gnaw off your own arm
or
go to your old high school’s choir alumni concert where you will have to hug people you didn’t even like in high school, be forced to sing with the kids, and bring all your friends and family to watch the side show?
Oh…I wish it was only a game...or that I actually had a choice. But it is not and I do not.
Tonight I WILL attend my alumni concert. My parents are forcing me.
“How can your parents force you to do anything? You are 26 for goodness sake,” you might say. And I would sheepishly “Bah” at you.
I don’t know how they have done it. But that have managed to get myself and at least eight other people to come to this humiliation extravaganza.
Don’t get me wrong. I was a total choir nerd in high school. I fully support the program by continuing to design their holiday CD every year, but I would rather not relive my glory years like the star high school quarterback who now pumps my gas and lives in his mom’s basement.
You see…in high school…I was kinda a “big deal.” And I would rather not live the legend…I’d rather just be me and look forward instead of look backward.
Well…I guess I got my wish…I am looking forward…to tonight…with dread.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
That Is Ms. Slacker To You
So I FULLY intended to keep up my nablopomo momentum and continue blogging at that ridiculous pace…but then I took a nap for the month of December.
I did start a post approximately eight days ago with the title, “On the Twelfth Day of Christmas.” But that post never came to fruition as I suffered a massive panic attack while writing about my anxiety over having nothing for any of the good little boys and girls on my list. So after I popped my eyeballs back in my head, I decided that instead of blogging about the ominous approach of Christ’s birthday, I would actually be proactive and buy some freaking presents.
We are now…what?…four days out?...and I have completed the majority of my shopping without ever setting foot in a mall. That is pretty damn good for a pathological procrastinator like myself.
I did start a post approximately eight days ago with the title, “On the Twelfth Day of Christmas.” But that post never came to fruition as I suffered a massive panic attack while writing about my anxiety over having nothing for any of the good little boys and girls on my list. So after I popped my eyeballs back in my head, I decided that instead of blogging about the ominous approach of Christ’s birthday, I would actually be proactive and buy some freaking presents.
We are now…what?…four days out?...and I have completed the majority of my shopping without ever setting foot in a mall. That is pretty damn good for a pathological procrastinator like myself.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
My Arms Might Fall Off
No…its not the leprosy. I went snowboarding last weekend.
There finally was enough snow…just as I was beginning to panic that my season pass was going to be utilized by going to the resort and building mudmen.
The slopes were in pretty good shape for the first big weekend, but my physical condition…that is another story.
I learned to snowboard last season…not well…but well enough to not fall down every five feet. So apparently snowboarding is not like riding a bicycle.
You might wonder how a person’s arms would hurt from snowboarding. “Don’t you use your legs?” you might ask. “Well, yes you do,” I would respond. “But when you fall down you have to lift your fat ass off the snow…over…over…and over...your arms begin to tire.”
So yeah…I have also disproved that rule about only hurting for a couple of days after using new muscles, because it is Wednesday and my arms still feel like death.
But I have a pretty new snowboard and I just bought this hat which fills me with much joy and anticipation for its arrival.
There finally was enough snow…just as I was beginning to panic that my season pass was going to be utilized by going to the resort and building mudmen.
The slopes were in pretty good shape for the first big weekend, but my physical condition…that is another story.
I learned to snowboard last season…not well…but well enough to not fall down every five feet. So apparently snowboarding is not like riding a bicycle.
You might wonder how a person’s arms would hurt from snowboarding. “Don’t you use your legs?” you might ask. “Well, yes you do,” I would respond. “But when you fall down you have to lift your fat ass off the snow…over…over…and over...your arms begin to tire.”
So yeah…I have also disproved that rule about only hurting for a couple of days after using new muscles, because it is Wednesday and my arms still feel like death.
But I have a pretty new snowboard and I just bought this hat which fills me with much joy and anticipation for its arrival.
Monday, December 10, 2007
The Company Holiday Party
Up until this year I have avoided the company holiday party. I have done the little intimate celebratory lunches with my coworkers, but the big shindig with semi-formal attire…not so much. It isn’t that I am a grinch…we just all know how I feel about these events.
This year…I had no good excuse to get out of it and I somehow got talked into attending. Boyfriend and I got dressed up in our finest finest and I was pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t that bad…we even got a fun little prom picture to prove it. The food rocked my world and I could just talk to Boyfriend and stuff my face when there was nobody to talk to.
There were a few awkward half hugs and long pauses…but all in all…not too bad. And once I was adequately liquored up, I knew it would be even better. So I quickly bee-lined to the open bar and ordered my gin gimlet.
