Back To School

What the hell am I thinking?

In first grade I specifically remember faking sick, just for the hell of it, and then remembering that it was the day that we were all dressing up like pilgrims and Indians to have our mock thanksgiving feast…but I had already started my lie, so I had to keep it up and miss out on rock soup and construction paper hats…bummer. Diet coke count…1 a day.

I spent all of 7th and 8th grade doubled over in pain from the worst stomach aches…later determined to be stress and anxiety related. Diet coke count…2 a day.

In high school, the combo of AP class pressure, all night study sessions and countless extra curricular activities caused me to suffer severe migraines sometimes lasting for 5-7 days solid. They hooked me up to electrodes, tried to bring on seizures with lack of sleep and flashing lights, monitored me while I slept and put me on a rainbow of drugs with effects ranging from loopy to violent and everything in between. The final diagnosis…stress…oh…and my freshman year health teacher who forced all of his classes to give up soda and meat. Going cold turkey off a 5-a-day diet coke habit during the tumultuous years of high school…not good. The doctor recommended at least two caffeinated drinks each day. Diet coke count…5…then 0…then 4.

Off to college, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed ready to take on Oregon, until the hippies got me down. And the grey sky made me want to take my life and I did too many pushups and slipped a disk in my back (yes it is possible and I know it is lame for a 20-year-old in her prime to slip a disk performing the president’s physical fitness test of all things…but it happened). Diet coke count…6 a day.

So yeah…what the hell am I thinking?

I started grad school this week. Diet coke count…7…and counting.

The Value Of A Dollar

I work in the construction industry. I know all about the value of good estimate. That is why I was shocked…no disgusted…when I recently received a bill that was 636% of the original estimate. Say WHA?!?! Not double...or triple...more than sextuple! I had to look that up because I had never even heard the word for six-fold before for crying out loud.

I want to write more about this subject…but I am unable to express the sheer disbelief that I am feeling in words. I know we are in dire financial shape in this country…but really…is this the type of inflation I should be expecting? Cause if that is the case I should start looking for my sturdy refrigerator box now…all the good homes will be taken if I wait too long.

Date Ideas…That Don't Suck

I have recently pimped my iGoogle with all sorts of Google gadgets including my Jon Stewart quote of the day, President George W. Bush quote randomizer, cute baby animal picture of the day, joke of the day, coloring page of the day and (the subject of this post) date ideas. I usually get a good little chuckle from my main man Jon, gawk in stupefied wonder at the things that come out of the mouth of the current leader of the free world, look at the cute animals, read the horrible jokes (I am sure that some day I will be prompted to write about this one too) and consider for a moment printing out the coloring picture and going to town. But the date idea gadget is that one that I really thought I might use.

Boyfriend and I are both Libras and if you believe in that sort of hippy-dippy patchouli crap (and I do) you know what that combo means…we can’t make a goddamn decision about ANYTHING. Sample conversation on a Friday night:

Me: What are your plans tonight?
Him: Nothing really…what are your plans?
Me: Nothing…you want to hang out?
Him: You want to hang out?
Me: I asked first didn’t I?
Him: What do you want to do?
Me: I don’t know…what do you want to do?
Him: Do you want to eat?

…you get the picture…

So as a result of our indecisive nature, I thought I would let my Google gadget decide the fate of our evenings for us. Good thought…in theory. In practice…these are the types of date suggestions that I have been getting as of late (no joke):

Go to church together…HA!
Play broomball…does anyone younger than my grandma’s generation even know the rules for broomball?
Alter a poem to fit the occasion, put it on colored paper and have it delivered…what am I? 10? You want me to plagiarize? On construction paper? And then pay $.41 to have that piece shit delivered? And how is this going to occupy our date night?
Tour for-sale houses together…isn’t this in direct violation of the cardinal rules of not scaring a boy away? “Hey honey…lets go find our future home together and while we are at it…lets choose our china pattern and talk about what we will name our unborn children.”
Shop for clothes together…wow…original…and so fun for both parties…“Honey…does my butt look big in this?”

So yeah…if you have any better ideas than this…like spooning our eyes out together…please pass them on.

I Am An Island

Have you every felt so alone and cut off from the world? When it seems like nobody in the world can reach out to you? That is how I feeling today…I forgot my cell phone.

Remember the days before cell phones and pagers…when we didn’t have to be constantly connected to everyone and anyone…including the telemarketers who call me regardless of my number being on that obviously worthless “do not call” list? How did we get here?

The idea of my dear sweet mobile…sitting lonely on my windowsill…chirping and ringing with its futile attempts to grab my attention…well…it just breaks my heart.

I Hate Your Carbon Copy

I love email…mostly because I am a phonephobic. No…seriously…I have a mini anxiety attack every time I have to make a call…and GOD FORBID I have to leave a message…EEEEEEE! But that is irrelevant to this post.

