Merry Christmas a Teensy Bit Late

In case you haven't noticed, I'm on a Christmas hiatus. I've been so busy, I didn't get on the internet for 6 days. Six whole days! And I'll soon be heading off to the warm state of Louisiana and no internet access. I hope your holidays are going well.

I'm It

Jodi tagged me and I feel so special because I've never been tagged before. I think it's funny how memes have replaced those old e-mail 1000 question survey things. You know, the ones that everyone filled out and sent, but not before prefacing with "I was bored" or "You don't have to read it if you don't want." But really, they weren't bored and they do want you to read it, otherwise they wouldn't have taken the time to answer 1000 questions and then e-mail it to you. But I think that's good. It's fine and dandy to want to talk about yourself. That's how 1000 question e-mails and memes keep going. And I admit it, I love talking about me. Cora is awesome!

So this one asks for five little known facts about yourself. Here goes.

1) My dream job is to be a television recapper. I love TWoP and adore the recaps. And I can't imagine anything more fun than watching TV and getting paid for it. Especially when I then get to turn around and write more about it. This does make me a really big dork and I have to keep my funny little TWoP anecdotes to myself, otherwise people will realize I actually am a loser. But even my closest friends tire of me starting sentences with, "And the recapper said this...about that...and...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Can't you see the collective eye roll right now? God bless my friends.

2) I can't pronounce "meme." How the hell do you say that? I've tried every single variation I can think of and they all sound stupid. Consequently, I feel stupid for being unable to pronounce it.

3) I think glasses are like, SO sexy.

4) I enjoy reading reality TV "stars'" (and believe me, I do use that term loosely) blogs. There's something about them that I find fascinating. Probably appeals to that same part of me that likes to see train wrecks. This kind of goes back to the TV thing from number 1. If it wasn't for TWoP I wouldn't be able to find these people's My Spaces and Xangas and such. And it again makes me a total dork, no matter how bored I get on a Sunday afternoon. But I do! And I communicate! Oh yes. Sara from The 70's House? E-mailed her twice.

5) Apparently, I can't count. I just wrote "6," instead of 5. This fact was so little known, I didn't even know until just now. Feel special you were able to share this moment of realization with me as I close this list: I'm stupid and can't count.

Veggies Taste Better Fried

**Note: I did not actually post this on Monday. But I meant to, it was written and everything and then Panera Bread and Random Old Guy and Mario Party 7 got in the way. But I hate it when it looks like I've posted twice on one day, so I moved this one back a day so that the post before this one is on Tuesday alone. No, I'm not anal at all. Why do you ask?

I'm a big fan of "down home" cooking. "Southern" cooking, if you will. My mom's from Arkansas and my dad is from Louisiana. It's in my blood to eat fried chicken and mashed potatoes as often as possible. So don't judge me when I say that one of my favorite restaurants is Cracker Barrel. I'm not 80 years old and I like to think I'm not a hick. But I love, love, love biscuits and fried okra and hashbrown casserole and dumplings and sweet tea. LOVE IT. I could probably live off of that stuff, which is why I rarely go to Cracker Barrel. Just because it's called a Country Vegetable Plate, does not mean it's healthy. There's much more emphasis on the "country" than on the "vegetable" because at Cracker Barrel, "country = fried."

So Sunday night, I was ecstatic when my suggestion of Cracker Barrel was greeted with a hearty "OK!" from Anne, BGF, and random old guy we are still chauffeuring around. (And that's still a long story.) I was practically salivating from the thought of the Sunday special: Homestyle Fried Chicken with two sides. It's like heaven on a plate, people...all those fried starches just sitting there, begging to be eaten by me. :sigh: Just lovely. (And if you've never had fried okra, I highly recommend it. It was one of my favorite things my grandma would fix me when I was a kid. But be warned: try it fried before boiled. Because it spits when it's boiled and kinda creepy and not nearly as good.)

I looked up at one point, because even I need a breather when stuffing my face silly, and saw this girl being seated. She had on a navy blue sweatshirt with the words "Tiger Tennis" written on it. I'm insufferably nosy and continued looking at the Tiger Tennis sweatshirt, because it seemed...familiar. And what did I see written below it? "Ouachita Baptist University" I couldn't hardly believe it. I have never ever ran into another OBU student/alumni during my time in Ohio. Not that I'm surprised, or really that upset about it, but still. What in the world was a girl wearing an OBU sweatshirt doing in a Cracker Barrel on a Sunday night in Ohio?

BGF would NOT LET IT GO and so I went to talk to her before he somehow convinced random old guy to do the talking. Turns out she was a freshmen when I was a senior and played for two season with OBU. And she used to play tennis on the pro circuit. From what I gathered, she didn't graduate and is now living up here teaching tennis lessons. And no, I didn't ask for free lessons or something because the last time I played tennis, I cried because the gym teacher made me serve the ball until I could hit it onto the opposite and opposing court and it took me about 40 tries (and I'm completely not exaggerating on that number) and everyone sat there and watched and laughed and was embarrassed for me and then Brandy Price had the gall to say, "You did good," which made me cry even harder because she was lying and was normally kind of mean to me and then I knew she was pitying me and now I can't even play badminton without having a heart attack. So we laughed over the coincidence of seeing each other at a Cracker Barrel in Ohio when we had both attended a teensy spec of a school in southern Arkansas. I bid her a fond farewell and again congratulated myself on socializing with strangers.

So here's my moral of the story: go to Cracker Barrel whenever possible and look for fellow alumni. They might love fried okra too.

Learning Something New Today

I apologize to those of you who trudged through the previous post with all the grammatical and spelling errors. I just re-read and edited it about 50 times. Yes, I am an English graduate. And yes, Dr. Wink would be so proud.

I learned today that if you're a cheerleader in a white uniform and it's cold outside, you should really really really really consider getting a thicker sportsbra. Or wearing one period. Whatever. Because everyone can tell you're cold. And that's just embarassing. Especially when someone who blogs sees it and decides to put it on the internet.

Secondly, I dislike the Atlanta Bread Company and will not spend any of my hard-earned money there. Minestrone soup does not need noodles to compliment it's awesome minestrone-ness. It also does not need to be as thick as chili. Ever. That is the incorrect consistency for minestrone soup.

And finally, I learned a very important fact while editing the previous post. When I repulished and went to go back here to check my handiwork, I took a little detour. I always just type in "sa" in my URL box thingy and hit the down arrow button to come back here because I hate hitting the "View Blog" link on the published page. Don't ask me why. So I totally thought I had hit said down arrow button, but no! The URL blox only had "sa" in it! And I hate it when this happens because now my blog isn't the first one in the list and I'll have to type in "san" from now on and I cannot be bothered typing in an extra letter. That's entirely too much work. So as I was bemoaning the fact that my index finger would have to stretch to a new line on the keyboard, the page pulls up for "sa." And what do I find? Sexaholics Anonymous! So if you're ever looking for a little light reading on your way to the sand palace, there's a place to go.

A Completely and Totally Happy Post in which No One Dies or Loses Their Job

My car was on "E" yesterday and the stupid snow hit early and I didn't think I could make it to the gas station since everyone was leaving work like crazy hoping to not get stranded here. So the line out to the main road was out the wazoo and traffic on 75 was moving at a snail's pace. So I rode home with BGF and left my car at work. It took us over an hour to get to my place and we had to take this old man (LOOONG story) out to dinner and it was just so cold and miserable and white. At least we went to Panera and sat by the fire and ate broccoli cheese soup.

So today, I left work around 11:30 to go get gas so I could drive to work tomorrow and also to wipe the 6 inches of snow off my car. I get to Speedway and my gas door thing is frozen shut. So I went inside and asked the manager to come help me. He was REALLY nice and went and got this de-ice spray stuff and worked with it and finally got it open. So I'm pumping my gas and this dude drives up to the pump next to me and he immediately gets out of his gigantic stalker/rapist van and is like, "I hear it's going to warm up." (I'm assuming he said this because I was standing there by the gas pump looking mightily miserable in my pink snowflake toboggan.) And I laughed because I knew it was a joke, but he finished it with the punch line of "...in 5 months!" And I was like, "Whatever, he's kinda cute. Maybe he'll flirt with me!" And then he looks at the pathetic blue pile of junk that is my car and says, "Oooooorrrrrrshuuuuuuta? How do you say that!?" (I still have my OBU window sticker on the back of my car) and I'm like, "It's Wash-i-ta." And he was like, "Where is that at!?" And I told him "Arkansas. Which is where I went to school." And he asked me what brings me to Ohio and I tell him I work down the street at [totally censored company name here] and we [totally censored what goes on at said company]. And then he has to go inside because all the pumps are pre-pay now and I am going inside at the same time because I want coffee seriously badly. And he's like, "Well, welcome to Ohio." and I felt bad because I still have my Louisiana license plate on my car and that OBU sticker, combined with the fact that I look like I'm 18 and this guy thought I was just out of school and am up in Ohio for the first winter! So when he asked how long I had lived up here, I lied and said "2 years" when really it's been 3 1/2. And so I figured that was it and I was very proud of myself for socializing.

