WOOOHOOO it's almost 2007!!!

To be honest 2006 is a year that I am glad to say goodbye to. But that does not in any way allow me to leave the year without my obligitory #'s rampage....

Favorite albums:
Keane Under the Iron Sea
The Fray ...which now seems so overplayed I really don't like it that much anyore.
Elton Johns greatest hits...don't knock it til you've tried it.
Rilo Kiley...pick anything I am obsessed.
Panic at the Disco

# of jobs: 4...I may need to work on that. I seem to always have a lot of jobs.

# of dates: I have no clue. I lost track. Trust that I most certainly have stories that make you question the type of men I attract...

# of children that told me they were probably going to cry during a certain part of full house: 3

# of weddings: 5

# of times I wished I didn't love diet coke due to the allergic reactions that it now causes: about 1 billion

# of crushes: 1...isn't that sad

# of That's so Raven episodes I had to endure: probably around 30...should be considered as a form of punishment for criminals....Mr. Smith you are being charged with assault and battery. You get a choice between 2 years in prision or 100 viewings of that's so Raven.

# of times I have been signed up for eharmony...by someone else: 1

# of accidents/ tickets: 1 yet again...

Favorite things of 2006:

24, twentyfour, kiefer
McAlisters sweet tea
Felicity...I know I know I am about 5 years late on that one
flat shoes...praise the Lord
riding boots...for all that horse riding I plan on doing
living on the plaza...LOVE IT!!!
leapord print

Not for the squeamish...

Most days at work are fun and fairly uneventful. Yesterday was not. I don't know if it was just because it was unbearably cold outside or if someone unloaded a truck full of rude laced with bitterness right outside our door. Everyone that came in acted as if we were responsible for not only the weather but also EVERY BAD THING THAT HAD EVER HAPPENED TO THEM. I turned a corner to put some jeans away and was met by a stare that could freeze alcohol. I politely asked if there was anything I could help her with. I was interrupted with the following

" I want some black pants that don't show my pubic hair."

Nevermind the fact saying the words pubic hair in the first sentence after meeting someone is weird, since when has the Gap been known for their crotchless pants? She also thought it was appropriate to completely bash teenagers, Christmas, and inform me that when I am in my late 50's I would understand. Okay, but until then I am going to try and stay off of the bitter train.

Existentialism...or maybe not

I am not going to try and apologize for not posting, mainly because I am not sorry. Let's talk about life for a second. Not in an existentialist sort of way. Don't worry I would never do that to you. I am going to talk about it in a "Holy crap, I am so busy I am lucky if I get to eat" way. I currently have 3 part time jobs, well 4 kind of. Let me tell you I will never go back to an 8-5 cube job again, ever. Even if it means I have to live in a cardboard box and eat ramen. I love being able to go out in the middle of the afternoon, getting to use my mad cooking skills, and getting a great discount at the GAP. That being said the cube job did allow me to post a lot more, partly out of boredom, partly out the convenience of having a computer right there. So to those of you who still check here, sorry I am not sorry for not getting to post often. I do miss getting to strech the creative writing muscle, but I love my life right now, so it is worth it. Oh yeah and if you want a GAP friends and family coupon let me know. I think it is the 30th of November through the 1st of December.

Seriously?!

So remember that time I wrote a post about how I was going to start posting more, and then I didn't....that was awesome.

Nothing amazingly funny has really happened...that was until last night. It has become a tradition for a group of us to meet up at 75th street brewery on Wednesday nights, primarily for the 75 cent beer they start serving at 10. This has been a fun and fairly uneventful occasion, that is until last night. I don't know who had the brain child of setting gourds all over a bar, but someone did. It started with gourds being thrown at us and ended with us badgering a drunk cowboy and a man who had eyes that looked like they had been dipped in peroxide and stuck back in their sockets (they were bloodshot) for a cd they had taken. The middle went something like
"Hey, who wants to go see if they will put this cd (Katie's cd) on"-drunk cowboy
"I am not going to. I think it might piss off the guy singing and playing the guitar"-katie
"I am going"-drunk cowboy
"So do you have bad allergies?"-me
(loud laughter)
"Oh are my eyes red?"- man who said like more than a 13 year old at a Nick Lachey concert
"Really red they look like they hurt....I really wasn't trying to be rude." - me
"Hey Tiff when do you think you will start blogging again?" - Graham
"Tomorrow." - me
My favorite part was when bloodshot man told me he wasn't drunk. Oh yeah and when they tried to tell me that if a guy gives you his hat in Texas it means you are going home with him, no matter how many other girls he talks to that night. How flattering! You mean you give me your hat, go make out with 15 other girls, but I still get the undue privilege of going home with you? What kind of mental degenerate came up with that? I can't say for sure but I think alcohol may have been involved.