Now I understand that the youth of our world can only make mojitos and margaritas…but a gin gimlet is not so hard…two ingredients…you don’t have to go to bartender school to figure that one out. Anyway…so, after ordering, I watched as the kid (I swear he was like 15) searched frantically for something. He asked his fellow bartender and they both looked puzzled. Finally, he came back to me and said, “we don’t have any onions.” “That is fine,” I said…since there should be no onion anywhere close to my gin gimlet.
He filled a tall glass with ice and poured the gin in…so far so good…that is the biggest gin gimlet I have ever seen…but I’m not complaining. He then picked up the vermouth and poured a few drops into my drink. Ummm…I have never seen a gimlet made with vermouth…but maybe that was his special recipe…I am open to new things. The he grabbed the gin again and filled the rest of the glass with gin. He shook it up and grabbed a martini glass. “Can I have it on the rocks,” I said as he looked at me like I just killed his puppy.
He poured it in a shorter glass and handed it to me. Ummm…thanks…for my glass of gin.
Later on…he saw me and ran over. “I found the onions,” he said. I just swayed a little and hiccuped at him…since I had just finished my second glass of gin.
For all you aspiring bartenders out there…here is a PROPER recipe for a gin gimlet:
This year…I had no good excuse to get out of it and I somehow got talked into attending. Boyfriend and I got dressed up in our finest finest and I was pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t that bad…we even got a fun little prom picture to prove it. The food rocked my world and I could just talk to Boyfriend and stuff my face when there was nobody to talk to.
There were a few awkward half hugs and long pauses…but all in all…not too bad. And once I was adequately liquored up, I knew it would be even better. So I quickly bee-lined to the open bar and ordered my gin gimlet.
Now I understand that the youth of our world can only make mojitos and margaritas…but a gin gimlet is not so hard…two ingredients…you don’t have to go to bartender school to figure that one out. Anyway…so, after ordering, I watched as the kid (I swear he was like 15) searched frantically for something. He asked his fellow bartender and they both looked puzzled. Finally, he came back to me and said, “we don’t have any onions.” “That is fine,” I said…since there should be no onion anywhere close to my gin gimlet.
He filled a tall glass with ice and poured the gin in…so far so good…that is the biggest gin gimlet I have ever seen…but I’m not complaining. He then picked up the vermouth and poured a few drops into my drink. Ummm…I have never seen a gimlet made with vermouth…but maybe that was his special recipe…I am open to new things. The he grabbed the gin again and filled the rest of the glass with gin. He shook it up and grabbed a martini glass. “Can I have it on the rocks,” I said as he looked at me like I just killed his puppy.
He poured it in a shorter glass and handed it to me. Ummm…thanks…for my glass of gin.
Later on…he saw me and ran over. “I found the onions,” he said. I just swayed a little and hiccuped at him…since I had just finished my second glass of gin.
For all you aspiring bartenders out there…here is a PROPER recipe for a gin gimlet:
- Fill glass with ice
- Add 1.5 ounces of gin
- Add .5 ounces of Rose’s lime juice
- Garnish with a slice of lime
Monday, December 3, 2007
C IS FOR COOKIE!
COOKIE MONSTER HAPPY!
Every year Sister and I make Christmas cookies. An obscene number of Christmas cookies. We roll it, pat it, and mark it with a B and put it in the oven for Sister and me…or something like that. This year we scaled back…instead of ten batches (yielding 50 cookies each) we went with six this year.
My house has been transformed into the magical world of Cookieland. Green and blue, red and yellow…sparkles and sprinkles….doesn’t matter cause it tastes like yumminess. I don’t know why we even bother decorating them for Christmas…they are always gone before the actual day. I think one time when I like seven, we had one cookie left for the fat man on Christmas Eve. I didn’t get any extra presents from that shit and so that was the end of that nonsense.
So first day…I ate like 30 cookies…and it started to make me a little sick (understandably). But I rallied and consumed another 30 or so today. Way to pack ‘em on heifer.
NOM NOM NOM!
COOKIE MONSTER PUKEY!
Every year Sister and I make Christmas cookies. An obscene number of Christmas cookies. We roll it, pat it, and mark it with a B and put it in the oven for Sister and me…or something like that. This year we scaled back…instead of ten batches (yielding 50 cookies each) we went with six this year.
My house has been transformed into the magical world of Cookieland. Green and blue, red and yellow…sparkles and sprinkles….doesn’t matter cause it tastes like yumminess. I don’t know why we even bother decorating them for Christmas…they are always gone before the actual day. I think one time when I like seven, we had one cookie left for the fat man on Christmas Eve. I didn’t get any extra presents from that shit and so that was the end of that nonsense.
So first day…I ate like 30 cookies…and it started to make me a little sick (understandably). But I rallied and consumed another 30 or so today. Way to pack ‘em on heifer.
NOM NOM NOM!
COOKIE MONSTER PUKEY!
