tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49642659413360616102024-02-18T20:49:41.604-06:00All Ears On MeSimply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-48983754131611903662010-08-26T12:34:00.001-05:002010-08-26T12:37:05.723-05:00An Open Letter To Hipsters<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Dear Hipsters,</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I get that you are all about being <i>different</i> and all, but do you realize that with your Buddy Holly glasses, plaid shirt, and ironic mustache, you are exactly the same as.... <i>that</i> hipster over there?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Look, I understand that you enjoy riding around town on your fixed gear bicycle, but not for the sake of exercise, heavens no. Exercise is for mainstreamers. You ride your 1978 Schwinn or your sweet recumbent bike at a leisurely pace because... well, you're <i>different.</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> Who needs to change gears? “Not me,” you say, proudly pedaling along, oblivious to cars and other bikers.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The thing is? You're not different. You're an identical copy of every hipster to roam this earth. With your Dwight Schrute throw-back, mustard yellow, short-sleeved button up you throw caution to the wind, spit in the face of societal norms and wear something ugly. Whoa! Back up! </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">But hey... so is that guy. And that one. And... is that a Cosby sweater I see? Another unkempt grown out beard? And someone else who hasn't showered in days? No no, those can't possibly be skinny jeans paired with a pair of impossibly bright neon sneakers, a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches and a beanie. No one would dare wear something </span><i>that</i> ugly, would they? I mean besides you and your 10 ungroomed hipster buddies? And their 10 buddies? And their 10 buddies?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Hipster culture is now so widespread that it's become the very thing it craves to defy. So, in an effort to help you hipsters continue to battle mainstream society I've come up with a list of things that no one does or has done in many years. So go ahead, take a chance. </span><i>Dare to be different.</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">The Modern Hipster's Guide to Being Different</div><ol><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">- Forget the fixed gear bicycle. Everyone's doing that these days. Try an alternate mode of transportation: Horse and Buggy. Alternately: if you are skinny enough a hipster, buy a large dog. A St. Bernard or Great Dane will work. Follow this purchase with one for a pony saddle and ride your dog around town. Short on cash? Ditch the "bi" from bicycle and ride a unicycle.</div></ol><ol start="2"><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">- Smoking cigarettes is <i>so</i> common place. Live on the edge and smoke bottle rockets. Bonus points for the hipster with the shortest fuse beore finally putting it out.</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">- Knit caps made of wool or synthetic materials? Talk about stale. Yawn. Knit caps made of your own hair are the future. Take it to the next level and try your hand at weaving one from stray pubic hairs found on public urinals. Wow. Now that is a look that no one else is rockin'.</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">- Three words: Coke bottle glasses. No. Literally, make your lenses from coke bottles.</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">- Ironic mustaches are out. Powdered wigs are in.</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">- Skinny jeans: no. Fat jeans: yes. Buy a few pairs of triple XL jeans and share them with all of your hipster buddies. No one can say <i>you're</i> a conformist!</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">- Finally, the depressed hipster should not feel pressured into conventional suicide methods. Try something that I can guarantee no one has done in <i>thousands</i> of years: be eaten by a T-Rex. Simple as that. Done in 4 simple steps: </div><ol><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">1. Locate a T-Rex. </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">2. Stuff as many pieces of raw meat as you are able down your fat jeans and sprinkle yourself with BBQ sauce. If there's anything a T-Rex hates, it's under seasoned hipsters.</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">3. Mercilessly taunt the T-Rex. Usually a dig about his short arms or asking how far he can throw a baseball will work.</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">4. Wait to be consumed.</div></ol></ol><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">There you have it. Hipsters take note. I expect to see pubic hair beanies and besaddled St. Bernards making their debut this fall.</div>Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-5426644526966364402010-06-10T00:01:00.000-05:002010-06-10T00:01:10.917-05:00JACKPOT!Okay kiddos, right now, in my possession, I have the best thing about to happen to All Ears On Me.<br />
<br />
Over the weekend, while <a href="http://helloblogette.blogspot.com/">Hello Blogette</a> was here visiting, I located some boxes of old pictures and papers. Among these, not only did I locate several ridiculous photos of young T with botched haircuts and missing teeth, but I also managed to locate a small notebook of miscellaneous thoughts, story ideas, poems, song lyrics and yes, accompanying music video ideas. This shit be hilarious, yo.<br />
<br />
Even better... I located the actual 3.5" floppy disk containing all of my fictional short stories along with several saved instant message conversations and emails.<br />
<br />
Yes. I said 3.5" floppy disk. This stuff is THAT archaic.<br />
<br />
But wait! It gets better!<br />
<br />
Do you feel like you are listening to an infomercial yet? Good. But just so you know, you won't be receiving any additional sham-wows by reading on.<br />
<br />
So, even better STILL, almost ALL of my short stories revolved in one way or another around the brother's Hanson. Of the Mmmbop legacy.<br />
<br />
And just because I love you so much, readers, I exhumed my decade old laptop with an A: drive from the depths of our storage closet as well as my old school external CD burner to transfer all of this pure comedy gold to a format compatible with my current lappy so that I may share it all with you. I share because I care.<br />
<br />
Now, I don't want to blow my load (twhs) just yet, so I'll just give you a little taste (twss).<br />
<br />
This is an excerpt of what I will now be calling "The T Files." Untamed, uncut, and raw (twhs)<br />
<br />
<b>File:</b> "streamofconciousness.txt"<br />
<b>Written:</b> 10/22/99 (Age 16)<br />
<b>Description:</b> Email from yours truly to my highschool friend MB<br />
<br />
<b>Text:</b><br />
<br />
<br />
Date:<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>10/22/99 10:15:56 PM Central Daylight Time<br />
From:<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>S*********@aol.com<br />
To:<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>L****************@aol.com<br />
<br />
hi. whats up? what you wanna do tomorrow bum? i just got back from the movies avec MP et susan parce-que lauren could not go. we were gonna see superstar but we knew lauren really wanted to see it so we saw three to tango instead. it was really funny so what you wanna do tomorrow bum? i asked that already hehehe. what topic did you choose for your essay? i did the one about the narrative method. i babbled. it was 3 and a half pages long, plastic bag, plastic bag, plastic bag, plastic bag. haha tom green is cool you know what this email is a lot like that stream of conciousness thing mrs scott talked about how everything is just random etc. hehehe, im not random, im t. hahaha. so whats up in the hood g? not much here. im drinking 7 up. it is crisp, clear and refreshing. at least thats what it says on the can. did you know this can is green. and i am not on crack by the way. i got stalked by a few more police cars on the way home today. i was scared. i need to join the witness protection program because those police peoples are scary and they want to arrest me. i dont want to be anyones prison bitch so therefore id better not get arrested. beaker, aka george has not been online yet. hey you know what would be cool, if "george" actually talked like beaker. hahaha, i would laugh. how is bath time grover? is he bathing? no he cant be because you went to go take a shower.... so no. im bored m, get back online. i am sick of writing random things but there is nothing better for me to do. come on, you know you want to get back online. i think i see jasons screen name on the buddy list. ok no, i lied but still. mama mia here i go again, my my how could i resist you, mama mia does it show again my my just how much i missed you... blah blah youre back! yay!!! ok bye!!<br />
T<br />
<br />
<b>Analysis:</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
This email clearly outlines the many reasons why I probably didn't have too many friends growing up. It's also glaringly obvious that I'm running rampant with ADD-ness, but yet it took me until the age of 26 to reach an official diagnosis. Shit, I should have forwarded this email to my psychiatrist and I would have been on Adderall YEARS ago. Let's break it down bit by bit, mkay?<br />
<br />
<b>Why I Had No Friends Growing Up:</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
1. I thought it was cool to speak in Franglish. But I was terrible at French, so the only words I replaced were conjunctions and prepositions. Conjunction junction, my ass.<br />
<br />
2. I called the few people who <i>did</i> associate with me "bums." That's no way to treat your friends. Am I right or am I right, a-holes?<br />
<br />
3. I thought the movie "Three to Tango" was really funny. Ok, truth time? I still do. "My kidneys! My kidneys! My friggen' kidneys! My kidneys!" So, sue me.<br />
<br />
4. In the middle of sentences I have random nonsense outbursts like "Plastic bag, plastic bag, plastic bag, plastic bag!" I eventually googled this and found out that it was from this video by Tom Green.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre;"><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/QxQvc2Q8kEg&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/QxQvc2Q8kEg&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></span><br />
<br />
It's terrifying how accurately that represents how I feel without my Adderall. And sometimes with my Adderall.<br />
<br />
5. I turned my nose up at capital letters and "unnecessary" punctuation such as apostrophes. i say eff punctuation whos gonna use em in five years anyway<br />
<br />
6. I was paranoid about being stalked by patrol cars, but claimed NOT to be on crack. Now I'm only paranoid about people stealing my identity by reading my junk mail. My shredder is my best friend (probably another reason why I have no friends... I befriend inanimate objects).<br />
<br />
7. I referred to real life people by muppet names such as "Beaker" and "Grover." Well Big Bird and Elmo were already taken...<br />
<br />
8. I was known to burst into song in most emails or instant message conversations. I never do that anymore. Never...<br />
<br />
9. I had nothing better to do while my friends were offline. I should have started a blog.<br />
<br />
10. I was a douchebag. I'm now an upstanding member of society and not at all a douchebag.<br />
<br />
Now that I look at it, my blog isn't a whole lot better than some of these ramblings I've located. The only difference is slightly improved grammar and punctuation. And fewer instances of bursting into song.<br />
<br />
And with that I say to you<br />
<br />
I was singin'....<br />
<br />
Bye, Bye, Miss American Pie<br />
Drove the Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry<br />
And good 'ol boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye<br />
Singin' this will be the day that I die<br />
This will the day that I die...<br />
<br />
(I know all the words by heart, but I'll spare you...)Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-5047100406920015302010-06-05T16:30:00.001-05:002010-06-05T16:34:31.010-05:00Guest Blogger: Gizmo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqCKq5xdwe_lgkXE7WOItjCkutISBOUG7O6IwwwkRSbNXmYPFXZpc1sFUhilNZWoomTj4Ax0-PE2wYhTyVMBfsz9En48M4FzjjpYxIXx3ZclngdhRiv9WlfHDVLSP7vtYzqpr9E3geasA/s1600/32109_10100149432772340_1904122_56874443_4167709_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqCKq5xdwe_lgkXE7WOItjCkutISBOUG7O6IwwwkRSbNXmYPFXZpc1sFUhilNZWoomTj4Ax0-PE2wYhTyVMBfsz9En48M4FzjjpYxIXx3ZclngdhRiv9WlfHDVLSP7vtYzqpr9E3geasA/s400/32109_10100149432772340_1904122_56874443_4167709_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
On Friday, R and I took in a foster dog! His name is Gizmo and <i>man</i> is he cute. Cute as he may be, he definitely makes us appreciate Aries' calm, sedate, quiet nature. Gizmo is a bundle of energy and is always looking for mischief.<br />
<br />
We are fostering through a dog rescue, so if anyone out there is in the Chicago area and is looking for a dog, Gizmo is currently up for adoption! If you are interested email me at allearsonme at gmail dot com. I would have just provided the information for the rescue we are fostering for, but I didn't want to tarnish their reputation by having my blog about bodily functions showing up in their google search. So, if you are truly interested and want to fill out an application to adopt him, I will give you all the info via email!<br />
<br />
Anyway, I was telling Gizmo all about my blog and he made a request to be a guest blogger. How could I resist? Just look at that face! So without further ado I present to you Gizmo's Diary: Day 1.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Gizmos Diary: Day 1</b></span><br />
<br />
Hey everyone!<br />
<br />
Gizmo, here. Just wanted to update everyone on how things are going at my new foster home!<br />
<br />
So, I got here yesterday morning to meet my new foster mom and my new foster brother (my foster papa was still at work, so I met him later).<br />
<br />
My foster brother, Aries, is a really cool dog, but he is a lot older than I am so he doesn't like to play as much. We DO like to take naps together, though!<br />
<br />
After introductions, mom set up my crate and bed and showed me the rest of the house! So many new things to explore! There's lots of new interesting things to sniff and chew on, but mom keeps saying this word I've never heard before: "no." It's okay though, when I'm chewing on "No" she usually takes it away and gives me one of my toys instead!<br />
<br />
Aries, mom and me went out onto the deck for some fun in the sun! Aries and I got tired and fell asleep for a little while and then we came in to cool off. Whew it was hot out there!<br />
<br />
Mom's friend N came over and she brought me a toy! A squeaky fish! Being the scientific fellow that I am, I needed to know what makes that fish squeak. So I dissected him! With my teeth! He exploded and his fluffy insides flew everywhere! It was AWESOME!!!<br />
<br />
I saw someone named "Joey Gladstone" on the big box in the living room. I found his Mr. Woodchuck impersonation to be very offensive, so I barked at him! A lot! That got me a time out. I think mom must have a crush on this "Joey Gladstone." Why else would she defend him!?<br />
<br />
Later, mom, Aries, N and I went for a walk! I sniffed a lot of things and peed on them! It was awesome. I found a piece of pizza on the sidewalk! I tried to eat it, but I was only able to snag a piece of pepperoni before mom lead me away...<br />
<br />
Then, you'll never guess what happened!<br />
<br />
Only the best thing ever! My foster papa came home and I got to meet him! I showed him how much I already love him by jumping up and down in the air and wagging my tail! Then we all went on a walk! AGAIN!<br />
<br />
Man, this is totally the life! I get my very own bed in mom and papa's bedroom and a brand new best friend to play with. Sure, I had lot's of friends at the doggie day care, but I have people now and I get a lot more attention. Mom says she wants to teach me "manners," but I don't know what that means yet.<br />
<br />
Anyway, more updates later! See ya!<br />
<br />
- Gizmo<br />
<br />
PS - Papa's toes and mama's kneecaps don't taste that great, so don't try licking them, I already tried.Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-76518973808059047002010-06-03T09:47:00.001-05:002010-06-03T09:53:45.683-05:00Blogdentity Crisis.I'm having a blogdentity crisis.<br />
<br />
I've been writing this blog for about 6 months now and I need to be perfectly honest with you.<br />
<br />
Despite the fact that I appear to know what the hell I'm talking about... I don't. I don't know what to do with my blog, in which direction to take it, or even what I ultimately want it to be. And right now it's a shapeless blob of blog-vomit all across the board.<br />
<br />
Gross analogy, but you get it.<br />
<br />
I guess I'm just asking you all to bear with me as I "find myself" and develop a clearer focus.<br />
<br />
I feel like this is a completely self-serving post, so I'll throw some more random blog-vomit at you.<br />
<br />
Sick. I have to stop using that analogy. Suggestions for a better analogy are welcome!<br />
<br />
So, I'm watching a documentary about the human face and the role of facial expressions in modern society. They interview the family of a little girl with <a href="http://www.moebiussyndrome.com/">Moebius Syndrome</a>. Too lazy to follow my link? Fine. Basically it's congenital paralysis of the muscles of facial expression. Without the ability to make facial expressions, how does one communicate effectively?<br />
<br />
Later in the documentary, the family prepares for a surgery to give their little girl a smile before her first day at school. Through a facial surgery involving muscle transfers from the thigh to the corners of her mouth, she gets her smile a just a few days before school begins. It's pretty darn heartwarming.<br />
<br />
In another segment, they discuss human lie detectors and how they use facial cues to determine if someone is lying. One such cue is the furrowing and raising of the eyebrows, a sign of "distress."<br />
<br />
So... what if someone has Botox to their forehead? How will you ever be able to tell if they are lying? I mean, no one knows what Heidi Montag is thinking or feeling anymore after all the work she's had done. And I really could care less if Heidi Montag wants to tell a lie, but what if terrorists catch onto this and get massive Botox jobs done so that if they are captured they can lie to interrogators with greater efficacy?<br />
<br />
I guess you'd just have to keep them prisoner, wait 3-4 months, then ask them again.<br />
<br />
Furthermore, do you think this is why Abraham Lincoln could not tell a lie? Was his face just <i>too</i> wrinkly? I mean expressive? Poor Abey baby, I feel your pain. Like you, I cannot tell a lie.<br />
<br />
I mean don't get me wrong. I can say the words. They are just not very convincing. My true feelings read like a book all over my face.<br />
<br />
So, go ahead and ask. Do those jeans make your ass look fat? Yes. Yes, they do.Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-77495631807777509652010-06-01T20:05:00.005-05:002010-06-01T22:55:25.499-05:00My Life Without A Job: Day 1Last night, after I published my last post I stayed up for about another hour or so for absolutely no reason. I finally made it to bed at about 3:30 after debating just staying on the couch out of sheer laziness.<br />
<br />
I woke up today at the crack of noon. I then proceeded to stay in bed for the next hour and a half catching up on my blog reading via my RSS reader on my iPhone. The rest of my day went a little like this:<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<b>1:45 -</b> Review to-do list. To do list includes only 2 items: 1 - Return supplies to old job. 2 - Grocery shop. Gather items from old job including laptop, bag, chargers, supply box etc. Load items into car.<br />
<br />
<b>1:50 - </b> Stop into Einstein Bagel for a raspberry lemonade and an everything bagel.<br />
<br />
<b>1:55 - 2:10 - </b>Drive downtown while consuming delicious everything bagel and arrive in the vicinity of the office to look for parking.<br />
<br />
<b>2:10 - 2:20 - </b>Too stubborn to pay for garage parking (despite the parking reimbursement from company) and spend next 10 minutes circling the block looking for street parking.<br />
<br />
<b>2:20 - 2:35 - </b>Find parking. Bring supplies up to office. Shred old patient files, say goodbye to office staff and give hugs to everyone except for my evil monster-boss.<br />
