It has been requested that I recount the tragic hamster murder of 1991, that was not made public knowledge, and by "made public" I mean was kept a secret, until just a couple months ago....
I got a hamster when I was in the second grade. I hated it. I never played with it, I never cleaned out its cage. We kept it on the fridge so that we could forget that it was alive as much as possible. I know animal rights activists everywhere are duct taping their poster board to sticks so they can go picket my house as I type. Try to make me feel bad. Good luck. Anyway, tinkerbell slowly developed a cancer sore on her face. It was freaking sick. My dad and one of his friends thought it would be fun to have a little animal planet moment and perform surgery on my hamster. (I should tell you all that my dad is neither trained nor licensed in any form of medicine, animal or otherwise.) Long story short my hamster bled to death. I cried for like two days. I don't know why. That is what little girls do I guess. Pretend we don't like something until it's dead, and then create a whole scenario about how I was the only thing we lived for.
There it is. Hope my pain and agony made your day a little brighter.
Quote of the week...for your enjoyment...
"I liked Elizabethtown better when it starred Zach Braff and was called Garden State." Well done Doug, well done.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Friday, October 28, 2005
Tiffy the deer slayer
It was about two years ago that I was driving down a two lane highway and rammed what was still a cute car into a deer. My driving skills have been criticized by many. Even taking one person, who shall remain nameless ...(jenny,) to the point of saying " I like riding with you. I feel closer to Jesus." Okay that might not be verbatim, but it is the gist. I assure you this particular collision was the suicidal deer's fault, not my own. It was hit by a truck fell into the ditch and then when it saw my car got back up and crossed the street just in enough time to jack up my hood, fender, back passenger side door (it flung it's legs into the car, I am guessing not on purpose), and make my left headlight completely useless. Hold on the story is about to get really good. So I call my dad who is at my uncles house about 15 minutes away. I call the cops. In the meantime the driver of the truck who hit the deer first walks up to my car. Remember, dark, 2 lane highway at night. I am the most paranoid CSI, Rescue 911, Unsolved Mysteries watching freak. I assume this man is going take me for all that I am worth (which at that time was about 300 CDs) and leave me cold, wet, and sliced into a million pieces. He doesn't. He does tell me his friend lives a couple blocks away if I want to come over. I decline. I know what happens to girls who go over to stranger's houses. They die, they always die...Man I watch way to much CSI. The cop shows up and I am riding around in the back of a cop car looking for the deer when my dad and uncle show up in a very large truck with the license tag DRSLYR...(deer slayer.) They get out of the truck. My uncle is in those pants made out of plastic that come up to your arm pits and are held up by suspenders. He is holding a mag light and promptly frolics into the ditch like a leprechaun on no-doz trying to find my "catch." My dad wants me to let him in the cop car with me. I can't there are no handles on the inside. I am pretty sure the cop is completely taken off guard by the people who came to get me. My dad starts chatting him up about guns and the "proper way to shoot a deer" (One of my dad's classic stories is when he hit a deer and the officer tried to shoot it, but shot it right between the eyes. Instead of killing it he just pissed it off and the deer attacked him....different story for another time.) I am sitting there with my head out the back window listening to this banter when really I wanted to go home. Suddenly my uncle starts yelling...he'd found my "catch." I got it right in the butt so it was useless to him. I finally got to get in my car and drive home after what turned out to be a very eventful drive to the middle of nowhere.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Exploding TV Remotes
My name is Domino Harvey and I am a bounty hunter.
My roommate Erin and I are notorious for going to absolutely horrible movies together. On at least 3 or 4 occasions we have found ourselves in a movie theater laughing hysterically because whatever is on the screen is simply ridiculous. Last night's extravaganza "Domino" proved to have many pee your pants moments (that weren't meant to be funny.)
Exhibit A: It took me 15 minutes to get used to the idea that Kiera Knightley was a bounty hunter. There is no way I could hunt for bounty in pants that left about an inch and a half of my butt crack hanging out, she did it though, well done Kiera.
Exhibit B: Anytime they were driving anywhere, doing pretty much anything that wasn't talking a song came on that was basically mumbley rap until they got to the chorus which was simply "Motherf-er" yelled really really loudly.
Exhibit C: The incredibly awkward lap dances, strippers, and sex scene in the desert after they had been drugged and survived a really bad Winnebago accident. Yeah that's right Winnebago accident.
Exhibit D: Brian Austin Green and Ian Ziering were a part of the cast. Still can't figure this one out.
After all of that it was still entertaining. Although I told some people I would practice my karate kicks in the aisle, some guy sat next to me at the last minute and ruined my whole plan to make Domino interactive. I think Erin bribed him to sit there so I couldn't get out. A plague on your house. Crap, no plague, strike the plague, that's my house too. Strike it, we've worked with Corky before.
The higher notes:
It did give me the inclination to walk in slow motion with bullets strapped around my torso.
You will never hear me say "My name is Tiffany Matalone and I am a bounty hunter." At least not for real. I have been turned off by that profession.
It was free.
My roommate Erin and I are notorious for going to absolutely horrible movies together. On at least 3 or 4 occasions we have found ourselves in a movie theater laughing hysterically because whatever is on the screen is simply ridiculous. Last night's extravaganza "Domino" proved to have many pee your pants moments (that weren't meant to be funny.)
Exhibit A: It took me 15 minutes to get used to the idea that Kiera Knightley was a bounty hunter. There is no way I could hunt for bounty in pants that left about an inch and a half of my butt crack hanging out, she did it though, well done Kiera.
Exhibit B: Anytime they were driving anywhere, doing pretty much anything that wasn't talking a song came on that was basically mumbley rap until they got to the chorus which was simply "Motherf-er" yelled really really loudly.
Exhibit C: The incredibly awkward lap dances, strippers, and sex scene in the desert after they had been drugged and survived a really bad Winnebago accident. Yeah that's right Winnebago accident.
Exhibit D: Brian Austin Green and Ian Ziering were a part of the cast. Still can't figure this one out.
After all of that it was still entertaining. Although I told some people I would practice my karate kicks in the aisle, some guy sat next to me at the last minute and ruined my whole plan to make Domino interactive. I think Erin bribed him to sit there so I couldn't get out. A plague on your house. Crap, no plague, strike the plague, that's my house too. Strike it, we've worked with Corky before.