Friday, November 30, 2007
Roar
Last night was a lesson in wildlife. Los Gatos…translates to “the cats” but it should be called the “the cougars.” The ladies were out in force last night. As we (Boyfriend and his two friends) entered the club ready for a wild night of drinking and dancing…it became obvious that we were being watched…and by “we” I mean Boyfriend and his friends. The 40-somethings were on the prowl with their sequined crop tops and collagen swollen lips.
The Timberlake was bumping and these ladies knew every word. I was basically fighting these ladies off Boyfriend with a large stick. I thought I was gonna have beat some old bitches down. Luckily Boyfriend’s friends were all too single and willing so the attention was easily diverted. One particular little piece of work (not so much a cougar…more of a haguar) who had a little ti miny martoonis pulled one of these unsuspecting boys out on the dance floor and was “dipping it low” in possibly the most disturbing manner.
She proceeded to chew him up and spit him out. But I got pictures…blackmail is sweet.
P.S. NaBloPoMo is over…woo. I am guessing that my blogroll over the next few weeks is gonna be a little sparse…but never fear. I will be here blogging away.
The Timberlake was bumping and these ladies knew every word. I was basically fighting these ladies off Boyfriend with a large stick. I thought I was gonna have beat some old bitches down. Luckily Boyfriend’s friends were all too single and willing so the attention was easily diverted. One particular little piece of work (not so much a cougar…more of a haguar) who had a little ti miny martoonis pulled one of these unsuspecting boys out on the dance floor and was “dipping it low” in possibly the most disturbing manner.
She proceeded to chew him up and spit him out. But I got pictures…blackmail is sweet.
P.S. NaBloPoMo is over…woo. I am guessing that my blogroll over the next few weeks is gonna be a little sparse…but never fear. I will be here blogging away.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Like A Chain Letter From Hell
I got tagged…and I kinda hate this person now. But we are reaching the home stretch of November and I gots nothing else to write about so I will propagate this nonsense and annoy the hell out of seven others.
The Rules
Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.
Share 7 facts about yourself.
Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
7 Random Facts
Please don’t put me on your “People To Kill” list for this:
The Rules
Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.
Share 7 facts about yourself.
Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
7 Random Facts
- Last time I had to share a random fact about myself was at a leadership retreat…I told the group that I have a chinchilla named Dante. (I have never had a chinchilla)
- I like to color. I have an extensive collection of coloring books and crayons. I even do the little mazes and kindergarten-level word scrambles. Boyfriend always asks for placemats for me to color on at restaurants.
- If I were to have plastic surgery it would be an earlobe reduction or a toe-shortening procedure. I, like most females, have plenty insecurities when it comes to my body…but my long-ass ski toes and my dumbo earlobes have always plagued me. My mom tells me the story (constantly) of when she first saw me after I was born…she thought I was so cute because my huge earlobes were resting on my shoulders and would quiver when I breathed…sounds like some freakishly ugly shit to me…but call it what you will mommy dearest.
- I know the temperature at which algae stops growing in hot springs…it is 167 degrees in case you were curious.
- I watched Knocked Up last night. It looked funny to me and I wanted to see it in the theaters…but I had been putting it off. I think subconsciously I was afraid that watching a movie about unplanned pregnancy might result in a similar fate for me. I’m not superstitious…but fingers crossed salt over the shoulder anyway.
- I’m wearing velvet pants today and it makes me feel fancy.
- When I was in sixth grade I sat next to (and had a little crush on) a boy who would roll up pieces of plastic use them to snort a mixture of mustard and paste…I saw him recently…strung out…surprise surprise.
Please don’t put me on your “People To Kill” list for this:
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Thank God I’m a Suburban Girl
This morning I had to haul my ass to San Francisco for a meeting…we all know how much I love that. I don’t know what it is about the city that makes me feel like I need to gussy myself…wear real girl shoes, brush my hair and pull out my wool coat.
Anyway, after fighting traffic all the way up there and looking for goddamn parking for ten-gajillion hours…I finally broke down and valet parked. Super…there goes five-trillion dollars. As I handed over my key to the skeezy valet I was suddenly relieved that I had remembered to hide my Victoria Secret bag with pretty pink bra under the seat.
I walked into the building and to the elevator to start my ascent to the sixth floor when I saw the sign on the door that said:
ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER
TAKE THE MOTHER-EFFING STAIRS
BITCH!
Or something like that. Are you kidding me? I can’t even walk a block in these death shoes, let alone climb six flights of stairs. As I stood there, planning my next move, (maybe the sign is just to trick me into exercise…maybe I could fake sick...maybe there is a window-washer around here who will hoist me up on his pulley thing) a little old lady came through the door and started up the stairs. Dammit…now I have to do it.
Luckily, I made it to the top with no serious injury and only small pit stains.
