The banana tree

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...

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

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

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...

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.

Percussion Gun

This song is rattling around in my brain and I heart it.

It's called Percussion Gun by White Rabbits...and it is muy bueno.




It might be because I have a thing for songs that have claps in them. OR because it reminds me of awesome marching band percussion.

Either way, the great thing is that you can download it for FREE (as a video) on iTunes.
I did watch this video once, but because of the swirling of the cameras, I found it difficult to not throw up my breakfast. That was okay by me because I usually just download the free videos and listen to them on my iPod as songs anyway.

You're welcome.

Just bring a gas mask when you visit me

I have a big dog. I have a small place.

One of my greatest fears (aside from being chased by the Honey Nut Cheerio Bee) is that my house smells like dog. You know what I'm talking about...when you walk in and you're all "OMG, just how many dogs do you have and why don't you bathe them?"

Unfortunately, because of my fear, it means that I'm reluctant to have people over to my house. I do brush and bathe her regularly, but I'm concerned that it doesn't really help. When my friends have come over and I've drilled them about the smell, they've relented and said that, yes, it does smell like a dog lives there, but it's not bad.

Here's the problem: I'm not sure if they're telling the truth. Because really? It'd be hard to say tell someone that their house smells like ass (specifically, a dog's ass). And when is having a house smell like dog NOT a bad thing? For the record, when I was in a bigger place, it wasn't ever an issue...my big dog in twice the space somehow dissapated the smell. My other place smelled like the candles and crap that I had around the house or, most often, whatever I managed to burn cook for dinner that evening.

I know what you're thinking, "Just buy Febreeze! It seems to work so well on the commercials that it should be no problem!" And you'd be wrong. I've bought more Febreeze than anyone should in their life time and basically it just ends up smelling like a big dog is wearing flowers.

So, a couple of weeks ago, when I was watching "Pitchmen," I opted to buy "What Odor?" - that spray that Billy Mays pitches. It was invented by a guy who had dogs. He had three small dogs in a house that looks to be about 400 times the size of my place, but hey, at least he knows what odor I'm trying to eliminate. In the show, Billy is spraying that stuff on every smelly surface, sticking his nose in it, and then proclaiming that the smell is gone! The name of the product indicates that the smell simply disappears.

It took a few weeks, but the spray finally got to my house.

While the smell of "dog" has left my house, it has a very strong pepperminty/spicy smell that is in it's place. The smell, while not as offensive as "dog," it isn't exactly pleasant either. So basically, I can't win. In fact, I think that it would be just as successful if I made my houseguest suck on a cough drop upon entering the door or perhaps rub Bengay all over them...as these are some of the few things that replace all other odors.

Am I worrying about something that makes no difference? Have you tried products that work?

You wouldn't like me when I'm angry...

My last name is not hard to pronounce. Assuming, of course, that you have a grasp of the English language.

See, my last name is NOT Kennedy. But I'd take that a million times over someone saying my last name in a way that grates (grates, I tell you!) on my nerves.

So that you know what I mean, let's pretend my last name is Kennedy. People like to spell my name Kenneday and pronounce it as such. They're trying to throw in an extra letter where one simply does not belong. It's not pronounced like that. It's not even spelled like that. In fact, it's spelled EXACTLY the way it sounds and vice versa! But for some horrible reason, people like putting that extra letter there. And wouldn't you know it, but the people that mispronounce it the most are those that I can't exactly tell them that they're doing it wrong. It'd be like me saying, "Excuse me, Mr. Obama, but it's pronounced ..."

So I just sit there. And take it. Until my eye starts to twitch. And before I know it, I'm driving through the Taco Bell drive through just to get a spork so that I can maim someone in an interesting way and hopefully make the news.

At which time, the reporters will likely mispronounce my name.

(sigh)

Only 3 more hours...

I had a great Sunday night, which led me to be supremely tired yesterday morning.

To fix this, I tried to go to bed much earlier last night. But see, there's a cute guy that I wanted to talk to first. And in the middle of him being cute, we started talking about songs that we like. Since I LOVE that kind of stuff, I stayed up to talk to him. THEN I finally went to bed, only to be woken up by horrible storms, tornado sirens, the sound of sheets of rain spilling over my gutters and hitting my back door (and then the knowledge that rain was seeping under my back door). I was up for an hour or two after that just trying to calm down again.

Long story short, I woke up this morning feeling more tired than I was yesterday. I skipped my run, vowing to make it up to myself tomorrow.

I got to work and today has been a shitastic day already. Seriously. Everything I've touched has gone wrong. I've been stressing out more than I usually do (likely due to the lack of sleep).

The silver lining? Because of the storms last night, it's cooler today and that means that I get to run at lunch. It's not the 4 hour nap I so clearly want/need, but it's a way to at least de-stress so I don't kill a co-worker. By accident. Or maybe a little on purpose.

My Facebook friend could be Jesus or maybe a warewolf

Seven and a half months ago, I joined Facebook. Most days, I'm glad I did. Because like I wrote, since joining Facebook, I've been able to reconnect with people that I really do care about. In fact, the person that I mentioned in that post? I'm visiting him next month. In Seattle. With his wife. And their two kids. And he's trying to teach one of them to say "Happy Fun Pants" but it's a little tough for her. I believe she's 11.

On Facebook, I get to write smart ass things like this and this on people's pages. And wow. Sam? If you're reading this? I really am sorry about telling people that you spike your kids' drinks. I mean that you ALLEGEDLY spike your kids' drinks.

Here's the problem...with almost 300 "friends," I'm now getting some friend requests from people that I'd rather not be "friends" with. It's easy to say that you can just ignore them...and I get that. Really, I do. But when I do that, I feel guilty.

Because, what if they're Jesus?

You know what I mean, like that song "What if Jesus Comes Back Like That?" When I was a kid, we were told that we should be nice to everyone because what if it was Jesus coming back to test us to see if we really love people or if we just SAY we do so we can get more communion wine. If we shun Jesus, then we're really going to hell. It's like the mother of all pop quizzes.

As a kid, this concept lived pretty vividly in my brain. I lived in constant worry and guilt that if I didn't smile to the old guy at Wal-Mart that... POOF! Surprise! He's Jesus! And guess what Jesus got me at Wal-Mart? A lifetime of fire AND brimstone.*

That concept is a bit flawed really though...because if you think about it, why would Jesus come back as a hobo or a druggie or something to test us as? If He's so smart and He knows everything, then wouldn't He already KNOW how we're going to react?

You know, now that I think about it, it's a little silly to fear people because they might be Jesus.

It might make more sense to tell kids that you should be nice to everyone because some people are werewolves with a thin layer of people-skin on top. And if you're not nice, the werewolves will eat you.

First, it's a concept I think kids can get understand. Second, I think it might have a higher success rate, because while there's only one Jesus, there could be many werewolves. Third, it'd still get people to wear crosses around their necks - only this time for protection, instead of proclamation. Or are crosses supposed to ward of vampires?

Whatever, my point is, I feel passive aggressive by ignoring people's friend requests.

Perhaps I can ask them if they ARE Jesus first... if they're not, I'll just ignore them. Because Jesus can't lie, right? If it IS Jesus, I'll totally accept His friend request. Because after all, if that person IS Jesus, I kind of want to be able to sing this song sometime and have it be true.



