All Ears On Me

An Open Letter To Hipsters

2010-08-26T12:34:00.001-05:00

Dear Hipsters,

I get that you are all about being different and all, but do you realize that with your Buddy Holly glasses, plaid shirt, and ironic mustache, you are exactly the same as.... that hipster over there?

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 different. Who needs to change gears? “Not me,” you say, proudly pedaling along, oblivious to cars and other bikers.

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!

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 that ugly, would they? I mean besides you and your 10 ungroomed hipster buddies? And their 10 buddies? And their 10 buddies?

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. Dare to be different.

The Modern Hipster's Guide to Being Different

- 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.

- Smoking cigarettes is so common place. Live on the edge and smoke bottle rockets. Bonus points for the hipster with the shortest fuse beore finally putting it out.

- 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'.

- Three words: Coke bottle glasses. No. Literally, make your lenses from coke bottles.

- Ironic mustaches are out. Powdered wigs are in.

- 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 you're a conformist!

- Finally, the depressed hipster should not feel pressured into conventional suicide methods. Try something that I can guarantee no one has done in thousands of years: be eaten by a T-Rex. Simple as that. Done in 4 simple steps:

1. Locate a T-Rex.

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.

3. Mercilessly taunt the T-Rex. Usually a dig about his short arms or asking how far he can throw a baseball will work.

4. Wait to be consumed.

There you have it. Hipsters take note. I expect to see pubic hair beanies and besaddled St. Bernards making their debut this fall.

JACKPOT!

2010-06-10T00:01:00.000-05:00

Okay kiddos, right now, in my possession, I have the best thing about to happen to All Ears On Me.

Over the weekend, while Hello Blogette 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.

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.

Yes. I said 3.5" floppy disk. This stuff is THAT archaic.

But wait! It gets better!

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.

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.

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.

Now, I don't want to blow my load (twhs) just yet, so I'll just give you a little taste (twss).

This is an excerpt of what I will now be calling "The T Files." Untamed, uncut, and raw (twhs)

File: "streamofconciousness.txt"
Written: 10/22/99 (Age 16)
Description: Email from yours truly to my highschool friend MB

Text:

Date: 10/22/99 10:15:56 PM Central Daylight Time
From: S*********@aol.com
To: L****************@aol.com

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!!
T

Analysis:

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?

Why I Had No Friends Growing Up:

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.

2. I called the few people who did associate with me "bums." That's no way to treat your friends. Am I right or am I right, a-holes?

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.

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.

It's terrifying how accurately that represents how I feel without my Adderall. And sometimes with my Adderall.

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

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).

7. I referred to real life people by muppet names such as "Beaker" and "Grover." Well Big Bird and Elmo were already taken...

8. I was known to burst into song in most emails or instant message conversations. I never do that anymore. Never...

9. I had nothing better to do while my friends were offline. I should have started a blog.

10. I was a douchebag. I'm now an upstanding member of society and not at all a douchebag.

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.

And with that I say to you

I was singin'....

Bye, Bye, Miss American Pie
Drove the Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry
And good 'ol boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye
Singin' this will be the day that I die
This will the day that I die...

(I know all the words by heart, but I'll spare you...)

Guest Blogger: Gizmo

2010-06-05T16:30:00.001-05:00

On Friday, R and I took in a foster dog! His name is Gizmo and man 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.

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!

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.

Gizmos Diary: Day 1

Hey everyone!

Gizmo, here. Just wanted to update everyone on how things are going at my new foster home!

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).

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!

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!

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!

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!!!

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!?

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...

Then, you'll never guess what happened!

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!

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.

Anyway, more updates later! See ya!

- Gizmo

PS - Papa's toes and mama's kneecaps don't taste that great, so don't try licking them, I already tried.

Blogdentity Crisis.

2010-06-03T09:47:00.001-05:00

I'm having a blogdentity crisis.

I've been writing this blog for about 6 months now and I need to be perfectly honest with you.

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.

Gross analogy, but you get it.

I guess I'm just asking you all to bear with me as I "find myself" and develop a clearer focus.

I feel like this is a completely self-serving post, so I'll throw some more random blog-vomit at you.

Sick. I have to stop using that analogy. Suggestions for a better analogy are welcome!

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 Moebius Syndrome. 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?

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.

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."

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?

I guess you'd just have to keep them prisoner, wait 3-4 months, then ask them again.

Furthermore, do you think this is why Abraham Lincoln could not tell a lie? Was his face just too wrinkly? I mean expressive? Poor Abey baby, I feel your pain. Like you, I cannot tell a lie.

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.

So, go ahead and ask. Do those jeans make your ass look fat? Yes. Yes, they do.

My Life Without A Job: Day 1

2010-06-01T20:05:00.005-05:00

Last 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.

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:

1:45 - 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.

1:50 - Stop into Einstein Bagel for a raspberry lemonade and an everything bagel.

1:55 - 2:10 - Drive downtown while consuming delicious everything bagel and arrive in the vicinity of the office to look for parking.

2:10 - 2:20 - 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.

2:20 - 2:35 - 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.

2:35 - 2:50 - Begin driving home. Call R while driving back. R requests 6 pack of beer.

2:50 - 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.

2:50-3:00 - 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.

3:00 - 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.

3:01 - Cashier tells me that the other lane is open as well. Feel too lazy to argue, so relocate to the farther lane.

3:01:30 - Notice that the ONE person in the farther lane is buying no less than 30 bottles of wine.

3:01:45 - Return to original line, but now 3 people deep.

3:05 - Purchase above mentioned 6 packs and bottle of rum with look of shame.

3:05 - 3:10 - Drive back toward home, get 2 blocks from house before salad craving hits.

3:10 - Take a sudden left and call Zig Zag Kitchen to order a Mediterranean salad with no cheese and extra olives.

3:10 - 3:30 - Accidentally pass Zig Zag Kitchen and spend the next 15-20 minutes circling the block looking for parking.

3:30 - Park illegally. Head inside to pick up salad. Pay for salad and return to car.

3:32 - 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.

3:33 - Head back into Zig Zag Kitchen and find keys and cell phone laying on top of counter.

3:35 - Return to car. Retrieve salad from roof. Get into car and begin driving home.

3:45 - Turn onto my cross street. See a runner that looks a lot like my friend J.G.

3:46 - Drive along side runner at 5 mph, peering out window to determine if it is, in fact, J.G.

3:46:30 - Runner turns to look. Pretend to be looking for parking.

3:47 - Runner waves. Sigh of relief. It is J.G.

3:47:15 - 3:50 Pull over. Chat with J.G. for a minute. Park car.

3:50 - 4:00 - Collect insane amount of beer and salad from car. Lug items up front stairs.

4:00 - 4:05 - Dig through purse for house keys. Get frustrated. Put down beer and salad.

4:05 - 4:10 - Use both hands to dig through purse for house keys. Fail to locate house keys. Become frustrated and retrieve spare keys from hiding place.

4:10 - 4:15 - 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.

4:15 - 4:20 - Empty purse in search of house keys. Still not to be found, give up and call office.

4:20 - Confirm that house keys are, in fact, at the office downtown.

4:21 - 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.

4:22 - Commence drinking loaded Coronas (recipe to follow) and eating delicious salad.

4:45 - Continue drinking loaded Coronas and begin writing lazy, time-line driven blog entry.

6:00 - 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.

Everything Bagels

Dear Everything Bagels,

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.

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.

Let me try that again.

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.

That's still no good.

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.

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?

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.

Please reconsider my garlic glue idea. I think this could skyrocket you to the top of the bagel stratosphere.

Sincerely,

T

Lays Limon Chips

Dear Lays Limon Chips,

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.

But, I have a cut on my lip, and you hurt it. Please apologize.

Thank you,

T

ADD

Dear ADD,

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.

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.

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.

F. U., ADD.

Sincerely, T

Loaded Coronas

Dear Loaded Coronas,

I have no complaints for you. You are simply wonderful. You are cool and refreshing and you get me drunk faster than regular Corona.

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.

Thank you for your refreshing goodness. Keep up the good work.

Sincerely,

T

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:

You see why this would not be a desirable way to go out in public, Loaded Corona?

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 fell off my bike, 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.

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.

Sincerely (again),

T

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.

Loaded Coronas

Ingredients:
- Bottled Coronas
- Bottle of Bacardi Limon or your choice of citrus flavored rum

1. Open a bottle of Corona with a bottle opener.
2. Fill the empty space in the bottle with Bacardi Limon
3. Firmly stop up the opening to the bottle with the palm of your hand.
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.
5. Turn the bottle right side up and consume.
6. Blog about the experience.

Easily Distracted? This is not the place -- Ooo Something Shiny!

2010-06-01T02:02:00.004-05:00

Three day weekends are not as exciting when you don't have a job to go to the next week.

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.

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.

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.

So, R took me to a place in town called Ella's Deli. 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.

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 should 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.

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.

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?

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...

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, more 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.

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.

I have no other way to describe my experience except by picture. Behold:

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.

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 also made my table interactive? Bad move # 1.

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.

See below:

This is me, riding on my new lego clipless pedals. No falling down, see?

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.

How can I not try to create lego mayhem with head on collisions?

Vroom, bitches!

I look behind R's head and I see this:

Poor visual due to excessive back lighting and crappy camera phone. But that's R. Isn't he cuuuuute?

Great. A giant, spinning ferris wheel. That won't distract me at -- whoa, look at that!

To my left:

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!?

Above my head:

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...

Wait. This 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...

Hey look! Popeye! And an astronaut! And monkeys! And the Yellow Submarine! And Spiderman!

And Spongebob!

Oooo, fishies!!!!

No way, HARRY POTTER!!?!?!

A ROBOT!?!?

Ps - those screens are surveillance cameras. There's me in the lower left hand screen. Say hi!

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!!!!!

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..

And how it took me well over 10 hours to write a blog post about it.

UPDATE:

I need to get back on Adderall tomorrow.

T: "Hey, did you mail our netflix?"

R: *opens his mouth to respond*

T: "It's hot over here. My butt is sticky!"

R: "Um. No, I haven't mailed our netflix yet."

T: *Spontaneous sounds* "Rahhhhhhrrrrr! Berrrrbb! Badoop-badoop-badoop-BAH!"

UPDATE X 2:

Remember when I said I get paranoid about people spying on me while I google?

R caught me googling "Sweating like a whore on dollar day." Apparently this is funny.

UPDATE X 3:

We have more ice cream in our freezer than should be legally allowed.

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.

Also, please note the 6 boxes of cereal. There are 2 of us.

UPDATE X 4:

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.

Just kidding.

But not really.

Please don't leave me.

Happy Memorial Day!

2010-05-28T18:23:00.000-05:00

Hola.

R and I are on our way to Madison, WI to visit his parents for
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.

I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend!

Do You Like Falling Down? I do: The Helmet Chronicles Part II

2010-05-27T19:10:00.001-05:00

In 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!

I woke up this morning raring to go. And the start of my day went a little like this:

Me: Oh my! I am excited to try my new clipless pedals! Life is grand!

Pedals: *evil laugh*

Me: *Oblivious* La, la la! Here I gooooo! *Promptly crashes into a building*

Building: Ouch.

Me: Whoops! Let me try that again! Wheeeee here I go again (on my own)!! *Forgets how to unclip, panics, tips over*

Concrete: Hello, helmet. Nice to meet you.

Helmet: Likewise. I have a feeling we'll be seeing each other again.

Pedals: *evil laugh*

End scene.

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).

But let it be known, that this is not the end. It is NOT. The. End.

In retrospect, I secretly hope I looked like this:

Because that would make me giggle. And Wayne's World is the best movie ever made.

Ch-ch-ch-changes!

2010-05-27T04:13:00.000-05:00

Oh, hey there pals!

Someone 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.

I'm gonna disappear and you're gonna like it!

Or you'll just stop reading my blog.

Ok, you called my bluff. Please don't do that. You'll break my achy breaky heart.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

DOH! *Face Palm*

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

Here are some of my ideas in no specific order:

1. Dog photographer - Well duh, I love dogs. I love photography. Put 'em together? Bam. Ultimate job.

2. Dog masseuse - I pet my dog all day long, now I can get paid for it! Yippee!

3. Rickshaw driver - Benefits include getting some really toned legs towing people around the city in a pedaled rickshaw.

4. Bike messenger - I dunno, these guys just seem to piss people off and that seems like fun.

5. Bartender - I tended bar in college. If anything I've become LESS mature since I've graduated, so why not?

6. Professional blogger - Think anyone wants to pay me to take a month long mental hiatus from blogging at random?

7. Snakes - Um. Not sure what. Just something with snakes.

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.

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?

10. Sharpie Artist - 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.

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.

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.

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.

Mary J. Blige Had It Right... Internet Privacy and Such As

2010-04-22T23:03:00.002-05:00

When she sang, "No more drama in my life."

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).

So anyway, on to happier things like rainbows and unicorns and candy mountains...

Hahaha, it's an old video, but it never fails to amuse me. I have to thank Miss N for introducing this to me so many months ago when she and I were nothing but young she-wolf pups.

So back in the vein of social networking and Facebook, I read this in a friend's status update today:

"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"

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 Facebook's Instant Personalization Is the Real Privacy Hairball.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

None of it was correct. All because my mother helped me apply for student loans using her email address when I was 18.

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.

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?

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.

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 their end, or are we just too lax about sharing personal information?

Clearly, this isn't the end. Where do you see the invasion of internet privacy going next?

I'd love to know your take on this. Comment away, por favor please.

Social Networking Ettiquette

2010-04-20T12:18:00.003-05:00

Graphic courtesy of trifu.net

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.

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."

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."

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.

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 terrified 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 defining the relationship.

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."

My response? "I thought I already was."

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."

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Well, my friends. Today I was unfriended.

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.

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?

Yeah, it's kind of like getting sucker punched in the gut.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

When did that happen? Or has our society always been like that and the social networking has just made it easier?

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.

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.

Courtesy of the Tosh.0 Blog - a video to remind us just how sick minded our society is.

This Is Not Sick, You Are Sick

Modern Day Dating Rituals Part III: Online Dating

2010-04-19T06:11:00.010-05:00

I'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.

Today: Modern Day Dating Rituals - Online Dating

Need to catch up?
Read Modern Day Mating Rituals Part I: Introduction
Modern Day Mating Rituals Part II: The Bar Scene

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.

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.

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.

Online Dating Fail: Avoid These Guys

The Date Rapist

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.

The Desperate Guy

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.

The Intense Guy

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!

Finally, the most common offender: The Guy Who Doesn't Read Your Profile. 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.

Five Signs He Didn't Read Your Profile:

5. The email reads like a form letter.

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:

Winky face - ;-)
Smoochy face - :-*
Tongue out face - :-P
Heart - <3
Rose - @---}----

It might read something like the following:

"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.

<3 Your Romeo"

4. He asks you questions easily answered by reading your profile.

Mentions specifically to your lifestyle, background, likes/dislikes, interests, or hobbies go unnoticed and his email is chock full of questions about these things.

Example:

Your profile reads: "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."

His email reads: "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?"

3. You have posted a specific age range, and he's not in it.

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.

2. You live in L.A. and have specified a dating radius of 25-50 miles. He lives in Lebanon.

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.

1. 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.

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.

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.

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:

Rules for your First Date with your Cyber-mate

1. Plan to meet in a neutral place

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.

2. Plan a short date

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.

3. Avoid sports related or physically challenging dates

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 want to show your date your 7-10 split.

4. Don't get sloppy

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.

5. Last but not least, play it cool

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: "You can be my big spoon anytime. ;)" 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.

I honestly think every girl should read The Rules. 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.

Plus, dudes like girls to have their own lives. Just sayin'

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.

You'll just have to wait for that. Next time is Part IV: Social Networking

It Was Just A Dream

2010-04-16T09:55:00.008-05:00

Hey Ya and Shake it Like a Polaroid Picture!

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.

Have you ever had a dream that seemed so real that when you wake up, you could swear it was real?

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.

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.

To this day, if I saw Anthony Hopkins in real life, I would need me a pair of "Oops I Crapped My Pants" brand adult diapers.

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.

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.

How come I can't just have happy or sexy dreams like most normal people?

Happy weekend everyone! Stay out of trouble!

Whiners are Weiners

2010-04-15T00:37:00.004-05:00

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 :)

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:

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 ♥

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.

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.

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.

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 individuals 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.

Right now I have 2 choices:

Move to another office

There is an existing opening at another office in the Chicagoland area, and if I want it, it is mine.

Pros:

Excellent salary
The job is available as long as I want/need it
Autonomy/Ability to make my own schedule
Short term contracts - I can leave whenever my contract expires
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."
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.

Cons:

Long commute - the new agency is 50+ miles away
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.
Having to do a lot of extra leg-work, not normally done by someone in my position.
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 may be different at the other office, but I won't know until I get there)

My other choice?

Get a totally new job

Pros:

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.
I may not feel "burnt out" all the time
I may stop having a mini-heart attack every time I see the office number on my caller ID

Cons:

I will have to take a major pay-cut - no matter what other job I take, my pay will likely decrease by 30-50%
Taking a pay cut will hinder my ability to pay down my student loans faster
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?)

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.

So good people of the interweb, I ask you this:

When it comes to your career, which is more important - an extremely well paying job or a job that you are passionate about?

