Ok, so I'm ____(verb)_____ here, ____(verb)_____ myself ___(adjective)____. A couple ___(plural noun)____ ago, the ___(noun)_____ found a few ____(plural noun)_____. No biggie, we ____ (verb)____ it to ____(noun)_______, even though they weren't ____(adjective)_______.
It's now three ____(plural noun)_____ later, and ____(plural noun)_______ have neither ___(verb)_____ nor ___(verb)_____ in ____(noun)_______.
No big ___(noun)_____, right? Except I've had a ____(adjective)_____________(noun)______ telling me to go to the _____(noun)_________ to get it ____(verb)______ out. But, that seems a little ____(adjective)________: "Um, yes, I'd like to ____(verb)________ a ____(noun)_______ because I have a _____(noun)_________. Yes, you can ____(verb)______ it as paranoid _____(noun)_________, if you'd like."
But, last ____(night)_________ I had a dream in which I was a __(adjective, noun)_____. Which led me to ____(adjective)________ websites - that bastion of ____(noun)_______ designed to ____(verb)_____ you ____(adjective)________ . Turns out, ____(plural noun)________ are recommended to be ____(verb)________ by a ____(noun)_________, since it's most likely ___(noun)_______ ... but could be ____(noun)________. Great.
Gulp, ____(verb)________ , choke - I guess it's time to ___(adverb, verb)________ the _____(plural noun)________ and ____(verb)________ the damn ______(noun)________.
According to my dessert preference of strawberry shortcake on one of those email chain surveys:
"Romantic, warm, loving. You care about other people and can be counted on in a pinch. You tend to melt. You can be overly emotional at times."
Which, broken down means:
Romantic, warm, loving = Addled-brained pushover. You care about other people and can be counted on in a pinch. = I have no life and you can call for anything, anytime, as I'll most likely be reading a book in my undies. You tend to melt. = Extremely sensitive skin. (Figuratively and literally.) You can be overly emotional at times. = I can be overly emotional at times.
No, really! Love them. More than life itself. If ATM fees were human, I'd marry them in a heartbeart, because I'd know they would support me with their little knack of SUCKING THE LIFE OUT OF BANK ACCOUNTS.*
Let me clarify.
I much prefer the little credit union with whom I do business as opposed to the faceless conglomerates available. They know my name, contact me if anything unusal is happening with the account, and have supported every single loan I've had personably and easily. One down side, though, is that sometimes they charge an extra fee depending on which ATM is used. It's usually no more than a buck, buck-fifty at most. No big deal in the grand scheme of things. A cheap crapshoot, if you will.
Except of course, when crapshoot ensures that the $500 check you write will be bouncing due to a mere lack of 46 cents...46 cents that would have been there if the extra fee hadn't been charged.
46 cents = $25.00. It's the new banker's math.
Maybe I can deposit a dollar before the check hits...
*I know it's my own fault, really. Just had to rant.
Good Morning! (Or, How I Learned How Quickly My Blood Pressure Can Rise)
7:30 am: Woke up. Groaned as looked at clock. Fell asleep again. 8:00 am: Woke up again. Resigned to being awake. 8:15 am: Finally got the balls to self-wax the bikini line. Hangover and grogginess probably helped, since it wasn't as bad as the last time. 9:00 am: Ran oatmeal bath, started laundry. (separately, of course.) 9:30 am: Ahhhhhhhhhhhh...pedicure. Mmmmmmm. 10:00 am: Worked on the trainwreck that has become my blog. 10:01 am: Hear bird. Inside house. Huh? 10:14 am: First alert to major work problem. Bird still chirping from...somewhere. 10:20 am: Tenth phone call to alleviate work problem. No dice. 10:25 am: Paced outside in parking lot while phone blew up with call after call. 10:26 am: Short break from phone. Visit to leasing office to say, "Hey, there's a bird in my air ducts." 10:45 am: Still no solution to work problem. Bird still chirping, and getting louder. 10:50 am: Folding laundry, going crazy from bird noises, phone stuck to the ear. 11:00 am: Losing mind. 11:01 am: Pondered the wisdom of taking a shot. 11:02 am: Decided against it. 11:03 am: Thought about it some more. 11:04 am: Really decided against it. 11:18 am: Solution to work problem almost solved. 11:19 am: Shit, not yet. Dammit. 11:25 am: Solution to work problem almost solved...again. 11:26 am: Dammit, dammit, dammit. Shut UP, bird! 11:30 am: Got out screwdriver, detached register facing on air duct. 11:31 am: Ewwww! Huge dead spider! Blech! 11:32 am: Propped open air duct with broom handle. Birdy just sitting there, chillin'. No hurry to go anywhere. 11:33 am: Stop ringing, phone! 11:39 am: Got out mop. Propped open air duct with broom handle, poked bird with mop handle. Bird flew right out the front door. Bird problem solved! 11:40 am: Picture below air duct falls off wall. Broken glass everywhere. Sigh... 11:41 am: Vacuum. 11:42 am: Last phone call - work problem solved! 11:50 am: Coding in blog fixed. 11:59 am: Collapsed on couch. 12:01 am: Fuck, there's still laundry to do. 12:01:05 am: Sigh...