The higher notes:
It did give me the inclination to walk in slow motion with bullets strapped around my torso.
You will never hear me say "My name is Tiffany Matalone and I am a bounty hunter." At least not for real. I have been turned off by that profession.
It was free.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Voices in my head
Random thoughts of the day....
- Why do I think some people look British? I never think hey, that guy looks Polish...
- Why do people train their children to say things like He/she beeped, bonked, fluffed, and my all time favorite bunnied when someone farts?
-Why did my dad fart in our tent and then shut me and my cousins in
it? Man, fudgesicles lost there appeal that night.
- Why would you pay money for Accidental Death insurance if you have life insurance? You're dead who cares if it was an accident.
- Why does work feel like camp today? could it be the peeper that keeps looking over the top of my cube and making farting noises?
- Beverly Hills. Why would anyone want to being there?
-I think I am channeling my alter ego 60's Tiffany. This is the last time I am going to do my hair like this. Scary.
-Why do the lines in the parking lot have to be yellow?
-The bathroom here smells like my pre-school. weird.
-Why do I always assume when something goes missing it has been stolen? When will I understand no one wants to take one of my socks out of the laundry and bring it home with them?
-I really think I would be good at karate, kung fu some form of asian fighting. hi-yah. I want to be a spy. A karate-ing spy.
-I hate drug tiers.
Proof that I do have an inner monologue
- Why do I think some people look British? I never think hey, that guy looks Polish...
- Why do people train their children to say things like He/she beeped, bonked, fluffed, and my all time favorite bunnied when someone farts?
-Why did my dad fart in our tent and then shut me and my cousins in
it? Man, fudgesicles lost there appeal that night.
- Why would you pay money for Accidental Death insurance if you have life insurance? You're dead who cares if it was an accident.
- Why does work feel like camp today? could it be the peeper that keeps looking over the top of my cube and making farting noises?
- Beverly Hills. Why would anyone want to being there?
-I think I am channeling my alter ego 60's Tiffany. This is the last time I am going to do my hair like this. Scary.
-Why do the lines in the parking lot have to be yellow?
-The bathroom here smells like my pre-school. weird.
-Why do I always assume when something goes missing it has been stolen? When will I understand no one wants to take one of my socks out of the laundry and bring it home with them?
-I really think I would be good at karate, kung fu some form of asian fighting. hi-yah. I want to be a spy. A karate-ing spy.
-I hate drug tiers.
Proof that I do have an inner monologue
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
C'mon get happy!
Thank you Shalinn for tipping me off to this website. Sorry to the eternal optimists out there, this is going to be a debby downer blog today.
It could be that the purpose of your life is to serve as a warning to others.
When the winds of change blow hard enough, the most trivial of things can turn into deadly projectiles.
Despair.com. Go. See. Laugh so hard a little pee comes out.
It could be that the purpose of your life is to serve as a warning to others.
When the winds of change blow hard enough, the most trivial of things can turn into deadly projectiles.
Despair.com. Go. See. Laugh so hard a little pee comes out.
Monday, October 24, 2005
How do you spell awkward?
D-A-D-S-F-R-I-E-N-D-S.
My dad called Saturday to invite me to a dinner he was making. I, not being a fool, said yes. (My dad is an amazing cook, this specific dinner was gourmet Italian, it was friggin awesome.) He invited all of the friends over that helped with my parents house a year and a half ago. (Maybe not the best about being timely with thank you dinners.) I especially appreciated the guy I know he invited over because he wants us to date. I know this because anytime I come home he mentions this guy, and how he should build me a website. In my dad's language that means, "you better up and marry this one little lady.You ain't gettin' any younger." Well subtract the hickness of that sentence, keep the basic principle.I stayed upstairs most of the night as to avoid the strange man that was acting like an eight year old, and randomly told me his aunt lives in Hoboken.(No idea if that is spelled right.) Apparently it is really cool if anyone wants to visit I know a guy. Dinner continued the perpetual freak show that is my life when my dad's best friend wouldn't stop telling me and everyone else there how good I looked. (For those of you who don't know me well I get really awkward and usually will turn a not so flattering shade of purple when people talk about how "good I look.") Everyone starts staring and saying very monotone "oh yeah, so pretty...blah blah blah" (It sounded very pre-recorded. Like it was playing from the stereo and they were all just moving their lips. Out of body experience for sure.)All of the sudden I am the new animal at the zoo that was forced into a cage and carted off to some new fake habitat so all the natives of the area can see the Japanese pigeon and ohh and awww at its odd colored feathers. I turn red, bury my head in the table cloth, and my eyes begin to well up with tears. I know it sounds crazy. I just don't deal with that kind of attention well. Obviously. I felt like a 13 year old all over again. Awkward, not knowing how to handle all the changes going on in my body, voice cracking. Okay so I guess just the first one. My dad kept winking at me, his friend kept hugging me (very uncle geoffry from Bridget Jones' Diary). At least I am loved, and apparently look good to men twice my age. What else is new...
After months of using the outdoors as my workout facility, I have graced the gym with my presence. After getting sufficiently pissed that 24 hour fitness is going to make me pay $80 to transfer to a smaller less equipped gym, as well as not allowing me to get the $25 a month fee, I went and EFX-ed off my rage. Pretty sure the guy "helping" me didn't know how to deal with a blunt woman. I told him what I was wanting (to start going to the new gym because it is closer to my house)and he kept showing me a $900 package. I understand he's a salesman, but when I tell you exactly what I want, not to mention I already paid an enrollment fee why would you continually harass me. I don't like to work out that much anyway. All I want is to be able to go to this gym not the other one! I will continue going to my old location. Which brings me to my next point, well not really, but here is my next point anyway. I hate inner thigh work out machines for two reasons.
A. In between reps you have to either lift your legs over the pad thingies or sit there with your knees 3 feet apart for 20 seconds. I choose to sit there and look as comfortable as possible in one of the most unflattering positions a person can do in a public.
B. My legs hurt real bad today. I feel like I was in a bull riding contest yesterday. The bull won. The reason I hate horses is the pain I am feeling today. Why do I do this to myself?