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."

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.

I'm such a sellout.

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 the bare necessities, the simple bare necessities, 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.

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.

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.

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!

Opening Day, Public Transporation, iPad, Googleholics Anonymous and Other Assorted Seemingly Unrelated Topics... But They Are!

2010-04-12T21:49:00.003-05:00

Opening Day, Public Transporation, iPad, Googleholics Anonymous and Other Assorted Seemingly Unrelated Topics... But They Are!

How's that for a long-ass title to get us rolling today? Suck on that, "Don't be a Menace To South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood!"

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?

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.

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.

But to every silver lining there must be a cloud, no?

Well to live in such a desirable location, we have to make a few small sacrifices.

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.

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.

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 "el"

So, today I opted for the el, in lieu of traffic and hours of hunting for a parking spot.

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.

"What if I have the wrong change?"

"What if I lose my transit card?"

"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 (twss) and everyone laughs at me?"Never happened to me, don't know what you're talking about.

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.

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.

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!

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.

Awkward name aside, the iPad is essentially an iPod Touch for those with giant man-hands.

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.

Again, I'm not looking at anything overtly scandalous, but I must admit.... I have a problem.

Hello. My name is Simply T and I'm a Googleholic.

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.

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.

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.

Simply T's Simply Weird Google Searches

"Man hands"
In order to locate the above Seinfeld YouTube video

"Vegan Lucky Charms"
I miss those little marshmallows, yo

"Lindsay Lohan Mean Girls Nintendo DS"
To understand why, read this snippet

"Wink Response Test"
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 Anal Wink It's pretty much exactly what it sounds like.

"How to solve a Rubik's Cube"
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.

"How to tightrope walk"
I've always wanted to know!

"Panty vending machines"
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.

"Demi Moore bush"
Okay. I realize that I sound a complete pervert sicko right now, but if you watch the show Tosh.0, 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 link, Completely, unequivocally, NSFW and just remember: there are some things you can't un-see.

"Demi Moore bush real or fake?"
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.

"What happens after they destroy the car on America's Worst Driver?"
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 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.

"How to make my quad muscles smaller"/"How to make my calf muscles smaller"
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).

Yes, that actually is me. See, my legs are cute, but how do I make them look like this? 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.

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..."What Happened To Tiffany Brissette?"

Much like the mysterious number of licks to get to the center of a tootsie pop, the world may never know...

Modern Mating Rituals Part II: The Bar Scene

2010-03-25T20:42:00.004-05:00

Part II: The Bar Scene
Need to catch up? Read Part I: Introduction

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.

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?

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.

Let's cover the basics in bar pick-up etiquette.

Be respectful: 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.

Make her laugh: 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.

Be a gentleman: Show her that you are attentive to her wants/needs.

Example: 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.

Guy: Here, I bought you a drink. I didn't know what kind of garnish you wanted, so I got you all of them.

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.

Just be real, no gimmicks: There'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.

Now, what are some sure fire ways to blow your chances?

DON'T

Be creepy: 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.

Touch: 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.

Talk about yourself too much: 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.

And most importantly,
DON'T LINGER! 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.

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.

Guys, it's time to move on if...
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.
2. The target gives you one word answers and smiles and nods politely to the things you have to say.
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.

If you have moved on by now, congratulations, you're not oblivious to the signs. You may pass GO and you may collect $200.

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.

Guys, it's time to move on when:
1. The target starts tapping her foot or fingers impatiently.
2. The target repeatedly checks her watch.
3. The target is text messaging while you are trying to converse with her.
4. The target rolls her eyes or acts exasperated when having to answer your questions.
5. The target accepts any excuse to leave the conversation - "I cut my foot earlier and my shoe is filling up with blood."

If you don't get it by now, then you kind of deserve what's coming your way next...

Guys, it's time to move on, no, run for the hills if:
1. The target begins calling you names.
2. The target begins making out with someone, anyone, in front of you.
3. The target loudly questions your sexuality/manhood loudly in front of the rest of the bar patrons.
4. The target pushes you down a set of stairs
5. Talks loudly on her cell phone about "some ugly jackass who won't leave me alone."

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 anything, 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.

Examples:
1. Picking your nose and wipe it on the guy's face. Repeatedly.
2. Picking his nose and wipe it on his face. Repeatedly.
3. Using a lot of foul language. Make every second word the f word.
4. Talking about your period and/or tampons.
5. Mentioning that you recently went off the pill. Then crossing both of your fingers and giving a squeal and a wide grin.
6. Showing him your hands if your index finger is shorter than your ring finger.
7. Telling him you think you saw him on an episode of "To Catch A Predator."

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.

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.

Have I picked my nose and wiped it on a guy's face? Yes.
Have I picked HIS nose and forced him to eat it. Um. Yes.
Have I told him he looked like someone I saw on an episode of To Catch A Predator and then refused to apologize? Yup.

Did any of that stop him from continuing to pursue me NO...
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!"

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.

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.

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.

And guys, don't act like cocky a-holes. And put your collar down. It's not 2004.

That should pretty much cover it. Anything I missed? Questions? Holla atcha girl!!!

Next time: Part III: Online Dating Sites

Modern Mating Rituals Part I: Introduction

2010-03-21T22:47:00.008-05:00

I've been a lazy blogger, forgive me.

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 series of blog posts which I am going to call, "Modern Mating Rituals."

Part I: Introduction

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 here.

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.

Next Time: The Bar Scene

Commercials, I Hate You. Thank God for DVR.

2010-03-15T18:25:00.001-05:00

Why, Gilbert Gottfried? Why? Why do you do this to me?

So apparently that's not his real voice? Then why continue subjecting us to that voice??

And in the non-Gilbert Gottfried world, this commercial actually GIVES me a headache. Clever marketing ploy, you.

Buckets of Fun

2010-03-13T00:15:00.001-06:00

Remember that super creepy children's game, Mr. Bucket? Yeah, well here he is.

Yeah. Someone in the advertising department should have been fired for that one.

Balls pop out of his mouth. Yup, they actually went there.

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."

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.

Behold, my bucket list:

Simply T's Bucket List

1. Train for a marathon or half-marathon - 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.

Status: Back burner.

2. Learn to breakdance - 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.

Status: In progress.

3. Learn to skateboard - 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.

Status: Pending.

4. Learn to beatbox - 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.

Status: Undecided.

5. Learn to play the violin: 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.

Status: Pending.

6. Learn some awesome snowboarding tricks: 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...

Status: In progress.

7. Learn to speak spanish: 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.

Status: Undecided.

Travel to Australia and Hawaii: 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.

Status: Undecided.

So there it is. My bucket list.

And now for you: Do you have a bucket list? What things are on your list and how do you plans to accomplish them?

TMI Thursday: Bathroom Wars - Men Vs. Women

2010-03-11T14:17:00.007-06:00

Subtitled: Who's More Disgusting?

***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!**

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 - pooping in public, peeing my pants, puking all over myself.... 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?

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.

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.

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 "hoser?" What up, Canada!

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.

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.

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.

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.

Girls are WAY nastier than dudes when it comes to using the can!

At least at the bar.

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.

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.

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?

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!

Here is a list of the typical nastiness found in both the men's and women's rooms on a nightly basis.

Typical Men's Room Findings

• Puddles of water-pee mixture
• Toilet paper in the sink
• Empty glasses, usually with cigarette butts inside
• Pubes on the urinals - Guys? How does this happen? Are you standing there plucking, or what?
• Streaks of pee 4-5 feet above the urinal - Again, how does this happen?
• Empty Miller Highlife bottles filled with pee - I guess the line was too long?
• Occasionally some puke, but never too bad on the nights that I cleaned

Typical Women's Room Findings

• Lipstick kisses on the mirror - Must have been for me, they knew I'd be cleaning up.
• Pee/water combo on the floor - Natch.
• Empty glasses/bottles
• Improperly disposed of used tampons - Sure, you want me to pick up bloody tampons? No problem.
• Icky strands of long, stray hairs on damp portions of the floor or sink - I think I threw up in my mouth a little bit just now...
• Toilets overflowing to the brimming point - Where the water is level with the top of the bowl? You know.
• Overflowed toilets clogged with puke
• Lots of puke
• Overflowed toilets clogged with puke, with an entire roll of intact toilet paper placed on top - 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.
• Overflowed toilets clogged with puke and entire rolls of TP with shit on top - Nothing, Nothing 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.

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.

But this one time... oh, this one time...

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.

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.

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.

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 *SCHLUUUUP* sound as the moist puke separated. I dumped it into the trash can. It made the *SCHLUUUUP* sound as it plopped out of the glass.

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.

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.

And on a final non-TMIT related note:

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.

In the words of the wise Rob Schneider, "You can do it! Cut his fucking head off!"

Dude Where's My Car?

2010-03-10T22:03:00.003-06:00

Ok, first and foremost: It was 73 degrees today in the Chi. Fuck Yeah! Bring it on, Spring!

So, the weirdest thing happened to me today.

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.

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.

I open the driver's side door and the first thing I notice is a bag of M&M's.

Umm... I don't remember buying any candy... that's weird.

The next thing I noticed is that the car interior was very clean. Which is really, really 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."

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.

Wait. This isn't my car.

Dude, where's my car???

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 other side of the street, just one car-length up.

What are the odds have been that a car identical to mine (except the interior and cleanliness factor) would be parked so close to my own AND have left their car doors unlocked?

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.

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!

Late add:

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. Simply T (allearsonme) on Twitter

Goodbye, my pretties!

The Helmet Chronicles

2010-03-08T12:31:00.006-06:00

It's Monday. Again.

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.

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 with me.

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."

- 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.

- 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.

- 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.

- Occasionally, R walks into a room and says something to me. I usually scream. Is it my fault that my boyfriend is a ninja?

- 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.

- 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...

- Multiple times I've gone an entire day not realizing that my underwear was on inside out.

- Think that's bad? On more than one occasion, I've mistakenly worn my workout pants backwards for an entire day.

- 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:

The WRONG Way to Wear A Helmet

The Right Way to Wear Your Helmet

Photos edited using pzap.com

- 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:

My hair as per usual. I'm pretty. Pretty angry.

What I envisioned was something like this:

What resulted was this:

Hot. Is this a Frizz-Ease Ad or what?

Go ahead and laugh. I did. And then I pulled it back, put on a headband and got ready for work.

Please be sure to tip your servers. I'll be here all week.

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!

Viral Thursday: In Place of this Week's TMI Thursday

2010-03-04T17:43:00.001-06:00

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.

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!

Enjoy!

How to say "12 Months" in Estonia

Ameriquest - Don't Judge Too Quickly - Airplane

Ameriquest - Don't Judge Too Quickly - Hospital

Ameriquest - Don't Judge Too Quickly - Romantic Dinner

Ameriquest - Don't Judge Too Quickly - Concert

Ameriquest - Don't Judge Too Quickly - Convenience Store

Ameriquest - Don't Judge Too Quickly - Dog Park

Ameriquest - Don't Judge Too Quickly - Parking Meter

Axe - Clean Your Balls

Cat Vs. Robot

Jersey Shore's Snooki Knockout Reenacted By Puppies

Rollerblader "Gives Way"

Matt Mullholland's Penis Chorale

Worst. Pizza. Commercial. Ever.

Dear Readers...

2010-03-03T16:35:00.000-06:00

Hey there, readers...

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.

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.

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.

Forever.

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.

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.

TMI Thursday: Twins, Basil. Twins.

2010-02-25T12:30:00.002-06:00

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 Livit, Luvit.

The rules? Well they're the same every week:

"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!"

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!

Let's get down to the nitty gritty of today's TMI Thursday story, shall we?

For this story you will need to know a few things about me.

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.

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.

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.

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 real brother. His twin.

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?

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 dying 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.

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.

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.

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.

T: "Hey, dare me to see how many of those I can drink in five minutes?"

Thing 2: "No."

T: "Come on, it will be fun! Here, give me one."

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.

For about 5 minutes, things were awesome. 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.

T: "I havessshhhh to peeeeeeeee....."

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...

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

I never saw Thing 2 again, but to this day, I still wonder how many balls he has.

Have I scared you off yet? No? Then stick around for Dear Diary and come back next Thursday for another tale of humiliation!

Dec. 6 1995

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!

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:

Can you decipher the answers to the questions? Below is the answer key:

Guess What? Chicken Butt

Guess Where? Chicken Hair

Guess Why? Chicken Eye/Chicken Thigh

Guess Who? Chicken Poo

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.

Later Gators! See you all tomorrow, happy Thursday!

Manswers: Dude Looks Like A Lady

2010-02-24T23:07:00.006-06:00

If you have no life and/or are obsessed with me (it's okay, we're all friends here) then you have actually read my About Me section and you will know that I refer to myself as "A walking contradiction." One of my contradictionalities... contradiction + personalities = contradictionalities... is my feminine vs. masculine qualities.

This dichotomy can be perfectly exhibited by my taste in television shows. I love shows on the super girly end of the spectrum: pretty much anything on Lifetime, Oxygen, TLC, WEtv etc. Give me a Saturday afternoon with a DVR filled with episodes of Say Yes to the Dress, Bridezillas, The Real Housewives, and any Lifetime movie starring Tori Spelling, Candace Cameron or any country music star, and I am happy as a clam. With a little pink bow. Because it's a girl clam.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, you will also find my DVR jam packed with lots of shows that are decidedly "manly." Mythbusters, Untamed and Uncut, 1000 Ways to Die and every episode of SpikeTV's Manswers. I think I'm ready for my honorary penis now, thanks.

So, while engaging in my mustache trimming, crotch scratching, burping, farting Manswers marathon this past weekend, my interest was piqued by a segment during which the Manswers team explored the world of transgenderism. In this segment, they answered the viewer's question: "How Can You Tell if She's Really a He?" Providing a "sure-fire" way to determine whether your potential bar hook-up is now, or ever was packing heat at some point in the past; a method more discreet than just copping a feel, which won't get you far with too many respectable chicks. Then again, if you're not on the hunt for respectable, grope away, but just know that you run the risk of getting slapped.

So, wanna know if she's really a he? Check out the video to find out how.

How Can You Tell if She's Really a He? | SpikeTV | SPIKE.com

It's all in the fingers apparently. Well imagine my shock and dismay as I looked down at my right hand and saw this:

Uh oh. Doth my eyes deceive me? Is my index finger shorter than my ring finger? Why yes, yes it is. Don't worry, it gets worse. It always does. Check out my left hand:

Holy short index finger, Batman! So, what does that mean? Am I a man trapped in a woman's body? Or a woman trapped in a man's body? Or some other combination that hasn't been invented yet? Shit, well that would explain my social security mishap in 2005...

In 2005, my senior year of college, I started bartending at a campus bar. One day in February, my boss, who shall henceforth be known as "The Fat Man" (betcha can't guess why), called me into his office to talk to me.

Fat Man: "T, we have a problem."

T: "Um. Okay?"

FM: "Well, we ran your SSN for tax purposes... and it came back saying that your name is T (The shortnened male equivalent of my name) and that you are a male." (My name is of the gender "neutral" variety when in it's shortened form. In it's full length, it's strictly female.)

T: ...Blank Stare...

FM: "A dude."

T: "What? Um. Clearly I am not a dude! If I am, I'm a dude with a pretty nice rack. I mean, I'm really not a dude, you can check if you want!"

FM: [Uncomfortable] "Okay, um. Stop talking, please. I'm sure it's just some mix-up, but you have to have it resolved before I can let you work again."

T: "Ugh. Fine."

So, I got in contact with my aunt who works for the Social Security office. She tells me that at one point several years ago, they changed databases and had to transfer all the records from one database from another. She said that it was possible that there was a database entry error somewhere along the line and that I should call the local social security office.

I did just that. I called the local social security office and told them about my predicament. I told them my SSN and that according to my employer, my records were showing that my name is (shortened version) T and that I am a male. Ms. Social Security click-click-clicked into the computer and said, "Yes, that is the information we have on file."

T: "Um. Well I'm NOT a male!"

Ms. SS: "Okay, well you will need to come to the office in person with valid ID to get it changed."

T: "Ugh. Fine."

Unless you have ever had to visit the social security office, then you may not be aware that it is run much like any other government managed office, say... the DMV or the City Clerk's office... meaning, you must wait in line for 10,000 years. You will take a number. You will sit in a hard plastic chair. Time will pass. Seasons will change outside and pages will fly off the calendar. You may even grow a very long beard. I think I did. Wait, no. I'm not a dude, remember?

Finally, my number was called and I spoke to the lovely Ms. Social Security about my dealio. She looked up the records and told me (yet again) that the information on file is that I am, in fact, a bonafide, card-carrying, penis-having dude.

Ms. SS: "Yes, I see the information was changed in 1993."

Um. When I was 10? I didn't know they did gender reassignment surgery so young!

T: "Um. Yes, well I'm going to need that changed back to female and my name is (Long, female version) 'T,' not (shortened version) 'T.'"

Ms. SS: "Okay, well we will need to have proof of gender before we can do that."

T: "What do you mean 'proof of gender?' You want to go in the back with me? I'll show you. I'll show you RIGHT NOW!"

Ms. SS: "That won't be necessary, m'aam. You can just provide a copy of your birth certificate."