So I go back outside with my White Chocolate Caramel Cappuccino goodness firmly in hand and dude stops me. And he's like, "You seem to be a nice person with good character and outgoing...(and other complimentary things I don't remember)." And I kinda laughed because I always laugh when someone calls me outgoing because really I'm still a terrified 13 year old and I can't fathom the fact that people might see me as otherwise. And I was also weirded out by this guy and was like, "Is he a Mormon? Is he going to try and witness?" And then he said, "I run a couple of small businesses..." and I sorta tuned out because I was like, "I CAN'T BELIEVE HE'S A SALESMAN AND BEEN TRYING TO WORK ME OVER THIS ENTIRE TIME." But I caught stuff about internet and something and Barnes and Noble and something and would I be interested in making some extra money on the side? And I was like, "Um, maybe?" because I'm a total pushover and couldn't say no and so he gave me his card and I gave him my cell phone number and now I have to block him when he tries to call me so we will never ever ever "get together and chat for about 20 minutes." But he was cute and the last time I talked to a cute boy was approximately 1985 so back off about me giving my cell phone number to a complete and total stranger who drives a rape van!

Thankful It's Over

Thanksgiving was less than thrilling this year. Apparently I am the fat, ugly, smelly cousin who no one wants to hang out with. So instead of getting to sit on the couch and enjoy such classic movies as Bring It On with my cousins, they all fought over who had to sit next to me. And not in the "I want to sit by her." "No I want to sit by her!" kind of fighting. They REFUSED to sit NEXT to me. I thought the girl who was unlucky enough to arrive last was going to die from all the huffing and puffing and sighing and rolling of the eyes. And no, they didn't even have the decency to hide it. Children.

My parents also took Thanksgiving Day to tell me that my dad is losing his job. He's being forced to retire early because of budget cuts from Hurricane Katrina. Yep, the 59-year-old handicapped man who has been a chaplain at the wretched prison for 15 years is being let go. My dad thinks it's more personal than that because the warden basically hates him, but whatever. The point is that my parents are getting heartily screwed over in this deal. And if a certain bill passes in the legislature, then he'll be forced to leave next month at only half the normal retirement pay. And my parents have been planning on my dad retiring when he was 65. Soooo.....how are they going to make house payments? I don't know. It makes me so angry and so sad that I can't hardly stand it. I feel so bad for my father because he's poured his heart and soul into his job and now for it to end like this...it just feels so wrong.

So the "Mom Cry Count" was up to 5 by the time I left and my Dad was depressed the whole time. It was just rough overall. I knew it was going to be bad without Grandpa there, but geez louise, I wasn't expecting THAT. My aunt seemed to be doing okay because she refused to sit down and think the entire time. Ha! Good to know that my denial tendencies run in the family.

So in honor of a sucky Thanksgiving Day and in an attempt to lighten things up on this here blog, I've decided to steal from Myles and make an Un-Thankful List.

Un-Thankful 2005
1) Hurricane Katrina
2) Death
3) Errant hairs on my chin
4) Tom Cruise
5) Coldplay
6) Spam (the food and the internet variety)
7) Gnats
8) Luke's long-lost daughter on Gilmore Girls
9) Snow
10) Screaming babies

And just for good measure:

Thankful 2005
1) My family (the ones that sit by me, of course)
2) BGF
3) Anne
4) DVR
5) Parsnip (my dog, not the veggie)
6) E-mails from old friends
7) Yogurt Burst Cheerios (Strawberry)
8) The Dixie Chicks
9) Reese's chocolate dipped peanut butter cookies
10) iTunes

Now, before I let you think that the holiday was all doom and gloom, the good news is that Friday was better. My mom, aunt and I went shopping and I got some really cute pink sweaters that will match my pink and grey Roos in an adorably, make-you-throw-up-because-I-match-so-well kind of way. I'll have to wait till Christmas until I get them because my mom footed the bill, but I'm okay waiting. It's always nice to know you've got good presents waiting for you under the tree. I also got to facilitate my aunt and mother's very first trip to Olive Garden. And boy, do they love the salad and breadsticks. They ate TWO BOWLS of salad and 4 helpings of breadsticks. Plus their entrees. I'm not kidding. How anyone in my family does not weight 300 pounds is beyond me.

Updating at Last

Here's my grandpa from Thanksgiving last year. Isn't he just so cute? That smile never went away, even after all of his heartache.

Thanks to everyone for your kind words and prayers. They were much appreciated by me and my family. The wake and funeral were difficult and weird and sad. It made me realize how much Grandpa had changed over the past few years. It awakened all those memories of when I was a kid and he'd do magic tricks and take me to the park and buy me candy. He loved toy stores as much as I did. He made the best white gravy I've ever had and everytime I came to visit, he'd fix them with rolls because I'm a freak and like rolls and gravy for breakfast. Nobody has ever been able to fix a breakfast as good he could. He was also obsessed with chocolate covered cherries. We're talking serious love here, people. So serious that one year we spent the entire morning after Thanksgiving buying boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes of chocolate covered cherries at the dollar store because they were on sale. And we all had to make separate purchases because there was a limit. He froze half of what we bought, so he could eat them year round. He and Grandma used to buy cans of food every time it was sale and hide it under the beds in the guest bedroom in case of an earthquake or another depression. He let me drive his Buick after he bought it and my mom nearly had a mental breakdown, but he was calm as could be. He didn't understand why I'd ever pierce my ears because it was too much adornment. He'd quote practically any verse from the King James Version of the Bible faster than you can say "Translated in 1611!" He would push on the other end of the seesaw, because he felt bad I didn't have a friend to play with. He always gave me money when I came to visit because I was "the favorite" and always told me to never tell Grandma. I miss him.

This was also a good opportunity to realize that I'm pretty sure I'm a genetic clone of my mother and if one more person says I look just like her, I might just have to shoot them.

Another shocking revelation: my (extended) family can be so damn embarassing. One of my cousins showed up to the wake in the tightest jeans known to man. They were so tight, I'm pretty sure she wasn't breathing. And that permanent wedgie? Didn't look comfortable. And her sister wore "dress" shorts with this weird maroon vest-type top and black stockings. Not flattering. At all. These are my first cousins, people. This is their grandfather, who they spent lots more time with since they lived in the same town...at one point living on the SAME PROPERTY. Neither showed for the funeral because they're ungrateful wenches who have no sense of love or honor for their family. I was always jealous of them because they got to see Grandpa all the time and now that he's gone, they don't have the decency to show up and socialize and dress appropriately? My only comfort is that I'm pretty sure my Grandpa wouldn't have been surprised.

Final realization: I need to change things. I refuse to die with no friends or family around me. I refuse to die miserable and alone. I refuse to die and have only bullshit said at my funeral. I want the minister to speak highly of me because I lived a life worth living. I want people to be be glad my life was full. I want more than what I have now.

Slipped Away

My grandfather passed away this morning. I was going to post a picture of him, but I started crying looking at them, so we'll wait on that. My mom is obviously really torn up. If you're a praying kind of person, please do so for my family. I'm on my way to work now to figure out how much I can miss so I can be with my family.

Thanksgiving a Month Early

This is what I had today. A bad day. One of those, "Can I PLEASE get a break!?" kind of days. And those days suck A LOT. But they are often made better by my wonderful friends. And my dear friend Gina sent me a spectacular Happy Halloween/Happy REALLY Late Birthday package. Hooray! I needed something to cheer me up and this did the trick. The above Grumpy Bear socks just so happened to be my object of envy at Saturday night's Halloween party, so that was really weird and coincidental and perfect. I also received:


What a cool purse! With my initials! It's like she knew I was looking to invest in a new everyday brown purse. (I also want you to know that I only picked this picture because it has both my iPod and my iTunes screen up. I'm a geek, I know.)


At first, I thought this was a direct shout out to my profile, but then I realized that she had purchased this BEFORE she had read said profile. That's a sign of a good friend, people.

I'm glad there are people in my life who can force me to think sappy/happy thoughts after a craptastic day. I am a lucky girl. Thank you Gina.

It's Halloween Time! pt. 2

What a scary black cat!



So BGF decided to take the classic route of making your own t-shirt for your Halloween costume. For those of you who don't know, there's a long standing inside joke about how BGF is a turtle and it's really not very funny if you don't know him, so I'll just post the picture and let you enjoy the creative power of iron on letters and Hanes t-shirts. Note the precious stuffed turtle that I gave him for Christmas last year. It's really very cute and quite possibly the most perfect inspiration for a Halloween costume EVER.