I'm so proud of my beautiful Tree Hugger. Not only has she dealt with a nasty breakup with style and grace, she's moved past it to become better friends with said breakup AND she's started dating the quintessential gentleman.
This guy: - Is polite, sweet, mature and has good head on his shoulders - Opened doors for her - Paid for dinner - Took the "protective sidewalk" stance (walking on the street side when walking down sidewalks or crossing roads) - Wanted to give her a kiss at the end of the night, but didn't because it wouldn't be right on the first date.
Again, it was a first date, and we're all on our best behavior in those situations, so we'll see how the manners stand up as he gets more comfortable. (Jaded, much? ;P) Still, there have been many times when even the best behavior a man can do on a first date is still too crass and callous. (Pay attention fellas: women don't want to be afterthoughts or a seeming burden to be with, especially in two crucial situations - the first date, and the "comfort zone" you reach after dating for a while.)
Gosh, I really don't want to work today. Calling in would have been so nice, but dammit, I probably would've just slept the day away and been pissed off when I woke up at 8pm. Still it'd be nice to have a day or so during the week off. Oh yeah, that's called a vacation. Too bad it's going to have to wait until December. Wow, I got accosted and accused on the way to the copier. I'm tired of people making me feel like I have an eating disorder. Yes, I do not eat combo meals very often anymore. Yes, if I do, I get a water and fruit instead of soda and fries. No, I am not working out, unless having sex counts. No, I haven't cut carbs. Yes, I eat dinner. Yes, I keep it down and actually digest it. No, I don't look gross. No, it isn't drastic. Lindsay Lohan I am not. Yes, I still have a stomach pudge when I sit down. No, I don't have a tapeworm. Maybe I'm just eating better and being happy and not comforting myself with food anymore. Yes, that alone can bring on a change. Now shut up and leave me alone, because you're making me want a pint of Ben and Jerry's. Speaking of being happy, how silly is it when the only thing you can find wrong with a person is the fact that they like you? ;) I've had a few folks today comment on the 100 watt smile I've been sporting, and strangely enough, they've all said I must gotten laid last night. Right-o, but is it that transparent? Can't I just be in a good mood? Maybe skipping down the hall, singing at my desk, and bouncing around like a kangaroo on meth is tipping them off. I really need to work on my poker face. As does the Eldest Sis, but I guess it's hard to hold any sort of face mid-coitus. (Not including the O face.) The email exchange between us discussing the hanging statement (question??) was peppered with firm denials of any sort of engagement (on her part) and bemoanings of how the family will REALLY start with the pressure if she goes through with it (on my part). Isn't it amazing how your family can make you feel like a failure just because you don't have a wedding band on your finger and two or three crotch puppies? Maybe I should start a service that rents husbands, wives and kids for family gatherings. You know, single and swinging one weekend, ball and chained the next. Or, better yet, a service that rents unacceptable mates, like a pirate boyfriend or a hooker girlfriend. That would keep things in perspective. Holy cow, it was about time my kidneys started working again. It's crazy how a mere 2 cocktails, 2 beers and a shot will dehydrate you the next day. The glasses of water and tea just started to kick in. And speaking of the necessary room, how hard is it to freaking light a match after doing your solid waste business, especially in a stall located in an office environment? Sheesh. It would also be nice if the locks on the stalls worked. I know we're moving the office to a new building in a month, but come on now already. Oog, *that* is going to suck. There are so many boxes of crap at my desk that I'm tempted to make a fort and hide in it. Well, if I was honest, I pretty much always want to make a fort wherever I go, be it with boxes or blankets or chairs. Forts are fun. Damn I wish these ads would come in. It's be nice to leave the office at a decent hour, though I've been much better about it the past few days. No staying until 7:30 and such - my arse was gone last night at 6:15. I'm so proud of myself. Sniff.