Fan-friggen-tastic. Because I always carry my birth certificate with me. And I'm living at college, so my birth certificate is likely in my mom's safety deposit box back in Chicago. No chance of getting my sex-change today, I suppose.

So, I called my mom and had her FedEx me my birth certificate. And then I headed back to the dreaded SS office and waited another 3 billion years to present my birth certificate (NOT my genitals) as proof of gender. That plus my driver's license successfully put me back to my rightful name and gender.

I was able to go back to work after that, but every night I tended bar, the Fat Man would play Aerosmith's "Dude Looks Like A Lady." Awesome. I can't hear that song now without getting an erection.

I mean...

Wait, what?

Yes, it was annoying and totally bizarre, but it makes a good story and gives me a good line to use when trying to brush off creepy dudes at the bar:

Creepy Bar Dude: "Hey, what's happenin' hot stuff?"

T: "Hey! I used to be a dude!"

Ok, someone want to explain why Long Duk Dong from Sixteen Candles was hitting on me just now?

Final Note: According to many of the people posting on the SpikeTV forums on this video - I am not the only female with this "anomaly," and apparently it's not all that uncommon for females to have a ring finger longer than their index finger. And here I was thinking I was special. Boo :(

And on to my favorite part of every post... Dear Diary!

Dec. 03 <3 1995

Hi Diary. Guess what? It happened. He really does l<3ve me. After 5:00 Mass he told me and then, he kissed me. Hee Hee Hee! I tricked you! It's not even Dec. 03 yet! It actually Nov. 30 1995. It's getting close though! Yipee! He's a babe! I'm on cloud noin! Oh by the way it's the 12 days of Christmas with George and Frankie and you can win tomorrow morning. Okay what that is is this radio contest on B96 each day starting with the day before the present day, for 12 days they give clues for an object that is in Frankies stocking so far I knew every one of them Aurghhh! And I didn't call in I'm just like Oh no, it's not right I'm stupid not in a million years! Then this one girl called in and said the answer I was going to say and she won and my mouth literally fell open. I was so pissed. Jeez! My brother talks on the phone a lot. Anyway, I'm gonna go now. Ok. Ok, bye! See ya! Ciao! Bye Bye!

Hahaha, so sly! Tricking my diary into thinking it was really Dec. 3 and my Ouija board trick really worked! Had me fooled for a bit there, I'll tell ya what! Let's see what really happens on Dec. 3, shall we?

Dec. 3 1995
I can't believe I actually believed in that Ouija board crap! Ok I admit he was there but he didn't even talk to me! I'm so pissed off now. I'm gonna go now O.K. Bye! See ya! Ciao! Bye-Bye!

Hahaha! Man, I'm surprised that the Ouija board's predictions weren't 100% accurate. I sound pretty pissed off don't I? God, I AM SO PISSED. Okay, BYE!

And what is with my multi-cultural departure after every entry? See ya! Sionara! Ciao! Bye!

Drug Wars

2010-02-24T00:24:00.001-06:00

I don't really have any cohesive topic to discuss this evening, so I'm just going to tell you a short vignette about something humorous that I encountered today.

So, in October I had to have my annual TB test for work. I wasn't able to get an appointment with my primary physician for several days, so I decided to head over to the Walgreens Take Care clinic to have the test done. So anyway, once I got my results I faxed them over to our main office so they could have them on file. I called them to make sure they got the fax, and they did. Done and done, right?

No, it never is, is it?

About a week ago, I got a call from our main office letting me know that they needed a copy of my TB test results because they had lost the original that I'd sent them months ago. They said it was very important because the office was being audited by the state and they needed to have all their ducks in a row. Okay, no problem... except that upon entering my mid 20's I applied for my AARP card and became completely cynical and paranoid.

So, what does this mean for my TB test results? Well, what it means is that after receiving confirmation that the office had received my fax, the TB test results were immediately shredded.

See, since I am a crazy, paranoid, tinfoil hat-wearing senior citizen, I now take care to shred every single scrap of paper that may have any, any personal information on it. TB tests, receipts, ALL MAIL with my name on it - not just credit card pre-approval offers or bank statements - ALL of it. I even use permanent marker to black out the information on my prescription bottles - my name, my address, my physician's name, the prescription name and number, even the phone number and address of the Walgreens I get my prescriptions from. I don't know who would make use of any of this information, I just know that I do NOT want them to have it.

Okay, so I know the original copy I had was gone, so that meant I had to drive over to the Walgreens clinic that administered my TB test to have another copy printed. So, I got in the car and drove myself on over to the clinic, but unfortunately in order to even talk to a nurse, I had to use their computer system to sign myself in and wait for my name to be called. There were maybe 2 people ahead of me in the system, so while waiting I perused the aisle I was in. Over the counter pharmaceuticals - your usual cold medications, antihistamines, first aid materials, thermometers, and... drug tests.

Maybe I'm naive and/or sheltered, but I didn't know they sold drug tests in pharmacies. I assumed you could buy one online, you can buy anything online. Link jacked from Miss Nik's blog.

So, there they are. The drug tests. They have ones for specific drugs: coke, marijuana, etc. and they have ones that test for multiple drugs, including: cocaine, marijuana, meth, ecstasy... umm... ludes? I'm not even sure if people do ludes anymore, I'm just taking names of drugs from the game "Drug Wars," now.

C'mon, you had a TI-83 and you played it in pre-Algebra, too. Admit it.

So I look at the one for cocaine... and there is one left. Weird, this is a pretty decent neighborhood, who knew there would be so many people looking for cocaine drug tests... oh, well.

And then I look at the slot above the tag marked "Drug Test: Marijuana." It's empty. Lot's of pot-heads in Old Town apparently, heh.

Final thought - My boss lives in Old Town. I bet she bought out the entire stock of the Ganj tests at Walgreens.

Ok, it's Dear Diary time once again. Ready? Break!

11.9.95

God, I hate my stepfather P so much! O.k. I took a box of Frosted Mini Wheats to draw the box. O.K. so he says "Don't eat those upstairs." And I ignore him cause I don't want to get into a fight. So I go upstairs to my room. He comes upstairs just as I'm going to change my clothes. So he comes barging into my room without knocking like a raving madman takes the box away from me and starts ranting and Raving and telling me what a brat I am so finally I pushed him out of my room and yell "Shut up you Asshole!" Then I got out my dictionary and Highlited the meaning of privacy and showed it to him and he said I was acting like my mom. So I told him to shut up. I hate him so, so, so, so much. Words can't even describe how much I hate him. I wish he would die. I don't know about you but I don't exactly like skanky old men watching me change my clothes. O.K. I'm gonna go now I'll see ya later. Bye!

So, reading this post in the here and now I actually feel pretty bad about it. I was definitely going through that pre-teen "I know everything and adults know jack shit" phase. I was ornery, snotty, constantly rolling my eyes, scoffing at everything my parents said. In short, I was a short bitch. So yeah, I get why I wrote this post, but it doesn't change the fact that I feel a bit guilty for calling my step-dad, who is genuinely a good person an asshole, a skanky old man, and for saying that I hate him and that I wished he would die. I never say that about someone, because as much as someone can suck, I don't wish death on others. It's bad karma.

Even in the midst of this angsty diary entry, there is a bit of humor... the fact that I took out a dictionary and highlited the word "privacy" and gave it to him? Well as Ms. "It's Britney, bitch" Spears would say, "That is just so typically me." I've toned it down a bit since then, but sadly that's something I could see myself doing even now, haha. I guess old habits die hard.

So as not to end on such a craptastic note, I'm gonna go ahead and treat you all to another entry.

November, 17, 1995

[In pencil] Okay I've cooled down since my last entry. But right now I'm on cloud nine. Sigh. Finally.
[In blue ink] He loves me! Zachary Smith! He loves me. I know because I asked the Ouija board and on Dec. 03, 1995 (16 days from now hes going to tell me he loves me, French kiss me, and ask me on a date. Woo, hoo!
[In green ink] I'm so happy. Anyway that is basically what I wrote to you about. Oh, by the way in case you're wondering first I wrote with pencil, then blue pen and now green pen. Anyway I'll be seein ya soon! Ciao. Bye Bye Yipee Kiay Kio! Woohoo! Bye!

Hahaha. I barely know where to start. Let's start with my multiple writing utensil choice for this entry? It's obvious just by looking at it, that the entry is written in pencil, blue pen, then green pen, and yet I still feel the need to clarify for the reader.

And the proof that Zachary Smith finally loves me? The Ouija board? Awesome. I actually remember my Ouija board and asking the Ouija board about when Zachary Smith would tell me he loves me. Then I got scared of the Ouija board and hid it underneath my dresser.

And then about 13 years later (Go ahead, do the math... I was 25, okay? 25!) I read something online about Ouija boards and spirit/demonic possessions associated with the use of Ouija boards and I got so scared that I couldn't sleep for a few days. And I didn't even own a Ouija board. Shut up.

Let's see how this whole Ouija board, Zachary Smith crush thing works out for me in the next several posts... stay tuned!

Quidditch and Hogwarts and Muggles, Oh My!

2010-02-23T00:04:00.004-06:00

If there is one thing I love more than anything in this world, it's a good "tween" novel. So, a while back when I read an article hyping up a new Harry Potter theme park? I was sold. Now, I'm seeing commercials all over the place for the grand opening this Spring for "The Wizarding World of Harry Potter" at Universal Studios Orlando.

Um. Yes, please.

See you in Orlando, BITCHES! Now if only they can start working on getting together a Twilight theme park with an Edward Cullen and Jacob Black huggable plush toy for each and every female to enter the park... Just... just find a way to make it happen!

Anyway, in other, totally non-teeny bopper related news, I just returned from seeing Jack's Mannequin at the House of Blues. Now if you must know anything about my likes/dislikes aside from tween novels and all things Pattinson and Lautner... whatever, don't judge, as of the 11th he's legal. No double standards in this house! How many college aged dudes were counting down until the Olsen twins' 18th?

Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh yeah, my likes and dislikes. If you must know anything about my likes/dislikes, you must know that in my world, Andrew McMahon is a veritable GOD. He has more musical genius in his pinky toe than the collective population of most indigenous countries.

So, I love me some Jack's, but what seemed strange was the large number of people in attendance that didn't seem to know any of their music. There were a fair number of fans, mostly in the front of the standing room only auditorium, but R and I are old and we require breathing room, so we hung out near the back. Everyone in our area was busy chit chatting and looking around everywhere but at the stage. Now, I'm all for socializing... but why bother going to a concert if you aren't going to listen to the music? It's fine if you don't know the band, but at least pay attention and enjoy the music. Also, I might mention that this was a sold out show. And tickets weren't super expensive, but they weren't super cheap either.

That's not the part that really annoyed me, though. What really burned my biscuit was overhearing the comments of these two dudes behind us as we left the House of Blues. Their interaction went as follows:

Dude 1: That lead singer, SUCKED, yo.
Dude 2: Which one?
Maybe they are talking about the opening band...
Dude 1: The one with the fuckin' emo pants on

Now, Andrew pretty much always wears "emo pants," mainly because he's just really skinny and can't wear "non-emo pants." So, it's possible that they were talking about Andrew, in which case it's good that they crossed the street right then, because I was about thisclose to taking off my heels and my earrings and laying the smack down SheHulk style... You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

What about the fact that I wasn't wearing heels or earrings? Well, that's irrelevant. I'd put some on if it meant I got to take them off to go SheHulk on them.

Word.

Okay, so here comes tonight's dear diary so I can resume this evening's Hoarders marathon. Damn. I'm lazy.

October 25, 1995

[In faint blue ink] Wahhhhh! (Sniff) (Sob) I'm sorry I lost touch with you. Wahhh! Hang on I'm gonna switch pens. Okay.
[In darker blue ink] Now, where was I? Oh yes. Wahhhhh! (Gasp) Wahh! Please forgive me. You forgive me? God bless your soul! Guess what! Zachary talks to me now, all the time. Because Mitch's pencap was stuck and nobody could get it off except yours truly. I've become famous. OH! you know what The Jr. High Halloween dance is the 27th this friday! I hope Zachary asks me to dance with him. I'm being an angel. I feel pretty. I'm on cloud nine. Oh. Hoi! I just wrote that so I can remember it when I grow up! HeeHee. Inside joke. Okay, I'll tell you that's an impression of Jessica Zalinski and here's an impression of Jessica's mom, Don't you witches ever stop?! Okay here's the scoop about the "Don't you witches ever stop?" line. Okay Linds called Jessica pretending to be Kristen. And since they have caller I.D. she was going to dial *67 to not show the phone number on caller I.D. But she forgot to so Jessica fell for it but her mom who was on the other line saw the phone number and told Jessica to hang up. Jessica said no and finally she got Jessica to hang up and then she said to Linds "Don't you witches ever stop?" And Linds started cracking up so she had to hang up. Listen Sass, I've gotta go, because I'm getting writers cramp O.K. I love you Bye-Bye! Now which part don't you understand? The Buh or the Bye, Buh-Bye! See ya! Sionara! Ciao! P.S. I love Zachary S. He is so Foin! Hee, Hee, Hee! Bye. I love Zachary Smith!!!!!

Why do I seem to be totally wracked with guilt every time I deviate from my diary writing for a few weeks or months at a time? What if I apologized profusely to my blog readers every time I went a few days without an entry? I'm SO SORRY READERS! Sooooo sorry! WAHHHHH! (Gasp) WAHHHHHH!

Alright, I've composed myself, moving on. So my first claim to fame was removing a stuck pen-cap. See? SheHulk right here. That's what all the Jr. High boys are looking for, right? A SheHulk?

I should mention that despite my attempts to preserve the memory of some lame inside joke in my childhood diary, I have no idea what "Hoi" means. I'm pretty sure this was the small 6 month stint in which I wasn't the target for all the mean girls at school and I jumped right on the mean girl bandwagon. This girl, who I so affectionately refer to as "Linds" is the very same "Lindsey" who used to bark at me at school and purposely stand in front of me to prevent me from joining in group conversations on the playground. So when all the girls, especially "Linds" decided to descend upon the new girl, Jessica, I caught a small break and relished in making someone else's life complete hell. What sucks is that when Jessica first came to our school, she and I were actually sort of friends and I even went over to her house to play a few times. And just like Jr. High girls do, I went along with the crowd and made fun of her just as much as everyone else when that was the cool thing to do. Stupid Jr. High Sheep. Baaaa. Well, the girls teased Jessica so much that she left our school within a semester. And then it was back to me. Damn, I shoulda been nice to the girl - maybe it would have kept the bitches off my back for a while longer, haha.

I find myself wondering what has happened to the "Foin" Zachary Smith over the years... I should facebook him, ha!

Alright, one last thing before I turn in for the night. While I was writing this, R got bored and started looking for fun games to play online. He was giggling so much from the other side of the couch, that I finally took the bait and asked him what in the Sam Hill he was laughing about. Well, apparently R was chatting live with God. Yes, THE God.

His chat transcript with God is below, my comments in italics as usual, and it is pretty damn funny.

God: Hello. What is your name? Um... isn't he God? Shouldn't he know who you are? I mean he only created you...

R: Jimbo.

God: Hello, Jimbo! Are you a male or a female? Again... shouldn't he know?

R: Both.

God: How is both?

R: Sad.

God: No. I am as happy as ever. Thanks, that's great and all, but what about me? ME!?

R: I do not think you are cool.

God: Why do you think I am not cool?

R: Because you are naked.

God: I'm not naked. If you look at my older pictures (elsewhere on my server) you will see that I had different types of coats and caps during the centuries. But I had a couple of gifted human helpers a little over hundred years ago and they adviced me to use red coat and cap, lined with fur (which is nowadays artificial).

R: I am going to kill myself.

God: Do not kill. I believe in the Ten Commandments.

R: I believe in beer.

God: What do you say to people who say that beer does not exist?

R: I tell them that they are stupid.

God: Why do you tell them that?

R: Because they are stupid.

God: That makes sense to me. Stupid are stupid.

R: It better.

God: Who is going to make me?

R: Your mother.

God: Actually, I do not have a mother.

R: You are an orphan.

God: What makes you say that I am an orphan?

R: Because you are Mexican.

God: That makes sense to me. Would you like to continue talking about lizards?

This goes on for a while, but as you can clearly see, it is hilarious. So you should chat with God and let me know how it goes. Chat with God here

Goodnight, all!

Apollo Anton Ohno.... OH YES! Or: In Which I Make Ridiculous Puns

2010-02-21T23:03:00.003-06:00

Ok, so I have been unable to peel my retinas away from the Winter Olympics on my flatscreen for about 3 days... 7 days... shit, I don't even know how many days, they all seem to blend together after a while.

Every time the Olympics are on... it's the only thing I watch all day, every day. Since the invention of TiVo and DVRs I now have the advantage of taping all the events so I don't feel pressured to hold my bladder in order to catch the end of the luge event... Also, I can tape the events that are going on while I'm sleeping or working, and not miss a single second of awesome.

It's a bummer when a year is a non-olympic year - it's my personal belief that they should start hosting a Spring and Fall Olympics so that every year can be an olympic year.