<br />
<b>2:35 - 2:50</b> - Begin driving home. Call R while driving back. R requests 6 pack of beer.<br />
<br />
<b>2:50 - </b>Decide that returning supplies to the office was taxing enough for one day and decide to postpone grocery shopping until tomorrow. Still need to buy beer, so stop by liquor store.<br />
<br />
<b>2:50-3:00 </b>- Go overboard at liquor store and instead of buying one 6 pack, end up picking up three 6 packs and a bottle of Bacardi Limon.<br />
<br />
<b>3:00 - </b>Try to decide between standing in line behind 2 people or one person. Choose the lane with 2 people ahead because it is closer and I am lazy.<br />
<br />
<b>3:01 - </b>Cashier tells me that the other lane is open as well. Feel too lazy to argue, so relocate to the farther lane.<br />
<br />
<b>3:01:30 - </b>Notice that the ONE person in the farther lane is buying no less than 30 bottles of wine.<br />
<br />
<b>3:01:45 - </b>Return to original line, but now 3 people deep.<br />
<br />
<b>3:05 - </b>Purchase above mentioned 6 packs and bottle of rum with look of shame.<br />
<br />
<b>3:05 - 3:10 - </b>Drive back toward home, get 2 blocks from house before salad craving hits.<br />
<br />
<b>3:10 - </b>Take a sudden left and call <a href="http://www.zigzagkitchen.com/zgrid/themes/765/portal/index.jsp;jsessionid=aSF7Ua__V0Mg">Zig Zag Kitchen</a> to order a Mediterranean salad with no cheese and extra olives.<br />
<br />
<b>3:10 - 3:30</b> - Accidentally pass Zig Zag Kitchen and spend the next 15-20 minutes circling the block looking for parking.<br />
<br />
<b>3:30 - </b>Park illegally. Head inside to pick up salad. Pay for salad and return to car.<br />
<br />
<b>3:32 - </b>Arms full of salad, dig for car keys. Fail to locate keys in a timely manner. Place salad on top of car to use both hands. Still fail to find keys.<br />
<br />
<b>3:33 - </b>Head back into Zig Zag Kitchen and find keys and cell phone laying on top of counter.<br />
<br />
<b>3:35 - </b>Return to car. Retrieve salad from roof. Get into car and begin driving home.<br />
<br />
<b>3:45 - </b>Turn onto my cross street. See a runner that looks a lot like my friend J.G.<br />
<br />
<b>3:46 - </b>Drive along side runner at 5 mph, peering out window to determine if it is, in fact, J.G.<br />
<br />
<b>3:46:30 - </b>Runner turns to look. Pretend to be looking for parking.<br />
<br />
<b>3:47 -</b> Runner waves. Sigh of relief. It is J.G.<br />
<br />
<b>3:47:15 - 3:50 </b>Pull over. Chat with J.G. for a minute. Park car.<br />
<br />
<b>3:50 - 4:00 - </b>Collect insane amount of beer and salad from car. Lug items up front stairs.<br />
<br />
<b>4:00 - 4:05 - </b>Dig through purse for house keys. Get frustrated. Put down beer and salad.<br />
<br />
<b>4:05 - 4:10 - </b>Use both hands to dig through purse for house keys. Fail to locate house keys. Become frustrated and retrieve spare keys from hiding place.<br />
<br />
<b>4:10 - 4:15 - </b>Bring beer and salad into house and set them down. Pay excessive amount of attention to dog, who is ever so happy to see me.<br />
<br />
<b>4:15 - 4:20 - </b>Empty purse in search of house keys. Still not to be found, give up and call office.<br />
<br />
<b>4:20 - </b>Confirm that house keys are, in fact, at the office downtown.<br />
<br />
<b>4:21 - </b>Briefly consider driving back downtown for house keys, but decide that getting salad was tiring enough and will pick up keys tomorrow in addition to grocery shopping.<br />
<br />
<b>4:22 - </b>Commence drinking loaded Coronas (recipe to follow) and eating delicious salad.<br />
<br />
<b>4:45 - </b>Continue drinking loaded Coronas and begin writing lazy, time-line driven blog entry.<br />
<br />
<b>6:00 - </b>Write some potential lame blog content in the form of complaint/commendation letters. Laugh at own jokes. Doubt generalizability of personal sense of humor across reader population. Decide I don't care and publish anyway.<br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Everything Bagels</span></span></b><br />
<br />
Dear Everything Bagels,<br />
<br />
You are Everything I could ever hope for in a bagel. You are soft and chewy, unless I want you to be crispy, in which case you are versatile enough to be crispy after about a minute in the toaster. You have delicious poppy seeds, sesame seeds, and enough salt and toasted garlic to satisfy my craving for something savory without making my mouth smell and taste like a vampire's armpit.<br />
<br />
Please excuse me, Everything Bagel. I take that back because it makes no sense. A vampire's armpit wouldn't taste remotely like garlic (though it might be a bit salty), since wearing garlic deodorant would most likely kill or maim him or her. Again, I apologize for my nonsense, I may or may not be kind of drunk.<br />
<br />
Let me try that again.<br />
<br />
You have enough salt and toasted garlic to satisfy my craving for something savory without making my mouth smell and taste like I've been licking Emeril Lagasse's fingers.<br />
<br />
That's still no good.<br />
<br />
You have enough salt and toasted garlic to satisfy my craving for something savory without making my mouth smell and taste like I've... shit, you know what I mean. You are tasty, Everything Bagel. I just can't quit you.<br />
<br />
I have one question, though, Everything Bagel. Why do you drop all of your toppings the minute I pick you up? Isn't there some sort of sesame seed and toasted garlic glue you could use to secure your particles more firmly?<br />
<br />
I ask this because when I eat you in the car, you drop all of your seed and garlic particles directly into my crotch. I don't mind picking up these particles to sprinkle them back upon your bready surface, but when I do, the other drivers think I am picking out a camel toe or that I am suffering from some itchy crotch syndrome. They think I'm gross, Everything Bagel, and you are not helping my reputation.<br />
<br />
Please reconsider my garlic glue idea. I think this could skyrocket you to the top of the bagel stratosphere.<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
<br />
T<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Lays Limon Chips</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br />
</b></span><br />
Dear Lays Limon Chips,<br />
<br />
You are delicious. You are salty and tangy, like Salt and Vinegar chips, but with an extra zing. Also, your label is in both English and Spanish, so I think you might be vaguely educational.<br />
<br />
But, I have a cut on my lip, and you hurt it. Please apologize.<br />
<br />
Thank you,<br />
<br />
T<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">ADD</span></span><br />
<br />
Dear ADD,<br />
<br />
ADD, I really hate you. You make every day tasks like grocery shopping seem insurmountable. You make me forget my keys and phone inside a restaurant while picking up a salad. Why do you do that, ADD? Do you want to make me look stupid? Even worse, you make me leave my house keys at the office of my old job. I thought I was free, but now I have to go back there, and it's all your fault.<br />
<br />
Did you think this was a funny prank? Because I'm not laughing. You almost killed me. I had to stand on a very high surface to retrieve my hidden spare key to get back into the house. You wouldn't be laughing if I fell down and cracked my head. If that happened you wouldn't be able to distract me anymore because I'd be dead.<br />
<br />
You make it impossible for me to write a blog post in a timely manner, however your crazy antics do provide good material for posts. Keep it up, ADD, I'm back on my Adderall and even though it makes me grind my teeth and flex my muscles involuntarily sometimes, at least I'll remember where my keys are. Sometimes.<br />
<br />
F. U., ADD.<br />
<br />
Sincerely, T<br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Loaded Coronas</span></span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br />
</b></span><br />
Dear Loaded Coronas,<br />
<br />
I have no complaints for you. You are simply wonderful. You are cool and refreshing and you get me drunk faster than regular Corona.<br />
<br />
I'm pretty sure you make my blogging funnier. If not, you at least increase my perception of my inherent hilarity. It's possible that you make my blogging sound dumber, but I'll never know because you have impaired my judgement. I would marry you if I could.<br />
<br />
Thank you for your refreshing goodness. Keep up the good work.<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
<br />
T<br />
<br />
P.S. I do have one minor beef with you, Loaded Corona. You give me a false sense of confidence, leading me to leave the house to walk my dog believing that I'm a Pretty Princess. In fact, I look like this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgphF8OPfIbQJyBbnGErN9WF7gNbMSMQLududrj47gjv5g4AgieT7FIJUzjR4q-ofDUCNfOQDZzUzZTZ5gNZq4Mrq5CdeD7e8wk46dt4H6CmEPLcOjMRfZ1FfGBfZfhMDghNrQ7w-P1CPA/s1600/homelesst.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgphF8OPfIbQJyBbnGErN9WF7gNbMSMQLududrj47gjv5g4AgieT7FIJUzjR4q-ofDUCNfOQDZzUzZTZ5gNZq4Mrq5CdeD7e8wk46dt4H6CmEPLcOjMRfZ1FfGBfZfhMDghNrQ7w-P1CPA/s400/homelesst.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>You see why this would not be a desirable way to go out in public, Loaded Corona?<br />
<br />
You let me go out thinking I looked pretty when in fact I was sporting Homeless Hair, a stain on my shirt from the balsalmic vinaigrette in my salad at lunch, massive bruises on both legs from when I <a href="http://allearsonme.blogspot.com/2010/05/do-you-like-falling-down-i-do-helmet.html">fell off my bike</a>, and smelling faintly of you, Loaded Corona. My only saving grace was my adorable dog, A, who I will no longer refer to as "A," because he is a dog and he doesn't care about keeping his identity a secret. His name is Aries and he's probably the only thing that kept me from being arrested on the spot for vagrancy.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG5OU1z1unk1AXsruYnJ0lELIz5frzAuhk2GCcTEfbqFb5V93xvMH64O0vDWN6LA4A0ONy-xuwpEJ8iW5ekW0VQQeXvDnrjIGRI1RdUgz6KcxhsobB-kXddBI0o_ZeJiGrHq1RLOX-8n0/s1600/IMG_0218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG5OU1z1unk1AXsruYnJ0lELIz5frzAuhk2GCcTEfbqFb5V93xvMH64O0vDWN6LA4A0ONy-xuwpEJ8iW5ekW0VQQeXvDnrjIGRI1RdUgz6KcxhsobB-kXddBI0o_ZeJiGrHq1RLOX-8n0/s320/IMG_0218.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
See how cute he is? He got me out of a speeding ticket once, but he may not be able to stave off charges of hideosity in the first degree. Please do not deceive me again, Loaded Corona. Next time, urge me to seek out a mirror. But seriously, thanks for the good times.<br />
<br />
Sincerely (again),<br />
<br />
T<br />
<br />
As promised, I will share with you the wonder that is the Loaded Corona. I'm not an alcoholic, I just don't have a job. Don't you judge me.<br />
<br />
<b><i>Loaded Coronas</i></b><br />
<br />
Ingredients:<br />
- Bottled Coronas<br />
- Bottle of Bacardi Limon or your choice of citrus flavored rum<br />
<br />
1. Open a bottle of Corona with a bottle opener.<br />
2. Fill the empty space in the bottle with Bacardi Limon<br />
3. Firmly stop up the opening to the bottle with the palm of your hand.<br />
4. Turn the bottle upside down to allow the Bacardi Limon to mix with the beer. You will see little wavy lines traveling to the bottom of the beer that look like oil mixing with water.<br />
5. Turn the bottle right side up and consume.<br />
6. Blog about the experience.Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-64543635056519024942010-06-01T02:02:00.004-05:002010-06-01T02:18:46.917-05:00Easily Distracted? This is not the place -- Ooo Something Shiny!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6eL_XykJV37L9NIXW1J-jnZdmlXRePv3tSDxvi11nHl2BPFsAnKOaBUi3vi6gwIoRW5AyjmOYHeC8l4JhjJ9Lr38KCAUkOTGmlERvOm4zUw3e1pWfGhhQm5DgMJDkrqfuN-HbDbzOkN4/s1600/clown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6eL_XykJV37L9NIXW1J-jnZdmlXRePv3tSDxvi11nHl2BPFsAnKOaBUi3vi6gwIoRW5AyjmOYHeC8l4JhjJ9Lr38KCAUkOTGmlERvOm4zUw3e1pWfGhhQm5DgMJDkrqfuN-HbDbzOkN4/s320/clown.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Three day weekends are not as exciting when you don't have a job to go to the next week. <br />
<br />
Friday was my last day at my old job. Truthfully, I haven't quite had the chance to do a happy dance since we were frantically trying to get out of town to beat the Memorial Day weekend traffic. <br />
<br />
The weekend was nice and low-key, saw the "in-laws," spent time at BBQs with some friends we haven't seen in a while, and we had a truly unique dining experience.<br />
<br />
Sunday afternoon we had a few appearances to make at a different BBQ's, but I wanted to get something to eat first since I didn't anticipate finding too much vegan food at one of these cookouts in Madison, WI aka "America's Dairyland." I would have brought along my own veggie burgers or veggie dogs, but I didn't feel like buying an entire pack to eat just one and then abandon them at R's parents' house as we drive back to Chi town. <br />
<br />
So, R took me to a place in town called <a href="http://www.ellas-deli.com/">Ella's Deli</a>. I've passed by this place with R while cavorting about town over the past few years, but I've never been compelled to visit.<br />
<br />
From the street, it looks like a big-top circus. Kind of creepy, if you ask me. Clowns are scary as shit. Don't believe me? Haven't you ever seen "IT?" "Killer Klowns from Outer Space?" There's a reason that clowns make good horror movie fodder: because like twins and octogenarians - they <i>should</i> seem completely innocuous, but they are actually terrifying. Because they will cut a bitch. Or turn into demon spawn and creepily appear in hotel hallways or bathtubs.<br />
<br />
Yes, I'm aware that all my pre-conceived notions about horror movies come from The Shining, but damn if that isn't a scary book/movie. <br />
<br />
What was I saying? Oh, right. Ella's Deli. Anyway, despite the fact that clowns creep me out, I was dying for a salad and they had 3 full pages of salads on their online menu. Awesome, where do I sign up?<br />
<br />
We got to Ella's Deli, and what I found inside was not at all creepy. It was actually pretty damn cool, with all kinds of cool moving gizmos and gadgets a-plenty - all creating an environment entirely detrimental to someone like me with ADD, who incidentally forgot to take her medication that weekend. It happens. Especially when I'm away from home and off my normal routine... <br />
<br />
I'm not too worried about being off the medication for a bit since I'm not working this week, but to give you a rough example of my level of distractibility: what I've written thus far in this post has taken me about 8 hours. It takes more than a few days off Adderall for my ADD to get pretty bad, but after about 2 days I have difficulty (well, <i>more</i> difficulty) focusing in a conversation. I make (considerably more) random noises, speak in accents, and add sound effects to most bodily actions. And I won't just do it once. I'll space out while doing it and get stuck in a loop like a broken record because I'm thinking about what the white stuff in the middle of York Peppermint Patty is made of and before I know it I've done the "wha-pshhh" whipping noise 5 times in a row to R's mom after I promised I'd keep him in line when we get home.<br />
<br />
In fact, while you are talking I'm more likely to be thinking how cool the fraggles were than about the words coming out of your mouth. Which is why at times like these, I simply can't handle the numerous overstimulating obstacles presented by Ella's Deli.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
I have no other way to describe my experience except by picture. Behold:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI03p4hM0VusPRGVg-TDiYxtt3N7MJnpM7rm1ui2uVvG3DwET5JhPzoybkAGX4xyDdb04SM_UZkKwYg79c7ixXAn6FnK3ywBC5D4gre8BzrkYeX7dZQJfIOTNFoc3yO1hUnKl5YDy7zUk/s1600/IMG_0292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI03p4hM0VusPRGVg-TDiYxtt3N7MJnpM7rm1ui2uVvG3DwET5JhPzoybkAGX4xyDdb04SM_UZkKwYg79c7ixXAn6FnK3ywBC5D4gre8BzrkYeX7dZQJfIOTNFoc3yO1hUnKl5YDy7zUk/s320/IMG_0292.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Here is what I see as we sit down. Each table has a different theme and has various old-skool toys displayed under plexiglass. From puppets, to yo-yos, to... yes, legos.<br />
<br />
They sat us at a table with an entire lego land under plexiglass. And what is that gray twinkie in R's hand? A magnet. A magnet used to control lego cars under the plexiglass. So, what you're telling me is that not only have you seated me at a table with legos to "ooo" and "ahh" over beneath a layer of plexiglass, but you <i>also</i> made my table interactive? Bad move # 1.<br />
<br />
I proceeded to spend the next 5 minutes photographing the lego people and using my own gray twinkie to attempt to create head on collisions between lego cars.<br />
<br />
See below:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZV3dBJzz4GgRmliSj2xptoO4uXc5bjX1TG6_BQoLjk8M5Oyb1A3g7kihPj3ZXHSbuTDysMAC0DfFUuuSq6F0stWKeBi9pAlbXWtCE92rUXRLI5wiNjh30LZAr6gBvodB_nWlYjkCY9Vs/s1600/IMG_0295.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZV3dBJzz4GgRmliSj2xptoO4uXc5bjX1TG6_BQoLjk8M5Oyb1A3g7kihPj3ZXHSbuTDysMAC0DfFUuuSq6F0stWKeBi9pAlbXWtCE92rUXRLI5wiNjh30LZAr6gBvodB_nWlYjkCY9Vs/s320/IMG_0295.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is me, riding on my new lego clipless pedals. No falling down, see?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzAPIllayGxIVvt6S3L54Iujz_tw-gL92Ge9ZchRrKzolhKZy43JrIlKv_eEuZevgovNBdjFABNC_zpk6JHwUu_keP620Qxk2iYg5hTy9ucQpEF6YFxoGhi-Hli9J2Iq0Hms0q6wp7dkI/s1600/IMG_0297.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzAPIllayGxIVvt6S3L54Iujz_tw-gL92Ge9ZchRrKzolhKZy43JrIlKv_eEuZevgovNBdjFABNC_zpk6JHwUu_keP620Qxk2iYg5hTy9ucQpEF6YFxoGhi-Hli9J2Iq0Hms0q6wp7dkI/s320/IMG_0297.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clearly there has to be a man in a chef hat next to a downed bike. I probably left it there after crashing into him.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwRfz-7ilLNb6x1EX7Uj5apKU1sz0Jr8u0EFSjdeLo73zBEMQPVbRVh2-5M0Mi45NmwD8yOv6d4gBkixyahC1IqHR-f4Z5p2cgZEqmFKcfWGAO2xdK9oOrrVUReBO2Jg9fSgBV8N_NkYI/s1600/IMG_0298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwRfz-7ilLNb6x1EX7Uj5apKU1sz0Jr8u0EFSjdeLo73zBEMQPVbRVh2-5M0Mi45NmwD8yOv6d4gBkixyahC1IqHR-f4Z5p2cgZEqmFKcfWGAO2xdK9oOrrVUReBO2Jg9fSgBV8N_NkYI/s200/IMG_0298.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How can I not try to create lego mayhem with head on collisions?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRQQb2SCpX8cn4HDReQGbA2Bxul5shRFdPlZIroY_YtbBs6Pp7bHJOAPwQEfLgJGtFFCHIJs0rU4sD4qyy0x6Zexh6-UB6sZ0Af1BGMzovQIuejI4VF2MRI_WoifdbRSV-GRlZ6pGUEn4/s1600/IMG_0304.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRQQb2SCpX8cn4HDReQGbA2Bxul5shRFdPlZIroY_YtbBs6Pp7bHJOAPwQEfLgJGtFFCHIJs0rU4sD4qyy0x6Zexh6-UB6sZ0Af1BGMzovQIuejI4VF2MRI_WoifdbRSV-GRlZ6pGUEn4/s200/IMG_0304.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vroom, bitches!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<br />
I look behind R's head and I see this:<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMRF43VA_QVmTKYfe_k7PeOg5DLklUlM7uV4Bd9qw-V56IqjB5RVkyAuZAXsEeDzJ9k-kjdlnot1Ro_LFKbDHEbsZnSstkYya5cbKd78zepoa_YoEGfBHt-jEKuxMXrw-G0Jks3pL4YZU/s1600/IMG_0302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMRF43VA_QVmTKYfe_k7PeOg5DLklUlM7uV4Bd9qw-V56IqjB5RVkyAuZAXsEeDzJ9k-kjdlnot1Ro_LFKbDHEbsZnSstkYya5cbKd78zepoa_YoEGfBHt-jEKuxMXrw-G0Jks3pL4YZU/s320/IMG_0302.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poor visual due to excessive back lighting and crappy camera phone. But that's R. Isn't he cuuuuute?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Great. A giant, spinning ferris wheel. That won't distract me at -- whoa, look at that!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">To my left:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq3ML_Oq324TT52ohEOfyYN_nk9dxeeIcfdjycYoPijcFNYh8r96m9FrSGnKAHbWXuu4t4hGNDtzNShM37kGQcqBB-U1pOJRNLHFe0BUZkSMFfRcIAvmfZ5l7Of2hGAuYmcJA61xKYZL4/s1600/IMG_0289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq3ML_Oq324TT52ohEOfyYN_nk9dxeeIcfdjycYoPijcFNYh8r96m9FrSGnKAHbWXuu4t4hGNDtzNShM37kGQcqBB-U1pOJRNLHFe0BUZkSMFfRcIAvmfZ5l7Of2hGAuYmcJA61xKYZL4/s400/IMG_0289.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Sweet, a carousel!!! Look at all the pretty horsies!!! Hey, look at that one! That one has an awesome mane! I totally want to go ride that after I -- what's that!?<br />
<br />