My dad called Saturday to invite me to a dinner he was making. I, not being a fool, said yes. (My dad is an amazing cook, this specific dinner was gourmet Italian, it was friggin awesome.) He invited all of the friends over that helped with my parents house a year and a half ago. (Maybe not the best about being timely with thank you dinners.) I especially appreciated the guy I know he invited over because he wants us to date. I know this because anytime I come home he mentions this guy, and how he should build me a website. In my dad's language that means, "you better up and marry this one little lady.You ain't gettin' any younger." Well subtract the hickness of that sentence, keep the basic principle.I stayed upstairs most of the night as to avoid the strange man that was acting like an eight year old, and randomly told me his aunt lives in Hoboken.(No idea if that is spelled right.) Apparently it is really cool if anyone wants to visit I know a guy. Dinner continued the perpetual freak show that is my life when my dad's best friend wouldn't stop telling me and everyone else there how good I looked. (For those of you who don't know me well I get really awkward and usually will turn a not so flattering shade of purple when people talk about how "good I look.") Everyone starts staring and saying very monotone "oh yeah, so pretty...blah blah blah" (It sounded very pre-recorded. Like it was playing from the stereo and they were all just moving their lips. Out of body experience for sure.)All of the sudden I am the new animal at the zoo that was forced into a cage and carted off to some new fake habitat so all the natives of the area can see the Japanese pigeon and ohh and awww at its odd colored feathers. I turn red, bury my head in the table cloth, and my eyes begin to well up with tears. I know it sounds crazy. I just don't deal with that kind of attention well. Obviously. I felt like a 13 year old all over again. Awkward, not knowing how to handle all the changes going on in my body, voice cracking. Okay so I guess just the first one. My dad kept winking at me, his friend kept hugging me (very uncle geoffry from Bridget Jones' Diary). At least I am loved, and apparently look good to men twice my age. What else is new...
After months of using the outdoors as my workout facility, I have graced the gym with my presence. After getting sufficiently pissed that 24 hour fitness is going to make me pay $80 to transfer to a smaller less equipped gym, as well as not allowing me to get the $25 a month fee, I went and EFX-ed off my rage. Pretty sure the guy "helping" me didn't know how to deal with a blunt woman. I told him what I was wanting (to start going to the new gym because it is closer to my house)and he kept showing me a $900 package. I understand he's a salesman, but when I tell you exactly what I want, not to mention I already paid an enrollment fee why would you continually harass me. I don't like to work out that much anyway. All I want is to be able to go to this gym not the other one! I will continue going to my old location. Which brings me to my next point, well not really, but here is my next point anyway. I hate inner thigh work out machines for two reasons.
A. In between reps you have to either lift your legs over the pad thingies or sit there with your knees 3 feet apart for 20 seconds. I choose to sit there and look as comfortable as possible in one of the most unflattering positions a person can do in a public.
B. My legs hurt real bad today. I feel like I was in a bull riding contest yesterday. The bull won. The reason I hate horses is the pain I am feeling today. Why do I do this to myself?
Friday, October 21, 2005
It's cool to pee your pants
My cooking has been redeemed!!! Last night I apprehensively made my way back into the kitchen. After last weeks shake n' bake incident, I had no plans of shakin or bakin anytime soon, but around 2:00 I really was wanting pumpkin bread. So I mustered up some courage and pulled out my kitchen aid. I have to say it was pretty dang good. It would have been better if I would have known 1 serving meant 2 loaves so I didn't double it, but at least I didn't get sick and have a cake and 2 loaves of bread I couldn't feed anyone.
Here it is the moment of the week, which happened only one week ago...
Now I am not really one to have celebrity crushes. I never had dreams that Kirk Cameron showed up at my 13th birthday party and started making out with me or anything. But o my word I love Orlando Bloom! (I have yet to have a dream that he shows up at my 13th birthday party either, maybe my 24th, but definitely not 13th.) Perhaps his intrigue is the fact that most of his roles involve sword fighting, and real bloody manly stuff. That sounds like I am British. Do over...real manly bloody stuff. Nothing quite like a man in chainmail. I don't really know what that means. Anyway, I have been on Elizabethtown countdown for awhile now, and you better believe I was there last Friday night. Shalinn and I had stopped at Chipotle to get some food and drink to bring along. After racing across the street to the movie theater I stopped to go to the bathroom, shocking I know. I was walking out of the bathroom when my very full cup slipped out of my hand popping the lid off. I tried to catch it with my crotch. Why I thought my crotch would catch it better than my other hand I have no idea, but I caught it alright. Half of my diet coke was in the crotch/upper thigh region of my pants. I was all by my self, laughing hysterically, and looking like a freaking mental institution escapee who somehow managed to prove science wrong by being a somewhat functional human being. ( Just imagine yourself at a movie theater. You round a corner and see a young woman by herself laughing at what appears to be nothing to the point of crying. She also seems to have lost all bladder control and wet herself. Now you have the visual of anyone who was lucky enough to be roaming around AMC 30 last Friday got to see.) Still enjoyed the movie, with the exception of the 20 minute eulogy. Cameron Crowe knows his music though Ryan Adams was in there a lot.
Here it is the moment of the week, which happened only one week ago...
Now I am not really one to have celebrity crushes. I never had dreams that Kirk Cameron showed up at my 13th birthday party and started making out with me or anything. But o my word I love Orlando Bloom! (I have yet to have a dream that he shows up at my 13th birthday party either, maybe my 24th, but definitely not 13th.) Perhaps his intrigue is the fact that most of his roles involve sword fighting, and real bloody manly stuff. That sounds like I am British. Do over...real manly bloody stuff. Nothing quite like a man in chainmail. I don't really know what that means. Anyway, I have been on Elizabethtown countdown for awhile now, and you better believe I was there last Friday night. Shalinn and I had stopped at Chipotle to get some food and drink to bring along. After racing across the street to the movie theater I stopped to go to the bathroom, shocking I know. I was walking out of the bathroom when my very full cup slipped out of my hand popping the lid off. I tried to catch it with my crotch. Why I thought my crotch would catch it better than my other hand I have no idea, but I caught it alright. Half of my diet coke was in the crotch/upper thigh region of my pants. I was all by my self, laughing hysterically, and looking like a freaking mental institution escapee who somehow managed to prove science wrong by being a somewhat functional human being. ( Just imagine yourself at a movie theater. You round a corner and see a young woman by herself laughing at what appears to be nothing to the point of crying. She also seems to have lost all bladder control and wet herself. Now you have the visual of anyone who was lucky enough to be roaming around AMC 30 last Friday got to see.) Still enjoyed the movie, with the exception of the 20 minute eulogy. Cameron Crowe knows his music though Ryan Adams was in there a lot.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Was that a raindrop or drool, I will never tell
Does anyone pity the fool who likes listening to really depressing music on a rainy day? Well pity away, because it is a wonderful day for some depressing music. I couldn't be more happy to put in some emo and drive away from work a satisfied lady. Praise the Lord for rain and music.
