Friends and Christmas

Now if any party should be fun it should be a party with your friends.

This is the first mistake that amateurs make when invited to a Christmas party by friends.

There are a few important tings that you should consider before accepting that invitation:

How long has it been since I've seen these friends?
- If it's been a few days to a month give yourself a point proceed to the next section.
- If it's been a month to a year think this out a bit more. Did you really like these people to begin with? That's a long time to not see someone, there's probably a reason. That reason probably includes awkwardness, satellite friends who will be in attendance and think that sexual harassment is an acceptable form of human interaction, or exes. No points awarded.
- If it's been longer than a year there isn't much to think about. Think of all the time you'll have to spend catching up, feigning interest in their lives. How much they've changed, how much you've changed. The empathetic glances you'll be bestowed with if you attend alone, the jealous glares you'll receive if you bring a date along. Go if you must but be prepared for awkward silences and bring alcohol. Congrats, you're in the negative point brackets and you've only just begun! Minus 1


How far away are they?
- If they're less than 15 minutes away give yourself a point and proceed to the next question. No travel time and if the party sucks you can sneak out and be home and in your comfy flannels in no time at all.
- If they're 15 minutes to an hour away that's a little trickier. It is winter after all. If it snows or ices heavily are you really okay with spending the night with these people? Sleeping in a house full of drunken party goers is never a good idea, no matter how passed out you *think* they are. No points awarded
- If it's more than an hour you cannot drink at all. You also may need to spend the night at said friends house (see above for problems with that), at a motel ($$), or in your car (fail). Minus 1 point.


Finally: How good a friend are they?
- If they're the best friend you've ever had, you've known them for years, you're their children's Godparent, and you KNOW they'd be there for you, of course, it's no contest, you should go no matter what. Plus 5 points
- If they're your good friend, you went to college together, always had a laugh, played wingman for each other, roomed together, let you cry on their shoulder when you didn't make the high school play. Sure, think about it, but also take into account any aforementioned satellite friends who will also be in attendance. You may have to put up with some real bitches to get a few minutes with a decent conversationalist. Plus 3 points
- You ARE the satellite friend. Don't be that guy, just don't. Minus 4

If you have 4 or more points go, if you have less don't. It's that simple.


"Friends" You'll See at the Party
Marriage Marge: Yes, I'm happily married with 2.5 kids, a golden retriever and a calico cat and I want to show you pictures for at least two hours.

Fratboy Frank: Hells to the fucking yes I'm still drunk from last night. Hell I'm still drunk from last week. Why would I want to stop living the college dream. I may be 32, but I party like a Freshman bitch!

Old Oliver: I know I shouldn't really be here, but I came with Frank, he's my roommate. I know I'm about 10 years older than everyone else at the party and completely out of place with no friends, but I had nothing else to do with my time and my walls kept threatening to eat me.

Topless Tara: I used to be so wild in college, showing my tits to everyone, but they were so fantastic, how could I not? I may be married with small children but I'll still pop 'em out if you'd like.

and the ever popular:

Debbie Downer: Life in school sucked, life out of school sucked, everything sucks. I hate you for everything you have and I don't. Now I will cling to you mercilessly and tell you all my sad stories. I'll probably snot on your shirt.


What I'm really trying to say here is that you should all stay home and become hermits like me. It's warm and cozy in hermit land. Join me.

Family Christmas Parties

Let's discuss Family Christmas first.

If you have a small family, a Family Christmas (yes both words MUST be capitalized) may not terrify you the way it does me. If you are one of the lucky few with 10 or less people in your family in three generations . . . well, I hate you, I guess.

For the rest of us here's what we have to look forward to:

- As many as 4 or 5 Family Christmas
- Travel on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day
- Fights
- Double booking parties
- Fights about double bookings
- Awkward gift exchanges
- Sharing
- Aunts who smell and want hugs
- Lipstick prints from aforementioned aunts
- Offensive jokes from uncles
- Cousins you hate
- Fights
- Christmas Mass with the entire family

Here are the unspoken rules for the many family gatherings you'll have during Christmas:

1. DO NOT under any circumstances mention any of the following:

your uncle's recent trip to the Betty,

your great aunts funeral and who did and did not show up

your younger cousin's possible mental illness and/or serial killer in-the-making tendencies

the recent release of your grandfather from prison and the "new friends" he made while there

the current living arrangements for half of your family

the money that your older brother owes you from that drug deal that went south on him two years ago

your mother's latest and greatest nervous breakdown

2. DO NOT comment on a new photo, painting, statuary unless you are prepared to listen to a story that goes on for 30 minutes and provides nothing of value or interest.

3. Just give in and play Carrom, Super Smash Bros, Slap Jack, or Catch Phrase with your younger cousins. You know you'll have to at some point, just remember to protect your knuckles in Carrom, shield your face if you win at Smash, wear gloves during Slap Jack, and keep it clean in Catch Phrase

4. Have some pie, even if you don't like it, you have to have at least one piece unless you want your Great Aunt Mona to cry, do you want her to cry, why do you hate her pie, WHY DO YOU HATE HER?????

5. Fall asleep early and often on the nearest couch. Yes people will make jokes about it the rest of the year, however, you get out of talking to people, cleaning up, don't have to give up your seat, AND you get rest and relaxation. If you find you can't fall asleep surrounded by 30 people, just pretend, start writing your next novel in your head or something. Get creative.

6. If you are relegated to the cold floor out of respect or fear of your elders make sure your placement is no where near someone over the age of 60. This is not ageism, it is merely self-preservation. These people have just finished a very large, very gaseous meal, they are old, they aren't able to hold in their emissions, even if they could they wouldn't. They're old, they'll do what they want. Stay up wind.

7. Enjoy the kiddie table. Yes you're sitting in the coldest room in the house, at the smallest table, in the worst chairs, with the messiest eaters, so what. Treasure this time, because if you ever do move up to the adult table you'll just have awkward conversations, be forced to look at pictures of children and grandchildren who "couldn't make it but wished they were here", and pretending you can't smell the caster oil and hemorrhoid creme seeping from the red hat lady sitting beside you.

8. Be vicious during the gift exchange. It's called Rob Your Neighbor for a a reason. Don't be afraid to do it, it's the only revenge you're allowed to take for the trauma you're enduring. Take that silly putty from the 7 year old, steal that antique ironing board from your newly married and moved cousin, but stay away from anything in a bag if you pick from the pile, wrapping paper is your only smart choice. Unless it feels like books, the books are ALWAYS bad.

9. If you're already the favorite of a certain relative make sure to hang out as much as possible with that person. It never hurts to reinforce how awesome you are. Sure it may not result in any physical gain, but you can lord it over all the other family members your age. If you aren't anyone's favorite find the meanest most senile one and take turns tossing zingers at each other. It's fun for you and them, plus if you say something too mean they'll forget later.

10. Finally, enjoy everything about it. Sure, you're family isn't all sunshine and roses, but no one's is. This family is yours though and that makes it better. If you get frustrated, bored, insulted, or hurt just take a step back and look at it from an outsiders perspective. It's fucking funny, don't even pretend it isn't.

Ahh Family.