Above my head:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3CYDEq3hQa91i44WE4O2pofIHV5TUe-6OlgTF3Nx4IpVGSevZO53oK9ZpH5eGaCn-__ds7Zo4cXPy_KFv3MU9MJfpaGpcMrCLT8FMXIisfJCO0OJGeWQWSJaEYxV5HB-trMfwKRQYQVU/s1600/IMG_0290.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3CYDEq3hQa91i44WE4O2pofIHV5TUe-6OlgTF3Nx4IpVGSevZO53oK9ZpH5eGaCn-__ds7Zo4cXPy_KFv3MU9MJfpaGpcMrCLT8FMXIisfJCO0OJGeWQWSJaEYxV5HB-trMfwKRQYQVU/s320/IMG_0290.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Holy shit! Is that the girl from the Blind Melon video flying above us!? How do they get it to go back and forth across the ceiling like that? I wonder if they leave it on when the restaurant is closed? Huh? Oh, the menu? Oh, the waitress has been back 3 times now? Alright, I'll pick something to eat and then get back to thinking about that Blind Melon song...<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSRwFJh6QO2BJC-baTYF_uLhVsF2RhOIYbOEPeZ87nSOjVBJeiTes_7SleY6jlwAsFksRjFl4QZ_9K7XdBWnwcnL-4fQrLWFiFIsKzBbwrqlXt3OgUz8J-F70nalpa13gxOY_zd1ScJQE/s1600/IMG_0287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSRwFJh6QO2BJC-baTYF_uLhVsF2RhOIYbOEPeZ87nSOjVBJeiTes_7SleY6jlwAsFksRjFl4QZ_9K7XdBWnwcnL-4fQrLWFiFIsKzBbwrqlXt3OgUz8J-F70nalpa13gxOY_zd1ScJQE/s320/IMG_0287.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Wait. <i>This</i> is the menu? How am I supposed to pick something to eat from a menu longer than War and Peace? There are just so many pages... I wonder if they can substitute...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQUgUeZr99X2taOZkXwwNsEKBSgnIP6WWJ12pD4BPz5SldjuHGgGueK92FDzNvmvJGTE22sNdni-9QW_smj1XBYQNZp36kkveQsYczVQiIB7cdZX0kUVdijJdzCWzUKFrAR7DxtTCe7g/s1600/IMG_0301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQUgUeZr99X2taOZkXwwNsEKBSgnIP6WWJ12pD4BPz5SldjuHGgGueK92FDzNvmvJGTE22sNdni-9QW_smj1XBYQNZp36kkveQsYczVQiIB7cdZX0kUVdijJdzCWzUKFrAR7DxtTCe7g/s320/IMG_0301.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Hey look! Popeye! And an astronaut! And monkeys! And the Yellow Submarine! And Spiderman!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7dunPpIVf2oCBU9nZbeNeZFzh6TPg-mdbVf-Q9ctGHXHuPIdxTcRNfhK-evGWdCVcusYT8bVrkuqHBxFGH9V0O_N_scB859jDO4M6id1dZ5z9cwsIazlIsfXHSwGK_GlHbST8bGC-sOU/s1600/IMG_0307.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7dunPpIVf2oCBU9nZbeNeZFzh6TPg-mdbVf-Q9ctGHXHuPIdxTcRNfhK-evGWdCVcusYT8bVrkuqHBxFGH9V0O_N_scB859jDO4M6id1dZ5z9cwsIazlIsfXHSwGK_GlHbST8bGC-sOU/s320/IMG_0307.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And Spongebob!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZtsZo4xmfC8Eqzy4dCrH853_W-UdVV5NbPX_d3ic_t6ANLy6F7bh9WNBRCqjd_5JrxYDUeGzlQ9BhLWlsMLf1YiPLwcLcHHtJup35X5eR0BDGqf1BpLeYh5Paq-bis45Hsze0Exq2CDM/s1600/IMG_0308.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZtsZo4xmfC8Eqzy4dCrH853_W-UdVV5NbPX_d3ic_t6ANLy6F7bh9WNBRCqjd_5JrxYDUeGzlQ9BhLWlsMLf1YiPLwcLcHHtJup35X5eR0BDGqf1BpLeYh5Paq-bis45Hsze0Exq2CDM/s320/IMG_0308.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Oooo, fishies!!!!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUM7HQPyDQN6vC-csujA9GTwj6Qsbju-UOj0NI2vI2ZclErDdrm7Re0Yu7WThWanZJXJRFDdmFP5snUNSxyMQPRLK7WrD4vIb7Y5EmU2utlT3Uj104vwUdKliVNh9IvG4YbPLL81zfemg/s1600/IMG_0311.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUM7HQPyDQN6vC-csujA9GTwj6Qsbju-UOj0NI2vI2ZclErDdrm7Re0Yu7WThWanZJXJRFDdmFP5snUNSxyMQPRLK7WrD4vIb7Y5EmU2utlT3Uj104vwUdKliVNh9IvG4YbPLL81zfemg/s320/IMG_0311.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">No way, HARRY POTTER!!?!?!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj39CIchCrOVgRE64wHs7yKwzS9xavVQQSBGS2uYFKx1qtcKAP_AeDLcy5I_MQO4u4AM8tM7hyphenhyphenkcUwjOnlcUjUX6x8wabXuF8ptXYBfVFP8EX59aA5kbZdGnC-YSIVCw6F4QevqcdJOzrE/s1600/IMG_0312.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj39CIchCrOVgRE64wHs7yKwzS9xavVQQSBGS2uYFKx1qtcKAP_AeDLcy5I_MQO4u4AM8tM7hyphenhyphenkcUwjOnlcUjUX6x8wabXuF8ptXYBfVFP8EX59aA5kbZdGnC-YSIVCw6F4QevqcdJOzrE/s320/IMG_0312.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">A ROBOT!?!? </div><div style="text-align: center;">Ps - those screens are surveillance cameras. There's me in the lower left hand screen. Say hi!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">And all of these things are flying across the ceiling and blinking and flashing and generally being sparkly and awesome. Do they come alive at night, like the movie Night at the Museum? How do they build all these fun toys? Do they ever break down? Has anyone ever tried to steal them? HEY LOOK, CANDY!!!!!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">And thus ends the story of how it took me over an hour to order and consume a baked potato and not a salad as I originally intended.. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">And how it took me well over 10 hours to write a blog post about it.</div><br />
<b>UPDATE:</b><br />
<br />
I need to get back on Adderall tomorrow.<br />
<br />
T: "Hey, did you mail our netflix?"<br />
<br />
R: *opens his mouth to respond*<br />
<br />
T: "It's hot over here. My butt is sticky!"<br />
<br />
R: "Um. No, I haven't mailed our netflix yet."<br />
<br />
T: *Spontaneous sounds* "Rahhhhhhrrrrr! Berrrrbb! Badoop-badoop-badoop-BAH!"<br />
<br />
<b>UPDATE X 2:</b><br />
<br />
<a href="http://allearsonme.blogspot.com/2010/04/opening-day-public-transporation-ipad.html#more">Remember when I said I get paranoid about people spying on me while I google?</a><br />
<br />
R caught me googling "Sweating like a whore on dollar day." Apparently this is funny.<br />
<br />
<b>UPDATE X 3:</b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>We have more ice cream in our freezer than should be legally allowed.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zJEHfSW09gAsr3cSku-7cSFgeAHI5kLQOmO_Ibm3eZnUaSBru_MEVdr8T3u5ZLd3fJd6ZQkpG11BLQogocQOs1r7Q442hHGDW2mS8YthZOFlcr5xlI61UuenCDpu26nUJ8U83pXWOPU/s1600/IMG_0314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zJEHfSW09gAsr3cSku-7cSFgeAHI5kLQOmO_Ibm3eZnUaSBru_MEVdr8T3u5ZLd3fJd6ZQkpG11BLQogocQOs1r7Q442hHGDW2mS8YthZOFlcr5xlI61UuenCDpu26nUJ8U83pXWOPU/s400/IMG_0314.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">10 flavors of ice cream. 10. And a box of flavor ice. Maybe this is why we can't fit real food into our freezer. And why I have this much energy at 2 AM.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Also, please note the 6 boxes of cereal. There are 2 of us.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>UPDATE X 4:</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It is now 2:30 AM and I have spent 10+ hours writing this post. If my focus continues at this rate, you can probably expect another post in about a month. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Just kidding.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But not really.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Please don't leave me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-999601418222645992010-05-28T18:23:00.000-05:002010-05-28T18:23:33.208-05:00Happy Memorial Day!Hola. <br />
<br />
R and I are on our way to Madison, WI to visit his parents for<br />
the long weekend. I'd really like to make a post while I am there, but R's parents still use dial-up(I know, right?!) so I can't guarantee it, but at the very least I'll be writing even if it's in a word document to copy and paste later. <br />
<br />
I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend!Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-45187181915603459402010-05-27T19:10:00.001-05:002010-05-27T19:10:52.334-05:00Do You Like Falling Down? I do: The Helmet Chronicles Part IIIn my efforts lately to exercise more and be more green, I've been using my bike for commuting and for errands whenever possible. My bike has been in storage for a few years, and truthfully the last time I used it was for the triathlon I did in 2004. I had used the bike as-is when I bought it, including the horrid cage pedals that the manufacturer put on it. Since I have been riding a lot more, I quickly got fed up with the cage pedals and opted to buy a set of clipless pedals and riding shoes. Today was the first day I got to try out the new pedals and man was I excited!<br />
<br />
I woke up this morning raring to go. And the start of my day went a little like this:<br />
<br />
Me: Oh my! I am excited to try my new clipless pedals! Life is grand!<br />
<br />
Pedals: *evil laugh*<br />
<br />
Me: *Oblivious* La, la la! Here I gooooo! *Promptly crashes into a building*<br />
<br />
Building: Ouch.<br />
<br />
Me: Whoops! Let me try that again! Wheeeee here I go again (on my own)!! *Forgets how to unclip, panics, tips over*<br />
<br />
Concrete: Hello, helmet. Nice to meet you.<br />
<br />
Helmet: Likewise. I have a feeling we'll be seeing each other again.<br />
<br />
Pedals: *evil laugh*<br />
<br />
End scene.<br />
<br />
So yeah, the clipless pedals. They have won the battle, but I'll win the war. I've already gotten scores of advice from people I've told about this regarding keeping one foot unclipped until I get used to them. Well the sad part is, I only had one foot clipped in... my brain just forgot that I had another foot to use for stabilization and down I went. The other sad part is that the building I crashed into is our next door neighbor (roughly 3 feet from where I started) and the second place I crashed was on the corner (another 4 or 5 feet down).<br />
<br />
But let it be known, that this is not the end. It is NOT. The. End.<br />
<br />
In retrospect, I secretly hope I looked like this:<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre;"><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/hT_NEcUFmf8&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/hT_NEcUFmf8&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></span><br />
<br />
Because that would make me giggle. And Wayne's World is the best movie ever made.Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-42517271694023033222010-05-27T04:13:00.000-05:002010-05-27T04:13:30.017-05:00Ch-ch-ch-changes!Oh, hey there pals!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://shadesogrey.wordpress.com/">Someone</a> once wrote in their blog that they hate it when someone disappears from their blog for a while then apologizes for it... so I'm not gonna apologize.<br />
<br />
I'm gonna disappear and you're gonna like it!<br />
<br />
Or you'll just stop reading my blog.<br />
<br />
Ok, you called my bluff. Please don't do that. You'll break my achy breaky heart.<br />
<br />
So I've been absent a bit. Moving on to more important things - some random shit that I decided to blog-vomit into one post.<br />
<br />
The past month has been a little nutso. In short, all of my available brain RAM has been taken up by the planning and co-hosting my BFF's bachelorette party and wedding shower as well as looking for a new job.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://allearsonme.blogspot.com/2010/04/whiners-are-weiners.html">Remember back when I contemplated my next career move, whether to stay with my current job but at a different office or to seek out something completely new?</a><br />
<br />
Well, after I wrote that post, I'd pretty much decided that I was going to stay at my current job in the new office and got comfortable with extending my contract (which ends tomorrow, btw) at the other office. I decided I was going to stay in my boring (but well paid) little rut and I got relaxed. A little too relaxed.<br />
<br />
A few weeks later I spoke with the company that contracts my services and learned that slacker me waited too long to get on the ball and the position at the new office was no longer available.<br />
<br />
DOH! *Face Palm*<br />
<br />
They did, however offer me a position at their office in Rock Island, IL... on the Illinois-Iowa border. 200 miles from my home. In the middle of nowhere. Um... no, thank you for the offer, but I'm going to have to politely decline. The decision was pretty much made for me... I told them that I appreciated them providing me with contract work for the past 1.5 years, but right now I am not looking to relocate to the Iowa border.<br />
<br />
So, about 3 weeks ago I embarked on the world's laziest job search. I say laziest because I have no desire to do any job searching myself, I just want someone else to do all the work for me. Which is why I've been consorting with a healthcare staffing agency. They pretty much just find me a job and bring it to me, like breakfast in bed - but for jobs. It's just a matter of finding the right assignment from the job menu.<br />
<br />
I have no fear of becoming unemployed - the jobs are there. I'm being solicited like 1000000 times a day by healthcare agencies all over with basically the same job I'm doing now, but that's the thing - I want to do something different. I want to work with a different population. In theory I could take a position similar/identical to my current position if I got desperate enough, but right now I'm holding out for something I actually like.<br />
<br />
So as of today, I have no job lined up for next week. It's actually strange how non-stressed I've been about this process considering the fact that when my life is at loose ends I usually turn into a giant spasmodic ball of stress. I'm actually more stressed out about the fact that I'm not stressed out. Is that weird?<br />
<br />
I hope to start a new assignment the week after next, but while the search for jobs in my current field continues, I've also been considering what other awesome careers would suit me. Because I'm awesome and therefore deserve an awesome career.<br />
<br />
Here are some of my ideas in no specific order:<br />
<br />
1. Dog photographer - Well duh, I love dogs. I love photography. Put 'em together? Bam. Ultimate job.<br />
<br />
2. Dog masseuse - I pet my dog all day long, now I can get paid for it! Yippee!<br />
<br />
3. Rickshaw driver - Benefits include getting some really toned legs towing people around the city in a pedaled rickshaw.<br />
<br />
4. Bike messenger - I dunno, these guys just seem to piss people off and that seems like fun.<br />
<br />
5. Bartender - I tended bar in college. If anything I've become LESS mature since I've graduated, so why not?<br />
<br />
6. Professional blogger - Think anyone wants to pay me to take a month long mental hiatus from blogging at random?<br />
<br />
7. Snakes - Um. Not sure what. Just something with snakes.<br />
<br />
8. Vegan baker - I baked my brother an awesome vegan cake with strawberry filling for his 32nd birthday last week, but when I bake I tend to make a big mess and swear a lot, so I might have to post one of those parental advisory stickers in my storefront window.<br />
<br />
9. FBI agent - I've been watching a lot of X-files reruns, can you blame me for wanting to chase down UFOs on the government's dime?<br />
<br />
10. <a href="http://www.kentucky.com/2008/09/23/532854/man-decorates-basement-with-10.html">Sharpie Artist</a> - I can't guarantee my art will be any good. But at least I'll be high enough from the fumes that I won't be able to care.<br />
<br />
So. Those are my shitty ideas. Suggestions welcome. In the mean time I'll continue seeking out a regular person full time job and I'll probably gripe about it the whole damn way, but not here. Like I've said, this is my happy place, so my rants will be kept to a minimum.<br />
<br />
Finally, I will get back to gracing (read: forcing on) you with the musings of my rusty brain, which is still recovering from being my life's personal chew toy. What does that mean for you, reader? Just bear with me while I brush the dust off and oil the gears to get back into making semi-intelligent and/or witty posts. I anticipate some awkward/shitty writing at first, but with massive editing and some time I'll get back into the swing of things.<br />
<br />
I also want to get back to the original purpose of my blog and resume the Dear Diary saga. If you are relatively new to reading my blog, I originally started it because I found my old childhood diaries in my parents' basement and thought the musings of 9-14 year old T were hilarious and needed to be shared with the interwebs. If you want to read the past entries, you can locate them by using the "Dear Diary" search term in the search box on the right. One of these days I'll compile an archive, but for now? You do the work, I be lazy.Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-10438774615534343102010-04-22T23:03:00.002-05:002010-04-22T23:55:51.589-05:00Mary J. Blige Had It Right... Internet Privacy and Such AsWhen she sang, "No more drama in my life."<br />
<br />
This whole FB defriending thing has completely exploded into a huge deal... over a stupid misunderstanding. I'm not going to go into detail about it, because life I've said I don't like to use my blog as my drama outlet. Plus, I've talked about it enough to my mom, friends, and R that I think I'm all talked out (never thought that would happen).<br />
<br />
So anyway, on to happier things like rainbows and unicorns and candy mountains...<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre;"><object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/CsGYh8AacgY&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/CsGYh8AacgY&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object></span><br />
<br />
Hahaha, it's an old video, but it never fails to amuse me. I have to thank <a href="http://helloblogette.blogspot.com/">Miss N</a> for introducing this to me so many months ago when she and I were nothing but young she-wolf pups.<br />
<br />
So back in the vein of social networking and Facebook, I read this in a friend's status update today:<br />
<br />
<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">"FACEBOOKERS fb is at it again...violating your personal information: As of today, there is a new privacy setting called "Instant Personalization" that shares data with non-facebook websites and it is automatically set to "Allow." Go to Account > Privacy Settings > Applications and Websites and uncheck "Allow". Please copy & repost as I did, to spread the word"</span></blockquote><br />
I thought this might be one of those lame FB "urban legends" that spreads like wildfire but has no basis to back it up, so I checked it out. I stumbled upon this story <a href="http://gigaom.com/2010/04/22/facebooks-instant-personalization-is-the-real-privacy-hairball/">Facebook's Instant Personalization Is the Real Privacy Hairball</a>.<br />
<br />
Well, so it's legit. I read up about it and from what I read - adding your preferences to sites like Pandora and Yelp doesn't seem like a HUGE invasion of privacy. That being said, I can see how it could snowball and turn into a new way for cyber predators to stalk their prey. What on earth is going on in this world?<br />
<br />
Have you heard of the website Spokeo.com? It's a cyber stalker's dream. While it doesn't bring up any information that isn't already available to the public via the net (no, not that Sandra Bullock movie), it conveniently compiles all of the accounts associated with your email address or name/ home address into one database.<br />
<br />
You can search for people by name and it will come up with all the results for people with that name and divide them by state. From there you can narrow it down, find the person's address, and often, the person's email address.<br />
<br />
If you search for someone by email address (which you can conveniently find by searching for someone's name), it will produce a list of all of the accounts associated with the email address. It will show any public pictures from those accounts, or even cached photos from private profile before the profile was set to private.<br />
<br />
How do I know? I searched for myself. I found my Myspace profile, which I set to private over a year ago, yet somehow the picture slideshows from my profile and most of my profile album pictures are available via spokeo's ability to scour the internet for cached files.<br />
<br />
This seems highly problematic to me. As many of you may know, employers are now using Google, Facebook, Myspace and other search engines to check up on the goings on of potential employees.<br />
<br />
Did you do a beer bong once back in college and someone photographed it? Well it could cost you that job, even if your profile is private, apparently.<br />
<br />
Even better, some (a lot) of the information is erroneous. When I searched for myself by name, the email address associated with it was my mother's. It said I was in my 60's. It provided my parent's address and even an estimate of the value of the home, estimated credit level, and estimated level of wealth.<br />
<br />
None of it was correct. All because my mother helped me apply for student loans using her email address when I was 18.<br />
<br />
You can "opt-out" and remove listings associated with your name, but it's considerably more difficult to remove entries for a specific email address. So someone searching you by name may not be able to find you in that way, but if they already know your email address they will have no problem.<br />
<br />
After discovering this, I took the opportunity to start removing my own listing as well as R's, my parents, my siblings... until I found out that you can only remove up to 5 listings under the same email address. What kind of BS is that?<br />