Dearest blog,

I am really sorry for letting you go. If you were human you would be 20 pounds heavier, in mismatched socks, and sporting a haircut that screams “when I was a child I ate kitty litter." Luckily, you aren't human, but you are in need of some new material. Honestly, I have kind of been a hermit for the past month. So unless endless diatribes about my cooking endeavors or my favorite sweatpants thrill you, you would have felt dull and lifeless. With the exception of my grandma talking about her "gay" male friend in a high pitched singing voice (I say "gay" in quotes because for whatever reason she thought she needed to put it in air quotes) I have had few funny stories to tell. I am slowly integrating myself back into the social scene, so the promise of new enchantingly funny posts loom in the not to distant future. Get excited.

Your not so faithful writer,

Madonna (I think I should use a pen name, and I think Madonna is appropriate)

Suppression

I was talking to my roommate a couple of days ago and something in my mind brought me back to a time in my life that I completely forgot about, or blocked out, I am not sure which at this point. Long ago when I was a mere freshman at K-State I was in need of some extra cash. Up to that point I had held quite a few jobs. Pie shop, Olive Garden, Worked for my dad, The Buckle, but none quite compared to the only job I have ever had that required me to don formal wear and give up my weekend nights to go to places like Great Bend. I was an auction girl for Turkey Banquet’s all over Kansas. (Turkey Banquet-a place where the anti-Tiffanys [hunters] go to see all the other anti-Tiffanys, get drunk, and bid outrageous amounts of money on ridiculous looking wildlife “art”…oh yeah and buy raffle tickets for items like a lawn chair that sits in a tree.) My basic duties were carrying all of the auction merchandise up and down a stage. And by merchandise I mean various framed prints of birds flying off into the sunset, really heavy sculptures of dogs with dead ducks in their mouths, and bottles of Wild Turkey. I also was responsible for selling raffle tickets to the sea of camouflage. At the height of my auction girl fame I was asked to use a turkey caller on stage. I gladly did it…because I got paid a ridiculous amount of money to do so. In the end I think many lessons were learned.
1.Stay away from really drunk men and I am sure women for that matter
2.No matter what anyone tells me camouflage is not in anyway sexy
3.a bronzed moose will never go anywhere near my home, and I would suggest keeping it away from yours
4. Walking in heels up stairs with a 25 pound elk sculpture will never be fun, no matter how much fake smiling you do.
5. I don't care a about hunting...shocker

Don't tell me God doesn't have a sense of humor...

This morning I woke up and said to myself “I think today is going to be a good day.” The month of Job (the book in the bible, not work) reenactments are over, no more August until next year. Thinking that with any luck I may actually make it through a 24 hour period without any major dramatic episodes I got my butt out of bed and went to Starbucks to celebrate what I hope to be a far better month. Freaking Pumpkin Spice Lattes are back. I could not contain my excitement; I will be at Starbucks a lot for the next 3 months. I got to work and started the day well, and then I got a call from the doctor. After a lab test that ended in my passed out body being carried to the bed in the back of the office, I expected nothing short of stellar results…I got this message “Tiffany, your levels seem good, but we need you to come back in and get jugs for you to urinate in for 24 hours.” You have got to be kidding me. You want ME to pee in a jug, every time I pee, for an entire day. Maybe they aren’t familiar with the fact that my bladder is the size of a small child’s. Maybe they don’t realize I am really clumsy and I don’t need to go into detail about the many ways that could end badly. I went to get the jug and they give me what is basically a potty chair for an adult, and tell me I have to stick my pee jugs in the fridge. I was also given a very large bioharzard bag with two large orange jugs for "when I go." Apparently using the word pee is frowned upon in the medical profession. I feel like it would have been more appropriate for me to leave the hospital in a gas mask and protective suit as opposed my street clothes carrying that kind of monstrosity. Hello September, it seems that you will be welcomed with a full day of me pouring my own pee on myself. You lucky bastard.