What would the Spring and Fall Olympic events consist of? Here's a sample list to get the Olympic committee started on their subsequent development of the Spring and Fall Olympics:

Fall Olympic Events
Speed Raking
Pumpkin Shot-put
Bobsledding for Apples
Turkey Chase

Spring Olympic Events

Easter Basket-ball
Cross Country Bunny Hop-Scotch
Distance Cadbury Egg-Toss

...all in hopes of taking home A Pot Of Gold-Medal... ba-dum-bum *ching!*

Okay, so technically St. Patrick's Day occurs in the winter, but I really think of March as a Spring month, so... suck it.

While writing this, I got curious and googled "Spring Olympics..." and I found this. Apparently I am not the only one with this fantastic idea! Sign the petition. Sign it. Sign it nowwww.

Anyway, so I think this year's Winter Olympics have been particularly fun to watch, especially having just returned from snowboarding in Keystone, I'm just jazzed up about winter sports in general.

The Highlites:

Johnny Weir's awesome outfits. He's sassy. Who saw his rose crown? You know you can't pull that off!
Apollo Ohno wins his 7th medal. In the words of R, "Apollo Ohno? OH YES!"
Finding out that I share the same birthday (year and all) with US snowboarder, Kelly Clark. I'm taking it as a sign that I should pursue going pro.
Speaking of Kelly Clark, watching her channel her inner Kelly Clarkson before every run in the women's half pipe event. She likes to sing along to her ipod to help her tune-out the crowd, I suppose... Kelly-oke? Clark-eoke? Whatever, it's off-key, and it's awesome. I'm sorry, I looked for a video, but I can only find videos of Kelly Clarkson singing. Bitch.
All the pushing, shoving, and slapping taking place during the speed skating short circuit... Seriously, those speed skaters are handsy. Especially the dudes.
The biathlon. Period. Who decided that guns and skis should go together in the same event? I don't know, but I'd like to shake his hand.
Shaun White, already having secured the gold, goes for his second run in the half-pipe and NAILS a Double McTwist 1260. You don't even have to be a snowboarding aficionado to appreciate how friggen' sweet that is. 1260? That's 3.5 turns! In mid air!
Lindsey Vonn sucking up the pain of her shin injury to win the Women's downhill ski gold medal and tell all the other skiiers to kiss her American ass!
I'm not completely biased to US athletes - Torah Bright's gold medal win in the women's half pipe competition was well deserved. Her second run was nearly flawless and she looked hella cool landing that switch backside 720. Even though I was rooting for the Americans, especially Hannah Teter (that girl has got heart), Torah Bright totally deserved this win.
Watching the multiple crashes, bails, and wipeouts in the downhill ski, luge, bobsled, skeleton, speed skating, halfpipe, and ski jump events....
Curling. WTF is up with that sport? I have no idea, but I know that I do love watching it.
USA beats Canada in hockey. Suck it, Canucks!
Fans with cowbells. I have Olympic Fever and the only cure is more cowbell.

I'm so looking forward to seeing what else Vancouver brings our way before this Olympic season is over.

And, being that it's no secret that snowboarding is my favorite winter sport, I thought I'd share this gem with you:

And now, since I've been depriving you fine folks of my diary entries for a few blog entries now, I owe you one:

August 20, 1995

Oh! My sweet Sassy Frassy! I'm sorry, so sorry! [Insert drawing of a sad face crying tears into a puddle] I didn't mean to wait so long to talk to you again. You know what? Mrs. C met some people in France and they came to visit her. a dad and a boy exactly my age 12! and he's so cute his name is Benjamin. Born on June 15! Ooooh, he's so cute. I love him. We went to the beach the other day and took him with. his bathing suit is like underwear which was embarressing for me and he changed his clothes outside. He took of his bathing suit and put on his underwear. Aurghh. It was a full moon out. He's leaving tomorrow. Whaaa! But were going to be penpals.Yayyyy! Well I'm tired so G'night!

Hahaha, my mom still teases me about this to this very day. No joke, she tells this story to R almost every time we go to my parents' house. The story is basically just as it sounds in the entry - our next door neighbor Mrs. C used to travel abroad and hosted a father and son from France at her home. I would go next door and play basketball with Benjamin every day. He didn't speak any English, so I would say things to him like "I love you" and "You're cute" knowing that he couldn't understand me, hahaha. Anyway, my mom is a total Francophile and speaks French pretty well since she spent a year there studying abroad. She volunteered to bring Benjamin with us to the beach one day. His swimsuit was like underwear... aka... a speedo. And you know how it is in the US vs. Europe - we are all weird and uptight and in Europe they are a little more relaxed about their bodies and nakedness... so he just went with what he knew and changed out of his swimsuit right there on the beach. I saw his naked 12 year old ass. Yeaaaah! Anyway, at the time I was totally embarrassed to be seeing a boy's butt and my mom has never let me live it down since then.

August 21, 1995

Dear Sassafrass, Here I am in the park writing to you till 3:00 thats when I have to go to my piano lesson listen I'm going to play on the swings so talk to you later! Bye!

Short entry. First I'd like to inquire as to why I have my diary at a playground? Second - my piano teacher was a heinous bitch. During one lesson, she noticed that my fingernails were getting a little bit long. She said that I had to keep them short for piano, which I had no problem with (still a chronic nail-biter... I think I need hypnosis). First, she told me to remember to cut my nails when I got home. Okay. No problem. Then, she changed her mind, and decided I needed to cut my nails NOW. Okaaaayy... And then she changed her mind again and decided that SHE needed to cut my nails FOR ME. Now, keep in mind, at this point I am 12 years old - not exactly worldly or mature, but old enough to cut my own damn finger nails. Way to go, creep. This also brings back horrific memories of my old babysitter who used to crack my knuckles against my will. Why didn't my mother perform background check on these psychos?? Oh that's right, because she let me wander the alley by myself and poop in church parking lots...

Try not to miss me too much, the Olympics may keep me distracted all day, but I will try to pause the DVR long enough to blog!

TMI Thursday: There's A Reason Why I Blocked This Out Of My Memory

2010-02-18T23:28:00.008-06:00

Hey there kids. It's Thursday, which means it's time for another TMI Thursday post for the fabulous LiLu's blog, Livit, Luvit.

Really, folks. If you're not reading her blog, you're not living. Or luving.

The rules are simple:

"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've never been one for discretion, so naturally this is right up my alley.... and I normally don't allow things up my alley. My alley is an exit only... wow already TMI and I haven't even begun telling my story...

Let me take you back to a simpler time. The year is 2005. The setting is a central Illinois Big Ten University. 2 recent graduates of said university, S.G. and M.U., are down from Chicago for the weekend to visit their friend and sorority sister, Simply T.

The night started out no different than any other night in college... or at least those that I remember. My roomie at the time, C.K., and I were hosting 2 of our recently graduated sorority sisters for the weekend.

At the time, I was employed as a bartender at a campus bar, which meant 2 things for us:

1 - My friends and I never wait in line - typically the line for this bar went down the block

2 - My fellow bartenders will make our drinks larger, stronger and cheaper. They will also over-serve us when we are falling down drunk.

Screw health insurance, THOSE are benefits!

Okay so, we have established the fact that I was getting schwasted like it was my job... which it was... so it's no surprise that after bar time everything got a little fuzzy. Okay, a bit more than fuzzy, I flat out didn't remember a thing that happened after we left the bar.

The next morning, the only thing that could jump start our hangover recovery was some IHOP. Luckily, the IHOP was only 2 blocks from my apartment. M.U. and I volunteered to go pick up the food and bring it back to the apartment.

While waiting for the elevator, I mentioned that I had to go to the bathroom. M.U. smirked at me and responded, "Yeah, not like you need a Burger King to go to the bathroom."

As we stepped onto the elevator with a few other residents, I gave her a puzzled look and said, "Huh?"

"You really don't remember?"

"No, what are you talking about?"

"Really?"

"No, WHAT?"

And then, in the words of the wise Celine Dione, "It's all comin' back, comin' back to me now..."

Let's just say... if peeing your pants is cool, then consider me Miles Davis.

Let's backtrack to the point where my memory blacked out.

As the bars were closing, we all decided that we were just famished. On the corner of my block was a little grease pot called Niro's Gyros. The place was always packed after bar time with drunk college kids itching to get their hands on some cheese fries, mozzarella sticks, burgers, and of course... gyros.

Well, we popped into Niro's and I said that before ordering I needed to find the bathroom to pee. Only thing was... Niro's didn't have a bathroom. It didn't even have tables for people to sit and eat, it was strictly a take-out joint. By now I think my bladder is going to explode and I've gotta get to a bathroom NOW. So, I tell S.G. and M.U. my order and give them some cash and run next door to Burger King to utilize the facilities.

Alright, have you ever had to pee so bad that it takes every ounce of your concentration to keep your urethra sealed? Well it was like that, but 100 times worse.

I scurried into the BK restroom and slammed the stall door closed. While struggling with the button on my jeans, the mere sight of the toilet turned my situation from Code Red to... Code Yellow, I suppose.

Before I could even get my jeans unbuttoned, the pee just started flowing. I kept trying to stop it, but I couldn't. I tried doing my kegels, crossing my legs... but to no avail. I continued to struggle with the button on my jeans and my underwear, peeing all the while. By the time I had gotten my pants off I had peed my entire bladder's worth. Wow. That's new. Well... what now?

Okay, time to strategize. I'm only about a block from home... I just need to make a quick exit and make a mad dash for home. I took my black, puffy, down jacket and tied it around my waist to hide my pee stained pants and bolted.

Have you ever seen a girl in wet pants, with a puffy jacket wrapped around her waist, running at full speed while wearing 6 inch stilettos? No? That's too bad, because I'm sure it was awesome.

I got to the door of my building, but damn it all to hell, I had to choose to live in one of the few campus apartment buildings with a security guard. Meaning that any guests needed to sign-in with a resident to be allowed in the building.

Well, M.U. and S.G. were still at Niro's and I didn't have time to eff around, so I buzzed myself in and frantically told the guard that I had 2 friends coming in, but I was having an emergency and needed to go up to my apartment immediately. I told him their names, and signed them in on the sign-in sheet as "S....scribble" and "M...scribble," because apparently it was easier to put their first initial and scribble on the line than to actually write their names. I threw the pen back at the guard and ran for the elevator.

When I got back to my apartment, I rushed into my room and stripped myself of the pee-soaked jeans and underwear and tossed them into my laundry basket, then went to take a body shower. I then changed into my favorite sweat pants and awaited the arrival of M.U and S.G.

They returned shortly, gyros in tow. At which point I promptly forgot my pee fiasco and decided to drunkenly maul my gyro, getting tzatziki sauce all over my face and hands. No need for napkins, just lick your whole hand clean. I gave my audience an encore by eating french fries by the fist-full dipped in ranch dressing. Think I just got the fries in that dressing? Nope. I just dunked the entire hand. It's more efficient that way. It's science.

There were pictures, apparently. I looked like a neanderthal attacking a wildebeest... if neanderthals had booze and ranch dressing.

The next morning, I woke up in a ranch induced haze and knew nothing of the events the night before, until M.U. reminded me of my little adventure in pee-pee land.

Apparently when M.U. and S.G. returned to the building, they told the guard who they were so they could sign in and he said, "Your friend was very intoxicated. VERY intoxicated."

I wonder if it was my scribble writing or the scent of pee emanating from my body that tipped him off?

Ah, college. Good times. Luckily, I was an idiot in college, so I've got TMI Thursday entries for the next 10 years from Sophomore year alone. I am really looking forward to humiliating myself for your entertainment.

No Dear Diary tonight because it's gotten very late and I needs me my beauty sleep.

Take care all, and don't eat ranch with your hands.

I'm Back!

2010-02-17T16:59:00.002-06:00

Hi, friends!

R and I just got back from Keystone last night - it was an awesome trip.

Highlights:

Teaching R how to snowboard and get down a blue without killing himself
Putting aside all concept of fear and just going "balls out" faster and harder than I've ever boarded in the past - even if it resulted in a gnarly bail leaving me dazed on the side of the slope wondering if my nose was broken. It wasn't.
Attempted and landed 2/4 jumps.
Soaking in the hot tub after a long day on the slopes.
Making a delicious Valentine's Day dinner for R and watching How I Met Your Mother re-runs in the condo we rented.

Also, when I arrived home late last night, I saw a small box addressed to me. Squee! It was my valentine gift from Ashalah's Be my Blog Valentine. It's basically like Secret Santa, but for Valentine's day.

My package came from Lauren, in Oregon - she sent some awesome things: The Love Actually soundtrack, A Chocolove Raspberries in Dark Chocolate bar, and a bag of coffee that smells AMAZING. I love getting mail that isn't bills, so this was definitely a nice thing to come home to. Thanks again, Lauren!

Well today is my last Photo I class, I start Photo II next week. I plan to start a flickr page or photobucket account so I can share my photos with all of you. Keep an eye out for that. In the mean time, I've got plenty of work to catch up on and class to attend, but when I return home later tonight I will post some Dear Diaries.

Sand falls through the hourglass, pages of the calendar flip rapidly, seasons change outside....
*Later That Evening*

How do you like that time elapse thing? Nice, huh? Ok, well as promised here is tonight's Dear Diaries.

4/27/95
Dear

Sorry I didn't finish this entry Sass, its just that I was reading through old entrys and I saw this one wasn't finished so I decided to finish it right now. Bye

Wow, that is an ADD entry if I've ever seen one. Clearly, I only got so far as to write "Dear" before I saw something shiny and got distracted.

May 30, 95

Yo! Sassafras! Hi! Sorry I didn't write for a while. Dude guess what! Peter Wilson finally likes me! Aieee! Hee Hee Hee Hoo! I'm doing backflips! Whohoo! O.K. enough of this foolishness. 4 more days of school. Whohoo! O.K. enough of that foolishness. Damn! Sorry I just forgot what I was going to write. Think, Think, Think. Shit! Oh well, I'm tired so I'm going to bed. Good night. See ya! Bye! Chow! See ya later! Hey I already said that. Sionara. Bye-Bye!

This is apparently when I entered my "bad-ass" phase of 6th grade. You can tell because only 6th grade thugs start off an entry with the word "Yo." Oh, but then I regress back into dorkishness talking about doing backflips (complete with drawings of loopdey-loops to demonstrate how the backflips should go). Then I realize I'm supposed to be a hard ass and I experiment with swear words for the first time (in writing at least). In fact, I think this was around the same time that I encountered some boys from school on the sidewalk after class. They were picking on me, or at least I believed that they were, so with a completely straight face I looked one of them in the eye and calmly said, "Fuck you." After that, they were all so shocked to hear the girl who never speaks a word to suddenly bust out the F-word, that they immediately stopped picking on me. It only lasted about a day, but it was totally worth it.

Gone Shreddin...

2010-02-12T00:05:00.002-06:00

Hey there boys and girls - just letting you know that I am leaving for a snowboarding trip in CO. I will be back Wednesday of next week. I am bringing my lappy, but I don't know how much posting I'll do because I'll either be A: On the mountain or B: Nursing my wounds that I acquired on the mountain. I will try to post at least once, I don't wanna leave you high and dry!

Holla atcha girl!

I Should Be Dead: In Which I Am An Insensitive A-Hole

2010-02-08T20:27:00.016-06:00

I am currently engrossed in a marathon of "I Survived" on the Biography Channel. The concept is similar to that of the show, "I Shouldn't Be Alive" on the Discovery Channel. R keeps telling me that he thinks the show should be titled "I Should Be Dead," but he's wrong. 4 out of 5 Doctors agree.

I don't think there is much of difference between "I Survived" and "I Shouldn't Be Alive," except for the crazy-awesome reenactments of the traumatic events.

It's kind of like a car wreck or a gory movie - you want to look away, but you can't. In one episode, "Trapped in a Canyon," they show a reenactment of adventure racer, Danelle Ballengee's story.

While running in the canyon she slips and falls down three drops of 10 to 20 feet, eventually landing feet first, shattering the bones in her legs and her pelvis. They repeated that shattering pelvis scene probably 10 times - they love to do that, replay the most gruesome scene over. And over. And over. And every time I see it I throw up in my mouth a little bit. And yet, somehow I find myself continuing to watch. It's like drugs. Don't even get me started on Intervention and Hoarders or this could take a while.
I looked for a clip of the shattering pelvis, but I was unable to find one. I did, however, find this:

Awesome. Where were we before YouTube was invented?

Anyway, so the set-up of this episode of "I Survived" is that a locomotive pulling cars full of gasoline fails to make it up and over a hill, at which point the cars become disconnected and are now coming back down the hill, quickly gaining speed toward a stockyard full of cars containing chlorine and other dangerous chemicals. If they collide, there will be a huge explosion and will kill all the people in the city near the stockyard. It's up to the worker, Ryan, to jump onto the gasoline cars and pull the handbrake. While the cars travel at high speed. And while they are covered in ice (it's winter). And if he fails? Well, boom goes the dynamite. No pressure, or anything.

I tried explaining this to R, but like I've said before - my writing skills far outweigh my verbal skills. My explanation went something like this:

R: So, what is this guy's job exactly?

T: When the trains come in he's supposed to take the thing from the other thing and connect it to the locomotive to take it over the hill.

R: .....

T: Whatever. Bottom line, it's like "The Little Engine That Could", but it couldn't.

Sensitivity. It's not for everyone.

But anyway, while on the topic of near death experiences - has anyone ever had one? I'd love to hear stories so I can be completely insensitive to your plight.