<br />
My only solution to this is to set very strict privacy settings for all of my profiles, allowing only close family and friends to view my pictures. I also untag any photos of me doing anything unbecoming of a lady... or an employee.<br />
<br />
So, fellow bloggers and devoted readers, what are your thoughts about your Facebook privacy and internet privacy as a whole? Have things gone too far on <i><b>their</b></i> end, or are <b><i>we</i></b> just too lax about sharing personal information?<br />
<br />
Clearly, this isn't the end. Where do you see the invasion of internet privacy going next?<br />
<br />
I'd love to know your take on this. Comment away, por favor please.Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-56255555865734917262010-04-20T12:18:00.003-05:002010-04-20T21:58:27.396-05:00Social Networking Ettiquette<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwRZ1rJnzZOGOLh0FuR8eXCEYUzpGZO1Q-6LUQx9NpO39hKQDhVlnTDVatdA9l4xe1MOJj1A71or9IWtNUoyiqJELVQ0Y3BBFxqszzpC1vRxtB4yKjOZplErWZgN1uNb5lDZyJk1-3Y4/s1600/unfriend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwRZ1rJnzZOGOLh0FuR8eXCEYUzpGZO1Q-6LUQx9NpO39hKQDhVlnTDVatdA9l4xe1MOJj1A71or9IWtNUoyiqJELVQ0Y3BBFxqszzpC1vRxtB4yKjOZplErWZgN1uNb5lDZyJk1-3Y4/s320/unfriend.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Graphic courtesy of trifu.net</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
I will ultimately get to my Social Networking installment of the Modern Day Mating Ritual posts, but in light of today's events (all before noon, wheeee), I wanted to examine the role Social Networking plays a part into our daily lives. More specifically, the importance placed on relationship status and the friending or unfriending an individual on Facebook.<br />
<br />
Why does being accepted as a Facebook friend carry such weight? It almost seems as if the "friending" via social networking is a step above and beyond just knowing a person in real life or having acquainted with them in real-life social situations. It's telling the rest of the internet world "I approve of this person. This person is worth knowing."<br />
<br />
In fact, I know several people who jokingly say that a relationship is not "official" until it's made it's debut on "the book."<br />
<br />
It's funny because it's true. Every relationship starts out about the same... boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl gets all weird and paranoid in her brain trying to define the relationship.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
When I was 18, I met the guy that I subsequently dated for 4 years. I was young and inexperienced, and not completely self-confident, so I was <i>terrified</i> of having the "DTRT," as my friends and I called it. The Determining the Relationship Talk. The guy in question was somewhat shy and was the type to "take things slow," so between his shyness and my refusal to have the DTRT, we spent 9 whole months hanging out every day, sleeping over almost every night, attending each others' Sorority/Fraternity formals, being cutesy, and having a sexual relationship without ever <i>defining</i> the relationship.<br />
<br />
It finally came down to one summer afternoon, we were hanging out in his room at the frat house when he finally turned to me and said "I think you should be my girlfriend."<br />
<br />
My response? "I thought I already was."<br />
<br />
This confusion would never have occurred if Facebook had been around. After several times of hanging out exclusively, one of us would have changed our relationship status from "Single" to nothing. We may have even changed the "Looking For" field from "Dating, A Relationship" to "Friends."<br />
<br />
That's a pretty big deal in the development of a Facebook relationship. Once that step has been taken, the other party knows that you don't consider yourself single anymore, but you still protect your ego since you haven't gone so far as to say you are in a relationship.<br />
<br />
Then you can awkwardly and/or jokingly suggest that maybe we say you're in an "Open Relationship" or "It's Complicated," You know. Just to see what other people say. And then, before you know it, you're full on committed and the whole Facebook world knows that you and Johnny Appleseed are "In a Relationship."<br />
<br />
I think the reason that the declaration of the relationship to the entire interweb is such a big deal is that it requires accountability from the both of you. You can't date for a week, break up, and then claim that you were "never exclusive." Mais non, mon ami! Facebook can PROVE that you were in a relationship. Furthermore, it makes the relationship public. You become the Gosselins and all your Facebook friends are the readers of US Weekly. You break up? EVERYONE knows about it.<br />
<br />
Way back in the beginning of the Facebook days, no one was able to comment on changes in status or wall posts. In fact, there was no such thing as a newsfeed. Stalking was considerably harder in those olden days. To determine that a couple had split, you would actually have to look at their profile regularly to view their relationship status, but now - thanks to the convenient stalker tool of the newsfeed - a relationship status change gets published right on your home page.<br />
<br />
Entering a relationship with someone might solicit "likes" and comments of congratulations. But then again, breaking up with someone and changing your status from "In a Relationship" to "Single," may solicit the exact same response. But that's an entirely different post for an entirely different day.<br />
<br />
The bottom line is, apparently the Facebook friendship and relationship status is seemingly very important to the status of our real life friendships and relationships.<br />
<br />
It is for this very reason, that being "unfriended" by someone, usually comes across as a terrible insult. A slap in the face, if you will.<br />
<br />
Well, my friends. Today I was unfriended.<br />
<br />
I'm not a stranger to being unfriended. It doesn't happen a lot, but I've been the victim of an unfriending a handful of times. The difference between this time and those others is that at least I understood why I was being unfriended in those situations. Being unfriended by an ex, family members or friends of exes, people from high school or college that you haven't spoken to in years and hardly spoke to when you were acquainted at that time are not a huge deal. I get it. It stings a bit, but I get it.<br />
<br />
But, has it ever happened to you that you were unexpectedly unfriended by someone? Someone who you thought to previously have a friendly relationship with? Someone you are required to see on a regular basis? For seemingly no reason?<br />
<br />
Yeah, it's kind of like getting sucker punched in the gut.<br />
<br />
So, I reiterate. Today, I was unfriended. By who? R's sister in law. Yep, the very same who came to visit over the weekend.<br />
<br />
Not that she and I have ever been BFFs, but I thought we got along fairly well. I thought she was nice, and she and I would routinely share stories and joke around about the oddities and idiosyncrasies that make R and his brother so alike. I certainly never had anything against her, nor did I think she had anything against me, but apparently I must have done something so egregiously offensive that it called for an unceremonious booting from her social networking world.<br />
<br />
When I saw that I was no longer her friend (because I went to write on her wall to say that I hope we can all visit again soon), I was confused, hurt and pretty offended. Like I said, a Facebook defriending is tantamount to a slap in the face. It seems stupid, but the importance has been laid on the meaning of these "friendships," as the social networking world has expanded.<br />
<br />
Now, here's the thing. Passive aggressiveness just does not fly with me. And I've wracked my brain to think of what I could have done to deserve the cold-shoulder, but I am at a loss. There was a small amount of tension on Saturday morning when she and R's brother requested that we go to lunch at an Italian beef place. I felt like the decision was made without my input, and I was feeling excluded since I can't eat anything served there (I'm vegan to anyone new to this blog). I opted to stay home, rather than insist that the others change their plans to accommodate me, so it's possible that she viewed my choice to stay home as an insult to her and R's bro, but even if that was the case, I don't feel this is the right response.<br />
<br />
Again, passive aggressiveness is not something I tolerate, and I refuse to play into furthering that dynamic, so rather than pretend like nothing happened and wait until the next family event where we can ignore one another or fake it, I am taking things head on. I sent her a polite, yet not overly friendly email explaining that I am upset by what she did and if I did something to upset her I would like to know what it is so I can avoid it in the future.<br />
<br />
The whole thing is just exhausting, though. You'd think that in our late 20's we'd be able to address people and problems like adults, but instead we hide behind our computers and our social networks using status updates or defriending as a means to telling someone, "Hey, you did something that pissed me off."<br />
<br />
When did that happen? Or has our society always been like that and the social networking has just made it easier?<br />
<br />
Regardless of the outcome of my email to her, we are going to have to make buddy-buddy since we will be seeing a lot of each other over the next few decades. That is, provided, that R and I get married and have the babies and all that domestic shiz. But it would just be nice if it was a genuine effort on both parts, because the only thing I hate more than passive aggressive behavior is fakeness. I've never been good at it, since I wear my heart and emotions on my sleeve, so the sooner this gets resolved the better or next time she sees me she's REALLY gonna think I'm a bitch.<br />
<br />
So, how's that for a Tuesday morning rant? Tired of hearing me complain? Fair enough. Here's something to lighten up this post a bit.<br />
<br />
Courtesy of the <a href="http://www.comedycentral.com/tosh.0/">Tosh.0 Blog</a> - a video to remind us just how sick minded our society is.<br />
<br />
<b>This Is Not Sick, You Are Sick</b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre;"><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/FsC0VzEBdmg&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/FsC0VzEBdmg&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></span>Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-49267422317570762372010-04-19T06:11:00.010-05:002010-04-19T08:47:04.677-05:00Modern Day Dating Rituals Part III: Online DatingI've been avoiding writing this post, because I had ideas in my head, but wasn't quite sure how to translate them to text. Then I decided the best way to go about it is to just start writing. So that's what I'm doing.<br />
<br />
Today: Modern Day Dating Rituals - Online Dating<br />
<br />
Need to catch up?<br />
Read <a href="http://allearsonme.blogspot.com/2010/03/modern-mating-rituals-part-i.html">Modern Day Mating Rituals Part I: Introduction</a><br />
<a href="http://allearsonme.blogspot.com/2010/03/modern-mating-rituals-part-ii-bar-scene.html">Modern Day Mating Rituals Part II: The Bar Scene</a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEMtgfFEp0jVSPPLqL5X7f_97RHywOeOy7EBXCgawy3L0weDq95MHwwm_GP2tCQj0g9kDC0aVuBSCM6QV7dCxO_XC7bzlSqGdQSz3BOwM5bTKCSPMo82XVj_C5TmcuTC6m5699gpPk8HI/s1600/Online+Dating.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEMtgfFEp0jVSPPLqL5X7f_97RHywOeOy7EBXCgawy3L0weDq95MHwwm_GP2tCQj0g9kDC0aVuBSCM6QV7dCxO_XC7bzlSqGdQSz3BOwM5bTKCSPMo82XVj_C5TmcuTC6m5699gpPk8HI/s320/Online+Dating.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
So, between the end of my relationship with my long-term ex and meeting/becoming infatuated with R, I tried out the whole "online dating" scene. I joined match.com and put together a profile.<br />
<br />
Girls, if you decide to join an online dating site, you probably don't even have to worry about the content of your profile. If you have a picture, the responses will pretty much just roll in. 99% of the unsolicited responses you get will be a no-go. It may be that the guy just physically isn't your type, or you don't think you have much in common, but more likely it will be due to a massive Online Dating Fail.<br />
<br />
What is an Online Dating Fail? Well, it can encompass many things from the initial email through the first several dates... but for now we'll focus on the introductory email. The guys guilty of the Online Dating Fail are the ones that send awkward, uncomfortable, creepy or scary emails and should be avoided at all costs. Lucky for you, I've provided a guide below.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Online Dating Fail: Avoid These Guys</span></b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b>The Date Rapist</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">This guy has probably made a guest appearance on "To Catch a Predator" and has stock in Rohypnol. His initial email is really skeevy, overtly sexual, and overall just yucky. Words suck as "lick" and "suck" should not be included in a first email unless you are talking about taking me out for ice cream.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b>The Desperate Guy</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">He emails you once. Twice. Three times. He asks you out for dinner. Coffee. Movies. Drinks. You have never even responded to his first email, but the emails keep rolling in. "I think I may have clicked the wrong button the last time I tried to email you, so I'll try this again!" Um. You didn't. And please don't.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b>The Intense Guy</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">He wants a commitment. And he wants it yesterday. You may just be his last hope for love! Respond right away and we can begin naming our unborn children!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Finally, the most common offender: <b>The Guy Who Doesn't Read Your Profile</b>. At all. Be prepared to answer questions or reiterate your dating specifications repeatedly, or just do what I did. Don't even respond. How do you spot this guy? 5 easy signs will tip you off to his wily ways.</div><br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Five Signs He Didn't Read Your Profile:</span></b><br />
<br />
<b>5. </b><i><b>The email reads like a form letter. </b></i><br />
<br />
<i></i>It's usually over the top with lavish yet meaningless compliments: something that is completely generic and can be applied to anyone. Usually, this suitor tries to impress you with lame metaphors and promises of 'things chicks like' such as: foot rubs, long walks on the beach, bubble baths, visiting orphanages.... whatever. You can also identify these emails by the excessive use of one or more of the following lame emoticons/ascii pictures:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>Winky face - ;-)</li>
<li>Smoochy face - :-*</li>
<li>Tongue out face - :-P</li>
<li>Heart - <3</li>
<li>Rose - @---}----</li>
</ul><br />
It might read something like the following:<br />
<br />
"Dear female, Your blue/green/brown eyes (circle one) are so beautiful. They remind me of the ocean/a soccer field/the fur of a bison. Your hair is a lovely color and/or texture, and I'd like to spend hours braiding it while sitting under an old oak tree while we nosh on our picnic of exotic cheese and fine wine. I love to give women foot massages and I only worry about pleasing a woman in bed. If you are interested in eating cheese and getting a foot massage while I gaze into your blue/green/brown eyes, please email me back. @--}--- A rose for milady. I eagerly await your reply.<br />
<br />
<3 Your Romeo"<br />
<br />
<b>4. </b><i><b>He asks you questions easily answered by reading y</b></i><i><b>our profile. </b></i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Mentions specifically to your lifestyle, background, likes/dislikes, interests, or hobbies go unnoticed and his email is chock full of questions about these things.<br />
<br />
Example:<br />
<br />
<i>Your profile reads: </i>"I come from a big family - I have 7 brothers and sisters. Having so many siblings really worked out for my parents, as we all joined the circus. My mom was the bearded lady, my brother Judd was the dog-boy and I was a tightrope walker. Random facts about me: I'm allergic to all things red and I hate scary movies."<br />
<br />
<i>His email reads:</i> "Hello! I find you very intriguing. So, do you have any brothers or sisters? I'd really like to take you out sometime. We can go see the latest installment of the SAW movies (so you can cuddle up real close during the scary parts) and we can share some yummy movie candies - do you like Hot Tamales or Swedish Fish better?"<br />
<br />
<b>3. </b><i><b>You have posted a specific age range, and he's not in it.</b></i><br />
<br />
He's out of your target age range, and not by a year or 2. Try 20+. You post an age range of men 23-30, I betcha that over half of your emails are from men over 50. Hey, look, there are 20-somethings that are really into older men, but I'm not one of them. If you could be one of my dad's cohorts, my vagina probably sealed itself up out of pure disgust.<br />
<br />
<b>2.</b><i><b> You live in L.A. and have specified a dating radius of 25-50 miles. He lives in Lebanon.</b></i><br />
<br />
Some people are into the idea of a long-distance relationship for the right person. But unless you have specifically specified as such, why is he wasting your time? Oh right, because he didn't read your profile.<br />
<br />
<b>1. </b><i><b>Your profile mentions that you are a lesbian/republican/Orthodox Greek Christian. You are only interested in other women/like minded republicans/other Orthodox Greeks. He's none. He emails you anyway.</b></i><br />
<br />
Let's say you are a lesbian. Always have been. Always will be. You have no interest in the peen, and you've made this well known. He emails you anyway which could mean that he didn't read your profile or he has no regard for your lifestyle choices. Additionally, he's probably a creep that has a fetish about bedding a lesbian. No dice, dude.<br />
<br />
Now this one never happened to me, because I'm not a lesbian, but I bet it's happened sometime, somewhere, to someone. But the same principal applies to: your religious beliefs, your view on having kids, your political stance etc.<br />
<br />
Of course, once in a while you will be get that rare email from a dude who seems normal enough and asks you relevant questions related to the content of your profile. These are the ones worth exploring. When you do, follow these simple rules:<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Rules for your First Date with your Cyber-mate</b></span><br />
<br />
<b><i>1. Plan to meet in a neutral place</i></b><br />
<br />
Um, I can't stress this enough. Almost every guy I ever met from match.com was non-stalkerish, but I did have one experience that made me thank my lucky stars that I met my date at the restaurant and not at my home.<br />
<br />
<i><b>2. Plan a short date</b></i><br />
<br />
Dinner, drinks, coffee - whatever, but set a time limit on it. If you commit yourself to pre-dinner drinks, followed by dinner, followed by a movie, followed by ice cream? Well, you'll have a tough time extracting yourself mid-date if the guy is a creep. If things go well, you can always tack on another activity on the fly.<br />
<br />
<b><i>3. Avoid sports related or physically challenging dates</i></b><br />
<br />
If you are cool meeting up with your new potential soul mate in gym shorts and a t-shirt, more power to you. But if you are like me, you try to dress to impress for a first date. Therein lies the problem. Going bowling? Great, but don't bother wearing your cute strappy sandals, because you're gonna have to stick your feet into recently deodorized rental shoes. You might also want to take a pass on your sexy low rise jeans. Unless you <i>want</i> to show your date your 7-10 split.<br />
<br />
<b><i>4. Don't get sloppy</i></b><br />
<br />
Keep your wits about you when it comes to the drinking. I've made this mistake more than once. You will either end up leaving yourself vulnerable or you will end up doing something assy and embarrassing.<br />
<br />
<b><i>5. Last but not least, play it cool </i></b><br />
<br />
Say the first date went really well and now you are a smitten kitten. You may have jokingly discussed the "big spoon, little spoon" dynamics of canoodling before bed time, but a small bit of advice? The moment he drives off is NOT the time to text him: <i>"You can be my big spoon anytime. ;)"</i> This may or may not have been based in reality and I may or may not know the culprit of this egregious mistake on a very personal level. In fact, this person may or may not be me. I'll never tell.<br />