On to the party!



The party would have been great fun were it not for that one guy who had no social skills and a tendency to prey on the weak of the herd (i.e. me and Anne and BGF). There was good food and cute costumes and fun games and frankly, all the ingredients were there for a good time.

Except...

For when that one guy sidled up to BGF on the couch and got thisclose to his face (and I mean makeout close, people) and began talking about how he is struggling with homosexual thoughts. Which was after he put his hands around BGF's neck like he was going to strangle him. And then he followed Anne to the bathroom and scratched on the door WHILE SHE WAS IN THERE and this was AFTER he had followed her around and kept saying, "I just can't stop touching your hair!" And then he kept touching my pajamas and asking over and over and over again if they were real and if I really slept in them. And then, of course, he talked about how horror movies made him want to kill people.

Well, I'm not in the party mood now. Are you?

It's Halloween Time! pt. 1

Here I am cuddling with Funshine Bear in preparation for my very first evening out at a costume party. Hold me Funshine Bear! It's important to note that I had friends help me out with this very exciting and important time in a girl's life. I got the idea for the brown eyeliner freckles from my dear former roommie, Phillison.

It's also important to note that I'm obssessed with candy corn. So much so, that I own two different stuffed animals depicting the cutness of the yellow, orange, and white triangle. This fist one here is a zebra-horse type animal with large legs that remind of me of giant candy corn. It's difficult for me to not eat him.

Moose are also cool. Moose dressed as candy corn? Doubly cool!





Don't worry, I'll have more pictures and an update of the party itself posthaste. But for now...it's time to party!

I Need a Life

So I was just reading Myles' blog and saw this new meme thingy going around. I never do these and have never been tagged, but I thought this was just too weird to pass up.

If you'd like to waste your own time, go to Google and type in "Your Name needs." And if you literally type in "your name," I'll shoot you. Here's my results:

1) Cora needs a home that will provide her with lots of love and attention.
2) Cora needs someone to love.
3) Cora needs a 12-step program
4) Cora needs either to get leave of court or to drop at least 30 of the questions, before she can compel answers.
5)CORA needs volunteers.
6)Cora needs to be reimbursed for sign making material.
7)Cora needs to be a belter with head voice extensions.

Deuce

1. Today, I wore my "I'm a B.A. Baracus" t-shirt that features the opening monologue to The A-Team theme on the back. And this temp (the same one who thought I was 19) said, "Did that really happen!?" I kid you not. The child had no concept of who the A-Team was or what they were about. How is that possible? Hilariously, the three older women who work with him immediately berated him for not knowing about Mr. T. Ha!

But I am genuinely concerned for this kid. Does he believe everything he reads? If this is the case, keep him away from the internet! And e-mail! He probably believes somebody really got their kidneys cut out in a bathtub filled with ice and that you can sit on an HIV infected needle in a dark movie theater. And my god, I bet he's never ever eaten pop rock and drunk coke. What a sheltered, paranoid life he must lead.

2. I am a really fast eater. This has been a problem since I was a child. My mom would complain that I simply inhaled my food, never stopping to chew. She always reminded me (read: yelled) that it was not a race to see who could shovel food into whose mouth faster. But that never stopped me. Besides, I'd always beat her at a race of eating because she is the slowest eater in the entire universe.

I tried slowing down eating, really, I did. As I grew older, I realized the virtue of savoring food and enjoying the experience of dining. But it never seemed to work. I immediately put up and shut up when food is placed before me and you won't hear a peep out of me until the plate is finished. It's like I'm terrified of it suddenly evaporating before my eyes. Or maybe I subconsciously think that the food will go bad. I don't know. But when the there is subsistence placed before me, I devour it without abandon. I noticed it last night when I finished eating before Anne and I had done most of the talking. And just now, I was shoveling my McNuggets into my mouth faster than you say "Heimlich Maneuver." I don't know why, but I CAN'T STOP EATING AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT. Maybe I secretly think I'm being taped as I eat and am under consideration for a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records as the fastest eater EVER. I've always wanted to be in that ever since I realized that I had no extraordinary talent to set me apart. This could be my chance to shine!

Heartbreak

I found out last night that my grandfather has taken a turn for the worse. You'd think he'd be out of turns, considering how many times he goes to the hospital and comes out with a worse situation. But he has hung on despite all the badness, and God bless him for that. But I think this time is different. His kidneys are shutting down and his heart is giving him problems and he has made it clear that those doctors better not even THINK about resuscitating him.

So, my aunt and mother had to call in the assistance of hospice, which, as you might know, is a bad sign. Now, don't get me wrong. I love hospice. I really do. My family has always had a really good experience with them and they have proven over and over again to be good people. But you never ever want to see them. Ever. Because it always means that it's near the end and that just sucks.

My mom is obviously really really upset and apparently, all of this happened last week and I am only just now finding out. She has a tendency to wait until she can compose herself before telling me any kind of news. And it took her about a week to talk to me about it without crying.

It just sucks. I can't be eloquent about the pain and anger I am feeling right now. I talked Anne's ear off at dinner tonight about my family because I feel them slipping away. I can't hardly stand it.

Lunchtime Blogging

The other day, one of my temporary workers thought I was 19. Nineteen, people. Nineteen. I'm 25. I even got my hair cut last week and I still look like a teenager. Oy.

In case you haven't noticed, I am blogging regularly. The reason? BGF is out of town. I normally eat lunch with him and we chat about this and that and there's simply no time for typing. But I'm eating lunch by myself this week with only a keyboard to keep me company. It sucks eating lunch by myself at work because then people want you to do things. If I have BGF here, then everyone knows I'm on lunch and am not to be bothered. But when I just sit here looking bored, then they want things. And dangit, I want my 30 minute break! So it helps to do this noontime blogging because when I look intently at my monitor and type quickly, people think I'm busy. Not that that stops them from interrupting me, but at least it gives them a half second pause.

So Fiona Apple is coming to a House of Blues in a relatively close city to me. I really, really, really, really, really want to go see her, but it's on a Monday night. I'm contemplating on whether or not I want to take a vacation day for it. It might seem like an inane reason to use one of my precious few vacation days, but people, it is Fiona Apple. She is amazing. And coming to a city near me! Unfortunately it's still far enough away, that I couldn't get off of work and up to this town in enough time. Decisions, decisions.

Oh dangit, I'm feeling guilty even though I still have a good 10 minutes left of my lunch break. :sigh: Back to work I go.

Winter is for Families

There's something about this time of year that makes me want to settle down and nest. I guess that's not really uncommon considering this is the time for hibernation and feasting of the fat you gathered in the warm months. But I get this weird googly happy family sense about me during the winter months. It's finally gotten cold here this week and I've been thinking about winter coats and apple cider and fire places. Which in turn makes me think about husbands and children and reading stories by the fire. I've never really noticed this before and maybe it's just a sign of my biological clock ticking, but I suddenly want to be settled. In time for winter. So that when the snow comes and the wind hits the shingles, I'll have someone to snuggle up to.

I noticed this last night while I was at Target. There was a mom with her daughter there and she was talking about how she could buy these warm flannel pajamas, so she could wear the top and her husband could wear the bottoms. And it was just so darn cute and it tugged on my heartstrings and I remember thinking, "Odd. I feel...emotional." It was like someone has woken up the little happy homemaker within and she was roaring.

I suppose it doesn't help that I've been reminded twice in the last week that I'm not getting any younger and isn't settling down and having a family something you want, moron? My God, doesn't seeing all of these cute little babies swaddled in fleece make you want to have one of your own? It doesn't? I don't care! Get to work honey because you're running out of time.

Maybe I just miss my mom. Maybe I am just now realizing how close Thanksgiving is and how much I can't wait to see my family. Or maybe I really am getting old and maturing. Either way, I don't have a man and there are no babies on the way (THANK YOU GOD because immaculate conception does NOT appeal to me) and I'm bracing myself to spend a barren winter in my little apartment snuggling with stuffed animals and a dog with diarrhea.

Folsom Prison Blues

Anne snagged me a FREE(!) copy of this book. And it is COOL. I highly recommend it to any Cash fans out there. I have to admit part of its appeal are the pages and pages of pictures from the recording of the album. :sigh: I love Johnny.

Problem Solved

Re: the post before this one

I'm going to be a little kid for Halloween. Specifically a little kid at bedtime. How awesome is that!? A great excuse to buy super cute pj's and then wear them in public. I haven't had an opportunity like this since my freshmen year of college. Anyway, I found the perfect pajamas at Target and I had to find a picture to show:


All I need are some blue slippers and I'm set. I figured I could go with my hair in pig tails and carry one of the MANY stuffed teddy bears that I own and I'd make a convincing little girl. Good, yes?