You thought the climax of the story was gonna be here…didn’t you? You thought there was going to be a horrendous meeting and a eventfully bad drive out of the city. Well you were wrong. We already climaxed. That’s it. I had to drive and park and use my legs. That is my bad day. And you know what?…as bad days go…that is a pretty good one.
Anyway, after fighting traffic all the way up there and looking for goddamn parking for ten-gajillion hours…I finally broke down and valet parked. Super…there goes five-trillion dollars. As I handed over my key to the skeezy valet I was suddenly relieved that I had remembered to hide my Victoria Secret bag with pretty pink bra under the seat.
I walked into the building and to the elevator to start my ascent to the sixth floor when I saw the sign on the door that said:
ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER
TAKE THE MOTHER-EFFING STAIRS
BITCH!
Or something like that. Are you kidding me? I can’t even walk a block in these death shoes, let alone climb six flights of stairs. As I stood there, planning my next move, (maybe the sign is just to trick me into exercise…maybe I could fake sick...maybe there is a window-washer around here who will hoist me up on his pulley thing) a little old lady came through the door and started up the stairs. Dammit…now I have to do it.
Luckily, I made it to the top with no serious injury and only small pit stains.
You thought the climax of the story was gonna be here…didn’t you? You thought there was going to be a horrendous meeting and a eventfully bad drive out of the city. Well you were wrong. We already climaxed. That’s it. I had to drive and park and use my legs. That is my bad day. And you know what?…as bad days go…that is a pretty good one.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
I'll Pencil You In For March
Because God knows I have no time for your nonsense before then. Just kidding...well half kidding. I just took a look at my calendar and realized that it is almost effing Christmas! And with the amount of Christmas shopping that I have done (zilch), all things non-holiday will have to wait until after the first of the year. I figure that will take at least a month...add in and extra month for procrastination and laziness and that takes us to March.
Well, I have to at least hold out for the rest of this month for all this NaBloPoMo rubbish. But luckily that ends on Friday.
Well, I have to at least hold out for the rest of this month for all this NaBloPoMo rubbish. But luckily that ends on Friday.
Monday, November 26, 2007
The Best Cure for Vacation Hangover:
Do absolutely nothing.
Today was the most wonderfully wasted day. I stayed home and slept in until noon. I ate and did jack shit and it was SUPER.
Tomorrow it is back to reality...but my much needed recovery day will get me through the rest of the week no problem.
Today was the most wonderfully wasted day. I stayed home and slept in until noon. I ate and did jack shit and it was SUPER.
Tomorrow it is back to reality...but my much needed recovery day will get me through the rest of the week no problem.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
I'm Back and Alive...Barely
So the trip was crazy fun. There was all sorts of crazy fun people and we did all kinds of crazy fun things...that is what it takes to have a crazy fun time. My predictions for the trip were, of course, right on.
It was cold. Oh my God...I thought Chicago sucked...this was the worst! I finally mastered the ensemble that could best shield me from the elements by the last night. It involved long underwear, gloves, a scarf, six layers of various shirts and jackets and a lot of alcohol...which brings us to predictions two...
There was so much beer. After Boyfriend and I (mostly Boyfriend) finished our two 30-packs of Coors, we finally decided that enough was enough...but let me tell you...lack of beer is no end to a party for these crazy fun people. They must chipmunk liquor away for just these types of situations...because the party went on well into the morning.
And the MEAT! Dear lord...do you have a clue how many animals lost there lives for this event? I don't either...but it was a lot. Game hens and turkeys...cows and pigs...none were spared and all were deep fried. Mmmmm.
Lastly, there was the fire. The largest fire I think I have ever seen close up. But it wasn't just about the wood burning...that got old real fast. Chairs, pine cones and rocks (yes...a rock will light on fire...given enough gasoline...anything is possible) quickly became the objects of the rampant pyromania that seemed to plague our camp.
Other highlights include, but are not limited to:
It was cold. Oh my God...I thought Chicago sucked...this was the worst! I finally mastered the ensemble that could best shield me from the elements by the last night. It involved long underwear, gloves, a scarf, six layers of various shirts and jackets and a lot of alcohol...which brings us to predictions two...
There was so much beer. After Boyfriend and I (mostly Boyfriend) finished our two 30-packs of Coors, we finally decided that enough was enough...but let me tell you...lack of beer is no end to a party for these crazy fun people. They must chipmunk liquor away for just these types of situations...because the party went on well into the morning.
And the MEAT! Dear lord...do you have a clue how many animals lost there lives for this event? I don't either...but it was a lot. Game hens and turkeys...cows and pigs...none were spared and all were deep fried. Mmmmm.