* For the record, I feel that Wal-Mart is already a sort of hell.

Official Rules for the Perilous Puddin' Pig Out

You asked for it...

Now before we get down to it, I need to tell you that I didn't come up with these rules at all. First of all, there are many typos in the thing, including some weird grammar choices. I tried to correct as many typos as possible - with punctuation - but I didn't do anything with the word choices. Since I have actual work to do today, I just typed the damn thing, even down to using numbers instead of spelling out the word, as what is on the sheet. Since I have English teachers that read this blog, I highly recommend you taking a shot of whiskey before reading this. Trust me...

Secondly, had I come up with the rules? They would've been a lot funnier. But because they're men, they wanted to handle it themselves.
======================

Official Rules and Release for the 1st Annual* "Perilous Puddin' Pig Out"

1. This is to be a timed event. The time shall be 1 hour.
2. 24 closed cups of pudding shall be set in front of each competitor.
3. The winner will be determined by most cups consumed in one hour or if all competitors finish their allotted 24 cups, the winner will be determined by the fastest time.
4. An automatic win will be given if a competitor can finish his 24 and then reach into his adversary's stack, snatch away a 25th cup, and finish the 25th cup from said adversary's stock pile. This will be known as the "Puddin' o' Shame" victory.
5. All pudding must be kept within the confines of the competitors for at least 30 minutes after completion of the 1 hour alloted time. Any purging of pudding will be considered forfeiture and victory will be awarded to the non-purging party.
6. If all competitors "give up the goods," a draw will be declared with no winner being named.
7. A standard will be established for a "clean cup." This standard will be in view of both competitors. Any cups in question of being cleaned will be judged by an impartial 3 person panel. All judgements are final and no whining will be permitted.
8. Utensil will be competitors choice, including and up to no utensil at all.
9. Competitors shall sit side by side facing the spectators. This has been established by, and with respect to, the "Nathan's Hotdog format."
10. Water may be used to lubricate the gullet during the 1 hour competition.
11. No physical contact between competitors will be permitted during the 1 hour, but it is encouraged and appreciated before and after.
12. Taunting and "smack talk" is required up to, during, and after the competition.

I hereby being of sound mind and fantastic specimen of competition eating body, freely engage in this eating contest. I understand that the results of consuming massive quantities of pudding could include (but is not limited to): projectile vomiting, sugar coma, or even death. I agree to hold {our company's name} and any of it's employees harmless in the event that any negative impact befalls me as a result of my participation in this event.

And then it's signed by the two competitors who have the nicknames of "Jus' Puddin'" and "Sir Eats a Lot."

===============

I think it is line 10 that is cracking me up the most.

But you know, the guys that are doing this are pretty damn funny. They're taking it really seriously... in fact one of them is going to start stretching out his stomach with tonic water the week before.

You should've seen them trying to eat the six saltines in a minute, it was intense. WAY more intense than saltines ever should be.


*Yes, I know. How can it be a 1st Annual?

From the folks who brought you the pudding challenge

Yesterday at lunch, one of the guys said that you burn more calories running than biking. Someone else at the table disputed that.

Long story short? Those two guys are having a foot race today at lunch.

It's a three mile course clearly mapped out and the winner gets bragging rights.

In case you're wondering, I'm not really sure how the winner of the race helps solve the mystery as to which activity burns more calories, but apparently it does. Also, I thought the term "foot race" meant that it was a shorter course, but because they're guys they wanted to prove their stupidity manliness by running more than they ever do.

Yes, you read that right. Neither one of them run or jog.

One of the guys racing is 185 pounds, but he rides his bike to and from work (about 13 miles each way) regularly. The other is 140 pounds, with severe asthma, severe allergies to many pollens found around our building, and he does virtually no physical exercise at all. It may seem cruel to pit these two against each other, but the 140 pound guy? He's totally the one that said that he could beat anyone at the office. He's also the guy that has the jackass award at his desk about 95% of the time. In fact, he's the reason why the jackass has a shirt.

Some people never learn.

Also, if you're really curious about how many calories you burn during activities, go here.

In other challenge news, there have been some pretty articulate rules drawn up for the pudding challenge, which has been renamed as "Perilous Puddin' Pig Out". I personally find them hysterical. Let me know in the comments if you want to see them and I'll post them.

Note to co-workers: manage your diabetes or we will hurt you

A co-worker went into diabetic shock on Monday. The good news is that she is fine...but the bad news is that not many of us knew what to do to help.

So, in an effort to ease people's anxiety, we had a safety meeting yesterday where we went over warning signs of low blood sugar and high blood sugar. You might be interested to know that people with low blood sugar are usually cranky. So, let me just answer the question that I've been asked all day long. NO. I don't have low blood sugar right now.

Anyway, our Operations Manager asked us, "What do you do if the diabetic goes into an unresponsive state?"

And another co-worker said "Give them CPR."

So the Ops Manager said, "No. No, that would be very bad."

At a couple of blank looks, he went on to explain the difference between your heart not beating (and thus needing CPR) and someone passing out (where the person does NOT need CPR, and you should proabably call 911).

I'm just saying, if you're a diabetic and need a job, you probably don't want to work here. We're likely going to make matters worse.

Why I'm glad I work with a bunch of guys

I work with a bunch of guys.

In general, they're not really sensitive. They are smelly and a lot of the conversations in the lunch room revolve around topics that I would be embarrassed to talk about in front of my mom. Also, I can't say the words "duty" or "number two" without being interrupted with people saying what I just said and giggling.

A few months ago, we had a saltine eating contest - where a lot of people tried to eat 6 saltines in a minute. And trust me, after seeing it NOT happen, please know it is a LOT harder than it sounds.

Today, Larry was in the lunchroom talking about his pudding cup. And no, that's not code for anything.

Somehow the conversation spiraled and people started placing bets on how many pudding cups they could eat in an hour. Anyway, lunch ended with the agreement that we're going to have a pudding eating contest between two people who would rather eat pudding until they puke than let the other guy win.

Rules have been established. The pudding funding has been approved and the time of day has been determined.

All that's left is the crying. Oh, and the vomiting of pudding.

It's going to be great.

Just so you know, I'm totally imagining you getting kicked in the nuts right about now

I listen to "The Savage Love Podcast" featuring Dan Savage on a regular basis. It's an out loud sex advice podcast and it's been vulgar, entertaining, funny, and actually very informative. I highly recommend it if you're willing to think outside of the box (no pun intended) and are able to withstand multiple cuss words in any given podcast. A friend recommended it to me and I'm so glad she did! It makes traffic jams much more bearable.

In fact, I enjoy the podcast so much, that I've started listening to his archived podcasts. The one that I was listening to yesterday featured a doctor that talked about everything from debunking myths about sex and our bodies to the dangers of not refrigerating mayonnaise. I have to say that in my mind, this guest doctor is hot and sexy. Mostly because I think that smart, dorky guys can be pretty damn hot and sexy. What can I say? I'm a nerd like that.

ANYWAY, Dr. Hot-n-Sexy Science guy was saying that there has been a point in time where every man has wished that they didn't have a scrotum. And I was a little shocked to hear this...I mean you hear about penis envy all the time, but guys not wanting their junk? Why, that's just insane!