Ok, cats and kitties, it's that time again. And as a special treat, a I am serving up a double helping of Dear Diary! (Don't worry, it's fat free).

4-24-95

Omigod! I think Kenny Mitchell is hitting on me! You know he does this thing to Cassiee, he goes Cassie, Cassie, Cassie! really fast in a weird voice and it drives her nuts! Jezz! Well, anyway I bet you're wondering what this has to do with me well, he tried to do that to my name like this: [Redacted], but he couldn't get it right because it's like a tongue twister! And then he gave me that incredibly toothy, goofy, wierd, Huck Finn like grin. Okay now to Peter Williams. He's so cute! In the prayer service there was only one songbook left so he shared with me! Aurghhhh! I love him soooo! I'm getting tired so Good Night! [Insert here a small drawing of a Good Year tire - I guess to go with the "Good Night?"]

[Insert drawing of 3 hearts: inside each of the hearts is my initials, a plus sign, and the initials of Kenny Mitchell, Peter Williams, and Zachary Smith. The Kenny Mitchell and Peter Williams hearts are X-ed out]

Bye!

We haven't heard anything about Zachary Smith in quite some time, so it's nice to see his reappearance. Evidently I was a crush slut, but I always held a special place in my slutty heart for Zachary Smith. Also? I think it's awesome that sharing a songbook during a prayer service is a clear signal from Peter Williams that he reciprocates my feelings. Those were simpler times. Now if a boy shares his songbook with you, it's only because he wants to get into your pants. And that makes me sad. Oh and as a final note, as it will be relevant to the next post - each exclamation point in this entry is done in bubble-letter font.

4-25-95

Dear Dowry Dairy Diary named Sassafrass! Yay! I finally got it right! I guess you've noticed I've gone back to normal exclamation points. My mom and my brother are having a fight (again!) Sheesh! (or Gee Whilikers as P.W. would say) Oh! About Kenny, he kept saying wierd things to me he even serenaded me with a song of "You make me feel like a natural woman" Hee, Hee, and Hee. Hees so weird! Wait I spelled He's wrong. No I'm just bein wierd again. Yay! On the radio they're playing Bush "Everything Zen" Rain Dogs Howl for the century! Hoooooooooooow (Happy Hundreth New year) Whew! I can take a breath now. Peter Williams is so cute. I love em! Today in church he shook my hand! Omigod! Lisen Sassafras I'm tired so Good Night! [Last exclamation point in bubble font]

[Insert small drawing of the Good Year tire again.]

P.S I thought it would be nice to end the entry with a special exclamation point and make that two --> ! [Bubble Font]

[Insert Smiley Face Drawing]

Wow. There is so much comedy gold in this entry. I barely even know where to start. Let's start at the beginning shall we? Being the master wordsmith that I was in 1995, I thought it was very clever to "mistakenly" use the words "Dowry" and "Dairy" in place of "Diary." You had me fooled for a minute - thinking you really didn't know the spelling of the word "Diary." You sly minx, you.

Gee Whilikers. I used to have a crush on someone who said, "Gee Whilikers" as a part of his normal daily vocabulary. Let that sit with you for a minute. Gee Whilikers. I don't think there is anything more to say about this.

And wow, another misspelling of a fairly simple word? Hees = He's? Oh no, I'm just bein weird again. Yay!

Bush - Sixteen Stone was the first CD that I ever owned. I listened to it non-stop for maybe 6 months. And to this day, I really have no idea what they meant by the line "Rain dogs howl for the century," but in 1995, my interpretation of this line was quite literal: A pack of dogs howling in the rain for 100 years without taking a breath. That is more awesome than anything I could make up today. Awesome.

Ok, well that's all for tonight - I am proud of myself for managing to keep this post at a semi-normal length. I've peeked ahead at the next few entries. They're pretty good, no lies. See ya 'round kiddos!

The Usual Suspects

2010-02-05T20:44:00.018-06:00

I'll attempt to make this brief... or as brief as my verbosity will allow.

Today, I got an email from photobucket.com regarding my photobucket account. Wait, I have a photobucket account?

Kinda scared, I logged in with my typical username/password combo, and I'm in. I only had to look at it to recognize it. Back in the olden days, when we had to walk to school up hill both ways and real life was in black and white or sepia tones, when facebook, or "the book" as I occasionally call it, was still in it's infancy and people were forced to use primitive technology to share their digital photos: via email or by posting them on a photo sharing site.

Most of the pictures were from various sorority events in college with a smattering here and there of high school photos that I had scanned in. Since I forgot that I even had this account, and none of these pictures were posted on facebook (yet), finding it was a wonderful surprise, much like finding $20 in a pocket of a garment you haven't worn in a while. Looking through those photos took me on a trip down memory lane.

Now, many of my memories from college are... blurry... at best. This has absolutely nothing to do with underage drinking... because I totally never did that. I totally waited until I was 21. And then I even waited longer... right. Okay, let's move on, shall we?

Like I was saying, my memories aren't as clear as they could be... so these pictures were a veritable "Forensic Files" of my college years. I was able to put together the clues, even without blood spatter evidence or finger prints and I noticed a few trends...

Here's the suspect's wrap sheet:

Age: 18-21

Height/Weight: 5'7"/fluctuates between 130-150 depending on how much drinking she did that semester

Hair Color: Over-processed blonde

Race: Undetermined. The suspect could be any number of ethnicities. It is impossible to tell, as her skin is a shade of radio-active orange tan.

- She likes beer.

- She enjoys licking her friend's faces. She was witnessed licking the face of our mole, L.M. While under the influence, our suspect said, "Your make up tastes baaaaad!" to which our mole responded, "Um. Maybe don't lick my face, then?"

- When she isn't licking her friends' faces, she enjoys making faces at the camera and sticking her tongue out in the most grotesque manner possible. She has been incredibly elusive due to the numerous botched mug shots.

Mugshots courtesy of SmokingGun.com

- She likes to dance on top of things. A lot. Tables. Bars. Chairs. Counters. You name it, she dances on top of it. In casual settings, in front of entire bars full of people... at formal dinner dances... yeah, she went there.

- She has a lot of clothes. All of which are either some designer label or from Abercrombie & Fitch. She even has a job at A&F to support her shopping habit. With her massive wardrobe, she is able to clothe several of her friends. She was photographed multiple times on a trip to Mexico with 3 accomplices, most likely for a drug trafficking ring. All 3 accomplices are dressed in her clothing. We believe this is a decoy to throw the authorities off of her track.

- If there is a novelty oversized object, say... a 6 foot tall Corona Bottle at Hooters, she is humping it.

- She molests many of her accomplices. Nary a picture is seen of the suspect without her hand groping a boob or licking a face. Why does she even have friends?

- She is a master beeramid architect. These skills most likely aided her in the great "Orange Traffic Horse" heist of 2001.

- She is tanorexic. Our undercover detective witnessed the suspect visiting a tanning salon 6 days a week. When the salon's records were pulled we found that she spent 20 minutes in a tanning bed 5 days a week and 1 day in the Mystic Tan booth each week. Despite being Oompa Loompa orange, glow in the dark, tan she has been overheard saying, "Ugh. I am so white." We believe she may be in cahoots with the Jersey Shore cast.

- She carries a Coach purse 100% of the time. She's kind of a label whore.

- Our Psychoanalyst Detective has come to the following conclusion about the suspect. She is a party girl. She parties hard, and it shows. It seems as though she has little to no recollection of the ungodly acts she partakes in each night. She is incredibly intelligent, but she has her head in the clouds. She suffers from a high degree of anxiety, leading to panic attacks and outward manifestations of aggression. She seems like an overall decent human being, but she is somewhat naive: oblivious to the happenings in the world around her and the value of a dollar.

College was so fun, but I was placed in a Witness Protection Program (aka Grad School) and I reemerged as a totally different person. Some things are still the same. In many ways there are still shades of that 20 year old girl humping the Corona Bottle on top of a table, dancing to "Baby Got Back." I suppose those shades would have an orange/tan undertone. But thinking back to that person, and it really is like two completely different people. I almost can't make a comparison. It's like comparing apples and oranges... hahaha.

I still like beer and Coach purses, I still make ugly faces in photos, and I still have way too many clothes - I donated 4 over-sized hefty bags full of clothes and shoes last spring and I still have no room in my closet. I even started another closet overhaul a few days ago. My closet looks like the homes of those people on Hoarders. It's a vicious cycle donate, shop, donate, shop...

So, what qualities and habits make Simply T, Simply T? Stuff that 18-22 year old Simply T never thought twice about?

- I don't tan.

- I am not sure I believe in the institute of marriage and if I do get married so that little Johnny or Susie doesn't have to explain why he/she is a bastard, I'm really not sure I want a wedding. At least not in the traditional sense. Back then I was obsessed with the idea of getting married. I would frequently build my own engagement ring online like a total creep.

- I'm socially conscious. I listen to NPR, I try to recycle, if R and I do marry one day, I will accept an engagement ring with the only stipulations being that it is comprised of conflict-free gems and reused metals. 4 months ago I began my journey towards being a vegetarian. I cut out beef, pork, poultry, and eggs. I continued to eat fish and dairy, but around New Years I gave up fish. Goodbye sushi :( And as of 2 weeks ago I decided that I'd like my diet to be as close to a vegan diet as possible, so I said bye-bye to dairy, with the exception of cheese. Cheese will be the most difficult thing. (R is from Wisconsin... think about that). I think that I would eventually like to be on a fully vegan diet some day, hopefully soon, but it's still a work in progress.

- The T of about age 19 had her head up in the clouds. If she couldn't see it, it wasn't happening. I spent a lot of money on leather goods, which I will continue to use until they have been fully used, at which point I will replace them with kinder alternatives. Knowing what I know now... I am ashamed to say that at one point I deeply coveted this Coach purse with genuine fur trim. Like I said, if I couldn't see it, it wasn't happening. My eyes are open now, and the only thing I see when I look at real fur are all the videos I have seen regarding the cruelty of the fur trade.

- In regard to spending money - I am a cheapskate. It's funny how easy it is to spend your parents' money without a second thought. $150 sunglasses, $200 purses and haircuts/highlites, millions of pairs of shoes, more accessories than you could shake a stick at. All in the name of looking good. Now? I still look awesome. Actually, maybe even more awesome. Like I said, I dyed my hair back to my God-given dark brown locks and cut my bangs across bluntly and took on a little bit more "edgy look" than I sported in college. I touch it up every 8-10 weeks with a box of $7 dye from Walgreens and my hair looks 1 trillion times more healthy than it ever did with all the blonde-ness I had going on.

As a cheap ass, I refuse to throw something away/replace it unless it is absolutely falling apart. R bought me a new hair dryer for Christmas because my old one (I think it lasted an astounding 7 years - R.I.P., my friend) would only work when you held the cord a certain way, and the fan cover had fallen off, so you ran the risk of your hair getting caught up in the fan. 3 days before Christmas, the thing just died (I think it was sabotaged. Trust no one.), so R gave me my present early and I begrudgingly accepted (but not before trying to fix my old one).

- I no longer feel compelled to plan out every minute of every day for the next 10 years of my life. I now carry the attitude of letting things take their course. I still believe that you have to be proactive to make things happen for yourself, but I don't stress unnecessarily about them. Some things you just can't change. Back then, I was... a little bit uptight. I was a nervous wreck. I had multiple panic attacks and I often manifested my chronic anxiety through aggression. So, I was kind of a bitch. Now, I have my anxiety under control and I'm still kind of a bitch... just in a different way. I'm more confident, so I tell people how it is, even if it isn't exactly what they want to hear. I've replaced aggression with sarcasm and snark. And if I don't like you... you know. That's something that hasn't changed - I wear my emotions on my sleeve. If I find you to be horrible and disgusting, chances are I am making some facial expression to convey that feeling. Not my best quality, but I'm working on it.

So, reflecting back on that bubbleheaded kid to the awesome chick I am today, I don't have any regrets. It was all a part of my journey down the path to where I am today. And sometimes you really can't appreciate your own betterment if you never F-ed up in the past. So here I am, a product of my past. Where will I go from here? I guess only time will tell.

Okay so that was really long. And super deep. I promise it won't happen again (the deep part, not the length, by now you know I can't help it). It is now time for something light, fluffy, nutritious, delicious, and totally frivolous. It's time for Dear Diary! Yay!!!

I wasn't really a fan of the footnotes last time... I felt like it restricted my hilarity. So I think for now I will go back to paragraphs at the end of each entry. Here goes...

Apr. 28, 95

Boy Sassafrass, am I in a jam! I am in a big pickle! Help! I'm turning green! Green with envy. Hee hee hee! Oh Sassafrass what am I going to do. Cassie and Lindsey had a fight and I talked to Cassie and I kinda sorta in a way took her side. But you see the problem is I want to be Lindseys friend too. Aurghhhh! Well enough screaming. You know Peter williams is so funny, and so cute! I went to Florida over Easter vacation! I got a tan! I saw N (my baby bro) Man I am happy right now. Sassafrass I am sincerely sorry for not writing to you for a long time. Anyway I am tired so goodnight Sassa. Chow! Adios!

*Domo For listening to me babble for so long

Comprende

Bye! Bye!

*means thank you in chinese picked it up from Full house!

First, I feel that it is worth mentioning that every time you see an exclamation point in this entry, it is dotted with a heart. Naturally. Also, every lesson worth learning can be learned from Full House, even if you recall the information erroneously. Domo = Japanese, not Chinese. I even remember which episode it was. It was when Jesse hit it big (PS - did anyone notice that Jesse Katsopolis used to be Jesse Cochran? Weird.) and went on an international tour. He did a show in Japan, and dressed as Elvis he says, "Domo. Domo very much." Apparently I liked that so much that it's stuck with me to this day.

Lastly, reading these entries, I become gradually more aware of the reason I had no friends. I was a dork, I occasionally talked in idioms such as "in a jam" or "in a pickle," and I made really lame puns. "I'm in a pickle. Help, I'm turning green. Green with envy" may as well have been Mike Myers as Austin Powers crying, "Help! I'm in a nutshell! How did I get into this nutshell..." Good shit. That writing style led me down the path to my writing style today, which may be a good or bad thing depending on your opinion of my blog. I'll just go ahead and assume its good.

Okay, well Domo to my blog readers for listening to me babble for so long! Til next time...

TMI Thursday 2/4/2009

2010-02-04T21:15:00.009-06:00

Hello, everyone! I've been wanting to participate in LiLu's TMI Thursday for a few weeks now, but I could never come up with anything good. This week, I am confident that my "TMI Thursday" entry will shock, appall, alienate, and scare off any current/potential readers. Yay, it's going to be FUN!

Without further ado, I present my very first TMI Thursday entry. Let's hope that this is just the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

Ok, so when I was a little girl, maybe 6 or 7, I was wandering the neighborhood as I was wont to do. See, that's the thing that sucks about kids having to grow up in this day and age - parents are all weird and protective now. I mean when I was a kid and the weather was nice, I'd leave the house and wander the neighborhood with my little friends all day long. Often times in the alley. By ourselves. Near rusty nails. And used condoms. And crack pipes and hypodermic needles. (To be fair, the only thing on that list to be found in our alley was rusty nails. And crack pipes. Just kidding. Or am I?) I did shit like that all the time and my parents never said anything, asked where I was going, checked between my toes for needle marks... way to go, parents, this actually answers a lot of questions.

So, anyway, my little friend and I were wandering the alley. We took a different route than normal and ended up at a Church with a small parking lot under an overhang. It seemed like a good, shady place to sit for a little and take a load off. Literally.

We sat in the empty parking lot for a while, chit chatting about My Little Ponies or Play Doh or something. At that moment, we had a brilliant idea.

We should poop in the church parking lot!

Why yes, why didn't we ever think of that before?

So we each took a turn popping a squat behind one of the concrete pylons and... just pooped.

Then, we left. I'm pretty sure I earned myself a 1 way ticket to hell. Who poops in a Church parking lot, of all places? Didn't I know that Jesus is in many ways much like Santa Claus? I mean they are both pretty much the most famous Christmas mascots and he see's you when you're sleeping! He knows when you're awake. He knows you're gonna poop in the church parking lot so don't poop for goodness sake.

If that isn't embarrassing enough for my first TMI Thursday, I will provide a little nibblet of embarrassment from my current daily life.

Today I made stuffed green peppers with wild rice and quinoa.

If you don't know what quinoa is, it's a grain similar to couscous. Each piece is incredibly small. And I am not a clean eater.

Naturally, I ended up with quinoa all up in my business. On my shirt, on the floor, everywhere around me. We ate at the coffee table because we were into this really interesting and mentally stimulating documentary on the National Geographic channel... Ok, it was Millionaire Matchmaker on Bravo, are you happy?

So after we cleared the plates I decided to lay down on the couch. I felt something cold on my backside. What is that? Yes, it's multiple pieces of quinoa. In my upper butt-crack.

Can someone explain to me how that happens???

Alright, so that's my TMI Thursday. Now on to "Dear Diary" for today.

Also, today I am going to try something different with my "Dear Diary." Instead of adding my notes in paragraph form at the end of the entry, I am going to attempt footnotes corresponding to each part that I find particularly hilarious. Let me know what you think.

