From the Mixed Up Files of Happy Fun Pants...

No, it really is a toothbrush...

2012-02-13T11:38:00.000-07:00

Last week, I went on a business trip to a small town in North Carolina. I'd like to say that I had fun, but I like that this is a place where I can be honest. Like this time.

Anyway, right before leaving my hotel room, I usually do a sweep of the whole place to make sure that I leave nothing behind. But the day I checked out, I felt confident. I mean, I KNEW I had packed everything.

Except that apparently, I didn't.

I forgot my electric toothbrush. And it's an awesome one.

So I called the next day (after realizing that I left it behind) and had a conversation that went like this with the lady at the front desk:

Lady: Hi. Good morning. I'm in a crappy mood. I'm going to ask how I can help you, but I don't really want to help you.

Me: Fabulous. Say, I checked out of your fine hotel yesterday morning and I realized last night that I left something there. I stayed in room 115. Can you tell me if your housekeeping staff noticed an electric toothbrush?

Lady: Did they notice one? Well, I mean, they probably did.

Me: Great. Could someone send it to me?

Lady: You really want us to mail you your toothbrush back? Can't you just buy another one?

Me: Well, it's an electric toothbrush.

Lady: Huh?

Me: It's electric. It vibrates? So it gets your teeth really clean? It's made by SonicCare? They're not really cheap. So if they did find it, could you all send it?

Lady: Wait. HA! Oh. I know what you mean. It's a vibrating "toothbrush." Hahahaha Yeah. We find those "toothbrushes" kind of often. But I've never had someone ask me to send theirs to them.

Me: Um. No. I don't mean a vibrator. I mean it actually is a toothbrush.

Lady: Uh-huh. Well, let me ask the housekeeping department and we'll hit you back if we found anything like what you're describing.

Me: Uh...thanks.

And scene.

Just a friendly Public Safety Announcement

2012-01-10T10:54:00.001-07:00

Last week, a co-worker named Stacey quit. She found a better, higher paying opportunity but the real reason she quit is that she couldn't stand her boss. In fact, no one can really stand the boss - it's not a secret.

As is typical in my workplace, another co-worker sent out an email inviting people to meet up on Friday to celebrate with Stacey.

So the email went out to probably 15 of us asking us to forward on to anyone else we thought was cool enough to be in attendance.

One of the people invited, Chuck, wrote to Stacey and a few others this:

"Alright! I'll come! And I'll bring the (insert Stacey's boss' name here) pinata!"

Okay. So that's funny. Because I don't know anyone who wouldn't at least fantasize about hitting this person with a stick.

But what he didn't realize is that he also sent this to Stacey's boss.

Doh!

Stacey's boss immediately forwarded the email on to our Human Resources person filing a grievance against Chuck stating that she felt that her life was being threatened.

At Stacey's exit interview, our HR person said "Oh, and I won't be able to make it out for your going away celebration. I have other plans." Apparently SHE thought that when she was forwarded the email by Stacey's boss that she was actually being invited.

Seriously. I can't make this crap up.

Also? Check your To:, cc:, and bcc: fields before sending.

I'm a two

2011-12-14T09:09:00.000-07:00

This morning I had my yearly check-me-for-moles-and-skin-cancer appointment. It's important to have those appointments for everyone - but especially for us pasty people.

I ended up arriving early* and got seated into the exam room pretty quickly by an overly-exuberant guy. I don't know what his function is but he's also the guy who answers the phone sometimes and also books follow up appointments.

Anyway, we're in a closed room and he's asking me all the standard questions and then he looks at me critically and says, "Oh. You're a two."

I must've looked a bit surprised...I mean, here I was, at 7:30 in the morning, looking as cute as I could muster without having a full mug of coffee, but wow. Honesty hurts.

Because as soon as this dude leaves the door, I've got to strip down for a hot doctor to check my skin. As in every inch of my body. Under the ever so complimentary fluorescent lights. And if anything bolsters my confidence in these situations, it's having someone look at you critically and then rank you.

OUT LOUD.

So then he laughs and turns bright red and explains that "two" is just a way to describe people's skin color. 1 is people who are albino, 2 are people "like me", 3 are "typical" Caucasians, 4 are people who are Hispanic, and 5 are people who are "super dark." I didn't ask where Asians and any other ethnicity fell into place because I felt pretty certain I could fill in the blanks.

So I made some paltry excuse of a joke like, "Wow. Sorry. I thought you meant something else at first. I just haven't had my coffee yet." And I pointed to the travel mug on the table next to me.

Then, he stammers, and says, "No. You're a hottie. I definitely wasn't rating you as a two."

I just blinked. Because, now what does one say?

He blushes, then says, "Sorry, I'm not thinking. I haven't had any coffee yet. Can I smell yours?"

Um. What?

Oh! He means my coffee.

Nope. That doesn't make it any less weird.

I opted to laugh as if he was kidding. He laughed. And then gave me a paper gown.

But you know what? I'm super appreciative of him - because no matter how compliments come about, it was nice to receive one.

Even when I'm a two.

* This is a huge accomplishment. The appointment was WAY down south in a hospital that is super hard to navigate. I didn't remember which suite he was in and I didn't write it down when they called for the appointment reminder. In fact, as the doors were closing on the elevator, I thought, "Crap. I should've probably looked at the little informational thing in the lobby to double check."

But I got to the right suite, even though it was twisty-turny, on the first time. Early. I'm kind of my own hero.

Well, that sucked.

2011-12-06T10:31:00.001-07:00

Know how people are all, "Give nice guys a chance?"

For the past 15 years, thought I did... but I guess I never really did. The last few months, I've had an opportunity to look back at the guys I've chosen routinely and realized that they've all had some serious issues right from the get go.

The ones I've picked to stay with had issues with intimacy, issues with their moms, issues with their dads, or issues with me. But in all cases, they strummed a chord right on my heart strings - that chord being: "Stay. Help Me. Fix me."

And apparently that chord always works with me.

In truth, it doesn't mean that they weren't nice, but it does mean that they had some red flags.

So each time, when something ended, I found myself inching the door to the possibility of a lasting love a little more closed. I have believed that those dreams - those nice things - weren't for me.

The guys I passed up?  They were the nice ones. The guys who treated me the way I should be treated - right from the get go. But the chord that they strummed never seemed melodic to me. I chalked it up to the chemistry not being there and moved on.

Ending the relationship with Joe, was a great time to realize that the problem wasn't with ME. It's with the people I've continually picked. Which, okay, WAS with me. But hopefully you get what I mean.

I took the time to re-calibrate my heart strings. And I realized that the ones that called for help weren't quite as melodic as I had thought. And the ones that offered genuine feelings of happiness and love sounded better than I ever believed.

So this past month, when I had the opportunity to really look love in the eyes, I did.

It started with a wonderful question - something along the lines of "Are you ready, really ready to be in love? Are you ready in your heart and your mind?"

I looked within me, brushed off my newly re-vamped heart strings, and answered, "Yes."

And it was WONDERFUL. The act of falling in love is an amazing feeling. It's fast, it's all consuming, and it feels beautiful. Like my blinders have been ripped off my eyes - and now I could start to see life's full beauty - which includes ME.

I found myself peering through the crack in the door to lasting love. I found myself lured by it's charm. I started to (gasp!) hope. And when my brain tried to tell my heart to slow down, I reminded it that THIS type of story happens to others. Why not me? Why not us? Why not now?

We even said several times that it felt like we were 15 again - to feel like the whole world was ahead of us and that we could figure out anything that came our way.

To me, it felt like the first part of a drop on a roller coaster ride.  I was scared, white-knuckling it...until something inside me encouraged me to just let go; to just enjoy it.

And oh, how I enjoyed it. Because that feeling? It's amazing; intoxicating; heart-stoppingly beautiful.

Until it wasn't.

Realistically, I've recounted the weirdness of what happened many times with my friends and they all believe that something is clearly going on with him. And from the stories he told me about some of the girls that he met, they all reacted with similar disbelief when things ended. Judging from the outside looking in, this seems to be his MO.

So, logically, I know it's not me. Or maybe it is. But I know that even if his opinion of me and us changed that quickly, it doesn't have anything to do with me. Yeah, yeah...maybe he got scared...but maybe he was just playing me. Maybe he's just damaged goods with entirely too high of standards. No matter how hard I try, I can't figure out what happened.

Because to me, even if I got weird vibes or mixed messages, I'd want to ride the roller coaster again.

But eesh. It still hurts. Just like the heartbreaks of 15 year olds.

So how is it that I'm more upset about things ending with a man that I haven't known nearly long enough than ones that I've stayed with for entirely too long?

Because my heart strings strummed a song that seemed to be in tune with his (and even I puked in my mouth with how cheesy that sounded). But that tune? It was one of the most amazing things I've felt and heard.

So here I am. Sad, disappointed, and hurt. Maybe this is the rebound relationship effect. Or maybe it's because we really could've made it work.

But I do know this: I need time to repair the damage - to my heart strings and my pride.

So that the next time a nice guy asks if I'm really ready - for love and all the wonders it holds - I'll have the courage to say yes.  I'll have the courage to walk through that door, down the aisle, and wherever else that path leads.

Oprah would totally be proud...

2011-11-23T21:58:00.001-07:00

Oh, hi there!

I get it - it's been nine thousand years since I've posted and who knows if anyone still reads this thing... and maybe in some ways I kind of like that idea. I like being a little anonymous - being able to write my heart out while being completely truthful...and not worrying about who might read it and who might get their feelings hurt.

Because honestly? This past year has been huge for me. While I haven't been blogging here (or anywhere else, really), I've been struggling to find my own voice.

And what I found is that my voice doesn't have to be funny all the time. It doesn't need to be loved like it once did.

A LOT of crap has happened this past year. Deaths, marriages, falling out with toxic people, a new job, and the cementing of new friendships. Oh, and breaking up with Joe.

Those that know me IRL have probably already known that for a while. But those that didn't might be asking what the Sam Hill happened. And sometimes I really don't know.

Probably we shouldn't have continued dating after some red flags were shown. Probably we shouldn't have moved in together. And probably I should've left him a year and a half ago when trust was broken. But I didn't.

Sometimes it was easier to bury my head in the sand and pretend that I could will the problems to be better; that I could make it work for the both of us. I'm sure there were times when he felt the same way.

But in the end, there was really only one decision - and that was to end things.

And oh, how we did. Right in the middle of our couples therapist's office. Ummm...yes. We weren't married and we were already seeing a therapist together. Like I said, there were some red flags. But when you're living together and you truly love the person, wouldn't you want to try whatever it took to repair it if you could? Well, I did.

Anyway, it sucked. Hard. Mostly because he was in so much pain and I knew that anything that I tried to do to mitigate it would just make it worse in the long run. So, he left. Right in the middle of the session. And I sat stunned on the couch wondering what to do next.

The subsequent month or so that he didn't want to have anything to do with me was really craptastic.

But my life is decidedly NOT craptastic. It's lovely. I bought a house in Sloan Lake (an area of Denver)..and I love it. Even though it's had some issues since I moved in, it's fantastic. I love the quirky kitchen and the privacy that it holds. I love the fact that it's a few blocks to the lake. I love that my stuff (which had been in storage for a year and a half) fits in it wonderfully.

I love that I feel at home in my house. And after all the soul searching, I love how I feel at home in my skin.

I love how free I feel and how optimistic I am about the future. And honestly? I love not worrying about Joe all the time; I love being able to feel free to do what I want when I want how I want.

I'm back in El Paso for the week of Thanksgiving - hanging out with my sisters, mom, and new brother-in-law. It's lovely. For the first time in a long time, it feels like it takes less effort to be me. I can just be.

And in case you're wondering, I am dating. I'm so new into it, they've pretty just been a lot of first dates. I've gotten to know a few men who seem to really enjoy getting to know what makes me unique. It's been fun to feel fresh, alive, and sexy. It feels great to be healthy enough to let the guys with issues, the ones I would've wanted to reach out and help, pass by and instead choose to interact with the ones that seem like they're not looking for someone to complete them.

I may not ever be someone's wife. I may not ever be someone's mother. But I'm enough without those titles.

I miss posting here. I miss writing about the crazy dates, the funny stories, and my life that doesn't have to do with living or being healthier.

So perhaps I'll show up here more often.

Pillow talk

2011-02-22T15:00:00.000-07:00

Last night, after saying our goodnights and sweet nothings, Joe put on his CPAP mask and started to fall asleep.

I, on the other hand, couldn't stop thinking about random stuff.

One thing led to another and then I asked this question aloud before I was even really aware of it.

"Do people in comas poop?"

P.S. For the record, Joe says yes because bodily functions still happen even if you're in a coma. I get that, but after the first few residual poops, how is there anything left to poop out? I mean, aren't you pretty much just taking in saline solution with vitamins via an IV when you're in a coma? If so, wouldn't that NOT produce waste? Or do they put in a feeding tube? If so, why? I mean, wouldn't that make everyone's life harder? But if it's just IVs, does your pooper/intestines wither away without use?

P.P.S. You're welcome.

Fun with awls

2011-02-07T11:06:00.002-07:00

This morning, I woke up and took a shower, as I usually do (so far, this is the best post ever, am I right or am I right?).

(source)

While in the shower, I noticed that the water was draining slowly. It's not a big surprise because, as I've written before, our shower pipes have enough red hair in them such that it probably looks like we shave an orangutan weekly.

Which, to be clear, we do not. As far as I know.

Anyway, being the wonderfully thoughtful person I am, I decided to use the Draino MAX gel solution so that the drains would flow freely by the time Joe took his shower. If you're keeping score at home, this should garner me a good 10 points.

So I get out of the shower and dump 3/4 of the huge bottle into the drain in the bathtub and to my pleasant surprise, it goes down smoothly and without much of a fuss. I continue to dump the remainder of the gel down both of our sinks. He shaves which sometimes goops up the sink pipes...and since I'm doing the tub anyway, I might as well get them all done. Plus 15 points for me.

Thirty minutes goes by and it's now time to rinse the drains with hot water for 15 minutes. I turn on both sink taps as well as the bathtub tap and finish doing my make-up.

About two minutes go by when I realize that although both sinks are now draining as if they are brand new, the tub is sounding like I'm drawing a bath.

So I peek into the tub and around then is when I gasp. Because the tub is not draining AT ALL.

Know what that means? That the water in the tub is a diluted yet still highly toxic solution.