I would do anything for love....but I won't do a lot

Saturday I hung out with some college friends. We ate Mexican food, reminisced, and remembered the fact that Lisa and I are the most opposite people on planet Earth. At one point at the beginning of our friendship Lisa and I were discussing our dating preferences and she mentioned that she would love to go irrigating on a date, a notion that I neither understood nor agreed with, but definitely exploited. I just may have called the campus forum (a small portion of the KSU newspaper that printed students meaningless banter…I called about once a day.)later that night and mentioned that my roommate wanted to go irrigating on a date if there were any takers….a comment which I can only imagine made the day of many a male ag student/former western Kansas resident. Maybe it is just me but if there are any tools involved I am not calling it a date, I am calling it manual labor. I think I am instituting a new dealbreaker. Making me do manual labor and trying to pass it off as a date definitely qualifies. Coffee. Coffee is what I like on a date. Simple, and there’s no chance of finding myself waist deep in mud with a shovel. Although I am fairly sure if Lisa got asked to go to coffee and a got picked up on a motorcycle she would have to be scraped off the ground because laughter would undoubtedly overtake her body. And that is before she knows about the tattoos and brief prison stint. But we are good reminders for each other. She reminds me that not everything is as fun as dating men who are bound to leave me in therapy, and I remind her that sanity is something to be valued.

Just a quick convo to laugh at:
“Oh look it is a mariachi band!”

“Hmmm…”

“Oh that’s the Haricrishnas”

Apparently Curtness Runs in the family

"You dating anyone tiff?” (uncle larry)
“No…if I was you’d probably know about it.” (me)
“Well I’ve got someone I think you may like.”
“Alright. Tell me about him.”
“He’s a youth pastor.”
“Okay. Anything else.”
“He’s an excellent bow hunter.”
(Lots of Laughing) “Not a chance.”
“Your standards are too high. You’re never going to meet anyone.”
“If being with a guy who wants to go shoot animals all the time is my alternative to being single, I will pick single. He'll want me to eat deer meat, and that's so not going to happen.”
Grandma from the other side of the room “I think you should become a nun. I was watching a show yesterday. You know what they do. Get up. Pray. Eat. Take a nap. Pray. Do a little work. Pray. Eat. And then they go back to bed. I’d do that if I did it all over again.”
“you wouldn’t have any of us though.”
“Yep.”

Investigators searching for missing remains of REALITY!

I am very thankful that I have a lot of friends who are entering the medical field on one level or another. Here is my reasoning. I had an allergic reaction while on vacation in LA. Why do I tell you this? Because it has been quite the ordeal. I went home on Friday and my parents told me I had to see a doctor (something I really hate doing) because my face looked like it had been beaten with a bat and it was their greatest fear that they were going to loose their already abnormally large headed child to the dark side of elephantitis.
I went to the doctor. I had a bitchin case of hives. Where they came from still remains a mystery.
None of this was the amusing part. The best part of it all was calling a dermatologist and hearing what they suggested I do to help alleviate the symptoms. 1.Avoid sweating…apparently they had relocated their offices to the dark side of the moon where all the black lights and felt led zeppelin posters clouded their judgment and made them forget that IT IS 100 DEGREES OUTSIDE!!! I would like instruction on how one would avoid sweating in that kind of weather 2. Avoid the sun…Again this is going to have to come with Cliff’s Notes. This is Kansas. It is summer. Unless there is a panic room someone plans on locking me in the sun is probably going to come in some form of contact with me.3. Stop eating foods you could be allergic to…Right because normally I would say “Hey a tomato. I am allergic to you but right now I want you, so I don’t care that my throat could close up and cause asphyxiation. Yum.” I think I do that already but thanks for that nugget of wisdom. All in all I would say they barely came shy of telling me to avoid breathing and human interaction that requires face to face contact. While I am at it I should probably avoid sitting, standing, walking, and sleeping it might aggravate the hives. This is why I am glad I have friends who will one day be doctors. They aren’t going to tell me to avoid the sun or sweating in the middle of summer. One, they will know that is nearly impossible.Two, and more importantly, they would have every expectation that those suggestions would be met with my flailing arms of judgment and mockery hurling their ugly fists in their direction. I am such a good friend.

**UPDATE**Today a doctor told me to eat sour candy to help my swollen glands...it freaking worked. Apparently not all crazy advice is that crazy.

The Art of Persuasion

Sometimes in life we are given glimpses at why we are at the places we are. I just returned from LA where I was helping with art direction on a couple of short films. One of the shoots involved a child actor who among his many small annoyances was pissed at Daniel Craig because he thought he would have been a much more suitable choice for the new James Bond....despite his 6 year old appearance and stature. After a long day of shooting in an un-air-conditioned house (which I will say was warm, but compared to Kansas it was really not bad at all) the kid decides to unzip his pants and announce "I think I have heat rash!" as he began to check for it. (He in no way had a heat rash.) This was after he described a scene in James Bond where Halle Berry is wearing a bikini and is very cold, and repeatedly attempted to punch every male there in the groin. It was at these moments I realized someday it is likely I will have kids of my own. Eventually those kids will get to be a hormonal 13 or 14 and telling them sex needs to wait for marriage will sound similar to telling them that once upon a time mommy was a super hero that fought evil using only a spatula and her wit. Instead of watching their eyes continually roll I will simply state my case and promptly schedule a day of fun with a child actor for my kid because I can tell you with complete confidence that it would be a far better birth control than anything that I could tell them.