And then he went on to talk about how men have this thought usually about the time that they're doubled over on the ground after getting kicking in the jimmies.

Somehow, that made me feel better. I mean, this definitely falls into the category of TMI, but let's just say that for the next few days, picturing guys from work getting racked and writhing on the ground will help me feel better about hating my uterus a lot. It'll help me to not feel so alone in this pain. And I'll be honest, it might even cheer me up.

You're welcome.

At least it's keeping my mind off the 50 thousand mosquito bites on my body...

The electrician that I hired to come to my house on Friday didn't exactly give me great news. Even though there is nothing wrong with the wiring now (every connection is sound, everything is hooked up correctly, and nothing is "hot" that shouldn't be), he was able to tell that the wiring is very old and brittle and it may catch fire. And that diagnosis goes for every room in my house - not just the one that I have the fan in. His advice? Either get smoke detectors in every room of my house and prepare for a fire or totally replace all of the wiring in my house. It could cost a couple of hundred dollars to fix it. Worst case scenario, it could cost 15-20K. Let me say that again, IT COULD COST ME 15 to 20 THOUSAND DOLLARS. That's US dollars, not Monopoly money. I know because I asked him, just to be sure.

(sigh)

Basically, the house IS up to code, electrically. I mean, not 2009 code, but to the code standard of when it was built, in 1882*...and I'm not shitting you, apparently that's "good enough." Houses don't need to be up to the code of today's standards...they just have to be up to the code of whenever it was that the electrical was last worked on. This means that your house? Yeah, it's probably got shoddy electrical work too.** Because of this weird rule, the past owners aren't on the hook and if I opted to sell it today, I wouldn't be on the hook. Apparently possible spontaneous combustion just one of the perks of buying an older house. I think that's one of the things that give it "character."

You need to know that there is some weird Electricians Honor Code thing that involves them having to replace/fix all things that they mess with.*** So he can't open the ceiling and start figuring crap out in there without fixing it. At first, I thought the guy was totally making this crap up, but to be honest, he did not seem to have a sense of humor so I think it's unlikely that he is pulling my leg.

So to understand the situation better, I asked a bunch of questions - like:
1) What are my options?
2) Can you just re-route the new wire without having to fish the wire along the existing stuff?
3) Can you give me a better price range than $500 - $20,000?
4) Do you know the muffin man?
5) Would you and your wife be willing to adopt me?
6) Can I move into your house anyway?

After asking those questions, I paid the man and really kept repeating this mantra: "Just wait until he leaves to start crying."

And although I did cry when he left, I also called for help. I called my realtor, I called friends, and I basically have come to the conclusion that in reality, my situation is really no different than what it was 60 days ago. It's just that now I KNOW that I have crappy wiring.

I'm sure you all might roll your eyes when I say this, but I just don't feel like anything is going to happen. The truth is, the wiring really hasn't changed...and this guy is probably just covering his ass. He can't say that it won't happen again because if he does, and my house burns down, he'll have to deal with a crazy red-headed lady. And really...who has ever wanted that? Okay, OTHER than Desi Arnaz?

The plan?
1) Get smoke detectors in every room, call my security service and have them monitor the smoke detectors and have them route to the fire department if they go off.
2) Possibly send things of great sentimental value down to El Paso with my mom when she visits this weekend.
3) Find a new job - one that pays a lot more than the one I have currently and then sell this place.
4) Start playing the lottery.
.....a) Win the lottery
.....b) Sell this place.
5) Consider joining the nunnery and then sell this place.



*Yes, my place was built in 1882. Is it bad that I had no idea that they had electricity back then? OMG. I just googled "When did electricity become common in homes?" And the answer is in the 1930's. Which means that this electrician is a big, fat liar. Or Google is just fucking with me. It's likely both. But since I have a commenter who knows the PV=nRT equation and how it relates to yogurt urping, I'm hoping that s/he will enlighten (haha) me on the history of electricity, specific to when it was put into houses in Denver. I need you! After all, I really didn't pay attention in school history or science class.

**Yes. Your place might go up in a ball of flames too. Join the club! We meet at my house. During the meeting, I serve lil' smokies and beer. Also crackers with Cheez Whiz (not imitation cheese spray spread) because it's a classy club. The dues are only $15-20 thousand dollars per person. Please make checks payable to: Anne Not-Kennedy. If my house starts fill with smoke at any time, please gather your belongings and exit the premises calmly and quickly.

***It also possibly involves them wearing cloaks at night and chanting. Which means that they might be monks. Or not. It turns out that I really didn't pay attention in religious studies class.

This post is more about Scooby Doo than I had originally intended...

'Member when I told you that I live in a possible fire-laden death trap?

Well, it's true. Or maybe it's true.

See, the thing about me is that I'm lazy about a lot of things. Like my eyes had to get really bad before I had them checked out by Dr. Chester Roe III.* So I just wait until the pain of staying the same is worse than the pain of change. I suppose that a part of me is hoping that whatever the problem is, it will just go away. Unfortunately, this is hardly ever the case.

So back to my death trap of a place, I actually have been using the fan while I'm at home and then turning it off when I'm not. Mostly because I would be okay with taking my chances and dying in a ball of flames, but I don't want Chassis to have to endure that. Although that only-use-your-fan-sometimes plan isn't exactly what I had wanted when I thought about putting ceiling fans in, it's really not all that bad. I've adjusted to it.

BUT...

My mom is coming in town next week. And I love my mom. I do. It's just that I don't want our time spent to consist mostly of her "helping me understand" the importance of having sound wiring. Her "helping me understand" sometimes feels like "smothering" and I'd like the time that we're spending together to be fun and not spent with me sticking my fingers in my ears shouting "LALALALALALA!" Because I'm five.

So I've called a certified electrician. In fact, he is going to be at my house this afternoon with hopefully all the tools necessary to fix the problem. I called him yesterday to confirm, and also to help him understand that I'm really hoping that it can be fixed in two hours. Because please, I've got plans tonight.

I'm just praying that my place doesn't have to have all new wiring run. I mean, I want it to be safe and all, I just don't want to have to update it. So PLEASE, say a prayer, meditate, salivate, channel positive energy, rub your crystals (no, that's not code for anything - but you can do that too if it'll help) WHATEVER just make sure that you send good juju my way around 3ish.


*Seriously, don't you think that that sounds like a creepy old man from Scooby Doo? He's even older and lanky. He didn't say anything like "and I would've gotten away with it too if it wasn't for you meddling kids!" but then again, I didn't rip a mask off his face either. YET.

P.S. Speaking of Scooby Doo, I'm thinking about being Daphne from Scooby Doo for Halloween. I think it'd be fun. Especially if I can bring Chassis along.

P.P.S. Yes, I'm thinking of costumes for Halloween already. Because "Sock Thing" wasn't exactly a hit.

P.P.P.S. Also, in case you're wondering, my headaches and eyesight are better since the last time I went to visit Dr. Roe. So I think I'm fine. See? This is a scenario when waiting it out would've been okay. Unless I have MS or a brain tumor. But I probably don't.

P.P.P.P.S. Awww man, I just read the last post that I linked to. I already made the Scooby Doo joke. (sigh) CRAP.

It's what's on my mind today

Wow.

Who knew I could write a simple post about France and then get all sorts of comments and emails from caring, concerning people? Apparently you did. The dialogues that I've had offline have actually helped me recognize that there is much more under the surface that I need to deal with.