Celebrating the Devil's Holiday in a Hogwarts Robe

I've been invited to a costume party. Yes, you read that previous sentence correctly. I have been invited to something that functions as a social event. I'll wait while you pick yourself off the floor.

But the problem is that it's a costume party and I have never ever been to a costume party before. Mainly because I am a loser. But also because my parents are very religious and believe Halloween is a day dedicated to Lucifer himself. So I spent pretty much every Halloween sitting in my house in the dark praying that the kids trick or treating would hurry it up already and go away. I couldn't watch TV while those boogers were knocking on my door asking for candy!

So now, here I am. A 25 year old woman who has no idea what she wants to be for Halloween. Suggestions? Ideas? Questions? Concerns? I am personally leaning towards a Hermione Granger look, except that those freaking Hogwarts robes are EXPENSIVE! And I just don't want to pay $40 for the robe and then spend even more money on the shirt and tie and shoes. And well, it's only a party, not a job interview. I found a cute Candy Corn costume, but I am pretty sure the last time I was small enough for me to fit into it, I was going through that awkward puberty stage.

Help!

Red Red Red

BGF and I are dieting again and we both pretty much suck at it. Him because he doesn't care and me and because I LOVE TO EAT ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME WILL YOU PASS THE NUTTY BARS PLEASE.

So in honor of "dieting" (By the way it's Day 2 and I am already close to cracking.), we had to eat as much bad-for-you stuff as possible this weekend. So Friday night meant Endless Shrimp at Red Lobster. Sigh. My mouth waters just thinking about those warm cheesy biscuits, followed by a tasty salad drenched in Buttermilke Ranch dressing, followed by shrimp scampi, followed by popcorn shrimp, followed by coconut shrimp, followed by....

I'm kidding. I was down for the count by the time that coconut shrimp came out and I could barely manage a morsel or two into my mouth before I passed out on my plate muttering "Gluttony! Gluttony! Gluttony!"

But before the feast began, we had to do the usual wait for the table. Except this night turned out to be far from usual because the hostess turned out to be the proverbial blast from the past where you least expect it.

I'm not sure I've ever done a real live double take until this night. I walked in, ready to put my name on the list when I noticed that the hostess looked familiar. And I thought, "NOOOOOOOOO. It CAN'T be." And then I looked again and low and behold, it was. And all of that happened in about 5 seconds. Because who stood before my eyes but the secretary from my old job.

You have to understand that this was a rather frightening experience because my former job was ROUGH. It's a place I'd rather never ever go back to and generally spend most of my free time avoiding it and the people I worked with. Not that they're all bad people, but the association, you know? Anyway, there she was and I realized I couldn't turn around and run like I do when I see people at the mall, so I walked forward and smiled. I had a small glimmer of hope because she didn't recognize me at first either. But then it happened. I saw the recognition. And if you've ever seen somebody see a ghost, then you know exactly what look I saw.

She recovered quite nicely and we proceeded to have a good chat about life so far and things went well. She even remembered that I had family in south Louisiana, so I gotta give her props on that. And honestly, she's a sweet lady. I like her a lot. And I was actually glad we ran into her because it gave me a chance to remember that not everything during my tenure in the hell hole was actually hellish.

Computer: Dumb! Work: Busy! Kidney Stones: Bad!

I haven't been this busy since I decided to graudate college with a 4.0. I have so much to tell you internet! My life is sort of exciting in that it's been really really busy! I've missed you! Don't leave me ever again, k?

Listing

1) I talk to myself at work. Out loud. This is embarassing. I'm becoming one of them.

2) My Dunkin' Donuts tumbler is quite possibly the coolest $2.50 I've ever spent.

3) Early morning e-mails from old friends make the day start off right.

4) I babble when I type. Love me or hate me, you have to admit I can write one hell of an e-mail.

5) I realized today that I'm actually terrified of being in a romantic relationship again. No like seriously, my heart has an iron casing around it. I realized today that I don't even FEEL anymore. I just try to imagine sometimes.

6) So much for progress.

7) Remember When by Alan Jackson makes me want to kill myself. I thought about linking to the lyrics but I couldn't allow my blog to associate with such an insipid song.

8) I was shocked when BGF told me today was the first day of fall. I'm a little concerned that I'm letting my life pass me by.

9) I screamed OUT LOUD while watching Lost last night. That show should NOT be that scary.

10) There's a new Fankhauser in this world. I am old.

11) I am a cookie addict. I can't eat just one. Which is why I am forcing myself to avoid the cookie stash at work. (Yes! Such a thing exists!) But that didn't stop me from getting Baskin Robbins last night. In a waffle cone. It was almost like Waffle Cone Wednesday lived again. Excpet at a different store and no special price.

Random because I care

I just had a momentary freakout because I was logged into blogger (note: I originally misspelled "blogger" as "blooger." I think that's a much better name.) under my old account and tried to post. Holy crap! I couldn't figure out why there wasn't an option for a title and why I had all of these stupid unplublished drafts. And then I realized I was kvetching around in my past. Needless to say, I got out of there faster than you can say "iceegirl sucks" and headed back to bitter sandy land. It's good to be safe here again.

I'm currently bored out of my mind waiting for Dave to get his late (let's add lazy! too just for good measure) butt over here so we can go see Batman Begins. BGF and I have been dying to see this movie for some time, but unfortunately we both went through a financial crisis at the same exact time this summer and movies were a luxury neither of us could afford. We're still not clear of said crisis, but at least Batman's at the dollar theater now. And I'm hoping it still will be by the time Dave-o gets here. Not that he's an hour late or anything. And hour and 15 minutes to be exact. But I'm not counting.

I'm currently obssessed with A Song for You by Donny Hathaway. I'm not cool enough to know anything about Donny Hathaway save for the information I found while scanning that webpage. But I heard the song on (and yes, I am embarassed to admit this) So You Think You Can Dance? Yeah, THAT show, the one that is kicking off Artem this week. It's a stupid show. But a few weeks ago, they did a lyrical routine to this song and I really liked it. And since I'm a dork, I went and found it on iTunes. It's really quite beautiful and I highly recommend it. You should check it out if you're in the mood for a ballad. If not, then might I suggest some My Chemical Romance? A little Helena will take away all visions of love in your heart.

And I'm actually embarassed to admit that I was stupid and downloaded that song too. So now I must face the fact that I'm one of those people I hate because I just supported emo. And emo sucks. I spit on it. SPIT!

Buuuuuuuuuuut.....the song's catchy, so it gets a place on my iPod. I'm not very discriminating when it comes to my music. Pop is good, people.

Dave's still not here and I've edited this piece of crap post for at least 20 minutes now. If I blew my hair dry and did my make up and not get a chance to get out of this house...oooooh. I will be pissed. A pox on his head!

Celebrity Crushes are Cool!

If you watch "So You Think You Can Dance?" then you're dumb like me. And sorry if I'm ruining something for you here. However, I doubt that I am because I only have, like, 6 readers and I'm pretty sure all of you are smart enough to not get sucked into the stupidity of a 2nd rate reality show.

Anyway, my bad news of the night is that the spoiler mills are running with news of my TV boyfriend's demise. Yes, it seems to be true. Artem has been eliminated.



And dangit, I LOVE HIM. He's got that sexy international flair that's just ROWR. And his hips and the moving of the hips and the abs and...sigh. He's gone. No more sexy. It's sad.

BUT!

I've got GOOD news too!

Zellweger and Chesney are a fraud! Many thanks to Jodi for breaking the news that Ms. Zellweger's evil squinty grip has loosened on Mr. Chesney. I didn't think it'd last, but I had gaven them at least a year. But 4 months? That's kind of sad. But it's okay because that means the hottest man in country is single again! Which means I can have my old Country Music boyfriend back and leave that Dierks Bentley character to the youngins. Who says I'm not loyal?

I'd totally have glasses like Geordi, I don't care what you say

I have to scan a lot a lot a lot of something at work for something big. Wow, that was quite possibly the most articulate and descriptive sentence I have ever written. God I love the beach blogging about work. (That last part was an inside joke for BGF and Anne. Feel special guys! You got a shout out!) Anyway, all of this scanning means that I get a scanner! Which is really cool because it is MY OWN BARCODE SCANNER. (Note: My scanner is actually much better than the one shown. However, I really wanted the "action" shot of the red laser tearing up those barcodes!) You know you've made it when you get one of those. Not only does it read barcodes, but it makes a nifty beeping noise whenever it does so. And there's the added bonus that should anyone ever send me an encrypted letter written only in barcode, I'll be able to read it!

