So, the casino.
I've never been to a casino before, for various reasons including, but not limited to
1) I was raised a hard core Southern Baptist
2) I am a goody goody two shoes and Brandon got addicted to gambling on 90210, so I knew that casinos were EVIL
And most importantly,
3) I'm a big fat tightwad.
So Saturday night I decided that it'd be fun to throw my conventional wisdom to the wind and go gambling with the girls. So I got some cash, bought a sugar free Red Bull and prepared to lose some cash. Which is cute, because I was totally playing the part of being a cool little laid back chick. But really, the entire way there, I kept convincing myself that I could afford to spend a little money and this was an experience! A new experience! With different people! Hooray! Despite all those exclamation points, I felt slightly nauseous the entire way and couldn't help thinking, TURN THE CAR AROUND AND INVEST THAT MONEY IN YOUR FUTURE CHILDREN'S COLLEGE FUND.
But it was too little too late and I got in there and put my first $20 in the slot machine and proceeded to lose. And lose. And lose. Fairly quickly. Ok, very, very quickly. Aren't the casino overlords aware that they're supposed to let you win your first time so you come with more money to feed into their hungry machines? Isn't that how it's supposed to work? Apparently not for me.
So after I lost my first $20, I ate a hot dog and followed the other girls around and cheered them on. Yes, my tightwad ways prevailed and I kept the rest of my cash safely in my pocket for the kids' college education. Or a new pea coat. I'd like to say that it was fun watching the other girls betting, but I'd be lying. I spent a lot of time watching people, avoiding smoke, and trying not to trip over wheelchairs. Because the amount of wheelchairs at the casino is amazing. I'm not sure if that commonplace or not, but it felt like a nursing home sometimes. Which is creepy because I'm used to nursings homes being sterile and smoke free and singing Amazing Grace there. And nobody seemed really happy. I did see a few people win and they seemed pleased to win, so I guess that's good? Maybe? Or empty. Whatever.
We left in record time because we all lost immediately and came home with smokey clothes, full bellies, and lighter pockets. I haven't decided if I'll go back, but if I do, I'll be sure to get another hot dog, because that thing was AMAZING.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Sweaters are better than sweating
I realize I am becoming that girl who only posts every once in a while and each post becomes more and more vapid. But...oh well.
So I went to the gym Friday (!) and I did an hour on the elliptical and sure enough, I was confronted again on my exercising abilities. I must look like a crazed woman on that machine, because this lady, who was wearing a shower cap out on the gym floor, did NOT believe me when I said I only went an hour on the machine. And I was like, "Um, no really. Just an hour." And she practically yelled, "That was more like two! GIRL! You bad!" I giggled and thought, "Bad? Am I bad? Is that good? Do I want to be bad? Why am I so white?" I then walked away and pondered joining a new gym where people don't talk to you. Ever.
In other news, I have discovered that I really, really love winter clothes. Which I think is odd considering I really hate the entire winter season. Christmas, while fantastic, doesn't make up for the snow and freezing temperatures. Why can't we have Christmas when it's a warm 75 degrees out? Jesus did.
Anyways, I went to Kohl's tonight and forced Alex to watch me try on coats (I'm currently hunting a brown wool pea coat) while constantly wandering away and oohing and aahing over sweaters. Brown, pink, striped, corded, fuzzy, cowl neck, turtle neck. You name it, I wanted it. All the while Alex smiled and nodded and said, "Yes, baby. I'm sure you'd look cute in that." Which is why I date him.
I eventually left the store empty handed, even after finding some fantastically cute blue running pants. But sadly, Kohls decided to hate me and not have any mediums in stock. And I didn't havce time to go to the OTHER Kohl's in town, because I needed to get Alex home so he could school old men in basketball. Besides, I needed to spy on people unobtrusively through the internet. Myspace, it is myfriend.
P.S. I went to a casino for the first time this weekend. I officially don't get it.
So I went to the gym Friday (!) and I did an hour on the elliptical and sure enough, I was confronted again on my exercising abilities. I must look like a crazed woman on that machine, because this lady, who was wearing a shower cap out on the gym floor, did NOT believe me when I said I only went an hour on the machine. And I was like, "Um, no really. Just an hour." And she practically yelled, "That was more like two! GIRL! You bad!" I giggled and thought, "Bad? Am I bad? Is that good? Do I want to be bad? Why am I so white?" I then walked away and pondered joining a new gym where people don't talk to you. Ever.