Know what that means? a) Joe will likely not want to step in it and 2) there is no way in God's green earth I'm going to reach into to try to free whatever the blockage is. I like my skin on my arms thankyouverymuch.

Quick! What would MacGuyver do?   I quickly go to our bathroom pantry and look in there for anything that I could stick down in the drain to try to grab hair/debris to free the drain.

Q-tips! Yes! That is the solution!  So I grab a Q-tip and put it down in the water ... only the water is too high for me to hold the Q-tip and still have it reach to the drain. I quickly let go as I feel the water brush my fingertips and run to the sink to wash my hands of any on the Drano. Acid wash jeans may be making a comeback, but I'm too vain to acid-wash my hands.

Around then is when I realize that I did, in fact, drop the Q-tip in the water and what now began as a "Dislodge the Clog" mission has spawned a side mission titled "Operation Q-tip Rescue."

Using various instruments from our bathroom, I rescue the Q-tip and dispose of it in the trashcan without dropping any liquid on the floors. Plus 30 points for me.

Only the drain? It's still not draining.

I glance around our bathroom and realize that I can't grab any hair with anything we have in the bathroom. What I really need is a pair of rubber gloves. Only I don't know if we have any in our house. And I don't want to wake up Joe.

So I figure that vice grips probably are just as good and BONUS! I know where Joe's tool box is.

I should probably pause here to explain that we live in a loft downtown. Like most lofts, we only have one window - and by design, the only way that light is going to spread through our loft is to not really have ceilings in our loft. So the walls of "rooms" don't go all the way to our ceiling (except in the bathroom). This means that any light in our house immediately spreads to other rooms. Because I get up earlier than Joe, I try to turn on as few lights as possible so that he can sleep as long as possible. This usually grants me between 10-15 points daily depending on if I stub my toes in the dark or not.

I silently creep past our bedroom door into the study, reach through the closet to the toolbox where I managed to rifle around to try to find anything that feels like needle nose pliers. No such luck.  Finally, I put my hands on something long, thin, and metal-y. Thinking it was a small screwdriver, I retrieved it and crept back to the bathroom.

(source)

Turns out it was a metal thing that kind of looked like a screwdriver but had a knob on the end. The knob part was made from nice cherry wood. In other words, it's an awl. It's a nice awl...but I figured that the acid water wouldn't touch the nice wood - and the metal part would be sharp enough to actually free the drain of hair or whatever was clogging it.

Turns out, after several attempts with the awl, it's not the proper tool for dislodging drains. Go figure.

Out of time and options, I finally had to bite the bullet and go wake Joe up. Since I'm no dummy, I first woke him with a soft voice, a calming rub on his shoulder, and a kiss. Then I explained the problem and said that I was afraid that he'd have to shower at work or something.

He got up without complaining, looked at the tub, saw that it wasn't draining and then got a plunger to unclog the drain. It worked on the first attempt (plus 500 points for him).

On his way back to the cleaning closet with the plunger, he saw the awl on the bathroom counter.

"What'd you use the awl for?"

"Oh - I thought that maybe I could MacGuyver the drain with it."

"With my awl?!?"

"Well, yes. I mean, I couldn't turn the light on because I was afraid it would wake you and I couldn't find a screwdriver or needle nose pliers or-"

"So, you used my AWL??!?!?!"

"Yes! Aren't you proud of my ingenuity?"

Turns out, not so much.

Mental note: don't come between a man and his awl.

Because I can't make this up...

2010-10-26T15:08:00.004-06:00

I wrote last month about my boss and his incompetence.

This morning I had my yearly review.

The only lines on the review form (written by him) say this:

"Anne has proformed very well in the ISR roll.She is willing to take on any task asked of her. "

(facepalm)

(sigh)

Well, at least I've proformed in my roll.

He shared with me that I'm the only employee that he's marking as "exceeds expectations" and "above company standards."

I know what they say about big fishes in little ponds...right now I feel like a genius among idiots.

Not quite as complimentary as one would think.

Let's just file this under the "Things that suck a whole lot" heading, shall we?

2010-09-29T13:53:00.000-06:00

So I have this THING in my uterus. (BTW, more blog posts should start out this way, no?)

And it's not a baby.

It's a uterine fibroid and apparently it WAS bigger than a softball, but NOW is bigger than a grapefruit. I'd like to take this moment to thank my surgeon for ruining a fruit that I actually used to like to eat.

I would link to the Wikipedia page on uterine fibroids, but once you go there and see the pictures, you'll never want to eat anything again. Probably. Wait, maybe I should go there and check it out.

Anyway, said fibroid makes me bleed for weeks on end and apparently is leaving me BARREN. That, by the way, is a word that I totally think should make a comeback.
So I'm having surgery at the mid-end of October to get it removed.

Assuming I don't die, I'll be off work for 6 weeks or so.

During that time, I'll be catching up on my Harry Potter reading (I just finished book #3) and (of course) working on my never-go-wrong formula for figuring just WHO the baby daddy is on the Maury Povitch show.

It's good to have goals.

Let's get fiscal

2010-09-14T14:52:00.000-06:00

So it's been a long time since I've written about my work - at least anything slightly funny about work.

I'd have to go back and look in the archives to see if I've mentioned it before, but Lance (the guy who used to be my co-worker and then became my boss) has a problem.

One that is pretty detrimental to being a good manager.

He gets his words confused. Big time.

Like, almost a year ago, when they told us that we were going to be working out of a different building (another one that our company owns), he told us we were going to be working for AT&T. The part of our company has two of those letters, but not all three... you can imagine our confusion.

There is a guy in our company who's name is kind of like Calvin Coolidge. He calls him Kelvin Kingston. No one knows why.

We have a lady in our company who's name is kind of like Anne Botros. He calls her Amy Billings.

It's like he can't hear people's names - and he doesn't retain the information. It's as if he just can't hear the difference between the words. Clarkson becomes Clarkston. Alan becomes Adam. Peaktronics becomes PeakLAtronics. Pueblo becomes Pleblo. It's SO weird. And confusing.

But in this morning's meeting, he started talking about last month's numbers - which was our fiscal month #11 (our fiscal year ends this month).

And he kept saying, "In FY 11, we did X amount of business." Since our fiscal year for 2011 hasn't started yet, we were a bit confused. And then he says, "Sorry...I meant in physical month 11..." Which ALSO doesn't make sense - because WHAT is a physical month?

So he's going to our main headquarters today - to give a presentation. And I know that last month's numbers are going to come up. So I went into his office and asked him a few questions - ones that he answered with the same mistakes as earlier.

I said, "I think you mean fiscal instead of physical."

He smiled and said "Physical."

Me: "Fiscal."

Him: "Physical."

Me: "It's spelled F-I-S-C-A-L."

Him: "Okay." (He is not a good speller)

Me: "You might want to learn the difference between the two words."

Him: "Can't I just explain last month's numbers as FY 11?"

Me: "No. The FISCAL year 2011 hasn't started yet. That starts October 1st. The abbreviation "FY" means fiscal year. So no...describing last month's numbers as FY 11 doesn't make sense."

Him: "Well, how am I supposed to talk about last month's numbers?"

Me: "Just say 'last month's numbers'."

Him: "Okay."

(sigh)

THAT is the guy who manages this whole place. Nice guy. Really. Just not someone that I can really learn from, you know?

It's less of an "update" and more of a "downdate."

2010-09-08T14:37:00.000-06:00

I interviewed for a job last week.

I didn't get it.

I'm still stuck in this hell that seems more and more like prison every day...except for the fact that there is slightly less stealing and selling of bodies. Other than that? JUST LIKE PRISON.

The thing is, after the job interview, I was pretty sure that I didn't want the job - it was different than what they had explained it as. So I'm not upset that I didn't get the job as much as I'm upset that I still have this one.

And yes, I SHOULD be happy that I'm gainfully employed. And I am.

Only I can't believe that this is all that there is in the world for me. I don't make a difference. I have no purpose. I would be a starving artist downtown, but a) I don't do starving...have you SEEN me? and b) I don't have any "natural talent" when it comes to artistic things. Just another thing about me that is completely UNnatural.

I've had several sets of guests in town this summer. Some mine, some Joe's. I've also flown out of town to visit friends. And in the end, I'm sort of sad I live here instead of where they live.

Don't get me wrong, I have friends here. It's just...different than the friends that I have in the other places. Is it that when I visit them (or vice versa) we make the most of our time since we know we won't have much of it? Maybe.

So, to catch you up quickly:
1) I still have a job that is slowly killing me. I would say "killing me softly" but my job has nothing to do with songs. Also, I'm kind of loud and therefore there isn't a high chance of something me doing anything softly.
2) I visited my best friend this weekend and we made another quilt (this time we finished the WHOLE thing this weekend). It's WAY cool and has lots of t-shirts that I thought I had misplaced until I moved this past spring and found a Rubbermaid tub of them under the stairs. The last one was flannel - this one is not...so I have a spring and a winter quilt. I'm lucky. Only I miss her so much that I'm pretty much cuddled in it the entire time I'm at home. It's pathetic.
3) I still don't have a dog. Did I ever mention on this one that my dog died? Well, she did. June 22nd. That day can suck it. And because of where we live - in a downtown hi-rise building, we can't get a puppy. Potty training would be more of a nightmare than it already is. And I so want something else to pour my love into that I'm actually thinking of getting a cat. Someone check me into a mental hospital...I can't believe I just wrote that. I'm the person that doesn't like cats. Maybe I should get a plant?
4) I'm still running...in fact, today I signed up for my first race since the 5 miler that I ran in April. This one is just a 5K though, so it shouldn't kick my bootay TOO badly.
5) My dad still writes/talks about poop. I'm so not kidding.
6) I kindasorta wish I lived some place else.

No...not a happy fun post, but hey, at least it IS a post.

Workin' it out...

2010-08-20T11:57:00.002-06:00

Last weekend, Joe and I were walking around downtown when we happened to encounter an older man with a younger woman on his arm.

She was wearing a skin tight glittery outfit - with boots that had 6" platforms on them. Her hair was "teased to Jesus" as my friend Mike says...and her make-up looked like she might've been in some sort of Broadway production later that night.

But oh-boy was she draped all over that man.

Joking, I turned to Joe and said, "I have that outfit! In fact, I would've worn it today, but I was thinking about wearing it to work tomorrow."

To which, he said, "Uh, Anne? She already IS wearing it to work."

DOWNtown

2010-08-04T13:42:00.002-06:00

So I live in downtown Denver. While there are a LOT of perks, there are some things that are just annoying.

Like one time, I was walking from our parking garage to the entrance of our building, dodging pedestrians and people who seem to have just arrived on Earth. I say that because these are the people who, when normal walking protocol says they should...um...WALK, don't. Instead they slow down and look around with wide eyed amazement at all things. To be fair, maybe they're not aliens. Maybe they're just high.

Anyway, I happened to be talking on the phone at the time to my dad, who is prone to discussions about diarrhea and regularity. Now, before you go and judge him, he's a doctor.

Also, he isn't terribly great in what you might call "normal discussion." Obviously.

So, I'm on the phone with him, hearing about his BMs* and I notice that a guy standing on the side of the street just LOOKING at me intently. It's weird - so I look at him and that's when I notice that...

...YUP he's playing with himself. And I don't mean a game of solitaire. Unless by "solitaire," you mean touching his jabombies.

I did what any other normal person would do. I gasped, covered my eyes and kept walking. My dad, having heard the gasp, says "I know! But that's probably normal given the fact that..." and then launched into what he had eaten to cause such a BM.

It was like the grossest thing ever.

And now YOU get to think about it.

You're welcome.

*BM = bowel movement. Which, incidentally, is what we were encouraged to call poop when we were little. Everyone else's parents would say, "Do you need to go doo doo?" and ours would be all "Have you had a BM today?" No wonder I'm odd.

Uh, your participle is totally dangling...

2010-07-29T15:06:00.003-06:00

I hate writing.

Well, let me clarify. A lot of me hates writing.

See, when I was a kidlet, I was super smart. Incidentally, however smart I was as a kid, I think I peaked. I think I just never got smarter.

When we were little, my whole family moved from Colorado (where I was born) to Germany. And in Germany, someone had me tested. I was "gifted" and encouraged to leap up a few grades.

My mom decided that developmentally, I probably shouldn't. She didn't want me to be teased or something. Which is funny because HELLO! I was teased like NON STOP even when I was in the correct grade. What the heck was going to stop people from doing such a thing just because I was in a grade higher than mine? Was she worried that they would use bigger words than "doo-doo head?"

Anyway, the concession between teachers and my mom was that they would put me in higher math classes during part of the day. That way I could be brainy smart for some of the day but then a regular kid during most of the day. Like Peter Parker. Only without a penis. And more nerdy. And less super spidey abilities. But other than that, just like Peter Parker.*

The effect of me going to the smarty math classes was that I had to skip out on the "regular" English classes. This meant that I never learned what a preposition was or why an adverb should be used in one place versus another. So by my parents trying to make me Nerdy Math Girl, they made me Nerdy Math Girl Who Doesn't Know Crap About Her Own Language. And NMGWDKCAHOL is a long abbreviation to put on a cape - no matter how big the girl.

So long story short (too late), I don't know crap about writing. Anything that I do write correctly is because I know about patterns...and I can think about what I'm going to write or say, measure it against the way I've heard other people speak, and then repeat it like a parrot.

Now I want a cracker.

I'm worried that some person is going to pop up and comment something like, "ACTUALLY, everyone knows that an adverse adverb when pluralized belongs in the conjunction of the implied alliteration and the...." and then my head would burst into flames due to a) embarrassment and b) my brain can't take in all those English terms at once. Obviously. Because I'm pretty sure I butchered my mocking of English rules. Scratch that. I know I did.

So I'll make a deal with you. I'll try to post more often here if you don't ever post a comment about how I'm using a pronoun or adjective incorrectly. Not that any of you WOULD, but I think I worry that I'm not a good enough writer. You know, good enough to blog in my own blogspot. That is free. And that no one is obligated to read. And that I don't get a grade on. (sigh) I get it. I'm irrational. But really, why else do you come here?

And I know some of you. You guys are thinking, "But Happy Fun Pants! You're posting on your other healthy living/weight loss blog almost ever day! Why do the rules of writing not apply over there?"

My answer: THAT blog is for fatties. The readers over there are my homies, my people. And everyone knows that fatties stick together...it's like the one thing I DID learn in my "regular" part of school. So, the last thing they're going to do is post a snooty comment about the misplacement of a modified verb... lest I eat them.