That's right. This crazy person that I represent on my blog? Apparently under that crazy, I'm a whole helluva lot crazier. I KNOW! Just when you thought that I couldn't get more attractive...

Actually, it's been such a blessing to have that revelation. Because now that I've acknowledged it, I can go about fixing it. But it's also a bit daunting. I honestly thought that I had dealt lots of crap. And it's frustrating to realize that the issue is just as present and that I didn't deal with it - or at least not all of it. Not unlike that "Whack-a-mole" game.

At any rate, this morning I received a particularly touching email that was full of sweetness and no judgement or preachiness (hear that, MB?). And so many emotions welled up that I almost started bawling right then and there.

So here's what I'm thankful for... the sun that helped get my happy ass out of bed so I could go on a run, that I read the email before going on my run, and that I could work through some of the anxiety on the run prior to coming to work. Also, that my iPhone Nike+ system worked with me, because honestly, sometimes it doesn't. AND that I haven't endured things in my life that are much, much worse. After all, it's not like I'm Mariah Carey. So really, I have a lot to be thankful for.

I know. This post isn't funny. It isn't uplifting, and it isn't what you come here for. But it *IS* me...and really, since this post isn't about pants, I guess it does belong in my blog.

So, thanks for bearing with me in my not-so-very-funny posts, too.

I'm scared of yogurt

You might be thinking that it's the lactobacillus acidophilus, but you'd be wrong.

It's that when I go to open the individual packages of yogurt, my container always urps on me. You know... it like barfs a little. Plus it makes the sound of farting.

So basically, my yogurt is rude.

You'd think that with all of our technology advancements that we've made, there would've been a better way to package yogurt already - without all the farting and urping. OR that they'd come with instructions on how to NOT have that happen. But no. It's like prison, I tell you.

In fact, I think that this is a clear representation of how "the man" is trying to keep us down.

I would rebel, but to be honest, I enjoy my yogurt too much to take such a strong stance. So the only hope I have of not being urped on is to open it away from my body. This means that I either spray co-workers with yogurt splatter or (as is usually the case when I have a snack at my desk), I spray my screen with it.

And I don't have to tell you that white goop on a screen looks bad. Especially at work.


I still don't eat Yoplait though because their commercials still make me want to scream so I don't have to hear the annoying "banter."

I don't want to be France

I was having an interesting discussion last night about past relationships and how I, apparently, have some issues with past relationships. Shocking. I know. I'm not going to beat myself up about this, because I think that that is pretty normal for someone who is 32. Everyone has baggage... and I think that the healthy thing to do is to try to shed as much of that as you can. To get rid of it completely, is impractical.

So, this person that I was talking to about this is a history buff. You should probably know now, that I am, most assuredly, not a history buff. I was much more interested in daydreaming about Vanilla Ice to pay attention in history. Besides, if it repeats itself like everyone says, why can't I just catch up when it actually happens again?

Since you may not be as up on history as he is, I'll give you the same short lesson he gave me. Apparently, France had gone through World War I and it sucked. So when WWII came around, they planned for and strategized for a war just like the first one. They analyzed each battle and tried not to repeat the same mistakes. For instance, they didn't dump the tea in the harbor, Paul Revere didn't light any lanterns, and they didn't pick officers like Colonel Mustard to be in charge again. Remember, this is before the time that the slaves were freed. What happened (as I'm sure you can tell) is that by preparing to fight a war in the past, they were completely unprepared for the challenges of a new war. And that made them pansies. Which, as you know, is how french toast came to be called FRENCH toast.

At least, I *think* that's how the story goes. I was too busy trying to remember what comes after "Stop, collaborate and LISTEN. Ice is back with a brand new invention..."

Anyway, the lesson that I've learned from our conversation is that if I approach new relationships prepared to face the same battle, I lose out on all the stuff I really *should* be fighting about in the new relationship. You know, like taking out the trash, and which set of in-laws we have to suffer through get to spend Christmas with.

To be honest, I thought that I had shed a lot of the baggage I had about a certain subject. I thought that I had approached new relationships wary of the same thing happening, but that that was to be expected. Instead, I realized that I was like France. I've spent time gearing up to fight the same, painful battles that I had before. By being so careful that I would never be hurt in the same way, I'm missing out on some of the fun and joy that is the single life.

I realized that I don't want to be France. And that perhaps taking things as they come (versus trying to plan ahead for every possible obstacle) may be the best way to do things.

See? History - it's growing on me.

Seriously, Billy Mays has to stop aka Yes, I'm that dumb

So I watched a marathon of "Pitchmen," a reality show starring Billy Mays and his pal Anthony Edwards Sullivan this past weekend. To be fair, it was only 4 episodes.

My thought process was that it would be something "on" that I could watch that I could brainlessly ignore. I don't watch a ton of TV anymore, but having this on in the background meant that I could have Billy scream at me from the TV. It made me feel that things were right with the world again.

Anyway, these 4 hours of my life were the most expensive 4 hours I've ever spent watching TV. No matter what product they were pitching, I felt that I HAD to have it. The personal shark repellent? I NEED that. Especially in Colorado. MightyShine? Why, yes, I *do* have tarnished silver that I'd like to enjoy again and clearly they are not as shiny as they *could* be. A windshield wiper that works primarily in Florida and is not at all effective in snowy and icy conditions? For the love of all that is holy, CAN'T YOU SEE HOW MUCH I NEED THAT?

Usually I reserve that sort of behavior for when I'm up late at night drunk and feeling like my life has no value.* However, the downside to being in this mindset is that I lack ambition. When I'm in that state, I typically feel that to go to get my phone, dial the number or to pick up my laptop and type the URL is just too much effort. Especially when that effort could be better spent licking the Cheetos residue off my fingers.

So you can understand, then, why in my weakened non-inebriated state, I HAD to buy these items.

I think there is a clear lesson here, kids. Drinking saves money. You should go home and do that right now.


*Yes, yes, I'm kidding. Of course I have value. It's approximated at $19.95 plus $9.95 shipping and handling.

P.S. There was an episode for the "DualSaw" that I swear I almost bought in hopes that the hot Frenchman came with the tool. Because OMG, I would've bought anything that that man sold. Especially if said item was the shirt off his back.

Definitely the 'stache

I feel weird.

I know what you're thinking...so let me just qualify that statement with: I feel weirder than I normally do. I KNOW! It's scaring me too.

Basically, I feel like I have about 5 bazillion things are swimming in my brain right now that I want to blog about, want to get your opinion on, or even want to vent about. But I can't, for the life of me, put these serious-ish things down to be immortalized forever via the interwebs. I start to blog about the serious stuff, but instead all the wants to be typed out is: Look! A bright shiny object!

For instance, I really want to write about my decision, or indecision rather, to go back to get my MBA. I feel deeply conflicted about this and am overcome by concerns that I might not be making the right decision. I mean, what if I pick the wrong college? What if I SUCK at school because I've been away for so long? Do I really have the time to commit to taking classes? Do I have enough #2 pencils? What if I think that a boy in class is cute...can I still pass him a note or do should it be done via text these days? What does GMAT stand for anyway? So instead, I want to close off that section of my brain - and forget anything remotely tied to these areas of concern. Sometimes it's best to let areas of worry simmer on the backburner for a while.

