I see dead people...no really

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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.