In other news, I have discovered that I really, really love winter clothes. Which I think is odd considering I really hate the entire winter season. Christmas, while fantastic, doesn't make up for the snow and freezing temperatures. Why can't we have Christmas when it's a warm 75 degrees out? Jesus did.
Anyways, I went to Kohl's tonight and forced Alex to watch me try on coats (I'm currently hunting a brown wool pea coat) while constantly wandering away and oohing and aahing over sweaters. Brown, pink, striped, corded, fuzzy, cowl neck, turtle neck. You name it, I wanted it. All the while Alex smiled and nodded and said, "Yes, baby. I'm sure you'd look cute in that." Which is why I date him.
I eventually left the store empty handed, even after finding some fantastically cute blue running pants. But sadly, Kohls decided to hate me and not have any mediums in stock. And I didn't havce time to go to the OTHER Kohl's in town, because I needed to get Alex home so he could school old men in basketball. Besides, I needed to spy on people unobtrusively through the internet. Myspace, it is myfriend.
P.S. I went to a casino for the first time this weekend. I officially don't get it.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Gymtastic
I went back to the gym this week and I've been pushing myself extra hard to make up for lost time (boyfriends are more fun than running!) and prepare for the holiday (my parents always notice and then comment on my weight!). So I got on the elliptical and basically tortured myself for 45 minutes yesterday. I was actually pretty proud of myself for pushing so hard, but I noticed that I looked ridiculously intense the entire time. I looked very, very angry with the squinty eyes and red face.
After said torture, I was doing crunches when I accidentally made eye contact with a passing woman. To my horror, she approached me and actually spoke.
"How long did you go on the machine?"
"Um, 45 minutes?"
"Wow. You....me...blah."
Ok, so I had a little trouble understanding her since I was trying to count and I had my iPod going at full blast. But I think she said something like, "You put me to shame." No matter, it was a complimentary sounding mumble and I giggled a breathless "thank you."
Y'all, I have never in my entire life been complimented on anything slightly athletic. Ever. I couldn't even place at Field Day in elementary school. My life is a symbol of the purple participant ribbon. And I got props for my mad crazy elliptical skillz.
Life is good.
After said torture, I was doing crunches when I accidentally made eye contact with a passing woman. To my horror, she approached me and actually spoke.
"How long did you go on the machine?"
"Um, 45 minutes?"
"Wow. You....me...blah."
Ok, so I had a little trouble understanding her since I was trying to count and I had my iPod going at full blast. But I think she said something like, "You put me to shame." No matter, it was a complimentary sounding mumble and I giggled a breathless "thank you."
Y'all, I have never in my entire life been complimented on anything slightly athletic. Ever. I couldn't even place at Field Day in elementary school. My life is a symbol of the purple participant ribbon. And I got props for my mad crazy elliptical skillz.
Life is good.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Horton Wins!
I went to Tim Horton's this morning in my pajamas. At first I thought about at least putting on a pair of jeans, but then I figured that if I get confused with a high schooler even when I'm dressed up, I could also be confused with a college student. And college students are allowed to go on a chocolate chip muffin/everything bagel run in their Care Bear pajamas with Grumpy Bear sweatshirt and Old Navy flip flops.
Sadly, I think there's something very wrong with the Tim Horton's by Alex's house. They don't understand the fine art of cream cheese distrubition. I usually ask for my bagel toasted and with plain cream cheese. I usually get a bagel that was lovingly toasted on one side with a disturbingly large amount of cream cheese stuck in the middle of the bagel. And by "middle," I mean "hole." The place where there is no bagel-y goodness to absorb the cream cheesey goodness. Today was no exception and I found that there was actually more cream cheese suspended in mid air than there was on the actual bagel. But, on the bright side, both sides were toasted.