The Oil Change Saga Continues

I'm taking a trip after Christmas. It's going to be a long one; the first long one I've taken in my beautiful new car. I want it to be in the best possible condition for taking said trip, it's like an athlete you know, you've got to make sure it's warmed up, trained, full of fluids, and . . . vacuumed out?

Anyway, that means a trip to the local Speed Lube and a visit with my least favorite and most inappropriate mechanic.

He was there, as he always is. They opened the back doors and waved me in. As soon as I stepped out of the car he told me to turn around, get back into it and go home - they were closed. I smiled uncertainly and hesitantly re-opened my car door. He rolled his eyes, murmured something I couldn't hear and flipped up my hood. I head inside to the waiting room only to find the heat off and the plastic lawn chairs that normally adorn the room MIA. I head back into the garage where the warm air pours down from the ceiling.

I have been effectively trapped into watching my car get her oil changed and chatting with HIM while it happens. I pull out my iPhone and pretend to be very busy and important. He snidely comments that iPhones are "fucking pieces of junk, but you must collect junk since you're driving a Pontiac."

I look justifiably horrified and am unsure what I'm supposed to say in reply. Not only am I unhealthfully obsessed with my phone, but I'm also in a special kind of love with my beautiful 2008 Pontiac Vibe (we're coming up on our year anniversary in January!!!!).

I point out that this car has rave reviews from Consumer Reports, was manufactured on the Toyota assembly line, and has been nothing but fabulous since the day I got it.

He goes off on a tangent about foreign cars.

I try to change to conversation back to something I'm more comfortable talking about, Scarlett Johannson. I know from previous experience that he's a fan and I'm more willing to talk about the "screwability" of a starlet than about how my taste in cars and electronics bites the big one.

This conversation somehow morphs into a diatribe from him about how he IS NOT attracted to any males and is as NON-GAY as you can get. In fact, he isn't even attracted to himself. He doesn't think he's good looking at all and would never "do" himself.

I go back to talking about cars.

How is this dude the manager? I'll give the guy the benefit of the doubt and assume that most of what he was saying was supposed to be a joke, but even as one long joke it's a horrifying way to communicate.

I may end up making these bi-monthly visits into bi-monthly blogs as well. I had intended on never going back to this particular place, but it's a gold mine of awkwardness.

Christmas Parties

Are inherently awkward.

There I said it, that thing that everyone always thinks but never says because anything that has "party" in the title should be fun, right?

Wrong. Christmas parties are just rife (ripe? what's the correct phrase? I just googled it and both could work, but rife fits better. I win) with opportunities to make everyone uncomfortable and get your invitation for next year revoked.

There are three types of Christmas parties, each one with it's own unique set of rules, expectations and traumatic ways to go wrong: Family Christmas, Friends Christmas, and Office Christmas.

Lets Discuss these in the following posts, shall we?

More Christmas Past

My Senior year of high school was the first time I was ever able to afford to buy gifts for others.

Honestly that's what changed my whole Christmas experience. All the fun came back. I was finally able to treasure the gifts I got because I realized how much thought, time, and care went in to picking them out, because I had spent months doing the same for them. Every gift was precious because it was from them, because all they wanted to do was make me happy. Put that smile on my face, you know the one, the one that comes along when someone finds you that perfect gift. That gift that you didn't even know you wanted. That something that proved that they knew you so perfectly and cared about you so much.

That's my goal with Christmas every year, finding something that gives them that smile. I don't manage it every year, but I see it enough to keep me going.

So that's my Christmas Secret. Why I love Christmas so much, why I start listening to Christmas music on December 1st and keep listening until it goes off the air. Why I want to spend every spare moment with the ones I love. Why I love wrapping presents with expensive and beautiful wrapping paper. Why I write Christmas cards every year. Why it's hard to frown in December.

It's just around the corner. Spread the Christmas Love.

Christmas

I know, I know, it's still to early to do a Christmas post. I'm going to do one any way.


I used to be a real Grinch during the Christmas season. I remember in Middle School how much I hated what I considered a pale imitation of a pagan festival put on by Hallmark. Still, as Christmas got closer I'd get a childlike joy that I worked hard to squash into a tiny, bitter, little ball by Christmas Eve. I'd sit through Christmas services at church with a smirk on my face, attend my Great-Aunts Christmas Eve Party with an eye roll and a plead for my parents to let us leave in an hour. After the party we would always drive around looking at Christmas lights, I would pretend I was asleep in the car. We'd get home and Mom would make us change into the most horrific matching Christmas pajamas in the world. My sisters and I would dutifully put them on and go to bed.

The next morning we would all wait for our Grandparents to arrive, open our presents and after everything was open a terrible, awful, hateful thought would run through my mind: Is this it? Even as a preteen monster I felt awful for feeling that way. I couldn't figure out what I was missing, why Christmas stopped being fun, why I wasn't happy or excited for it any more.

It wasn't even about not getting what I wanted for Christmas, my parents always pulled out all the stops and I'll be the first to admit that my sisters and I were incredibly blessed and even spoiled by them during Christmas. It was something that I couldn't understand. Why was Christmas always such a huge build up and then such a huge letdown?

I felt that way until my Senior year of High School.

Correlation does not imply causation

It just doesn't, so please stop using it in arguments.

Thanks.

Who ARE You?

I was chatting (and by chatting I mean typing) with some friends a bit ago and the subject of personality tests came up, specifically the Myers-Briggs test. It seemed that most people who have taken the test agree with it. Not just my online besties, but also most of my co-workers.

I guess a few years ago the Company had them all take these tests to expand their minds or some other weird corporate brainwashing thing. Anyway, most of them still remember the tests and what their results wound out being.

It's kinda cool, I ended up being an ISFJ.

If you want to take the test yourself: Humanmetrics.

I suppose that's all for now.

Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving Thoughts

Thanksgiving is upon us woot, yay, huzzah and all that. While I desperately love any holiday that allows me to have two pieces of pie without a dirty look, I'm not super excited about it. What I am SUPER excited about is after Thanksgiving. CG and his family are coming down on Friday and will be spending the weekend with us. FES's (I think I've talked about FES on here before, maybe, anyway our Foreign Exchange Student from Germany) uncle and brother will be coming in as well. Our house will be absolutely packed, which means that my sisters and I get to stay at Grandpa's house.

I haven't spent the night at Grandpa's house since Memaw died, at first because it was too painful to even go inside the house where I spent most of my childhood, then later because it was too painful watching Grandpa making the house into a shrine to her. Over the last year things have gotten better for him, which we are all very grateful for. The house, while still featuring an alter of sorts on the kitchen island devoted to Memaw, has changed, it's easier to go inside and spend time there, finally.

So all of us girls will be spending our nights at Grandpa's again, on that big white feather comforter, in the middle of the floor of the living room, in front of the old console tv, maybe we'll even watch old cartoons, just like we used to when Memaw was around. I think we're all looking forward to it, things like this bring back so many good memories and when we can create new memories from the old, knowing that Grandpa is sleeping alone in his bed doesn't feel so terrible.

So this Thanksgiving I'm grateful for the ability to move on. Terrible, tragic things happen, things that we're sure we'll never be able to move on from, to get over. But we do, that's what's so amazing about the human race: our ability to hope, grow, learn, get better.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone, safe travels, and be well.

