we were kids. While you're eating Mexican "food" they have plays and people who climb and dive off cliffs. As a kid, I remember it being so very awesome - magical event!

As an adult, I had a good time -- that is until I had to run to the bathroom. The "food" did not agree with me as much as anyone would've liked, including myself.

3. I spent last week in El Paso and had a fantastic time while eating my weight in my mom's fantastic chile con queso. To say that this dish was divine would be like saying that Paris Hilton is slightly nasty. In other words, it's a huge understatement.

My boyfriend, Joe, came down to spend most of the week with me and I am absolutely surprised that after spending 5 days with each other, we didn't want to club each other over the head or light each other on fire. In fact, even after a 10 hour car ride back to Denver, we opted to spend that night and next morning together rather than taking a break from each other.

Here's where I'm hoping that if you've read this far, you might have a stomach of steel. I mean, you just read about poop in the first two bullet points and are still reading...so you'll probably be okay with me sharing this:

I love my boyfriend. I really do.

Spending that amount of time with him was really great, drama free, and felt SO good. On Thanksgiving, we passed the five month mark of dating and I found myself thinking about how thankful that I have someone who is so wonderful and fantastic to date. I love spending time with him and I'm excited to just enjoy this part of the relationship. I am so thankful that I figured out my horrible reaction to Nuvaring in time to salvage the wonderful things about our relationship.

4. I got to spend time with two high school friends of mine...and it was so great to see them both. One has two beautiful little girls and while we were at lunch, I found myself being very aware of how badly I hope to be a mom someday. It's a somewhat new revelation for me to have and one that I hope comes to fruition.

So there you have it - the mother of all catch ups.

And I'll leave you with a promise. I'll never go that long without updating again. :)

Overheard at work this morning...

Person A: Ha ha ha...I figured it out! This should just show you that you need to shut up FOREVER. And you should also know that I am sosoooooo smart. I bet you thought I wasn't going to get it and that I was dumb. Well, I'm not. I'm smart. I AM SMART!

Person B: I beg to differ.

In other news, the Perlious Puddin' Pig Out is still on for tomorrow at lunch. I'm actually going to be off work next week due to a trip down to my mom's for Thanksgiving. I can't think of a better way that I'd like to start my vacation than with the viewing of two grown men make themselves sick on pudding.

It's going to be great.

Ninety eight

So, Chassis, my awesome 175 pound Great Dane is sick. Again.

She actually had a mass on her spine that the vet took a sample of. The good news? It's not cancerous. The bad news? It needed to be removed.

So today, she had the entire mass removed and she needs antibiotics to make sure that she doesn't get an infection. Compared to the month and a half of antibiotics she was on in the late summer, I'm thrilled that she only needs to be on the meds for a week.

Seems reasonable, right?

It is.

Until you realize that for a HUGE dog like mine, they need a lot of medication. In fact, the meds are usually so expensive, that I've given up getting them refilled at the vets office. Instead, I call around to my local grocery stores because they can usually fill the perscription in a generic form for about half the price. When she was on antibiotics for a month and a half a little while ago, it saved hundreds of dollars by doing it that way.

I knew I was in trouble though, when I called the local pharmacist and gave her the dosage requirements that I needed and she did a double take.

To give you some perspective, the pharmacist (who isn't shocked by people pulling up their sleeves and asking "does this look infected to you?") was shocked at the dosage.

In the end, this means that she will get 7 (SEVEN!) pills twice a day. And for all you math types out there, that means 98 pills.

98 pills of medication for ONE WEEK.

(sigh)

In other news, if you know someone who needs plasma, I'd totally be willing to sell them mine.

Like Donkey Kong...

That's right.

November 20, 2009: A day of infamy (and stupidity).

The Perilous Puddin' Pig Out is scheduled for this Friday at lunch.

And in case you need a refresher, the rules can be read here.

I'm sorry that it's come to this...

A little while ago, I read a blog where a person was complaining about spammers commenting on her blog. I remembered that I wished that I had that problem... I didn't even rank high enough to have spammers comment!

Well, the last few days, I've actually gotten what I wished for.

Several spammers are commenting about stuff that I couldn't care less about - sometimes even in a different language!

Although I don't want to put my comments on moderation and I *hate* captcha almost more than I hate olives, I'm going to have to do it. Unless one of you guys have hints on how to dissuade spammers in another way...do you?

And just in case*, I'm going to go ahead and wish for a bouquet of flowers to be delivered to me. Daisies are my preference.


*When I was in fourth grade (and had a crush on a certain someone), I was in the same class as a kid by the name of David Case. I don't remember much about him, other than he was TINY and had the curliest hair. Really it was the most beautiful hair...big blonde curls that any angel would've loved to have had. Anyway, David was good friends with a boy named Justin (whose last name I don't remember). One day, we were supposed to be doing our work and David said aloud that it was a good think that Justin wasn't born into his family or his name would've been Justin Case. And now I can't even THINK the words "Just In Case" without thinking of him.

So, to David, I say: Thanks a lot, jerkface.

To my co-workers: WTF?

Today, I couldn't help but pause in shock at what I saw what was on our lunchroom counter.

Really, co-workers...really?

You can't open the sugar canister like the one on the left?

You have to either rip off the plastic top (like the center picture) or just rip into it like a sugar monster you must be (as on the right)?

Really? You need sugar THAT BADLY that you have to pry open the BOTTOM of the friggin' sugar container? Even when one container is already open?

REALLY?

I mean, it's not like we work in an emergency room...or something else that might justify the three second savings of having a faster pour of sugar. Because unless I'm mistaken, all we do is sell VALVES. Valves that our customers are waiting over a year to get. We can afford to take our time with the sugar AND the creamer.

The pack mentality

A few months ago, I saw a catchy little commercial about a new form of birth control.

It was this nifty little ring - the NUVARING! And even though nothing was wrong with my birth control (at all!), I found myself fascinated by the commerical with the jingle that sticks in your head more firmly than the tune of "Tom's Diner."

You know the commercial...the one where all those synchronized swimmers are singing, "Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, EVERY day..."

All of the sudden, I realized that my daily birth control was THE MAN. It was keeping me down. How could I ever think about having to take one tiny little pill EVERY DAY? The burden of having to remember it every night started to weigh on me. Who cares if I have to take other medication at night? Who cares that I've never missed a pill? Clearly HAVING to remember it was impacting my life and clearly, being on the pill was JUST LIKE being in prison.

My point is this: people that take boring, stupid birth control pills are boring and stupid. And they're not popular. And they don't get drinks served to them at the pool side while wearing sexy bikinis. And they wear bright red lipstick which is somehow lame.

The only solution for any sane, non-swimming cap person was to "break free from the pack" and enjoy all of the freedom that came with Nuvaring!

Nuvaring!

I could see myself living my life as a free person. Why, with the Nuvaring inside me, anything was possible! I'd probably win the lottery. I'm sure I'd have more green lights on the way to work, where I'd undoubtedly get a raise. I'd never burn another dinner and I'd always remember my grandma's birthday. In fact, I'd probably have less dropped calls on my cellular phone...all thanks to Nuvaring.

Three cheers for Nuvaring!

The first month it was awesome...unless you count the times that I was consumed with worry that it would fall out at any moment, that I hadn't placed it in just right, or that it would be stuck in there FOREVER.

The second month is when I started having problems. One day I felt down. As a normally "up" person, it was a little odd, but I figured I'd bounce back in no time. Only I didn't.