Deal?

*Let the record show that I originally wrote Parker Posey instead of Peter Parker. Man, I even suck at being nerdy! The Babe nicely informed me that I was the most wrong ever (see comments below), but in my defense, how does she know that Parker Posey DOESN'T have a penis? Or Spidey Sense? I'm just saying it's a possibility.

POMably not what they had in mind...

2010-07-28T09:09:00.015-06:00

The kind folks at POM Wonderful sent me some POM juice the other day. They actually didn't ask me to write a review...they just wanted to send me some juice. Normally, I'd shy away from this sort of thing (the whole something for nothing routine), but since they didn't pull up in my neighborhood asking me to get inside their white van, I figured I was okay. Probably just as well, chances are, I'd have run straight into the side of it anyway. *

Actually, I was pretty psyched about getting the juice...I remember Jack (who thinks the bottle can double as a sex toy) and Roni talking about the freebies they got from the company, but they seem like such BIG bloggers...how did I get included on this list of who's who? I felt *very* cool. Which is funny...because I'm so NOT important. It's not like I'm Obama. Or Ghandi. Or Brangelina. Or even one of the Olsen Twins in their heyday (circa 1982). So basically, I got on the list via a typo by someone. Whatever, I'm totally taking it.

Anyway, I came home one day and Joe said that I might've received an organ in the mail. Thinking he meant a pipe organ, I gave him a quizzical look. So he said, "You know, like a heart. Not like a church organ! Who would send you that?" In my defense, he couldn't exactly think of someone who would send me a vital organ either.

It turns out, he didn't know what was in the box, but he did see that it had a sticker on the side that said "REFRIGERATE IMMEDIATELY." So Joe did - without opening the box (he didn't want to violate my privacy). Thus his joke about someone shipping me organs.

So I'll say this to any POM people who could or would be reading. You could really remove a lot of confusion surrounding the double meaning of the word "organ" if you would put a sticker on the side that said, "Refrigerate immediately. Don't be alarmed, though. This box does not contain any organs. Of any kind. Probably." That way if they WANTED to put organs in the box, they totally could without having to re-print stickers. Look at me, POM people. I'm totally making your shipping department more streamlined. You're welcome.

When I finally got around to opening the package, there were a few bottles of POM Blueberry Pomegranate juice and some great tips and info about pomegranates and its juice. All of that is at home or else I'd probably go into it here. Let's just say it's probably got a lot of health benefits. I know. I'm the worst on-the-spot reviewer ever.

When we first got it, I drank some and handed the little cute-as-can-be bottle to Joe. Who took a sip and said something profound like, "meh." I liked it...it was sweet and tart, tangy and sweet. I should stop and say that I drink juice maybe once a year. I just got out of the habit years ago and never really reintroduced it. So while the POM juice was a welcome surprise and pleasant change, it's not something that I would normally pick up, just like the fate of any other juice. It's nothing personal, POM people.

I WILL try cooking with it because they list a lot of great recipes on their website...and some of them look pretty tasty.

But last night? I was trying to make room in the fridge for leftovers. Leftovers being something that I cooked and decided to not waste calories and stomach space on by eating. Smart right? Yes...you'd think so.

While re-organizing the kitchen for better space usage, I saw these few little bottles of POM just waiting to be moved. Because they are weird shaped (but so cute!), I couldn't really stack them on top of each other...or stack them...or shove them in the fridge door. So I decided to drink one.

But after a sip, inspiration struck me. I decided that what it would go REALLY well with was some Malibu Rum that was also in the fridge door.

YIKES. What I found out was that this was the best tasting mixed drink EVAH. Tart, sweet, tangy, fruity, and YUMMY.

Two little POM bottles later (16 ounces of juice, and 360 calories of JUICE) and a few shots of coconut flavored rum mixed in each time and I was happy. I even let Joe have a sip who said that I know how to mix a good drink. Right. That's me. The bartender....the one with hot-shot complicated drinks... like juice and alcohol.

Good thing I passed on the leftovers...nothing like wasted calories, huh?

(sigh)

* Which reminds me, you totally need to enter that sweepstakes via the link...seriously, not many people have done so, so your chances of winning $150 are looking better each day!

For those that double subscribe yes, this was over on Smaller Fun Pants first. What can I say? I thought it was funny enough to be here too. :) Besides, I don't want the readers who only read this one to feel neglected...

Disclaimer: I was comped a few bottles of Blueberry Pomegranate POM Wonderful. But the honest review and tipsy-ness that ensued shortly afterwards was all me, baby!

Laugh and win!

2010-07-21T11:58:00.000-06:00

Good morning!!! I have something SO exciting to share with you.

I was picked to write funny posts about fitness, eating, and cooking each month for six months by Laughing Cow and BlogHer. How cool is that?!?

It's like the movie "Julie and Julia" but without Meryl Streep. And without Amy Adams. And it's not only about cooking. Also, it's not a movie. But you know, other than all that, this is JUST like that movie.

So...since it's a sponsored thing, I can't post it on this blog. You have to go to my review blog to read it. But please do!

It's my first post on that blog... and I'm feeling a like I've just invited a bunch of people to a party, it's a few minutes until it starts, and no one is arriving yet. What's going through my head is the typical hostess cry, "OH MY GOSH WHAT IF PEOPLE DON'T SHOW?!?!? And what am I going to do with all of this cheese?"

Leave a comment and you can win $150 in this month's sweepstakes. Although I don't have any control over it, I would love for the winner to be one of MY readers - because (and I may be a bit biased here) you guys are the best. If you want, you can become a follower on that blog and you won't miss another opportunity to enter the next few month's drawings as well. Also I will feel less like the kid picked last for kickball.

Good luck and thank you in advance for checking it out!

For Pete's Sake, Don't Drop the Soap

2010-07-14T11:23:00.004-06:00

I don't know when it started, but I'd miss it if it were gone.

When I started dating Joe, over a year ago, I was struck by how...well...wholesome he was. He's *that guy* you want to take home to your mom. The one who says the right thing, who knows which fork is for what at fancy restaurants, and the one who can recite all the presidents we've had.

But he's also a goof.

A funny guy with a persistence unlike anyone else I've ever met when it comes to making me laugh. That's right. If I laugh once about something, you can believe that he'll make the same joke again and again until it loses it's funny. Which isn't to say that he is a one-trick pony. No. This guy is super witty and we joke about different stuff all of the time. It's just he's smart enough to know when a joke works.

And truly, I don't know when it started, but it's been going on for a while and it still makes me break into giggle fits.

He humps me from behind.

Now, bear with me. This isn't another story about how I got felt up in church or anything like that.

What I mean is that if my back is to him and I happen to have my butt pushed out in some way, he'll pretend to hump me.

The thing is, it cracks me up. To be fair, this only happens when he's in reasonably close proximity (he won't run across the room to "humpity," but if he's close and paying attention, watch out!) and when we're not in the presence of anyone else. AND it's not like he does this all day long. Nope, just a humpity or two in any given week.

I guess what I'm saying is, he doesn't over-use the humpity. Not too much and not too little. The perfect amount of humpity action.

I affix a deadpan look and usually after a few "humpity"s, he'll stop, step aside so he can see my face of complete boredom, and then look all proud of himself - like he's just given me a bunch of flowers. Sometimes he nods emphatically. It's usually then that I burst into laughter.

So, reaching for something on top of the fridge? Humpity.

Brushing my teeth at the sink and bending down to spit out the froth? Humpity.

Stirring something in a pot on the stove? Humpity.

During a long elevator ride? Humpity humpity humpity.

Heaven help me if I bend over to tie my shoe...

Venti Sized A-hole

2010-06-09T09:28:00.003-06:00

So this morning, I was running late for work. I'm seeing a friend tonight for dinner that I haven't seen in a year or so (she actually lives in Kansas City) and I wanted to make sure that my hair didn't look like I have been grooming it with a rake in the past year. Sometimes, that takes time. I'm just saying.

Anyway, even though I was running late, I was hungry. I decided to stop and get a Starbucks Iced Chai Tea because I wanted a bit of a splurge. Plus, it would tide me over until I got to work.

I go into Starbucks, which is attached to the building that we live in, and there is a douche canoe apparently working the register. We'll call him "Douchey."

Douchey is too busy doing something douchey (I don't remember what) to actually take my order at the time. So the barista (whom I LOVE but that's another story) turns to me and asks if she can get something started for me.

Bonus points go to me for not singing "Let's Get It Started" by the Black Eyed Peas at that moment.

And I freeze.

Because here's the thing. There is a super secret cadence that apparently only Starbucks people know when ordering drinks. You have to say the size, the type of drink, and then anything extra that is special. But whatever order I THINK I should put it in, is wrong.

In other words, somehow, like most things in my life, I always manage to fuck it up.

What I want is the biggie size iced chai tea latte. I want it made with non-fat milk (because I'm watching the lbs) and with less ice (because I'm cheap - I hate it when the cup is all ice at the end and you realize you didn't get a lot of the drink).

So I say, "I'd like a non-fat, light ice, venti chai tea latte, please."

She nods and starts making my drink.

I assume I ordered my drink in the right order.

I am happy.

The Douchey finally turns to me and asks me, "What do you want?"

Despite the friendly greeting, I give him the same verbiage I gave the barista - because I'm in happy mood...after all, I just got the ordering part right! YAY ME!

He looks at me and says, "So you want a venti, non-fat, light-ice, iced chai tea latte?"

Well, yes. That's what I ordered, isnt' it? No. It must not have been...or else Douchey wouldn't have corrected me.

So I have a light laugh and say something like, "Oh jeez. I thought I got the ordering part right, but I always mess it up!"

And he nods and then proceeds to give me the directions of how to order it, "You're supposed to give it to us in the order that we write the instructions down the side of the cup." And then he goes and gets a cup SO HE CAN SHOW ME HOW WRONG I WAS.

So I say, "Oh man! So now I have to memorize the side of the cup to order? I'm doomed!" again in a funny way so as to not threaten Douchey. I'm pretty sure there are a few rules in life that people should adhere to. And right next to "Nobody puts Baby in a corner!" and "Don't feed the lion" is "Don't threaten Douchey."

Anyway, he says, "Well, only if you want it prepared the way you want!"

So the barista says to me (as she hands my drink over and rolls her eyes at Douchey), "Or you can just remember that we get paid to understand what you want. Order it in any way you want and we'll get you taken care of. Have a great day!"

Did I mention I love her?

Vital Values

2010-05-20T10:49:00.004-06:00

My company has gone through a lot of transition in the last few months. It started with the higher ups deciding to completely reorganize the structure of our company. In fact, the structure that they're now going with is a pretty bad idea. A lot of textbooks talk about how their "new" approach is doomed for failure and wastes plenty of resources. It creates multiple positions for what should be just one job. Their design inherently builds in conflict.

Then they closed our facility - which was the top producer and top quality branch in the country (I'm not kidding) - only because it's lease was coming due. There was no other reason.

Then they realized that it might be a bad idea for people like me to walk - so they kept some of us around. Only, after 6 months since they made the announcement to close our facility, they don't know where they're going to put us.

They decided to cancel Christmas lunches, dinners, and basically any fun activities that we used to have. They downgraded the coffee and stopped providing coffee cups. They eliminated swizzle sticks (to mix your coffee with) and have started encouraging employees to bring their own pens. My boss told me that I can't move up without moving to our headquarters and that even then, I'd be passed over for consideration because (with the recent closing of our branch) I'm now a "satellite employee."

What fun, optimism, and good cheer existed a few years ago when I joined this group is now gone. And that makes me sad.

Today, they had a corporate wide "live" meeting (which means that the headquarters people got to have food catered in for their lunch and meet with the key decision makers in person and we got to call in hearing them belch and remark about the food) discussing our annual re-commitment to key values.

Every year, each employee of my global company has to sign on, disclose any conflicts of interest, re-read the company policy to uphold the values that we're supposed to follow, and then take a quiz based upon what we've learned. It's a joke, but it's one that many big companies do.

So this year, this meeting was called because the Presidents of the company wanted to make sure that we knew how important (vital even) the values of our company are. The 7 minute video, which was streamed so badly that we, the redheaded stepchildren of the company, got to see a frame update every 8 seconds or so, had a high enough production budget to save at least a few more people's jobs for the next year. It was hard for me to sit there, listening to how important the "right people are in the right jobs" when I realize that this company seems to be founded on horrible decisions.

And while I'm dialed in to watch this presentation, I'm hearing my other line beep - I missed 15 phone calls from customers to hear my company blow smoke up my butt about how we all need to do the "right thing." Those 15 calls need to be returned, even still. My boss instructed us to work through our lunch to get the work done.

Here's an idea - how about instead of you wasting hundreds of thousands of dollars on a film clip, you invest in another peon like me to help do the job that takes 13 hours to complete in a day but you're asking me to do in 8.

The clincher of it all was when they had a "real world" example of inappropriate values in the workplace. They had been alluding to this during the whole presentation with phrases like "We took feedback from past years and we know some of the big issues you're facing with conflicts of interest and pressuring in the workplace. We're going to show a great example of this later." I was expecting to hear about some actual examples of the crap I'm consistently pressured to do (which is against company policy and yet high up managers are the ones doing the pressuring).

Want to know what the biggest issue we have to face, according to our "leadership" team?

Girl Scout Cookie sales.

I'm not kidding. They had a workplace exercise where they had to caution us all on asking for donations to our own charities that only benefit the employee or cause. They specifically named the Girl Scouts as being an inappropriate organization.

So then they opened it up to questions and here's what I learned.

Sign up sheets for cookies or other fundraisers are inappropriate - even if you don't post it in a public place. They said it puts too much pressure on people to donate their time and resources that they may not have.
It is not appropriate to use any company resources for such charity requests. If you're going to have a sign-up on your person, please make sure to use your own pen (Hello! Who do you think is buying them these days?) not the company's pen.
The question was asked if it would be better to ask people individually at their desks to contribute. And I shit you not - the answer came back with as "Yes. As long as it's done during your lunch break." So just to be clear, a piece of paper in a lunchroom is too much pressure but having a one on one conversation with a co-worker where they're asking you to help is perfectly fine.
Another question was asked, "Is it okay to sell Avon to people?" and the person holding the meeting said "Yes, but not on company time." Alright, this one I get...but it frustrates me because it helps me see that someone in that meeting DIDN'T know the answer to that question and had to ask it.