Normal for Me

Oh look, Callie doesn't have the brain power for a post today, so she's half-assing it with a list instead. How inspired.

This list is of things that seem completely normal to me:

1. Riding around in a limo from the 80's with gold trim
2. Waking up with bruises and having no idea how I got them
3. Building blanket forts
4. Dancing wildly with my 8 year old cousin
5. Getting bras in the mail
6. Throwing hedge balls around as a game
7. Wearing one coat into work and putting on a second over top of the first to stay warm in the office.
8. Dressing up as Louie the Lightning Bug
9. Wearing hunter's orange to take a walk
10. Being nicer to strangers than to family

Ch-ch-ch-changes, Turn and Face the Strain

. . . just gonna have to be a different man

ANYway, I was once told by someone that your personality changes constantly, so much so, that every seven years you become a different person. I can't remember who this person was, but I'ma believe them anyway (and you should too).

I'm constantly surprised by the new things I learn about myself. I used to be terrified of rollercoasters, now I quite enjoy them. I used to cherish being alone and completely self-sufficient, now I find it hard to spend more than two evenings in a row alone and enjoy almost any interaction I have with the populace. I used to like Family Guy (although I blame my dislike for it now less on a change in me and more on the sub-par writing on the new seasons). I used to think that I could and would do anything for the right amount of money. I used to live and plan only for the future.

I really have changed a lot in the last few years, so I can't wait to see who I'll be in another seven years.

I could end up being a socialist Asian man, my dad would flip his shit (about the socialist bit, although now that I think about it, I'm sure that my dad would also be at least slightly curious about how I became Asian and male . . .)

French Maids and Why I Need One

1. Because they're awesome.
2. Because I wouldn't have to clean my house any more.
3. Because I like their nifty outfits, especially their frilly hats.
4. They have to have a good sense of humor, who else would wear that get-up and still be smiling 5 hours later.
5. They have nice accents.
6. They might know some french men.
7. Do they do windows? If they do windows I definitely need one.
8. They're sex on toast.
9. I like toast.
10. I also like pie.

Halloween Carvings

2007





2008



2009

Hate

I've been thinking about hate a lot recently. When I was young my sisters and I used to scream our hatred of each other for everyone to hear when we got mad. Just the word hate would send mom careening down the hallway towards us like a bullet. She'd lean down, look into our faces and say, "we don't hate in this house, we don't say that word, you DO NOT hate. You may not like someone, but you never hate."

I don't think any of us girls got it back then. I "hated" everything, my sisters, boys, math, science, that bitch who betrayed me in theatre, red lights, and getting my picture taken.

The hate of a teenager is a massive and fluid thing. That's the type of hate that isn't hate at all. It's testing boundaries, trying to control your hormones and wondering just what the fuck happened to make you such a basket case.

As I get older mom's words make more and more sense. I've never really hated anyone or anything. Not in a lasting way. There's only one time in my life that I think I experienced hate as a real emotion and with a few years and a lot of growing it's disappeared.

Lasting hate, irrational hate, the hate that leads to violence I've never felt nor understood. I'm glad. I can't imagine carrying that around with me.

Mom's a wise woman.

We don't hate in this house.

You may not like someone, but you never hate.

After getting that lecture from Mom my sisters and I would look at each other, stick out our tongues and say, "I really, really dislike you."

We were so sweet.

The New Phone

As most of you know, my 1st Gen iPhone finally died. It was a combination of things really. The toilet episode, lots of droping, etc. but the final straw was when I bought a cheap, non-namebrand charger on sale. I brought it home, plugged my phone in and the screen ran this horrible series of varying blackness. It did this for 10 minutes before it finally settled down into sheer blackness.

I tried restarting it, a hard shut down, re-syncing it with the computer. I called Apple, I searched on-line, I called my Dad. Nothing helped, nothing was bringing my baby back. I went to bed hoping in vain that I'd wake up the next morning and my sweet little phone would magically be better. I'd touch the home key and the screen would light my life back up with it's warm mechanical glow.

No such luck. Two weeks later and I still can't get so much as a sizzle out of it.

So I got a new phone. I looked around for a while first, checked out the other non-iPhone options out there. But lets face it, it's impossible to go back to a normal phone after the iPhone. So after doing my due diligence I bought a new iPhone, got a new plan and waited for it to arrive in the mail.

I loved my 1st Gen like a child, I still have it tucked away in my desk. I can't get rid of it, I probably won't ever. But this new phone the 3Gs is AMAZING. It's everything I want and 100 times more. I can't think of a single thing that I want that it can't do.

I need to tell if a table is level - there's the app.
I'm having trouble falling asleep - there's an app.
I really want to play Scrabble - app.
I need to make a grocery list - app.
I wonder what phase the moon is in - app.
I'd like some Mistletoe - app.

I'm not even kidding. I have all of these apps.

This phone is my Holy Grail, it's the Hall to my Oats, the Aladdin to my Jasmine, the Fred Bird to my Ozzy Smith, the pop to my tart.

So yeah, I'll always love my first, but this is a different kind of love, a new love that transcends time and space.

At least until the next iPhone release.

It's Fucking October!!!!!!!!!!

Finally! Finally! Finally! I have a deep and abiding love for October, the weather, the cider, the leaves changing, but mostly it's Halloween bitches!

I love Halloween. I have no way to form coherent sentences about how fantastic, amazing, and fabby I think it is.

As I told a group of friends recently:

Halloween is by far the most fun holiday, you get to put horrible, repulsive things out all over your yard and your house, talk about severed body parts and blood without being judged, watch terrible movies, get sick on candy, AND dress like a dirty pirate hooker.

I get most excited about pumpkin carving. I'm slightly obsessed with it. I've done it every year since I've been on my own. Mom was never a big one for the mess it caused so we always just drew faces on pumpkins instead (which totally sucked 'cause I can't draw a straight line to save my life).

The first couple of years were rough, I didn't do very detailed work and usually ended up cutting my pumpkin to shreds. I've gotten MUCH better since I moved into my own house and bought a lot of practice pumpkins.

I'll probably update later with pictures of previous years because I'm way too proud of them.

Happy October everyone!

Male Validation

So I've finally caved. I've joined the ranks of reality show junkies.

My drug of choice?



I love that train wreck. I've managed to avoid Survivor, Big Brother, The Bachelor, etc., but give me fat girls with emotional baggage and I'm all over that shit like white on rice.

What absolutely makes this show for me has to be the non-repentant need for male validation and approval. All of these girls are so desperate for positive male attention that at the first smile from Luke they're instantly in love, crying, and proclaiming on camera to millions of people that their self-esteem has never been so high.

Really, this is what us fat girls are bringing to the table in relationships, co-dependence, inferiority complexes and complex carbohydrates (did anyone see those waffles on the last episode, damn they looked delicious and I don't even like breakfast)?

The young one, Mel Something Or Other, was the one I was rooting for. She was the most tragic mess. I really felt for her and wanted her to do well. Except for the fact that "doing well" in this competition meant winning the affection of the most herpes infested, dirt bag, male chauvinist pig I've seen on acceptable and politically correct TV. When she left she assured us that she grew in experience and self-esteem and that this was not the end, she would get her happy ending.