Why must you CC me on the crunchiest of emails? Like for instance…let’s say that there is a young man living in my complex which is overrun by 40-60 year-old women. And let’s say that the younger guy has some friends over for a little get together that ends up going late. The course of action…if you are disturbed by this…should be to knock on his door and tell him to keep it down. It should not be to write him a berating email the next day and CC the ENTIRE complex mailing list.

But beyond that...people…if you are CCed on one of these types of emails…don’t reply to all and nod in agreement. The CC function is purely to keep people in the loop…not for public humiliation.

This has been a public service announcement on email etiquette…because knowing is half the battle.

Storm Watch…dun dun dun

Tonight…on the ten o’clock news…rain. OMG!

Ok…so the Bay Area is in the midst of a sucky storm…knocking out some power, flooding some gutters and causing people to drive like even bigger idiots than normal…but from the news you would think it was the end of the world.

Last night I get home and turn on the television hoping to find some lame Friends rerun to watch…but no…every channel…Storm Watch…StormTracker…Eye on the Storm…

I get it…its raining. I know that the writer’s strike is leaving the television lineup pretty sparse these days…but seriously…is some interview with an old man in a fisherman’s hat talking about howling wind keeping him up at night really newsworthy enough to interrupt the regularly scheduled programming?

Upsides of the weather:

• Galoshes. I figured today was the day that I could get away with sporting my beige plaid printed galoshes. Hey…its all over the news…you have to be prepared.
• The weather is a perfectly appropriate conversation topic when the weather is this ugly…so no more awkward elevator rides for awhile.
• Snow! Tahoe is supposed to get nine feet this weekend! That means more powder to cushion my ass when I fall.

An Open Letter to Pretty Much All Pants Manufacturers

Dear Sir,

I suppose it is possible that I am just a freak of nature, but I take issue with your pants.

As much as the cropped thing works for some people, I am not such a fan, especially in January. My ankles are cold and it is your fault. I look far and wide for pants that dare to graze the tops of my shoes. Sometimes I even find a pair that seem to almost work, but one time in the dryer and I look like I’m ready to go clamming.

I have developed some tricks, including sagging like a junior-high hoodlum and using my medieval-style rack device to torture my pants to an appropriate length just after washing. That works in some cases, but is it too much to ask for some cute pants that don’t show off my winter legcoat?

Some of you have moved toward multiple lengths (ankle, regular, long) but let me tell you…once I find the two pairs of pants at the bottom of the mountains of clothing...I find that...long...is not so long. There must be some underground short-legged community to create enough demand for this length-challenged legwear.

Granted…I am taller than your average bear…I got the comments about playing basketball in elementary school and hunchy old ladies often ask me to get things off the top shelf in the grocery store. But I’m not the female Shaq or anything.

Sincerely,
Ashley the Amazon Woman

Oh-Eight!

Yeah…so '07 had its ups and downs…but all in all…in the top 50th percentile of good years. '08…now this is a different story. It is gonna ROCK! How do I know? Because…here is my list of resolutions that are going to aid in making 2008 the greatest year of Ashley’s life to date. I will:

• Blog more - I know this is the most important one to you. November wore me out…but I am back.
• Not go crazy - This is key. I did a pretty good job this year and the year before. But '04-'05…yipes stripes.
• Get a few more friends - Not that my current three friends aren’t enough…but I would like to be able to have enough people to put on my myspace top 4 to not include my sister’s ex-cat’s space. Miss you Fred.
• Win the lottery - You might say…that is a stupid resolution…you have no control over that. Well you might be right…but I have just as much chance of winning the lottery as improving my diet and exercise habits so why not?
• Get out of scary debt and into that good kind of debt that people talk about - Yes…I admit it. I am one of those morons who bought a house that she really can’t afford and is presently being reamed by my mortgage payment. Save the lecture…I know it by heart. So I am gonna take advantage of our brilliant president’s misplaced pity and get me a better loan.
• Train my monsters to be dogs - I watched the Dog Whisperer marathon…piece of cake.

So yeah…'08…it is gonna ROCK!

Would You Rather…

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.

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.

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.

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:

1. Fill glass with ice
2. Add 1.5 ounces of gin
3. Add .5 ounces of Rose’s lime juice
4. Garnish with a slice of lime

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!

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.

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

1. 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)
2. 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.
3. 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.
4. I know the temperature at which algae stops growing in hot springs…it is 167 degrees in case you were curious.
5. 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.
6. I’m wearing velvet pants today and it makes me feel fancy.
7. 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.

The 7 Victims
Please don’t put me on your “People To Kill” list for this:

1. Ash In Wonderland
2. Beverley Blog
3. Blogapotamus Rex
4. I Am A MeMe Addict
5. Katie
6. PluggedOut
7. StickyFeathers

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.

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.

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.

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:

• 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.

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 am cold.
• We drank a bunch of Coors Original in the can and ate a lot of meats.
• Someone set something on fire.

Good summary of the events to come, which will be explored in detail upon my return...stay tuned.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.