The problem is that I think someone's going to have to confiscate the thing. Because I have an almost uncontrollable desire to scan MY EYES. Seriously. I can't tell you how many times I want to look right at it's weird hoover like maw and let the red line read my pretty brown eyes. What is WRONG with me? Do I WANT to go blind? Apparently so, because I can't imagine the destructive effect of looking directly into that little red laser. And yet....I want to do it so bad! Maybe it's because I'm convinced I'll become as cool as Cylcops when the red line hits me just right. What with my ability to destroy anything in my vision with my laser red eyes and smoldering good looks, I might even snag a boyfriend! Except it'd probably backfire and I'd wind up only being able to see people if they were barcoded. And really, when was the last time you saw a sexy barcode?

Spam Sucks

Dude, I JUST published my iPod nano love post and I already have 3 spam comments? BOO! I'm adding the word verification thingy. Sorry guys, but I can't stand it. Please don't kill me!

My New Love

You know how I was all "Artem is my boyfriend" yesterday? Forget that! I've found my new true love.

The new iPod nano.

Be still my heart!

Artem can't hold a candle to this beauty. It's so sleek and gorgeous and multi-functional! It can show you pictures while playing some song that would fit perfectly in here if I knew any one song that Latin Ballroom dancers dance to! But since I can't, my analogy fails. But not my love of the beauty that is Apple.

Huh?

I've been listening to Fiona Apple's "O' Sailor" all day and I still can't figure what the hell she's talking about.

Fluff

Well, I totally wrote a fake post while I was at work this morning. (What? I can't blog at work? You'd blog too if you had to listen to old ladies sing "Proud to be an American" very very VERY loudly.) And I was going to do this stupid fake and cheesy post about my TV boyfriend, Artem.

But I don't get internet at work (Which sucks a lot, by the way) and so I came home ready to copy and paste my post from my e-mail. (Yes, I know you can blog from your e-mail but I never learned how, ok?) But I checked all my regular blogs first and saw that Leah had posted a much better post about a very real and really hot boyfriend. So that just made me feel stupid about my fake TV boyfriend even though I think the concept of a TV boyfriend is hilarious and I love having "celebrity" crushes. So I'll scrap the Artem schtick and just say that I want to learn how to dance Latin ballroom. With him. Badly.

In other news, I experienced Chick-Fil-A breakfast for the first time this morning and HOLY COW is it good. It puts my favorite McDonalds to shame. To shame, people! That tasty little mini-chicken runs circle around a sausage any freakin day of the week. Except Sundays when Chick-Fil-A employees are given the day off to worship and spend time with their families. Which isn't what they officially say, but it's what Hobby Lobby says and by God, we know that if one Christian owned business says it, they must all say it.

Also, I'm planning a big and bitter rant against certain members of my family and their inability to be considerate to people. Just wait, kids! It's gonna be on fire!

Good News!

My grandmother is safe and sound! All my friends are safe and sound! Yay! Thanks to all of you who have called/e-mailed/text messaged/commented with your concern. It means so much to me that y'all were concerned about my family. Somehow or another, my Maw Maw's house did not get damaged, so she is staying put with my other relatives there. There's still no power or water or anything, but my mom got to her and brought food and water. She also told me that I probably can't imagine how bad things are down there. What's so terrible is that things are much worse as you go farther south. It's just so difficult for me to wrap my brain around it. The devastation is just so severe. People's lives have been interrupted and for some, ruined. It's truly terrible.

Thanks to all of you who have donated to help the victims of Katrina. I feel like you're helping me as well, since I consider that area my home. Please continue doing what you can. There is a long road ahead.

Worried

Hurricane Katrina hit Louisiana this weekend. St. Tammany Parish (which is where my hometown, Covington, is located) got it pretty bad. It's a little surreal for me to look at all the destruction and hear about all of the bad weather and think that it happened to where I'm from. The good news is that my parents live somewhere else now, so they were safe. The bad news is that my grandmother did not evacuate. She was there for all of it, unfortunately. And I have no idea how she is doing. All the phone lines are down (cell phones included) in the area and the parish is closed, so my parents can't even get in to check on her.

They were going to bring her to stay with them, but then my great-aunt decided that she wanted to evacuate form her home even FURTHER south. And my grandmother being the stubbornly good person that she is, agreed to stay with her family in her house in Covington. Her house isn't very sturdy...and so I'm a little nervous since there were 100 MPH winds. Was it 100 MPH wind strong? No one has heard from her since Sunday morning when she was getting ready to go to church. I just don't know how she is, but I hope I find out soon. I might throw my phone if I get another "Sorry, all circuits are busy at this time" signal.

You can donate to help the survivors rebuild here.

But Daddy, I wanted a Mercedes!

This is the car I want, in case any of you were wondering. It's a Pontiac G6. Yes, it's the car that Oprah gave to everyone in her audience last year. Yes, it's a GM car. Yes it just came out last year and it's from Pontiac, the same people who thought the Grand Am was a good idea. But it's just so pretty. I want the 4 door sedan because I'm a practical gal. But I'd like to have a sunroof because I'm young and hip too. And did I mention that it's pretty?

Why am I looking at cars? Well, it's certainly not because the Sentra is on it's last leg. NOOOOOO. It's not still squeaky after getting new brake pads and rotors. It doesn't have so many cracks in its windshield that it's looking like a wine glass in an opera house. It certainly doesn't have 180,000 miles on it. And it would never even think about need new upholstery. NEVER. Why, the Sentra is in fine form! It's as if the year of its birth was only yesterday. 1994 wasn't so long ago. Grunge music is still cool and we still wear flannel, right? And the tape deck! THAT'S not out of date. Nobody really uses CD's yet. And isn't that Forrest Gump movie so awesome? I thought so too. See, it's like a box of chocolates...and it's a totally bad thing that I don't know what I'm gonna get everytime I open the Sentra and crank her up. She's just old folks. She needs to retire.

Here's to hoping for some strong self-discipline in saving money!

Drugs On Demand

I recently discovered the joy of digital cable. I will no longer be blogging normally because I'll be sucked into the world that is "On Demand." It's truly the most wonderful thing to happen to television history. At least for now because I'm still in the honeymoon stage with it all. I can't help it, who wouldn't be dazzled by DVR and HBO and MTV and whatever other 3 initials tickled one's fancy?

But here's the problem, On Demand has ruined a perfectly good pop song that I've been enjoying quite a bit as of late.

This lovely woman pictured below


has been keeping me quite entertained with her little "I love you, I love you, I love you" song. So when I saw her video available at AOL Music On Demand, I definitely clicked on it! Because I love that song! It's the perfect little happy pop ditty! Yay for the British invasion!

Incidentally, Ann was over from her summer "abroad" (and I use that term loosely) and so she had missed the joy of rapidly singing "I love you" over and over again. So I introduced her to this video by saying, "YOU MUST LOVE THIS SONG OR YOU'LL HURT MY FEELINGS." I'm a good friend.

So the video begins innocently enough with the lovely Ms. Bedingfield in an apartment and getting ready for her day's events all while lip synching. Typical video, I thought. Except that BGF asked the terribly accurate foreshadowing question, "What's up with all the boomboxes?" And indeed, there were like 50 boomboxes in that lady's apartment. But I just blew it off as some stupid video "concept" that I don't get and really no one in America does except for the director who has a "vision" and "insight" into what the artist's song means visually. Whatever.

So at this point, Ms. Bedingfield has moved on to the beach and is singing with her boombox as if she's poor and needs people to drop money in her cap. Fine. Whatever. It's just a video. Still a good song.

And then the boombox became animated and grew feet.

I'm not kidding. All of a sudden, the boombox was outlined with those cheesy cartoon lines from 80's MTV heyday. And it then GREW ANIMATED FEET AND STARTED DANCING. And Ms. Bedingfield was okay with this! In fact, she encouraged this drugged out behavior!

It was only downhill after that. The boombox made friends and soon Ms. Bedingfield was the pied piper of boomboxes and they followed her and defended her and all the boomboxes had distinctive feet and loved her and she loved them, loved them, loved them because those words are her own.

It was AWFUL. What is wrong with these people? How the hell is that a concept? Dancing boomboxes? DANCING BOOMBOXES? In the real world!? And other people saw it and were perfectly ok with it unless their own boombox grew legs and followed Ms. Bedingfield. Then they were mad because they wanted their boombox to dance for them! Boomboxes don't dance people. They never have and they NEVER WILL. One can only hope that the digital revolution will soon take hold and that boomboxes will become obsolete. Then Ms. Bedingfield ill-fated American debut video can be put to rest. FOREVER, FOREVER, FOREVER.