I just drooled on myself. Not just a little bit, a lot. Were talking looks like I fell asleep on my chair for 2 hours pool here. (This has nothing to do with the aforementioned rain, music, or satisfaction.) How a mass amount of spit escaped my mouth, and entered the world at record speed I don't know. Luckily I was the only one who saw.
I better stop posting stuff like that or I am going to end up single and the proud owner of a herd of alley cats that I rescued in my spare time.
Or attract men who like slobbery, smelly, clumsy, and totally fabulous women whose families are slightly less than normal. I won't be worried until I start talking to cats like they are humans, or start meowing like I am one of them. I don't know which comes first in that particular downward spiral. The good news is if I do let my life go down the tubes in E True Hollywood story style I already have an action figure to go with the plan. I had never intended on saying "my life is total crap, but at least I have my own action figure," but I also never thought that I would poison myself with my own food. What can I say life is completely unpredictable.
I just drooled on myself. Not just a little bit, a lot. Were talking looks like I fell asleep on my chair for 2 hours pool here. (This has nothing to do with the aforementioned rain, music, or satisfaction.) How a mass amount of spit escaped my mouth, and entered the world at record speed I don't know. Luckily I was the only one who saw.
I better stop posting stuff like that or I am going to end up single and the proud owner of a herd of alley cats that I rescued in my spare time.
Or attract men who like slobbery, smelly, clumsy, and totally fabulous women whose families are slightly less than normal. I won't be worried until I start talking to cats like they are humans, or start meowing like I am one of them. I don't know which comes first in that particular downward spiral. The good news is if I do let my life go down the tubes in E True Hollywood story style I already have an action figure to go with the plan. I had never intended on saying "my life is total crap, but at least I have my own action figure," but I also never thought that I would poison myself with my own food. What can I say life is completely unpredictable.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
The Incoherent Babble of a Worn Out Woman
I am back and ready for action, and by action I mean sleep. I don't understand how people actually live in New York City. I think my limbs are going to fall off which would actually be okay with me right now because my desk is lacking a pillow and if I could just lay my head on my leg it would be wonderful.
I really thought I would come back with tales of me doing something absolutely ludicrous and getting myself into a situation that no one ever really believes, but nods and smiles so as not to awake the sleeping beast.(me.) Fear not the sleeping beast! I think I actually learned to keep my mouth shut. (I'll wait a second to let the shock wear off.) We stayed in Spanish Harlem, so we were pretty much the only white people in sight. Amidst the "Hey baby's," and the " you like to party!, YOU LIKE TO PARTY!" (apparently we looked like the the types that stripped off our sweaters to reveal sequined tube tops, and traded our flip flops for 5 inch stilettos. Or we looked hungover. ) I didn't make one remark, not one. Didn't even try to swing at them with my now useless arm. Slightly different atmosphere I guess. Not as worried about someone knifing me to death (fully aware "knifing me to death" is my own creation, not actual street terminology for stabbing) at the McDonald's on Antioch as I am a block and a half away from some of the freakin most dangerous low income housing in the country. Nonetheless, I think I may have made a huge step in not verbally assaulting those who objectify me and my friends. Well done brain to mouth interaction, nice to see you working for once in my life.
Lesson learned: Gang life isn't for me. It took so much energy not to lunge at or even give the evil eye to someone making completely inappropriate comments I will be tired for weeks. It is good to see that I am really making no progress in the grace category. Maybe gang life is for me. " Look at me like that again and I'll cut you." Yep, Sounds like me.
While in Chinatown I took to my usual bargaining strategies. (Spare me the lecture on how these people are poor and they need all the money I can give them because I am a rich legal citizen. I saw how many freaking bags they sold for about $35 each. Plus, I think they enjoy the bargaining just as much as I do.) I walk into one shop and ask how much a certain perfume was. "$35" the man said. It was the end of the day and I had $20 left. That's it $20. I am sure everyone reading this understands that I had how many dollars? That's right, $20. How many times did that take you to understand? Probably once, maybe twice if you are half asleep dreaming you were sleeping on one of your removed legs...oh wait you probably aren't as demented as I am. I start to walk away and tell him I only have $20. (I knew there was no way he would come down $15 in the price, I am good, I'm not that good.)
He says "for you $30"
I say "I only have $20."
He says "big bottle, $30."
I look at him with a "you have got to be kidding me" look and again say " I really only have $20"
he says " big bottle."
"Seriously man, $20. That's all I have."
I walk away. The screams of $30 and big bottle followed me as I left, and still haunt me 24 hours later.
Lesson learned: Walk away when the vendor says far over the price you are willing or able to pay, otherwise you are stuck in a conversation with a man whose knowledge of the English language is apparently limited to 35, 30, dollars, for you, big, and bottle. Oh the magnetic poetry that could be made with those glorious words. Wait "big for you bottle dollars 30" isn't good, or funny which is the whole point of magnetic poetry.
I really thought I would come back with tales of me doing something absolutely ludicrous and getting myself into a situation that no one ever really believes, but nods and smiles so as not to awake the sleeping beast.(me.) Fear not the sleeping beast! I think I actually learned to keep my mouth shut. (I'll wait a second to let the shock wear off.) We stayed in Spanish Harlem, so we were pretty much the only white people in sight. Amidst the "Hey baby's," and the " you like to party!, YOU LIKE TO PARTY!" (apparently we looked like the the types that stripped off our sweaters to reveal sequined tube tops, and traded our flip flops for 5 inch stilettos. Or we looked hungover. ) I didn't make one remark, not one. Didn't even try to swing at them with my now useless arm. Slightly different atmosphere I guess. Not as worried about someone knifing me to death (fully aware "knifing me to death" is my own creation, not actual street terminology for stabbing) at the McDonald's on Antioch as I am a block and a half away from some of the freakin most dangerous low income housing in the country. Nonetheless, I think I may have made a huge step in not verbally assaulting those who objectify me and my friends. Well done brain to mouth interaction, nice to see you working for once in my life.