But they also don't understand a litle something I like to call "supply and demand." They run out of our favorite muffins often. Alex lives and dies for their Fruit Explosion muffin. (I've tried said muffin and am not sure why he loves it so much, but he finds them amazing and irresitable and other Tom-Cruise-approved adjectives. And far be it for me to question he who looks hot in a suit with his boyish grin and red hair.) And yet, sometimes he has to go without his explosion of fruit in muffiny goodness because the good people at Tim Horton's always run out of them. And by "sometimes," I mean "often." I get angry e-mails and text messages about stupid Tim Horton's and their lack of exploding fruit. Often.
It doesn't happen just to him, though. My personal favorite is the chocolate chip muffin. And this morning, while in my pajamas, I thought, "Mmmm...a choclate chip muffin would go great with a toasted Everything bagel with cream cheese. Then I can go buy new pants because I am the fattest woman in the history of the world." So when I arrived at Tim Horton's (in my Care Bear pajamas), I ordered a chocolate chip muffin and then they waited until I had driven up to pay to tell me that they had "just run out of chocolate chip muffins."
Argh. And yet we keep going back. So Tim Horton's wins. And all I do is complain on my blog. Loser.
Sadly, I think there's something very wrong with the Tim Horton's by Alex's house. They don't understand the fine art of cream cheese distrubition. I usually ask for my bagel toasted and with plain cream cheese. I usually get a bagel that was lovingly toasted on one side with a disturbingly large amount of cream cheese stuck in the middle of the bagel. And by "middle," I mean "hole." The place where there is no bagel-y goodness to absorb the cream cheesey goodness. Today was no exception and I found that there was actually more cream cheese suspended in mid air than there was on the actual bagel. But, on the bright side, both sides were toasted.
But they also don't understand a litle something I like to call "supply and demand." They run out of our favorite muffins often. Alex lives and dies for their Fruit Explosion muffin. (I've tried said muffin and am not sure why he loves it so much, but he finds them amazing and irresitable and other Tom-Cruise-approved adjectives. And far be it for me to question he who looks hot in a suit with his boyish grin and red hair.) And yet, sometimes he has to go without his explosion of fruit in muffiny goodness because the good people at Tim Horton's always run out of them. And by "sometimes," I mean "often." I get angry e-mails and text messages about stupid Tim Horton's and their lack of exploding fruit. Often.
It doesn't happen just to him, though. My personal favorite is the chocolate chip muffin. And this morning, while in my pajamas, I thought, "Mmmm...a choclate chip muffin would go great with a toasted Everything bagel with cream cheese. Then I can go buy new pants because I am the fattest woman in the history of the world." So when I arrived at Tim Horton's (in my Care Bear pajamas), I ordered a chocolate chip muffin and then they waited until I had driven up to pay to tell me that they had "just run out of chocolate chip muffins."
Argh. And yet we keep going back. So Tim Horton's wins. And all I do is complain on my blog. Loser.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Counting to 100*
Alex is gone for the weekend...being a boy and watching his alma mater play his favorite college team ever. And it's one of those "no girls allowed" weekends, where the boys all get together and drink beer and talk about chicks and yell at men in tight pants and helmets. He'll have a lot of fun, but I didn't plan properly for his venture and am now finding myself at home. Alone. With the dogs. I'm feeling a little guilty because I just ate his last Reese's Snacksters, but dang if it wasn't good. Maybe I'll go buy more. Maybe I'll go for a little drive with my nano and sing till my throat hurts. And drink my second Icee of the day.
*This title has nothing to do with the subject of this post, but I've got it stuck in my head.
*This title has nothing to do with the subject of this post, but I've got it stuck in my head.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Class of '98
Alex's friends got married this weekend and I was excited to not only hang out with new people, but also dress up. I haven't had the opportunity to get all girly in a while and so it was with much anticipation (and money) that I purchased the perfect dress, shoes, and jewelry. And I do mean perfect. This dress even made my boobs look big. And that, my friends, is a sign of a good dress.
So I decided to buy all new jewelry to go with the boob-enhancing dress and found myself to JC Penney's Thursday night desperately trying to find something that fit my budget and what I had envisioned. Unfortunately, I was at the mall as a last resort after both Kohl's and Target had let me down. (I know! Kohl's! And Target! Abandoning me in my time of need!) So I was more than a little frustrated by the time I went to check out with what I hoped was the perfect jewelry. (Did I mention that I also had to return a dress? Because I did. And I had to stand in line behind not one, but two obnoxious women who, apparently, live at JC Penney's and spend all of their money there. Who does that? Seriously? Who does that??)