Girlfriend better settle for paying a male erotic masseur if she's thinking a man is going to solve all her problems. At least that way she can be guaranteed an orgasm and a back rub.

Then there's the "I love you" girl, (Kirsten, Kristian, I don't know, but I'm pretty sure it starts with a K) this chick was bug-nuts. There aren't any words for how obsessive, stalkerish, and desperate this woman was. She scared me, a lot. Now she's gone too.

So what's left to look forward too you ask? Well the three thinnest girls and the biggest hoe. Shocker.

All I can think when I see the King of the Douche Bags kiss another girl is, "No God NO! HERPES HERPES HERPES, protect yo' self! Get some dental dams or something. Do not kiss that man, Lord knows where his tongue has been in the last 30 minutes, down at least three or four girls throats, and I saw the way that he looked at that horse on his romantic date with the big hoe.

You can't fool me Luke, you can't fool me.



So Luke and some cute, blond chubby girl are on a date. He comments on the view and she agrees that it's beautiful. Then he says, "I was talking about about you." The cute blond looks like a deer in the headlights. How in the world can she be so pleased and shocked by the most overused, pointless, gag-inducing phrase man has ever uttered? If anyone EVER said that to me and was serious about it I'd be sick. Literally, I'd try to hold it in, but I make no promises. The only way to react to something that ridiculous and snark worthy is to puke right in the guys face.

Then on this very same date Luke talks to cute blond chubby girl about family and kids. She figures she will work and not stay home with them. He condescendingly asks her how she thinks the child care arrangements will work out with both of them working. Uh, hello asshole, if a woman wants to work, let her and child care is not just her problem it's your's too you chauvinist wanker. Please DIAF.

Cute blond chubby girl goes home too.

I hate this dude.

I met Abe Lincoln . . .

and my camera died before I could get a picture with him.

I'm obsessed with Abe, I love him. No seriously, it's a sickness. I'm crazy about him. I read books about him, watch any movies, tv shows, or YouTube videos that so much as mention him.

I think he's the hottest thing ever. I want his babies. If only he weren't dead. I'm sure he would have chosen me over that royal bitch he married.

In college there was a very tall boy that I had a few Communications classes with and he looked enough like Abra-hankin' Lankin' for me to develop a severe and embarrassing crush. I would talk about him to my roommate constantly, how dreamy he was, how I'd stare at the back of his head during Mass Media classes, anxiously await our public speaking days to hear his voice.

I didn't care about him as person. I had absolutely no interest in getting to know him. I just liked to stare. It's really a good thing too, 'cause he was terminally stupid.

I am 110% positive that my real Abe was the smartest, most amazing man in the entire world. Oh Abe, how I wish my camera would have held on for just a few more minutes. All I got was this picture of my soul mate playing Bago:



*drool*

Puppy Pictures - As Requested

Here's Coleman:








He's cute and everything, but Katie is much cuter:



Okay, so it's Kate as a baby, she's still super cute even as an adult dog and I can't be arsed to search around my computer files to find a grown up version.

♥

The Dog

I had to leave my dog (Katie) at the farm last weekend because I'm going to be so busy over the next few weeks. I did, however, take another dog back home with me. His name is Coleman and he's a terrier mix. He's a truly adorable dog, very friendly and sweet.

He's driving me bat-shit insane. He cannot be alone, ever, I mean EVER. If I leave the room he barks, when I put him outside he barks, if I crate him he barks, if no one is paying attention to him he barks. The only time I get any peace at all is when he's running around my house like a loon and jumping on my furniture or sniffing my cats.

I'm at my wits end here. I don't deal well with barky dogs, and by that I mean I don't deal at all. There is nothing in this world that grates on my nerves more than barking. In comparison, nails on a chalkboard are a welcome relief.

Now, my Katie is no angel, she does bark and she's excessively hyper, but she listen's to me and knows when she needs to be quiet and when it's acceptable to get a little rowdy. I've raised her and she knows her limits. Okay, so maybe she doesn't always know her limits and my sisters basically hate her and curse at me every time I bring her to the farm.

But she's mine and I love her. She doesn't listen to anyone except me and she gets so excited when someone new comes around that you think she might rip your face right off from the excitement of it all. I swear she's a good dog though (okay I admit that I'm biased, but she's better than Coleman!!).

Coleman has no limits and it's such a small, yappy little thing. I'm not a small, yappy type dog girl. I never have been. Katie the beagle mix is as small a dog as I'll ever get.

Coleman is a terrier, the worst kind of yappy dog (in my opinion).

I suppose I should get to the actual story behind him. My mother and sisters "found" Coleman while they were camping. Someone dumped him and drove off. They don't understand how someone could do that with an obviously well-cared for pet (after living alone with Coleman for 3 days not only do I understand, I empathize).

Someone that I work with is interested in adopting him. I'm meeting up with her tonight and she'll take him for the weekend to see if he gets along with her current dog.

So even if you aren't religious I'm begging you to pray with me. Please let this woman fall head over heals for this small, yappy, irritating as hell dog. Because if I have to take him back on Sunday I'm pretty sure I'll commit puppy-murder by Monday night.

I was trying to do a good deed, getting this dog off the farm for my parents and finding him a good home, instead I'm just punishing myself.

I just wanted my oil changed . . .

I was getting my oil changed last night after work and was talking to the manager. Every time I come in he has something off-topic and inappropriate to talk to me about.

Last time he talked about famous people he found attractive and wanted to sex up. Then asked me the same question, males and females. Me being me, I of course immediately spouted off about my lust/love for Angelina Jolie and Scarlet Johansson. Then he got graphic and started talking about his fantasies, luckily my phone rang and I was able to end the conversation.

This time he talked to me about how he left work early the day before so that he could go to the nearest bar and drink. How he's pretty sure he's an alcoholic because of it and that he just doesn't care. He continued to enumerate on the virtues of drinking until you pass out in the middle of the day and can't remember anything.

I have no problem with either of these topics when discussed with friends, but the random ass guy that I'm trusting to change the oil in my car? Not so much.

What about me says, feel free to tell me inappropriate and off topic information about your personal life?

It happens all the time. I'm just trying to be polite in the supermarket line, say Good morning, how are you? and then have to listen as some random girl tells me about the boy she had sex with last night and how tired she is today because of it.

I readily admit to being the Queen of TMI, in fact, it's a running joke with most of my friends. However I try to control myself enough to to NOT talk about it with the man trying to repair my cable.

The End of an Era?

I went to a wedding over the weekend and it was just wonderful. As a general rule I'm not a fan of other people's weddings. I usually find them boring and pointless. The only exception to this rule is close family.

With close family I have no problem acting like a moron out on the dance floor, am usually very familiar with the venue because I've spent the entire day setting up, I've got tons of people I can talk to, and I can get the bride and groom whatever gift I want because I'm family god-damn it and I don't have to look at their registry if I don't want to.

This one was good, besides all of the aforementioned perks my cousin's band played and my cousin-in-laws father was the DJ. I also learned the Cupid Shuffle, got alcohol spit on me on the dance floor, colored a Strawberry Shortcake picture, kept the fondue table going, and had some of my aunts famous pickles (they were delicious as usual).