In short: I work for AND WITH a bunch of friggin' morons.

Just so you know, I spent my time during the call applying for jobs on CareerBuilder.com. It was, in this peon's opinion, a MUCH better use of my company's resources anyway.

They say it's your birthday...

2010-05-03T09:54:00.004-06:00

Today is my birthday. I'm 33 years old.

You should know that I love the number 3, so this year is going to be my best year. I can feel it.

How do I plan to celebrate? By going to a Weight Watchers meeting, taking my dog for a long walk, and having leftovers with a glass of wine.

But you know what? In my mind, it's perfect. I had a great weekend - spent with someone that I love dearly and who loves me back. Yesterday, I had a massage that eased my aching back (seriously - this past week it has been HORRIBLE). I had a delightful sushi dinner on Saturday night and got to watch episodes of Arrested Development last night - all with the best companion ever.

The leftovers I'm having are DE-LICIOUS and it makes me feel good that I'm not wasting food. The wine that I'll be enjoying reminds me of my best friend (the wine that it's from is from a vineyard close to her house). The cuddles that I'll get at the end of the night will help me feel as loved as I truly am.

So this birthday? It may be the best ever.

Either that, or I'm getting too old to remember a better one.

Speak up

2010-04-08T09:43:00.003-06:00

I've visited the Holocaust museum in Washington DC several times in my life and whenever I read the following poem (attributed to Pastor Martin Niemöller), I got chills.

Who am I kidding? I still get chills when I read it.

"THEY CAME FIRST for the Communists,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist.

THEN THEY CAME for the Jews,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew.

THEN THEY CAME for the trade unionists,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist.

THEN THEY CAME for the Catholics,
and I didn’t speak up because I was a Protestant.

THEN THEY CAME for me
and by that time no one was left to speak up."

You may be thinking, "Alright, Happy Fun Pants, why are you posting it now?" Because I am overcome with the injustice that has happened to the kids at a school in the Itawamba school district in Mississippi.

Let me back up.

Once upon a time, there was a female named Constance McMillen. She apparently had self-awareness at a young age of such a magnitude that I'm not even sure that *I* possess now at 32. Constance McMillen knew and felt that she was gay. She had the bravery to live openly gay.

So this year, she wanted to go to her senior prom. She wanted to go with her girlfriend. She wanted to wear a tuxedo. She was told by her school officials that she couldn't go. She contacted the ACLU.

The ACLU sent a demand letter to the school.

The school cancelled prom. I'm not an expert, but I'm pretty sure that when you cancel senior prom and blame it on one girl, that girl becomes pretty damn unpopular. Unpopular enough to get her butt kicked on a regular basis.

Nice, Itawamba Agricultural High School. If you can't ban her from the prom, why don't you banish her from any social circles in high school too. That's a GREAT way to treat others.

But it gets worse.

Private citizens in the community decided to have their own prom. If it's a private prom, they can invite whoever they want, right? Only enough people across the nation found out about it and got mad...so the private citizens said that the prom was cancelled and a NEW prom was going to be held.

A new prom that everyone can go to - hooray! Yes, yes...now the prom is going to be held at a *special* location. All are invited.

Only (and I'm sure you're shocked) that's not exactly what happened. The cancelled prom was never really cancelled - the "regular" students went to their prom. And the students that showed up at the "fake" prom? There was only seven: Constance, her date, and five other people (two of which have learning difficulties that made them unpopular too).

This kind of stuff HAS to stop!

The intoleranceS we have are ones we pass on to our children. I'm furious at the people that hide behind the Bible or Book of Mormon as a way to justify the treatment of people that are openly gay. I understand that you don't think that what they're doing is right. I get it, really I do.

BUT IT'S NOT UP TO YOU! YOU do not get to decide what happens to others.

What happened to this passage from Matthew 22:36-40 (NIV)??

36"Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?" 37Jesus
replied: " 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul
and with all your mind.' 38This is the first and greatest commandment. 39And the
second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' 40All the Law and the
Prophets hang on these two commandments."

or this one from Matthew 7:4 (NIV):

How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,'
when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?

Put down your bullhorns and your picket signs where you're protesting the existence and practice of gay people. Look on yourself for ways that you can personally improve yourself. If you believe in a God, let GOD figure out what is right and what is wrong. Let GOD handle the condemnation or exoneration.

In the meantime, LOVE one another.

I'm not gay. And although others may attest differently, I don't have learning disabilities. But I am choosing to stand up for those that are not treated equally. I'm choosing to sign my name to the petition that you can find at this link to help send schools a "Welcoming Schools" guide. According to the Human Rights Campaign site:

"Welcoming Schools" is a new, comprehensive guide for administrators, educators,
parents and guardians who want to strengthen their schools’ approach to family
diversity, gender stereotyping and bullying.

I'm choosing to stand up for equal treatment.

I hope you join me.

Yippee!

2010-03-23T15:12:00.003-06:00

My house is officially under contract...after just 7 days and 5 showings.

I'm moving out and closing on April 20th. That's right - just four weeks from today.

My next two weeks will be filled with my best friend coming into town (we're going skiing this weekend) and checking out new houses on the market.

The following two weeks will be filled with packing for the new place.

And, undoubtedly, the weeks that follow will be getting my new place in order and hoping that my dog remembers that it's okay to poop when not the place she used to call home.*

All in all, I'm excited. I can't wait to be proud of the place that I live again. I can't wait to have guests over for dinner without sheepishly apologizing for my place.

I'm excited and optimistic and oh-so very thankful...

*When I moved into my current place, Chassis didn't apparently get the memo that we wouldn't be going back to my old house. She didn't poop for 4 days. And trust me, when the 170 pound dog that doesn't poop for 4 days FINALLY does poop? It's not so fantastic.

I'm completely out of headline titles

2010-03-16T10:36:00.007-06:00

In fact, I sometimes feel I'm out of blog topics.

Which is weird. I used to say that my blog was like Seinfeld - about nothing. Now I can safely say that my blog is nothing. I mean, if I don't update, then that's what you get...nothing.

So, as my friend turleybenson asked on my Facebook page the other day, WHAT GIVES?

I feel swamped. I feel swamped at work, at home, and in my personal life.

I'm swamped.

Highlights of my life include (but are not limited to):

Running my very first 7K (which happened this past Sunday) - it was snowing at the end of it, but it was good.

Getting my house ready to be put on the market. This, in itself, was a colossal undertaking and one that I owe my boyfriend many many thanks (and/or BJs) for helping me with. Seriously, I decided to put it up on the market only a few weeks before it happened - and that is NUTS. Painting, rearranging, building new furniture, and moving half of my stuff into storage all within a few weeks felt crazy.

Putting my house on the market (and having two (yes, only TWO) showings)

Getting worried about whether my house will sell or not - I mean, two showings is not exactly a great start.

Deciding not to worry about whether my house will sell or not.

Reminding myself that I decided to not worry about whether my house will sell or not.

Spending all weekend at my boyfriend's place (which is very very sweet of him) in hopes that us being gone will mean that more showings will just happen.

Work stuff has piled up. I mean, I'm actually (gasp!) working while at work. The nerve of my company apparently knows no bounds!!

Dinners with friends...two weeks ago, I had dinner/activity plans every night. In the weeks since, I've limited it to just a few things each week, but YIKES it's tiring to keep up with sometimes!

I'm busy. And I want nothing more than to spend a day on my couch numbing myself with a good book, a glass or two of wine, and my Slanket.

YES, that's right, I have a Slanket. And I love it.

In the midst of all of this, I'm trying to remember the funny stuff as it happens so that I can write about it and keep you all abreast.

Which reminds me...what is this?
Two men. Walking a breast.

You're welcome.

I'm not a bad driver, I'm just really good at Frogger

2010-02-26T08:21:00.004-07:00

When I was a kid, my family had a Commodore 64. It came with a little green piece of plastic that we were directed to put on the computer so that our eyeballs didn't fry. Supposedly the black and white pixels would make our vision fail without much warning. The green plastic-y screen that we could attach (via the wonders of static cling!) to the screen would somehow make everything better.

Incidentally, I remember my dad being far less concerned about our eyeballs than my mom. I mean, if she caught us not using that screen, she would basically channel the mom from "A Christmas Story" and say something like "You'll fry your eyes out!"

But where was I? Oh yes. The computer.

So this computer was for my dad, but with the proper supervision, my sisters and I were allowed to use it. To be fair, I don't remember ever playing with it except to play Frogger.

I loved that game.

Unless you were raised under a rock (or perhaps a Jehova's Witness - I mean, I want to be sensitive here), you know what Frogger is. If not, I'll enlighten you. Bascially, in this game, you are a frog. If you want to name yourself, you can. Just know that if you do and refer to yourself (the frog) by name, my father will roll his eyes so strongly, you can hear them. Usually that sound is accompanied by a loud sigh, just in case you're wondering.

Anyway, your frog job was to cross the road and river and get to the finish line of each screen. You could hop forwards, backwards, or side to side.

Sounds simple right?

Now, the hardest part (IMHO) was the road - which was the first part. See, some of the cars and trucks would be nice and go slow. This meant that you could hop in front of them easily. But some of the cars would be fast. And that's when you had to be tricky. Because your job was to get to the finish line as quickly as possible, you had to take risks that you might not otherwise have taken. You *had* to jump in front of the cars quickly to make it. Otherwise, you'd suck - you'd get squished by oncoming traffic or you'd run out of time. If that happened, what did you really risk your eyeballs for anyway?

Anyway, as I was driving to work this morning, I realized that what most people might mistake for "bad driving" is really just me being AWESOME at Frogger.

Because sometimes you *have* to go faster, just so you can get to the right spot. Sometimes people don't think that I should be able to fit between two cars going 70 mph. But they're wrong. Sometimes people don't see the brilliance in zipping around so you can cleverly get to work a few seconds earlier than if you would've just stayed in the slow lane.

Shaving off a few seconds was huge in Frogger. It saved you from losing the game and sometimes the few seconds would be enough to give you bonuses.

That's one of the ways that I learned this valuable life lesson: impatience gets you everywhere. In fact, it gets you everywhere FASTER.

I ain't no porcupine, take off your kid gloves...

2010-02-22T14:34:00.005-07:00

In the two years that I've been writing this blog, I've found that when I'm really sad I don't write here. I tend to pull away because when someone posts something that is horribly sad, sometimes it's hard for readers to know what to do or how to show support. It's kind of like the lady that has a mental breakdown in a public place. You give her a wide berth, smile awkwardly, and then thank God that you're not like that.

But what I recently found out is that it's hard for me to write about the stuff I usually do when I'm blissfully happy. Because the thing is, I am.

Blissfully happy that is.

To be clear, it mostly has to do with the fact that I'm trusting myself more. Through hard work, I've begun to challenge core beliefs that I've had about myself...and I'm finding that I am worthy all on my own. What's replacing these horrible thoughts that I've had about me for decades is the knowledge that no matter what happens in life, I WILL BE OKAY.

(cue Stuart Smalley)

I'd be lying if I said that everything was perfect. It's not. I'm worried about money, about my house, about my job, and about my health. Some days I worry about things more than others.

But I also would be lying if I didn't say that there is one thing in my life that I couldn't be happier about if I tried.

His name is Joe.

And this is where you should feel free to turn your head, barf politely at my sickeningly sweet post, and then maybe read some more.

Y'all, HE IS WONDERFUL. In dozens of ways, this man SHOWS me that I am a top priority. He shows me that I'm worthy of love. His constant support and even keel approach is fantastic. He listens to my rambling and to my rants. He laughs at how I'm not patient. He teases me about my faults and doesn't judge me when I fall short of my goals. He's giving, caring, and thoughtful.

The things that I've thought about writing has been stuff so full of sugary fantasticness that I figured that you probably wouldn't want to read it. And all that wants to come out when I think about what's on my heart and mind is how cute he is when he's sleeping. I want to tell you about how when my furnace was broken this past weekend and the heat never got above 56 degrees, he let me cuddle next to him (in the frumpiest, bulkiest, and non-sexiest clothing I own) to sap all of his heat. I want to tell you about how sweet he was on Valentine's Day and how when he calls me the nickname he has for me, I still sigh and giggle a bit.

Let's be honest...no one should have to be subjected to that stuff.

I'm not doodling his name in notebooks while listening to the Jonas Brothers or Taylor Swift, but I'm close. Perilously close. THAT is how over the moon I am about this guy right now.

He isn't perfect. But oh WOW is he exactly what I've been hoping for.

A part of me is worried that it won't last, that he'll leave or become some asshole like my father or some of the boyfriends before him. But I'm reminding myself that nothing risked is nothing gained. And at 8 months into dating, it FEELS like there is less and less of a possibility of that happening. If it does end, this will probably be one of the biggest heartbreaks of my life.

But if it doesn't? Well, now THAT would be something to write about.

I stand corrected

2010-02-10T18:14:00.010-07:00

PRELUDE:

I'm not going to lie to you, folks. I've tried posting the picture below no less than eleventy million times and I *still* can't get it to get bigger without blurring the words. BUT it's a funny exchange - not so much on my part, but on my friend Kevin's part. I think you might be able to click on the picture and then see it via your browser in a larger size, but I can't be held responsible if that doesn't work.

So basically, I'm about as technilogically adept as your mom. Or wait. Maybe I mean my mom. Look, it doesn't matter because the end result is the same. You can't read the picture on my blog unless you're not human.

***** AAAAANNNNDDD the real post starts here *********

The picture to the left is a screen shot of a conversation between my friend Kevin and myself via Facebook. His Facebook page, y'all, because that is where the magic happens. On Kevin's page, you realize just how unpopular you really are - because (and I am not kidding you) everyone loves Kevin. He's invited everywhere, he goes to gigs and gets pictures with the band mates. I'm not sure, but I think even Jesus is Kevin's friend on Facebook. And you *know* how hard it is for Jesus to type.

If you go to my Facebook page, you're likely to see who is inviting me to the latest Facebook cause, to be their neighbor on Farmville OR Farmtown, and my friends wondering where I am. That's because I'm never ON Facebook these days. Just like, as pointed out by turleybenson, I'm never blogging these days.

It's a trend.

Or maybe it's the strong desire to set myself on fire when I think of even turning on my computer while I'm at home. I spend so much time in front of a computer at work - staring blindly at it in hopes that anything I do on it would actually remove even SOME of the stress in my life these days.