Lesson learned: Gang life isn't for me. It took so much energy not to lunge at or even give the evil eye to someone making completely inappropriate comments I will be tired for weeks. It is good to see that I am really making no progress in the grace category. Maybe gang life is for me. " Look at me like that again and I'll cut you." Yep, Sounds like me.
While in Chinatown I took to my usual bargaining strategies. (Spare me the lecture on how these people are poor and they need all the money I can give them because I am a rich legal citizen. I saw how many freaking bags they sold for about $35 each. Plus, I think they enjoy the bargaining just as much as I do.) I walk into one shop and ask how much a certain perfume was. "$35" the man said. It was the end of the day and I had $20 left. That's it $20. I am sure everyone reading this understands that I had how many dollars? That's right, $20. How many times did that take you to understand? Probably once, maybe twice if you are half asleep dreaming you were sleeping on one of your removed legs...oh wait you probably aren't as demented as I am. I start to walk away and tell him I only have $20. (I knew there was no way he would come down $15 in the price, I am good, I'm not that good.)
He says "for you $30"
I say "I only have $20."
He says "big bottle, $30."
I look at him with a "you have got to be kidding me" look and again say " I really only have $20"
he says " big bottle."
"Seriously man, $20. That's all I have."
I walk away. The screams of $30 and big bottle followed me as I left, and still haunt me 24 hours later.
Lesson learned: Walk away when the vendor says far over the price you are willing or able to pay, otherwise you are stuck in a conversation with a man whose knowledge of the English language is apparently limited to 35, 30, dollars, for you, big, and bottle. Oh the magnetic poetry that could be made with those glorious words. Wait "big for you bottle dollars 30" isn't good, or funny which is the whole point of magnetic poetry.
Friday, October 14, 2005
Anthrax, Sars, and Shake and Bake.
In a world where diseases are spreading faster than poofy-haired, middle-aged women can get to a George Strait concert, it wasn't Sars or that Chicken Flu Erin keeps talking about that left me completely incapacitated last night...it was my cooking.(earsplitting scream)Oh the horror. I decided I would finally make the shake and bake that I bought about 2 months ago (the packet, not the chicken), and it came back to haunt me. It was the kind of sick that makes you debate what end to put over the toilet, and pray that it comes out your mouth first. Di-freakin'-gusting, and painful. Sorry to those of you who have eaten food I have made, and been left sick, stranded, and hopefully near a toilet. I have tasted my own medicine, and it is bitter.
Moving on from the o-so-lovely world of intestinal issues and bowel movements.
I don't have anything that is horrendously embarrassing to report today all I can think of are snipets of moments that I to this day try to suppress Like:
*The time my parents thought it would be a good idea for me to model a bikini in front of their friends. I was 12 and I was mortified. Don't worry I looked awesome, I mean come on a twelve year old girl who hasn't hit puberty and still looks like she is 8. Why not flaunt my under developed body to the masses? Needless to say the bikini went back the next day. 4 years later they couldn't get me to put enough clothes on."You shouldn't even be wearing that in the house let alone in front of teenage boys." "But Mom it's zebra stripes!" " It also is made of about 3 inches of fabric." How I ever thought reiterating the very obvious fact that it was zebra stripes would convince her to let me wear a very little swimsuit is beyond me.
*Any picture of me between the ages of 12 and 18 well really 19.
* The time when I kept crashing my airplane on this program in technology class in 7th grade ( I know it sounds totally lame, but it was actually cool) and the really cute teacher told me it was because I never put down my landing gear. Duh.
* The fact that I have a tendency to walk into glass more often than I would like to admit. Did it last weekend. Did it once at Sears. I don't know why I think I live in a world without doors. Sometimes I stop paying attention, and apparently you'll know when that happens because I will walk straight into sheets of glass. Hang around me enough and I am bound to fall, trip, run into something, often with nothing to cause it.
*The time I was in a seemingly empty grocery store with a very loud man who has no shame and he thought it would be funny to ask very loudly where the condoms were in his most "I grew up in the backwoods, and have never used indoor plumbing before" voice.(We were in the frozen foods aisle at the time, so clearly we weren't actually looking for that.) At that moment an old couple rounded the corner and gave us the most disgusted look. He of course thought it was hilarious, I wanted to climb into the lobster tank.
Final Note:
I answered my phone last night to a fat albert impression by my mom. I think she had too many glasses of coffee or something. I mean don't get me wrong my mamma's a funny lady, but she has never been one to do impressions, dance strangely yes, but impressions, not so much. Lucky for me she had just seen fat albert and couldn't stop saying "hey hey hey" last night. Well done mom I support any more impressions you want to do, keeps me on my toes.
Moving on from the o-so-lovely world of intestinal issues and bowel movements.
I don't have anything that is horrendously embarrassing to report today all I can think of are snipets of moments that I to this day try to suppress Like:
*The time my parents thought it would be a good idea for me to model a bikini in front of their friends. I was 12 and I was mortified. Don't worry I looked awesome, I mean come on a twelve year old girl who hasn't hit puberty and still looks like she is 8. Why not flaunt my under developed body to the masses? Needless to say the bikini went back the next day. 4 years later they couldn't get me to put enough clothes on."You shouldn't even be wearing that in the house let alone in front of teenage boys." "But Mom it's zebra stripes!" " It also is made of about 3 inches of fabric." How I ever thought reiterating the very obvious fact that it was zebra stripes would convince her to let me wear a very little swimsuit is beyond me.
*Any picture of me between the ages of 12 and 18 well really 19.
* The time when I kept crashing my airplane on this program in technology class in 7th grade ( I know it sounds totally lame, but it was actually cool) and the really cute teacher told me it was because I never put down my landing gear. Duh.
* The fact that I have a tendency to walk into glass more often than I would like to admit. Did it last weekend. Did it once at Sears. I don't know why I think I live in a world without doors. Sometimes I stop paying attention, and apparently you'll know when that happens because I will walk straight into sheets of glass. Hang around me enough and I am bound to fall, trip, run into something, often with nothing to cause it.
*The time I was in a seemingly empty grocery store with a very loud man who has no shame and he thought it would be funny to ask very loudly where the condoms were in his most "I grew up in the backwoods, and have never used indoor plumbing before" voice.(We were in the frozen foods aisle at the time, so clearly we weren't actually looking for that.) At that moment an old couple rounded the corner and gave us the most disgusted look. He of course thought it was hilarious, I wanted to climb into the lobster tank.