However, avoiding all the "stuff" I'm pre-occupied thinking about, leaves me with pretty much only one remaining question bumbling around in my brain. And that is: Which you like better, The Alex Trebek without a mustache or the one where he's sporting a big, bushy mustache?

So, after I get done processing every last little thing about any decision I'm making these days, you'd best be prepared for some funny, funny stuff. I could do what usually works in these situations - drink until all the static silences. But since it's 9 AM, I feel like that might be a bit drastic, even for me.

So until then, please let me know your Trebek preference. It's all I have these days, people.

Wait, what??

You know how when people blog about their dreams and you'd rather stick a sharp pencil in your eye rather than read all the nitty gritty details?

Me too. I hate that.

So anyway, last night, I had a bunch of dreams that were filled with really horrible situations. I could get all philosophical about them, or I could just tell you that it sucked. Hard. I woke up and just couldn't shake all the crappy stuff that happened in them. :(

Anyway, my mom sent me an email asking how I was doing...and I was grumpy and still groggy. So I basically said that to her and explained why.

This is her response:
==============
I am so sorry about the nightmares. Hope that you will have pleasant dreams tonight!! It is nasty when you cannot shake them off. If I could help let me know.

I hesitate to say something but - - check into the possible effects of having an electrical pole so close to your home.
Love,
Mom
=========
Great. So now I have to worry about power lines being the cause of my nightmares AND that cheerleading may kill me at any time.

Seriously, do any of you guys know what she's talking about? Because if I can blame more things on that (tardiness at work, mixing up words, or mis-matching my outfits), I'm game.

I don't know where to look

I've written before about how we have IM at work.

Well, one of our receptionists has set her picture of a blooming rose. Sounds nice, right?

WRONG.

I won't say exactly what it looks like, but let's just say that Georgia O'Keeffe would probably pick this as her IM picture as well.

In reality, I'm sure that she has no idea what people must see when we look at it...she's probably completely unaware. But I still feel dirty.

WTF?

From yahoo.com...

Okay, so I can understand #1 & #4. I have no idea who #3 is, so I can't really dispute whether it belongs in this list or not... But "cheerleading injuries" is the second most popular search? Are you kidding me? What just happened in our world that would make millions of people need to search for that phrase?

And really? That many people are searching for information about Paul Bunyan?

WTF people?

Take it from me, whatever you do, do not search for "The Hurt Locker."*

*I know you. You totally just searched for it...didn't you?? (sigh) And to think, I was starting to trust you.

Also, just so you know, I didn't actually spot this gem of a search list. A guy that I went out on a date with this past weekend sent me a screen shot of his yahoo page knowing that I would think it was funny. See? He gets it. Oh, and because I know you want the details, I'll tell you a bit about him: he is very funny, polite, thoughtful, cute, and probably a complete homicidal maniac.

The first rule of myspace...

Remember a couple of years ago when Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon, and Billy Mays were alive?

Well then perhaps you'll remember that around that time myspace was all the rage. I realized around that time, two very important things:
1) keeping in contact en masse via a networking site was much easier than trying to keep up with every person I wanted to, and
2) that Diet Dr. Pepper really does taste more like regular Dr. Pepper.

At any rate, I used to really enjoy myspace - in fact, it's through myspace that I started blogging. So see? You can thank "Tom" for your undoubtedly diminishing intelligence due to reading my blog. Or for the mental images like ones found here.

So since I blog here and now get my networking site fix via Facebook, I'm not on myspace anymore.

UNTIL....

My younger sister emailed me asking me why I had sent her an email via myspace to click on a link. Now, I love my younger sister. She's one of my favorite people in the world - loving, sweet, kind, and thoughtful...so you know, nothing like me. One of my favorite things about her is that she trusts people. She'd give you the shirt off her back if she felt like it would help you. Because of that, she's also the perfect choice for any spammers and identity theft hackers. She still forwards emails thinking that Bill Gates is giving away a million dollars and has probably thought about baking those famous Neiman Marcus cookies. So when she clicked on the email that "I" had sent her and got a virus, she was concerned. Go figure.

LONG story short (too late), it turns out that someone named Willa Redmond wants to be me so badly*, that she copied my whole myspace profile (including pictures) so that it is an exact replica of my profile. I know what you're thinking...and I felt as shocked and flattered violated as you'd be if it happened to you.

So I contacted myspace "security" and it turns out that all I need to do is to hand write some sort of sign that has my name, my myspace URL, AND my face so that they can verify that I am the original person. It's called the stupidest fake security measure a "salute." I would've posted their instructions, but they were verbose and obviously written by someone where English is their 5th language.

(sigh)

But you know me/Willa. I somehow want the picture to be funny. Like, should I take one where it looks like I'm in jail and it's a mugshot? Or should I use my little blogger id with my info underneath it? I don't want to do something boring...I want it to be funny. Because God forbid the people from Taiwan who are managing myspace security not think that I'm funny. Any suggestions on how/where the picture could or should be taken would be much appreciated.

It has occured to me that you're probably wondering if this post was written by Willa or me. And I guess I really don't have any way to prove that I am not Willa Redmond. So let's just say that all the awesome and funny posts are by me...and the ones that kind of suck? Yeah, they're totally written by Willa.

Hell, I could be Tyler Durden of myspace for all you know...



*Yes, I know. She doesn't really want to be me. She wants to send you links to porn sites. Which, may or may not be something that I want to do too. It's just that it feels more flattering to say that she wanted to be me than to say that my profile was the first one that was lame enough to be easily copied.

Have I got a deal for you!!

In this tough economy, I think everyone is looking for ways to save money. If you need money, it's hard to know where to turn for help. Well, I am here to help you - never you fear! I received this very important email today:

From: nicholas reeg (nicholas.reeg@my.wci.edu)

"Greetings:
I am Mrs. Joy Adams a aprivate loan lender, I am willing to lend out loans with the interest rate of 3%, I offer loan to all categories of people ,firms, companies, all kinds of business organizations, private individuals and real estate investors with the minimum amount of $10,000.00 USD to $1,000,000,000 USD, I give out loans at very cheap and moderate rates. I am a certified, register and legit lender. You can contact me immediately if you are interested in getting a loan,contact me for more information about the loan process,process like the loan terms and conditions and how the loan will be transferred to you.if interested below and contact me with this Email: joyloanlender24@gmail.com

Best regards
Mrs. Joy Adams"


First of all, I'm pleased to know that she loans to all categories of people...which I think includes little people...and...um...other people. Clearly, real estate investors are NOT a category of people though, since they are noted separately. I think it's classy that she allows them to participate too.

I also appreciate that she can loan at three different rates: 3%, very cheap, and moderate. That shows versatility.

Also, she is a aprivate loan lender. That means that she can loan at least $10,000.00 USD. You want a billion? No big deal. She can do that too.

I know what you were thinking. How can this be legit? Well DUH. She says she is. Maybe if she wasn't married, I wouldn't take her as seriously. But she is MRS. Joy Adams. If you don't believe her, just look at her very legit email address. No, not the one that she sent it from...the other one.

I don't know about you, but I am interested below.

Reclaiming the women's locker room

I work with mostly men.