Lastly, there was the fire. The largest fire I think I have ever seen close up. But it wasn't just about the wood burning...that got old real fast. Chairs, pine cones and rocks (yes...a rock will light on fire...given enough gasoline...anything is possible) quickly became the objects of the rampant pyromania that seemed to plague our camp.
Other highlights include, but are not limited to:
- Gun! Lots of guns!
- Drunk dancing people
- Quad riding super fast
- The bottomless pit that we could throw stuff into
- Only getting hassled by the ranger once, even though we deserved it a lot more.
- Only one trip to the emergency room...and surprisingly it wasn't me...so all in all...a crazy fun trip.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Reporting Live from the Wilds of Central California
Well kinda.
I wrote this before I left and Sister is posting for me (thanks sister, especially since I sent this to her through a series of ten text messages from my 10-key cell phone...skills...I know). Let's see how accurate I am:
I wrote this before I left and Sister is posting for me (thanks sister, especially since I sent this to her through a series of ten text messages from my 10-key cell phone...skills...I know). Let's see how accurate I am:
- I am cold.
- We drank a bunch of Coors Original in the can and ate a lot of meats.
- Someone set something on fire.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Camping? In November? Are you out of your mind?
Yes I am.
Boyfriend and I are going camping.
After last night's Thanksgiving dinner at his sister's not quite air tight house (30 degrees indoors) I decided to rethink my camping gear and threw in a bunch of long underwear and fuzzy hats. I hope I make it.
Boyfriend and I are going camping.
After last night's Thanksgiving dinner at his sister's not quite air tight house (30 degrees indoors) I decided to rethink my camping gear and threw in a bunch of long underwear and fuzzy hats. I hope I make it.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Gobble Gobble
Creative title, yes? Happy Turkey Day y’all.
I am a big fan of traditions. I am pretty much the tradition nazi in my family. Every Thanksgiving we wake up in the morning and watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade…or at least I watch it while my mom and dad bicker about who is responsible for what. The table was set by my meticulous mother at least a week ago and dad makes the nasty bird carcass do the turkey dance (a sprightly can-can across the cutting board) before preparing it for the oven. Sister and the rest of the family come over and we all sit down and eat and drink ourselves stupid and then play games and laugh until bedtime.
This year is different. The dinning room table is clear and the cupboard is pretty much bare. My mom is away and my sister has other plans.
I have many things to be thankful for…a wonderful family…a wonderful boyfriend…a great job…a comfortable home…and those are just the big things. There are a host of little blessings in my life that I won’t even bore you with. But I can’t help feeling a little sad that the traditions are not going to be a part of this year.
I am a big fan of traditions. I am pretty much the tradition nazi in my family. Every Thanksgiving we wake up in the morning and watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade…or at least I watch it while my mom and dad bicker about who is responsible for what. The table was set by my meticulous mother at least a week ago and dad makes the nasty bird carcass do the turkey dance (a sprightly can-can across the cutting board) before preparing it for the oven. Sister and the rest of the family come over and we all sit down and eat and drink ourselves stupid and then play games and laugh until bedtime.
This year is different. The dinning room table is clear and the cupboard is pretty much bare. My mom is away and my sister has other plans.
I have many things to be thankful for…a wonderful family…a wonderful boyfriend…a great job…a comfortable home…and those are just the big things. There are a host of little blessings in my life that I won’t even bore you with. But I can’t help feeling a little sad that the traditions are not going to be a part of this year.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Nom Nom Nom
Well I answered my own question…to get ice cream…a girl has to go to Safeway and buy it her damn self. So that is what I did. And I am well on my way to meeting my weight goal (gaining not losing).
I am feeling much better now that I have some nummies in my tummies (yes, us cows have multiple tummies), but that is not the highlight of my day. The COOLEST part about the holidays…not vacation or turkey or ugly sweaters…it is Peppermint ice cream. OMG! Sooooo good. I don’t know why the stores think it is only for Christmas time…it is good year-round. I could eat it EVERY day! It is like crack without the nasty side effects and illegality.
For those of you have not tasted the wonderful goodness of peppermint ice cream let me share its secrets with you. The chilly pink creamy treat is mixed with ribbons of sugary red and green peppermint-flavored goo and chunks of candy cane. A masterpiece on its own, but mix that with some chocolate sauce or better yet, add some milk and a few candy canes and blend that shit up and you have the best milkshake ever.
Ok…time to eat my lunch…guess what it is gonna be…
UPDATE: The downside of peppermint ice cream is when it is fed in extreme quantities to someone who is lactose intolerant (like myself), rumbling will ensue.
I am feeling much better now that I have some nummies in my tummies (yes, us cows have multiple tummies), but that is not the highlight of my day. The COOLEST part about the holidays…not vacation or turkey or ugly sweaters…it is Peppermint ice cream. OMG! Sooooo good. I don’t know why the stores think it is only for Christmas time…it is good year-round. I could eat it EVERY day! It is like crack without the nasty side effects and illegality.