Final Note:
I answered my phone last night to a fat albert impression by my mom. I think she had too many glasses of coffee or something. I mean don't get me wrong my mamma's a funny lady, but she has never been one to do impressions, dance strangely yes, but impressions, not so much. Lucky for me she had just seen fat albert and couldn't stop saying "hey hey hey" last night. Well done mom I support any more impressions you want to do, keeps me on my toes.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Things that make you say "What?"
Alright so another tale from the bizarro world that I call my own. I was looking for a packing list online that would suit my needs for this weekends jaunt to New York. I am mildly impaired when it comes to packing. I always forget things that are necessity aka shampoo, deodorant, shoes (okay not shoes.) I opt to pack the latter as opposed to the former for days where I want to do my best Mary Kate Olsen impression. 
If I show up looking like this, Keeley I give you permission to shoot me and make it look like an accident. The odd part of this story isn't that I forget shampoo, it is some of the items that showed up on the list of things I should pack. (Mind you I specified weather, location, and form of travel [air] etc.)
1. Sarong...70 degrees and under, where am I wearing a sarong to?
2. Palestinian scarf...what?
3. Morning gown, I don't even know what that is.
4. small box, again what?
5. Mosquito net...is something going on in New York that I don't know about?
6. Pepper Spray Canister, on vacation? Seriously?
7. Two way radios...breaker breaker 136 there is a bandit list writer on the loose.
Maybe by airplane they thought I meant 18-wheeler.
8. rubber door stop...good maybe I will finally be able to keep all those doors open
9. timestables, just in case I begin thinking 2 x 2 = 392. Right, okay I get this
one. timestables, check.
A side note, they also said I should memorize all my credit card #'s, and find hospitals in the area that take my insurance.
Okay admit it whose grandma wrote this list? Honestly. Sarah is that British grandma of yours telling me a morning gown, and
a small box are necessary? She's really lost it this time.
If I show up looking like this, Keeley I give you permission to shoot me and make it look like an accident. The odd part of this story isn't that I forget shampoo, it is some of the items that showed up on the list of things I should pack. (Mind you I specified weather, location, and form of travel [air] etc.)1. Sarong...70 degrees and under, where am I wearing a sarong to?
2. Palestinian scarf...what?
3. Morning gown, I don't even know what that is.
4. small box, again what?
5. Mosquito net...is something going on in New York that I don't know about?
6. Pepper Spray Canister, on vacation? Seriously?
7. Two way radios...breaker breaker 136 there is a bandit list writer on the loose.
Maybe by airplane they thought I meant 18-wheeler.
8. rubber door stop...good maybe I will finally be able to keep all those doors open
9. timestables, just in case I begin thinking 2 x 2 = 392. Right, okay I get this
one. timestables, check.
A side note, they also said I should memorize all my credit card #'s, and find hospitals in the area that take my insurance.
Okay admit it whose grandma wrote this list? Honestly. Sarah is that British grandma of yours telling me a morning gown, and
a small box are necessary? She's really lost it this time.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
It's just you and me and a lot of sucky music
I have been very disappointed in the lack of good music that has been coming out lately. I have actually resorted to listening to the radio, something that I have never really done. If I have to sit through that damn lifehouse song again I fear I may cause harm to anyone who happens to be around me. I get it. It's you, It's me, some people, nothing to do, nothing to prove. Sounds to me like you're bored, maybe you should find some music that hasn't been on the radio every eight minutes for the last 3 weeks. Geeez. I thought I may have a new obsession on the horizon when Ryan Adams new CD came out a couple of weeks ago, sadly I was very wrong. I absolutely love Ryan, drug habit and all, however I cannot sit through another twangy minute of that CD. By far my least favorite of all of dear Ryan's stuff. (Totally understand I could lose mass quantities of credibility from my Adams loving friends. Sorry, I like what I like.)Luckily, he has one more album coming out this year, and his previous release Cold Roses is still in pretty heavy rotation for me, love it. Let's pray he hasn't gone twangy old country for good. Until then the coral, aqualung, and spoon are going to have to do it for me. O yea and lifehouse*.
*I actually like some lifehouse. I do not like radio stations and their tendency to put the repeat button on songs until they are so far past the point of bearable I am glad it is against the law to carry firearms in your car.
If anyone has any suggestions to get me out of my rut, I would welcome anything new and of the non suck variety.
*I actually like some lifehouse. I do not like radio stations and their tendency to put the repeat button on songs until they are so far past the point of bearable I am glad it is against the law to carry firearms in your car.
If anyone has any suggestions to get me out of my rut, I would welcome anything new and of the non suck variety.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Home is where the weird is...
This weekend was probably one of the most quotable weekends of my existence. It was awesome!
Friday night I had the privilege of being part of the Mclain's street team for their new shoe store downtown. Sarah and I began the evening by walking around passing out fliers. We are approaching a couple and instead of explaining what we were doing Sarah simply states "I've got Fliers!" They looked sufficiently confused, but took the flier so mission accomplished. I think I laughed for 10 minutes straight. At the end of the gut wrenching laughter we came upon some young women who tell us they will take our fliers if we take theirs. (In my experience the you do this and I will do this scenario rarely works to my advantage, but I took my chances.) I don't have the exact flier but this lovely photo should give you an idea of what our eyes got to behold that fateful evening.?
Can't even begin to explain. Not even going to try. Finally, we were walking down the street and we hear a voice from above. No, it wasn't the audible voice of God. It was a very flamboyant man proclaiming through a speaker he had rigged up on the street that the "Mommy, baby, doggy fashion show would commence in 5 minutes." We obviously chose to stay. Really not much to see, lots of chaos in a small
space, dogs doing what comes naturally. Totally inappropriate, also totally funny.