I got some other amazing wedding news yesterday. A very close, very good friend of mine from college is getting married on Friday. It's very small, very quiet, and at the courthouse. She doesn't want any presents, any cards, or any hoopla. She's honestly the last girl I expected to get married, just because she's always said that she wouldn't.

I'm glad that she's getting married the way that she is. I figured she and her SO would marry at some point and if they did I figured it would be very small and quiet. I also have to admit that I wondered from time to time if they weren't married already and just not telling anyone. It just makes sense from a financial and health coverage perspective.

So yay for them as well! There are weddings everywhere. That means only 1 college girlfriend, 3 high school girlfriends, and no family members (for the next few years at least), left unmarried.

They're closing ranks people. Fight the power! Or give in . . . you know, whichever you prefer.

Little quirks

I'll listen to the same song over and over and over again until I know every single word to it.

I don't like my foods to touch each other.

I only eat one food at a time and turn my plate in a circle as I go from one food to the next.

I only like eating the broken tortilla chips.

I bite my nails.

I'm rigid with my morning routine and it never varies.

I like Taylor Swift (judge me, I deserve it).

I put off everything except homework. I always get that done as far in advance as possible.

I don't deal well the stress of fixing someone else's mistakes, or my own for that matter.

I'm adept at dealing with unexpected stress.

I'd rather stab myself repeatedly in the hand with a sharpened spork than cry in front of someone.

I love going to the car wash and wish I could afford to wash my car every week.

I hate my eyes.

I have an awesome corporate "phone voice."

Free Food

There are few perks in being a corporate drone. These are: steady paycheck, health benefits, the occasional free meal.

Today I have gotten lots of free food: tomatoes, peaches, a watermelon, and a free lunch.

Some days are kind of completely amazing. The peaches are genuine Calhoun peaches, the most delicious things ever. The tomatoes and watermelon are home grown from a co-worker.

We also got our shirts in today for all of the events we will be doing over the next month or so. They look amazing and I'll be taking one home with me tonight to wear this weekend.

I heart free stuff.

Ouch *%$#$@* ! *&$%@#$!%(*

I'm accident prone. I fall ALL the time, seriously, at least once a week. I'll slip on the bathroom or kitchen floor, trip over the dog, cat, coffee table, rogue shoe, wear slick soled shoes in my garage, the parking deck, walking the dog. Sometimes I don't even have an excuse, I just collapse in a heap.

I also bruise easily and consistently, I currently have 13 bruises. I only know where about 6 of them came from.

I get scratched a lot too. Between the cats, random nails in my wall, paper cuts, and knife wounds its a wonder I haven't bled to death.

My favorite curse during 95.5% of these injuries: mothertrucker. I usually string as many curse words together as my brain can think of and come up with some very surprising and innovative word choices. I then try to use them in day to day life.

Look at me, taking lemons and turning them into f#$%ing lemonade!

Jealousy

Is a funny thing, especially for me. I've never really been a jealous person, of course there have been times when I've wanted what someone else had, but I wasn't ever jealous of the person for what they had. If I wanted it badly enough I'd find a way to get one of my own.

That's how it's always been.

What brings this up now are the people that Facebook and Myspace recommend to me as "friends," people that I've neither seen nor thought about since I graduated high school 6 years ago (has it really been 6 years, fuck I'm old). I see their shining faces looking out from their little picture windows and am always surprised by how much you can tell from a profile picture and a status update. If people are married, have children, have pets, if they party, stay at home, work, slack, etc.

It's fascinating to flip through their lives with the same carelessness and detached interest that you exhibit reading a magazine in a doctors waiting room. I tend to learn more about myself than them.

I've recently learned that although I don't get jealous or bitter when I see schoolmates with things that I don't have, I do get the occasional snark twinge. I don't know what it is about the high school years that always brings out my bitchfactor, but it's there. Even when I know that the self-satisfied, content feeling that comes with seeing into the lives of others is only temporary and most probably incorrectly placed.

I wish I could give the feeling a better name. It's a mix between smugness and contentment, it crosses the line occasionally into a holier-than-thou attitude and usually straddles the well-wishing line.

Is there a word for that feeling you get when you see someone else with all the good things you thought you wanted and all you can think is: I still wouldn't trade?

Bachelorette Adventures Pt. 3

The final installment.

So we get back from the work out, eat some pizza, the bride-to-be opens her severely risque gifts, we drink some more and decide to go to a bar.

We start looking for a bar that is near the club we're going to later. We park and start walking down the street. At this point a scary old man comes out of a smoke filled bar and starts following us shouting, "You're whores, you're whores." At first we though he was saying, "You're home, you're home." But after he followed us into the bar still yelling "whores" at us we figured it out. He continued to hang around as we did shots, picked out music on the jukebox and generally ignored him.

At one point he cornered the bride-to-be and started talking to her about romantic songs and how soon she was getting married. I went over and not so subtly turned my back on him, cutting off his view of her and the conversation.

We hung out there for a while, played some pool, took some dares which involved me doing a short version of our lap dance in the middle of the bar, my sister asking for a random guys number, the future SIL asking a guy for change for the condom machine and another guys sock. We also danced around to a Hairspray song. I'm sure the regulars at the bar just loved us. *insert eyeroll here*

From there we went to the club, most of the party got lost on the way there so SIL and I headed in and hung out until they showed up. It was another hour until the guys joined us and we all proceeded to drink, dance, sing along, and have a generally awesome time.

Towards the end of the night the DJ put on Birthday Sex and SIL and the bride-to-be did a lap dance for some random guy and the groom. I took lots of pictures and was very grateful that CG was around as a convenient excuse for me to not shake my ass and hump a chair in front of about 200 people.

My youngest sister, a fresh faced 18 year old came very close to accidentally dirty dancing with a drunk 40 year old. How can you accidentally dirty dance you ask? I'll tell you how, some creepy as hell, drunk ass comes up behind you gyrating and taking his shirt off. I have to admit here that I was more than a little tipsy. I got up of the bar stool crossed the dance floor gave the creep my most hateful look and drug my sister up to the front and away from Creepy McPedophile.

We left soon after. It was totally awesome and on the way home there was much slurred singing and chest thrusting.

Sometimes (most times) being female is the greatest thing ever.

Bachelorette Adventures Pt. 2

So we get down to business and strippercise our little black hearts out. It's completely hilarious and a lot less uncomfortable and weird than you'd think. I mean it's cousins, aunts, mothers, in there together, giving lap dances to empty chairs and hanging from poles.

Our first 45 minutes was the lap dance. We did it to this song:



(Birthday Sex by Jeremiah)

If you listen to the song you can totally tell where the butt shaking/boob gyrating/humping sections happen. I was actually grateful to be in the front row because that meant that I didn't have to watch everyone else. Every time I picture my mother vibrating on top of a chair to "it's your birthday and I know you want to riiii-iii-iii-ide" I get a little queasy.

Then came the pole dancing lessons. Most everyone failed epically at this, which made me feel much better about not being able to hold onto the pole for more than a few seconds. It became glaringly obvious to me that I would never be a professional pole dancer. Those girls have some serious upper body strength and I salute them for their dedication to sexiness.