Freak Show

I understand heart attacks may be had because I am posting 2 days in a row. Not only that, but today's post greets you head on with thrilling visuals of my family members at their finest hours. So strap yourself in for a gripping nonstop ride where the unexpected becomes normal and the mundane is transformed into a riveting tale comparable to the movie Crossroads.












Last week I returned from a journey home. I was there longer than I have been in a long time. I sold fireworks. Scratch that. I was supposed to sell fireworks. Instead I lifted boxes from semis loaded them into different semis and drove around Topeka re-stockingng tents.




In the midst of that I got to observe my sister eating uncooked ramen and dipping it into the seasoning. This is low. Even for a college kid.







I also got to play with the only animal I have ever truly loved.






Hang out with my cousins who live in LA that I see once a year. No the little one isn't mentally challenged. It was her goal to ruin every picture she was in with her sister. She succeeded.




And wake up to find my dad in this. It is a sweatshirt by the brand South Pole. It is a XXXL. Which is 3 Xs and 1 L to big. My dad bought this shirt a couple of years ago at TJ MAXX and really thought I would like it. Hmmm if it weren't for the fact that 1.My dad isn't a rapper, 2. It is 4 sizes to big, and 3. It is a short sleeved sweatshirt, I would absolutely love it. And No my dad isn't Asian. So funny.


All in all it was an interesting week. I sweat more than I have in a long time. Wore the least amount of make-up I have in a long time. And spent the most uninterrupted time in a truck than I ever have. I did not blow off one firework.

Sometimes I Think My Life Must Be a Hidden Camera Show

It is Wednesday morning and this week has already forced me to be visually accosted by my neighbor when he decided he needed to make a grand exit from his apartment wearing only his underwear AND I had to sit in a car with an adult who not only peed her pants, but pooped them as well…the second person I actually feel bad for. I don’t know how to prepare myself for the rest of this week because if that is how it has started I fear it can only end with me getting hit by a human cannonball dressed in speedos and covered in multi colored glitter.

On a totally different note I just got a phone call and this is what happened.

"Hey I am making steak tonight, and I know Courtney was coming to see you, but maybe you could come home instead."

"I would love to, but it cost too much to come home for an hour and a half. I'll be home for a while in a week and a half. Can we postpone the steak until then?"

"It costs her money to come see you."

"Yes, but she is staying the night so it will be more time together."

"Your mom's depressed."

"What? Why?"

"She is just to over-booked."

"They got back from vacation late last night how is she already over-booked?Will she even be there tonight?"

"Well, uh, Yeah."

"RRRIiigght. I am going to make a couple of calls and call you back."

Called my non depressed mom and had a good laugh. It is okay to say you want to see me. Pretending others are mentally unstable only makes it look like you yourself are unstable, but it is very funny and strangely sweet.

Friendly Reminders #2 and #3

When holding a door open for someone wait until they have passed through the door entirely. Letting go of the door when a person has just entered the door frame is not nice, particularly when the door is heavy.

Running wearing only boxers is not a good idea.

Satan must be frigid right now because I like something that Paris Hilton did.

I was riding along in my car a couple of days ago and it struck me. I actually like Paris Hilton’s new song. That thought forced me to take a good look at my musical taste, as well as get myself loaded full of tums because my obvious lack of musical discretion was making me feel like I had eaten 3 day old dog meat that had been sitting on my back porch marinating in maggots. Mmmm…dog meat. It was then I began creating a list of guilty pleasures that I am sure will be used against me in some form in the future. Some get disclaimers, some I love for clear lack of any tact or class and wouldn’t change if I could.

1.The aforementioned Paris Hilton song…Stars are Blind…This song is proof that with the right people behind you anyone can sound like Gwen Stefani. But I like it. I can’t help it.

2. People.com. I shouldn’t get on this website everyday to see who said what, who is wearing what, who got engaged, broke up, reunited, broke up, and ended up engaged again all within a span of 10 minutes, but I do.

3.Ashlee Simpson. I know she can’t sing to save her life. I don’t care, sometimes I want to just scream and if I have her cd going it sounds like I am singing along with something not releasing a schizophrenic chimp in my apartment.