The next morning I arose and went to visit the fam in the great city of Topeka. It has become increasingly apparent to me that everytime I go home to visit my family I come back with some story that is guaranteed to make people say "What the hell?" and is followed by uproarious laughter. (Not quite sure if they are getting weirder or the prolonged time away from T-town has actually made me more normal.) Most if not all involve one of two people. My dad, or my sister Courtney. I had been home for a couple hours when my dad comes in and asks me to move my car because he can't get the tractor out of the garage. This elicits my response of "Huh?" My parents live in suburban Topeka, not rural Alabama. What in the world do they need a tractor for? In my mind that is still yet to be determined. I do know for the remainder of the time I was at home he was driving his glorified lawnmower around the yard. In his defense he has a very green, healthy looking lawn, which I do not. Maybe I need to invest in a tractor. Hmmmm...maybe not. John "the notoriously notorious" Matalone strikes again. Look for stories including "My Murdered Hamster", "Doin' the bump with Harry", "XXXL Rapper sweatshirts," "Illegal Fireworks, beer, and the cops...3 things that maybe don't mix" and "South Dakota is big (edited) country." (I didn't want to put cock in my blog) Things this good can't be made up, they have to be lived, unfortunately by me...well maybe fortunately. I do like a good story.
One final quote for ya'
In what was obviously a momentary lapse of judgment I asked the question
"Do the 49er's still exist?" The large amounts of laughter and no answer was all the response I needed to know that yes the do indeed still exist, and No, I am not really an NFL fan. Hey I never claimed to be...did I?
Friday night I had the privilege of being part of the Mclain's street team for their new shoe store downtown. Sarah and I began the evening by walking around passing out fliers. We are approaching a couple and instead of explaining what we were doing Sarah simply states "I've got Fliers!" They looked sufficiently confused, but took the flier so mission accomplished. I think I laughed for 10 minutes straight. At the end of the gut wrenching laughter we came upon some young women who tell us they will take our fliers if we take theirs. (In my experience the you do this and I will do this scenario rarely works to my advantage, but I took my chances.) I don't have the exact flier but this lovely photo should give you an idea of what our eyes got to behold that fateful evening.?
Can't even begin to explain. Not even going to try. Finally, we were walking down the street and we hear a voice from above. No, it wasn't the audible voice of God. It was a very flamboyant man proclaiming through a speaker he had rigged up on the street that the "Mommy, baby, doggy fashion show would commence in 5 minutes." We obviously chose to stay. Really not much to see, lots of chaos in a small
space, dogs doing what comes naturally. Totally inappropriate, also totally funny.
The next morning I arose and went to visit the fam in the great city of Topeka. It has become increasingly apparent to me that everytime I go home to visit my family I come back with some story that is guaranteed to make people say "What the hell?" and is followed by uproarious laughter. (Not quite sure if they are getting weirder or the prolonged time away from T-town has actually made me more normal.) Most if not all involve one of two people. My dad, or my sister Courtney. I had been home for a couple hours when my dad comes in and asks me to move my car because he can't get the tractor out of the garage. This elicits my response of "Huh?" My parents live in suburban Topeka, not rural Alabama. What in the world do they need a tractor for? In my mind that is still yet to be determined. I do know for the remainder of the time I was at home he was driving his glorified lawnmower around the yard. In his defense he has a very green, healthy looking lawn, which I do not. Maybe I need to invest in a tractor. Hmmmm...maybe not. John "the notoriously notorious" Matalone strikes again. Look for stories including "My Murdered Hamster", "Doin' the bump with Harry", "XXXL Rapper sweatshirts," "Illegal Fireworks, beer, and the cops...3 things that maybe don't mix" and "South Dakota is big (edited) country." (I didn't want to put cock in my blog) Things this good can't be made up, they have to be lived, unfortunately by me...well maybe fortunately. I do like a good story.
One final quote for ya'
In what was obviously a momentary lapse of judgment I asked the question
"Do the 49er's still exist?" The large amounts of laughter and no answer was all the response I needed to know that yes the do indeed still exist, and No, I am not really an NFL fan. Hey I never claimed to be...did I?
Friday, October 07, 2005
Grace
Ah yes, it is the most glorious freaking cold day ever! Let's talk about things that are awesome.
1. Getting lunch catered in
2. Getting done with a week long project.
3. The office buying massages for everyone who works there.
4. Weekend in 3 1/2 hours.
5. Vacation in 1 week.
I am currently doing a dance in my cube. Hair tossing and all.
I suppose I owe what I have promised, another quality embarrassing moment from the vault of millions.
Moment # 3
Last fall we went to Argosy casino for MAP. I know what you are thinking, " Hey, I supported her last year, and she went to casinos under the guise of MAP." My response is "Yep, thanks for helping me out with my habit." Just Kidding.
We decided it would be fun to video tape some of the things we did for MAP. Somehow I was given control of a video camera. (Don't ask me how, balancing while attempting to tie my shoe is a hard enough thing for me to do. Giving me a video camera and asking me to talk, walk, or be my normal witty self is utterly pointless.) I was filming as we were pulling up to the casino and for some reason thought I needed to film as I was getting out of the bus. I don't even make it down one step before literally falling face first out of the bus onto the blacktop. No clue how I didn't break anything, I probably faceplanted from about 4 feet up, a belly flop onto cement if you will. If the utter humiliation of doing that in front of about 20 people + any innocent bystanders wasn't enough it was deemed worthy for the MAP supporter luncheon video. So a whole new slew of people got to see the camera as it went crashing onto the ground.
Well done tiff, well done.
1. Getting lunch catered in
2. Getting done with a week long project.
3. The office buying massages for everyone who works there.
4. Weekend in 3 1/2 hours.
5. Vacation in 1 week.
I am currently doing a dance in my cube. Hair tossing and all.
I suppose I owe what I have promised, another quality embarrassing moment from the vault of millions.
Moment # 3
Last fall we went to Argosy casino for MAP. I know what you are thinking, " Hey, I supported her last year, and she went to casinos under the guise of MAP." My response is "Yep, thanks for helping me out with my habit." Just Kidding.
We decided it would be fun to video tape some of the things we did for MAP. Somehow I was given control of a video camera. (Don't ask me how, balancing while attempting to tie my shoe is a hard enough thing for me to do. Giving me a video camera and asking me to talk, walk, or be my normal witty self is utterly pointless.) I was filming as we were pulling up to the casino and for some reason thought I needed to film as I was getting out of the bus. I don't even make it down one step before literally falling face first out of the bus onto the blacktop. No clue how I didn't break anything, I probably faceplanted from about 4 feet up, a belly flop onto cement if you will. If the utter humiliation of doing that in front of about 20 people + any innocent bystanders wasn't enough it was deemed worthy for the MAP supporter luncheon video. So a whole new slew of people got to see the camera as it went crashing onto the ground.