Despite a sore ass from riding a jet ski and a hint of sunburn caused by trying to even out the wife-beater farmer's tan I've been sporting, I'm so fucking relaxed you could box me up and sell me as Jello. House sitting rocks.
Well, Paint my Face Blue and Call Me a Scotsman...
...I have FREEEEEEEDOM! From a car payment, that is.
Made the last of the monthly payments a mere 5 minutes ago. I can't tell you how good it feels to actually, really, truly own my car now. And as a present to my widdle baby, I'm taking it in to get the horrible dent out of the bumper next Monday. Then she'll get a nice fluid change and new brakes, too, just for being such a good girl over the last 87K miles we've shared together.
Of course, with my luck, I'll probably total it on the way to the repair shop.
All misspelling, capitalization and punctuation intentional.
Ok. Got the heels off. The roast beef, provalone, and tomato bagel at hand. Comfy shorts on. Nice buzz of beer bubblies and giddiness. Let me tell you the story of tonight:
The setting: A five story uber club. The time: Right when everyone was going from a pleasant buzz to a raging binge. The scene: You name it, from hookers to suits. Completely serious in both regards. Add beer buckets served by tightly clothed concubines and tray-served hors'd'ouerves. Plus music pumped so full of bass that the cuffs on your pants moved to the beat. The mood: Moving from "swank party" to "swank orgy".
We happened to leave right before the ties flew off the collars and the skirts flew up the back, but...
...bless your heart, Man With No Rhythm. May you get it* one day. (*Either a beat or a clue. Dignity might work, too.) ...bless your heart, Men in Suits. Being the bigwigs you are, you have every right to act as you do. Just remember people are watching. ...bless your heart, Girl in Short Skirt. You know you don't have the legs for that, right? I will admit that you can rump shake and gyrate *much* better than I can, though. ...bless your heart, "It Crowd". No matter how high up the social ladder you may be, no one (women or men) will ever leave a toilet seat free of urine. ...bless your heart, DJ. You know all the right music to get an eclectic crowd of hipsters, trendsters, and corporate VIPs forget their worries and dance as one. ...bless your heart, Guy in Cargo Pants. You have the comfortable, right idea, but unfortunately your girl didn't think so. ...bless your heart, Beer Girl. How kind of you to give me a shirt sized medium.
An entertaining evening to say the least. And that was only about 45 minutes of surveying the scene, drinking a few beers, and deciding that it was time to *git*.
The jazz, shots, and beer served us a much better night a few blocks down. Plus, I'm home without having to worry that my ass will end up on some sort of promotional video.
Funny how bodies work. I always keep a stock of "feelin' chunky" clothes around for that oh-so-joyous time of the month. The balloning effect of water-retention makes me feel like a nine months preggo midget duck waddler, so comfy clothing is a must. It's a bit different this month, though - all the water has migrated to my chest.
I had no idea that boobs could swell an extra cup size overnight. A gradual swelling maybe, but overnight? It was like evil little plastic surgery gnomes incised, inserted, sutured and healed in less than 7 hours. They're actually quite painful. Not only are they swollen, they're stuffed into an over the shoulder boulder holder designed for the non-water retention days.
Sigh...well, at least I'll be a knockout at the product launch party tonight. Maybe a cold beer in the cleavage* will help.
*Dubbed "koobies" by someone much more clever than I.
Couch laziness and channel surfing led me to ESPN tonight, where a delightful little program called Cheap Seats is currently going Mystery Science Theater 3000 on old clips of cheerleading and drill team competitions from 1990.
I haven't laughed this hard since yesterday's Simpsons episodes.
I'll take my crack monkey slightly toasted, thanks.
Quality daytime pool-side chilling is in severe order for the weekend. Seeing how I'm still in the dark as to how much the insurance will pay to have my car fixed ($1000 worth of damage from a 2mph parking lot bump - OMG!!1), I'm trying not to dip into the pocketbook as much in order to pad the savings account for what could be a major blow to its figurative solar plexus. Scrimping & saving + pale skin from being in an office too much + catching up on snoozes + pile of books I need to finish reading = the perfect excuse to wear an ass groove in a plastic lounge chair, methinks.
I will, however, dip into the pocketbook for a tube of sunscreen*. Healthy, protected glow good. Searing pain bad.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------ *File under "Stupid stuff I did as a Wee Crack Monkey"
During the summer in the early teen years, Moms would be at work and we'd take full advantage of our bitchin' house. Stocked freezer full of pizza pockets and ice cream, plenty of Dr. Peppers, and a friggin' huge pool complete with diving board, basketball hoop, volleyball net and spa.