4. Chicken Nuggets, from anywhere, I love them.

5. Crappy diners/bars. In college a group of friends and I went on road trips all the time in search of the perfect cup of coffee…the catch was that we only went to the crappiest diners we could find. I think the winner ended up being a coffeehouse/bowling alley in Fayetteville,AR. A short 6 hour jaunt that we turned into an 11 hour trip because these boys liked weird food so we had to stop all over frickin Missouri to go to “the only restaurant that has this” or that. (Although that paled in comparison to the incident involving the person we were staying with eating cold spaghetti sauce out of an old butter tub…different story for another time…gross) It was actually one of my favorite weekends of college. So. Much. Fun. And the best cup of coffee. Bars I don’t have any stories about, I just prefer the sketchball ones over post college frat boy bars. (sorry to all my frat boy friends)

I have so many more, but I am now in nostalgic mode and can’t stop the flood of college memories. So for now you get 5 mediocre guilty pleasures, really nothing too shameful. Well at least nothing I can’t handle public mockery for.

I will be gone for the next week in glorious Topeka selling fireworks. I would suggest you start taking your meds now for the painful withdrawls that are destined to be felt. I hope to get some good pics over the week so people can finally see the crazies I always talk about.

Were gonna POWER through

Well it happened. My sister turned 21. It was an interesting event. My family is kind of known for throwing crazy parties. My parents wedding reception is still talked about at almost every family get together. Courtney got pretty much all of the party DNA. Don’t cry for me…I can have a really good time, I just realized early on that drinking + Tiffany = even dumber behavior than the average drunk= must apologize to lots of friends the next day = massive headaches and sensitivity to light = totally not worth it. Court can actually have more than a beer in her system and still act like a normal person, not a raving lunatic that talks at 10 times her normal volume which is already at an 11. I watched my sister take part in a “POWER HOUR” which I am not sure was given the right name...they took a shot of beer every minute for an hour. I guess it is not as appealing to name it Dour Hour or Sour Hour or my personal favorite Jack Bauer Hour. Ooohh Jack Bauer hour. Okay daydream over. It seems to me you loose power with every passing minute. Power to stop yourself from thinking that My Humps is the best song ever written and crying/screaming is probably the best way to express that undying love. Power to recognize even standing still is going to be tough because sometimes all you want to do is dance on the ceiling, and right now seems like the perfect time to try. Power to keep yourself from telling your friend that you think her hair looks like a Pomeranian that was lit on fire and glued to her head. Courtney did dance, but she didn’t do anything she wouldn’t have done had she been standing on stage completely sober in front of 10,000 people. A. because she has no shame and B. because she can hold her alcohol better than a 300 pound Irish man who drinks for a living. So happy birthday to my sister who can drink like a man, dance like a freak, and wears tiaras in public.

I’ve been told that my blog is hard to comment on because I tell complete stories that don't really leave room for commentary…that isn’t going to stop so don’t throw a fit. What I am going to do is ask a question related to the story because I am not standing for these 0 comment posts anymore. I know your reading, so comment you freaks. (Threatening works right?) So the question is this. What was the best part of your 21st birthday? If you aren’t 21, best birthday moment…By best I mean funniest, don’t tell me about your boyfriend getting you a rimming salt and a cosmo mix, that is in no way entertaining. Hit me with the comments suckers.

Spiritual Kung Fu

It has been quite a while since I dropped a post that was more on the serious side. A post that proves that more goes on in my brain than trying to create metaphors and analogies that perfectly portray the usual craziness of my life. Get excited for the storm that is about to be unleashed…

I usually don’t post much about work in blogland primarily because I don’t have any interest in getting dooced. This week, however, work has caused me to do a bit of self reflection. Reflection that wasn’t necessarily revolving around understanding anything new, but realizing that a specific trait I have is a lot more intense and strong than I once thought. There is a guy at my office that is very different. Very. BUT he is so caring, and generous, and willing to help whenever he is needed. I have been absolutely horrified by the way people treat him. ADULTS. Adults acting like they are in 3rd grade treating him like he somehow is less then they are. Like he doesn’t deserve an ounce of respect because he doesn’t fit into what they would call the normal category. I was fuming earlier this week because he got chewed out for something that wasn’t a big deal by someone who had no authority to be telling him how to tie his shoe let alone anything else. I know that life isn’t fair, but I refuse to sit back and watch people be completely decimated because they either don’t fit in, or because someone is having an ego issue and needs a boost. Whether it is a guy in my office who is being treated unfairly, a woman in Africa being beaten and raped because she isn’t of the right tribe, or a child being forced into prostitution, it lights something inside me, it angers me to the point of tears. I hate it. I hate it because I can’t take away the hurt and the pain. I hate it because I can’t turn back time and manipulate the situation for a better outcome. I do however know that there is an end in sight. There is a day when darkness will fall on all pain and suffering, when there will be no more injustice. A day when all of humanity will behold Jesus, and no longer debate whether he is a savior, good man, alien, or Santa Claus. Until that day I can only hope I get opportunities to fight for those who can’t do it themselves, because that, THAT, is more humbling and exciting than almost anything I can think of.