And then? I went a little a whole lotta crazy. I wanted my space and then quite quickly I wanted nothing of the sort. I wanted to talk stuff out with friends until I started to panic and then I would've set myself on fire if it meant getting away from them.

I was angry - like really angry and cranky. The only thing that would stop the cranky and anger would be the unexplained tears. I complained at work more than I normally did and snapped at people when I normally would've laughed off their jokes.

Clearly, I had turned into a teenager.

The entire time, I kept thinking that this wasn't like me. Where was my zen desire to be healthier in mind, body, and spirit? What was wrong with me?

So, like any crazy person, I decided to not call anyone and not do anything with anyone. Because when you're crazy, you think you're doing a good job of hiding the crazy... especially if you stop all communication with everyone else.

The only person that I couldn't quite dodge successfully was the boyfriend.

I'm sure that I drove my boyfriend bonkers because I was one of the neediest, bitchiest, and most confusing person in the world. And just so you know, I've worked hard to try to eliminate the drama in my life - and during the last week on Nuvaring(!), it was like I was putting on my own one-person play. In fact, the word "drama" doesn't even cover it. Now, it's true, sometimes he was being a bit of a turd and probably deserved some amount of communication about it, but he definitely didn't deserve the crap I was shoveling out.

And hoo boy, was I shoveling out some crazy shit.

The misery of the situation is that I didn't put two and two together until the end of month two... and I only put it together because I had had a similar (albeit much more minor) reaction several years ago when I was on a generic birth control. So if you're interested in specifics, you should know that I lived in Crazy Town (the medical term is "emotional lability") for two to three weeks.

And here I am, after 6 days off of the ring (and on my good ol' LoEstrin), feeling significantly saner. Without going into gory detail, I'll just say that my body is oh-so happy to have that particular type of hormone out of me.

Oh, and you know what was the biggest bummer of all? EACH AND EVERY NIGHT I still had to remind myself that I didn't need to take my birth control pill any more. Like I would be falling asleep and I would wake up nervous that I had forgotten it. GAH!

(sigh)

I am writing this post for two reasons:

1) To publicly thank my boyfriend (who will quite possibly never read this) for believing me (or at least pretending to) when I said that the crazy behavior WAS NOT ME. I'm not sure if the craziness damaged our relationship permanently...but I'm okay with whatever outcome happens, mostly because I feel more like me. And the me that I am can handle anything that will come, even the demise of something that could've been great.

b) To let the women out there know that hormones can be dangerous things to mess with. While it's true that some women may never experience the same symptoms, it's good to know that it CAN happen. I just feel horrible thinking that there could be a woman out there experiencing the same hell that I went through and not even knowing that her birth control (Nuvaring or any other one) could be to blame. Although to be fair to Nuvaring(!), I know of two people personally who loved it and never had any of the same issues I did. The same hormone can affect women differently (obviously).

In a society where everyone wants the next coolest thing, it's easy to want to be on different medication that seems cooler...but like that saying goes, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

So if you need me, I'll be in the pool practicing my boring and stupid synchronized swimming - cap and all.

Are all leaky, lonely, and driftin', just like me...

Way back when (which, as I understand it, is just a weird way of saying a while ago), I used to showcase music I love on Fridays.

So today, I decided to continue that theme...from months ago. Because you know, I love a good trend.

Anyway, today's song is "Leaky Little Boat" by Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers.

I was introduced to this band by my older sister, Rachel and this was the first song she played for me. While I'm not the biggest fan of the band (because my sister would probably take that title) I really do like them. AND I'm seeing them tonight when they're in Denver.

And OH MY GOSH. The drummer for the opening act? He's the one that I went on a date back in January and wrote about HERE. So yeah. I don't think that there's much risk that that guy will see me, but eesh.

Anyway, without further ado, here is "Leaky Little Boat."

Leaky Little Boat - Roger Clyn...

I awake from a long, deep sleep
In a leaky little boat on a wide blue sea
I spy no island, rock or shore
And the sea, she's a-comin' to me through a hole in the floor

And the tide come in and the tide go out
And the waves they come an' knock my little boat about
And the sky turn black and the sky turn blue
I got no pail, no sail, no anchor, too
Just a leaky little boat

And as I wake I look around
I have no notion where I'm bound
So many different colored boats I see
Are all leaky, lonely, and driftin'
Just like me

And the tide come in and the tide go out
And the waves they come an' knock my little boat about
And the sky turn black and the sky turn blue
I got no pail, no sail, no anchor, too
Just a leaky little boat

I spy no island, rock, or shore
I spy no island, rock, or shore
I spy no island, rock, or shore
And the sea keeps a-comin' to me through a hole in the floor
In my leaky little boat

In my leaky little boat

Alone, adrift together are we
Slowly sinkin' in a deep blue sea
But we smile and we wave
And we say, "I'm afraid...and I love you...and here we go..."

And the tide come in and the tide go out
And the waves they come an' toss my little boat about
And the sky turn black and the sky turn blue
I got no pail, no sail, no anchor, too
Just a leaky little boat

Just a leaky little boat

Spreading the luck

Alright, it wasn't easy to choose two random numbers out of the comments below, but I managed to do it!

Numbers 5 and 7 are the winning numbers, but since my favorite number is 3, I have to pick that one too.

SO, if you are Kristi, Lisa R, and Rebecca Jo, email me your address to happyfunpants [at] gmail [dot] com and I will get your nifty, extra super, nothing could be sexier or luckier prize.

The end. :)

Gettin' lucky...

In general, I am unlucky.

Like, you know those silly church raffles where you pay $1 and hope to win a basketful of Michael Bolton cassette tapes or a maybe even a monogrammed Bible cover? Well, despite entering about eleventy hundred church raffles, I never won...no matter how times (or how genuinely) I sang "He's Got The Whole World (In His Hands)." For those that know the song I'm talking about, you should take note that I EVEN DID THE HAND MOTIONS TO THAT SONG. And what did I get for my troubles? NADA. You'd think that I would've at least won a pencil with "Jesus Loves You" on it. But NO!

Or how about when the emcee of a conference encourages you to look under your chair for a colored piece of paper taped to the bottom... clearly indicating that you've won something cool like the "Back to The Future" Trilogy? Yeah. Despite my best attempts, I've never sat in that chair.

I've never won anything on a lottery ticket and I never get a parking space close to the front of the store. I always pick the security line at the airport with the most anal retentive TSA agent. I've never gotten two of anything at a vending machine due to malfunction of the coil.

What I'm trying to say is that, in general, I'm unlucky.

But I have been given a fantastic opportunity - one that I'm so excited to tell you about.

I was selected to be the first blogger featured at Tales from the Blog. Tales from the Blog is a site that has a lot of useful information (so you may want to sign up for the RSS feed).

A super cool thing about that site is that they have decided to feature a blogger a week...and it's not even one of the big named bloggers. In fact, this week it is me! :)

Not only that, but I was made into a HOT 3D animated character!

See?

In fact, it's probably best that you go there RIGHT NOW to listen to the interview. It's only 8 minutes long and besides, if you watch it, you will be entered into a random raffle where you could win...um...a prize. Yes. A prize.

What's the prize that you might win?

Um...well, I can't tell you (because then it wouldn't be so cool), but um...it's good. Really, really good. And all of your friends will want one. Also, if you get it, your hair will grow longer and stronger. And you'll have more money. And a bigger penis and/or boobs. Maybe both.