There's Nothing Women Like about a Pick Up Man

The other night, one of BGF's friends came over. (I was trying to come up with a nice little psuedonym for him and was just about settled on Lon Bitchell, but BGF convinced me that Dave was much better. This serves as an example of why BGF's going to straight to heaven while I rot in hell. So in honor of Lon's love for the Dave Matthews Band and in the interest of picking something that doesn't rhyme with his real name, Dave it is.) So Lon Dave informed me that he had just learned a brand spanking new pick up line and was ready to use it on my hot neighbor. He, of course, had to tell it to me first, not because I'm a girl and can give him my honest opinion, but because he was so proud of it. I'm sure you want to hear this "killer" line too, so internet, prepare for me to pick you up.

How much does a polar bear weigh?

(At this point, you say, "I don't know." or "How much?")

Enough to break the ice!

Yeah, I'm not kidding. I'll pause while a collective groan reverberates throughout the universe.

Dave was really excited about this "awesome" pick up line and could NOT WAIT to woo my neighbor it. He has been strangely obssessed with her ever since he met her a month ago. He tries to run into her in the hall and has been known to peep through the peephole whenever he hears someone entering her apartment. (She lives across the hall.) This, of course, bugs the crap out of me because he knows she's not got a stellar reputation, what with the endless drinking and such. Don't get me wrong, she's a nice girl. She helped me out in a jam and I'm really grateful for it. But does that mean I think she's good date material? No! But does that matter to Dave? No! Because she's got amazing breasts. Who cares if you drink and drive!? You've got a nice rack!

Blech.

Anyway, I assumed that he was going to wait until he heard her out in the hall and go talk to her. Or maybe just go over and chat like she did the first time they met. I was so wrong.

Dave borrows a piece of paper, a pen and tape. And then proceeds to write a note to Ms. Hottie McHot neighbor and tapes it to her door. Tapes it to her door, people. I didn't get to read the missive myself, but it apparently contained the aforementioned "pick up line" and his phone number.

And he got a call back.

I couldn't believe it. I was pretty sure that Ms. McHot must have already been drinking because who responds to that? Who? (Ok, ok, I MIGHT have. MIGHT. Shut up.)

Anyway, Dave heads over to her apartment for a little meet and greet and BOMBS. Completely and totally. She was uninterested and unimpressed. Poor guy. Apparently, she seemed "really into" doing her nails and pretty much blew him off. It was kind of an anti-climatic way to end the evening. And this post. Oh well. That line was only good enough to break the ice, not to seal the deal. So future suitors be warned. Make sure you got game before you leave notes on hot girl's doors.

Breaking and Entering, part 2

When we last left me, I was embarassed and standing in a motel lobby. And I stand there a LONG time. Until, finally, a nice looking old man comes down the stairs and says he'll be right with me. I am instantly at ease because I love old people. And I'm sure that this guy will be like my Grandfather only not.

Cue the cold laugh of irony. Again.

This man was so completely and totally not nice to me. He reluctantly let me use the phone in the lobby and then pretended I didn't exist for the rest of the night. I really didn't care at the time because I was completely and totally FREAKING OUT, but now that I look back on it...JERK!

So I pick up this little white phone that sort of looks like the phone my parents had back 1989 and dial my number. And a man answers immediately. I'm a little confused, so I say, "BGF?" And the dude's all, "Wrong number honey." So I hang up and dial again. And this time the dude is like, "Wrong number AGAIN honey." And I really was dialing my own cell phone number. I know I was. But apparently those numbers were too similar to the hotel numbers. Goody.

So I walked back outside so I could stalk some more cars. I also thought about crying. A lot. Instead, I walked back to my building and sat in the back of BGF's mom's truck that was parked there because I still hadn't given back the hugest dolly in the known universe. So there I sat, in my "I'm a BA Baracus" t-shirt, with my retarded pony tail and black shorts, cuddling my iPod in the bed of a purple truck. Y'all, I am SO COOL.

I eventually decided that this course of action would only get me to an insane asylum and not my apartment. I got out and went in the laundry room on the second floor and braced myself. I knew what I needed to do and I was so freaking nervous.

I was going to have to ask for help from my neighbor.

I knew she was home because I could hear R&B grinding music blaring from the hallway. And really, what else was I going to do? What if BGF never showed? I had to suck it up and knock on the door.

She opened the door just a little bit, obviously taken aback by the ugly fat girl with a freaking B.A. BARACUS shirt on. I was a little flustered and tried to explain my problem. I used a lot of "ums" and "you knows" and "help me please for the love of gods!" She finally figured out what I was talking about and tried the door herself. And she said the first thing that had made since the entire night, "You need to call the cops. Your friend won't know what to do." See, my original intent was just to use her phone to call BGF and force him to get his partying butt over here and fix my problem. But she pretty much insisted on calling the cops. So insistent that she invited me in, looked up the number, dialed it and HANDED THE PHONE TO ME before I even had a chance to protest.

This was the first time I had ever talked to a dispatch person and PLEASE DEAR LORD LET IT BE THE LAST. I was so freaking flustered and embrassed that I wound up sounding like a complete moron. Oh well, an officer was on his way. To do what? I had no idea, but it had to be better than soiling my neighbor's immaculate apartment. She's one of those people who apologizes for "the mess" when really "the mess" is that they had only just vacuumed the day before and not 5 minutes before you came over.

This happened to be the most pleasant part of the night, however, because I got to check out her beautiful apartment and chat with an actual living female. (Have I mentioned that almost all of my friends are guys? What's up with that?)

I left her to wait downstairs for the cop because I obviously couldn't buzz him in from MY apartment and my neighbor was looking way too hot and made up to be getting ready for bed.

As I sat downstairs, I tried to rehearse what I was going to say to the cop if he was cute. "I normally wear clothes that match, Office Hotstuff, but I gave away all my clothes to a homeless shelter." "Hey Beautiful Cop Man, come back when I can shower and I'll show you a good time." "Mr. Officer Cutie Sir, I'm not really so stupid as to lock myself out of my apartment normally, it's an accident, I promise."

All of these thoughts were diminished when he showed up WITH HIS FREAKING SPOTLIGHT ON AND AIMING IT AT EVERY SINGLE BUILDING IN MY COMPLEX OH MY GOD ALL THE NEIGHBORS KNOW ME NOW AND I FEEL LIKE SUCH WHITE TRASH.

The semi-cute cop got out and I explained my situation. He helpfully replied, "I can't help you." Thanks buddy.

I made him go upstairs anyway and he pushed and pushed and pushed on the door and added with great gutso, "Yeah, I can't do anything besides break the door down."

BREAK MY FREAKING DOOR DOWN.

I tried to talk him out of this option and immediately began offering different ideas for entering this apartment. He gleefully shot each one down as visions of splintered doorframes danced in his head. Before he got too excited, his radio squawked and he was like, "Oh, that's my sergeant downstairs. Let's go see if he has any ideas."

Yep, two cops. For me. In one night. My downstiars neighbor who likes to barbecue at 10 pm was outside gossiping about me on his cell phone even though I was within earshot. I didn't hear him say anything about my shirt, but I know he did. JERK!

The level-headed sergant decided that there had to be better course of action than just breaking my door down. I agreed. Rookie cop man didn't agree. Shut up rookie cop man!

So they call back the dispatch and try to get an emergency contact number for my landlord. The level-headed sergant wished me luck and drove off leaving me overzealous rookie cop man salivating over the chance to break my door down. Yippee.

He and I sat around and talked while we waited to hear back from the dispatch lady. Of course, it was bad news: no emergency contact for my complex. Just at this moment, my hot neighbor was coming downstairs to go out. The cop stopped her and asked if she had an emergency number for the landlord. She seemed a little hesitant and I felt so bad for her because all she wanted to do was go have fun on a Friday night, not baby-sit her stupid neighbor. But she proved to be a good neighbor and dug out her cell phone and called the office in order to listen for the emergency page number. So we wait as she listens to the list of amenities. And office hours. On and on this message goes and BEEP!

Right before the number is listed....BEEP. It got cut off. Hot neighbor girl is so sweet, she called it again, but no such luck. No emergency contact number for us! As the cop walked back to his car to get the consent form, the neighbor leans over and says, "I have a drink. Should I go on and go to my car? Is he distracted?" And then I realize what her hesitence was earlier! She had a freaking alcoholic beverage in that orange glass! Not water! She didn't want the cop to see the open container. Holy crap!

Hot neighbor girl bounds off to her night of partying with her beautful and drinking self and I head back upstairs with rookie cop man. He pushed on the door REALLY hard and the gold security latch started to come off the door frame! The cop was like, "Sign that form now!" Ha!

So I fill out a little form stating that I allowed the local Sheriff's department to forcefully enter my place of occupance. May I never have to do this again, Lord.

So the cop begins the process of breaking my door down and it is SO LOUD and takes SO LONG. I couldn't hardly believe it. One of my neighbors from the 2nd floor actually yells up, "What are y'all doing up there, man!?" To which rookie cop man valiantly replies, "SHERIFF'S DEPARTMENT!"