Maybe if I mail him a picture of my sad lip he will change his mind...or give me a lovely copy of a restraining order

If I tell myself it this isn't happening, maybe it won't.

I am loosing my dear Abrams Report. Let the mourning begin. Hopefully I won't have the same reaction that I did after the very last episode of full house aired. Wailing, gnashing of teeth, you know a typical Friday. Actually I am sure Dan will inject MSNBC with more passion than General Hospital, but why does he have to go off the air. Why?! WHY!!!? I guess the bit about running a TV station might answer my question. I will quit being selfish, but I won't hide my sadness.

Further Evidence that I was adopted.

This weekend wrapped up what has been a 3 weekend streak going back to Topeka. I had been moving for 2 days and hardly had the energy to go home, but had to in order to partake in the visual catastrophe that is a dance recital. The dance recital itself was fine…it was as always the people I was with that were entertaining.

Act 1: What seemed to be a normal car ride to the recital was corrupted when my dad had what I can only assume was temporary amnesia and thought he was a race car driver and nearly gave me a heart attack about 8 times. The soundtrack for this little death spin, music he had to “choreograph” a fireworks show to….

Act 2: My grandma shouting at me during the finale- “You should design old lady clothes!!! I can’t find any anywhere.” She normally isn’t so loud, but I think she is losing her hearing. I obviously suggested she look into wearing more halter tops and hot shorts. She shook her head at me.

Act 3: In the bathroom at chili’s my sister is in one of the 2 stalls and there is no toilet paper. She asks me to get her some, but there is someone in the other stall. I give her a paper towel and she freaks and begins yelling who knows what. I accuse her of being high maintenance, and she decides the most appropriate way to deal with that accusation is yelling “I can’t use that, it will hurt my crotch!!!” as loudly as she can, really emphasizing the word crotch. Later I tell the story to my mom, Court overheard it and pitifully asked if we could not talk about it because her crotch was still hurting and she was trying not to think about it. I understand my laughter encourages this behavior, but how can you not laugh at that.

All in all it was a great weekend. Moving is not fun, actually moving is about the least amount of fun I can think of having, but the new digs are absolute perfection. AND I had some of my favorite people helping me. If you lifted a box on my behalf expect at least a good game pat in return, and perhaps if you are lucky a stunning rendition of free bird on air guitar complete with thrasher kicks and windmill arms from yours truly.

Was it really a good idea to take out her WISDOM teeth?

I realize the weekend has passed by a couple days, but I simply can’t go without doing a recap. I went home early Friday afternoon because my sister had her wisdom teeth taken out and wanted some company for a couple of days. I wish I would have practiced some bladder control exercises before departing because I have never laughed so hard in my life. It wasn’t at all shocking that she was milking her situation for all it was worth…and still is nearly a week later. I got a call yesterday solely because she was now able to eat chips. Seriously. My mind can stop pacing around the maze in my brain, the cold sweats can stop, the panic attacks may cease, all because the queen is now able to consume chips. I got a call today because she went to the doctor and wanted to let me know that this “surgery” (she keeps referring to the extraction of her wisdom teeth as "surgery". All the while making it sound as if she had an organ transplant, and her blood is now pumping with the help of a baboon heart.) saga may one day come to a close…but that day is most certainly not today, and likely will not be tomorrow either. The following are all real conversations that took place.

Place: a phone call to my cell phone the day of the “surgery”
Me: “Hey?...how are you awake right now didn’t the put you under? How are you?”
Courtney: “They did, I could only sleep for a couple of hours.”
Me: “O. Well…How’d it go?”
Courtney: “I balled when they were going to stick me with the IV and they told me they were going to give me the mask they used when they put old people to sleep…only I thought by “put to sleep” they meant like how they put dogs to sleep. So I freaked out even more. Then they put the mask on me and I don’t really remember much.”
Me: “O….well…uh...that was dramatic.”

Place: Mall food court; Courtney is breaking a pretzel into the tiniest pieces imaginable and chewing them with her front teeth, or sucking on it and then spitting it out when chewing became to much work.
Courtney: “I can’t feel this part of my mouth.” (proceeds to smack herself in the face)
Me: “I remember being numb for a couple days, it will go away.”
Courtney: (Clearly not buying that I know anything) “I am going to sue the doctor for paralyzing me.”
Me: “Paralysis, suing. That seems about right.”
Courtney: “Can I sue him for paralyzing me?”
Me: “You could if he ACTUALLY PARALYZED you.”
Courtney: “I am suing him.” (hits herself in the face again)

Place: home after a day of resting
Mom: “Are you okay Court?”
Courtney: “No. Whitney needs to go get me a frosty from Wendy’s…and she won’t.”
Whitney: “What?! You didn’t even ask me if I would go to Wendy’s. “
Courtney: “You should just do it.”
(uproarious laughter coming from everyone but Courtney)

Place: Home. I had been revamping a topiary for about 30 minutes when she looks over.
Courtney: "What are you doing? What is that thing?"
Me: "It is a topiary. I am re-mossing it."
Courtney: "You aren't putting that in your apartment are you? It looks like a bowl of grass."