And I'm not kidding about the prize. Leave a comment that you visited the site and I'll pick a random winner and totally send a prize to you.

So, um...you should totally check it out.

And since I know you all so well, I'll just answer the questions that you're bound to have:

1) Yes, I really do look like that in real life. I sent pictures of myself to the producer/host and the measurements of my body that she came up with are EXACTLY CORRECT. No need to go back and view past pictures that I put on this blog because that is exactly what my body looks like. Exactly.
2) I had a cold when the interview was recorded. I do not sound like a man...typically. And the cold medicine helped me ramble more than I do...typically.
3) Yes. Apparently, I did get lei'd before the interview. Woo hoo! And that may or may not have been how I scored said interview. A good magician artist never gives away her secrets!
4) That *is* exactly what my living room looks like. The fresh cut fruit is a b!tch to keep up with, but it's a pretty table decoration and besides, my smokin' hot guests like it.
5) Yes. You heard me correctly. "I can't be a part of peaches." A dorkier answer during an interview may never have been given before. That is exactly the kind of quality statement that I bring to interviews. It's a wonder I haven't done more of these.
6) I am eating a grilled cheese sandwich right now.
7) All of the above statements are true, as far as you know.

So basically, I'm thrilled that I was selected to be a part of this project. They're going to feature other bloggers weekly and I can't wait to see/hear who the other bloggers are.

Being a featured blogger on an uber cool web site? It's yet another thing to scratch off my "Bucket List."

It's the most wonderful time of the year....

If you could see me now, you'd know exactly how rested I look. Actually, if you could see me now, you'd probably encourage me to get new pajamas, but that's beside the point.

Because today is the first day I've taken advantage of Daylight Savings Time.

I wish that there were more words in the English language that described how fantastic I feel in these first few days after the turn of the clock. Today I got up ON TIME (versus hitting my snooze button for way too long). Today I jumped out of bed and felt awesome.

And for me, it's always like this.

From now until spring, I am in my zone. I'm habitually on time (or EARLY!) to work during this segment of the year. I feel better and I feel more energized.

I was meant to live in this time zone. I was meant to wake up for work when it's light out.

And for the record, I feel that it's unfair of the residents of Arizona to be able to live with this luxury all year long without sharing. I mean, what is Arizona's time zone called? AST? Well, it can also be Anne Standard Time, thankyouverymuch.

That's why I'm refusing to change my clocks in the spring.

You've been warned.

Want to lose your appetite? Read this post.

First of all, consider this line as a warning: you will be grossed out in reading this post. So if you're eating, do yourself a favor and just stop. Stop reading or stop eating. Although I know I'm not a doctor, but pretty sure that you probably shouldn't be doing both.

Okay, then.

To lay the groundwork, you should probably know that my work place is full of complete idiots. It's full of people that ACT like idiots, but I also believe that if you tested our IQ, we wouldn't exactly score highly.

So one of the guys from "The Perilous Puddin' Pig Out" (that has yet to occur) accepted a dare today.

The dare? Eat two fully loaded Qdoba burritos. Fully loaded meant that the burrito had to contain beans, rice, a protein, a salsa, cheese, lettuce, and some sort of liquid-ish topping (queso, sour cream, or guacamole).

One burrito was 1.48 pounds and the other was 1.5 pounds. And he finished both in 28 minutes.

So, I encourage you to think about that. Just think about all of that food filling up your stomach. And think about that the food was THREE POUNDS AND that the sheer volume of the food is pretty substantial.

Just the thought of that has me nauseous.

So the rest of us (the spectators, if you will) started questioning which would be harder to do - eat three pounds of food or drink three pounds of liquid.

So, because we were all having a SCIENCE based discussion, he opted to drink 30 ounces of water too.

The result? He gained 5 AND A HALF POUNDS in 32 minutes.

So think about that. Can you imagine how full he is right about now? Like, if he leaned down to tie his shoes, you KNOW he'd be urping up something.

The worst part is that halfway through his second burrito, he paused, and spit something out into a napkin. Then he calmly walked over to the trash can and threw the napkin away.

When questioned what he did, he said, "Um, I'm pretty sure that was a fingernail."

But remember, I said that he ate two whole burritos. So this means that he found a human fingernail in the burrito AND THEN HE FINISHED IT ANYWAY.

I'll be having nightmares tonight, I'm sure.

And lemme' guess...you've lost your appetite, no?

Technology free weekend

First of all, I want to say how much I appreciate your response to my last post. To be honest, I didn't know so many of you read it on a consistent basis. Somehow it helps knowing that I am being read. So thank you for indulging me.

I'm not sure how I'm going to change things, but there will be changes for sure.

In fact, I was so burnt out about thinking of everything that I didn't look at a computer from Friday when I left work until last night around midnight. I have many emails to respond to, but it felt SO good just being away from it all.

To take it a step further, my iPhone died on Saturday and I didn't get it back up and charged until LATE last night.

It was lovely.

And now, after this weekend, I have more perspective. I gained some great insight from people that I admire and respect and feel like I am re-energized...ready to make the blog happier, funnier, and pantsier.

In other blogging news, I'm debating doing the whole NaBloPoMo thing again - mostly because I apparently like punishing myself. In case you didn't know, NaBloPoMo is "National Blog Posting Month" and the whole idea is to make blogging as painful as possible challenge bloggers to write one post a day.

I did it last year...and while I won't say that it was the most exciting series of posts, it was fun.

I know for sure that I'm going to vow to post at least 5 comments a day on the blogs that I read. I figure everyone can use a little comment love...and I'm vowing to be better about spreading it.

The love, that is. :)

Free to be... you and me

"Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken"
--Oscar Wilde

Last night, I found myself on the phone with a fantastic person. She's actually a friend of my boyfriend's. She is working on a fantastic project - one that I am so lucky to be a part of. And through us talking about the project, we've actually gotten to know each other better. And guess what? She's kind of my friend too now. I am SO lucky. :)

Anyway, during the phone conversation, we talked quite a bit about blogs.

I told her that I'm struggling. I'm struggling with blogging. I'm struggling with having two blogs. This one and Smaller Fun Pants.

There. I said it.

She asked why I started blogging and I told her it was mainly to keep in touch with people. I started by writing about my day to day life. And I get a kick out of making people laugh. Wait...I really get a kick out of making people laugh.

I love blogging. I love sharing my thoughts and I love being able to comment on other people's blogs. It's like a mini-community where you can bounce thoughts and ideas off of people. It's fun!

But I think that the people that used to read my blog, don't anymore. And that makes me sad. I wonder if I've offended people. I wonder if I've turned off people with my language or with my content. I wonder if everyone's comments are down or if it's just mine.

At the same time, I realize that I have a responsibility - one that I've been slacking in. I think I'm not as good about commenting as I once was - especially on the people's blogs that got me interested in blogging iin the first place. And I hate that...because I know that it is HARD to blog when you feel like next to no one out there is reading and/or liking what you post.

Believe me, I know. So I'm vowing to do something about it. I'm vowing to comment more - on the blogs where I know the bloggers personally and on the blogs where I lurk.

I was asked by this new friend what my favorite blog was... and I thought about all of my favorite bloggers out there. My favorites are the ones that seem authentic. They're the ones that seem like they blog about their lives - they pull me in, they make me laugh or they make me think about things in a different way. They write what they want to write and let the chips fall where they may.

THAT is the blogger I want to be. And THAT is the blog I want to have.