As it turns out, my life isn't going to get less stressful anytime soon. Which means that I'll probably be staring at my computer more often these days. Which means I'll be less likely to post quality items.

Hello, THIS POST.

But this post isn't about me and my current dislike for computers. It's about how I was wrong.

Apparently, according to Kevin there are white pieces in Pictionary *and* a game called Chess. Who knew? *

AND according to BJ, Chutes and Ladders now have little white kids THAT ARE GIRLS as evidenced by the picture below:

I'm not even going to go into how those pieces look NOTHING like the ones that I remember as a kid. It makes me sad AND makes me want to watch a Peanuts seasonal special...because those don't change and after watching them, all feels right with the world.

I did have one win though...Candyland still has no white people OR women pieces. Just gingerbread men with Michelin Man faces. To be fair, I don't really remember them looking like that when I was a kid either, but as long as they didn't add any white women, I support their change.

*Even if I wanted to dispute those points further, Kevin busted out my good ol' tried and true argument winner. Basically, if you feel like someone has to "win" an argument, you just ask the question: "Who's right? Me or you?" and then whoever answers "me" first wins. I usually rattle it off like this: "Who'srightmeoryou?ME!" but you know, to each their own.

Why I think board game makers hate the movie "Lucas"

2010-02-05T09:26:00.005-07:00

FACT: Board game makers are racist, sexist, and are probably made my jocks.

Can you have a factual statement that includes the word "probably?" Probably not. But work with me here.

First, have you ever seen the movie "Lucas?"

If you haven't, it's fantastic. Or maybe I think it's fantastic because I remember it being fantastic as a kid. You know, kind of like how I thought that the Brady Bunch had surprising endings when I was younger. Apparently, I was a dumb.

ANYway, in "Lucas" there is a character named Lucas (played by a Corey Haim) who is a nerdy kid and has a hard time fitting in. And long story short, he has a crush on a cute redhead (who doesn't?) and the jocks (sometimes led by Charlie Sheen) pick on him.

I don't want to ruin the ending, but it turns out there is no Kaiser Soze and the old lady had the Hope Diamond all along. AND they didn't explicitly say so in the movie, but I am pretty sure that Lucas was good in math.

Which brings me back to my fact. Board game developers hate people like me.

Point 1: Board game developers hate women.
Every time a board game has little pieces to move around the spaces, they're never women. EVER. Sometimes they're shoes, thimbles, blocks, weird shapes, or little men - but never are they women. Thanks a lot, a-holes.

Point 2: Board game developers hate white people.
The little pieces you move around the board (the ones that are not womanly) are not ever white. Red, blue, black, even chartreuse, but not white. I am offended!

Point 3: Board game developers hate math AND they clearly hate people who like math.

There are games for the word enthusiasts (think Hangman and Scrabble).

Are you artistic? Great. Then Pictionary is for you.

Are you diabetic? Candyland used to be for you.

Are you overly dramatic or illiterate? No problem - charades is for you.

There are even games for complete nerds and/or people who memorize facts by spending too much time at the bar on trivia night, as evidenced by the existence of Trivial Pursuit.

But math games? Games where you practice naming off the decimal places of pi? Games where you have to find the derivative of an algebraic equation? Games where you practice balancing chemical equations? No. No one makes those.

It's sad really. I mean, if you think about it, the people that were good in math and science were supposed to be the people running the world when we got older. I mean, isn't that what we were led to believe?

So what happened to people like me? I mean, sure... I work in a glamorous career with valves (Hello! Dream job!), but what's everyone else's excuse? Didn't anyone with left brain aptitudes and ovaries get to pitch game ideas to the game makers?

What's that? Oh. Apparently they're all working on cures for cancer, working to make our country safer, laughing at the word "boobies" or are out playing World of Warcraft.

Nevermind.

Oh come ON!

2010-01-22T09:04:00.002-07:00

I am not kidding you.

The pants that arrived at my doorstep a month ago are apparently destined to be at mine.

I called up the sender and asked him to come by and pick up the pants. He assured me he would. But after 4 days outside, I decided to take the box back inside.

Then I called UPS (since it was their mistake in the first place). After about an hour long conversation regarding the pants, they agreed to pick them up at my place of work and then get them to the rightful owner.

I went on vacation for Christmas.

I came back after the new year and found that UPS delivered them back to my workplace stating that they couldn't deliver them to the original owner.

THEN I sent them back to the sender and (I bet you can see where this is going),

THE PANTS CAME BACK AS UNDELIVERABLE.

Dude.

WTF, pants?

It'd be the sort of stuff that nightmares are made of, only that it's just PANTS.

Unless the pants might be trying to tell me something. Like maybe I'm going to die in a horrible accident when I'm in a skirt...but if I had pants, at least people wouldn't be able to see my varicose veins.

I don't know. All I know is that this is getting old.

Dang you, boomerang pants!

I can't believe I'm not vomiting

2010-01-14T06:02:00.003-07:00

Seriously?

Megan Mullally in an "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" commercial singing to Gloria Estefan's song "Turn the Beat Around?"

Megan. Tsk tsk.

We know you want to sing. We know you want to be remembered for something other than Karen on "Will and Grace."

I thought your performance in "Fame" might have been you scraping the bottom of the ~~tub~~ barrel, but this?

(sigh)

One of the best starts to a new year that I've ever had

2010-01-04T10:05:00.006-07:00

This past weekend, my boyfriend and I took a trip to Winter Park, Colorado.

We decided to try something new - we went tubing. Tubing, at least in Colorado, means that you pay someone to slide down their mountain on an inner tube. The place where we went allowed us to rent a tube for each of us (for an hourly fee) so we could go flying down the hill as fast as we pleased.

You might think that we got exercise by lugging the tubes back up the hill, but no. You'd be wrong. The hill that we went to took us back up on an escalator/people-mover type thing.

Being lazy was wonderful. :)

So basically the cycle went as follows:

1. Me commenting to the boyfriend about how cold it was.
2. Both of us blowing our noses in tissues.
3. Us going up the hill on the escalator.
4. Deciding which of the three segmented hills we wanted to risk our lives on.
5. Laying down on the inner tube either face first or on our butts, ready to go down the hill, holding hands.
6. Realizing that we were too far away from the edge of the hill to actually slide down.
7. Scooting and/or rocking our tubes back and forth to get them to the edge of the hill so we could slide down. This sometimes took more than a moment or two.
8. Me screaming down each hill - especially as we turned around so we couldn't see what was coming. He laughed at me every time.
9. Us getting up from our tubes (after they were safely stopped) with a groan because we are OLD.*

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

It was a fun time.

We had made arrangements to stay in Winter Park at a hotel that allowed dogs, so I brought Chassis along. Due to some misinformation, we ended up not staying at that hotel, and instead called a hotel down the road to see if they had occupancy.

The clerk told us that although they did have a room, they did not allow pets. We asked if she could recommend a hotel that did allow pets and that is when she relented and said that we could come with our dog on two conditions:
1. That we would never tell anyone that we brought a dog in (sort of like the first rule of Fight Club).
2. That if we were asked why we had a dog, we were to say that it was a service dog.

We assured her that our dog would sleep almost the whole time, that she wouldn't bark, and that no one would even know she was there.

Without further ado, we checked into the hotel and quickly ushered Chassis into the hotel room.

In the end, she barked a few times at the rowdy neighbors in the middle of the night, growled a few times at other noises, and only jumped on and off the spare bed a few times (which sounded like someone having a seizure and falling to the floor). She had to potty a few times (as would be expected) and earned a few "WHOA. That is a BIG dog!" from passersby, but that was basically it.

I mean, really. How could anyone notice that she was there??

And yes, that is a queen bed.

* We had to sign release forms before going tubing. On the release forms, one of the pieces of information that they asked for was our birth dates. The boyfriend? He filled out his stating that he was born in 1982...making him 5 years younger than me. So for the rest of the day, he kept saying that he was younger than me and calling me a cougar. For the record, this is SO NOT TRUE. Let the record state that he's 10 1/2 years older than me, thankyouverymuch.

Hello New Day! :)

2010-01-01T06:23:00.002-07:00

Hello New Day! :)

At this time of year, when we're all busy either making resolutions or trying to forget that that's what others do, I just wanted to wish you a very happy new year.

I truly hope that 2010 is your best year yet.

And to kick it off, here's a great song - "Hello New Day" by Roger Clyne & the Peacemakers...

Hello New Day - Roger Clyne & ...

The First Noel

2009-12-21T09:47:00.003-07:00

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

2009-12-16T17:18:00.003-07:00

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?

2009-12-15T11:27:00.007-07:00

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

2009-12-14T09:03:00.002-07:00

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

2009-12-11T13:28:00.002-07:00

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!

2009-12-07T08:48:00.003-07:00

Damn you, Robert Goulet!

I need more Emerald Nuts, apparently.

REALLY Casual Friday

2009-12-04T09:55:00.002-07:00

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

2009-12-02T08:54:00.003-07:00

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

2009-11-30T12:01:00.002-07:00

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...

2009-11-19T10:41:00.004-07:00

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

2009-11-17T14:54:00.003-07:00

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...

2009-11-17T08:35:00.003-07:00

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...

2009-11-12T09:01:00.002-07:00

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?

2009-11-11T09:45:00.003-07:00

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

2009-11-09T23:35:00.005-07:00

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...

2009-11-06T06:22:00.007-07:00

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

2009-11-05T23:58:00.001-07:00

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...

2009-11-03T00:06:00.006-07:00

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....

2009-11-02T06:15:00.002-07:00

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.

2009-10-30T14:13:00.006-06:00

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

2009-10-26T08:34:00.003-06:00

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

2009-10-23T09:21:00.002-06:00

"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...

2009-10-20T12:51:00.007-06:00

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

2009-10-19T15:41:00.007-06:00

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

2009-10-16T08:15:00.010-06:00

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

2009-10-13T08:15:00.003-06:00

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

2009-10-12T10:41:00.003-06:00

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

2009-10-09T08:55:00.003-06:00

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!

2009-10-08T14:38:00.004-06:00

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

2009-10-07T10:41:00.002-06:00

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

2009-10-06T10:25:00.002-06:00

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?

2009-10-05T09:42:00.002-06:00

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)

2009-10-02T08:00:00.003-06:00

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?

2009-10-01T08:40:00.003-06:00

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...

2009-09-30T14:28:00.004-06:00

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

2009-09-29T14:29:00.005-06:00

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...

2009-09-28T13:22:00.007-06:00

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...

2009-09-25T08:44:00.002-06:00

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

2009-09-24T08:28:00.003-06:00

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

2009-09-23T00:12:00.004-06:00

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...

2009-09-22T08:01:00.005-06:00

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.

My Scarlet Letter

2009-09-16T15:10:00.005-06:00

My first break-up was horrible.

In fact, there are a few people that read this blog that are probably nodding their heads so vigorously right now that they might fall off their necks. See, I was in my freshman year in college and I started dating one of the first guys that showed me attention. My whole life up until that point seemed to be filled with guys that I liked but didn't like me back. I know...it's the story of most people's lives. Anyway, my first boyfriend was in college. He was tall and oh my goodness did he have a mullet that was EPIC. Despite the mullet, I got really attached to him - very quickly. He was my first kiss and my first love.

A few short months later, I realized that I no longer wanted to date this person...I realized that I'd rather take my chances with other people. So I broke things off with him. He sat there, crying in my bedroom saying, "But I thought that you were 'The One!'" I can't even remember all the guys that have said that to me when I've broken up with them...which is amazing since NONE of them actually asked me to be "The One"... but now we're getting into a different post topic. Anyway, after I broke up with him, I felt so good...for about 12 hours. And then OH how I wanted him back. Of course, then he wanted nothing to do with me.

So I cried almost all the time. I didn't eat (or at least not much) for weeks. I couldn't go to my Chemistry class because it reminded me of him (he was a Chemistry major) and if I did, I ended up crying through it. If I had to count how many times I cried to my friends Joella and Jon, I'd say that it neighbored close to eleventy hundred.

The worst part was going to sleep. Because I would inevitably dream of him. In my dreams, things would be fine again - we'd be in love and we'd laugh at how the whole break up was a big mistake... But then I'd wake up and have to face reality all over again.

I was not with him. I was alone. I'd mourn all over again every day - practically soaking my pillow with fresh tears. It was, in a word, absofrickinhorrible.

These days, I'm finding myself in that similar situation. There is an issue - one that I have spent many tears on - that has plagued me the past 6 years of my life. At first, it was horrible just dealing with it...but eventually it became almost a part of myself. I accepted it and hated it at the same time. For a short while, I thought that the burden would be lifted from me. But it turns out, that is not the case. I've learned to live my life as if everything was the same...and most of the time I find myself being very happy. Because I'm not faced with this issue daily, it's easy for me to forget that it *is* an issue.

And then, when I least expect it, it pops up again. It IS like waking up from a fantastic dream... and a part of me mourns all over again. I realize that for some reason, one I can't pinpoint or blame on any one else, this issue will never fully go away. It affects other people. And the guilt? Why, that's nothing compared to the shame.

It's like having to wear a scarlet letter on your chest day in and day out. And then, unexpectedly being able to go to a party where no one knows you so that you can wear any outfit without that "A." You have a fantastic time... only to come home and see the entire wardrobe (A's and all) waiting for you - right where you left them.

It's like re-injuring yourself.

Or maybe it's more like getting a paper cut in the same area over and over again.

It doesn't ever seem to heal completely...and sometimes I wonder if it ever will.

Stereotype

2009-09-15T08:26:00.002-06:00

For the ladies out there, I have a question for you. Is it just me or are you discouraged when the following scenario happens?

There is a car in front of you that is swerving, driving horribly, changing lanes without turn signals, being a slow merger or being just a general dorkfish when it comes to driving. When you happen to pass them, you notice that it's a female. And she's on the phone or texting or doing her make-up or knitting or anything else that she shouldn't be doing...

Because when I see that, I want to shake that woman and tell her that she is perpetuating the stereotype that women are bad drivers!

Alternately, when it's a guy, I'm slightly relieved.

Just me? Okay then.

The Silver Beaver

2009-09-14T08:25:00.006-06:00

It's probably a well known fact that I giggle at inappropriate times - like when people say "do do" or "poop" or "#2" or "pianist." If it isn't a well known fact, well... it should be. What you may not know is that ~~sometimes~~ usually I stick my foot in my mouth.