For those of you have not tasted the wonderful goodness of peppermint ice cream let me share its secrets with you. The chilly pink creamy treat is mixed with ribbons of sugary red and green peppermint-flavored goo and chunks of candy cane. A masterpiece on its own, but mix that with some chocolate sauce or better yet, add some milk and a few candy canes and blend that shit up and you have the best milkshake ever.
Ok…time to eat my lunch…guess what it is gonna be…
UPDATE: The downside of peppermint ice cream is when it is fed in extreme quantities to someone who is lactose intolerant (like myself), rumbling will ensue.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
What Does a Girl Have to Do to Get An Ice Cream Around Here?
I am a depression eater. Sad, stressed, upset…I tend to crave the junkiest of junk foods. So between a miserable cold, a painful back, my monthly visitor, my grandmother’s funeral, ridiculous amounts of work to do and the thought of not spending thanksgiving with my family…I am basically planning on gaining at least 40 pounds in the next few days.
Only problem…nothing yummy in the house. Not a ice cream, cookie or piece of cake to be found. I found one cherry cough drop…that is almost candy.
Don’t get me wrong…life isn’t all bad. I am home with the puppies and I get to see Boyfriend and I get to go camping and have a few days off. So maybe the cough drop will hold me over.
Only problem…nothing yummy in the house. Not a ice cream, cookie or piece of cake to be found. I found one cherry cough drop…that is almost candy.
Don’t get me wrong…life isn’t all bad. I am home with the puppies and I get to see Boyfriend and I get to go camping and have a few days off. So maybe the cough drop will hold me over.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Lets Talk About Spell Check Baby (Yes…Too Many Syllables…Live With It)
Ok Mr. Gates…I get it…you are the master of all you see. But seriously…do you think I am a complete moron?
Apparently so. Is it not possible that I would want a lowercase word at the beginning of a new line, or after…GASP…a period? Is it not possible that when I type the word slimey (with an e…because I grew up with your crazy spell check program and have never needed to amass my arsenal of correctly spelled words) that I really mean slimy? I guess not, because Microsoft Word seems to autocorrect such a spelling error as “smiley.” Ok fine…it is possible that there were some other misplaced letters in that word that might have made Word interpret my poor spelling and typing skills as something cheerful with a mouth instead of ooey (which is not a word by the way) gooey, but seriously…can’t we just go back to the little red underlines?
I know…some hot tech geek (read Boyfriend) is going to tell me that I can turn off the autocorrect feature. But that isn’t the point. The point is that in my last post I told you that, “I have an aversion to eating smiley insects,” and while yes…I am a little freaked out at the idea of munching on a happy little caterpillar…I was actually talking about the texture of such a creature in a culinary capacity.
I am feeling incredibly misunderstood.
Apparently so. Is it not possible that I would want a lowercase word at the beginning of a new line, or after…GASP…a period? Is it not possible that when I type the word slimey (with an e…because I grew up with your crazy spell check program and have never needed to amass my arsenal of correctly spelled words) that I really mean slimy? I guess not, because Microsoft Word seems to autocorrect such a spelling error as “smiley.” Ok fine…it is possible that there were some other misplaced letters in that word that might have made Word interpret my poor spelling and typing skills as something cheerful with a mouth instead of ooey (which is not a word by the way) gooey, but seriously…can’t we just go back to the little red underlines?
I know…some hot tech geek (read Boyfriend) is going to tell me that I can turn off the autocorrect feature. But that isn’t the point. The point is that in my last post I told you that, “I have an aversion to eating smiley insects,” and while yes…I am a little freaked out at the idea of munching on a happy little caterpillar…I was actually talking about the texture of such a creature in a culinary capacity.
I am feeling incredibly misunderstood.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Hey Bear Grylls…wtf?
I am a big discovery channel fan. Love the Mythbusters and the Dirty Jobs and shhh….don’t tell my engineer father…an occasional Modern Marvels. Recently, I have started watching Man vs. Wild a little…because…what would I do if I was stranded on a Norwegian Fjord? The host, Mr. Bear Grylls, (like he could have done anything else other than make a career as a mountain man with a name like that) has all sorts of useful information for me on local predators to be wary of and how to fight hypothermia (other than naked sleeping bag sharing) and flora and fauna that can be sustenance for a weary traveler. As interesting and useful as this info is…I can’t help but vomit a little in my mouth when I see him chowing down on a grub or ripping the guts from a lizard or chomping into the belly of an alive and squirming salmon. Gross! Was that really necessary? You obviously have a full film crew with you…doesn’t one of them have some peanuts or something? Couldn’t you just say something like, “if a person was really starving they could eat one of these,” and then not actually eat it. I guess my aversion to eating smiley insects or wriggling animals would not make me the ideal candidate for survival in the wild…I guess that is why the show isn’t called Ashley vs. Wild.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Did I Mention That I HATE Flying?