This weekend has convinced me that my family needs a reality show. I am fairly sure that it would beat Hogan knows Best. I would be by far the most boring one on the show, like the sister you’d never see on the Osbornes, but I would always be in the background shaking my head and laughing…

"First time I had Bologna it was Nicaragua

I washed that *$%! down with a glass of agua."

If you haven't watched Jamie Kennedy's Blowin' Up. You need to figure out a way to get that done. We don't have cable, so maybe everyone has caught on to this show and is obsessed like I am. I hear that it re-runs all the time. I believe it is still free to download the first episode on i-tunes if that's an option for you. The basic premise of the show is that Jamie is trying to start a rap career, there have been several guest "stars." I am not going to tell you who, because specifically in the first episode it is much better to find out when you see it. Go. See. If you don't laugh you probably should consider getting some inner healing prayer because you might be dead inside, or in a coma.

I need to go swimming in a pond of realism, because I live in a land of make believe

I decided this weekend that I needed to begin going through all my junk and start packing for the big move. I began with things I had stored in the basement. It was there that I found the time capsule from high school. The box I only look through when I am moving. This time was different though. I went to a wedding shower for a friend I have known since the 2nd grade this weekend. It was attended by the usual array of people who I never see, but get to have really great forced conversation with on the occasion that one of us gets married or has a baby. At this wedding shower I was told that this guy was marrying this girl who used to go to our high school, she was a senior when I was a freshman. Which meant I needed to find my freshman yearbook pronto or I would have to live with the misfortune of never knowing who that girl was who married that guy. I found it alright. The yearbook, and a lovely assortment of teen beat posters. I am so glad I had the forethought when I was 15 to fold up the posters that had graced my walls and store them in my yearbook. I think I was the only person who didn’t cut out the pictures of JTT, but instead chose the underdog, Jonathan Jackson. He was so hot right then. I think it is clear there is still a connection there. The days of dream phone, and girl talk are over, but I will never give up hope that one day I will be mopping the floor and Jonathan will come and wisk me away to some exotic locale, Branson perhaps, and profess his undying love. That which has been so obvious to me since we first met that day in ym.

For some reason all I can think of is Mary Kay Letourneau and her child groom...strange, but also pretty attractive...oh was that wrong? crossing boundaries?

***special thanks to shalinn for all the photo help***

Not even go-go boot wearing British women could get us out of that one

This weekend marked my mom’s 24th mother’s day. In honor of her bringing 3 vivacious, brilliant, and shockingly beautiful girls into the world my grandparents decided they should talk about sex with her in front of us. Their conversation was mostly surrounding a local bar’s decision to allow girls to dance on the bar (a little late to get on the coyote ugly bandwagon, but it is T-town), but strayed in to sex and strip joints on occasion. Classy, I know. Hearing your grandma yell “they might as well make it a strip club!!!” is not the most comforting thing in the world. My sisters and I managed to stay out of the conversation barring our looks to each other until my mom felt the need to include us when she loudly with the kind of conviction that would make OJ Simpson scream for his mommy proclaimed “I know you girls probably don’t think this is a big deal (dancing on bars), but I just don’t like it!!!” Explain to me how sitting on a couch watching Spice World of all things makes us guilty of being fine with going to strip clubs on the weekends? Did you hear me friggin' Spice World! If that is indicative of anything it is that there is no way we have friends…She should be ranting about her daughters’ lack of social skills. I obviously chime in with “You’re right, after you guys go to bed we go out and strip, even Whit (who is 17). I don’t see what the big deal is.”

Somehow I managed to get told “Happy Mother’s Day” 3 times by people who know I don’t got no chittlins'. Apparently Mother’s day is now for any woman of childbearing age. Soon the name will be changed to “Happy Post-Puberty Woman's Day!” Next year I better get some sort of plant potted in a teapot or I will be pissed!

A long explanation of something that could be written in 2 sentences.