Well done tiff, well done.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
*WARNING* CONTENTS IS DISTURBING!!!
My assumption is that I am fast approaching a day when I will not have hours to spend on my computer writing blogs, but will actually have work to do. Until that day, I am here to entertain the masses. In the works for today, a list of things that will make me laugh when no one is around.
1. A man renouncing Satan at a baptism by declaring "I will kick Satan's ass."
2. This picture.
It makes me laugh, and cry all at the same time. What is wrong with people? (By people I mean Michael Jackson.)I believe it reads "That Pilates class was Rad! Sarah is so much fun to do pilates with. Michael Jackson: Pilates Guru" (http://www.littlebitofdrivel.blogspot.com/)
3. The image of the girl grinding with her boyfriend using not-so seductive hair tossing methods at the Coldplay concert. Seriously lady...it's coldplay not D'Angelo. Even if it was D'Angelo, I would still be laughing. I don't think I could replicate that move if I wanted to.
Sorry guys that's it for now. Gotta go work. Shock me shock me shock me with that deviant behavior.
1. A man renouncing Satan at a baptism by declaring "I will kick Satan's ass."
2. This picture.
It makes me laugh, and cry all at the same time. What is wrong with people? (By people I mean Michael Jackson.)I believe it reads "That Pilates class was Rad! Sarah is so much fun to do pilates with. Michael Jackson: Pilates Guru" (http://www.littlebitofdrivel.blogspot.com/)3. The image of the girl grinding with her boyfriend using not-so seductive hair tossing methods at the Coldplay concert. Seriously lady...it's coldplay not D'Angelo. Even if it was D'Angelo, I would still be laughing. I don't think I could replicate that move if I wanted to.
Sorry guys that's it for now. Gotta go work. Shock me shock me shock me with that deviant behavior.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Yipee kiya yeah!!!
I have had many broken dreams in my life. Stop Crying, they are funny now.
From a very young age I believed that I was destined to be the next Mariah Carey.( Come on people, HERO that's a moving piece of freaking music.)Then the earthshattering day arrived when I realized not only could I not sing like Mariah Carey, in fact I was lucky if I could sing "Livin' La Vida Loca" with the grace and poise of William Hung. Sorry to all my neighbors who had to sit through my obligatory singing rampages in the middle of my low budg renditions of whatever I thought up in my basement. Which brings me to my next broken dream. I always thought I would be a really good actress. Hence the "low budg renditions of whatever I thought up" that I would make my neighbors be in and charge our parents to come sit through.(You know you love your children, and are a devoted parent when you will pay to sit through some sort of production involving horrible singing, ill-fitting, ugly costumes, and your $100 piece of wood being demolished by the tapping of 10 children under the age of 10. I know I have just described hell for most of you. My parents are saints.) Seriously, I would write, direct, and be the lead in my own productions. I am realizing now that I am lucky to have friends, and also I have been very bossy for...well I think since birth. Anyway, on with the story. I thought
it would be great to change personalities for a while! I could be a cowgirl for 2 months, although I would severely question any casting director's judgment that thinks I could get on a horse and look anything but awkward. Maybe a ghetto cowgirl. Leather pants, boots, and me kickin' tail in the inner city. Who wouldn't want to watch that. I could be all sorts of people. I wonder if this is how multiple personalities begin to manifest themselves. Man, it's a tangent sort of day. I realized if acting was in my future (other than in my parents basement) I was going to have to move and be some sort of waitress . So I said to myself, Tiffany, you know what you need to do, insurance. I did it, I do sometimes ride my horse to work though. O wait, I hate horses. They hurt.
From a very young age I believed that I was destined to be the next Mariah Carey.( Come on people, HERO that's a moving piece of freaking music.)Then the earthshattering day arrived when I realized not only could I not sing like Mariah Carey, in fact I was lucky if I could sing "Livin' La Vida Loca" with the grace and poise of William Hung. Sorry to all my neighbors who had to sit through my obligatory singing rampages in the middle of my low budg renditions of whatever I thought up in my basement. Which brings me to my next broken dream. I always thought I would be a really good actress. Hence the "low budg renditions of whatever I thought up" that I would make my neighbors be in and charge our parents to come sit through.(You know you love your children, and are a devoted parent when you will pay to sit through some sort of production involving horrible singing, ill-fitting, ugly costumes, and your $100 piece of wood being demolished by the tapping of 10 children under the age of 10. I know I have just described hell for most of you. My parents are saints.) Seriously, I would write, direct, and be the lead in my own productions. I am realizing now that I am lucky to have friends, and also I have been very bossy for...well I think since birth. Anyway, on with the story. I thought
it would be great to change personalities for a while! I could be a cowgirl for 2 months, although I would severely question any casting director's judgment that thinks I could get on a horse and look anything but awkward. Maybe a ghetto cowgirl. Leather pants, boots, and me kickin' tail in the inner city. Who wouldn't want to watch that. I could be all sorts of people. I wonder if this is how multiple personalities begin to manifest themselves. Man, it's a tangent sort of day. I realized if acting was in my future (other than in my parents basement) I was going to have to move and be some sort of waitress . So I said to myself, Tiffany, you know what you need to do, insurance. I did it, I do sometimes ride my horse to work though. O wait, I hate horses. They hurt.
Monday, October 03, 2005
Heels, Deals, and Things that Sparkle
I have recently discovered that I am obsessed with 2 things. Shoes and being barefoot. Some sort of psychological help may be in my future. What kind of fool goes out and actually purchases shoes that may or may not be the correct size simply because they are ridiculously cheap/make your feet radiate brilliance like only truly unique shoes can just so they can take them off. I got two thumbs and a girl right here who would. I mean would Dorothy be Dorothy if she was wearing keds. (The answer is obviously yes, however the munchkins might hate her with the fire of a thousand suns. They also might point her in the direction of some putrid colored road that leads her nowhere near the majestic poppies or the land of OZ. I hear munchkins are temperamental.) My problem is in the fact that I am sitting at work right now with adorable shoes sitting under my desk because I would so much rather be barefoot. Sorry to my co-workers. Combining this with last weeks sweater fiasco I fear I may be fast approaching the nickname Tiffany "the smellatron" Matalone. I am one big ironic mess.
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