I hate flying*. There is very little about the entire process that I don’t hate. I hate having to foresee my every need in my destination. I hate having to figure out who the hell is going to watch my monsters. I hate the lugging of bags and the waiting in line after line after line to do something that is not the kind of fun that I think is line-waiting worthy. I hate being racially profiled and selected for the special security screening. I hate removing my shoes and disposing of all liquids…they thought of shoe bombs and liquid bombs…you really think they aren’t gonna come up with something else now? I hate being extra early for something I don’t really want to do so I can sit next to this guy who is drooling a little and smells suspiciously of urine. I hate sitting in the middle seat on the airplane…which for some reason is like vitally important for weight and balance because that skinny bitch a row in front of me has an entire row to herself. I hate how I always fall asleep with my mouth hanging open…even when I jury rig a mouth-closing contraption with my standard-issue unwashed airline blanket. I hate how they specifically pick out the small-bladdered people to sit in the window seat…really?...four trips to the bathroom on an hour and 45 minute flight?...maybe you should visit your Urinary Specialist...and while you are there you should ask for a referral to an ear nose and throat doctor...all that bull-like snorting is not normal and can't be doing anything for your social life. Free Diet Coke…ok…not something I hate. I hate waiting for my bags…which by Murphy’s Law ALWAYS come out last. I hate the thought of having to do it all again sooner than I would like. Can someone please invent that teleporter now?
*Don’t worry Boyfriend…not your brand of flying…I hate that commercial bullshit (Boyfriend is a pilot and I love that hassle-free stuff).
*Don’t worry Boyfriend…not your brand of flying…I hate that commercial bullshit (Boyfriend is a pilot and I love that hassle-free stuff).
Friday, November 16, 2007
What Do I Do?
I hope you weren’t looking for something witty or funny in any way…not feeling it today.
My Grandmother and I never really got along. It was always a hard relationship filled with unsaid things and misunderstanding. Her drinking, smoking and strict nature in contrast to my deep-thinking prudent self was always a big canyon between us.
Whether or not we agreed on politics or social issues was not the issue. Family is the tie the binds and we loved each other unconditionally.
Rest in peace Gram…I love you.
My Grandmother and I never really got along. It was always a hard relationship filled with unsaid things and misunderstanding. Her drinking, smoking and strict nature in contrast to my deep-thinking prudent self was always a big canyon between us.
Whether or not we agreed on politics or social issues was not the issue. Family is the tie the binds and we loved each other unconditionally.
Rest in peace Gram…I love you.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
I Don’t Wanna
I’m sick and nearly deaf…and I don’t want to blog. Damn you NaBloPoMo! Curses! Can’t a girl just take a ever-loving day off? Why did I sign up for this nonsense? I don’t wanna! No! I’m not gonna!
Shoot…I kinda did…didn’t I?
Shoot…I kinda did…didn’t I?
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Hot Minivan!
In high school I was playfully called “Soccer Mom,” mostly because of my protective nature, my sweet ’91 GMC Safari, and the fact that all my friends decided to wait until age 19+ to get their drivers licenses. I never actually played the game or ever even really attended one back in the day.
Boyfriend decided to join a soccer team…not because he is particularly skilled in the game of soccer…more because he just likes that whole team thing. I like it too…but with my spastically horrific physical talent, I would merely embarrass myself and all those who might join my team…so instead I have taken on more of the cheerleader role…oh who am I kidding…I’m not perky or small enough to be a cheerleader.
I am a soccer mom and I embrace it. I am totally psyched about designing jerseys for “The Ladybugs” (how fierce could those be?) and I am fully planning on orange slices and Capri Suns for the team next game. Who cares if they don’t win, (cause they haven’t) they are my team!
Boyfriend decided to join a soccer team…not because he is particularly skilled in the game of soccer…more because he just likes that whole team thing. I like it too…but with my spastically horrific physical talent, I would merely embarrass myself and all those who might join my team…so instead I have taken on more of the cheerleader role…oh who am I kidding…I’m not perky or small enough to be a cheerleader.
I am a soccer mom and I embrace it. I am totally psyched about designing jerseys for “The Ladybugs” (how fierce could those be?) and I am fully planning on orange slices and Capri Suns for the team next game. Who cares if they don’t win, (cause they haven’t) they are my team!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Hey Baby…This is Barry White
Ok fine…there isn’t much of a physical resemblance, but my voice right now…wow…it is sooooo sexy. It would make even the most fridged bitch weak in the knees. Two people have called me on the phone today and when I answer they say, “Oh I have the wrong number,” only to call back 30 seconds later after they realized that it was, in fact, the right number and that Ashley had obviously undergone an emergency gender reassignment procedure.