So there may be some changes around here. Because I want to continue to make you laugh and make your day a tad more fun. But I also want to be able to blog about other stuff that may not be so funny. I want to be my own authentic self. Because, as the quote says, everyone else is already taken.

But I'm hoping that through these changes, you'll love me anyway.

You will love me anyway, right?

Right?

10 things you probably didn't know about me...

A few weeks ago, my blogging friend, POD, made a list of 10 things that we probably didn't know about her. I commented it on the list and what did I get for that? Tagged to do the same list.

The "award" is actually called the "Honest Scrap" award and, as legend has it, was intended to have the person receiving the award to write 10 honest scraps of information about them. Also anyone reading it must immediately send $5 to the blogger that they're reading. Don't go back and look at POD's blog. Trust me on this one.

Anyway, to me, if you rush your words together (as I am wont to do), it sounds like the award is "Honest Crap." And really? It basically has the same outcome.

So, without further ado, 10 honest things that you didn't know about me:

1) I like lists. Like a lot. It may be because I feel more sane when they're around. It may be because I love scratching off things that I have completed - because sometimes in my life I feel that I haven't completed much. I'm not sure why, but proclaiming my love for lists seemed to be a good way to ease both you and me into this award.

2) I loved math workbooks as a kid. As in, my mom would take us to the store and they used to have math workbooks with a picture of a kid on it and I would get excited because IT MEANT I GOT TO PRACTICE MATH.

The kid on the workbook had his hand raised. The name of the workbook was something like "Who wants to get beaten up after school?" ANYWAY, inside the workbook was a bunch of math problems that were age appropriate. I loved these and begged for them when we went to the store because I loved to do math problems as a kid.

I think that's when my parents still thought that I might actually turn out to BE somebody someday.

3) Several years ago I went to go see a psychic in El Paso. She told me that I would meet the love of my life within the next few years. According to her, he would be older than me and his name would begin with a 'J.'

I'M NOT KIDDING.

Unfortunately, for all involved, right after the trip, I met a guy named Jon, who was older than me and who turned out to NOT be the love of my life.

I may burn down that place when I visit there again.

Then again, I think Josh Schmernsberger is a few months older than me...

4) I may or may not be allergic to radishes. I always remember being allergic to them, but when I mentioned it to my mom recently, she was all, "Uh...not so much." So it may be something that I think is true because I told myself that it was true a ton of times. I can see myself not liking the taste when I was little and then becoming convinced that I'm allergic to them. Tell that story a billion times and guess what? I became allergic to radishes. Maybe.

The thing is, since I'm not sure, I definitely don't want to try one. So as far as you're concerned, I'm allergic to radishes. Probably. Or not.

5) Have you ever heard someone say that they worked in a fast food place so much when they were younger that they can't even LOOK at (insert name of restaurant's food here) without getting sick?

How about the people that say that they ate so much of one type of food, got sick, and now they can't have it any more because it makes them nauseous?

Yeah. I'm not that person.

6) I just googled something that my mom actually DID say that I was allergic to when I was a kid. She used to tell teachers and friends that I couldn't have any of it. Only when I just read what the symptoms are for being allergic to it, I found out that they're bad symptoms.

Like it's all "Oh, is your kid setting fire to your dog? They might have a sensitivity to..." and then they listed the food.

I thought all I got was headaches and stomachaches but according to the interwebs, I also stayed in bed and sprayed what looked like split pea soup everywhere out of my mouth as my head was spinning.

Wow. I don't know how to deal with that so instead I'll say that apparently I had "behavioral problems" as a kid that may or may not be related to food sensitivities.

7) On a lighter note, the scene from "Shrek" where Prince Farquad is torturing the Gingerbread Man about where the Muffin Man lives makes me giggle every time. And when the Gingerbread Man screams "Not the buttons! Not my gumdrop buttons!" I laugh. Sometimes I laugh so hard, I cry.

Wow. Having that follow #6, doesn't exactly make me sound more sane. To clarify, I laugh because it's a rhyme that someone is being silly about NOT because something is getting tortured.

8) I like mittens. I like mittens a lot. And I wish that more people saw them as an appropriate item of clothing for people over 30. Sometimes I feel silly when I wear them around other people because I recognize that it's not grown up.

But then I turn them to the side, realize all over again that they sort of look like whales (when I'm wearing them and moving my thumb), giggle, and go on with my life. Because apparently, I'll act grown up about a lot of things - as long as I don't have to give up my mittens while doing so.

9) I have a daisy tattoo on my body. I thought that it would be so beautiful and awesome. I mean, I LOVE daisies!

In reality, the guy that did it, didn't do a good job. I went to have someone else "fix" it and although she clearly made it better, it doesn't look like something I'd ever look at and then be all "THAT! I want THAT on my body for the rest of my life."

I'd like to say that I turned it into something all powerful. Like I could say "That tattoo now stands for how I will stand up for myself and tell someone that I don't want what they think I want." But I still can't say that. Instead, I'm a little sad when I see it.

The thing is, it's on a part of my body that I only see occasionally. So sometimes it still takes me by surprise when I see it. I forget that it's there, realize it's there, get a little sad that it's not what I envisioned, and then remember that I had better get in the shower before I am late for work again. And so I hop in the shower and forget that I have it - at least for another day.

10) I absolutely positively don't like all-encompassing definitive statements.

And in case you're wondering, that's 100% true.

Oh, and also? I'm not tagging you if you leave a comment. Unless you want to be tagged. In which case, I'm TOTALLY picking you and I want to know about your 10 things too.

In a word? Twitterpated

So, I've been trying to come up with a few typical Fun Pants style posts all day. But no matter how much I tried to write a snarky, silly, or even goofy post, I can't.

Instead, my head is filled with gushing, sugary sweet, romanticized, and overly optimistic thoughts about my boyfriend and our relationship.

In fact, I completely unloaded my gushings via email on an unsuspecting person (that I barely KNOW!) in response to a casual and innocent question. She has no idea what she's about to read and I almost feel bad. Because when she opens that email, what's going to leap out are prancing unicorns, gum drop sunsets, and the smells of Strawberry Shortcake dolls.

I would feel bad or guilty if I wasn't too busy feeling so good. I didn't know that it could feel like this much fun AND be emotionally healthy.

It's wonderful.

It's bliss.

So, in short, I'll try to be my normal non-twitterpated self tomorrow.

But until then, I'll be over here - sighing dreamily.

Admit it, you have "Dream Weaver" playing in your head too

About 1 minute before I left work on Wednesday afternoon, I checked my email.

And that's when I found that JOSH HERNSBERGER (aka my 4th grade crush) left a comment on the last post that I talked about him.

If you're new here, I'm begging you to click here to read the back story...because is important.

It's okay, you can go. I'll wait.

SO, did you notice the comments at the bottom of it?

Josh Hernsebrger wrote (and I quote):

Sue you? Are you kidding? I was giving the link to everyone I know so that
they would know how awesome I was back in the 4th grade.

And I laughed so hard that I think I peed a little.

So I called my friend turleybenson up to tell her that her ex-boyfriend (look, apparently they dated for a whole 3 weeks in the 6th grade) commented on my blog. And then we laughed so hard on the phone that I think I heard her pee a little. What? She may or may not be a loud urinator.

Basically, I think it's frickin' AWESOME that he commented back.