We all took away some valuable dance skills that we used for the rest of the night. There's the chest push-hand cover, the floor hump, the crazy leg (not to be confused with the stanky leg, which is apparently also a dance move), and of course the body roll.

On the trip home the bride-to-be decided that we should all do the lap dance at the club we were going to later. All of the younger girls were really excited about it.

I was less than thrilled.

Bachelorette Adventures

So I had a complete and total blast this past weekend. I can't remember a weekend that's been so amazing.

It started with the boys getting ready for their paintball extravaganza. They were all completely dorky and adorable. CG even wore a do-rag. AH-MAY-ZING. My father was dressed from the top of his head to the soles of his shoes in camo, the groom was wearing shorts, fuzzy wool socks pulled up to his knees and tennis shoes, my cousins looked normal, and my uncle was wearing a bright orange camo floppy hat. They looked fabulous. They apparently had a fabulous time with lots of shooting, falling, John Wayne moments, and bluff calling. Most of them ended up with some serious bruising.

Us girls went to my aunts house to start our adventure. Before we got there I tied one on for the road. If I'm going to drink I do the damn thing right. We get to my Aunts and start drinking some more, listen to music and plan for the epic-ness that will be strippercise.

We load up and head out. I'm already a teeny bit tipsy. We're all in high heels and sweat pants walking through downtown. We run across a quickly changing crosswalk. One of my hooker heels gets caught in between the bricks in the crosswalk. I start to fall, I continue to fall as I take 4 more steps. I face plant in the middle of the crosswalk, downtown, at 2 in the afternoon. It's amazing and was apparently very graceful.

We finally get to the center and head inside. It's then that I realize I'm bleeding on both knees. It hurts, like a lot, and I'll be spending the next hour or so on them. I'm very grateful for the pre-sexay dance drinks and brace myself for what's to come.

To Be Continued

Busy is just an excuse.

But seriously, I have been crazy busy at work and at home. Hopefully next week I'll have some good stories about it all.

This weekend I'll be going to my cousin's bachelorette party. We're going to strippercise. All of the females in my family. Sexy Dancing. Awesome.


While I was typing this the CEO of our company came in, looked me in the eye, took my Rubix cube off my desk, and walked away. WTH?!?


Seriously people I can't make this shit up.

Real World Dating: Uncle Randy

There is really nothing bad that I have to say about Randy. He was quirky and fun, we could talk for hours on any subject, had the same taste in movies, games, books, and hobbies.

I met "Uncle" Randy on a dating website (I told you I used it more than once). Everyone called him Uncle Randy because of how he looked. You know that uncle that never quite seemed to grow up? Who was built like a grizzly bear? Who wore his hair long, grew a full beard - who you were sometimes embarrassed to introduce to your significant other? Who also had a heart so big that he'd cry at a good film. Who would punch through a man's face for you but hold a kitten so tenderly that you couldn't believe it was the same guy?

Maybe people only have uncles like this where I live.

Anyway, that was Randy. He was wonderful, on our second date he gave me a limited edition World of Warcraft playing card designed by Gabe from Penny Arcade (that's all geek speak so just play along). He remembered my birthday after only a month of casually seeing each other and brought me a card and flowers.

He was/is a great guy but I couldn't manage to muster up more than a mild interest in him. He really was everything that I should have been looking for and I was lucky to be dating him.

But as happens in life things don't always work out the way they should and when my current guy (CG for the sake of brevity) asked me to go steady (yes I said go steady, don't judge me!) I ended it with Randy.


If you're doing the time line you'll realize that I was dating Randy, Carl, and CG at about the same time. Well I was, and I'm not even a little ashamed. If I hadn't dated all of them I would never have these fabulous memories and embarrassing moments.

Real World Dating: Mortgage Miles

Miles lives one town away from me. I met him while driving through said town and randomly stopping at the grocery store. Miles asked me to help him choose a ripe melon. I told him that I knew nothing about melons and that it was an affront to my feminist nature that he would assume that I would. He laughed. It was a good sign that he got my sense of humor. He was also cute with a thick neck and a square chin. Yum.

I gave Miles my number and my email. We chatted for a while through email and really hit it off. He talked about his family and his job. He was really into the environment and worked with the State Environmental Agency to upkeep our local Prairieland grasses. He was also a volunteer firefighter. Me and men in uniform, it's a weakness.

We decided to go out a few weeks later and met up at my local country club. It wasn't nearly as fun as I figured it would be. He kept talking to me about mortgage rates and homeownership.

Now I'm as interested in all of that as your average first-time homeowner, but I sat through 3 hours of this kind of talk. Every time I tried to change the subject he brought it back up. We missed our movie because of it. I started ordering alcohol.

Even while slightly buzzed he was boring. It was absolutely tragic. He drove me home and we kissed. It was also boring. Double tragedy.

I hoped that he was just nervous and that maybe on our second date things would be better. Luckily for me a week later I met my current guy.

Miles left me with fond memories and a broader knowledge of real estate. Thank you Miles.

Things I Do in my Review Mirror

1. Make pouty faces

2. Pick my teeth

3. Pretend I'm in a music video.

4. Check my pimples.

5. Watch the people in the car behind me.

6. Apply lip gloss

7. Take pictures of myself

8. Fix my hair.

9. Pretend that there are people in my back seat.

10. Talk to the people in my back seat.

Real World Dating - You're Not Really Scottish Carl

Next on the list is Scottish Carl. I met Carl on a dating site: my first mistake. Although I can't say too much about it because I've made that mistake a few times since.

Carl seemed like the perfect guy for me, a total nerd, working on his degree in Special Education. He was a volunteer firefighter, worked full-time to put himself through school and enjoyed a lot of the same hobbies that I did.

Carl wasn't cute, he wasn't really even good-looking, but he was nice and he seemed safe and that was good enough for me. We talked for a long time before we ever met. Our first date was to see the movie Beowulf. It was a decent date, no sparks and occasionally awkward, but you can't have everything right? I decided that it was definitely worth a second date.

He calls me the next day to ask me to dinner. He talks the entire time using a terrible Scottish accent and he gives this reasoning:

"My family is very Scottish, I do a wonderful accent don't I? You can't tell I'm not from Scotland. I can do a lot of accents really well, I'll do a different one each time I call you, okay? One thing you should know about us Scotsmen: we'll never lie. I'm very honest and open. I love you."

After I finally got him off the phone I sat down with my checkbook and wrote him a check for $8.50; the price of my movie admission ticket. I mailed it to him the next day.

I really don't want to owe anyone that delusional anything.

Real World Dating - Jorge

I suppose I shouldn't call Jorge a date, as I never actually went on one with him. However, he did constantly ask me out, eat with me whenever possible and gave me oddly phrased compliments.

After I graduated from college I went to work selling useless crap door to door. After two weeks I quit in disgust. I started working at a super fancy hotel as the night bell(wo)man. It was pretty quiet most nights and I spent them making up couch beds for drunken heiresses who came to party, shining shoes, picking up breakfast orders, shining our brass baggage carts and helping the night clerk look for motorcycle parts on Craigslist.

I also spent a lot of time chatting with the Mexican cleaning staff. We took turns helping each other with Spanish/English. One of them - Jorge was a super sweet 40 year old who was always eager to help. At first I thought he was being nice, but after he told me, "You're pretty for a chubby girl. You should already have a man and not have to work here, but stay home and have babies." I knew it was a bit more than that.