So apparently amongst all the lack of sleep, singing my lungs out and the icy chill of Chicago…I managed to develop a cold. I know mom…I shouldn’t have stayed out so late and I should have brought a warmer jacket, but at the time I wasn’t really thinking that far ahead. Last night was a different story…as I almost died from choking on my own snot…my life (ok fine…my trip) flashed before my eyes and I reevaluated my plans for the next week. The plan had been: work, play, sleep, work, play, sleep, work, play, sleep. Now the plan is more like: work and play while you sleep.
Here I sit at work, hacking up a lung with my glassy sad eyes and used-tissue barricade that warn people to stay away. The people in the office seem to get it and are steering clear for the most part. The people who are emailing me with all sorts or ridiculousness...not so much.
So apparently amongst all the lack of sleep, singing my lungs out and the icy chill of Chicago…I managed to develop a cold. I know mom…I shouldn’t have stayed out so late and I should have brought a warmer jacket, but at the time I wasn’t really thinking that far ahead. Last night was a different story…as I almost died from choking on my own snot…my life (ok fine…my trip) flashed before my eyes and I reevaluated my plans for the next week. The plan had been: work, play, sleep, work, play, sleep, work, play, sleep. Now the plan is more like: work and play while you sleep.
Here I sit at work, hacking up a lung with my glassy sad eyes and used-tissue barricade that warn people to stay away. The people in the office seem to get it and are steering clear for the most part. The people who are emailing me with all sorts or ridiculousness...not so much.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Yep…I’m A Cutter
Don’t worry…no need for an intervention…it isn’t that kind of cutting. I am a graphic designer with horrible overuse of the die cut. Odd shapes…unexpected cutouts…I am all about them. My problem is that when I create such diecuttie creations…I have many many drafts. This wouldn’t be a big deal (unless you are one of those…paperless people) for most people, but for me, as a cutter, it is quite painful.
You see, each draft needs to be cut out. How can anyone viewing my draft see the true brilliance of the piece if it isn’t cut out? Hence my strong attachment to my scissors and other cutting paraphernalia.
Today I am working on what can only be described as a giant doily…and as such…has required me to spend my day hunched over the cutting mat with my exacto knife for basically five hours. My neck hurts and I have blister on my finger and I have at least 10 versions of this thing cut out on my desk now…on second thought…maybe I do need an intervention.
You see, each draft needs to be cut out. How can anyone viewing my draft see the true brilliance of the piece if it isn’t cut out? Hence my strong attachment to my scissors and other cutting paraphernalia.
Today I am working on what can only be described as a giant doily…and as such…has required me to spend my day hunched over the cutting mat with my exacto knife for basically five hours. My neck hurts and I have blister on my finger and I have at least 10 versions of this thing cut out on my desk now…on second thought…maybe I do need an intervention.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Full Member of the Pen 15 Club As of 11 A.M. This Morning
Ah San Francisco…the city by the bay…where people wear flowers in their hair and always leave their hearts behind. Cable cars, the Golden Gate Bridge, the sourdough…so many wonderful things are part of this beautiful city. What is my favorite? Hmmm…so hard to choose.
You know what isn’t hard to choose though? The worst thing in San Francisco. This is an easy one for me since I witnessed it today with my own eyes.
It was a lovely Sunday morning. The sunshine was peaking through the fluffy cloud cover in warm golden beams. The smell of wet pavement from the last night’s rain reached my nose as Boyfriend and I headed out of the city after a soccer game. As we looked out the window we saw joggers and people walking dogs…and oh…look there…a guy standing on the corner shaking something. “What is he shaking?” I asked myself as we neared his location. As we got closer I noticed the liquid stream that was also involved and the floppy pink protrusion that he was shaking. Yes…this man was peeing. Into the street. No attempt to hide it. OH. MY. GOD.
Appalled…that is what I am…APPALLED!
You know what isn’t hard to choose though? The worst thing in San Francisco. This is an easy one for me since I witnessed it today with my own eyes.
It was a lovely Sunday morning. The sunshine was peaking through the fluffy cloud cover in warm golden beams. The smell of wet pavement from the last night’s rain reached my nose as Boyfriend and I headed out of the city after a soccer game. As we looked out the window we saw joggers and people walking dogs…and oh…look there…a guy standing on the corner shaking something. “What is he shaking?” I asked myself as we neared his location. As we got closer I noticed the liquid stream that was also involved and the floppy pink protrusion that he was shaking. Yes…this man was peeing. Into the street. No attempt to hide it. OH. MY. GOD.
Appalled…that is what I am…APPALLED!
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