March 23, 1995

Dear Sassafrass,

I really sorry 1 I didn't write to you in a long time I've just been very, very busy 2. Let me fill you in on the latest. Okay First of all I got a CD player! Wooo! You know those CD order things I ordered 10 CD's for 1 cent another CD for $6. something or another and I got another CD free! 3

Next me & Alicia are Friends. 4 A Okay sister! Next me & Lindsey are Friends. A Okay sister! 5 Next In 2 days are tryouts for soft ball. next I want to draw for you. I made these people up okay!! 6

[Insert drawing of a girl wearing a short skirt, sweater baby-tee, and knee high Doc Martins with each article of clothing labelled accordingly] 7

Next Diary I like Peter Williams! He's so cute! Le sigh! 8 He's got those bright brown eyes and Ahhh! Next, I cut my bangs! Next I'm finally 5 feet tall! 9 I got a nightgown for Christmas and it was down to my ankles now it's up to my shins!? What's goin on here? 10

Sassafrass, I've got Laryngitis, a sore throat, and a bad cough! I'm falling apart! I'm tired so I'm gonna turn in. 11 Again I'm really sorry I didn't write earlier Okay? Comprende? Okay. Good. Bye! Adios! I talk too much don't I? Chow! 12 See ya later! Not if I see you first!13 Bye!

1. As you can plainly see, I continue to butcher the English language. I really sorry to my readers for having to read bad grammar.

2. Not again with the very, very's. Didn't we already cover that?

3. I remember - my very first CD was Bush Sixteen Stone. And it was brand new. How old am I???

4. We'll see how long this lasts.

5. Where did I get this phrase, "A Okay sister?" I'm such a dork.

6. Apparently I need to clarify, to my inanimate diary, that the drawings I made are not real people. Ooookaay.

7. Hahaha, sweater baby-tees and knee high Doc Martens. That was the style at the time. Awesome. I need to find myself some knee high Doc Martens now. Oh wait, I found them!

8. Le Sigh: Credit given to Pepe Le Pew of Looney Toons for this phrase. How cool am I?

9. Yes, finally being 5 feet tall was apparently a very big deal to me. Big enough to have me write about it in my diary. Right up there with bowel movements and invented people.

10. It's called a growth spurt, kid. And it won't be the last.

11. Turn in? Turn into what? Ba dum-bum ching!

12. Apparently I'm multi-lingual now. And hungry.

13. I have no original material.

Okay, thoughts? Feelings? I'm not totally sold on the footnotes, seems like there are fewer opportunities to be funny when its footnoted. But I appreciate feedback and suggestions!

Until tomorrow, my friends, I very, very sorry I didn't write so much last week. I was busy being an insomniac and working on my new layout.

Looks Like Teen Spirit

2010-02-02T20:35:00.004-06:00

Hello, my friends!

My deepest apologies for my absence as of late. I've been working on a little sumthin sumthin for the blog, which you can see before your very eyes. Thoughts? Feelings?

Well, if you don't like it... tough shit. It took me a friggen long time to make. So suck it up and just read the damn blog.

Will be back later to post "Dear Diary."

Very Very Very Very Very Very....

2010-01-27T21:10:00.007-06:00

As promised, today's entry will be diary entries only. This actually works out for me, because I am exhausted...the sleep-on-the-couch method did not work last night, and I only got about 15 minutes of sleep. Oh wait, I said I wasn't going to complain. Crap. Okay, forget I just said that (don't even get all smart with me and tell me that there is a "delete" button on my keyboard).

And away we go...

Jan 9, 95

Sassafrass I not going to talk for long since its the middle of the night. Today Cassie was very nice. Allie, Jasmine, and Megan were mean. I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Oh one more thing the tickets arrived today! So till next time Sassafrass, stay locked, keep my secrets a secret and Good night. P.S. Sorry I'm really tired

First: "I not going to talk long?" Was English my second language or something? So, apparently I was suffering from insomnia even in 6th grade. Awesome. Let's see what "tomorrow's" entry brings...

Jan 10, 95

Dear Sassafrass,

I'm really very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very tired. So I just wrote to tell you I tell you what happened yesterday and today tomorrow, I promise I won't wait till the last minute. O.K. O.K Good night Sassafrass!

I wonder how tired I was? Was I very tired? Or was I very very tired? Or was I very (x 22) tired? You know how you can look at a word repeated over and over and the word just stops making sense? Like, there's no way those combinations of letters make a real word. That's what happened to me typing out this post. I see that I continue to abuse the English language. It still happens to me occasionally... screwing up tenses and plurals and whatnot. I think I recently said "I'm going to go get this pants." Not "these pants" or "this pair of pants." Also, way to be a procrastinator, kid. This will not bode well for your blog readers in 2010. Ok, so let's see what I had to say the next day...

Jan 11, 95

Sassafrass my mom told me to go to bed so I have to go to bed. Because I had so much home work I'll tell you about the day before yesterday yesterday and today tomorrow O.K.? O.K. good Sorry Sassafrass I know I promised. So till tomorrow Good Night Sassafrass! P.S. I'm so very, very, sorry.

Again with the very. I am very very very very very very very surprised that I used the word "very" so many times in 1995. It must have been a very big year. Also - my mom told me to go to bed and I listened? Wow. Parallel universe, here. I wonder when I started being a heinous bitch and refusing to do anything asked of me. I mean... very.

January 12, 95

Sassafrass guess what! Only 3 days till the Concert! Yay!!!! And guess what else only 8 days until Zachary Smiths Birthday. Anyway Nothing I can think of happened the day before yesterday. or the day before that or yesterday the science fair was a flop. Cassies being nice to me. Anyway bye Sassafras. O.K. Bye!!!!!!!!!!!

3 days from the NIN concert, the momentous occasion during which I will have my head spit on from the balcony above. Truly a life changing moment. Also, what a creepster counting down to my crush's birthday. And what's up with all the empty promises to hear about the day before the day before the day before yesterday and the day before yesterday and yesterday's events? I very very very very very very very much wanted to know what was happening those few days. I guess we will never know.

And thus ends the last entry of 1995. Tomorrow we party like it's 1996.

Momma Said Knock You Out...

2010-01-26T17:55:00.005-06:00

I suck at life, for serious.

My brain has been in a haze lately... I think it's probably because I've been needing to take sleep medication on a nightly basis for a while now. I've been seriously considering cutting it off cold-turkey and just letting the natural exhaustion take over, but that usually takes... about a week.

So I decided that before taking such a drastic measure, I should try some other methods first. I decided to work out more (because anything is more than nothing, right?) and maybe... just maybe I'd be so tired that I'd pass out.

It's not just the insomnia. I've also been having a shitty few days (weeks) and I wanted to take out some aggression. I just knew that increased physical activity was going to be the perfect solution.

I was going to do the Wii Fit program, but I got mad at the cartoon balance board when it criticized me for not using the program in a week.

Hey, you little turd-fuck, I get enough judgement passed on me from REAL people on a daily basis. I don't need your flat, balance-board ass telling me that I haven't worked out in a week. Also? You just made me feel more aggressive, when I'm trying to mellow out Woodstock style.

Epic FAIL.

Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Okay, I'm all better now.

So, like I was saying, I really believed that working out more would knock me out and make me all nice and shit, but I'll be damned if I let some little white cartoon rectangle psyche me out. That... and variety is the spice of life... and such.

I decided I'd try something new. Like, brand spankin' new. Like, I bought this over a month ago and still haven't taken off the cellophane wrapper new. Hello, Gold's Gym Cardio Workout!

The Gold's Gym Wii Cardio workout...is basically... like Tae Bo? But for the Wii? You use the "wiimote" to jab, uppercut, hook, and cross punch as well as ducking, sidestepping, and weaving to avoid punches.

Let's just say this: I'm like Muhammad Ali. With boobs.

You definitely don't want to mess with me in the Wii Fight Club (First Rule: Do not talk about Wii Fight Club).

An hour flew by as I uppercutted my way through the beginner levels - PS. I'm sore as hell today, so it must have been a somewhat decent workout.

After my workout, I showered, ate dinner, watched some TV... the uszh (Um... that's supposed to be my phonetic spelling of the first half the word "usual." I just didn't know how to go about spelling that. Now you know.)

Aaannd then it was bed time. I thought about bypassing the Ambien route and just trying to sleep on my own, but I figured that it was unwise to try jumping that hurdle during the work week and that it would be a task best reserved for the weekend when I don't have to get up early or write myself reminders to "Go To Work." PS - Yes, I did remember to go to work. Ha. The funniest thing about this for me is the fact that this is my full time, 40 hour-a-week, Monday-Friday, typical 9-5 job. I don't work different shifts or weekends most of the time, so I really shouldn't need to write myself that reminder. Whatever, moving on.

Well, I guess I'm not doing a good enough job working out. Or I'm not working out hard enough. Or too hard. I'm not sure, all I know is that by 11:30 PM, laying in bed, my brain was like a live wire... keeping me awake until 2 am... when I finally got frustrated and gave up, going to lay on the couch to escape the grips of the monster that sleeps in my bed, also known as R.

When you are sleeping, dead to the world, there's really no problem, but when you are awake and trying to sleep - he's an absolute nightmare. (Sorry, hun. You know it's true.)

He's like George Foreman, all up in my grill, throwin' bows to my lumbar spine and kicking it like Tae Bo. In this case, "it" being my leg. He also likes to stick his ass out so it's way over on my side, and he does this weird breathing thing where he repeatedly exhales forcefully and loudly... until I "unconsciously" start coughing and kicking him in the shins.

You wanna go? Let's go. You kick me, I kick you right back! Punk.

So, around 2 AM I waved the white flag and resigned to the couch (we have a guest bedroom, but somehow I sleep better on the couch.)

Not long after I snuggled onto our micro-suede, I was out. Until this morning when I was awoken by a cold, wet dog nose in my face.

A wanted to tell me that it was morning and he was going to take a shit outside. How very exciting. Especially on a mere 4 hours of sleep. Surprisingly, today actually went pretty well, even with the insomnia. Even still, I know I need more sleep, so I'm pulling an intervention on myself, A&E style. Minus the cameras, and you know, the actual intervention part. Tonight I am giving the "no Ambien" method a try, but I'm sleeping on the couch... just in case. I'll keep you updated, because I live in a world where everyone gives a shit whether or not I get to sleep.

And on that note, I will bid you adieu. I owe you some mid-nineties T-Riffic diary entries tomorrow since I have been lax on that front these past few entries. Tomorrow, I will bitch about nothing and provide you only with sweet, sweet diary lovin'.

Note to self...

2010-01-21T10:00:00.002-06:00

This is just a quick one before my real post later. I just found this hilarious and I had to share.

So, I'm an insomniac. Maybe I'll share the full story about that another time, but truthfully it's not that interesting. I used to be able to sleep, and then I stopped. End of story.

As a result of the insomnia I take Ambien to help me sleep. In another of my posts I mention that I occasionally make strange purchases while on Ambien, but I usually remember it later - nothing like those crazies who sleep-drive and have no idea the next day.

Also, I guess I make "To-Do" lists. I remember hopping out of bed around 12:30 last night because I thought of about a million things I needed to do and I was worried that I'd forget one of them, so I wanted to write them down.

This morning, I emerged from my bedroom to see a little yellow notepad sitting on the coffee table. I reviewed my list for today... mostly normal stuff - Send an email, return a phone call...etc. Then about half way down the list, I read one item that just makes me stop in my tracks. Hilarious.

Smack dab in the middle of my to-do list it reads:

"Go to work"

Hahaha. Because apparently I felt I needed reminding. Awesome.

I hate to admit it...

2010-01-20T17:59:00.003-06:00

But Tyra Banks was right.

As much as Tyra Banks annoys the crap out of me... I will admit (though not proudly) that I TiVo every episode of The Tyra Show.

Recently she did an expose on the dangers of texting while driving. In this episode she also had a segment in which she discussed the top 10 most dangerous foods to eat while driving. I looked for the full list online, but I was unable to locate it, but I will share with you what I remember.

- Tacos: Yeah, this is a tough one. I spent a few years traveling the US for internships and had to drive cross country, like, 6 times in 2 years. I have tried eating pretty much everything you can imagine while on the road and tacos (slash chalupas) are not easy. You'd think they would be, since they come in their own convenient little shell, but all the lettuce and sauce starts leaking out of the sides and it's just a big 'ol mess. See also: Subway sandwiches.

- Fried Chicken: Okay, I guess I can see this one... especially if you are willing to eat tacos while driving, you probably aren't opposed to some KFC.

It's the next one that boggles my mind...

- BBQ Ribs: UM!? Who is going around eating BBQ ribs while driving? Seriously? Maybe Ron Burgundy (Ribs, I had ribs for lunch, that's why I'm doing this...) but no one I know in real life.

And the number 1 most dangerous food to consume while driving?

- Hot Coffee: Oh, shit. EVERYONE I know drinks coffee in the morning while driving. I know I do. And I suppose I see her point - you can either spill it on your lap and burn yourself or the inside of your mouth if it is too hot... but do you think she ever considered the following scenario??

Driving to work today, I had my gigantic 20 oz. cup of coffee, as per usual. On this occasion I was drinking Caribou Coffee's Breakfast Blend from my awesome Keurig coffee maker. So, while merging onto the highway, I take a sip. And then disaster strikes.

It wasn't the temperature that got me. The temperature was fine. I always leave adequate cooling time for my coffee, because I am a wimp. No, it was me that got me.

You see, lately I've been having a problem with aspirating my food/drinks - just another fancy word for letting things go down the wrong pipe. I've talked to a speech therapist that I know, and she suggested I see my MD, but I get kind of lazy with those kinds of things unless I view them as a REAL problem. I've convinced myself that these happenings are just a coincidence and it's something that happens to everyone here and there, but now it's started to happen enough that maybe I do need to see a doc.

So, anyway, I took a sip and aspirated a small amount of the coffee while the sip was still in my mouth. Holding the coffee in my mouth, I started coughing/choking and tried clearing my throat, but I wasn't able to get enough force behind the cough since my mouth was still full of delicious coffee. And I couldn't swallow because I was choking.

So - you are choking on a mouthful of delicious coffee while driving 70 mph on the highway. What do you do?

A. Calmly pull over to the side of the road and put the car in park while you take a moment to compose yourself.

B. Open the window and spit out the mouthful of coffee.

C. Completely panic. Choke for a few seconds, then projectile spit the mouthful of coffee all over the passenger side of your car.

Wanna take a guess which option I chose?

So, while I hate to admit it. Tyra Banks was right. Coffee IS dangerous. Dammit.

Next, on "Dear Diary"

January 8, 95

Sassafrass the tickets still didn't come neither did the info about the silverblades. And if the mailing is local (which both are) it's supposed to arrive the next day Hang on sassafrass I gotta get another pen.

Sorry Sassafrass that other pen was uncomfortable. It was made out of flexible plastic so it kept collapsing and it was flat and well... its too hard to describe so I'll draw it.

[Insert here my drawing of my flower shaped, flexible, plastic pen. I labeled it accordingly with each part of the flower - "rose top" indicated the bloom on the top. "Leaves" indicated...well, the leaves. And finally, the factor that motivated me to change pens, "sharp edges." I need to find a way to scan in pictures, because this is not the last drawing that will appear in my diary.]

See how annoying it was. It just drove me nuts. Ughhhh! Anyway today I went Ice skating I forgot how much fun it could be. Raul was there. He went there with a couple of friends just to eat. I mean Why didn't he just stay home and be a pig there it would be a lot cheaper I mean you have to pay to get in then pay for the food and he could have saved me and a couple of other people from a bad case of nausea from looking at him while he ate. Geese what an annoying dork. You know what I buing Cassie's shirt well after or during Catholic Schools week we'll have another roller skating party (yay!) And on the radio theres this drunk sounding guy that drones on and on and on and on and on. Sheesh you'd think he'd actually say something interesting. Ya know. Wait a minute Sassafrass. Are you sleeping!

Just kidding! ZZZZZZZ.... Wait a minute I hear you snoring you are sleeping!

Just kidding again. anyway Am I droning on and on and on and on and on. I'm not, good! Anyway Sassafrass I gotta go to bed now. Till next time Sassafrass stay locked don't let anyone read my secrets. Good night.

Okay, first of all - I was shy, and I got teased a lot, but jeez (or "geese" as I would have said at the time) I was a total bitch! All that stuff about poor Raul. He was a jerk, though.

And this business of buying "Cassie's" shirt - we had a t-shirt design contest for Catholic School's week and we had the opportunity to design the t-shirt that would be sold at school for, what I guess is like a spirit week. (Or... a Holy Spirit week?? Ba-dum bum-ching!)

I remember my design clear as day. Our school mascot was a lion, so I had a lion pouring lemonade for some kids with his tail! The line below read "We have a THIRST for knowledge!"

As you can clearly see, I always had a way with words. I don't know why they didn't choose my shirt design, I mean, hello! The lion is pouring beverages with his tail! That's like, freakin' amazing, teachers!

Anyway, yesterday I lied - apparently I did mention the Silver Blades again - but in the very same entry I mention that I went ice skating and that I haven't been long enough that I forgot how much fun it could be. And I'm waiting on information to join a club ice skating team? Get real, girl.