At this point I started wondering if I could afford to break my lease and move again because oh my god, I'm the girl who needed the cops to break into her own apartment on a Friday night.

Dogs are barking. Children are crying. Neighbors are plotting my death. But by god, rookie cop man broke that golden security clasp right off my doorframe! Yee-haw! I was in!

I thanked my new friend in the sheriff's department and beat a hasty retreat before my neighbors started coming upstairs to view the trainwreck that is my life. All I could do was just lay on my floor and think.

"How can I top this next Friday night?"

Breaking and Entering. part 1

So the other night I decided to go work out. My new apartment complex boasts a fairly nice workout room with brand new equipment. And I'm fat. So putting the two of us together seemed like a good idea at the time. It was a Friday and I have no life, so off I went. I grabbed my iPod, headphones, and apartment keys. This is important. It's also important to know that I was wearing my dark green "I'm a B.A. Baracus" t-shirt and black Adidas shorts. These are the very same Adidas shorts that I have been working out in since I was in college. Back when I wasn't fat. They don't look as good on me as they used to because I quit wearing them for a while. It's a tragic fact of life, but the point is that these shorts are a bit tighter and shorter than they used to be. And they're black. I justified my extreme fashion faux pas with two thoughts. 1) They have a white and green stripe on the side, so that pulls in the green t-shirt. and 2) I'm just going to go work out. Who's going to see me?

Enter the cold laugh of irony.

So I go work out. And I got some great cardio in. I pushed myself really hard, so hard to the point that I started counting loudly and screamed a couple of times. So much so that I reminded myself of that guy in "The 40-year-old Virgin" commercials that screams "KELLY CLARKSON!" when he's getting his chest waxed. So I was quite sweaty and red faced and not pleasant when I finished. I stretched and walked back to my building.

I've got a new extra security door to get into my building now and have locked myself out only once because I forgot about that stupid thing. I'm much smarter than the door now and easily made it inside my building. I got up to my apartment, put my key in, unlocked the door, and pushed.

And the door didn't open.

At first I completely freaked out because I thought someone was inside my apartment and keeping me from opening the door. So I pushed and again it only opened a couple of inches and just stopped. At this point, the lack of oxygen reaching my brain caused me to assume that a serial killer was in my apartment but wasn't yet ready to let me in to kill me. So he was stopping me from entering my own home in order to mentally prepare himself for the kill. So I did the obvious thing.

I went back downstairs.

I sat down outside my building and tried to think. Why would someone hide in my apartment and then not let me in? That's ridiculous. BGF was at a party and his car was nowhere around, so it wasn't him being stupid. And then it dawned on me.

The security latch on the inside of my door had fallen over and latched. With no one in the apartment.

At this point, let me remind you that I live on the 3rd floor. So there is no other way to get into my apartment but through the front door. Why I didn't think of that when I was on my serial killer kick, I don't know. But now the idea is hitting me that I am completely and totally SCREWED.

I went back upstairs and tried one more time and there was just no getting in. I kept thinking that if I could just get my finger close enough to the latch I could push it back. But when they call those things "extra security," they mean it.

BGF was supposed to come over after his little house warming soiree, so my first thought was to just wait for him. I couldn't call him because I had lent him MY cell phone in case he got lost on the way. And here's the first important lesson from all of this: DON'T BE NICE! KEEP YOUR OWN CELL PHONE ON YOU!

So I decided to wait. And walk. And wait. And walk. And stalk EVERY SINGLE CAR that came into the parking lot. It was starting to get dark and so it was harder to see the cars that were driving in. But how else was I supposed to identify BGF's car if I didn't get as close as freaking possible to those cars? I didn't look like a crazy stalker! No! Not me! Simply like a girl who had somehow managed to get locked out of her new apartment with no phone or means of transportation.

Eventually I decided to walk to the hotel that is near my apartment complex and call BGF on my number, because obviously, this "boring" party of his was lasting longer than expected. So me and my BA Baracus-self strolled right on up to the Sleep Inn and waltzed into the nice lobby full of well-dressed travelers and proceeded to wait for the clerk. And wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. I mean, I knew I looked scary with the red face and red knees and sweaty hair, but come on? Did they have to ignore me?

***Since this is so long, I'm ending this story for tonight. But stay tuned for tomorrow's conclusion in which you and I will both learn the importance of knowing your local sheriff's phone number and how to put a motel clerk in a headlock.***

Almost Famous

As I mentioned a month or so ago, I've been looking into getting some kicking speakers for my iPod.* BGF told me to check out CompUSA because they apparently have a good lot of Apple friendly products. The bad thing about Apple products is that they're so pretty. It's just all so distracting. So what began as a short trip turned into a long session of ooohing and aaahing over widescreen flatscreen Steve Jobs goodness. At one point I managed to tear my eyes away from the biggest display of iTunes I had EVER SEEN and turned around to see this man.



Only I completely didn't believe my eyes. I was like, "There is NO WAY that is Dave Chappelle. NO. WAY." And then BGF came over and whispered, "That guy looks JUST LIKE Dave Chappelle." And that was all the confirmation I needed.

Dude! That's Dave Chappelle!

And there he was buying cables for his Mac. He was with his son and seemed really quiet and reserved. At one point he totally saw me staring at him and I turned away because I was a little embarassed to be gawking at the poor man. Later, an older couple approached him and the woman shook his hand and said she loved his show. He was extremely gracious and I was really impressed with him.

So if you're a fan of his show, then I'm happy to report that he doesn't look like he's been in the loony bin or has lost his mind. He just looked...tired. I actually kind of felt bad for him.

And so goes my very first real life celebrity sighting.

*I received the greatest set of speakers in the world from BGF for my birthday and I will regale you with the greatest birthday in recent history soon and very soon.

Moving is like exercising with a point

So what have y'all missed?

Moving.

Be glad you missed that. Moving sucks. Especially when you own the heaviest furniture in the known universe and need to get it up 3 long and angular flights of stairs. Poor BGF and company. I've never heard such groaning and suffering. It was like I had opened up the gates of hell and pushed them all in. I'm sure my neighbors hate me.* It took approximately three days to get all of my furniture up those stairs with approximately 4 different guys. And they made A LOT of noise. A LOT. Because carrying 300 pounds isn't easy kids.

Because let's get real. Although my lovely new apartment complex touts its offerings as "luxurious," they really aren't THAT great. Clean? Yes. Respectable? Yes. Cute as a button? Yes. But luxurious? That's pushing it. Maybe if there was a hot tub or a massage therapist or an elevator.

Emphasis on the elevator. A big cargo one for moving purposes. Because then I wouldn't feel obligated to live here for two years because nobody will help me move before then. Seriously, I hope this place rocks because I'll have to shell out the money for professional movers if I want to leave in one year's time.

Good thing the lovely people at HH Gregg pays someone to deliver their appliances to you. Otherwise, I'd be banished to the laundromat for another two year's time. And let me tell you, you have no idea what it feels like to be an adult until you own your own washer and dryer. Then...THEN...you know you've made it. Because you can provide yourself with clean underwear simply by walking a few feet. It's an AMAZING feeling.

Coming up next time: Celebrity sightings at CompUSA!

*If I didn't incur their ire while moving in, I am sure my neighbors hate me now due to "the Incident" which I will recount in all its glory and splendor in a few days time. If you were my neighbor, you'd hate me too. Trust me.

So Much to Say

INTERNET! I'M BACK! I LOVE YOU!

So many, many, many, many things have occured since my last post way back on the 14th of July. Can you believe it took almost a month to get my sweet high speed internet loving back? A month! That's an eternity in blogging time! I hope some of you are still out there periodically checking this sandy little place. Because trust me, I've got stories to tell. Like how I had to break into my own home and how I got the tastiest birthday cake in the world for my birthday or how I'm singlehandedly keeping the Apple company in business and, of course, how I saw a celebrity in real life.

But for now, you'll just have to settle with these tease, because my cat will not take NO for answer. I must pet her! Not type! Typing is BAD! Silly human.

And internet, I really, really have missed you!

Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow

I'm afraid that this will be my last post for a little while. I'm switching internet providers as part of my move, so that means this old modem must go.

Don't do anything too crazy while I'm gone, internet!

I like to think that I'm both the Beauty AND the Geek

I have a new toy to save up for. I can't quite decide between the above Altec Lansing speakers, (which I am pretty sure I will love because BGF has graciously lent me his old Altec Lansings to use with my iPod and WOW, are they good, and those are his old cheap ones that he got rid of when he bought the awesome bumping Altec Lansings located on his computer now.) or this really neat looking, and judging from my test drive in Target tonight, high quality sounding JBL on Stage pictured below.