Jorge would always sit with me during "lunch" at 1 in the morning and chat about his work visa and how I was "too pretty to work." Me being all of 22 and fresh out of college I was not crazy about the idea of marrying a middle-aged man so he could get a green card. No matter how many times he asked me out or talked about our babies.

I started eating lunch in the bellhop closet. It smelled like shoe-polish and cleaning supplies, but I could listen to the Cardinal's games in peace.

Gary Allen - Not the Singer

My next traumatizing collegiate dating experience was with Gary Allen. Gary was hot, I'm talking red hot. So hot that he turned me into a gibbering pile of goo with one look.

I met Gary while I was doing a bake sale for my honor society. Gary was at the next table in full army dress and was busy handing out pamphlets, trying to get college kids to sign their lives away, and being hot - mainly being hot. He was there with a Marine and an Air Force recruiter. I was there with fellow honor society member Anika.

Anika is/was completely beautiful. Gary kept staring at our table. I kept avoiding eye contact and figured he was interested in Anika. I'm cute in a dorky, girl-next-door kind of way, but in no reality was I on Gary's level. Gary comes over to talk to us. We talk for a good 10 minutes.

Apparently we were flirting, I thought I was just being friendly, but I get those two things mixed up a lot.

He walks away to talk to his armed forces buddies. Anika tells me that he's totally in love with me and I need to have his babies. I agree.

He comes back over and talks for another 20 minutes or so and asks for my number. I'm shocked. We go out a few times, but more often than not we hang out in the bedroom of the townhouse I share with 3 other girls.

He always comes straight over after work, always dressed in fatigues and always undeniably good-looking. I begin to notice not so little things though. Like he makes severely inappropriate and sexist comments about women constantly. I was a Woman's Studies minor at the time so that's always a bad move. I let it slide because he's cute.

I notice the imprint of a ring on his left hand. I ignore it because he's cute. One night he comes over with the ring on. I ask him about it.

Him: "I'm not married if that's what your asking, but if I was would it matter?"
Me: Um, yes it would matter, I would never date someone who was married. I couldn't hurt another woman like that knowingly.
Him: Well I'm not married, but obviously if someone is unhappy enough to cheat things aren't working so it's not like it's a real marriage. Would you really stop seeing me?
Me: Yes, of course I would. There is no excuse.

The conversation ended there because we started making out. Yes, I'm a terrible person, yes I was extremely stupid. But I'm telling you, he was just soooo good looking, and the high that I got from someone that hot being attracted to me made my head swim.


I saw him once after that it very, very far from pleasant.

So Gary Allen wherever you are please go DIAF. As for me I've been doing penance for my vanity for two and a half years now. The karma police totally got me.

Creepy Dan

To continue on with my horrendous dating history I give you Dan.

Dan is a nice guy, a complete dork, but that kind of turns me on. What can I say, I'm easy. I met Dan in the basement of our Public Administration building. Dan drops his books. I help pick them up.

Are we seeing a pattern here folks? Callie sees someone who needs help, Callie helps, Callie gets trapped into an awkward conversation and an unwanted date.

I give Dan my number, he seems normal. He calls me that night, we meet in the outside picnic area on campus. He pulls out his wallet and proceeds to show me pictures of his 12 cats. They are all professionally done.

I get out of that situation as quickly as I can. I avoid Dan's calls. (As you can see I'm AWESOME and confronting any type of situation head on) Dan stops calling. I feel relief.

I'm working at the dorm cafe one night and a co-worker (Emily for clarity's sake) comes to the back storeroom and tells me someone wants to see me. I go out.

There is Dan - with more pictures of his cats. I like cats, I really do. In fact I have two. I do not like cats enough to have professional portraits done of them and then carry them around with me. I give Dan an awkward smile and tell him they are wonderful.

Emily tells Dan that he's creepy and weird and he needs to leave, especially as he shouldn't have been able to get into our card-swipe in only dormitory.

Dan leaves. I hug Emily.

Scary Mike

My past has been full of interesting characters. The most interesting, complex, and terrifying have been my dates. Especially in college. My roommate Dani and I would give nick-names to all of my dates as soon as I got home from them. She always got the play by play.

Scary Mike was my first experiment in college dating. I met him as I was walking from the cafeteria. He had a huge full beard, long biker hair, and was built like an alcoholic, over-the-hill linebacker. He was walking to the tin buildings across campus for an art class. He had three huge canvases (canvi?) and the wind was blowing hard. One flew out of his hand and I went to catch it.

The picture was a watercolor with a flaming scull and naked women.

I still walked with him to class carrying the picture for him. He asked me for my number and I actually gave him the real one. This was before I found that hot line number that gives the guy the brush off for you and then lists different suicide options.

He called the next day and we had lunch a few days later. He was still scary so I decided to avoid him until he lost interest. He called me twice a day for two weeks and one day I saw him in the bushes of my dorm watching me walk to class.

The next night I was walking back to the dorm alone from dinner with some friends and I see Mike. I grab a campus newspaper and try to hide my face. It doesn't work as it's almost impossible to pretend to read a newspaper while walking down a curvy sidewalk. Plus, walking down said sidewalk with an enormous newspaper does tend to attract attention.

He sees me and asks how I am, why I haven't called and proceeds to go into detail about the horrible things that have happened to him since we last spoke. I feel terrible for him and agree to go for a walk.

I know what you're all thinking: RUN CALLIE, RUN LIKE THE WIND.

We went for a walk, down to the dark unlit pond. We sit under the willow tree on a picnic bench. We talk. He starts molesting my ear.

I'm not even kidding. It's traumatizing. He devours the thing and I'm just sitting there not moving at all. My brain is screaming at me to get up, to tell him to stop slathering my ear with spit. Finally I tell him to stop. He does. We talk some more. He molests my ear again.

My ear must be extremely beautiful because that seemed to be all he was interested in thank God.

I finally tell him that I need to get home because Dani is probably locked out of the room as she NEVER carried a key. He protests and slobbers on my ear some more. I get up, we walk back. We walk through the theatre hall, past the long lines of people waiting to enter Dora the Explorer LIVE. He tries to hold my hand, I pretend that I like children and do the "aw how cute hand movement" to keep from getting trapped by his greasy palm.

We get to my dorm, I run inside and straight into an extremely angry Dani, who has indeed been locked out of our room.

I tell her the story. She makes me call him immediately and tell him that I'm getting back together with an imaginary boyfriend and to never call me again.

I see him occasionally on campus in the bushes but he never says anything.

A few days later a weird rash shows up on my ear and down my neck.

He gave me ring-worm. It took 4 months for it to clear up.

Office Contests

I won an office contest last week. Everyone turned in pictures of themselves from 1984. Then these pictures were circulated and we had to guess who was who.

I was born in 1985 so I felt left out. I offered to give them a picture of a spermatozoa but the contest coordinator felt that the picture would be inappropriate.

They did let me make guesses though and I have to say I totally kicked ass. There were only five people who got them all right. They drew names for the prizes and I got a Rubik cube.

I hate Rubik cubes. I've never even come close to completing one and I've never had any desire to really try. I did, however, decide to display it on my desk space with pride.