I am the only woman who is active in our office and therefore I'm the only woman who uses the women's locker room. Due to our disproportionate ratio of men to locker room space, they have been plotting to take over our locker room. About a year ago, they came to each woman in our office and asked if they could use it - under the condition that if we wanted to use it, we would get first dibs. Despite a couple of scuffles to get to the locker room first, they've held pretty true to their word. I've used said locker room several times - but it's only been to change clothes for a run at lunch or to get ready to go to the gym after work.

But as I've stated before, yesterday was Colorado's Bike to Work Day, and that meant that I would need to keep a change of clothes and toiletries in the actual lockers. That's when I realized that our guys had taken over every locker.


So I decided to take one of the lockers back (and yes, I asked before I removed their stuff).

Since the locker that I got was a top one, I couldn't really pee on it to mark it as my space. So I did the next best thing.

In case you can't tell, we've got Vanilla Ice at the top (complete with shaved eyebrows! Word to your mother!)

The cool Cory/Cory combo (Haim and Feldman) AND Davy Jones (after all, he is so very dreamy)

...and last, but certainly not least, we've got "The Hoff" - circa 1980's where manscaping was a very distant thought.Yup. I think this locker is mine.

Giveaway & Good Vibes

Sally from Mais Fica had a fantastic post. Okay, she has plenty of fantastic posts, but this one was fabulous for two reasons:

1) She is hosting a giveaway - so you can stop by her site, read her blog, and then post to win one of three fantastic prizes. But I swear, if one of you wins the rabbit wine corker thingy, you have to invite me over to your house to help drink your wine. What? It's only fair.

2) She gave an award to me....

TADA

See? Isn't it pretty? I can't help but look at it and think that it may be a ball of rubber bands that is held up by Dr. Manhattan. True, I can't tell that it's actually being suspended by Dr. Manhattan's forces (mostly because I can't see his big blue balls in this picture), but I'm pretty sure that it's him.

Anyway, I should probably mention that Sally's blog makes me laugh on a regular basis. I find her delightful and honest... a blog that I enjoy reading daily. So check her out!

True to most blog awards, I'm supposed to pick a few blogs that I really dig. Honestly, anytime I've gotten this award, I've picked the same people - or at least that's what I think I do. So this time, I'm going to go out on a limb and nominate five people I've never met but they have blogs that I find simply delightful.

1. Fat Bridesmaid
2. I Don't Want to Die of A Heart Attack When I'm 25
3. dooce (I know...you guys probably know all about her, but she is hysterical)
4. The Bloggess (again, you probably know about her, but she is SO very funny and sometimes even offensive!)
5. Awkward Family Photos (seriously, this is absolutely hilarious. The captions are funny too - but not completely overwhelming and repetitive as found in certain blogs about cakes)

I've made it!!

I got my first piece of spam email from my blog. Someone asked if they could guest write for my blog - and then they linked to their "blog" which conveniently has absolutely NOTHING to do with what I write about. They sent it to my blog email (happyfunpants at gmail DOT com) so I have to say that I was pretty impressed that they went through all that trouble just to send me spam.


I know, I know...it's not as cool as the spam commenters that Charlie wrote about (down at the bottom of the post), but hey, it's a start.

Hey - also, tomorrow is Colorado's Bike to Work Day. So please, if you see a chubby white girl on a bike, give her a bit of room. I'm biking almost 3 times further than what I did last year and I'm pretty excited about the workout and soreness that I'll experience.

In honor of tomorrow, I've opted to link to what has to be one of my favorite posts of all time. It's about my first bike ride when I bought my bike over a year ago. It's verbose, but funny. :)

It wasn't even speedy!

As you may remember, Thursday I went to a speed dating/pre-dating event in Denver.

Despite my joking, the last time I went there were some great guys at the event - funny, smart, and outgoing. Out of the 12 guys last time, I was picked by 3 to be seen again...although I didn't actually see any of them again. They weren't the ones that I picked to date again. At the risk of being repetitive, this is the story of my life.

This time there were only 6 guys. I was picked by 5 of them to be seen again...which I have to say is quite the ego boost. I am confident that my attire had a lot to do with it as the "girls" were looking mighty fine - thanks to a low cut shirt and a bra that hoisted them up to where they should normally be. Seroiusly, I was even mesmorized by how they looked that night.

The last guy was so seemingly nervous during our "date" that I started wondering if he was having a physical allergic reaction to something he was drinking. His heavy sighs, his pulling at the neck of his shirt, and general weirdness made me think that something was wrong. So I asked him if he was alright, and he said that he was nervous and that the room we were in was making him feel even more nervous. Since it was the last date, he asked if we wanted to step into the bar area and get another beer. The guy was good looking, had a stable job, and seemed nice so I decided to get to know him a tad better. We stepped out of the room, he gave a huge sigh of relief, claimed he was better and then proceeded to act EXACTLY THE SAME WAY.

Twenty minutes later (and four shots of Jager and another beer - all for him) I realized that I needed an exit plan. The guy was just WEIRD. He was slurring by this point, talking about how he'd f--d (his word) a lot of women in the last 90 days to get over the last girl he was seeing but that he was looking for someone that wanted to have kids. He talked about how he read a book called "The Game" which apparently is how to score with chicks at bars - and then he talked about how many women he's f--d over the past few months.

At this point, I was wishing that I had some Purell on me - because not only did I not want to have kids with this guy, I also didn't want to even shake his hand again.

Needless to say, I left him at the bar after only drinking 1/4 of my beer. As I was getting up from the stool, he was SHOUTING "Awww...come on. Don't leave! Don't leave!" I looked to the bartender because I was completely embarrassed and the bartender mouthed "Leave."

Here's where I know I might lose some of you. I was secretly delighted. Sure, it was creepy because the guy is clearly unstable. On the other hand, I was strangely happy that I actually had a guy beg me not to leave him. I know. It's messed up...but it was totally a scene out of a bad movie, and it happened to me! I mean, it's kind of like something off of my bucket list of things that I want to accomplish before I die.

So far my list looks like this:

1. Ride a dolphin
2. Learn to snorkel
3. Start smoking
4. Stop smoking
5. Get a good looking guy to beg me not to leave him in public
6. Skydive
7. Have someone ask to marry me *
8. Have someone who is not looking for his Greencard ask to marry me
9. Find Manbearpig
10. Be a part of a diamond smuggling ring

I think I'm on my way.

*Yes - I'm kidding. Even the illegal aliens are wary of me.

I don't know what I'm looking for

The past couple of Fridays I've been picking songs that I like and imposing them on you. Because I'm pushy like that.

As I reflect on my thoughts from the speed dating event last night, I can't really figure out a perfect song to capture my mood today. Apparently there isn't a song titled, "Not even if you were the last guy alive on Earth." Yet.

I'll try to figure out how to capture the night's events in the funniest way possible to relay them to you...because what good is it for me to go through a sucky situation and NOT share it with you? Suffice it to say, I don't know what I'm looking for, but I know that I just wanna' look some more.