As an example, last weekend, I went to visit my friend Kelly. We ended up meeting with her mother-in-law to get something for the dead people duvet. And the mom? She looks SO much like her son (or vice versa) that I couldn't help but tell her that. She said something like, "I know. He does look a lot like me - he even has my hair!"

I said that it was uncanny how much they looked alike...and then I took it a step too far with: "Like, you guys have the exact same face! I mean, they're almost interchangeable!"

And then she made a funny face. The kind of face that lets you know that you said something NOT OKAY.

I get that face a lot.

So I tried to fix it with, "I'm not saying that you have a masculine face. Or that he has a girlie face. No. Your faces are fine! " Needless to say, my qualification DID NOT FIX IT.

So when Kelly suggested that she, her husband, his mom, and I go out to lunch the next day, my eye started twitching. OMG - the PRESSURE! I was all, "I did that damage yesterday in 5 minutes - and you expect me to behave for an HOUR?"

Turns out, I did a good job of NOT talking. I did my best to ask questions to the MIL that were appropriate. I did a great job.

UNTIL... They were all talking about how the dad (who was not present) has done a lot in his lifetime for the Boy Scouts. I know nothing about Boy Scouts. There were no little boys in my family so basically all I know about them is that they know how to tie knots and they sell popcorn.

Anyway, someone actually said, "Yes - he's actually done so much that he got a Silver Beaver!"

I almost did a spit-take with my water. I looked wide-eyed at the people at the table and they were completely serious.

All I could think to squeak out was, "I'm sorry...Silver Beaver, did you say?"

And then here were the comments:
"Yes, yes! They don't give Silver Beavers to just anyone, you know."
"You have to work REALLY hard to get a Silver Beaver."
"You can't ask for a Silver Beaver, you know. You just get one - it's a surprise."

There were others but I think I blacked out because there were so many jokes FLOODING to my head all at once.

(sigh)

For the record, I really wanted to have the title of this post to be "How I know I have the humor of a 13 year old boy..." but it turns out I've already used that one. Probably not a good sign.

At this rate, I'll be ready to die in 5 years

2009-09-11T08:52:00.004-06:00

'Member when I went speed dating a few months ago?* Me too! :) I made a joke during that post about my "Bucket List" and how, after being begged not to leave a guy at the bar, it had gotten one item shorter. Well, you may be happy to learn that I just scratched another thing off of my list!

This past weekend, Kelly and I were on our way into a fabric store in Peoria, Illinois when I heard all sorts of hooting and hollering - only it sounded like it was coming from GOD.

Turns out, God was not hooting and hollering...but rather the cell phone tower repair men located 40 feet in the air were. They were waving and waggling their parts in our general direction, which as far as I know, is something God typically doesn't do.** As soon as we were out of sight, the hooting stopped. When we came out of the store, the whistling started again so it was clear to me that we were the objects of desire.

I was thrilled.

I know some of you may roll your eyes and are about ready to send me a message about how women shouldn't be objectified. "Women are people too!" you might be thinking. But you're wrong.*** Because, really, don't all of us want to be objectified on SOME level? It's all well and good to be complimented on being smart and funny, but what about the stuff that REALLY matters - like our looks?****

Anyway, it does occur to me that we were probably a good 40 years younger than the median age of the person going into that rural fabric store. AND that the cell phone waves probably warped their brains and/or eyesight so that they couldn't see us well anyway. BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT. The point is, some half-blind guy who is used to looking at grannies thinks I'm worthy of being oogled.

Dream big, people. Because it could happen to you too!

*So that's actually where I met the guy that I'm dating now. For the sake of (almost) anonymity, I'll call him J. I am really enjoying my time with him. He has me laughing much of the time and when you combine that with the fact that he's a genuinely nice guy? Well, let's just say the only way I could like him more right now is if he fed me Reece's Pieces. He's supportive, sweet, thoughtful, and smart. I feel like I should throw in a disclaimer to say that I don't know him overly well, it's only been two months, that things could still go wrong and blah blah blah. But I don't really feel like qualifying it. While I'm not in love, I'm pretty darn happy dating him mostly because I actually ENJOY being around him. (gasp!) I look forward to the time that we spend together. It's like we're friends but with chemistry... and all I'm saying is that it's about frickin' time.

**Church might have more attendees if God would revisit His stance on waggling, hooting, and hollering. I'm just saying.

*** Clearly, the lesson here is that women are not people.

***Yes, yes. I'm kidding.

I see dead people...no really

2009-09-10T00:14:00.001-06:00

So in January, I took a fantastic trip to go see my friends Ginger and Lisa in Dallas for a much awaited Girls' Trip. We had a heap of fun and I am really looking forward to the next trip!

At any rate, we went to Ikea on the trip and I found a really cool duvet cover. The duvet cover was a dark blue on one side and a bright green color on the other side. I thought it was quirky...but cool. It had two "people" on it and I thought that it was neat. The people looked like they were holding hands and sleeping...and I mean, how sweet is that?

So we got home from Ikea and I put the duvet cover down on the bed - spreading it out. At that point, I asked Ginger and Lisa if they thought it was cool or just a little TOO quirky. Ginger said something like, "I don't know...it's kind of creepy."

And that's when I saw it for what it was - it looked like two chalk outlines of people. Chalk outlines of DEAD PEOPLE. Did they die in a fire? Were they Branch Davidians? Maybe they had a gas leak in their home...WHO KNOWS.

So I decided that was more than a bit too creepy for me and decided to go about changing the duvet - but knew that I couldn't do it without my friend Kelly's help. Kelly is my best friend and is the one that made my fantastic quilt last year. I went to visit her this past weekend and making this duvet cover better was one of the many fantastic and fun things that we did. I even posed as one of the dead people (hey, beer may or may not have been involved) with her dog. Please note how bad her dog is at playing dead.

Anyway, after many beers and hours of sewing, we figured out a good solution. Tada!

It's no longer two dead people on each side. It's CHOPPED UP DEAD PEOPLE on each side. Way better, right?

Humming

2009-09-09T08:52:00.002-06:00

OH MY GOSH.

First of all, my company won a free breakfast from Panera. I won't get into the details of how we won it (because it'd be easy to track which company I work for), but let's just say that I'm excited.

I love bagels AND they are providing coffee. I do love coffee; it tastes sooo good. It's rare that I have coffee though. First, since the quality of coffee in our lunchroom is equivalent to the toilet water in most prisons, I don't drink the coffee that's at my workplace. Second, I used to brew coffee at home, but when my house was on the market a few years ago, I realized that coffee smells in the home wasn't a great way to sell the house - so I got out of the habit of brewing coffee and into the habit of drinking a Coke Zero in the morning to wake up. Now, since my new place is itty bitty, I don't have room for a coffee maker (no really) so I have just stuck to my Coke Zero.

SO this morning I had my normal Coke Zero and because I had a bad headache, I also took some Excedrin. Excedrin has caffeine in it.

THEN I saw the bagels and coffee in the lunchroom.

I've had two mugs of coffee.

My body feels like it's shaking and humming. I feel like a spaz. I am acting like a spaz.

Just be thankful that this blog post didn't come out with all of the words in all caps and jumbled together BECAUSETHAT'SWHATIWANTEDTODO.

I've created a MONSTER

2009-09-01T08:47:00.003-06:00

So...Chassis is fine. After blood tests and urine tests, we've found out that she just had one heck of a bladder infection. She's been on meds (again) since last Wednesday and as of tonight will be on a new set of meds for the next few weeks. They'll test her again next week to make sure that the infection is going away and then after that, I may be able to convince the bank to let me keep my house.

Alright. I'm kidding. But let's just say that if you want to buy plasma, I have some I'd be up for selling really cheap.

The great news is that the antibiotics this time around are really strong. And in case you didn't know this, that means that she could have diarrhea. And in case you didn't know, diarrhea from a 175 pound dog is, in a word, absolutelyfreakindisgusting.

SO to counteract that, she needs to eat food with her meds. It's hard to get a 175 pound dog to do anything she doesn't want to do - and eating is one of those things. So I've discovered some great treat options to throw in her food bowl so that she'll eat the treats and the food. Yay team!

But now comes the problem of getting the meds in her mouth. One of the best ways I've found is to slather these two huge pills in peanut butter and then plop it in her mouth.

It's important to note these two things:
1. Chassis does not enjoy having things shoved in her mouth, so she's quick to spit it out.
2. Holding her mouth closed so she swallows is effective, but it's kind of like a test of wills. She doesn't want to swallow and I want her to. She will stand there for 15 minutes with it in her mouth, not swallowing JUST BECAUSE SHE CAN.

Because of the standoff, she has learned that she doesn't like to take her pills. BUT she does love the taste of peanut butter.

So our twice daily routine is this:
1. I encourage Chassis to get up from sleeping to get a treat.
2. She raises her head and looks at me.
3. I encourage her further (note: this usually means using a higher tone of voice such that my neighbors will start to wonder if Minnie Mouse is at my house).
4. She eventually gets up and lumbers towards me.
5. I get the peanut butter/pill combo at the ready.
6. I take a deep breath, put her in a weird headlock, and try with all my might to pry her jaws open. This is usually accompanied with me praying/pleading with Chassis to please just open her mouth.
7. Chassis smells the peanut butter and because she loves the taste of it, she starts drooling. Profusely.
8. My hands, after being lubricated with slobber, start slipping over her mouth and mouth flaps*...my grip starts to falter!
9. Chassis, sensing weakness, will try to squirm from the headlock position, making peanut butter smear all over her face and/or what I'm wearing.
10. Repeat steps 6-9.

Eventually after several shots of alcohol, lots of cursing, and a little crying, the pills actually manage to get in her mouth and she swallows them.

In case you're wondering, it is exactly the amount of fun you think it is.

*Mouth flaps are my way of describing her lips....they're actually flaps of lip material that completely cover (aka flap over) her bottom jaw when her mouth is closed.

I can't remember when the earth turned slowly

2009-08-30T23:32:00.001-06:00

I heart this song.

It's "Spinning" by Jack's Mannequin. My friend Lisa introduced me to it and I've loved it since my ears first heard the chorus.

As I was running the other day, this song came on and all I could think of was how much my life feels like this song right now.

I've started to see a therapist - mostly inspired by ghosts from my past and the desire to not be France.

Three things you might be interested to know about therapy are:
1) the couches are less comfy than you might think,
b) I don't think they allow you to lay down on couches anymore but I haven't worked up the courage to ask yet, and
iii) it's a lot of hard work. Because while the session is only 1 hour long, the progress really happens in the weeks between the sessions.

The result? Since I'm questioning multiple things about my life and my decision making capabilities right now, I'm finding that I'm more unsure about things that I normally not think twice about. Me being unsure means that I keep thinking about all the possible different solutions to whatever problem I'm facing. Over-thinking is putting it mildly, but I can't shut my brain off. The best way for me to explain it is when you start to learn that 1 + 1 is not 2 (as you've always believed), but 3, it's hard to grasp. Because not only does 1 + 1 equaling 3 blow your mind, but does that mean that anything you THOUGHT was 2, not really 2? And what happens if you add 1 to that? What number does that equal?

My mind churns and churns.

I'm making progress. I am. And I'm excited. Because at the core of it, the new things that I'm learning or re-learning opens a lot of possibilities. But I'm also more sensitive than what I've been in my life, or maybe I'm just in tune with my emotions more than I have been. I'm more unsure of myself so I'm finding myself looking to others for stability, acceptance, motivation, consistency, and warmth. And I'm probably needier. Scratch that. I know I'm needier. My goal is to try to spread that out to as many people as possible until I feel grounded again, which I hope is very soon.

Until then, I guess I'll just spin.

Might want to look that up, part 2

2009-08-26T14:43:00.003-06:00

So the same guy that got bitten by a vampire wannabe just walked up to me all excited.

Him: OMG! A girl just emailed me saying that she was looking for a platonic relationship!

Me: Okay.

Him: That's the one where they want another person in the relationship, right?

Me: No. You're thinking of polyamorous. Platonic means that they just want a friendship.

Him: Oh. (shuffles off slowly)

(sigh)

Rollercoaster days

2009-08-26T08:38:00.003-06:00

Yesterday was a great day. I had a lot of sleep the night before, I went for a run, had a great day at work, talked to some great people and left messages for some others that have been on my mind and heart.

And then I walked in my back door to find more pee everywhere.

That's right. Chassis has regressed back to issues from over a week ago - just two days after she had finished the antibiotics.

So, this morning, she's at the vet's office. Hopefully they'll be able to make sense out of her situation and why she's showed some improvements but didn't make a full recovery. In the back of my head, I'm remembering the ER vet's thoughts - because she didn't have enough white blood cells to indicate an infection, she could have a blood disorder, an immune deficiency, stones in her bladder, or masses in her bladder. She still isn't showing signs of the blood disorder and the ultrasound cleared her for problems on the last two. That leaves an immune deficiency issue. There is also the thought that she might not have been on the antibiotics long enough or that the ones that she was on weren't the right ones to get rid of the bacteria she has.

At this point, I'm not sure of what options are available. But strangely while I was devastated last week, I'm calm this week. I'm sure that it has something to do with that I've thought a bunch about what choices I would make if the ultrasound showed some issues. I feel somehow guilty about the calm.

I do know this: I want to make whatever decisions come next with all the love that I can. She has been a great dog and I'm confident that I will make the right choice, whatever that may be.

When dating REALLY sucks

2009-08-25T06:17:00.004-06:00

So there is a guy at work that is actively trying to date. He's one of the people that got dumped a little while ago. :( Anyway, he's a nice guy but he's making some interesting choices.

Two weekends ago, he opted to pick up on a friend's friend. She was at the bar with all of them and was getting drunk. One thing led to another and he took her to his place. Another thing led to another and apparently he had his shirt off. At some point in the night, he mentioned that he liked a vampire series that was on HBO. So when his shirt was off, she whispered seductively in his ear, "I want to suck your blood."

He thought she was kidding.

She wasn't.

What ended up happening is that he had a MASSIVE bruise on his arm and bite marks on his neck. The bruise has faded to that yellowish/brownish color...and he actually was worried that it was starting to grow. So outlined parts of the bruise with a permanent marker to determine if it was growing day to day. The result is that it looked like a big yellow circle. And that's when he showed it to me.

So I BEGGED him to let me make it better.

And I did. See?
Again, nothing other than a black permanent marker was used. That yellowish color? All his/the vampire's doing.