<br />
I honestly think every girl should read <a href="http://www.amazon.com/All-Rules-Time-tested-Secrets-Capturing/dp/0446618799/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1271674636&sr=8-1">The Rules</a>. On first read, it seems outdated and old fashioned. I definitely balked at the idea of playing "hard to get," and enticing a man in a game of chase. Refusing to take last minute dates (ie: booty calls), keeping phone calls short and sweet to leave him wanting more... I thought it was kinda BS, and I'm not into mind games. But then I realized it's not so much about mind games or playing hard to get, it's about having respect for yourself and demanding that respect from the men pursuing your attention. It's about having a life of your own and not putting everything on hold while you wait with baited breath for that phone call. If he's waiting until the last minute to ask you out, he's not spontaneous, he just didn't have anything better to do. If he really wants that time with you, he's gonna lock it down ASAP.<br />
<br />
Plus, dudes like girls to have their own lives. Just sayin'<br />
<br />
So, is online dating worth it? Not totally sure, I guess it varies for each person - I never met my soul mate, or even anyone close to it from match.com, but I did meet some cool people. Conversely, I also met some total creeps that luckily provide me enough fodder for an entire post dedicated to weirdos I've gone out with.<br />
<br />
You'll just have to wait for that. Next time is Part IV: Social NetworkingSimply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-18372639387737977642010-04-16T09:55:00.008-05:002010-04-16T10:26:31.394-05:00It Was Just A DreamHey Ya and Shake it Like a Polaroid Picture!<br />
<br />
So, I know that I will have almost no time to blog this weekend because R's brother and sister in law are coming to visit. So I'm gonna make this a short and sweet entry to tide you over until Monday so you don't miss me too much. <br />
<br />
Have you ever had a dream that seemed so real that when you wake up, you could swear it was real?<br />
<br />
I'm lucky (or unlucky) enough to remember almost all the dreams I have. Well there must be a crossed wire or two up there because I never have good dreams, only nightmares. They usually play out one of two scenarios: Either someone is trying to kill me or I'm having a knock down drag out fight with a loved one. Sometimes both. <br />
<br />
For about 2 years in college, I had recurring dreams in which Hannibal Lecter was trying to kill/eat me. In one such dream, he had cloned himself and all of his clones had invaded my sorority house looking for me. In another, Hannibal had me cornered on the shoulder of a very busy expressway. He kept trying to push me into traffic, and when I'd put up my hands to block him, he would try to eat my hand. So I had the choice of being hit by a car or eaten alive. I think given the choice, I would choose the car. <br />
<br />
To this day, if I saw Anthony Hopkins in real life, I would need me a pair of <a HREF=http://www.nbc.com/saturday-night-live/video/oops-i-crapped-my-pants/1049485/> "Oops I Crapped My Pants"</a> brand adult diapers.<br />
<br />
So anyway, last night I dreamt that I found out that R was cheating on me. That bastard. We got into a huge fight at my childhood home and I was smashing vases and plates in the kitchen. Then I punched R. <br />
<br />
Meanwhile in the land of reality, R was leaving for work at the ungodly hour of 5 am. He leaned over to kiss me goodbye and woke me up. I looked at him and backed away, staring daggers at him. Then I almost punched him. Luckily I realized it was only a dream before I took action. I was super pissed when I woke up because the dream felt that real. <br />
<br />
How come I can't just have happy or sexy dreams like most normal people?<br />
<br />
Happy weekend everyone! Stay out of trouble!Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-64274304213325289252010-04-15T00:37:00.004-05:002010-04-15T01:07:46.842-05:00Whiners are Weiners<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_7fNSgpIHKpI4JSDD2I6nEHAIJIeSsOIuNNXmfnpGX-bheNlbrfqBZnnplBRIoNHp0v3KlM3cqTwYzKqFfdB36uEsdQppmwJXGxEVaBuApXNlr6UCR06K2ruj5MJbkxzgMEsb1KuhRwQ/s1600/self-esteem-is-awesome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_7fNSgpIHKpI4JSDD2I6nEHAIJIeSsOIuNNXmfnpGX-bheNlbrfqBZnnplBRIoNHp0v3KlM3cqTwYzKqFfdB36uEsdQppmwJXGxEVaBuApXNlr6UCR06K2ruj5MJbkxzgMEsb1KuhRwQ/s320/self-esteem-is-awesome.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I originally had intentions to use blog as an opportunity to vent about certain aspects of my job that make me want to gouge my eye out with a teaspoon, but the more I thought about it, the more I felt like this isn't the place for that. This is my happy place and I don't want to contaminate it with all that negativity. But hey, if you are a complete masochist and you actually want to read a 30+ page manifesto about everything that is fucked up with the company I work for, shoot me an email and I'll be happy to indulge you :)<br />
<br />
So, after I had that profound moment of maturity (doesn't happen too often...) I logged on to the 'book and browsed the activity on my newsfeed. I saw this:<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Kayleigh I am not aloud to complain for a month. No thinking complaints, not speaking complaints and no being around people who do. If I complain, or have a complaint tosay I have to also come up with a solution so that it will no longer be one. I challange EVERYONE to do it with me. Lets be different ♥</blockquote><a name='more'></a><br />
Ok, typos aside, I think it's actually not a bad idea. Then I perused the rest of the newsfeed and saw a lot of the same: "I wish I didn't have to work," "I feel overwhelmed," "FML," "Flight got delayed..." and I realized how many people complain via status updates. It doesn't really bother me, everyone is entitled to complain sometimes, but there are always those chronic complainers. I've actually unfriended someone because I couldn't stand her constant pity party.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I thought about the "challange" presented to Kayleigh and I started thinking that maybe I need to give this a try, but take it one step further than complaints about daily living: "I'm tired," "I'm hungry," and begin applying this to my Quarter Life Crisis dilemma.<br />
<br />
Instead of constantly complaining about my job, I think it's time to take steps to improve my current situation or look for a new opportunity that excites me. I'm lucky enough to have a 3 month contract available to me at any of our company's offices across the country, several here in Chicago.<br />
<br />
Well, I'm about 6 weeks out from the end of my current contract and I definitely think it's time for me to move on from my current office. I've started complaining a hell of a lot more since I started here a year ago and I've lost all motivation to do more than the bare minimum for my job. A lot of this has to do with the <i>individuals</i> at my office and not the company as a whole. The energy at this office is very negative. I've had this "burnt out" feeling since around October and I have a miniature heart attack every time the office number appears on my caller ID for fear that it is our director on the other line. She's scary and mean. Picture a Liza Minelli look-alike with a tough Brooklyn accent and a penchant for screaming at people. Now you understand why my heart stops every time my phone rings. So for me, that's a surefire sign that it's time to move on.<br />
<br />
Right now I have 2 choices:<br />
<br />
<b>Move to another office</b><br />
<br />
There is an existing opening at another office in the Chicagoland area, and if I want it, it is mine.<br />
<br />
Pros:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>Excellent salary</li>
<li>The job is available as long as I want/need it</li>
<li>Autonomy/Ability to make my own schedule</li>
<li>Short term contracts - I can leave whenever my contract expires</li>
<li>I could use the extra 3, 6, 9 months, depending on how many times I decide to renew my contract, to search for my ultimate "dream job." </li>
<li>I could use the extra time to take some continuing education classes or prepare for a clinical specialist examination to make myself more marketable to the type of job I might actually want.</li>
</ul>Cons:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>Long commute - the new agency is 50+ miles away</li>
<li>No passion for my current setting - I feel like my clinical skills, my 7 years of school, and my 6 figures worth of debt in student loans are going to waste.</li>
<li>Having to do a lot of extra leg-work, not normally done by someone in my position.</li>
<li>Having to continue in a job where weekly staff meetings consist of the office staff screaming at the field staff about how shitty their job is...for 4 hours. (Things <i>may</i> be different at the other office, but I won't know until I get there)</li>
</ul><br />
<br />
My other choice?<br />
<br />
<b>Get a totally new job</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
Pros:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>I could choose a setting that I actually find interesting and will challenge me to use my critical thinking, problem solving, and clinical skills better.</li>
<li>I may not feel "burnt out" all the time</li>
<li>I may stop having a mini-heart attack every time I see the office number on my caller ID</li>
</ul><br />
Cons:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>I will have to take a major pay-cut - no matter what other job I take, my pay will likely decrease by 30-50%</li>
<li>Taking a pay cut will hinder my ability to pay down my student loans faster</li>
<li>I may not find my "dream job" right off the bat and I may have to settle for something sub-par just to pay the bills (isn't that what I'm already doing?)</li>
</ul>So that's where I am right now in my decision process. Truthfully, I'm leaning towards renewing the contract for the other office because I figure that even if I end up hating it, it's only 13 weeks and I can look for something better in the mean time.<br />
<br />
So good people of the interweb, I ask you this:<br />
<br />
When it comes to your career, which is more important - an extremely well paying job or a job that you are passionate about?<br />
<br />
Me? I came out of graduate school as an idealist. I remember telling my mom, "I would never take a job that I didn't enjoy just for the money."<br />
<br />
And then the economy took a massive shit and jobs in my field in my geographical location suddenly became very sparse. This job just kind of fell into my lap like a little miracle to solve my financial woes.<br />
<br />
I'm such a sellout.<br />
<br />
Sellout or not, this job has helped me pay my rent, my bills, it has filled my fridge, put clothes on my back and shoes on my feet, and it has provided the means to medical care and veterinary care for me and A. Aside from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ogQ0uge06o">the bare necessities, the simple bare necessities</a>, it's also afforded me some nice "extras." I've been able to take fun vacations and as I mentioned, I've had the ability to pay down my student loans at a much faster rate. Just how much faster? Well, by November 2010, 2.5 years after graduation, I will have eliminated $50K worth of student loans. 2.5 years instead of 20? That's a lot of interest saved. Granted I'll still have $100K to go, but it's enough to make a dent.<br />
<br />
So, today I resolve to stop complaining about my job and take steps to achieve my goals. I will have to understand that sometimes you can't have it all - I may have to settle for less money and a job I like more, or I may have to accept the sacrifice of taking the bigger paycheck and enjoying my job less.<br />
<br />
My mom always says "Nothing is permanent," so I think I just have to keep that in mind as I continue to navigate my QLC.<br />
<br />
Anyway, if you made it this far, I congratulate you. I understand that not everyone is deeply concerned with the minute ins and outs of my day (unless they are hilarious), but occasionally you just have to get things down on paper (screen) to put them in perspective. Goodnight, loves!Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-65850906504297644862010-04-12T21:49:00.003-05:002010-05-27T19:30:35.251-05:00Opening Day, Public Transporation, iPad, Googleholics Anonymous and Other Assorted Seemingly Unrelated Topics... But They Are!Opening Day, Public Transporation, iPad, Googleholics Anonymous and Other Assorted Seemingly Unrelated Topics... But They Are!<br />
<br />
How's that for a long-ass title to get us rolling today? Suck on that, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0116126/"><span style="color: #2b26ee; text-decoration: underline;">"Don't be a Menace To South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood!"</span></a><br />
<br />
So, hey. Have you missed me? I hope I still have a few readers after dropping off the grid for a few weeks. I'm not flaky, I swear. The truth is, my life has been kind of boring for the last few weeks. Not that I'm complaining. Sometimes I need a little boring from time to time, but the down side is that I've been blocked for weeks. Nothing interesting happening = no blog topics worth writing about. I will continue with my Modern Day Mating Rituals postings soon, but I need to get back into the groove of writing, thus you have a random mish-mash post about the happenings of my day. Lucky you, eh?<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
So, it's baseball season. I love it. There's something about the atmosphere, the energy in the air, that goes along with a baseball game. America's favorite pastime, indeed. Beer, bleachers, tailgates, and of course... the game itself: I love these things. I even have a soft spot in my heart for all the obnoxious (charming) drunks stumbling around the parking lot after the game.<br />
<br />
If you've read me regularly, you may know that I live in close vicinity of Wrigley Field, putting us steps away from hundreds of bars, restaurants, beer gardens, and the hub of nightlife activity for 20 somethings: Clark Street. It's great, I wouldn't choose to live elsewhere.<br />
<br />
But to every silver lining there must be a cloud, no?<br />
<br />
Well to live in such a desirable location, we have to make a few small sacrifices.<br />
<br />
Being that we are so close to the stadium, we are also right smack dab in the middle of the mob of Cubs fans devoted to packing the stadium for every home game. I am not a Cubs fan (Go Sox), but I will admit that they have some fiercely loyal fans. No World Series win in over 100 years? No matter, "Maybe next year," is the Cubs' fan motto.<br />
<br />
The massive influx of cars and bodies during a game leave a sad shortage of street parking near my apartment. Sucks, but I've learned to deal with it. Mainly, I just don't move my car before/during/after a game. Ever.<br />
<br />
I still have plans to purchase a Vespa this summer to be able to zip about town without taking my car, but in the meantime I need to find a suitable alternative to get me to/from my job. Well, luckily Chicago has a great public transportation system, so I can hop on the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chicago_%27L%27">"el"</a><br />
<br />
So, today I opted for the el, in lieu of traffic and hours of hunting for a parking spot.<br />
<br />
Now, I'm no stranger to the public transportation system here, but still, every time I step foot on a train or bus I have a momentary panic attack.<br />
<br />
<i>"What if I have the wrong change?"</i><br />
<br />
<i>"What if I lose my transit card?"</i><br />
<br />
<i>"What if I accidentally put my transit card in backwards and try to step through the turnstile only to get violently banged in the crotch</i> (twss) <i>and everyone laughs at me?"</i>Never happened to me, don't know what you're talking about.<br />
<br />
So when I finally overcome my crippling fears about using my transit card correctly, I can just hop on the train, take a seat, and do all the things I can't do while driving - read a book or magazine, finish paperwork, or my personal fave - surf "the net" by way of my iPhone.<br />
<br />
While sitting on the train, reading through my round of favorite websites, I realized just how many people were around me. Now, I may sound like a paranoid tinfoil hat-wearing old lady, but I fiercely guard my privacy when using the internet/email on my iPhone in public. It's not that I'm looking at anything scandalous, mind you, I just have an irrational fear of judgement from strangers.<br />
<br />
This thought process got me thinking about Apple's most recent must-have gadget for the people that jerk off to pictures of Steve Jobs and the Apple II at night. I mean Apple enthusiasts... (As I write this on my MacBook). The iPad!<br />
<br />
I know it's probably been said before, but when I hear the name "iPad" I can only think of a high tech feminine hygiene product. Ew.<br />
<br />
Awkward name aside, the iPad is essentially an iPod Touch for those with giant man-hands.<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/bSL4cmFW_GU&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/bSL4cmFW_GU&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
<br />
With your man hands (or regular sized hands, if you prefer) you can read books online, check your email, surf the net with much larger text. This is very convenient. For the people around you. Bigger text = easier for people to read over your shoulder.<br />
<br />
Again, I'm not looking at anything overtly scandalous, but I must admit.... I have a problem.<br />
<br />
Hello. My name is Simply T and I'm a Googleholic.<br />
<br />
The concept of the iPad is problematic for me because I am curious by nature, and I want to know about a lot of random things. So I google. Yes, I google. And I google... um... pretty much everything, including topics that strangers might find a bit strange.<br />
<br />
Do I want strangers knowing that I am googling "How to make a shrunken head?" Absolutely not. But, there's no hiding your voodoo curiosities with the iPad! That's just one of a multitude of embarrassing google searches. Don't believe me? Below you will find a list of my recent google searches that would have mortified me in public.<br />
<br />
You be the judge. Am I just paranoid or would you totally judge a person if you watched them google these things? In public no less.<br />
<br />
<b>Simply T's Simply Weird Google Searches</b><br />
<br />
"Man hands"<br />
<i>In order to locate the above Seinfeld YouTube video</i><br />
<br />
"Vegan Lucky Charms"<br />
<i>I miss those little marshmallows, yo</i><br />
<br />
"Lindsay Lohan Mean Girls Nintendo DS"<br />
<i>To understand why, read this </i><a href="http://thesuperficial.com/2010/04/lindsay_lohan_no_longer_exists.php"><i>snippet</i></a><br />
<br />
"Wink Response Test"<br />
<i>I watched a crappy Law and Order: SVU style TV movie. They mentioned this in one of the depositions. I wasn't sure what it was, so I googled it. I was lead to this page </i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anal_wink"><i>Anal Wink</i></a><i> It's pretty much exactly what it sounds like.</i><br />
<br />
"How to solve a Rubik's Cube"<br />
<i>When I was a kid, I efficiently solved this by peeling off the colored stickers and placing them back on in the correct formation. I was curious how to solve it for real. Then my brain exploded when I tried to read a "simple" explanation.</i><br />
<br />
"How to tightrope walk"<br />
<i>I've always wanted to know!</i><br />
<br />
"Panty vending machines"<br />
<i>Again, watching another Law and Order: SVU type show. They were hunting down a panty fetish-ist. One of the detectives mentioned that they have vending machines in Asian countries for used women's underwear. I didn't believe this was a real thing, so I googled it. Natch. It appears to be true. Weird. And creepy.</i><br />
<br />
"Demi Moore bush"<br />
<i>Okay. I realize that I sound a complete pervert sicko right now, but if you watch the show <a href="http://www.comedycentral.com/tosh.0/">Tosh.0</a>, he recently dispensed instructions to the audience on how to reach this old-skool picture of Demi Moore with an epic, massive, wooly-mammoth, brillo pad on 'roids, bush. Was I curious to see what all the hubbub is about? Heck yes. You know you would be, too. In fact, you are so curious, you are totally going to google it now. I'll save you the trouble. Here is the </i><a href="http://www.hatersbehatin.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/demi-bush.jpg"><i>link</i></a><i>, Completely, unequivocally, NSFW and just remember: there are some things you can't un-see.</i><br />