According to BGF, he and I bigger geeks than we let on. I disagreed, but then he pointed out that we both use Mozilla Firefox as our Internet Browser. And that I'm a big iPod and iTunes geek. And that we're serious about our broadband.

Which got me to thinking and he does have a point. After all, I was thisclose to convincing him to buy a USB powered mini lava lamp at Target tonight. And just now, the wireless mouse's batteries died and I had a heart attack because OH MY GOD, I CAN'T BLOG and frantically went searching for batteries. Fortunately, some were conveniently located in the digial camera's bag.

Yes, I AM A GEEK.

But that's ok. Geeks are cool, right? It's chic to be geek! Geeks are the new pink. Being somewhat eletronically inclined is necessary to survive in today's world. I hope. Otherwise, I'm just another HTML nerd giggling because they learned how to program new code.

You Gotta Be Kidding Me

If today was a litmus test of how my job worked, then I don't think they could ever hire anyone to replace me. Ever.

Oh, for the freedom to blog about my job. To give you all the juicy details on why I wanted to rip my hair out of my head by 8:30 this morning. To share with you, gentle reader, on why I want nothing more than A BRAND NEW JOB SHOVELING ELEPHANT DUNG than to keep the one I'm currently in.

But alas, I refuse to take the risk. Despite the fact that I blog under a psuedonym and nobody from work reads this, I am far too scared of getting dooced. So I shall be silent for now.

In other news....

Oh, who am I kidding? I have no other news! I spent a good portion of my day either stressing about, preparing for, or actually doing my job. And it was pure hell. Plain and simple. At least I've got a garage sale and packing to look forward to this weekend! Woo-hoo! Nothing like liquidating the old, so I can buy a whole lot more new!

Death

A lady at my work died this weekend. No one knows why or when. She didn't come to work this morning, so one of her friends went to her house to check on her. And found her on the floor.

She hadn't been sick. Nobody knew. It was so unexpected.

I didn't know her. She worked in a different part of the building. I passed her every morning. She always wore headphones while she worked. She was quiet. Everyone liked her. She had been at the company for 20 years.

The first time I went there, I didn't know how the security system worked. I kept trying to open the door that you have to be buzzed through. She pointed me towards the receptionist and told me I had to talk to her first. That I couldn't just walk in. I was embarassed. And everytime I saw her, I was embarassed. Even when she was warming up her breakfast in the microwave, I would lower my head a little. I don't know why.

And now she is gone. I'll never see her again. No one will. It's so strange. How could she be here and then be gone? Her daughter lives far away. She's flying in to make arrangements. She died alone. With no one around. On her floor.

Who is going to listen to her headphones now?

Let's End This

There are times when I'm not sure I'm going to make it anymore. That I'm going to finally fall apart. One day, I'm going to trip and fall and I won't be able to pick myself back up.

Everything that has every kept me glued together is gone. A myth. I'm packing up my life and I don't even remember who I am. Who is this girl? With her Bible Studies and cards and stuffed animals? Have I even met her? This bitter shell living in her space does not recognize nor cares to remember that girl.

The face smiling in those pictures? When was the last time I smiled? For real? When was the last time I was happy enough to smile? Now, I only smile in order to get what I want. I smile because people tell me to. The other day, I was walking into work and my true face was showing. A woman told me, "Smile! Come on! It's great to be alive!" I immediately turned on the fake smile that people want to see. She didn't know any better. I wiped it off as soon as she passed, but I realized I needed to hide it better. To not show the emotions anymore.

Numb. Numb. Numb. That's my goal. I chant it to myself everyday at work. Just be numb. Stop feeling! Quit having emotions, dammit! Numb. Numb. You want to be numb! It's good to be numb! You can't feel then. You won't hurt anymore. Nothing will bother you and it will all be okay. I am trying so desperately to transform myself into a cold and unfeeling woman. And it is so hard. But I know it's the only way. The only way I'll make it. The only way I can get up every morning and live this useless, pointless life.

Ugly Old Green Christmas Tree Top Not Included

The newest addition to my new apartment. The new apartment that I'm not fully moved into. The new apartment that I'm not fully moved into and yet still feel the need to fill up with EVEN MORE CRAP that I purposefully go out and purchase and then am forced to carry up to the third freaking floor. All because I'm just the kind of girl who falls for pretty things on sale.

:sigh: Somebody take the credit card away from me.

Edit: Also, BGF has only had this game for less than a day and I already HATE IT.

Somebody take HIS credit card away from HIM.

Movin' On Up

I'm currently in the process of moving.

Moving sucks.

I dislike packing. I hate unpacking. And I despise the actual carrying of the heavy loads.

DESPISE.

And I'm going to the 3rd floor. It's not quite a deluxe apartment in the sky, but it's pretty way up there. With no elevator. (That's the "not quite deluxe" part.) So that? SUCKS.

I know it will all be worth it in the end, but right now? I want my mommy.

Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away. Run away.

Roller Coaster

My life cannot settle. It constantly moves up and down and around and it brings me high and dips me low. I lose what I'm doing and I think I find my way. Then I fall right back down. I want to be happy but I keep getting knocked down. Again. Again. Again. Nothing goes right. Then everything works out. It all falls apart and then rises from the ashes. No news doesn't mean good news.

I love you.

I hate you.

Will it ever stop?

MIT has a boring campus

Going for Yet Another Comment-less Post

I learned this weekend that if you mix boys with anything remotely drum-like you get a cacophany of sound unrivaled by the loudest of jet engines.

I love boys.

I just wrote a big paragraph bemoaning my inability of picking out winners for boyfriends. But it was really selfish and all too "woe is me." Instead, I'll say that I'm glad I finally figured out that most of the guys I've dated were losers and I'm hoping to make a turnaround in my interests. For real. From now on, only Johnnys and Orlandos and Brads. Except real. And actually nice. And single.

Anyway, let's just face it. I do love boys. And I will continue loving them. Even though the last one burned me so bad I was considering batting for the other team. (Kidding, kidding.......sort of.)

Oh dear, I'm sensing a return of the flirt whore!

Run Away

I am currently sitting next to 4 boys playing "football" on the Xbox a.k.a. THE WORST INVENTION EVER RIGHT UP THERE WITH THE FREAKING PS2. I'm drowning in testorone. Somebody help me!

Edit: Ok, I really don't mind after all, b/c BGF is actually SMILING. And acting like he's having fun. And it's so cute. I like it when things go well for him. He's had THE WORST WEEK EVER. :echo echo echo: So it is good for him to be happy.

But still....

Dude. I really DO need GIRL friends.

Behemoth

Tremble in fear! She will come and break your kennel! Hide the stuffed animals and any available rawhide.

The Parsnip cometh!

Somedays, I'd like to just stay at home all day with her and watch her destroy my apartment. I miss so much being gone all day. And it's the little things, you know? Like when she poops under the dining table because she knows it's hard to get to. Or when she picks a new "special" spot on the carpet to make completely bald. Or when she sees my super cute new dress shoes and takes one up the stairs (to chew on) and leaves the other one downstairs (again, to chew on), so she can have entertainment in both places! She's just so smart and happy and pleased to be Parsnip the puppy.

And you know what I hate about her? I CAN'T STAY MAD AT HER. Not even a little bit. Because when she curls up next to me at night and lays her head on my arm and looks at me sooooo pathetically and lovingly all at the same, the way only a sweet little dog can do...well, I wouldn't trade her for the world.

Pretty Picture

I am playing the CRAP out of Kelly Clarkson's "Breakaway" CD. Seriously. Why am I so in love with it? And why can't I stop singing the songs at work? Because why would anyone in their right mind want to hear me attempt American Idol-type vocals?

Why, ME, of course!

Working Out Sucks, Dude

Ok, I just worked out. Yeah. I put on a sports bra and everything. Two years ago, this would be normal behavior. But not anymore! Ever since the collapse of my supposed wonderful relationship with "the idiot," I pretty much just let myself do whatever I wanted. Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow you get dumped!

And at the risk of sounding like Britney Spears.....y'all, I am so out of shape. I ran/walked/struggled/crawled/heaved/and nearly died through two miles on that wretched treadmill tonight. It took me over 30 minutes to go 2 miles since I kept accidentally hitting the pause button and then kept wimping out when the shooting pain in my side got too bad. Also, I like breathing. And I can't breathe when I run. AT ALL. I don't care how much I concentrate on breathing in and breathing out and taking deep breaths and using my nose and lungs. I CAN'T DO IT. And really, the harder I ran, the worse I felt because of the jiggly jiggly wubbly bubbly of my fatty fat fat. OH MY GOSH. I kid you not, my mind kept saying (cause God knows my mouth couldn't say it), "The jiggling! The fat! MY LOVE HANDLES ARE THE HUGEST LOVE HANDLES IN THE ENTIRE WORLD! How could I let myself become the pillsbury doughboy!?"