Someone has been messing with my Rubik cube.

They keep mixing the colors! The colors need to match.

I don't even want to imagine the carnage that will await me when I get back from vacation next Monday. Blue, green, white, yellow, red, orange, mixed together all willy-nilly.



What if they start messing with Louie the Lightning Bug! Oh the humanity! These people obviously have no moral compass.

Brain Wracking

So I've been trying my hardest to think of ANYTHING to write about because I know me. If I stop for more than a week I just won't start up again. Days will turn into weeks, weeks into months and before long I won't even be able to remember the password for this site.

The trouble is, I can't think of anything to post about. I'm too busy with work to get into any kind of situation, I've got very boring plans every night and the only really exciting thing that happened to me in the last two days was that I got The Sims 3 yesterday.

So, yes. My life and the observations that go with it are too boring to saddle you with.

Maybe I'll think of something tomorrow.

Ugly Feet

I have ugly feet. Well, my feet themselves aren't ugly. But the things they do are. They shed a ridiculous amount of skin at all times of the year. They refuse to become smooth and callus-less. They get blisters from my shoes constantly. My toes grow dark black hair. I'll also admit to trimming my toenails down much farther than they should be just because I can.

Honestly, can feet get any more disgusting than that? People wonder why I always wear socks . . .

Surprise!

So I'm driving around my tiny town looking for a free air pump to fill my tires last night at 10:00 in the evening. I find one, do my thing, buy some gas, flirt harmlessly with the clerk who has sort of adorable cauliflower ears (seriously, it made him look adorable) - all the while checking my blackberry messages in one hand and my personal email on my iPhone in the other. I get back in the car and decide to give the parental units a call.

I call, talk to Daddy, mention that I'll be seeing them on Saturday and how I can't wait. When he says, oh we'll be seeing you sooner than that we're coming up tomorrow.

Uhh - what? Yeah, so they're visiting my youngest sister's new college which is about an hour away from where I live and they'll be staying the night at my house. That's fine normally. I LOVE when they come to visit because they do it so rarely. However, I'm in the middle of several big home projects, haven't cleaned my house in like a month, and need to mow my lawn. Ugh - so I was up until about 1 or 2 last night trying to get at least some semblance of order into my home. I'm also getting off work an hour early in hopes of doing a mad lawn dash to cut down the dandelions.

All I can say is when they get here they better be in a good mood and happy to see me or I'll be busting some heads.

Who's a what now?

Have you ever been dreading something. I mean really dreading something, enough so that you screen your calls, avoid everything to do with whatever your issue is, get angry, really angry, pout, stomp your foot, justify your avoidance to everyone, even yourself?

Well, I was/did. The funny thing about situations like that, they are never as bad as you know that they will be. In fact, for me they usually turn out better than I could have imagined.

I've always been a pretty lucky person. I'm not saying bad things never happen to me; they do quite often. However, I cannot even think of a time when that bad thing didn't lead to something better.

My sisters had a terrible car accident - we've all grown so much closer and more appreciative of each other.

I'm stuck in a terrible job, while working that job someone comes in and offers me a better one.

My car self-destructs on a 4 lane highway during rush hour - I get myself a brand-spanking new car (with the associated car payments of course. You can't have EVERYTHING)

I become terrified that my SO is getting freaked out about our future, he brings up where we will live when we get married in a few years.

It's a funny kind of life. It's also pretty full of win.

Picture Whore

I hate having my picture taken. I really, really hate it. I'm a chubby girl, I don't like seeing my double chin in pictures and my hair always look strangely flat. So I avoid them whenever possible.

However, when it comes to pointing a camera at myself and taking MySpace style pictures, I'm all up in that shiz. That picture in my logo - that's a picture of me taking a picture of me through the rearview mirror of my car. I've got pictures of me in my bathroom, in my hallway, on the couch, at the computer. Everywhere.

I take damn good pictures of myself too. You'd think with all of my practice, use of angles, and just knowledge of my body, that I'd be able to at least look like a normal human being in pictures.

Sadly that's just not the case:



See what I mean?

What kind of picture whore can't take a good picture?

Physically and Mentally Well?

So my iPhone seems to have come through it's traumatic toilet experience with only slight damage. Everything is working perfectly once I unlock the phone. However, when the phone is locked sometimes the screen lights up for no reason and I get a notice about an attachment not meant for the iPhone being plugged in. If those are the only issues I can totally live with that. I'm super grateful because the more I thought about spending $200 on a replacement the more I decided that I couldn't do it. I would have just stopped in at my nearest US Cellular and gone back to life pre-iPhone. It wouldn't have been a fabulous life, but it would have been an adequate one.

I spent my Saturday at a HUGE NHRA (I think those are the initials) Drag Race in Joliet, IL. I got up at 4:00 am, I don't get up at 4:00 am for Christmas so my getting up to go see some cars go fast proves how very in love I am with CG. I wasn't even very grumpy, which I'm pretty sure was a mind over matter thing in that I really don't want anyone to see the real morning "me" until I've got them in a place where they cannot leave me (related by blood or marriage) once they witness the dragon-lady that is me when I don't get my full 8 hours on a normal sleep schedule.

When I got home late that night I was expecting a big Katie (my beagle mix) mess. I was pleasantly surprised. Not only had she refrained from tearing my bathroom to shreds she hadn't had an accident or anything. Wonders never cease.

My Sunday involved my half-assed attempt at cleaning while my mind was screaming "just lay down for a little bit, you deserve a lazy day," sadly by about 4 pm that little voice won out and I spent the rest of the evening watching Pride and Prejudice with Colin Firth *insert naughty comment here*. Mr. Darcy is my hero, I would totally smex him up right, but only after I sexored Edmund from Mansfield Park as played by Johnny Lee Miller. *sigh*

Physically Ill

Everyone who knows me knows how attached I get to inanimate objects. When I get something I hold on to it - FOREVER.

Those porcelain dolls I collected, until a bunch of daycare kids chopped all their hair off and wrote on their faces, making them completely worthless: packed away with special care and stored in my attic.

Those Barbie plastic figures that I got from McDonalds in the early 90's - still got 'em.

All of the save-able flowers that CG (Current Guy) has ever given me - around my home and in my keepsake box.

T-shirts from Middle School - organized by year in my spare closet.

So when I dropped my 1st Gen iPhone in the toilet last night I saw my life flash before my eyes.

If any of my high school friends are reading this you'll remember my sick attachment to my Razor phone. I kept that phone until some asshole stole it and made prank calls to everyone in my phone book. Even then, after I got it back I couldn't part with it, I finally gave it to a cousin who used it until a few months ago.

For two years that iPhone has been my life. I've used it for everything and even when I had no reception (which, although I hate to admit it, was pretty often) I carried it around like a security blanket. I have over 200 pictures on it, tons of music, texts from friends, singing voicemails, email that I only check over the phone.

I'm heartbroken, completely devastated. I know most of my information can be salvaged and there's even a slim chance that my phone will start working again after I give it a few days to dry out.

I'm literally sick just thinking about it. I don't want another 1st Gen, I want MY 1st Gen! *pout*

So I'm praying to the god of technology to save me from myself and from paying $190 for a new phone.