<br />
"Demi Moore bush real or fake?"<br />
<i>After seeing that "fur-kini" as someone on a message board so eloquently put it, I just HAD to know if it was real or photoshopped. Apparently it is, indeed, real. From the pages of a French magazine, evidently.</i><br />
<br />
"What happens after they destroy the car on America's Worst Driver?"<br />
<i>This has been driving me crazy since I started watching this show. If you haven't seen it, the premise is that 4 individuals have been nominated by family and friends as their respective city's worst driver. They must handle a series of driving tests to avoid being labeled "Chicago's Worst Driver" - or Miami, San Francisco, wherever the show is being hosted that week. At the end, the person who loses must watch their car be destroyed... blown up, run over by monster truck, whatever.</i><br />
<i>I just have a hard time believing that these people allow the producers to destroy their car and go uncompensated. I want to know, do they get a new car? A new car and driving lessons? A bus pass? What!? I MUST KNOW!!!! This one remains unsolved.</i><br />
<br />
"How to make my quad muscles smaller"/"How to make my calf muscles smaller"<br />
<i>In stark contrast to my wimpy arms, I have fairly muscular legs. I am actually relatively happy with my legs, but I'm always jealous of the wispy, lean, dancer legs that some women have (Read: Supermodels).</i><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR3WqvO44taRyTwBfg5aLrYWAJsIH9PK34i4pHS3QIz7xG-ZDSRo-VvxHSAWFJK5kEMYzOUgC-xrP1H3tE1YP3NmzIcI9vXBLOdVmAXrmRieJPvS2fzXp8xI4S6P0uLDAuCqHvVZDDFKI/s1600/6208_905119246630_1904122_51837341_7861025_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR3WqvO44taRyTwBfg5aLrYWAJsIH9PK34i4pHS3QIz7xG-ZDSRo-VvxHSAWFJK5kEMYzOUgC-xrP1H3tE1YP3NmzIcI9vXBLOdVmAXrmRieJPvS2fzXp8xI4S6P0uLDAuCqHvVZDDFKI/s320/6208_905119246630_1904122_51837341_7861025_n.jpg" width="239" /></a><br />
<br />
<i>Yes, that actually is me. See, my legs are cute, but how do I make them look like </i><a href="http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/thumb_315/1222615040EzkwPh.jpg"><i>this</i></a><i>? And furthermore, how do I get my ass to look like that? A fruitless attempt, I'm sure, but I wanted to know if someone on the inter-web knew something I didn't know.</i><br />
<br />
And last, but not least, I'll leave you with this final thought. Remember the TV show Small Wonder? Remember the little robot girl, Vicki? She was played by an actress named Tiffany Brissette... well, I was curious..."<a href="http://www.google.com/search?client=safari&rls=en&q=what+happened+to+tiffany+brissette&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8">What Happened To Tiffany Brissette?</a>"<br />
<br />
Much like the mysterious <a href="http://www.tootsie.com/comp_faq.php">number of licks to get to the center of a tootsie pop</a>, the world may never know...Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-9080152563954823922010-03-25T20:42:00.004-05:002010-03-25T20:52:58.199-05:00Modern Mating Rituals Part II: The Bar Scene<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: center;">Part II: The Bar Scene<br />
Need to catch up? Read <a href="http://allearsonme.blogspot.com/2010/03/modern-mating-rituals-part-i.html">Part I: Introduction</a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju2lMVzdjX0G5wwzH6vC0BGH-0ZKuhVFpQjvqQ1ot22I-qMbqtYmpVrMSnroJjQP_hebfrdhINqNfXXbyRBBWY31Pp1m1FLnpeZ1bnxQ10honYZZrMyFH6cerkd3l6QmwnwyKLkCSkblE/s1600-h/plain_lame_pick_up_lines.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju2lMVzdjX0G5wwzH6vC0BGH-0ZKuhVFpQjvqQ1ot22I-qMbqtYmpVrMSnroJjQP_hebfrdhINqNfXXbyRBBWY31Pp1m1FLnpeZ1bnxQ10honYZZrMyFH6cerkd3l6QmwnwyKLkCSkblE/s320/plain_lame_pick_up_lines.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">We begin our magical journey into the world of dating with the traditional bar scene. You know how it goes. Single men and women packed body-to-body into a loud bar, add some pumpin' bass and alcohol to the mix, and you have yourself the perfect recipe for romance. Or at least a hookup.<br />
<br />
At the bar scene, it's generally the guy's responsibility to pursue and impress the females. Not really fair, I agree, but that's the way it is. I have no problem approaching a guy I think is cute and telling him, "I'm not sure if you can tell, but I am BLATANTLY hitting on you." Too vague? Eh. But not all girl's may feel bold enough to do that, so guys the ball is in your court. You want to make a good impression. You don't want to look like an idiot. But, how?<br />
<br />
It's really not too complicated. But there are definitely things you should, and should not do when approaching a young lady in the bar.<br />
<br />
Let's cover the basics in bar pick-up etiquette.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">DO</span></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b>Be respectful:</b> Don't roll all up on the shawty like, "Daaayyyuuum girl, yo ass is foiiiin!" because it's disrepectful. And it's not 1994 anymore. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b>Make her laugh:</b> And not in the "I just made an ass out of myself" way. First impressions are everything, and if you get a good laugh out of the girl, you're pretty much golden. Just don't ruin it by being creepy.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b>Be a gentleman:</b> Show her that you are attentive to her wants/needs.</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i>Example:</i> A guy was chatting up my friend M at the bar and he offered to buy her a drink. She accepted, and asked him for a vodka and sprite. A few minutes later, he returns with her drink.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
<b>Guy:</b> Here, I bought you a drink. I didn't know what kind of garnish you wanted, so I got you all of them.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">He presents her with a vodka and sprite with a cherry, lemon, lime, orange wedge, onion and even an olive. I'm not sure if he was intentionally trying to be funny, but it made her (and the rest of us) laugh and she spent the rest of the night talking to him.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b>Just be real, no gimmicks: T<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">here's always the old fall back. Introduce yourself and ask if you can buy her a drink. If she accepts, she'll probably stick around to chat a while. If she accepts and leaves, she's a bitch. Forget about her.</span></b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Now, what are some sure fire ways to blow your chances?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">DON'T</span></b></div></div><br />
<b>Be creepy: </b>Do I even need to explain this? Yes? Ok, don't stare at her. Don't be a "close talker." Don't tell her that you are pretty much in love with her. Don't ask her how many kids she wants and when. Don't ask what her summer plans are when it is December and invite her to hang out on your parent's house-boat. And unless you have permission, don't take a picture of the two of you with your camera phone or digital camera. And really don't take a picture of JUST her. No. No. No. Just No.<br />
<br />
<b>Touch:</b> Do not touch unless you are given permission. This especially applies to ass grabbing. That is so not cool. Usually if someone grabs my ass I will stomp on their foot and demand an apology. I usually get it, too. If you do get the go-ahead for a hug, do not feel her up and hold on to the her for an inappropriate length of time. Because then you just violated the no creeps rule.<br />
<br />
<b>Talk about yourself too much:</b> This actually applies to the ladies, as well. If I wanted to know your life story, I'd read your blog... err, what? Basically, if you're not asking about her, she will assume you are a self-absorbed douche bag. And you probably are.<br />
<br />
<i>And most importantly,</i><br />
<b>DON'T LINGER!</b> If you are getting the vibe that she's not into this action, gracefully make your exit. "Well, it was nice talking to you, I've gotta get back to my friends. Maybe I'll see you around," usually works. But don't stand there all awkward for all of eternity while she gradually ups the ante of her pick-up rejection methods. It won't be pretty, and it hurts us more than it hurts you. No, that's not true, but sometimes it takes a little shock to snap a clueless guy out of it.<br />
<br />
So, how do you know she's not into it? How do you know when to move on? Lucky for you I have compiled a list.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
<b>Guys, it's time to move on if...</b><br />
1. The target is avoiding eye contact, turning her body away from you, inching away, giving sideways glances to her friends, mouthing the words "HELP ME" to her friends... you get the picture.<br />
2. The target gives you one word answers and smiles and nods politely to the things you have to say.<br />
3. The target says she has a boyfriend. True or not, she don't want none of the junk in your trunk. So move on.<br />
<br />
If you have moved on by now, congratulations, you're not oblivious to the signs. You may pass GO and you may collect $200.<br />
<br />
If not, the target may become somewhat irritated and will feel the need to raise the bar and display more obvious signs that your company is not desired. Like what? Again, I've compiled a list.<br />
<br />
<b>Guys, it's time to move on when:</b><br />
1. The target starts tapping her foot or fingers impatiently.<br />
2. The target repeatedly checks her watch.<br />
3. The target is text messaging while you are trying to converse with her.<br />
4. The target rolls her eyes or acts exasperated when having to answer your questions.<br />
5. The target accepts any excuse to leave the conversation - "I cut my foot earlier and my shoe is filling up with blood."<br />
<br />
If you don't get it by now, then you kind of deserve what's coming your way next...<br />
<br />
<b>Guys, it's time to move on, no, run for the hills if:</b><br />
1. The target begins calling you names.<br />
2. The target begins making out with someone, anyone, in front of you.<br />
3. The target loudly questions your sexuality/manhood loudly in front of the rest of the bar patrons.<br />
4. The target pushes you down a set of stairs<br />
5. Talks loudly on her cell phone about "some ugly jackass who won't leave me alone."<br />
<br />
At this point, the she is not being "cute and scrappy." She just really, really wants you to leave. But, you know, some men are just masochists. They continue to cling to that fabricated thread of hope. At this point you may witness a girl's last ditch effort. Each girl has a different way of going about this, but she'll do <i>anything</i>, no matter how weird/gross/mean/vulgar in an attempt to turn him off and basically crush his spirits. No one wants to get to this point, but sadly, it happens on occasion.<br />
<br />
<b>Examples</b><b>:</b><br />
1. Picking your nose and wipe it on the guy's face. Repeatedly.<br />
2. Picking his nose and wipe it on his face. Repeatedly.<br />
3. Using a lot of foul language. Make every second word the f word.<br />
4. Talking about your period and/or tampons.<br />
5. Mentioning that you recently went off the pill. Then crossing both of your fingers and giving a squeal and a wide grin.<br />
6. Showing him your hands if your <a href="http://allearsonme.blogspot.com/2010/02/manswers-dude-looks-like-lady.html">index finger is shorter than your ring finger.</a><br />
7. Telling him you think you saw him on an episode of "To Catch A Predator."<br />
<br />
Still interested at this point? Well, you are either a very sick person, or you have some fetishes that I do not want to know about.<br />
<br />
I have had to use a few last ditch efforts only once and I felt pretty crappy about it, but I'd employed all the more polite methods to no avail.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
Have I picked my nose and wiped it on a guy's face? Yes.<br />
Have I picked HIS nose and forced him to eat it. Um. Yes.<br />
Have I told him he looked like someone I saw on an episode of To Catch A Predator and then refused to apologize? Yup.<br />
<br />
Did any of that stop him from continuing to pursue me NO...<br />
So, I pulled out all of the stops when he returned from the bathroom and I pretended not to know who he was. "Sorry, it must have been someone else you were talking to. Bye!"<br />
<br />
He looked so sad and confused, like a lost puppy. I'm going straight to hell. Karma is definitely going to bite me in the ass for that one.<br />
<br />
Why not just say, "I'm sorry, but I'm just not interested?" Well, for the especially clueless guy, it's pretty much in one ear and out the other.<br />
<br />
And Ladies? Sometimes it's ok to approach a guy you think is cute. You're in a bar, and chances are you will never see him again if you get rejected. Hell, he may even be drunk enough that he won't remember. But don't act all slutty. Being sexy is ok, but if you find yourself deep throating...pretty much anything... in public, you're not acting sexy, you're acting slutty.<br />
<br />
And guys, don't act like cocky a-holes. And put your collar down. It's not 2004.<br />
<br />
That should pretty much cover it. Anything I missed? Questions? <a href="mailto:allearsonme@gmail.com">Holla atcha girl</a>!!!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Next time: Part III: Online Dating Sites</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div>Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-31483975007003382352010-03-21T22:47:00.008-05:002010-03-21T23:14:38.453-05:00Modern Mating Rituals Part I: Introduction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuFVAN6DJ23DcC4tMQguAi0D_EvRIOJlhF2YGlGrmQZSDXTO_9lpy0zxttgb2XwLOXSKGUWWQ3Do79b9xVhMLPhf8lTddAHP1D7XBtRYP7tV8tPconLOcAR0pYAV32OeLrX0CNOPX3-8w/s1600-h/monkeys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuFVAN6DJ23DcC4tMQguAi0D_EvRIOJlhF2YGlGrmQZSDXTO_9lpy0zxttgb2XwLOXSKGUWWQ3Do79b9xVhMLPhf8lTddAHP1D7XBtRYP7tV8tPconLOcAR0pYAV32OeLrX0CNOPX3-8w/s320/monkeys.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I've been a lazy blogger, forgive me.<br />
<br />
For a while I've been planning to share some of the more ridiculous scenarios I experienced while being single. I'm just now finally getting around to it, and there were enough weird stories that occurred during the 18 months between my long-term college boyfriend and R that I decided to make this, not one post, but a <i>series</i> of blog posts which I am going to call, "Modern Mating Rituals."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Part I: Introduction</b> </div>Before we get to the down and dirty, I have to preface this series with a brief introduction to my dating background and my philosophy on choosing a potential date. Basically, what motivates me to choose one male specimen over another.<br />
<br />
Over the next several days I'll also explore the bar scene, online dating sites, and online networking sites and how they function as the modern day forum for hookups, much like the rainforest is to humping red-butted monkeys.<br />
<br />
It's been about 3 years since I've actually had to deal with "the singles scene," and I can honestly say that I don't miss it. But before R came around, I was deeply entrenched in the scene for a few years. I had gotten over a rough break-up and I was kind of anxious to fill the void in companionship that my ex had left when we split, and at the age of 22 I hadn't been single for any significant period of time. I had a lot of single girl behavior to take part in, so I tried it all - meeting dudes in bars, subscribing to match.com for a few months, and I'm even ashamed to admit... virtual flirting via Facebook and Myspace.<br />
<br />
I made the most of those 18 months. Through the above-mentioned methods I had a ton of first dates, about a handful of 2nd dates, and exactly one 3rd date.<br />
<br />
Why so few 2nd and 3rd dates? Well, I operate in this manner: on first glance I know whether or not I am attracted to someone. If I don't find someone attractive right off the bat, I never will, regardless of how funny or cool they may be. No physical attraction? Sorry, you are in the friend zone forever.<br />
<br />
My biggest problem in finding someone to date is this: I can be kind of picky. I just have this annoying habit of picking out the one or many miniscule things about a person that irritate me or turn me off and get hyper-focused on those traits. And let's face it, no one is perfect. Some people find that mole or butt-chin charming or quirky. Not me. I just find it annoying. And that freckle or gap in your teeth has the potential to turn me off forever. And furthermore, I refuse to lead someone on or waste my time or anyone else's. No attraction? No chemistry? No second date. Probably 85% of my first dates fell into this category.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Example: I once couldn't date a guy because his name was Larry. The name just didn't do it for me. I couldn't date another guy because his earlobes were too thick. And I felt skeevy about another guy because his hands were the exact same size as mine. Ick. No second date for you, Larry.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Okay, so let's say someone makes it to a second date. They have passed the preliminary tests and now their personality has to jive with mine. Doesn't always happen. And again, I take a no nonsense approach to dating, so no third date if we don't click by the second date.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">One guy made it to the third date, there may have actually been a potential relationship there, but he subsequently moved out of town and I wasn't going to do that whole long distance thing. Until I met R. If you are really interested, you can read the whole story <a href="http://allearsonme.blogspot.com/p/my-life-in-short.html">here</a>.</div><br />
So, in the next several posts, I will discuss the typical pick-ups and mating rituals you can observe in our modern day dating jungle. I'll also be sharing some of the more hilarious, weird, creepy experiences I had while I was single. And there were a LOT of them, since I seem to be a weirdo magnet.<br />
<br />
Next Time: The Bar SceneSimply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-31868939372979812852010-03-15T18:25:00.001-05:002010-03-15T18:26:24.174-05:00Commercials, I Hate You. Thank God for DVR.Why, Gilbert Gottfried? Why? Why do you do this to me?<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; white-space: pre;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/SltsgYuSHrw&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/SltsgYuSHrw&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span><br />
<br />
So apparently that's not his real voice? Then why continue subjecting us to that voice??<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; white-space: pre;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/EdbElWMnkyY&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/EdbElWMnkyY&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 10px; white-space: pre;"><br />
</span></span><br />
And in the non-Gilbert Gottfried world, this commercial actually GIVES me a headache. Clever marketing ploy, you.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; white-space: pre;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Is3icfcbmbs&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Is3icfcbmbs&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span></span>Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-453577535639700352010-03-13T00:15:00.001-06:002010-03-13T00:24:28.654-06:00Buckets of Fun<div style="text-align: left;">Remember that super creepy children's game, Mr. Bucket? Yeah, well here he is.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/JEWQRr6T-_g&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/JEWQRr6T-_g&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 10px; white-space: pre;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Yeah. Someone in the advertising department should have been fired for that one. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Balls pop out of his mouth. Yup, they actually went there.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Listen, parents. Mr. Bucket is a scary sexual predator, coming in through your open windows to get your kids to put their balls in his top. Don't buy into it. And call Dateline's "To Catch A Predator."</div><div><br />