"What I'm Looking For" by Brendan Benson

Well I don't know what I'm looking for

But I know that I just wanna look some more

And I won't be satisfied

'Till there's nothing left that I haven't tried

For some people it's an easy choice

But for me there's a devil and an angel's voice

Well I don't know what I am looking for

But I know that I just wanna look some more

Well I don't know what I'm living for

But I know that I just wanna live some more

And you hear it from strangers

And you hear it from friends

That love never dies, love never ends

Now I don't wanna argue, no I don't wanna fight

'Cause you're always wrong and I'm always right

Well I don't know what I am living for

But I know that I just wanna live some more

I used to be involved, and I felt like a king

Now I've lost it all and I don't feel a thing

I may never grow up, I may never give in

And I'll blame this world that I live in

I visit hell on a daily basis

I see the sadness in all your faces

I've got friends who have married

And their lives seem complete

Here I am still stumbling down a darkened street

And I act like a child and I'm insecure

And I'm filled with doubt and I'm immature

Sometimes it creeps up on me and before I know it, I'm lost at sea

But no matter how far I row

I always find my way back home

But I don't know what I've been waiting for

But I know that I don't wanna wait anymore

What can I say? I'm a slow learner

Ever feel like you're on the cusp of something big? Some life changing event?

Well, that's how I feel. Truthfully, that's how I've felt for a few months and I'm hoping that that is an indication of my dating life being a LOT more exciting than it has been in recent months.

So I've opted to do speed dating. Yes. I know. I tried it last year and although it was a ton of fun, the guys I was interested in weren't interested in me... which is the STORY OF MY LIFE (I'm lookin' at you Josh Hernsberger*).

Anyway, in case you've never seen the movie "Hitch" I'll 'splain it to you:

You sign up online and meet at a bar. You order a drink to try to take the edge off and to be "more like yourself." All participants wear nametags with their first names and you sit in a room in a circle. The women sit in a chair and then men sit down for 3 or 6 minutes at a time. You talk. He talks. Then you rate the person. The night is over and you go home hoping that the guys you liked also liked you. Because you're nervous, you keep drinking. You wake up the next day with a horrbile hangover. You tune into the website and pick the people you want to see again. You avidly check the website throughout the weekend in the hopes that someone is interested in you. No one is. You keep hitting refresh. You still have no one interested in you. You call your cable company convinced that something is wrong with the site and/or server. You convince yourself that the guy must've gotten mugged on the way home from the event because how could he not have seen that there was chemistry between you two? You drink to forget the rejection you feel. You cry. You watch "Beaches" because at least it isn't a damn movie about dating. You cry some more. You call your best friend who lives in a different time zone, waking her up, insisting that she tell you that you're good enough, you're smart enough, and gosh darnit SOMEONE will like you. You tell her that you love her and that you would raise her kid if she died of cancer. You start singing "Wind Beneath Your Wings" to her. You cringe when then man on the other line abruptly tells you to get a life and take singing lessons. You realize you dailed the wrong number.

Or at least that's how it went last year.

So yeah, tons o' fun! Wish me luck! Wait.

Why don't you give me an idea of some questions I can ask the guys as they come to my table?

Because if you don't, I'll be forced to ask questions like, "How do you feel about the movie, 'Beaches?'" and we don't want that...do we?


*This is the second time I've mentioned about my 4th grade crush...and all I have to say is that at some time that poor guy is going to run his name through Google Search and is going read my posts and then high-five himself for dodging a crazy like me. Again. STORY OF MY LIFE.

Justification for Depends...

In TWO days, I get to pick up my very own brand new iPhone.

It's hard for me to concentrate on day to day activities because I'm constantly worried about getting over-exciting and thus messing my pants. In fact, they should probably hand out Depends as they give the phones to their new owners.

Yes. It's *that* exciting.

And no, it's not JUST a phone.

It's a phone that even Jesus supports. Or at least one I think he would support. Speaking of that post, I just re-read it and I have to say that Rex still appreciates my sense of humor. I've double checked since then.

My place is a deathtrap

Yesterday I wrote how my place used to belong to crack whores.

Today, I'm writing to tell you how it's also a deathtrap. I know what you're thinking... and I KNOW! I don't know how I get this lucky either.

It all started with a good idea. In an effort to be greener and to save money, I decided to add ceiling fans to my bedroom and living room.

They're SUPER cute... see?

Anyway, my friend Matt agreed to install them in my house...and so I bought he and his wife rounds of drinks as a way of payment of sorts. I figured if they were saving me the price of a handyman, the least I could do is to try to get them drunk. What can I say? I'm a giver.

A couple of weeks later, Matt and I tried to install the ceiling fan in the living room, when we realized that my bedroom light wouldn't come on at all. Yes. That's right. Just messing with the living room light made my bedroom light inoperable.

Turns out my place was renovated (this is after the crack whore removal...which as I understand it has got to be AT LEAST a 12 step process) by drunken artists.

I write "drunken artists" because it is clear that they were hopped up on some kind of mind altering drug. And I use the term "artists" quite loosely. I think of them as saying to each other things like "That is so FIERCE!" as they slap plaster and install 2x4's and do other renovation-friendly tasks. Things like proper wiring and wall studs not consisting of 95% paper shims seem like guidelines rather than rules to them. Besides, it would totally mess with the FEEL of the place, dahling!

So after hours of scratching our heads and drinking beer (also known as "idea juice") we opted to call an electrician. A few days later, an electrician showed up and was able to fix the problem. Turns out that although the wiring was not made solely out of coat hangers, it was put in by complete idiots. It might've been that the first electricians were too scared of getting beaten up by the pizza thugs or that they got paid in blow jobs by crack whores. All I know is that the wiring is not exactly up to Bob Villa's standards.

The electrician agreed to wire up the in-wall remote. One quick spark/fire later, and apparently it's all fixed.

Don't freak out. I'm totally pulling your leg.

It's not fixed.

See, the electrician didn't exactly FIX the problem per se. It's just that the fire/large spark made the previous problem not exist any more. It didn't FIX it, he just UN-BROKE it. When I asked, the electrician said that he would feel safe sleeping underneath the fan - that the problem wouldn't come back and that it wasn't a big deal. According to him, the wiring was fine and perfectly safe.

Then I told my co-worker, Larry. Who told his friend - another electrician. That electrician apparently said that I should in no way operate the fan lest I have a death wish.

That electrician (who conveniently does not work on residential homes) said that anytime there is a large spark/fire, it's a really bad thing and it can happen again at any moment. Without warning. So I should probably run far, far away right around now.

So now I'm trying to figure out which electrician is right. The one that said as many words as Bob Newhart's brother Earl (no, not that one...his other brother Earl) or the electrician that hasn't actually SEEN the work but rather heard about it through a twisted game of telephone.

In the end, I guess I'm going to call another electrician to my place just to get a 3rd opinion. I don't want a guy who is going to convince me that I need all new electrical work done, but I also don't want some guy to tell me just what I want to hear.

Hiring another electrician to rip apart my ceiling and walls just seems easier than trying to determine if I have a death wish from day to day. Don't you think?

Just like a Norman Rockwell painting, only not.

My place was built in 1882. Sometimes I'm amazed at all that must've gone on in this house. Even though I know that I live in a neighborhood that is an "up and coming" one, I still like to think of all the families and people that grew up here. I liked to think of all the babies that learned how to walk and of all the dreams that were achieved in this place. It has history. It has character.

I recently met a neighbor who said that her whole family has lived here all their lives. She started to tell me about what she remembers about the neighborhood and I settled in for a great story.