So I got the idea to write him a quick message on Facebook to basically say "thanks for not being a douche canoe" or something sweet like that. Also, I don't know if he knows who I am. I mean, we had several classes together and all, but I don't ever say what my last name is on this blog and also? I look a little different than I did in 4th grade. Because in 4th grade I sort of looked like a mongoloid. NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT.

ANYWAY, I couldn't find him on Facebook. And he was no longer a friend suggestion. So I remembered a friend of mine (on FB) that *is* a friend of his so I clicked through to send him a message:

===========start of message===============

Hi there,

In case you haven't figured it out yet, I am the person who has written about you and the innocent crush from 25 years ago.

I actually signed onto Facebook because I wanted to send you a quick message to say thanks for being very cool and understanding about the whole blog thing. I would've written that you were being a "good sport" but I think that phrase is still reserved for use by people that are old - and I'm not ready to be old yet.

When I got onto Facebook, I couldn't find you at first - I mean, you weren't searchable and you were no longer in my friend suggestions. Around then is when I felt like a stalker for the first time in my life.* But like any GOOD stalker, I went ahead and continued to push through adversity. :) And then, it occurred to me that my writing about you may have made you want to
hide your identity somehow. And if that's the case, I want to tell you how sorry I am.

So basically, I wanted to say hi, to thank you for having a sense of humor about everything, to assure you that I'm very happy with my boyfriend, and to ask if you want me to take down the posts - or perhaps change your name to Josh Schmernsberger or maybe just "Josh H." I mean, the last thing that I wanted to do was to make your life more difficult in any way.

So if you feel comfortable, let me know if I've offended you in any way and how I can best rectify that... and I will go about doing so.

Oh, and this might be a bit overdue, but I'm hoping the last 14 years have treated you well.

:),
Anne

*Because that's pretty much the first time I've stalked someone on the internet...not because I've done it but never FELT like a stalker before.

And also? Come on...is "Dream Weaver" even playing a LITTLE bit in your head?

===============and scene!=============================

It's two days later and still no response.

I can only assume that the lack of response is because he is selling all his earthly possessions and trying to move to Denver - with the song "Dream Weaver" playing in his head every time he thinks about me.

And if that's true, I get to say to him that I'm very flattered, but that I feel like there just isn't that spark that was there in the 4th grade. Sure, he'll probably cry, plead, and maybe grab onto my pantlegs as I walk away. But I'll be firm with him. I'll tell him that he simply must try to forget my magnificence. Will it be tough? Undoubtedly. But he'll find a way to survive. And then dramatically, I'll walk away. And I won't look back...even though I can hear him sobbing.

Cue "Dream Weaver" one last time...

UPDATED: Okay, maybe "Dream Weaver" won't be playing in the background at the end. Maybe it'll be Hall and Oates "She's Gone" instead. Yes. That would be more perfecter.

UPDATED #2: I feel like I should still repay Josh for the blog fodder that he's given me. But since he clearly doesn't want to communicate with me about this, I can repay him the only way I know how:

Josh Schmernsberger is a fantastic and satisfying lover. He has a big penis. He is also very handy and knows how to fix everything. It's like he's McGuyver, Chuck Norris, The Dog Whisperer, and Dirk Diggler all rolled up into one. Anyone he's with is SOOO lucky to have him. Also he's really kind to his mom.

See Josh? YOU'RE WELCOME.

UPDATED #3: Everyone can breathe a sigh of relief. I do believe I'm done with the whole Josh Schmernsberger thing. YOU'RE WELCOME.

UPDATED #4: Alright, so seriously? The formatting on this post is horrible. I don't know what happened and I apologize to you if it's all wonky. I tried to fix it, but I can't. If only Josh Schmernsberger were here...

UPDATED #5: Just so we're clear, I totally Google myself. In fact, I totally do this more often than my own breast exams. Which reminds me, October is "Feel Your Boobies" month. So feel 'em.

Steadfast, revisited

I never do this.

I never go back to posts from one year ago to try to see what was going on in my life.

But today I decided to search through my archives to find three good posts for a project that I'm nominating myself for.

One of my favorite posts of all time WAS posted a year ago. The title of the post and the picture in question is "Steadfast."

I went back and read it and am amazed at how I still feel the same way. I'm also relieved to realize that it's not as much of a struggle to just BE as it was at this time last year.

I'm so blessed. I'm blessed to have a group of friends (both via the interwebs and in "real" life) that love me for who I am. I'm so lucky to have a family that is constantly trying to heal itself and are supportive of my efforts to make myself a better version of me. And I'm happy that in this time of my life that I'm dating someone who seems to genuinely like me for me.

All of that support makes it easier to be the rock that I am. I know now I that I could do it by myself...but I also know that having their support and encouragement makes my goals seem more attainable and any static in the line less noisy.

This year, I'm realizing that the rush of the water isn't as fierce as it could've been...especially since I have the support and foundation of those around me.

So in case I don't say it enough, thank you.

Her cackles raise my hackles

We've basically got two receptionists where I work - although both of them would rather light you on fire than admit that that's their job. One has the title of "Inside Sales Support" where she does nothing to actually help us. Unless checking her Facebook status and talking on the phone to her boyfriend is helping someone that I may not be aware of.

The lady that answers the phones all day has decided that her title should be "Office Purchasing." I don't really get that because we don't need to purchase another office. If she's referring to the fact that she does the purchasing for the office supplies, then I don't really get that either...seeing as how it took me 6 months to get a ruler. But that's another story.

So the "Inside Sales Support" lady has this laugh that grates on my nerves. It's like a cross between an evil laugh (think "Buh-wah-ha-ha-ha") and a giggle (where it's fast). She laughs a lot. And loudly.

I also laugh loudly and a lot...so most days I *try* to be understanding.

But some days, like today, I just want to hit her in the head with the lid to a toilet tank.*


*That was from a scene from "Zombieland." I'm not usually that violent. :)

Reason #253 why I like my boyfriend

Today, I got an email from him that said that I would like this site:

http://isnickelbacktheworstbandever.com/

See? How could I *not* like him?

Also, I heart that site. :) Because in case you're new here, I do *not* heart that band.

MILK!

I live in Denver...and we have a major league baseball team called the Rockies here.


I've never been a baseball fan...which kind of sucks. Because really, I'd like to think that I could get behind any sport that allows (or encourages) you to drink beer while watching it. It's just that when I start to watch it, I usually find myself drifting off to sleep within about 2.5 seconds. Even if I'm at the ballpark, I just can't get excited about what is going on to want to stay awake.


I did go to a baseball game with my friend Jon a few years ago when I was in St. Louis. We had a great time in box seats and I even got to see a guy get beaned with a baseball on the side of his head. And let me be clear here, I'm not condoning having a horrible injury. I mean, that would suck a lot. I'm just saying, I was there when it happened.


Anyway, the Rockies are apparently in some sort of playoffs with the Phillies. I'm not exactly sure how it works, but it seems that there are about fifty bazillion games during the season and then eventually there are 3 different playoff bracket things. I think we're in the Division Playoffs right now. Next is the Championship Playoffs, which doesn't make much sense to me because the winners of those aren't the champions.


Because what comes after that is the World Series - even though it doesn't involve any other teams in the world. But again, baseball doesn't exactly make sense to me.


So anyway, a couple of guys at work are listening to the game on a stereo that is aimed at their cubes in the office (i.e. a boom box that is propped up on a chair in the hallway, powered by a 180 ft. extension cord).


