Yippee!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

I'm completely out of headline titles

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

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

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

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

I'm swamped.

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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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

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

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

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

You're welcome.

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

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

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

But where was I? Oh yes. The computer.

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

I loved that game.

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

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

Sounds simple right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blissfully happy that is.

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

(cue Stuart Smalley)

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

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

His name is Joe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I stand corrected

PRELUDE:

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

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


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



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

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

It's a trend.

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

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

Hello, THIS POST.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you diabetic? Candyland used to be for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nevermind.

Oh come ON!

I am not kidding you.

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

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

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

I went on vacation for Christmas.

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

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

THE PANTS CAME BACK AS UNDELIVERABLE.

Dude.

WTF, pants?

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

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

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

Dang you, boomerang pants!

I can't believe I'm not vomiting

Seriously?

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



Megan. Tsk tsk.

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

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

(sigh)

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

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

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

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

Being lazy was wonderful. :)

So basically the cycle went as follows:

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

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

It was a fun time.

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

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

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

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

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



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

And yes, that is a queen bed.


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

Hello New Day! :)

Hello New Day! :)

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

I truly hope that 2010 is your best year yet.

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

Hello New Day - Roger Clyne & ...

The First Noel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





I miss you, Grampa.

Believe it or not, this post actually is about pants

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No note. No explanation. Just pants.

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

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

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

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

Should I name the pants?

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

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

What do you think?

What's the difference between Tiger Woods and Santa?

Santa stops at three hos.

:)

Welcome to the Christmas edition of HFP.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I found out that I was wrong.

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

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

It was, in a word, the bestmotherlovingthingever.

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

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

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

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

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

You're welcome.

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

A week in review

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm an engineer, not a meteorologist

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

But the email says:

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

Thanks,
Paul"

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

So what I WANT to write is:

Hi Paul,

No. I can't.

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

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

Weird.

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

Damn you, Robert Goulet!

I need more Emerald Nuts, apparently.

REALLY Casual Friday

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

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

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

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

Classy, no?

Cranky McCrabberson

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Mother of All Catch Ups

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

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

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

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

It was completely hysterical and unbelievably gross.

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

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

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

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

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

I love my boyfriend. I really do.

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

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

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

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

Overheard at work this morning...

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

Person B: I beg to differ.

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

It's going to be great.