</div><div>So this is Mr. Bucket. I am going to kick him.... someday. In the meantime, I've made a list. And checked it twice. And now I'm checking things off.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Behold, my bucket list:</div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Simply T's Bucket List</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b>1. Train for a marathon or half-marathon</b> - I was a high school cross country runner and kept running recreationally through college and grad school, but I've never pushed myself for the long distance running. I've started training programs for a half marathon 4 times. And each time I have injured my knee to the point of being unable to run... or walk. Last summer it was a bone bruise. I don't think I'll check this one off just yet, because I still have residual pain in that knee. It may just have to wait until after I ruin my knees completely and ultimately need total knee replacements. Sigh. </span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b>Status:</b> Back burner. </span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div></div><div><b>2. Learn to breakdance</b> - I start a breakdance class tomorrow. It should be interesting... I'm kind of awkward. Soon, you can call me B-Girl T. That sounds way too much like BLT for my liking. </div><div><b><br />
</b></div><div><b>Status:</b> In progress.</div><div><br />
</div><div><b>3. Learn to skateboard</b> - I decided that I am going to teach myself to skateboard this summer. I already know how to snowboard, and while it's not totally the same it's in the same family. Prepare for some hilarious Emergency Room stories when I start this one. </div><div><b><br />
</b></div><div><b>Status:</b> Pending.</div><div><br />
</div><div><b>4. Learn to beatbox</b> - I don't know why this seems so cool to me. But it does. I wants. But I honestly have no idea how to go about beginning. Maybe I'll meet some beat boxers in my break dance class. </div><div><b><br />
</b></div><div><b>Status:</b> Undecided.</div><div><br />
</div><div><b>5. Learn to play the violin:</b> I played the flute and piano as a child. I was pretty good, but it never struck my fancy. I've always admired violin players. This may be on tap this summer. </div><div><b><br />
</b></div><div><b>Status: </b>Pending.</div><div><b><br />
</b></div><div><b>6. Learn some awesome snowboarding tricks: </b>On my way to this one. I can jump, but I have yet to try jibbing a rail or even any mid-air turns... I have, however, have headbutted a mountain. I truly thought I'd broken my nose. I didn't cry, I just looked up and said, "Is my nose bleeding?" This bodes well for this goal, as it will take a "no fear" "balls to the wall" attitude to accomplish. So...</div><div><b><br />
</b></div><div><b>Status:</b> In progress.</div><div><b><br />
</b></div><div><b>7. Learn to speak spanish:</b> Oh boy. Here's the thing. I'm Puerto Rican. My mother was born in Puerto Rico and her first language was Spanish. But she wanted my brother and I to be completely fluent in English and believed that speaking to us in both languages would ultimately confuse us and force us into Spanglish. I've never heard of such a silly thing. Kids pick up languages so easily, and now I think I'm going to have a really hard time with it. I sucked at French in high school. Why didn't I take Spanish? Because my mom wanted me to and I wanted to do the opposite of anything she wanted me to do. Kids. </div><div><b><br />
</b></div><div><b>Status:</b> Undecided.</div><div><br />
</div><div><b>Travel to Australia and Hawaii:</b> God. I want to go there so bad. Not sure when I will, but one of those may end up being a honeymoon destination. The other? Definitely before I have kids. I figure that gives me about 9 or 10 years? Totally doable. </div><div><b><br />
</b></div><div><b>Status: </b>Undecided.</div><div><br />
</div><div><div>So there it is. My bucket list.</div><div><br />
</div><div>And now for you: Do you have a bucket list? What things are on your list and how do you plans to accomplish them?</div></div></div>Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-89555802363265460952010-03-11T14:17:00.007-06:002010-03-11T14:47:07.637-06:00TMI Thursday: Bathroom Wars - Men Vs. Women<div style="text-align: center;">Subtitled: Who's More Disgusting?</div><br />
<i>***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!**</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/category/tmi-thursday" target="_blank"><img alt="TMI Thursday" border="0" src="http://i556.photobucket.com/albums/ss5/Livitluvit/tmithursday.jpg" /></a><br />
<a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/category/tmi-thursday" target="_blank"></a><br />
<a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/category/tmi-thursday" target="_blank"></a></div><br />
It's Thursday, and since I deprived you of a TMI Thursday last week, I knew I was due for one this week. I struggle with deciding on the best story to share with you all on a weekly basis. So, in order to provide variety, the spice of life, to my readers I got all introspective and shit and looked back at the topics of my past TMI Thursdays - <a href="http://allearsonme.blogspot.com/2010/02/tmi-thursday-242009.html">pooping in public</a>, <a href="http://allearsonme.blogspot.com/2010/02/tmi-thursday-theres-reason-why-i.html">peeing my pants</a>, <a href="http://allearsonme.blogspot.com/2010/02/tmi-thursday-twins-basil-twins.html">puking all over myself</a>.... well I think I have my bases covered in the bodily functions genre, maybe I should give you a little change of pace this week?<br />
<br />
Okay, so this week's TMI Thursday isn't really a far cry from my past posts: it's still about bodily functions, but for once it's not about my own.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>If you read my blog regularly (and I know you do!), then you may remember that I worked as a bartender on my college campus in a past life.<br />
<br />
Most of the bars on campus were pretty gross - bathrooms and the main bar area were never actually cleaned so much as hosed down. Would that make the person manning the hose a "<i>hoser</i>?" What up, Canada! <br />
<br />
Anyway, the bar that I tended was just a tad bit more upscale from the campus dives - we were a sport-centric atmosphere, Bon Jovi blasting, mostly upperclassmen attending, generally well cared for bar. What that meant is that every night after last call, the bar would be cleaned from top to bottom: the glasses would be washed, the trash taken out, the bar wiped down, the floors swept and mopped, and yes, the bathrooms thoroughly cleaned.<br />
<br />
Now, the main difference between the bar I worked for and our competitor bar across the street with the same atmosphere and clientele as our own was this: Our competitor was smart enough to hire a nightly cleaning crew. Our bar? Not so much.<br />
<br />
So, who's cleaning the bathrooms you ask? The bartenders. And how did we decide who got the privilege of cleaning the bathrooms? Well whoever called dibs on the other jobs: washing glasses, windexing counters and mirrors, cleaning off liquor bottles? Well, whoever calls it, gets it. It's quite diplomatic. So whoever is the last to call a job for that night get's the shit end of the stick. Literally.<br />
<br />
There were nights I easily called dibs and got an easy job, but I had my fair share of nights cleaning the loo. During the my stints cleaning the shitter, I made an observation. <br />
<br />
Girls are <b>WAY</b> nastier than dudes when it comes to using the can!<br />
<br />
At least at the bar.<br />
<br />
I cleaned both the men's and women's rooms multiple times, and the men's room was NEVER as bad as the women's.<br />
<br />
I am 100% positive that this is a direct result of the method we women must employ to take a leak in the gross bar bathroom - you know what I mean - the hover method. You muster all the strength and endurance in your quadriceps to hover in a half squat over the bowl to pee. Usually the pee just goes everywhere, all over the floor, the seat, and occasionally a little splash back onto your leg and/or jeans.<br />
<br />
And if that's not tricky enough, sometimes you are so just drunk, and your quads are too tired, and your stilettos are too high, and inevitably the stall door doesn't lock, so while hovering you push your head against the stall door for balance control and privacy management. No? Just me? <br />
<br />
Well like I said, the women's room was usually in much worse condition. How so? Let's do this in list format for easy reading!<br />
<br />
Here is a list of the typical nastiness found in both the men's and women's rooms on a nightly basis.<br />
<br />
<b>Typical Men's Room Findings</b><br />
<br />
• Puddles of water-pee mixture<br />
• Toilet paper in the sink<br />
• Empty glasses, usually with cigarette butts inside<br />
• Pubes on the urinals - <i>Guys? How does this happen? Are you standing there plucking, or what?</i><br />
• Streaks of pee 4-5 feet above the urinal - <i>Again, how does this happen?</i><br />
• Empty Miller Highlife bottles filled with pee - <i>I guess the line was too long?</i><br />
• Occasionally some puke, but never too bad on the nights that I cleaned<br />
<br />
<b>Typical Women's Room Findings</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
• Lipstick kisses on the mirror - <i>M</i><i>ust have been for me, they knew I'd be cleaning up.</i><br />
• Pee/water combo on the floor - <i>Natch.</i><br />
• Empty glasses/bottles<br />
• Improperly disposed of used tampons - <i>Sure, you want me to pick up bloody tampons? No problem.</i><br />
• Icky strands of long, stray hairs on damp portions of the floor or sink - <i>I think I threw up in my mouth a little bit just now...</i><br />
• Toilets overflowing to the brimming point - <i>Where the water is level with the top of the bowl? You know.</i><br />
• Overflowed toilets clogged with puke<br />
• Lots of puke<br />
• Overflowed toilets clogged with puke, with an entire roll of intact toilet paper placed on top - <i>This was a common finding. Why? Do you think that by adding an entire roll of TP on top of the puke is going to disguise it? No. Wrong.</i><br />
• Overflowed toilets clogged with puke and entire rolls of TP with shit on top - <i>Nothing, <b>Nothing</b> like getting a cherry on top. Shit on top is the worst. Oh, I'm sorry, did you not notice the giant mountain of puke, toilet paper, and piss? Or did you notice and you thought that the only thing missing from this wonderful concoction is a steaming pile of human excrement? How very considerate of you to complete the collection.</i><br />
<br />
Okay, now I don't exactly have a weak stomach. I've seen open pressure ulcers on hospital patients with oozing pus and bone showing through, incisions that are so badly infected that they smell like death when you remove the dressing, and I've been present during the changing of a colostomy bag - if you've never observed one, don't. The smell stays in the room forever. And that's just the tip of the iceberg that goes hand in hand with my job. So yeah, I don't get grossed out that easily.<br />
<br />
But this one time... oh, this one time... <br />
<br />
One night, the women's room had been trashed more than usual. I got to cleaning out the toilets, picking out the rolls of TP, emptying the trash bins, cleaning the mirrors, when I got to my final task: cleaning the sinks. Typically not a big deal - it's usually the toilets that are bad, and yet I've never had an experience like this even while cleaning the shit-on-top toilet.<br />
<br />
On this particular night, in the sinks? Someone had been kind enough to leave me a mountain of vomit. Not a vomit foothill or a vomit dune, no. A vomit mountain. A vomit EVEREST.<br />
<br />
And it was chunky. Like, I can tell what you ate for dinner, chunky. (Chinese food.) There was just no way that running the faucet would clear this bad boy out, which was my tried and true method for your garden variety of non-chunky (smooth?) puke. No, I was going to have to pull out the big guns. I was going to have to scoop.<br />
<br />
I grabbed one of the empty glasses left on the floor and pulled the trash can over. I rolled up my sleeves and dipped the glass into puke mountain, and it made this <b>*SCHLUUUUP* </b>sound as the moist puke separated. I dumped it into the trash can. It made the <b>*SCHLUUUUP*</b> sound as it plopped out of the glass. <br />
<br />
That was too much for me. I began dry heaving. I'd never dry heaved in my life, so this was a weird experience. Puking without puking? Whoa, blow my mind, why don't you? I took a minute and composed myself. I still had a good amount of puke to clean up, so I buckled up and went back to the trenches. I made my second scoop. And dry heaved some more. I made my last, and final scoop and tossed the puke and the glass right into the trash and tied the bag. I then Windexed the hell out of that sink and then promptly went home to shower off the ickiness.<br />
<br />
So, was it worth it to keep working at that bar? Well, yeah. I got to drink for free and I made hella tips in cash, but I always tried to call dibs on washing glasses after that.<br />
<br />
And on a final non-TMIT related note:<br />
<br />
My dear friend, Miss N - I tried to post this to your blog, but it didn't work so here I am publicly sending you my wishes of encouragement.<br />
<br />
In the words of the wise Rob Schneider, "You can do it! Cut his fucking head off!"<br />
<br />
<object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Nwv61Uu1fdA&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Nwv61Uu1fdA&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-64499982668065641512010-03-10T22:03:00.003-06:002010-03-10T23:02:29.801-06:00Dude Where's My Car?Ok, first and foremost: It was 73 degrees today in the Chi. Fuck Yeah! Bring it on, Spring!<br />
<br />
So, the weirdest thing happened to me today.<br />
<br />
I was on the phone with R this morning as I exited the house to go to work. We live on a one way street, where parking is allowed on both sides of the street.<br />
<br />
As I walked down my front stairs, I see my car on the opposite side of the street, directly in front of our stairs. I used my key remote to unlock the doors, and I hear the click.<br />
<br />
I open the driver's side door and the first thing I notice is a bag of M&M's.<br />
<br />
<i>Umm... I don't remember buying any candy... that's weird.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
The next thing I noticed is that the car interior was very clean. Which is really, <i>really</i> weird because I spend all day driving for work, so the interior of my car resembles the inside of a home on the show "Hoarders."<br />
<br />
The final observation prior to my *aha* moment (picture a fat, arthritic hamster running in a wheel... r e a l l y s l o w l y) was that the interior of this car was beige cloth. I have a gray leather interior... so I was really thrown for a loop.<br />
<br />
Wait. This isn't my car.<br />
<br />
Dude, where's my car???<br />
<br />
I knew it had to be nearby because I heard it unlock when I used my remote. So, I turned around and there was my car on the <i>other</i> side of the street, just one car-length up.<br />
<br />
What are the odds have been that a car <i>identical</i> to mine (except the interior and cleanliness factor) would be parked so close to my own AND have left their car doors unlocked?<br />
<br />
Well, anyway, I totally freaked out, slammed the door, and ran away because I was afraid the owner might see me and think I was stealing their car.<br />
<br />
Short anecdote today, not enough time for one of my War & Peace length entries since I had photography class until 9:30. I have more time tomorrow and I'm mentally choosing between a few of my stories for TMI Thursday. Keep an eye out for that!<br />
<br />
<b>Late add:</b><br />
<br />
I'm a bandwagon, tweeting, blogging, whore. I started a twitter account for my blog. Follow me, and I'll give you a cookie! Well, maybe not, but I'll return the favor and follow you. <a href="http://twitter.com/allearsonme">Simply T (allearsonme) on Twitter</a><br />
<br />
Goodbye, my pretties!Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-32311111984138110262010-03-08T12:31:00.006-06:002010-03-08T12:38:16.073-06:00The Helmet Chronicles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrlhe5lk5k9DkifZFgdOmQ4JVtyGWC3Tzr4dxcV9NKRsfhxs_8ZGChZ4AmGbzHQE4kkwmu02xjI7WN5lVxuLAcJ9RZtAb-M_wpwgwdedaKKtfhyieCi6p9bgU2VKSdTMhRSzlQoXLLL40/s1600-h/Mini-Posters-Garfield--Mondays-Suck--330314.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrlhe5lk5k9DkifZFgdOmQ4JVtyGWC3Tzr4dxcV9NKRsfhxs_8ZGChZ4AmGbzHQE4kkwmu02xjI7WN5lVxuLAcJ9RZtAb-M_wpwgwdedaKKtfhyieCi6p9bgU2VKSdTMhRSzlQoXLLL40/s200/Mini-Posters-Garfield--Mondays-Suck--330314.jpg" width="160" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's Monday. Again.</div><br />
If you are anything like me, Garfield, Dilbert and the guy from Office Space... you may have a case of the Mondays. And we hate Mondays. I'd rather have a raging case of the herp than my weekly case of the Mondays, but yet here we are. Again. Le Sigh.<br />
<br />
So, kids, being that we are fighting off a case of the Mondays, and laughter is the best medicine, I am giving you the rare (yeah, right) opportunity to laugh at me. It's okay, I'm laughing too, so it's really more like laughing <i>with</i> me.<br />
<br />
I present to you what I am calling "The Helmet Chronicles," or more appropriately "Me vs. The World: Why I Need a Helmet to Get Through the Day."<br />
<br />
- I have a tin of cuticle cream and a tin of lip balm in my purse. Recently, I have mistakenly put cuticle cream on my lips. Twice.<br />
<br />
- Sometimes I get jumpy. Around Christmas, I was in Walgreens perusing the Christmas cards when a man came up behind me and started petting my hair! I got startled, ducked, then turned on him ready to give him my best right jab for thinking my pretty, shiny hair is his own personal petting zoo. And then I realized it was R. Oops.<br />
<br />
- Another time, R was sitting on the couch. I was laying on the couch with my feet near him, looking directly at him. I watched as he touched my foot. I was so startled, I screamed.<br />
<br />
- Occasionally, R walks into a room and says something to me. I usually scream. Is it my fault that my boyfriend is a ninja?<br />
<br />
- Last Friday, I woke up in a rush. I had a 7:30 appointment downtown, and failed to hear my alarm since I'd stuffed it under a pillow. I woke up at 7:02. In my sleep induced haze, I tried to put nasal spray in my eyes in place of visine. Then I tried to put the orange juice away in the cups cabinet.<br />
<br />
- I joined the website ideeli.com to scope out some sweet sales. While putting things in my cart, I failed to pay attention to the quantity and mistakenly bought 4 pairs of jeans. Anyone care to buy a pair of bootcut Antik Denim jeans, size 29, for $50? I have 3 extra pairs...<br />
<br />
- Multiple times I've gone an entire day not realizing that my underwear was on inside out.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">- Think that's bad? On more than one occasion, I've mistakenly worn my workout pants backwards for an entire day.</div><br />