And that's when I mentioned that I used to date a pitcher of a baseball team. It's true! I did. And just because I don't want to have another Josh Hernsberger situation on my hands, I'll just say that his last name is Loudermilk.

That's right.

As in "MILK!!!!!!" which is clearly louder than just "milk."

So the guys are shouting "MILK!" in my general direction - which really takes away from:
a) my ability to actually *do* my job
2) anyone else's ability to listen to the game
iii) my will to live.

It does, however, make me glad that that relationship didn't work out; that's probably a name I'd rather be without.

Please send bail money

So this morning, I received a call at work. The man on the other end of the phone is Bill. Bill is a customer of ours and I have talked several times during the last two and a half years. Bill and I have swapped emails on work related stuff...where in my signature it indicates that I'm an engineer.

I AM AN ENGINEER.

So Bill works for a company that is now handled by a different engineer in our office. He's the same guy that gets bitten by vampire wannabes, doesn't know what platonic means, and has the Jackass Award on his desk more often than anyone else in our office. He's a nice guy and all, but...

Anyway, Bill calls up and apparently doesn't realize who he's talking to. He says, "So, you're [the guy I mentioned above]'s secretary, right?"

So I say, "Well, that'd be news to me."

He says, "Oh, well then are you just helping him out?"

I say, "He's on vacation until Monday. What can I do for you, Bill?"

And then I helped him even though I kind of wanted to beat him with a chicken pounder thingie (I happen to have one in my purse).* Not because there is anything wrong with being a secretary. Some of the most powerful and apt people I know are admin assistants. It's that he ASSUMED that I was a secretary. It's that kind of pig-headed crap that frustrates me. And to be my inept co-worker's secretary? UGH. It's like pouring lemon juice over a papercut.**

Besides, does anyone even CALL them secretaries any more?

I thought that it was kind of funny and a little obnoxious. I wrote an email to Joe telling him about it. I made a joke about me possibly needing to be bailed out of jail for an ALLEGED homicide.

A few hours later, Joe calls and says things like "Well, once you're done with the filing..." and "Could you be a dear and get me a cup of coffee?" and stuff like that. To be clear, he's doing it not because he believes it, but because he thinks he's funny.

I kept telling him that he is NOT funny.

But then he thinks of a new line, says it, and follows up with this giggle...this wonderfully silly laugh that I can't help but smile at. So then I giggle. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

(sigh)

So, to catch you up, I may or may not need a cake with a file baked in it. And my time in prison may or may not be due to me maiming Bill and/or Joe.



* That's because Kris read this post and gave me one. Isn't that sweet??
**A papercut that I would NOT have gotten from filing thankyouverymuch.

Cutco clearly has ties to the CIA

YEARS ago, my little sister had a job selling Cutco. You know, the knives that are super sharp? She would do in home presentations - including one that involved cutting a penny with her super sharp scissors. I'm not quite sure what that had to do with my culinary skills...but then again, I suppose I'd actually have to *have* culinary skills to compare it with.

At any rate, at the time that she sold it to me, I was in college. Since then, I have moved eight or nine times - in three different states.

And yet, I still get spam from them via email and home brochures. EVERY TIME.

I'll I'm saying is that if I ever am missing, contact Cutco. I have full confidence that they could find me.

Can you see me now?

The last two weeks, I've taken a boxing class at my gym. I was looking for a way to mix up my cardio and to do something fun besides just running. The boxing class is fun, it's a great way to get out any stress I have, and I leave there knowing that I put in a great workout.

But my instructor - who wears ripped shirts and boxing gloves - even though none of the rest of us do - has a REALLY weird habit.

He closes his eyes when he's addressing the class.

Like, not all the time, but if he's going to be talking for a minute or two, he doesn't look at us. They're closed during pretty much the whole time...and then every now and again, he'll open his eyes for a second - only to close them again immediately. Kind of like reverse blinking.

It's weird.

And I'd think that if he's used to being a boxer that he'd know that the best chance of not being hit would be to actually LOOK at your opponent.

WEIRD.

LiveSTRONG Day (aka cancer can suck it)

Today is LiveSTRONG Day - the anniversary of when Lance Armstrong was diagnosed with cancer. It is also my virtual friend, POD's, cancer diagnosis anniversary...and she asked some of us to blog about how cancer has affected our lives.

You should probably know now that I hate cancer. I hate what it does to people - those that have it and those that support others with it.

There are more than three people in my life that have had cancer, but I'm choosing only three to write about today because each of their stories still manage to affect my life.

The first is my uncle. Now I've only had one uncle in my lifetime and to say that Ray and I were close would be a lie. I hardly knew him. In fact, I hardly knew my aunt and my cousin. So you may be asking yourselves how an uncle that I barely knew could affect my life? It's because he was the first person that I knew that was diagnosed with cancer. Ray was a proud man - who seemed to me to be proud of the fact that he could provide for my aunt and my cousin. He seemed to know what was best in any situation - present him with a problem and poof! he'd know how to fix it.

But Ray couldn't fix cancer.

They got some of the best doctors involved and at first we were hopeful. But in the end, cancer stripped my uncle of parts of his mouth, parts of his face, parts of his throat, and undoubtedly parts of his self-worth. Ray was a fighter - and he fought until the bitter, bitter end. I like to think that he still wanted to hang on - to keep providing for my aunt. He died in 2001. Since they lived in Michigan, I didn't visit them until the funeral but I sent cards often (my aunt seems to be a pretty private person) to let them know that I was thinking of them and praying for them. I hope my uncle knows that we all loved him.

The second person that has affected my life was a friend from my church in El Paso. Her name was Becky Rood. When I was growing up, going to church wasn't an option. We simply had to do it. And Becky had the most beautiful voice. She always sang the harmonies to the songs and I like to think that that's how she was in her life. She supported the main songs that were sung in the same way that she seemed to support people.

When I was a teenager and things were rocky at best in my home life, I remembered being at church for the Wednesday Lent Service. I remembered feeling SO alone before I walked into that church. I remembered asking God if anyone would even notice if I was gone - did anyone even notice me at all? And then, in the middle of the service, Becky leaned over the pew separating us and said, "You have such beautiful hair. I love sitting behind you. I'm so glad you're here." Somehow those words were enough. You can call it a coincidence - and that's fine with me. But I know that it was God signing the main tune - and her picking up the harmonies.

Becky was diagnosed with cancer a few years ago and she passed away this past year. Since that time at church, I've kept in touch with her - and her husband, Tom - two of the nicest, most genuine people in the world. Every time I came home to visit, I always looked forward to catching up with them. I loved Becky and I still tear up when I think about how I won't get to hear her again.

And now we come to my friend Rex, the third person. Rex was my friend long before we dated. To say that Rex is stubborn is like saying that ice cream is kind of good - it's an understatement by far. He worked in a hospital in a high level position and one day came home to tell me that a co-worker told him that he should really get a spot that was on his head/face looked at. To her, it looked like it could be cancer. Did he do it right then? Why no. Because that would be SANE. Instead, he took his own sweet time (aka a LONG TIME LATER) getting it checked out. And when he FINALLY did, the doctor agreed - it was cancer. I don't remember the levels and I don't remember the stage, but I do remember telling my dad (who is a doctor) what those numbers were and my dad said that it was definitely not good. Melanoma is never good.

Of course, at this time, I was madly in love with him and didn't want him to die, even if he did hog the covers some nights. In the end, the surgeon removed the entire area and was thankfully able to get clean margins - which means that he got it all.