Don't take this post as me condoning the existence of Meryl Streep

2009-08-23T19:35:00.004-06:00

I've been trying to be more domesticated lately. I'm realizing that at 32 if I'm don't know how to cook SOMETHING* when a special someone comes over, then it's just sad. My friends Kelly (there are two of them) are pretty much the best cooks ever. Everytime I go over to their houses, they cook these fantastic things that I can't even comprend how they're made. And they're all "Oh! It's so simple. All you do is just...." and then my eyes glaze over because they name herbs I don't have and have never heard of. They talk about pans/pots I don't have and cooking styles I can't begin to name.

So I'm starting with baby steps. I'm looking for recipes that have only a few ingredients and are simple enough that a four year old could make it. I figure I can dumb it down from there.

Tonight I opted to make what SEEMED like a very easy recipe. Cordon Bleu. Let me tell you that it is NOT so easy. Because first you have to pound out chicken. I thought that would be easy until I realized that I don't own a pounder thingie. So did what every woman wants to do in their 30's. I called my mom and begged for help. She suggested that I put the sliced chicken breast halves (which by the way is also not easy) between two pieces of Saran Wrap and then pound it lightly using the edge of a plate. Since I don't like shards of plate in my chicken, I opted to do the Saran Wrap thing and then just pound it using my fist.

I need to get a pounder thingie.

Anyway, I did it. I cooked something for dinner that I haven't cooked before. See?
I know...the chicken thingies aren't the prettiest. I know...the cheese is supposed to not ooze out. And they probably should be more uniform. But they taste fantastic. And what's more, I MADE them.

*Actually, I'm a decent baker. I make cookies, some pies, muffins, and breads from scratch. I'm good at that kind of stuff. And to be honest, I've made a few Thanksgiving dinners with all the fixings. So I know how to make SOME stuff...just not like sophisticated dinner stuff. Or even normal dinner stuff.

P.S. Slightly off topic, but I refuse to see "Julie and Julia." I kind of want to see it because I want to support the idea that blogs can turn into books or movies. While I personally don't feel I have enough talent to do either, I am all about supporting people who do. And I like Amy Adams. But really? Meryl Streep has ruined a lot of movies for me and I just don't get the appeal of her. In fact, one time, when I saw her in a movie with Kevin Bacon, I remembered wishing he would just hit her with an oar or something already. I find her annoying. "Mamma Mia" had me cringing the whole time...and I heart ABBA.

Relationship terminology

2009-08-21T10:09:00.003-06:00

When I moved to Colorado from Oklahoma City, I stayed with my Godmother. She is delightful, quirky, and I love her immensly. She was (and still is) dating a guy who is ALSO delightfully quirky and warmhearted. I could gush about the love that I feel for these two people, but just know that they are fantastic.

ANYway, I once said to her something about this guy being her boyfriend. And she said something like, "Oh, honey. When you're my age, they're not called boyfriends."

So my question is, at what age do you stop calling someone you're dating exclusively a boyfriend? At what age do you start to just call him "my friend" with a wink and a nudge?

And really, at what point in the relationship do you start describing someone as a "boyfriend?" Because really, unless you're in a poodle skirt and are wearing his high school ring, does anyone ever really ASK to be your boyfriend anymore? Instead, isn't it usually a slow slide into familiarity where eventually you're just doing stuff with them each weekend and then it's just assumed that they're your boyfriend/significant other? And is that sad - that the slow slide into familiarity breeds this term that neither one of you are sure you even WANT? When does the conscious decision making happen?

And since we're talking about it, I always felt like the term "significant other" was reserved for those that were living with each other. Because of that, I don't think I have ever called a boyfriend a significant other. "Partner" is usually reserved for those that are GLB, for those in dance classes, or those that are owners of a company - am I right?

Chime in please - even lurkers! Because I simply can't figure out the terminology. Clearly, I need you.

P.S. I feel that it's only fair to disclose that I am in a something with someone right now. Believe it or not, this post was not driven by my desire to figure out my own relationship terminology. I'm happy to call him "the guy I'm dating" for now. Sometimes, I even call him by his name. :)

Hear that? That's the sound of me slapping my forehead. Repeatedly.

2009-08-20T08:42:00.003-06:00

So Chassis is not, in fact, getting better. LOOONG story short, she's better in one sense and not in another. So I'm taking her to get an ultrasound tomorrow. I'd like to say that again. My DOG is getting a friggin' ultrasound tomorrow. Actually, she's getting an ultrasound and some grooming in her lady bits area. Oh, and they have to shave my dog first. Yeah. My dog that is over 4 feet long and almost as tall is going to have a shaved nether region. Because she's so tall, everyone can see her shaved area. That's not going to look weird AT ALL.

Anyway, because of the scheduling of the ultrasound, I had to cancel my long awaited trip to visit my friend Mike in Seattle. So I called Mike yesterday to explain what was going on (I let him know Monday that it was iffy) and to apologize. We laughed, we talked, we planned on when I can come to his place again. I am bummed about it, but I am so thankful that Mike and his wife are understanding.

At one point, I thought that my iPhone had dropped the phone call because I heard a series of beeps. So I said, "Ohmigosh. Did I just lose you?" And since there was no immediate answer, I shouted, "MOTHERF*CKER!"

And then he said, "Uh, no. Still here."

Apparently, I was getting another call. And all I'll say about my foul language choice is that yesterday was a bit of a tough day emotionally - Chassis stuff aside - so I was justified. Also, technically, he has fathered two kids. So he IS one. I'm just saying.

Anyway, fast forward to today, when I opted to sign into Facebook to wish my friend Jo a happy birthday. And that's when I saw that she wrote on Mike's wall. So I jumped over to his wall only to find out that YESTERDAY WAS HIS BIRTHDAY.

Nice.

So on his birthday, I call him up, cancel plans, call him a motherf*cker, and then don't wish him a happy birthday. Yeah. Apparently I'm that kind of friend.

You're welcome, Mike.

Good news! I'm not dead.

2009-08-17T09:38:00.003-06:00

I recognize that I've left you without a post for almost a week. ALMOST A WEEK! What is wrong with me and where are my priorities? Sheesh.

I'll try not to do that to you again. :)

The main reason I haven't updated was that I went camping on Thursday morning with a great group of people. There were some fun times, some frightening times, and some sleepy times. We laughed, we swallowed river water unexpectedly, and for a select few, we puked (please note that I was in the first group only). There are some good stories that I'm sure I'll share later. Access to email/phone was limited (town population was under 500 so all I had was my iPhone) so posts simply had to wait.

I came home last night (sunburned, hungry, and in need of a shower) only to find that my dog had been peeing all over the house and was sick. Peeing blood sick.* So after over 4 hours in the animal ER (Hello, Alameda East!), we know that she either has an immune deficiency, bladder stones, a blood disorder, or a mass in her bladder. Or at least that is all that the ER vet thought that could be wrong. Urine tests indicate that it is not a UTI. We gave her antibiotics and pain meds anyway which might or might not help. My vet is guessing that it will not help; however, I remain hopeful. Because basically NOT doing something drives me crazy. And besides, it looked like she was in pain.

I had alarms set every two hours to prompt me to get up, get her up, and make her go potty. In addition to that, I'm not sure how much I slept because I was checking on my dog all night long to see if she was okay. She wet her beds a couple of times while sleeping, so I kept checking to make sure that she was at least all right and that the rug was dry.

But I'm scared and I'm worried. I don't really know what the right next step is. I'm concerned about cost and about possibly quality of life. I'm overwhelmed at the thought of what I will do if she doesn't get better. I'm scared that I won't have anyone to lean on and completely lose my shit around if she does need to be put down. My normal vet is working on figuring out what our next plan of action might be. So I'm concentrating on the choices I have to make right now...and when I start getting anxious about what might be, I remind myself that I do not have to make that decision right now. I'm doing a lot of deep breathing.

But I'm still scared. And I'm still worried.

I'm so glad that I'm able to love on my dog and that I'm not still out of town. But I'm not very funny today...and I'm hoping you'll forgive me for that for just a little longer.

*Yes, my dog had a dogsitter that came over and stayed for hours twice a day. Although Chassis had an accident in the house with peeing and having some blood, she thought I'd be home in the afternoon and could take her to the vet if I wanted to. She's a cute little 20-something girl so I feel slightly bad for wanting to break her legs. When I finally got ahold of her last night, I had to do a lot of deep breathing so I didn't just yell. She didn't know it was that bad and she didn't know it would get so bad so quickly. I remind myself of those two things often. And when that doesn't work, sometimes deep breathing is all I can do.

I might've just had a baby

2009-08-12T07:30:00.005-06:00

You know how you always hear about how new mothers are so tired all the time? I'm so tired that I think I might be a new mother.

A new mother of what, you may ask? I don't know. But it's the only logical explanation that I can come up with right now. In fact, today marks morning #3 in a row that I've had 5 hours of sleep or less. Getting 7-8 hours nightly is ideal for me. And I'm not going to lie to you, I'm not exactly chipper and full of cheer this morning.

I've been thinking of people that I can blame this on, and so far I'm coming up with no one, which in my opinion, really isn't fair. Sure, it can best be blamed on time management, the fact that I'm trying to get everything ready for a camping trip tomorrow, and that I'm struggling with some issues...but those reasons all come back to me. And I can't be liking that.

To make matters worse, I was supposed to have a date tonight - one that I really have been looking forward to. And maybe it's fate because I recall saying a few weeks ago to him when we were talking about people being too tired to mess around, "I can count on one hand how many times I've been *that* tired." Right now I'm so tired that he could listen to Nickleback songs and I wouldn't care. I KNOW! That's what I've been trying to say! It has reached drastic measures! So, if you care to, please send condolences cards to him (re: the good time we would've had tonight).

The time I either was or wasn't beaten by a one-legged girl

2009-08-10T07:52:00.004-06:00

Yesterday I found myself killing time on iTunes. I know, it doesn't SEEM like a bad idea, but let's just say it can get expensive quickly.

I saw that Whitney Houston is coming out with a new album and happened to click on her "Greatest Hits ~~not delivered by Bobby Brown"~~ album.* I used to LOVE Whitney Houston - back before the drugs. In fact, her album, "Whitney Houston," was one of my favorites when I was a kid. Technically, it was my dad's cassette tape, but that's what he gets for leaving his stuff ~~in his home office in a locked drawer~~ laying around the house. **

ANYway, when I was in 4th grade, our PE teacher made us pair up and do some little dance to any song we chose.*** I can't remember who my partner was (either Leah or Teresa) but I remember who it wasn't. It wasn't Robin. Robin and I were friends but she picked another girl (either Teresa or Leah) instead of me. Thus I had to beat Robin in a dance-off. Even though she only had one leg. What can I say? I'm competitive.

So it came time to pick songs and my group picked either "How Will I Know?" or "Greatest Love of All" - I can't remember which one but I know that Robin's team picked the other one. I remember that I totally wanted the song that Robin's team picked and I felt that it was unfair that they got to have it and we didn't. I'm not saying the one-legged thing played into it, I'm just saying it clearly wasn't fair.

Long story short, we danced. And whichever dance we danced, my team was clearly the best one. It was full of literal acting out of the words...and as everyone who has ever seen "Fame" knows, that is the best way to dance. I think we can all agree that my superior dancing/acting skills should've beaten Robin's team. But, I'll be honest. I don't remember which team won.

One thing is for certain: it had either Leah or Teresa on it.

* Yeah. I went there.

**After that, my dad started marking his tapes with his initials. Yes. My household was crazy thankyouverymuch.

***And actually, I'm not quite sure what that was all about. I mean, it wasn't like we got to see any other teams dance so I'm not sure if it was an extra credit type thing or if we all just danced for him individually. But if we were dancing for him individually, then where were the other kids?

The person I want to be

2009-08-07T09:23:00.004-06:00

A few weeks ago I was at the starting line of a 5K. The leader encouraged all the "fast" people to be up closer to the front and to have the walkers at the back. So there I am, standing in the middle-ish of the pack waiting for the countdown to begin the 5K. And that's when I hear her.

She is standing behind me, saying loudly to her pal: GAH! I can't believe we're this far back in the pack! I mean, we totally deserve to be up there. Just look at those people. We're obviously faster than them! I mean they have KIDS up there for Chrissakes. GAH!

Her pal: I know. This is so stupid.

So I turned around to look and what I found were basically two women who looked like Skeletor. They were very thin and I'm sure that they probably WERE faster than all of the people in front of us. So I said "Here. Feel free to get in front of me. I'm sure you are faster."

They sighed, didn't say thank you and pushed in front of me.

I found myself wondering if they REALLY think that no one could hear them? Did they care? I mean, did they really think that them throwing a hissy fit at a 5K for charity was appropriate? I guess so. For the next five minutes I saw them basically push their way to the front of the pack. From the looks on people's faces, it seemed that they offended quite a few people.

Now this 5K had kind of a weird route where you actually had to run kind of a lap and a half around the park (the route kind of looked like a paperclip). They encouraged all of the people to, as you came to the end of your first lap, get on the left side of the path so that the faster runners could pass by. I wasn't sure how fast these runners were, but the last thing I wanted was to have some skinny chick slam into the back of me because I wasn't enough to the left. So I ran on the left side of the whole course...just in case. I guess I felt a bit intimidated.

This race had a rule - one that I've seen in every other set of directions for 5Ks - NO HEADPHONES (as I found out, no one else pays attention to this rule). So I ran, with my Nike+ feature on my iPhone, to no music. Having no music to listen to means you have some time to think. I won't bore you with all of the things that I was thinking about, but I will say that there were many moments where I promised myself to not be like those ladies (and I use the term loosely) at the front of the pack. No matter how good or fast I think I am at something, I need to have some humility. Some grace. Some decency. Some consideration for others.

By the way, it was around this time that I realized that I was getting my ass kicked by SPEED WALKERS with the median age of 93. Seriously. Those people are FAST! It occurred to me again that you can't judge someone by how they look. Well, sort of. I mean, the speed walkers DO look funny when they're speed walking. :)

So fast forward to the end of the race. I'm about a 10th of a mile from finishing and one guy, who had clearly already finished the race, was walking back towards us shouting to all of the runners. As I got closer, I could make out the words that he was saying:

"Way to go! You're almost there! Don't stop now! Keep up the pace! You're doing great! The finish line is just up the way - you've only got a 10th to go! Keep going!"

I got chills.