What she said was that she remembers when the neighborhood that I live in was so bad that they wouldn't deliver pizzas after dark. Umm...alright. Not exactly what I pictured, but hey, it's an old Italian neighborhood. I reasoned that OF COURSE they mugged the pizza guys. They probably were so offended that the inhabitants didn't make their own, that they HAD to beat them up. So really, it wasn't as much of a thug neighborhood as it was that people really cared about good Italian food. Right?

She then followed that with, "Yeah, up until 10 years ago, your place used to be a crack house."

FANTASTIC.

Turns out that my place does have history.

It's just that it also has connections to the Mob and perhaps an incurable case of VD.

Anne vs Van

Remember when I made a complete fool of myself? Well since then, I've opted to tell that story to just about anyone that will listen. I'm sure people think that it's silly or stupid of me to display my short-comings so quickly to others. However, I believe in a higher authority. Humor. Humor trumps all and any story like that one NEEDS to be shared.

Last Friday night, I hung out with some friends and, of course, I told them the story. They laughed...and then my friend DJ asked, "What if instead of shouting 'ANNE!' he was just shouting 'Watch out for that VAN!"

No. That is not what happened. I'm quite sure.

HOWEVER, I will share that since then, I now look both ways for vehicles that might hit me...and I look at vehicles that I might hit. :)

See, Mom? I'm learning.

I do not think that word means what you think it means

Chassis, my big blue Great Dane, is fantastic. In my opinion, she is the perfect pet - which means that she is the perfect dog (because again, I'm not a huge fan of cats). Despite her health issues, she has the best disposition of any animal I've been around. But then again, I *might* be a bit biased.

She weighs in at anywhere between 140 and 150 pounds, depending on the time of year. That much dog means that she eats a lot of dog food - 6 cups a day to be exact. And in case you didn't major in math, I'll just tell you that that adds up to a CRAPLOAD (pun intended) of dog food over a month. The food that she was on was Eagle Pack Large and Giant Breed. She did so well on it, versus the previous foods that I've had her on (Canidae, Timberwolf, and even some holistic brands) that gave her horrible skin allergies and conditions. She used to literally scratch herself until she was raw. She's allergic to just about everything and changing her diet to or from anything provides more gas than anyone should be forced to be around in their lifetime. So I try not to switch much about her diet.

BUT in these economic times, Eagle Pack has continued to raise their prices. And now a 33 pound bag, which lasts her about 3 weeks, is over $45.00. That means that I pay about $60-$70 a month. A MONTH. Something had to change.

So, at the recommendation of other forums and pet food specialists, I've switched her to a brand called...

EXTREME DOG FUEL!

Although I didn't have a firm idea on what I expected the bag to look like, I guess I did imagine the packaging to be more...well...extreme.

For those that care, she's been on it for about a week and it's working fine so far. Her skin looks great and we're not having any more gas issues than normal. Which means for the most part, I can keep the gas masks in the closet. The added benefit is that at $33 for a 40 lb bag, it's much more affordable. AND they touted that I would be able to feed her less as the food is much more nutrient dense.

I've just cut her monthly grocery bill in half, which means that there is more money to spend on beer Plan B Bibles.

Watch out William Katt...

If I was a superhero (and I'm not saying I am), this would totally be my name.


Protecting the environment, conserving energy, and of course buying only green leather purses, shoes, and accessories.

I'm addicted

...to two things:

1) Watching "Arrested Development" episodes on hulu.com. This show is absolutely hilarious and I finally started watching them from the first episode...which makes subsequent episodes much more funny. I highly recommend it.

2) Playing "Farm Town" on Facebook. At first, when friends told me they were addicted I looked down my nose at them. The game is so rudimentary that it seemed almost insulting to insinuate that I would even like it, let alone be addicted to it. For those that don't know, it's a game where you are a farmer. You plant stuff. You buy stuff and you harvest stuff. You can visit your friend's farms. I KNOW what you're thinking - especially if it is a variant of how lame my life is. I agree. It is lame. BUT, I challenge you to play it for two planting times without wanting to get sucked in. In fact, late Saturday night there were party at my farm with three friends I know from real life. We though it was so funny/sad that that was how we were spending Saturday night that we took a picture to commemorate the moment.

(sigh)

I know. I need to get out more.

If you don't tap your toes, you're dead inside

Fridays have started to be the day for me to share music with you all...so here's your dose of some good tunes!

This week Dave Matthews Band came out with their long awaited album, "Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King." And it is FANTASTIC. I'm partially saying that because I hope that Boyd Tinsley will read it and then realize that we are perfect for each other (seriously, have you seen his hot body?)...but mostly because it is so very true.

Just so you know, iTunes has it for only $9.99 and I have to say, I don't remember spending $10 and being so happy with my purchase.

I've opted to share my two favorite songs from the album. I like "Why I Am" slightly better, but "Shake Me Like A Monkey" is quickly gaining on it. Strange, I know that you should never, ever shake a baby, but are you allowed to shake a monkey? Probably, but I don't want you shaking Pete.

Anyway, happy listening!

It's my way of saying good morning

So, I've gotten into running the last few months...and I really love it. Except for when my knees tell me that I don't.

Since I have the eye doctor's appointment this morning, I used it as a great opportunity to get out there and run first thing in the morning. Typically, it's bright and sunny in the mornings here in Colorado, but today, not so much.

Anyway, as I'm finishing my run, and trying to cross the street, I could've sworn that I heard someone yell "Anne!"

So I, still running, turn to see who was calling me and couldn't see anyone who looked like they were trying to get in touch with me...

...and then I ran into a parked car.

I'm not kidding. I wasn't looking where I was going (obviously) and just smacked right into the side of a van. I felt SO stupid, but I was so thankful that it was early in the morning so it's not like the owner would've seen me or anything. But as I passed the drivers window, I realized that the motor was on. I turned around and saw a person in the front seat looking completely confused.

I smiled, waved, and kept running.

Because seriously, what else could I do?

Do these make my eyes look fat?

'Member when I got my eyes checked on St. Pat's?

Well, because the headaches and eye pain haven't gone away, I finally ordered the glasses. They are SO cute!

I'd love to show you an updated picture so that you can see just how groovy and cute they are... but the truth is, I'm having a hard time wearing the glasses, having my eyes open, and either a) attempting to not vomit all over the place or b) have the pounding headache in my head get worse such that I'd rather be vomiting.

Needless to say, I'm not sure I have the right prescription.

I made an appointment with the eye doctor (by the way, his name is Chester Roe III...and doesn't that sound like the name of a great villain on Scooby Doo?) for tomorrow morning. Worst case scenario, I have to order new lenses for the glasses but that would REALLY piss me off so I hope that that's not the case.

Since I've been having such bad headaches, having to wear the nausea-inducing-and-compounding headache glasses on AND getting pissed off would pretty much be like "Hey - isn't that a fire over there? Here, let's douse it with lighter fluid - just to see what happens." And you know what happens then? People end up losing their eyebrows.

I'm just saying...

Nice try

So I went on a date this past weekend with a guy that is actually quite the pompous ass.

But he's hot.

So I was telling a guy at work about it and he said that if he's that hot, I should "hit it and forget it."

I cocked my head to the side and said, "Do you mean, hit it and quit it? Because otherwise you might be trying to sell me a rotisserie chicken cooker where I should SET it and forget it."