You may be thinking "What is the big deal? If he got it all out at the time, then was it really traumatic?" And if you asked me that, I would actually consider getting a shovel and hitting you over the head with that. Mostly because Rex wasn't telling me if there were clean margins - he wasn't telling me what the surgeons were telling him - and I, of course, assumed the worst. He wanted his space - which meant, of course, that I wanted no space at all. It sucked.

Today, Rex is fine and although I don't have any recent data, I assume he still steals the covers most days. I am so thankful that the person at the hospital approached him - telling him that he needed to get it checked out. If she hadn't have done that, I might've had a very different story to tell today. Because she said something and because Rex finally went to go see someone, I have a great friend today. I don't know what I would do without him - as he is very much a major component of my support structure and has been for almost a decade.

I decided to tell all three stories for various reasons, but what I encourage people to do is to get checked out something that doesn't seem or feel right. If you're prone to moles or spots, see a dermatologist. For the women, get your yearly PAP smears and do your monthly breast exams. Early detection is SO important and knowledge IS power.

Lastly, POD is having a giveaway on her blog for various Lance Armstrong Foundation items...all you have to do is comment on her blog from today and you are entered. It's even an official LiveSTRONG thing!

What cries and is white with brown all over?

Possibly me.

I'm wearing a white v-neck sweater. It's really cute. It has longer sleeves which make me feel petite and little. Also, it shows off that I have boobs. Today they even look perky!

But I'm sleepy today...so I'm drinking tea. Tea that is brown.

And I swear, if I spill it on me, I will cry like a teenage girl at a Jonas Brother concert.

Dude acts like a lady...

All of the guys at work are being big babies today.

I tried to be considerate, but it seems that they're all dealing with their time of the month because THEY ARE SO SENSITIVE.

I don't know what is going on, but I'm hoping that it stays in the month of September.

And yes...I know. This completely negates the great, peaceful feelings from yesterday.

And all I have to say about that is that I would offer them a hug if it would help. But because they're all manly, they don't want a hug because that would interfere with the slamming of doors and staplers. One thing's for sure - they definitely don't want to TALK about it.

GAH.

In the dark

Character is what you are in the dark.
-- Dwight L. Moody

Joe (the boyfriend) and I were talking the other day about religion, faith, and spirituality in general. And I suppose that remnants of that conversation are still on my mind.

I have appreciated and loved the part that my spirituality has played in my life. But these days, I'm aware of how often I hear someone say that they're religious and yet their actions don't seem to come close to matching the faith that they're professing to others. I'm aware, acutely, of the times that I have done the same.

Why is it that we, as a people, seem to be so quick to point out others shortcomings? We judge others by their actions and judge ourselves by our intentions entirely too often.

It feels lighter - doesn't it - to forgive others and ourselves?

So what if, instead, we all tried to be the best authentic self we could be?

Not because it gets us a better seat in heaven.

Not because others are watching.

But because it's the right way to live. It's less stressful on our own bodies. It's more harmonious.

It facilitates peace - internally and externally.

Slower than a running toilet...

This past weekend was FABULOUS.

First, I got to see a friend from Boston that I hadn't seen in about 12 years. I'm not really allowed to write her name, but let's just say that she writes over at turleybenson. It was fantastic and I have decided that she, her husband, and her baby need to move to Denver right about now.

AND I ran in a really fun 5K.

I know - you guys don't come here to read about the kind of healthy living crap that I write about on my other blog...but it was great - so I'm writing about it here.

First of all, the 5K was a part of the Oktoberfest celebration that was going on in Denver. They were encouraging people to come dressed in their finest German wear OR to dress like David Hasslehoff. Let me just say that the costumes were pretty darn funny.

I knew that I didn't have a German costume to wear, but I opted to wear my "Great American Beer Festival" (which was also going on this weekend) shirt with braids...see?

The picture was taken by my wonderfully awesome boyfriend...one that I'm liking more as each day passes. He won MAJOR boyfriend bonus points by driving me to the race and being with me before the race started. And his reaction to me having a new personal record for a 5K?* Perfect. I've decided that I'll be keeping him, at least for now. :)

Anyway, the race started and I was feeling really good about how I was doing...except for one small thing. Actually, it was a rather big thing.

I was running slower than a toilet.

That's right, folks - that toilet can run about an 8 minute mile. I'm not really sure HOW it can run that fast, but the entire first mile, I was thinking about all the times I prank-called people in the 7th grade asking them if their refrigerator was running. When the person undoubtedly said "yes", we'd shout "Well, then you better go catch it!"

I was trying to think of a joke that would be appropriate for a running toilet, but I really can't think of one. Mostly because the running toilet is so bizarre, I think it's very existence trumps all jokes.

If you're wondering WHY there was a running toilet and how that fits into some sort of German theme, it's because Denver Water actually sponsored part of the run. On the back of this toilet was a big bumper sticker that read, "Running toilets waste water." And just so you know, this was the friendliest toilet ever. He waved at cars that were stuck at stoplights and high-fived the cops that watched us run.

Before mile marker 1, the toilet stopped on the side of the road next to a cop. I'm not quite sure what happened, but I never saw it again.

Maybe it had to go to the bathroom.

*I'm thrilled because I shaved 1:20 off of my best 5K time - which was just two weeks ago! I'm still not fast - my race time was around 35 minutes...but I'm getting faster every race. I feel great! In fact, my only regret is not starting my health kick sooner.

I would say "Mystery Solved" but it kind of just brings up more questions...

I found my fun pants from two nights ago.

They were hanging on my coat rack in the stairwell on the way to my basement on a hook that is normally reserved for umbrellas.

Just hanging there.

And when I saw them, they actually looked like they belonged there...almost as if that's where I *should* be hanging my fun pants.

WTF?

I hope it was good for someone

I'm sick with a cold. It's one of those colds that comes with a whistling in my nose every time I breathe. The type of cold that means that I have tissues stuffed into every pocket of every piece of clothing that I'm wearing. It means that my hands are chapped from being washed often and my nose is red from all the wiping.

It's sexy.

So last night, I opted to take some NyQuil...and then later took some Tylenol PM. See, I was out of regular Advil and I had decided to take a boxing class at the gym yesterday. So I knew I was going to be sore and taking pain medication (albeit no anti-infamatory medicine) seemed litke a good idea. The only problem is that when I took the Tylenol PM, I had forgotten about taking the NyQuil. When I remembered it, I figured I had about 7 hours of sleep ahead of me, so I probably wouldn't oversleep or anything. It was probably going to be fine.

This morning, after hitting my snooze button for an hour and a half (I'm not kidding), I walked to the bathroom to take a shower. Around the time that I got there, I realized that I wasn't wearing any fun pants.

To be clear, I went to bed wearing fun pants.

So I shuffled back to my bed and I'm not kidding you, my pants are NO WHERE to be found. They're not mixed in with my covers, they're not under the bed. They're not in the bathroom and they're not in the fridge.

I lost a pair of fun pants last night...and that sucks because I LOVE that particular pair of fun pants.

Maybe this is one of those things I can blame on living close to an electrical pole.

Tales of the Fourth Grade...SOMETHING

Let me start this post by saying that I wish I could quit laughing long enough to actually BE embarrassed about this post. It's just that this is too damn funny.

Dude. I can predict THE FUTURE.

Lemme' back up.