- While in Keystone, I brought an ACTUAL helmet. Granted, it was for Snowboarding, in case I wanted to try some jumps - I didn't end up wearing it except for in our rented condo.... and guess what? I wore it backwards. Picture below:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOfn0suJdLtQ__-FF33luvsvWBh87eyDJtcBby70nBkRuwDtKHgM3Pzy3kXd87WfFlyunK03rmeoSHzy3eGWaV-NiGB_-NSB7wcFFn9pISnZbyMinDZlfmSS7c7lFM0EuHpbBrW179PfM/s1600-h/pizap.com90.091104893945157531268072044650.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOfn0suJdLtQ__-FF33luvsvWBh87eyDJtcBby70nBkRuwDtKHgM3Pzy3kXd87WfFlyunK03rmeoSHzy3eGWaV-NiGB_-NSB7wcFFn9pISnZbyMinDZlfmSS7c7lFM0EuHpbBrW179PfM/s320/pizap.com90.091104893945157531268072044650.jpg" width="249" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">The WRONG Way to Wear A Helmet</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxYNxnHYqtRp5JWYvcmPL__Yg2EmWf42lfE9enYRWtUoD4zXNOwQ4a_CqlCG248u9lCz8DJx159RkER3siPsxDXeVaLbxCP8urocgpb40yi7aEIa8YNgjOyuFeJnJoA-nGyMCGUXHLGkE/s1600-h/pizap.com90.110623506829142571268071935724.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxYNxnHYqtRp5JWYvcmPL__Yg2EmWf42lfE9enYRWtUoD4zXNOwQ4a_CqlCG248u9lCz8DJx159RkER3siPsxDXeVaLbxCP8urocgpb40yi7aEIa8YNgjOyuFeJnJoA-nGyMCGUXHLGkE/s320/pizap.com90.110623506829142571268071935724.jpg" width="235" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">The Right Way to Wear Your Helmet</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Photos edited using pzap.com</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">- This past Saturday, I caught an episode of "Shear Genius" on Bravo. A few of the stylists created looks for their models using pin curls. I had a stroke of "Shear Genius" myself and decided to try pincurls in my own hair. My hair has a natural wave to it, but I typically flat iron it straight straight straight. See below:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU24vJTSqCc3i64WE5imXCAHxnhYfkfDB_ywU0daoGfCplmnyPXt0PBgEi2GRhFteLQJ6xxlDeYWZrputsY9vKk1Xv21SkvYv7fwHdldzn0jPToNCX4DuvgIRnZeSiOWefx7Ue6OabFLI/s1600-h/pizap.com90.43064352357760071268070025721.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU24vJTSqCc3i64WE5imXCAHxnhYfkfDB_ywU0daoGfCplmnyPXt0PBgEi2GRhFteLQJ6xxlDeYWZrputsY9vKk1Xv21SkvYv7fwHdldzn0jPToNCX4DuvgIRnZeSiOWefx7Ue6OabFLI/s320/pizap.com90.43064352357760071268070025721.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My hair as per usual. I'm pretty. Pretty angry.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div>What I envisioned was something like this: </div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJq7BaQ_Rdnn5hdYCsrFiZ7oSQnTXrh45YFC002wNpa6Jf9Mo9txLo0KstgUmgt9iJzOcmCm12NTKp2qJGQXJqveaw5bN7zUNUk3B2LwZSjFMlxTmaC1_eAI5tP63E7g82apSeZHcrsM/s1600-h/aguilera.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJq7BaQ_Rdnn5hdYCsrFiZ7oSQnTXrh45YFC002wNpa6Jf9Mo9txLo0KstgUmgt9iJzOcmCm12NTKp2qJGQXJqveaw5bN7zUNUk3B2LwZSjFMlxTmaC1_eAI5tP63E7g82apSeZHcrsM/s1600/aguilera.jpg" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyq2u8EylgKtBsGE_aZohJoBqIt3LiymCyv_viGZRDuQBGu-SvMfME_HlrasNY9MxsX0vrN0exuvGbU9Cw1T-jT72tw5ykYWOcQsBEclQb6k6PtLlWp6AGiYFVhWpVwFXpmhYbgxWvxso/s1600-h/hair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyq2u8EylgKtBsGE_aZohJoBqIt3LiymCyv_viGZRDuQBGu-SvMfME_HlrasNY9MxsX0vrN0exuvGbU9Cw1T-jT72tw5ykYWOcQsBEclQb6k6PtLlWp6AGiYFVhWpVwFXpmhYbgxWvxso/s1600/hair.jpg" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRxNQ5D3GbZ7pA5jadv1kQIy6npWmrVw9npL-W3Z8ewbHRJXH1AzoxsDnxRcJbWu2EkkVEPkI3xc2MOn93A4Aoy4KdFzlQyLEOoxK8uWgj4VpA1b1BcM64AkYBUhb-o1q97vkGEYVhcrM/s1600-h/theron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRxNQ5D3GbZ7pA5jadv1kQIy6npWmrVw9npL-W3Z8ewbHRJXH1AzoxsDnxRcJbWu2EkkVEPkI3xc2MOn93A4Aoy4KdFzlQyLEOoxK8uWgj4VpA1b1BcM64AkYBUhb-o1q97vkGEYVhcrM/s1600/theron.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What resulted was this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyxvzEbAM6QOATpTscMGYLXrp7Itn727SK0XES5r25fcNFFKZVFzxZASSDeT39dTIixP2FfE9KYlXCUN8GVE1ZwJjwRTd28L3BjuLCvjC4MnXSDlCNHes5B7kzrkEa-AhKNEu3raRVYw0/s1600-h/pizap.com90.50901512568816541268069196447.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyxvzEbAM6QOATpTscMGYLXrp7Itn727SK0XES5r25fcNFFKZVFzxZASSDeT39dTIixP2FfE9KYlXCUN8GVE1ZwJjwRTd28L3BjuLCvjC4MnXSDlCNHes5B7kzrkEa-AhKNEu3raRVYw0/s320/pizap.com90.50901512568816541268069196447.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hot. Is this a Frizz-Ease Ad or what?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div>Go ahead and laugh. I did. And then I pulled it back, put on a headband and got ready for work.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Please be sure to tip your servers. I'll be here all week.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Ps - This is the closest you will get to seeing what I really look like, without actually meeting me in person and signing a contract in blood not to tell my employers what I do in my spare time. Enjoy!</div>Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-57361241205012631152010-03-04T17:43:00.001-06:002010-03-04T17:59:06.081-06:00Viral Thursday: In Place of this Week's TMI Thursday<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Nothing would make me happier than to give you another tale of humiliation so that you can laugh at my expense for LiLu's TMI Thursday this week. However, I have promised myself I'd get some work stuff done and that I'd finish up the post I started last week. So, in the interest of time I decided that I'd be posting some funny videos for your entertainment.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I'm calling this Viral Thursday. I know it lacks the alliterative quality of "TMI Thursday" but another one of my embarrassing bodily function stories should be back by next week! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Enjoy!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">How to say "12 Months" in Estonia</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/T41ZRw45obs&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/T41ZRw45obs&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span></span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Ameriquest - Don't Judge Too Quickly - Airplane</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/OLqf4-jv0ng&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/OLqf4-jv0ng&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span></span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Ameriquest - Don't Judge Too Quickly - Hospital</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/XeBra54zHAk&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/XeBra54zHAk&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span></span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Ameriquest - Don't Judge Too Quickly - Romantic Dinner</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uvOandCCRFg&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uvOandCCRFg&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span></span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Ameriquest - Don't Judge Too Quickly - Concert</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ShbKg4rSHZE&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ShbKg4rSHZE&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Ameriquest - Don't Judge Too Quickly - Convenience Store</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6NC6RcELpF8&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6NC6RcELpF8&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Ameriquest - Don't Judge Too Quickly - Dog Park</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/e9G75_ZNkKo&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/e9G75_ZNkKo&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Ameriquest - Don't Judge Too Quickly - Parking Meter</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/OYRvwQD6FfU&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/OYRvwQD6FfU&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Axe - Clean Your Balls</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><object height="340" width="560"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/F0AlcVU-de4&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/F0AlcVU-de4&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object></span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Cat Vs. Robot</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/8NvPcphRbec&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/8NvPcphRbec&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Jersey Shore's Snooki Knockout Reenacted By Puppies</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><object height="340" width="560"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RgRR3KOBDg0&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RgRR3KOBDg0&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object></span></span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Rollerblader "Gives Way"</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/V0_-X7gJoxg&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/V0_-X7gJoxg&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Matt Mullholland's Penis Chorale</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/PQDuuoSGWxY&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/PQDuuoSGWxY&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Worst. Pizza. Commercial. Ever.</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/09KJyeNiOjU&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/09KJyeNiOjU&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 10px; white-space: pre;"><br />
</span></span>Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-29335915386190478902010-03-03T16:35:00.000-06:002010-03-03T16:35:34.194-06:00Dear Readers...Hey there, readers...<br />
<br />
It's been a while. No no, it's not you, it's me. I've been... busy. I swear I'm not avoiding you, I just haven't been answering your calls because my phone is dead... yeah. I've been really focusing on my career lately. I just needed some space.<br />
<br />
Oh, you've been reading other blogs? Well I'm glad for you. I hope those other blogs are making you happy. You seem well, readers. You seem... entertained. Jealous? Me? No, no. I'm not jealous. We need to have our own separate lives, readers, I totally agree.<br />
<br />
Alright, I give. I can't keep up the facade. I miss you readers. I miss you like whoa. It's been almost a week since my last post - I got overly ambitious with a post I started on Saturday and it's been taking me FOR-EV-ER. FOR. EV. ER.<br />
<br />
Forever.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; white-space: pre;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/H-Q7b-vHY3Q&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/H-Q7b-vHY3Q&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span><br />
<div><br />
</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;">But for realzies, I'd really love to get this post published because I happen to find it amusing, although a tiny part of me is fearful that I will post it and no one will think it's funny except for me and R - because he has to think it's funny or he has to sleep in the bathtub... It's just consumed what free time I've had between work, photography, and being deathly ill with SARS. Swine Flu. Malaria. Okay, a cold. Shutup. </span></span></span></div><div><br />
</div><div>I debated not saying anything about it, because now it's all hyped up and people will be expecting perfection, but I couldn't let you guys think I'd just abandoned you. I just can't quit you, readers.</div>Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4964265941336061610.post-10570284984353075132010-02-25T12:30:00.002-06:002010-02-25T12:38:48.446-06:00TMI Thursday: Twins, Basil. Twins.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJ6Fl95FJqwURcMawDLAepV3ZxBFbU8OtHyabWEe21xPbOp9H31FYcrlrR8NhwXBfud91wDgdwIOqe_IfdEIt9SAGPbrqu9vEHSXnbiKDl7AR9aOJaQnPPoXFNmdjBBPUDcG3sSdkuLc/s1600-h/saupload_things.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJ6Fl95FJqwURcMawDLAepV3ZxBFbU8OtHyabWEe21xPbOp9H31FYcrlrR8NhwXBfud91wDgdwIOqe_IfdEIt9SAGPbrqu9vEHSXnbiKDl7AR9aOJaQnPPoXFNmdjBBPUDcG3sSdkuLc/s320/saupload_things.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div>Wahoo! It's Thursday again, which means it's time for another TMI Thursday post, brought to you by Simply T, the letter B for Booze and Bodily Functions as well as the letter L for the Lovely LiLu of <a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/">Livit, Luvit</a>.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://livitluvit.com/category/tmi-thursday" target="_blank"><img alt="TMI Thursday" border="0" src="http://i556.photobucket.com/albums/ss5/Livitluvit/tmithursday.jpg" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The rules? Well they're the same every week: </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 22px; white-space: normal;">Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!"</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So, I get to amuse you with another wildly inappropriate story of me doing something dumb. I know I have a lot of those, but I try to save them Monday-Wednesday and Friday-Sunday so that I can post them for you during TMI Thursdays!</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">Let's get down to the nitty gritty of today's TMI Thursday story, shall we?</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><a name='more'></a></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111; line-height: 22px;">For this story you will need to know a few things about me. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">First, when I was 18 I was a bit of a lightweight. I didn't drink too much in high school up until my senior year and even then I only drank a handful of times. So, by the time I got to college I had some catching up to do. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">The other thing you should know is that I tend to believe I can do anything. Especially once I've been drinking. Like R. Kelly, I believe I can fly. I believe I can take on a group of 4-5 people (sometimes dudes too) in a fight - a TMI Thursday for another week. I believe I can run faster than anyone else. I believe I can fool the cops into not giving me a drinking ticket. I believe I can drink a lot more than I actually can. I believe I'm indestructible. I'm... not. But we'll get to that.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">Third - if you dare me to do something, I'll probably do it. Even if it seems really stupid. Even worse, sometimes I'll make you dare me to do something really stupid, just so I have an excuse to do it.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">The year is 2001. I am a Freshman in college and I had gone to visit my friend L at her school - another state university in Illinois. L had told me about this guy she'd been dating and that we'd be hanging out with him, his frat brothers, and his <i>real</i> brother. His twin. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">Now, girls don't get nearly as worked up about twins as dudes do, but the idea is still pretty cool. Two dudes, especially if they are hot ones, that look exactly alike? Where do I sign up? </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">Well, I decided it would be pretty damn cool if my best friend and I could both be dating... or at least hooking up with... twins. Not to mention, girl's talk and L had told me that her twin only had one testicle. And I was just <i>dying</i> to find out how many his brother had. I theorized that either the single testicle was a family trait and that they each had only one testicle, or that perhaps this was one of those conjoined twins situations and maybe L's twin had one ball while his brother hogged the other 3. I wasn't sure, but I was anxious to find out. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">I'm forgetting the names of these twins, so for the sake of minimizing confusion, let's give them names. Why don't we call them Thing 1 and Thing 2? Thing 1, being the uniballer that L was hooking up with, and Thing 2 being the one that I was determined to hook up with.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">L and Thing 1 both lived in the same dormitory and Thing 2 lived at an off-campus apartment. Thing 1 met L and I at her dorm room, and first brought us to a party at his frat house. After the party, we stopped by Thing 2's apartment for a small-ish house party. I always get what I want, so I flirted relentlessly with Thing 2, ensuring I'd be able to get into his pants to count his balls. One thing led to another, and somehow we ended up back in his bedroom.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">It was innocent enough, we were just sitting around talking at first. Then I looked up at his window sill and saw about 10 of those mini souvenir bottles of Bacardi lined up all enticing and tempting and boozy. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><b>T:</b> "Hey, dare me to see how many of those I can drink in five minutes?" </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><b>Thing 2:</b> "No."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><b>T:</b> "Come on, it will be fun! Here, give me one."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">I didn't even wait for him to hand me one of the mini bottles, I just reached right over him and grabbed one. Down went one. Two. Three. Four.... Five... Six... I'm really not sure how many after that, I lost count after awhile.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">For about 5 minutes, things were <i>awesome.</i> I'd never been more smart or attractive or witty in my life. Or confident. I grabbed Thing 2's face and just started making out with it. Yes, I was SO close to finding out how many testicles Thing 2 had! But then... the room started spinning. Why, oh why, does Thing 2 live in a spinning apartment? This is insanity! I have to sit up. I have to pee.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><b>T: </b>"I havessshhhh to peeeeeeeee....."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">I leave the room and sit down on the toilet to make pee-pees. And luckily, this time I actually made it to the toilet prior to wetting myself. Well, I'm peeing, and I look down in amazement at the huge waterfall of pee coming from down below. And I'm looking down.... and I'm looking down.... looking down...</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">And then, without warning, I puke. While sitting on the toilet and looking down at my crotch, I puke. I puke all down the front of my shirt, onto my lap and inner thigh region. I puke rivers of bacardi and whatever I'd eaten earlier that day. I finish puking, finally. Well, now what? I gotta get back in there and figure out how many balls Thing 2 has!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">So I wipe the excess puke from my lap, remove my jean jacket and stand up. Okay, well my lap and legs are clean enough, so I just put my pants back on, but nothing can be done to disguise the massive amount of vomit on the front of my shirt. So, I take off my shirt, fill up the sink with water and some hand soap and deposit my barf soaked shirt. Now that the shirt situation has been handled, I put my jean jacket back on and walk out of the bathroom.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">I stroll back into Thing 2's room wearing tight black pants with boots (This was 2001, remember?), a black strapless bra and a jean jacket as if this is totally normal.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">Thing 2 wasn't stupid. He has a drunk female in a bra in his bedroom. He didn't ask any questions. We got back to business - yeah he kissed my puke mouth - standards aren't for everyone. Unfortunately, I greyed out at that point and I don't fully remember everything. I know we didn't go much further than 2nd base, but I definitely think I got my hands on his ball(s) at one point. Too bad I either A. forgot to count or B. counted, but forgot how many there were.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">The next morning, I picked up my shirt from the sink, buttoned up my jean jacket over my bra, and let Thing 2 drive me back to L's dorm room.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">I never saw Thing 2 again, but to this day, I still wonder how many balls he has.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">Have I scared you off yet? No? Then stick around for Dear Diary and come back next Thursday for another tale of humiliation!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><b>Dec. 6 1995</b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">Hi Diary! How's it goin? Dude guess what? (chicken butt!) The Christmas dance is this coming Friday! Yippee! I hope Zachary asks me to dance with him! I love him so much! Anyways he talks to me every day now! I think he likes me as in (love)! Oh, Sassafras you're the best friend I've ever had! <3 Smack <3 Kiss kiss kiss! Anyway Sass I've got to go now! O.K. Bye! See ya, Bye! Ciao! Bye Bye! Later dude! Later Debbie! Bye! Sionara! Alfeider Zein! See ya later!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><i>Hahaha, who DIDN'T use the Chicken Butt joke back then? Reading that reminded me of something I drew on the computer a while ago. I found it on my old photobucket account, check it out:</i></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdJSgbgTAhqDKUyjJ-J04RCqaxknf5pOMVEsth9-PbZag9RW5zfqhCh60a_VKWB3jRVJqStdzvN59nAdWVYJUAcZONarnRWZqYDcCKkriKx2VrOJbCloctmxZWkJ3PfdwOGp24kYQooCs/s1600-h/chicken-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdJSgbgTAhqDKUyjJ-J04RCqaxknf5pOMVEsth9-PbZag9RW5zfqhCh60a_VKWB3jRVJqStdzvN59nAdWVYJUAcZONarnRWZqYDcCKkriKx2VrOJbCloctmxZWkJ3PfdwOGp24kYQooCs/s400/chicken-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111; font-style: italic; line-height: 22px;">Can you decipher the answers to the questions? Below is the answer key:</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><i>Guess What? Chicken Butt</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><i>Guess Where? Chicken Hair</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><i>Guess Why? Chicken Eye/Chicken Thigh</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><i>Guess Who? Chicken Poo</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><i>Guess WHEN? As in When I drew this? 1995? No, you'd be wrong. Try 2007. At age 24. I drew it for my friend E and posted it on her myspace wall. Yes, I know, my maturity knows no bounds.</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;">Later Gators! See you all tomorrow, happy Thursday!</span></span></div>Simply "T"http://www.blogger.com/profile/04243145038570087687noreply@blogger.com3