I picked up my pace.

Had I been able to talk between my huffing and puffing, I would've told him how much it meant to me that he, who had already put in his effort and finished, thought to encourage others. It would've been easy for him to have a celebratory banana at the finish line, to high five his friends, and pat themselves on the back for their undoubtedly fast time. He could've mocked us or thought to himself about how superior he was. But he didn't.

He was thoughtful. Compassionate. Enouraging. Motivating.

THAT is the person I want to be.

So basically, my mom and I got high

2009-08-05T11:24:00.008-06:00

With all the drama surrounding my place and how it may or may not go up in flames at any moment, I've had a chance to think about where I would live if I could move anywhere. And what came back to me is that I really actually like my neighborhood. I just don't particularly enjoy the place that I'm living in (possible death by fire aside). I tried to figure out why that was the case, and all I could come up with was that it doesn't exactly let in a lot of light. THIS is because I pretty much always have the blinds closed. THAT is because I don't want people looking in my windows at all times and seeing how dead sexy I am in a robe and curlers. *

Anyway, I started to try to think about how I could somehow let the light in and yet still have some privacy. I wanted it to be removeable, easy to do (I'm not exactly handy), and something that didn't look horrible. So basically, I wanted what I have, only different.

The guy I'm dating gave me a great suggestion that he found online where you paint your windows with a glaze. I also had suggestions from a friend to add roman shades to the mix. I also have used that contact paper-ish stuff before, so I knew that that was an option.

So a couple of weeks ago when my mom came into town, I decided to have this be a project that we could work on together. We decided to go to Home Depot and consider all of our options. One kind guy suggested that I put up this black filament to have privacy. And I was all "Uh, yeah. That's an option, but I was kind of thinking of something prettier." So he suggested metallic sticky paper to put up on them. I thanked him for his time.

In the end, we ended up getting these cans of spraypaint that basically give the windows a "frosted" look. If I decided to remove this, all it would take is a vat of acetone. Easy peasy! I used to work in the paint department of an automobile factory so I know a thing or two about painting. I figured I had this in the bag.

It turns out I did not.

My mom being a school nurse who clearly cares about inhalents**, was VERY concerned about my inhaling the paint. So before we started I had to have the doors open, fans on, and then she would ask me to hold my breath. Like, I'm perched ON A LADDER trying to make the most even strokes of spraypaint ever and my mom is shouting "ARE YOU HOLDING YOUR BREATH? ANNE! ANNE! THERE IS NO WAY YOU'RE STILL HOLDING YOUR BREATH. COME OUTSIDE SO YOU CAN BREATHE!" All I'm saying is that my painting style did not end up being as good as I had thought. In addition, my mom would switch on the fans in the doorway of whatever room I was spraying to try to help move the air out. No amount of me telling her that that is actually sucking the spray towards her/me/the room would make her stop it. The cycle went like this: I switched the fan off, started spraying, she comes in and turns the fan on while helping me remember to hold my breath, I eventually go outside between coats to breathe and then go back inside to apply another coat and inevitably inhale the cloud of fumes that surround the window. Rinse. Repeat.

The result of the windows? I'm not sure.

Here is the same window with the same amount of paint on it - just at two different times of the day. You can see that at different times of the day it has more privacy than others.

I kind of do like it - because it allows for light to flood through my place and still gives me some privacy. It's much better than how I was living - which is with the blinds drawn feeling like I was in some sort of cave. Besides, if I'm going to live in a cave, then I'm going to have to become a full-time superhero. And that's just taxing at times.

*Alright, I don't wear either...and trust me, that's even scarier.
**And yet she smokes. (sigh)

Dating sometimes sucks

2009-08-04T09:43:00.003-06:00

TWO people in my office just got dumped in the last 24 hours...and one of them thought that he had met the girl of his dreams.

I'm just saying that dating sometimes really sucks.

In case you don't believe me, examples of how creepy/sucky dating is can be found here, here, here, here, and here. And can I just say that it was hard to only pick 5 posts.

And THAT is why I don't do online dating anymore.

In other news, I'm joining a convent.

Papa, can you hear me?

2009-08-03T13:42:00.002-06:00

I work in an industrial part of town. It's a place where there are more semis than not and when I go running at lunch, I inhale just as much exhaust fumes as if I were sucking on the tailpipe of a normal car. It's fantastic. And healthy.

Our offices are located right next to some main headquarter/official gathering place for a pizza delivery service that rhymes with Schmapa Schmohn's. I used to like pizza from this place. But that was before I saw the "managers" gather at our offices once a month. While I've never worked for that company, it is clear that there are two surefire things that will move you up in the company: your ability to chain smoke and your ability to wear ill-fitting clothes. The guys wear pants that are one or two sizes too big such that they gap and bunch over their shoes. The women wear pants that are a size or two too small...sort of looking like sausage stuffed in some faulty casing. It is, in a word, HOTT.

And the cigarettes...oh my word, with the cigarrettes! They seriously smoke two or three cigarettes each in a 20 minute break and really? ALL OF THEM SMOKE. They come to these meetings wearing sweat and pizza topping stained polos, picking their noses and shooting snot rockets on the ground.

I'm not so naive to think that the employees of my favorite pizza place would be doing something different, it's that I don't have to SEE the people that make my pizza do it.

ANYWAY. Today, Papa Schmohn came to this location. They baracaded the parking lot, had a news crew here and allowed people to belly up and get their pictures taken with THE John that started it all.

They had blow-horns, sparklers, photo ops, and a baby poop gold colored Camero that they could pose next to.

It was, in a word, creeptacular.

I'm gonna' master all kinds of kung-foo

2009-08-03T08:06:00.002-06:00

I heart this song.

And on a day where I'm not able to form cohesive thoughts, I figured I'd share it with you.

Enjoy.

I can't stop crying

2009-07-30T08:03:00.002-06:00

So I've had these great plans to make tunafish salad* for the last few days. One morning I boiled eggs so that they would be ready to be mixed in that evening. But that evening, I checked and I didn't have celery...so I went to the store and was determined to make it the next morning. That's when I realized I didn't actually have any tuna. After slapping my forehead, I ~~sobered up~~ made yet another trip to the store.

This morning, I was excited that I had all of the ingredients. As you (possibly) know, I'm watching what I eat, so I decided to go with a recipe that I found online - which was to add onions in the mix. I've never had onions in my tunafish salad, or at least I don't remember having any, but I've decided that anything that increases the fiber content is good for me. Plus I like onions. And yes, this would be one of the reasons why I "can't get no satisfaction." BECAUSE OF THE ONION SMELL...not because of the fiber content. Sheesh.

Anyway, after making the concoction, I went into the bathroom to put on my make-up. Only to realize that I hadn't washed my hands as well as thought that I did because the onion smell (and dare I say onion juice?) was still on my hands. Once I realized this, I immediately washed my hands again. Alas, the damage has been done. Now all I smell is onions. Also my eyes won't stop watering.

(sigh)

It's not as bad of a make-up day as the one I had last year, but it's close.

*Growing up, we always called it tunafish salad...not tuna salad. I don't know why.

The banana tree

2009-07-29T10:00:00.000-06:00

I've shared enough about my workplace for you all to know that it's a tad different than other people's workplaces. The guys that I work with are a little "off." So basically, I fit right in.

One of the things to note about my workplace is that we cannot be trusted to have live plants in the office. It's been proven that when live plants are in the office, they die (just like at my home). Because of this, someone came up with a solution long before I started...and that was to have these fake trees in the office.

Anyway, I'm not quite sure how it started, but one day banana stickers started showing up on the leaves of the tree. When I asked one of the guys at work about it, he just said, "DUH! That that's where bananas come from." I laughed, thought it was super tacky,* but assumed that someone would put a stop to it. Turns out, no one seems to care.

And you know what they say - if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. It just so happens that my daily breakfast choice** fits in perfectly.

P.S. Remember when we were kids and your mom would bring home a bunch of bananas and you would look forward to getting the banana that had the sticker on it? No? Just me? Okay then. Well, the passion for wanting the banana with a sticker on it hasn't faded. At a recent 5K, they gave us bananas to eat and I deliberately picked up one that had a sticker on it. In the store, I'm that person that picks the bunch of bananas that has the most stickers on it. Also, I sing inappropriate songs around them.

*My younger sister used to put stickers on EVERYTHING that she had. Mirrors, cassette tapes, furniture, books, the family pet, or people - it didn't make a difference. At first, it looked cool, but then they got to be all faded, peeled, and cracked. I, on the other hand, decided to preserve my stickers on their original wax paper backing in an album aptly named "Sticker Book." See? Very responsible. Come to think of it, my sister probably had the right idea. She got to look at them more often and they undoubtedly made her happy. Whereas I don't even know where the "Sticker Book" is. Huh. There's a lesson in there somewhere.

**Daily breakfast choice? One toasted whole grain english muffin, 1 tbsp of peanut butter (split between the two halves), topped with banana slices. It's heaven in the mornings.

Yeah, this is a bit awkward...

2009-07-28T07:39:00.002-06:00

To catch everyone up, at the beginning of the year, I joined match.com. At that time they had this pitch where if you joined and didn't find anyone you loved within 6 months, you could get six months free. All you had to do was keep your profile active and email five unique users each month. Four out of the six months, I tallied up my email count solely by replying to people that emailed me - saying "Thanks, but I'm not interested." That happened for two reasons: 1) either I was dating someone else at the time - not serious enough to remove my subscription, but serious enough that I wanted to see where it went, and 2) it was easier. :)

So mid-June-ish I fulfilled my 6 month agreement...I received 6 months free and, to my knowledge, I don't have to email anyone each month. So I haven't been on since mid-June, but people trolling the interwebs can find me and send me an email or a wink.

This morning I woke up to see that a guy emailed me. Since you can read the email via your regular mail (you don't have to go onto the site), I was surprised to read this:

Hi I'm {his name}. I was just looking at your pictures and found you have my
dog! hahah not really, but we have identical looking Danes. My guy is {his
dog's name} and he is about 2 yrs old. He looks just like yours. Crazy

Here's the thing. I know this guy. I've met this guy and his dog. I'VE BEEN TO HIS HOUSE.

Now, granted - it was around 2 years ago and I was there for a Great Dane event, but there were only about 15 people at his house. Alright, to cut him a bit of slack, I do look a little different than what I did then. And, I think I actually spent more time loving on his dog (who was a cute and clumsy puppy then) than what any other houseguest should've.

My dilemma is this:

I feel bad when I don't email people back. The messages that I've gotten that say something like "how r u 2nite. wanna chat?" don't necessarily deserve a response...but if people go through the effort of composing an email to someone I kind of figure they should get an email back. And I've met this guy, so I feel like I *should* email him back. BUT if I go to the site to email him back, it will say that I've been active recently...which means that my profile will get placed earlier in someone's search results. And that means that I'm going to start getting emails again from guys.

I don't particularly want this because honestly, I'm dating all the guys I can handle right now. I don't really want to add someone else to the mix.

So...do I owe him an email or not? And if I should email him, how do I say "I've already met you" without making him feel stupid?

Terror via TV

2009-07-27T14:22:00.003-06:00

Dude.

Did you know that there is a show called "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" on TV?

It's true.

And that, quite frankly, terrifies me. Just the *thought* of the phrase is enough to make me sign off any dating site, bite my lip, and cross my legs. Not that I'm doing anything these days that could even resemble baby making,* but GOOD GRIEF! I even have to turn the channel when they're advertising for the show.

I even watched an episode...hoping that it wasn't about what I thought it was about. Alas, it turns out it *is* about women who went 9 whole months, had their periods monthly, didn't "show", didn't have any other symptoms of being pregnant, and STILL had a baby in some devastating situation (abandoned cabin, bathroom of a fast food place, in a clown car, or in their high school gym).

It's the stuff that nightmares are made of. In fact, I've had nightmares that went exactly like that. Only I also had to recite state capitols and their matching states while giving birth in front of my band teacher.

*It's been awhile is all I'm saying.

At least I'm not going to be naked in front of anyone anytime soon

2009-07-24T18:22:00.004-06:00

First, you should know that I bruise like a peach. No really. I have lots of bruises on me that I never remembered getting in the first place.

Last night, I went down to my basement* to do laundry. Somehow I turned and slammed into the corner of the stairs where the pointy end felt like it stabbed me in the thigh. It hurt so badly when it happened that I stopped in my tracks that thought, "Well, that sucked." Also, I may or may not have cussed.

I couldn't even lay on it last night...and when I went running this morning I could FEEL the bruise spreading. Sure enough, it's already about the size of a tennis ball.

And it hurts. OMFG, how it hurts. Just my jeans touching it hurts. I swear, it feels hot to the touch.

To make matters worse, it must be at some sort of magical height that EVERYTHING is at, because I have bumped it against my desk, my armrest to my chair, my hands, the wall (when trying to get out of a co-worker's way), and just about everything else you can think of.

It's like it's the black hole of pain.

*I use the word "basement" in the most literal sense. It's 80 square feet of enclosed space, is not finished (such that the crawl space is just dirt), and has wooden planks that barely make up stairs. Also, I'm pretty sure the boogeyman lives there.

Steve Martin was my favorite dentist...

2009-07-24T10:49:00.002-06:00

I hate the dentist. Well, I mean, I don't hate all dentists, but I hate going to them. I'm not a therapist, but I'm reasonably sure that my dislike for them stems from my experience with dentists when I was a kid. The dentist that we went to used to STRAP KIDS DOWN IN THEIR CHAIRS. But afterwards we got to play Frogger...so it's a really weird mixture of happiness and extreme terror. Pretty much like my memories of high school.

So basically, I still hate the dentist appointments. Each appointment I lay there with my legs crossed and my hands clasped in some weird death grip across my stomach. I try to remember that if I'm good that they *probably* won't strap me down. Probably.

This morning I went to the dentist for my bi-annual cleaning. If you've been reading me for a while, you might remember my last appointment where I had my teeth cleaned by "The Riddler." I was determined to not have her again...so when I made the appointment, I asked who I had last time and then asked to have an appointment with NOT THAT GIRL.

The hygenist from this morning was nice, gentle, and left me with sparkling, pretty teeth. I wasn't in pain during the exam (for some reason, I always worry that I will be) and she even complimented my eye shadow. She had the appropriate amount of small talk, told me I had a beautiful smile, and at the end of it all, she wanted me to make an appointment for next time RIGHT THEN.

Clearly, she wants me.