See, when I was in fourth grade, I had a friend named Leah. She was the same one who may or may not have kicked my ass in a dance off with a one-legged girl. Anyway, Leah is and was ADORABLE. She was cute, petite, and her mom did her hair in the most amazing ways. And although I clearly pined for boy named Josh Hernsberger, Leah was the one that won his affections - or at least his attention. Because I'm pretty sure "affection" shown in fourth grade involved pushing the girl down on the playground and perhaps calling her a "poopy head."

ANYWAY, I clearly remember being in the bus and thinking about (aka PREDICTING) the future. I remembered thinking that one day Josh would be sorry for not choosing me. In my mind's eye, Josh and I would meet at a high school reunion where he would realize the error in judgement. I would walk in wearing some sort of flowing skirt...the wind would be in my hair (in a sexy, tousled way) and I would be drop dead GORGEOUS. Leah would walk in and would be a shrunken, shriveled mess - probably with warts all over her face and DEFINITELY with cooties. Josh would be too stunned by my beauty to speak. He may or may not have "Dream Weaver" playing in his head. Eventually, we would talk. We would laugh about the old days. And then he would invite me back to his mansion to watch MTV and we would live happily ever after.*

I've had the option of adding Josh as my friend on Facebook for quite some time. In fact, when I first saw him as an option to add on my friend suggestions page, I laughed.** I didn't add him because somehow that would be less funny. I did, however, add Leah. And as luck (or good genes) would have it, she's just as cute as ever.

So fast forward to today...err...today-ish.

'Member this post where I mentioned Josh Hernsberger in my plea/bribe to God? How about the one where I mentioned Josh Hersberger again? Well, if you read the last one, you'll see my tiny little PS at the bottom - one where I predicted that Josh would eventually find out.

Apparently, Josh knows how to Google. Or one of his friends do. Or maybe it's a stalker. The point is, someone Googled his name. And then they copied the links. And then they sent them via email to what seems to be about eleventy hundred people.

How do I know this? My hits on my website counter spiked - even though I hadn't written anything in a week or so. And when I went into the history to see WHY it spiked I found a couple of these:

In case you're new to counter reports, this says that google sent this person to my blog after googling his name. Up until now, the highest number of referrals was the one where I put a picture of Pete up.

As I looked through more of the counter history, I found lots of ones that indicate that someone sent emails with the links to the two posts to various people in the US.

Honestly, I think it's HYSTERICAL. I mean, for a half of a second, I wondered if he could sue me for slander or something... but then I thought that if the bloggess can write about William Shatner and she doesn't get in trouble, I'm probably safe with disclosing a crush that happened 25 years ago.

So, to Josh or his wife or his friends or his mom or his dog or his stalker: Hi. You should totally come over. I even have MTV.

* The MTV thing was important, because my mom would not let us watch MTV.

**I whited out the faces because I don't know if it's okay to put peoples' picture on the web without their consent. And let's be honest, Debbie's baby is probably evil. I do NOT want to mess with that baby.

More fun than you can shake a baby at...

One of the perks of living where I do is that there is about ZERO coverage of any cell phone carrier. Actually, that's not true. It seems that you can have just enough coverage to leave about 4 seconds of information on a voicemail or perhaps tell the person on the other line that "I am hearing some static and I might drop the ca-."

In fact, if there was an emoticon map to demonstrate the coverage of the Denver area, it would show that I live in the center of a frowny face surrounded by miles and miles of happy faces. I LIVE IN A FROWNY FACE.

:(

I can't tell you how fantastic it's been to be worried about my dog, finally get enough of a signal to call the vet, eventually getting to talk to the vet only to hear those three tones that indicate that the call has been dropped. The dread of realizing that you've got to go through all of that again before the office closes in five minutes is awesome. It's thrilling to be sharing sweet words with a boyfriend only to realize that he's no longer at the other end of the line. And when you FINALLY get to call back, the mood has dissipated. Sex-ay.

So I finally decided to get a home line installed and after figuring out which bundle can save me the most money, I had a phone line! Well...really, I had a phone number and the date when everything was supposed to magically work.

Some women dream of their wedding day. But not me. Each night leading up to that date, I'd go to sleep envisioning actually being able to talk on the phone without screaming "can you hear me now?" and "is this better?" It seemed almost too good to be true. I even went to the store to pick out a brand new phone with the boyfriend.*

The day of, I figured I should probably figure out which jack to plug the phone into. Sure, my house was built in 1882, but I figured that the crackwhores had to call out for pizza from somewhere. I was positive that I had a multiple jacks.

So I checked the bedrooms. Nope, none there. Was there one in the living room? Nada. Surely the kitchen has one, right? No. Not so much. Turns out the only jack I had was in the dining room. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DINING ROOM WALL. Right. So my postage stamp of a place has a jack in the middle of the frickin' room - the only room that WOULDN'T make sense to put a jack anyway.

"It's okay," I thought. "I'll make do." But it turns out, I couldn't even do that.

I'm sure you'll be SHOCKED to hear that the day when it was supposed to be turned on? Yeah... it didn't work. Turns out that people who could die in a fire due to bad wiring aren't exactly concerned about being able to call out for help.

So I made another appointment to have a line technician come out and when he arrived at my house with a Bluetooth headset in his ear, the first thing he said was "Gah! I can't get a cell signal in this neighborhood. It sucks!" Personally, I think I deserve at least a gold star for not ripping his arm off and beating him with it.

He assessed the situation and then said, "Just so you know, hooking up this phone line is going to be a b!tch." Is it sad that I just shrugged? I'm now immune to any handyman, mover, electrician, or phone tech saying that something about my house is less that desirable. TELL ME ABOUT IT - I live this dream DAILY.

So three hours later, my phone line was working!! I had a new jack in the second bedroom!! I'm pretty sure that the happiness that I felt is akin to what new mother's feel when they first see their babies for the first time as that is precisely how happy I was. I was GLOWING.

Approximately 15 minutes later, I got my first telemarketing call. And then another one...and then another one. So in the 3 days that I've had service, I've had about forty hundred telemarketing calls and also apparently a stalker (Cynthia Gonzales) who cannot stop calling my house during the day.

To make matters worse, apparently the phones that I have have a ringer setting of "SURE TO MELT YOUR EARDRUM!!!!" and it's next to impossible to turn it down. Seriously. Someone calls my house and it's like the loudest sound EVER echoing off my walls - like the sound out of a science fiction movie where "one guy touched the wrong thing and the world is going to melt in 15 seconds" kind of sound.

So last night, at around 1:38 in the morning, I heard the ring of my phone and finally surrendered my will to live. I'd put up a good fight, but after weighing the effort that it would take to pry a hand away from my ears to actually answer the phone, it seemed like it would just be easier to hold my breath until I passed out. Only the ringing/buzzing/clamoring wouldn't stop.

You'll understand my delight when I found that the guy on the other end of the line was so drunk that it was hard to understand what the words he was slurring together in a "sentence" were supposed to be. Basically, the gist of the phone call was that I was supposed to go ahead and buzz up his girl so the she could go through the back door. I'm pretty sure that that'd code for sex, but at that point, I didn't even care any more. I told him that he had the wrong number and after he repeated some string of numbers that may or may not have been my new number, I reassured him that he did not have the right number. And then, because my day job kicked in, I told him to "take care and have a nice day."

Having a home phone? It's turning out to be the best decision ever.


*There, I said it. I have a boyfriend. And he's fantastic. His concern over me picking out the best and most cost effective phone was just about the cutest thing ever...it almost made this whole ordeal worth it.