And the drunk guy on the radio that drones on and on and on and on and on? Hahahaha. I go from talking about a roller skating party right into this sentence. Talk about stream of consciousness writing!

And my imagined scenario in which my diary falls asleep listening to me drone on and on and on and on and on? Apparently I have not learned my lesson, since I continue to drone on and on and on and on and on....

Wait a minute, readers, are you sleeping?? I can hear you snoring, you are sleeping!

And how awesome was it that I have to explain to my inanimate diary, who I imagine has fallen asleep, that I am just kidding? Again. I'm such a jokester. I totally reminded myself of "Judy Grimes," aka the "just kidding" lady in the SNL skits.

And since this hasn't been reiterated enough - I want my diary to stay locked and keep others from reading my secrets. Geese.

Cut off your nose to Speidi-Face...

2010-01-20T15:50:00.002-06:00

So remember yesterday when I bitched for like 7 hours about the irresponsibility of Heidi Montag's plastic surgeon allowing her to be under anesthesia for the duration of 10 procedures?

This article surfaced today, thus further emphasizing my point.

Heidi? Come on. "Oh, yeah I almost died... but really, it's not a big deal. PS. I want bigger boobs."

Anyone remember what she said back in 2007 when she gave her interview to US Weekly about her "Revenge Plastic Surgery?" I used to subscribe to US Weekly and I have a memory for unnecessary details about unimportant thing, so naturally, I do...

Her quote, verbatim:

"Right before I went in, I was like, What if I don’t wake up? Oh, this is scary. Then I thought, I don’t care. If I don’t wake up, it’s worth it. I just wanted it so badly,"

Well, Heidi, you almost got your wish.

And we almost got ours.

2010-01-19T17:27:00.006-06:00

Okay, I guess all I needed to do was say that I didn't have anything to write about to light my creative fire.

So, as I do most days, I spent a few minutes catching up on my celebrity gossip. My celeb gossip site of choice is The Superficial. Admittedly, it's gone downhill in the past few years - the writing is not quite as clever and the site is now more about models in swimsuits and bikinis than actual celebrity gossip, but it still serves its purpose.

One of the biggest stories making it's rounds right now is Heidi Montag and her amazing technicolor dream-face. Now, personally I don't think there is anything wrong with a little nip and tuck here and there (even though the show, Nip/Tuck completely blows now.... I still watch it.)

If it helps boost your self esteem a little and makes you look/feel a bit fresher and you have the available funds, then sure - go for it. But I also think that if you can't feel good about yourself without going under the knife, you'd probably be better off spending that cash on some psychotherapy. But, off my soapbox for now. Not for long.

Hopping back up on my soapbox...

Heidi underwent ten procedures in one day. From a medical standpoint, that's just plain irresponsible.

More procedures = more time = more time under anesthesia = increased chance of complications/death.

As a professional in the medical field, I know just how dangerous general anesthesia can be. I also tend to have more of a conservative standpoint when it comes to health concerns. I just can't trust a physician who would increase their patient's chances of complications... to make a buck.

Also? A surgeon who does 10 procedures on a young woman of 23 years of age? Bad, plastic surgeon, bad! Isn't plastic surgery supposed to make you look better? Younger?

Heidi currently looks like a Madame Tussaud wax-version of herself in 30 years. No joke, she is now the proud owner of the face of a middle aged Hollywood housewife.

Didn't I see you in that movie with Cher?

No, no. You're right. This guy is much better looking than Heidi. Personally, I think she looked her best here:

Think we can get our hands on one of those masks?

In her interview with People Magazine, Heidi reported that she had her chin-job because people were constantly making fun of her "Jay Leno chin." Ok, fair enough. She did have a defined jawline, but I think her chin and jaw look hu-normous, now!

But... not as hu-normous as her TRIPLE D boobies! Which, according to her... "don't look that big," and need to be super-sized again soon.

Check out her interview with Good Morning America. Laughable.

When answering the accusations that she is "addicted" to plastic surgery, she responds:

"I'm not addicted. If I were addicted I would have had... 10 plastic surgeries."

UM. Doesn't the cover of People Magazine read "10 Procedures in 1 Day?" Is the chick completely delusional?

The interviewer is... a bit more tactful than I am. Heidi's quickly backpedals. Her response?

"Well... I mean... ten times. I really had two different surgeries. I had one... 3 years ago... and I had one that I had several procedures done a few weeks ago."

Who's hoping she ends up looking like this? I know, I know. I'm mean. Whatever, Heidi, you asked for all this attention.

And all this attention, just in time for the release of her album, ironically titled Superficial. Is that a coincidence? No, she insists... it's "God's timing." Sure, if God's name is "Spencer Pratt," and HEAVEN HELP US IF IT IS.

But is Heidi's voice digitally enhanced, much in the way that her body is surgically enhanced?

No, of course not. She can hit a note acapella, no problem!

But, not right now... she just underwent multiple procedures and her jaw is still very delicate. Then maybe you should shut your yap and stop doing interviews. I'm just saying.

Mean spirited? Soulless? Yeah, maybe. That's just my M.O. today, maybe I need 10 plastic surgery procedures to my soul.

Your thoughts on Heidi's new look?

While making fun of others, it's time to make fun of myself with another diary entry from 1995.

Jan 7, 95

Guess what sassafrass! Im listening to Nine inch Nails. I know for sure because befor the song they announced it. It's the song called "Help Me." Its pretty cool, I'm so excited for the 16th. Well sassafrass that's all for now. I'll talk to you later today. O.K., O.K. good. Bye, sassafrass!!!!!!!!!

So Sassafrass I decided to write to you while I was in bed so I could tell you what happened today so here goes -> Well first I watched the mouse and the motorcycle then I invited Nadia over to play. I played my Smashing Pumpkins tape for her. I think she liked it. Then she asked me to do her hair I tried and tried it just turned out as a flop. The Nine inch Nails tickets didn't arrive today nor did the info about the silverblades. Oh by the way in case I didn't tell you (which I don't think I did) I'm joining the silverblades, maybe. Anyway that's all for today. So till next time bye Sassafrass!!!!

First off, I find it interesting that the one NIN song I mention is one with some of the most vulgar lyrics. I'm sure they bleeped it out on the radio, but I owned the CD as well. Come on, parents, didn't you see that "Parental Advisory" sticker on the front? Crazy.

"The Mouse and The Motorcycle" and "Runaway Ralph" double feature starring the one and only FRED SAVAGE was my favorite VHS at the time. I watched it literally EVERY DAY after school for a while. Apparently I was not only into hard core metal, but also runaway claymation mice. Check out this clip:

A-Friggen-Dorable. Just one more clip.

Actually, I'd really like to watch this again now. It looks pretty cute. I'd probably watch it every day. My favorite part? "BUT! BUT! How do I get my motorcycle out!?"

Oh by the way. I don't know if I told you, I don't think I did. I'm joining the silverblades. I never did, and I think this is the first and last time I make mention of it. The Silver Blades was a SUPER ELITE club figure skating team. I had dreams of becoming the next Kristy Yamaguchi. I wish I was exaggerating. I had tons of crayon drawings of myself as Ms. Yamaguchi herself. I think I even drew myself as being Asian, because I wanted so badly to emulate her figure skating prowess. Hilarity.

I'm glad I could come up with something to write today, I've missed you guys!

Meh.

2010-01-19T17:06:00.001-06:00

My brain has not been functioning up to it's normal snarky level. I've started multiple blog posts, only to read them over and deem the writing to be "sucky," deleting them so that I don't have to impart my suckitude all over you, my readers (all 5 of you.)

Tomorrow I plan to bite the bullet and just write. My preemptive apologies for any sucky writing.

Maybe if I take a nap and wake up in a cold sweat I'll be more creative. Done. See you all in a few hours when I return to post my Dear Diary moment. 26 year old T may not have words for you, but I can guarantee 12 year old T had words to share. Wise words.

Because Every Entry I Post Has to Reference The Jersey Shore

2010-01-14T22:01:00.005-06:00

So, tonight I was watching the latest episode of The Jersey Shore with R. The opening credits feature a 2 or 3 second shot of each cast member with their name flashed across the screen. The usual suspects... Snookie, JWowww, The Situation, Sammi (The Sweetheart) - btw why does everyone on the Jersey Shore have a nickname? You may now call me TWowww. Anyway, they got to Angelina (Jolie as they called her on the show) and I looked over at R.

"I haven't seen Angelina in a few episodes. Where is she?"

"You're right, I haven't seen her either. That's weird."

So I hopped on google. Yes, I googled. I typed in "Where is Angelina from the Jersey Shore?"

The first article produced on the search list was this one: Jersey Shore's Angelina Leaves Show

So apparently she's been gone since early December. And neither R nor I took notice (and apparently we both missed the part where she packed up and moved out.)

It got me thinking about how every reality TV show cast always has to have the same band of merry men.

Recipe for A Good Reality TV Show

The Bitch (female) - Think "The Apprentice's" Omarosa, "Project Runway's" Wendy Pepper and Zulema, "The Real World's" Coral and Beth and "Jersey Shore's"Jeni aka J-Wowww."

The A-Hole (male) - "Top Chef's" Stephen and Ilan, "Project Runway's" Jeffrey, "The Real World's" Puck (Yes I am old enough to remember Puck, how sad,) and "Jersey Shore's" Mike aka The Situation.

The Slut (female) - "The Real World's" Trishelle, "Rock of Love 1, 2, and Rock of Love Bus" Entire cast, "Jersey Shore's" Jeni aka J-Wowww (Sorry, J-Wowww you make both categories.)

The Man-Whore (male) - "Real Housewives of the OC's" Slade, "Rock of Love's" Brett Michaels, Any of the ABC's Bachelors, "The Hills'" Brody Jenner, and "Jersey Shore's" Pauly D.

The Couple - "The Real World's" Ace and Mallory, "Top Chef's" Leah and Hosea, and "Jersey Shore's" Ronnie and Sammi.

The Bubblehead - "Real Chance of Love and Charm School's" Bianca aka Bubbles, "The Hills'" Audrina, "Beauty and the Geek, Rock of Love, I Love Money, Charm School, and Megan Wants A Millionaire's" Megan, and "Jersey Shore's" Snookie (bubblehead or not, I love the girl.)

The Invisible One - "Project Runway's" Keith.... Who?, "Top Chef's" Candice... Who? and "Jersey Shore's" Angelina... again, who? I didn't even notice Angelina's departure, and I had to Wikipedia past seasons of reality shows to find the others who "fly under the radar," which is actually a pretty effective strategy in competitive reality shows. You don't have to be outstanding, just better than those who really suck.

Mix all the ingredients in one house, add a dash of sexual frustration, a pinch of drama, and a generous handful of violence.

So that's the recipe for a successful reality TV show, in case you want to have one of your own (I know, I do).

And now for "Dear Diary"

January 6, 95

Dear Sassafrass, Today I have a basketball game. This sucks. Anyway I'm back. I was late so I didn't get to the game. Oh well. Cassie's being nice. Wow! Guess what Nine inch Nails is on the radio or at least I think it is. Oh oops! The song's over it's not Nine inch Nails it's Nirvana. I was close I knew it started with an N. I'm so lonely sassafrass. You're really the only one I can trust with my secrets. All the girls at school who knew my secrets told them all. Oh, what jerks. All of them. They all hate me. I don't know why though. In the play the Odessey I didn't get any part in the book I get to be the musician, and Demeter a short speech and two songs a sad one and a happy one. Ooh such a big part. Mandy got Athena and Lindsey (the jerk) got Penelope the only roles I tried out for. I really wanted one of those parts. Oh, poooooo! I wish I had gotten one of those parts!!!!!!!!!! So sassafrass nothing else happened except we took a test and I think I got 100%. Or at least I hope so. But right now I'm getting sleepy since it's around 11:00 p.m. so sassafrass stay locked and don't let anyone read my secrets. Til next time Sassafrass goodnight!!!!!!! P.S. I got Nine inch Nail tickets!!!!!!!!!!!!

Did you know that I got Nine Inch Nail tickets? No? Well I got Nine Inch Nails when I was in 6th grade. And I must have been a huge fan, since I couldn't discern a Nine Inch Nails song from one by Nirvana. Because they sound so much alike. Ha.

So, apparently I'm a really sore loser when I lose the part I want to Lindsey (the jerk). So much so, that it makes me use an excessive number of exclamation points.

And the test that I thought I got a 100% on? Was a test about Greek mythology, which was an area of knowledge I felt very comfortable with. I remember being all impressed with myself that I was a Greek Mythology expert, not stopping to think for a second that knowing everything about Greek Mythology at the age of 12 doesn't really make you cool.

How did I know so much about Greek Mythology? Well, when I was a kid, I would always request a bed time story from our giant Atlas of Greek Mythology instead of "Berenstein Bears" or "Paddington Bear" (Though to be fair, I did ask my parents to read me these - just not as often.)

As a result, by age 9 I knew every Greek myth by heart, which did not serve to make me popular with the other kids. My unpopularity might have also had something to do with the fact that I religiously listened to The Beatles and had a huge crush on Paul McCartney, while all the other kids listened to Boyz II Men. Whatever, I was just an old soul, I guess.

Anyway, there was this other kid in school, "Jared," who was just as unpopular and geeky as I was. Jared also knew a shit-ton about Greek myths. We used to carpool together, which I thought was so embarrassing, because he was such a nerd! And how could my mom ruin my chances at having friends by making me carpool with him? My mother also always believed in her heart of hearts that Jared and I were meant to be. She couldn't have been more wrong.

When we got the results of our Greek mythology test, Jared was sure he had gotten a better score than I did. We were very competitive in our quest to be the biggest. nerd. ever. The teacher stood up in front of the class and said that overall, we did pretty well on the test, but one person did exceptionally well. One person, only one, got 100% on the test. Just as she was about to announce it, Jared looked at me smugly.

"The person who received a perfect score is T," she said as she handed my test back to me.

Now it was my turn to give a smug look. He got a 99%. He actually threw his hands toward the sky and screamed. I've never seen him look so red (and the kid turned red quite frequently.)

So goodnight my little Zeuses and Athenas. Until tomorrow when Helios drives his chariot across the sky once more.

Simply T and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day: or why I suck at life.

2010-01-12T16:03:00.004-06:00

While at dinner with AC and MP last night, we got to discussing our friend CK's upcoming baby shower. The conversation about babies eventually turned to a discussion about our favorite childhood books.

MP was the first to bring up her favorite childhood book - Gregory, The Terrible Eater. It's a story of a young goat, who's parents want him to eat "like a real goat," including tin cans, boxes, and other garbage. But Gregory is no ordinary goat. He enjoys a diet consisting of fruits, vegetables, fish, spaghetti - you know, real food. Ultimately, Gregory and his parents must come to a compromise - Gregory will eat spaghetti with shoelaces mixed in and other various meals combining real food and trash - a perfect harmony between the diet of a "real goat" and Gregory's personal preference.

The underlying message here - don't be afraid to walk to the beat of your own drummer. And parents? Accept your kids, regardless of their personal lifestyle choices. Very progressive, Reading Rainbow.

Next, AC mentioned her favorite book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. You know this story - a kid has a really crappy day, one thing compounding on the next. He gets gum stuck in his hair, trips on a skateboard and drops his sweater into the sink filled with water. All before leaving the house.

Then at school, his bitch of a teacher, Mrs. Dickens, craps all over Alexander's self esteem - most likely damaging him for good, leading to a lifetime of psychotherapy. Who's gonna pay for that, Mrs. Dickens? Who!? Picasso over here says she doesn't like his drawing of an invisible castle (a blank sheet of paper - give the kid a break, he's creative!), she criticizes him for leaving out number 16 while counting, and tells him he sings too loudly. Like, way to call the kid out in front of his mates, lady. It's called mental abuse, you cruel, heartless wench! Where did you get your teaching degree, anyway?

Anyway, the story goes on - and poor Alexander's day gets progressively worse. Much like my day today. Today was my Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Day.

Except that it was just a typical day, because stupid shit happens to me on a daily basis. In fact, if I were to go a whole day without a slap-stick moment (ie: falling in the snow yesterday while shooting my photography assignment. On my ass. Dangerously close to dog poop. What's with me and dog poop?) or something weird or unlucky happening... I'd probably cease to exist.

The wheels were set in motion for my THNGVB Day when I came home from dinner last night. I was very happy parking on our block. I parallel parked my SUV like a pro and got out of the car to walk to my apartment. I was chatting with my dad, so I was somewhat distracted, but I gathered my things anyway and went on my way without a look back. The rest of the night went as usual and this morning started off normal enough - walk the dog, eat breakfast, make coffee, etc.

After my morning routine, I left the house and walked to my car just like any other day, but as I approached my car, I saw some strange blob laying in the black slushy snow in the street next to my car.

"What is that?" I thought. As I got closer, the blob started to look more and more familiar. No. No. No. Please, no. Ugh. Yes.

It's my glove. One of my beautiful Coach gloves my mom gave me for Christmas a few years ago. My leather Coach glove. My white leather Coach glove. With pink stitching! And cashmere lining! Laying there in the black, sludgy, slushy snow next to my car. Since I parked my car last night. 12 hours ago. Ughhhhh.