I walk up to the counter, after searching high and low for a JC Penney employee (it was almost closing time at this point, so everyone was hiding...which I don't blame them for at all. I remember when I worked at the movie theater in high school, I would send threatening looks to any passerby who looked like they might even be THINKING about buying some popcorn.) Where was I?
Oh yeah, so I plop down my jewelry in a sigh of relief and the lady looks at me and says, "Let me guess. Homecoming?"
Homecoming. A high school dance. Me. I'm 26 years old. I haven't been to Homecoming in 10 years. Literally.
I actually recovered really well and just said that I had a wedding this weekend. She looked a little old and I do look a little young for my age and I was just in a t-shirt and jeans. So I let it slide, though it did irk me a bit.
Fast forward to Saturday. The ceremony has already occured and Alex and I had to stop and put gas in my car before we went to the reception. I realized that I had forgotten chapstick, which is the same thing as forgetting oxygen for me. I ran inside (in my perfect dress with the exceptional cleavage) to purchase said lip balm. I walk up to the counter, place the chapstick before the lovely gas attendant and he says, "Oh? Is it homecoming tonight?"
Y'ALL. I AM TWENTY-SIX (26) YEARS OLD. THAT IS THE YEAR AFTER 25. I HAVEN'T BEEN IN HIGH SCHOOL FOR EIGHT (8) YEARS. SERIOUSLY. I MOVED OUT OF MY PARENTS HOUSE WHEN I TURNED 18 AND HAVEN'T BEEN BACK AND YET COMPLETE AND TOTAL STRANGERS THINK I SHOULD BE GOING TO FREAKING HOMECOMING.
Oy.
So I decided to buy all new jewelry to go with the boob-enhancing dress and found myself to JC Penney's Thursday night desperately trying to find something that fit my budget and what I had envisioned. Unfortunately, I was at the mall as a last resort after both Kohl's and Target had let me down. (I know! Kohl's! And Target! Abandoning me in my time of need!) So I was more than a little frustrated by the time I went to check out with what I hoped was the perfect jewelry. (Did I mention that I also had to return a dress? Because I did. And I had to stand in line behind not one, but two obnoxious women who, apparently, live at JC Penney's and spend all of their money there. Who does that? Seriously? Who does that??)
I walk up to the counter, after searching high and low for a JC Penney employee (it was almost closing time at this point, so everyone was hiding...which I don't blame them for at all. I remember when I worked at the movie theater in high school, I would send threatening looks to any passerby who looked like they might even be THINKING about buying some popcorn.) Where was I?
Oh yeah, so I plop down my jewelry in a sigh of relief and the lady looks at me and says, "Let me guess. Homecoming?"
Homecoming. A high school dance. Me. I'm 26 years old. I haven't been to Homecoming in 10 years. Literally.
I actually recovered really well and just said that I had a wedding this weekend. She looked a little old and I do look a little young for my age and I was just in a t-shirt and jeans. So I let it slide, though it did irk me a bit.
Fast forward to Saturday. The ceremony has already occured and Alex and I had to stop and put gas in my car before we went to the reception. I realized that I had forgotten chapstick, which is the same thing as forgetting oxygen for me. I ran inside (in my perfect dress with the exceptional cleavage) to purchase said lip balm. I walk up to the counter, place the chapstick before the lovely gas attendant and he says, "Oh? Is it homecoming tonight?"
Y'ALL. I AM TWENTY-SIX (26) YEARS OLD. THAT IS THE YEAR AFTER 25. I HAVEN'T BEEN IN HIGH SCHOOL FOR EIGHT (8) YEARS. SERIOUSLY. I MOVED OUT OF MY PARENTS HOUSE WHEN I TURNED 18 AND HAVEN'T BEEN BACK AND YET COMPLETE AND TOTAL STRANGERS THINK I SHOULD BE GOING TO FREAKING HOMECOMING.
Oy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