So, the gals (and the boys, teehee) would come over so we could work on our tans and show off on the diving board and in general be little kids trying to act older. My friend Wendy and I realized we had no tanning oil one day and it was unfathomable to lay out without being coated and glistening in oil. We raided the panty. And grabbed the Crisco. Not the oil. The solidified lard in a cylindrical container.
I'm smarter now. No, really. It was a little disconcerting to feel and smell like fried chicken. But damn, we were hot.
Baking is a feckin' barrel of monkeys, especially if you're doing it for others. I'm a culinary giver, baby.
Yesterday I caved into the lazies and sat my happy ass at home instead of hitting the office. A crew of lucky pals are going to Bonnaroo (bastigids), so I volunteered to make brownies for them. Homemade all the way - box mixes are for pansies. The basic recipe was golden, but I wanted to make the brownies memorable. So, into the mix went a whole bag of dark chocolate chips and a whole bag of butterscotch chips. I wanted them to bite into an ooey-gooey mess and grin with brownie chunks stuck to their gums.
Note to selves...for one pan of brownies, one bag of chips will suffice.
I had somewhere better to be when the pan came out of the oven, so I left them to cool on the stove. They cooled all the way before I had a chance to cut them...the chocolate soldified the whole pan of yumminess together. It's no big deal, though. It was a great workout getting them out of the pan, and all it'll just take is about thirty seconds in pan over the propane stove for the ooey-gooeyness to come out again.
And yes, of course I tested them. With a huge glass of milk. Mmmmmm...
A reminder of why I don't frequent the local frat boy hangouts on Friday nights. I'll have gooseflesh for the next week. Not all of it was bad, but...wow. The happy positive side can't even come up with a rebuttal to that beginning phrase. Well, here are the, shall we say, highlights of the night.
* Please, Higher Being Whomever You May Be, don't let me become the 50 year old in a black evening dress and billowy scarf that shakes her thang to a Beatles tune not 2 feet away from the DJ's face. (Nothing against the Beatles, mind you...)
* Note to Guys: I don't care how many girls you bring into the club, or how many (all of them!) leave you alone at the bar. When I'm ordering a drink or running to the bathroom, and quite obviously trying to ignore you, shut the hell up and leave me alone. Or, buy my drink for all the mental anguish you've caused, THEN shut the hell up and leave me alone.
* Note to Girls: The "fake ring" trick works well. Wear a ring that could be mistaken at-a-glance for a sign of commitment on your middle finger. Then, when the jerkoffs rear their ugly heads as in the above situation, make like you're wringing your hands, deftly slip said ring onto said finger o' commitment, and voila! Off the market in no time flat, without having to explain for 20 minutes that yes, you are very happy with your current boyfriend and no, you don't think that would change with one night of nookie with a random chump at a bar.
* Dancing is a fuckload of fun. Regardless of the fact I look like a challenged hula girl, I still enjoy the hell out of it.
* Hoegaarden with lime. Bad idea. Tastes like hot dogs. Drinking hot dogs bad. (Unless you're multi-tasking at a baseball game...)
* Yes, I am sweet. No, that doesn't mean I want your pants. Giving you a cigarette is not an indication of interest. In fact, the less I smoke and the more you smoke, the better. I'll live longer. (In theory.)
* My friends rock. Point blank.
* It's never a good a idea to put glo-bracelets in your bra. No matter how much you shield them from strangers.
* To Dickheads Number #41, #42, #43: Yes, as matter of fact, I *am* "all that". I have better things to do after a night in bar than shoot the shit or relpy to "Heyyyyyyyyyyyyy" with two assholes that are drooling on themselves and one that dumped a drink down his shirtfront.
I know it doesn't seem like I had a good time tonight from the above, but I really did. Hanging out with the crew rocked, and the rest amused me in a "America's Funniest Home Videos" type of way. Bless your hearts, all you barfly Bob Sagets.
I never knew June had so many holidays (of a sort). There's almost something for everyone:
June 5: National Cancer Survivors Day June 10: National Yo-Yo Day June 14: Flag Day June 15: Fly A Kite Day June 17: International Violin Day June 18: World Juggling Day June 19: Juneteenth & Father's Day June 24: UFO Day June 28: Paul Bunyan Day
Paul Bunyan Day??? Guess I kept that giant blue ox around for a reason...