I wanted to cry, but I picked up my dingy, brown/gray, leather Coach glove anyway and put it on top of the heating vent in attempt to at least dry it some so I could examine the damage and attempt to salvage my poor, innocent glove. I went about my day, annoyed, but ready to put it aside and get the show on the road.

Before driving to work, I needed to stop at the ATM to deposit a check into my bank account. One of those stupid touch screen ATMs (maybe they all are by now, I don't know). Well, apparently my fingers are too fat or something, because I had all kinds of problems accomplishing this simple task.

"Enter PIN number." Check.

"Deposit or withdrawal?" Deposit. Check.

"Primary checking or savings account?" Checking. Check.

"Cash or check?" Check.... Check.

"Please insert check now." Don't mind if I do. Check.

"This ATM could not read the amount listed on the check. Please enter it manually."

Crap. I don't know what the exact amount is, and the tiny image on the screen isn't clear enough for me to read it. I have no other choice. Cancel Transaction.

The machine returns my check and I note the amount.

The prompt on the screen now reads, "You have canceled the transaction. What would you like to do? Start Over or Return Card."

Start Over. Let's try it again.

"Deposit or withdrawal?" Deposit. Check.

"Checking or Savings?" Checking. Or at least - I thought I was pressing the area of the screen corresponding to "Checking." Apparently not. It goes to savings. Crap.

Cancel.

"You have canceled the transaction. What would you like to do?"

Start Over.

The frickin' machine selects "Return Card" and it spits my ATM card back at me! WTF!

Frustrated, I jam my card back in and go through the process, being extra careful to press only in the exact spot that I need. Except that half the time it doesn't even register that I'm touching the screen, so I end up looking like a crazy person jabbing at the screen, swearing up a storm.

And now there's someone else waiting to use the ATM. And they are standing way too close. Step off, lady! It's called "personal space!"

I finally get the damn check deposited, get back in my car and head to work. On my way, I needed to make a call to clarify an issue with Madison Gas and Electric. I look at my email on my iPhone with all the information I needed, including their phone number. Ok. Memorize this number.... 608.... 252.... 7222... (That's MG&E's actual number if you want to call them, ha.) I try to keep the number in my head as I switch over to the keypad to dial.

608. 522...7222...

"Your call cannot be completed as dialed. The number you have dialed.... blah blah blah."

What? I look back at the email. Apparently I'm ADD and dyslexic. It's 252, not 522. I re-memorize the number and dial again. It rings. Success? Not quite.

Someone picks up, "Hello?"

Suspecting I have not reached Madison Gas and Electric I reply, "Um. Hello?"

*Click*

Ohhhkayyyy... I look back at my dialed calls. Apparently my too fat fingers pressed "605" instead of "608." So I'm the asshole who called someone in Aberdeen, SD. Ugh. I guess touch-screens are not my friend today.

Third time's a try, right? I carefully press each number, double checking it before I hit "Send."

"Thank you for calling Madison Gas and Electric. For starting or stopping service, press 1..."

Finally. I make my choices on the automated system and I am placed on hold so I can listen to that lame muzak for about 5 minutes while waiting for my call to be answered.

"Calls will be answered in the order in which they were received. Please do not hang up and dial again, as this will cause further delay." Yeah, yeah, I know.

Waiting. Waiting. Beep beep beep. What? I look down at the screen - "Call Failed" Are you serious?

I call again and listen to more muzak for another 5 minutes before my call is answered and I finally resolve the issue.

I arrive at my destination and park my car on the street. I need to make a few more phone calls and review some paper work before heading inside to see my client, so I stay in my nice warm car, wearing my wet glove on my left hand held in front of the vent while making calls with my right hand. Someone in another car pulls up next to me and reverses, attempting to parallel park in the space in front of me. This guy is a shitty parallel parker though, so I just sit in my car watching in amusement. Until he bumps my car.

Now, I'm not so much worried about the aesthetics of my front bumper, since after an encounter with a crazy cab driver downtown, my front end already has a few scratches and bumps on it. So it's not the actual bump that annoyed me, it's the lack of acknowledgement on this guy's part. Um. Hi? I'm sitting right here. I saw you bump me. Do you not get that?

Funny part is, this is not the first time that this has happened to me. One day it happened to me twice in a row while I sat in my car. And interestingly enough, both times in Hyde Park, about 2 blocks away from each other. Hyde Park drivers: learn how to parallel park, please. My bumper thanks you. The first person tried backing into the space, bumping me, then realizing they couldn't fit into the small spot driving off without a wave or anything. Five minutes later, another person comes along and manages to squeeze into the space, but not without bumping me 2 times in the process. And again - I'm sitting right here, people! Nothing? Not even an "Oh, I'm sorry!" I don't want your insurance information, I just want some recognition of your shitty parking.

I finished up with the client and my next mission was to go to the post office. I had 2 packages - the snowboarding jacket I got R for Xmas, which I was exchanging for another size, and a sweater I bought from Victoria's Secret, which I needed to return because it fit really awkwardly. I had a prepaid return label for my VS package, but I needed to pay postage on the jacket. As I'm standing in line, I happen to glance down at the VS package. UPS ground. Ugh. I could have sworn it said USPS. And the last time I needed to return something using the prepaid return label, I went to UPS only to be informed that it was a USPS label! Crap! Whatever, now I have another stop to add. I pay the postage for the jacket and look up a nearby UPS store to drop off the sweater.

Items shipped, I arrive at home and immediately search our linen closet for one of my 10,000 bottles of leather cleaner/conditioner that I have for many different pairs of boots and Coach purses. I found this foaming spray cleaner and decide to give it a try on my glove. If it doesn't work, the glove is ruined anyway, right?

So, I sit down on the couch with my dirty glove, leather cleaner, and a clean wash cloth. I spray the glove all over with the foaming cleanser. Then I look over to my left. What is that all over my MacBook Pro? Is it snowing in my living room? Nope. I just covered my entire keyboard in foaming leather cleaner. I didn't think for one second about the fact that my MacBook was directly in the line of fire while I was spraying my glove. And is my MacBook Pro made of leather? No. It is not. Sadly, this has is not the first time I have done something like this. Ask me about the time I tried to Febreeze the hood of my jacket (while wearing it) and sprayed myself in the face in the process. Actually, don't ask, that's pretty much the whole story.

My lappy was not damaged, but it now smells faintly of leather cleaner. I spent about 25 minutes trying to clean my glove... I'll keep you updated on the results. It's still drying out.

Today is a perfect example of why I say I'm not allowed to own expensive things. I lose, break, soil or destroy anything nice and expensive I own. The numbers never lie, so let's examine:

Pairs of Chanel Earrings broken: 1 ; Cost: Unsure, they were a gift, but I'd estimate $200.

Pairs of designer sunglasses broken, smashed, lost/stolen: 2; Cost: $300 each.

Pairs of Coach gloves ruined (possibly): 1; Cost: $100.

Laptops broken (See - White Girls Can't Dance) 1 - 3 separate times; Cost: About $1100 including repairs

Digital Cameras lost/stolen: 2; Cost: about $200 each, $400 in total.

Ipod lost: 1; Cost: $150

And countless others. My brain is too tired to process it all right now. But, go ahead and add those up. $2250 in lost, stolen, or broken expensive toys. And this all happened in the last 4-5 years. Add that up in a lifetime? I'm just too expensive to maintain.

So, like Alexander, today I am having a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Excuse me, where's the "Start Over" button?

Let's see what I was up to in '95...

Jan. 5, '95

Sorry I couldn't talk to you for a while. Anyway I don't have to use a paperclip to open you. No, I didn't find your key but I'll tell you what I did get in a half hour. I gotta go eat dinner. (maybe half an hour later) Was that half an hour? More? Less? Anyway Diary let me tell you about alot of things and ask you a couple of things too. About the lock I bought another book order diary with the same lock and key as yours don't worry diary It won't replace you for a long time youve still got alot of pages left. Next subject. I think since Anne Frank called her diary "kitty" and Zlata called her diary "Mimmy" I should call you something. How about Piggy o.k., well nah! How about Sassafrass. yeah! I like it o.k. Sassafrass next subject up for discussion I just got over the Chicken pox for the second time! Can you believe it! I got it on Christmas. Major bummer. I stayed in most of the time except I wasn't contagious anymore so mommy took me to the museum of science and industry. Next subject I'm swimming in money I've got $43.60 in my piggy bank that I got for Christmas. I got a piccolo (yay!) I got a nightie, teddy bear, a calendar, some hair things from mommy and P I got a piggy bank with shamrocks on it, a locket with the Irish sign on it, and an Irish music tape from daddy and from M I got three Irish music tapes from m I got a barbie doll gymnast barbie from my Kris Kringle in school I got a pen a figure of a reindeer some candy a reindeer piggy bank filled with 6 flavors of lip smackers. next subject I'm getting writers cramp and a kink in my neck. Next subject that was pointless and so is writing this as a subject. Next subject Cassie's being a little nicer Alicia won't go near me she thinks I'm still contagious. Next, Raul is a Jerk!!! He told me to get some clearasil for my pimples it's just the scabs from my chicken pox. Next subject Russell Thompson left three days after he came (yay!) Next subject Alex is still cute and so is Zachary. You don't think I could ever go through a diary entry without talking about cute guys do you? If you think so you're crazy! Next subject I can't wait till 8:00 p.m. on Martin Luther Kings day you know why? I've got tickets to see a concert of........... Nine inch Nails! Yesss! On the Main floor! Yesss! We ordered them yesterday but usually you'd have to order them months in advance. But we got Main floor tickets yesss! It's so awesome! It's at Rosemont horizon. I fill you in on all the details after the concert. Anyway thanks for listening Sassafrass. Don't let anyone read you like a book (no pun intended) except me! Bye Sassafrass! Nine inch Nail tickets. I can't believe it! Wow! Huh! Well what about that!

Hahaha, I barely know where to start with this one. First, did I really have to tell my diary that I had to eat dinner and that I'd be back in half an hour? It's not like anyone would have known. Hint - I started this blog entry this afternoon, left the house for a few hours, then came back home to finish it. Shhhh! Oh no, my secret's out!

Next subject - what was the deal with me telling my diary "next subject" before I talked about something different? And wasn't just like me to write two "subjects" about writers cramp and the uselessness of making a whole subject for that? Brevity has never been my strong point.

And my, my my, what an ego on this kid! Comparing my diary to that of Anne Frank and Zlata Filipovic? Not really in the same league, kiddo. But it did inspire me to name my diary. And I chose the name "Sassafrass." I wish I could tell you why, but I honestly can't remember. And the original name I came up with, Piggy? Not only did I quickly veto that one, "ok, well nah!" but I also proceeded to triple underline the word piggy every time I used it in the remainder of the entry. Which ended up being 3 times. Who uses the word "piggy" that much?Also? The name Sassafrass stuck, all the way through high school. For serious.

And you probably wondered why I got a million Irish themed things and a shit-load of Irish music tapes for Christmas. No? Just me? Fine. But I'm telling you anyway. At that age I decided to take up Irish Dance - yes, just like Michael Flatley. I went the whole she-bang - I participated in competitions, I had my very own competition Feis dress. I would play my Irish music tapes in my room and practice my jigs - "Point and knee hop 1,2,3,4!" I gave it up shortly (I think maybe 2 years) just like everything else I tried as a kid - basketball, soccer, gymnastics, softball etc.

Lastly. Nine Inch Nails? Really, parents? The very same Nine Inch Nails that have lyrics such as "I want to f*ck you like an animal?" Yes, the very same. This was the first concert I ever went to. My step dad took me. I was into the "grunge" look then, so I remember wearing a flannel shirt open over a t-shirt and jeans, Wayne's World style. We were on the main floor (not sure if you got that from the entry... but we were on the main floor) and someone from the balcony above us SPIT ON MY HEAD. Hahaha. Apparently a little black cloud was following me around, even at that young age. Some experience for my first concert, eh? I tell you what, I never experienced anything like that at a Hanson concert! Yeah, I've been to a Hanson concert, you wanna fight about it?

And I have to say - I really did enjoy all of my exclamations at the close of the entry. It just shows how much of a dork I was. Hilarious.

Okay! Bye readers! Wow. My very own blog! I can't believe it! Huh! How about that!

I'm Not Ansel Adams

2010-01-11T16:50:00.004-06:00

I just started a photography class last week and I went out to shoot my first assignment today. Our assignment was simple: take one digital roll (48 photos) using a shutter speed 60 or greater using natural light only. Our teacher does not like flash photography. He says it "steals your soul." Heh.

Ok, so using the natural light only, I am attempting to to get in-focus photos... which... is harder than it sounds. Main reason being that it's January and the days have been gray... so, most of my pictures totally sucked and were all out of focus.

Using the aperture priority setting on my schmancy new Nikon D90, I had difficulty at times getting the shutter speed over 60. I fiddled around with my f-stop settings, but at times even with my f-stop at 1.8, I could only get the shutter speed to be 40 or 50.

So, I guess I'm not a photography prodigy. In my mind I envisioned going out, taking my 48 photos, and having them all come out with amazing color, focus and artistic vision. I just knew my teacher would recognize my genius and recommend me for a photog profile in some international publication. But, I think I can safely say that won't happen... well, until I get more practice.

I am on my way to be fitted for a bridesmaid's dress, so I won't have time to post today's diary entry until later this evening. Much love, readers.

***Much Later This Evening***

Alright, after a fun dinner with AC and MP, I have returned to my rightful place behind (underneath?) my laptop.

One final topic before my "Dear Diary" moment. Do you sing in the car? Are you ever self conscious of being seen by other drivers? Or do you even know that other people can see you?

Personally, I love belting out my favorite songs at the top of my lungs. But I am painfully aware of the other drivers. In fact, if I am at a stop light sitting next to another stopped car, I stare straight ahead, sit very still, and try to minimize my mouth movement, much like a ventriloquist. This may stem from my childhood aspirations to become a ventriloquist. I even went so far as to visit our local library and check out some how-to books about ventriloquism. While I frequently forget I'm in public - saying or doing idiotic things or making ridiculous faces/voices, I guess I just don't like other people looking at me rocking out in my car.

Well, not all people are like that, I suppose. For example, the girl in the mid-sized sedan in front of me at the stop light at Central and Irving. At first I thought she was angry, maybe yelling at someone on her blue tooth, but the more I looked at her silhouette I couldn't quite be sure what was going on - maybe some sort of seizure. What is that? Is that? No, it couldn't be. Wait, I just saw jazz hands. Is she dancing? Yes. Yes. She's definitely dancing. Not any kind of dancing I've ever seen, mind you, but dancing it was.

She bounced rapidly up and down in her seat - flailing her hands in what appeared to be a combination of gestures adopted from stereotypical Italian Americans (perhaps on the Jersey Shore?) and hard core gangsta rappers. It was... odd. She either didn't realize that other people could see her through the glass windows, or if she just flat-out didn't care. Either way, it was a good solid 90 seconds of entertainment.

So, now on to tonights diary entry. AC suggested that I add my commentary after the entry. She said the ADD in her keeps her from focusing when I put the commentary in the actual entry. She also said that she'd continue reading my blog if I changed it, so I will oblige.

Dec. 1, '94

Dear diary, Mandy is so nice to me. In gym we were playing basketball dodgeball she helped me and told me not to worry about other girls. Alicia is the opposite of Mandy. Alicia is so mean. She called me a wimp when I threw a bean bag and it didn't make it that far. Later I chucked one at her and it hit her. Ha Ha! She was out. She threw one at my face but missed and since your only supposed to throw it at the feet she went out. Larry threw one at my leg but Mrs. M didn't see him. Russell Thompson left in third grade and came back 4 days ago. He is such a pest. He keeps mouthing off to the teachers especially Mrs. H. Mrs. H, Mrs. W, Mrs. L, and Mrs. S are all really annoyed with him. Till next time diary stay locked and don't let anyone read.

First of all, if memory serves me correct, "Mandy," the girl who was "so nice" later - in 7th or 8th grade decided to be a total bitch and make fun of me to my face. Better than making fun of me behind my back, I suppose. Furthermore... what exactly is "basketball dodgeball?" I remember this particular game involving bean bags instead of dodgeballs... um, ouch. I guess this is where the rule came in that you were only supposed to throw the beanbags at people's feet, but do you really trust 30 6th graders not to chuck beanbags at each other's faces?

And this "Russell Thompson" either voluntarily left or was asked to leave 1 or 2 days after this entry. He was "annoying" because he would get up in the middle of class to get kleenex or other things from the coat closet. He also responded to all the teachers with super smart ass responses. I'd probably actually like him a lot now, but at the time, being the straight edge that I was, I found this appalling.

I remember being shocked, SHOCKED! when he returned from the coat closet one day with a bottle of water! Gasp - you are only supposed to drink from the water fountain after you have received verbal permission!!!

This is also the same kid, who in 2nd grade, before he left for the first time would follow me around on the playground with the strict purpose of annoying me. My favorite playground activity was "Walk around by yourself looking at the ground." He'd follow me around with a clenched fist under my chin. While he trailed me with his fist of fury, he'd repeatedly tell me, "I'm going to punch you. I'm going to punch you. I'm going to punch you." I think I finally got so sick of him following me around telling me that he was going to punch me, that I finally told him: "Okay, fine. Punch me." He didn't. Wuss.

So what do you think? Are the comments/entries easier to read when I put them at the end? Input greatly appreciated.