If I could go back and be a part of any era of music history anyone who knows me knows I would pick the period of time when “new” country began birthing such acts as Alan Jackson and Diamond Rio. Right. Chattahoochee. I knew how much that muddy water meant to me…absolutely nothing. (If you don’t get that sentence do a little research, you’ll figure it out.) I hate country music with the fire of a thousand suns. I would rather be tied to the wheel of a tractor and slowly driven over a cliff than have to listen to an hour of that rubbish…okay that may be a little extreme. If I really got a choice and a magical time machine (that is probably bedazzled, because this is my dream so my time machine can come in any form I want) took me back to a day before the music died and was reincarnated as 15 year olds who dance around in bustiers. I would pick the age of Classic Rock. Actually right before it became huge. When Lynard Skynard was still a bar act I could catch for $3. A time when the 60’s and the hippie movement were giving way to a new era, a time where feathered hair and macramé were all the rage, a time before Aerosmith sucked. Can you imagine…It is a dream world I know. A close second to the age of classic rock would be the early to mid 90’s, a time I actually existed. I am not discussing Vanilla Ice or the humpty dance, for obvious reasons. Great music to make fun of, even dance to on occasion, but solitary confinement with nothing to listen to but “the humpty dance” would be nothing short of torturous. I am talking Nirvana, Pearl Jam, I am talking my 8th grade year, and lots of flannel. I have been listening to Nirvana's greatest hits a lot lately. I forget how much I love them, and how disappointing it is that there will never be any new Nirvana. Sorry Foo Fighters you just don't cut it for me. There is, however, new Pearl Jam, the reviews are really good, but I have yet to go and pick it up. Ultimately, I am sure it will be added to my collection. I have a couple of bootlegs from a show they did long ago, it only further confirms my belief that in order to be an elusive talent in the music industry you must be exceedingly weird. Eddy Vetter mentions something about a bean burrito and I laugh everytime because I can't for the life of me figure out what the hell he is talking about. It reminds me of the Ryan Adams show in Lawrence a couple of years ago when he talked about his soup tasting like darkness...Maybe I should take back what I said and insert addicted to drugs where the words exceedingly weird are. All of that to say, I love music. Well, I love good music, don't try and pawn off your Aqua cd on me I will probably chuck it at your head if you try.

If you need a reason to avoid drinking things that come out of a barrel...

HERE is a superb one.

Where smells can take you

Summer is almost here!!! I was driving around last night with the windows down blasting whiskeytown and was so content it isn’t even fair. I don’t see how anyone can be unhappy when the weather is perfect, it smells like cut grass, and Ryan Adams is singing in your ears. You need to have yourself checked out if that can’t make you happy.

I don’t know if anyone else has scent memories, but the smell of cut grass reminds me so much of the neighborhood I grew up in. It reminds me of the disgusting pile of “outside shoes” that were covered in mud and grass stains and usually had at least a couple of insects inside of them that sat out side our garage door. It reminds me of the time I captured 200 “pet” minnows from the creek down the street and then promptly killed them when I tried to transfer them to chlorinated water. (I may have played outdoors, but that doesn’t mean the clean freak inside of me didn’t want everything to be as sterile as possible.) It reminds me of the baby chicks my parents got us for Easter one year, that we later gave to a farm, that then got eaten by coyotes.(Can you believe my parents gave us farm birds?) It reminds me of the time my friend Annie and I went hiking behind the creek to see the Indian grave and instead found a bunch of people running around in towels…we told her mom, she called the owners of the land, we found out later…much later that they were making porn. It reminds me of the girl across the street that ate flowers. Man after rereading that I am very disturbed by my childhood. That sounds like the prologue to a book that ended with…from then on Tiffany spent the rest of her 48 years at the center. She devoted her life to building to scale replicas of dinosaurs with popsicle sticks. She only ate some of the glue.

Funny because it isn't me...

O the life of teenagers. I think the further removed from high school I get the harder it is to remember exactly what was going through my mind during that period of my life. I got a call from my mom this weekend and I won’t say exactly what she said, but it involved cussing, and I was laughing really hard. The long and short of it is that Whitney (my littlest sister) got caught at a party with no parents and enough alcohol to leave a football team incapacitated for a month. But of coarse she maintains SHE WAS NOT DRINKING!!! Whit has a way of getting out of everything. She has a sweetness to her, but she is also one of the most adorable human beings ever to be created which makes people forget she is capable of any wrongdoing. Unfortunately for her my mom doesn’t care how hot you are. If you are drinking and you lie about it you may as well lock yourself up in solitary confinement for the next couple months. That would certainly be more pleasant a punishment than whatever my mom would give you. Courtney (my middle sister) learned very quickly that the best way to avoid the harshest punishment is to tell the truth right up front. (“Mom the cops busted me at a hotel where I was throwing a party, come pick me up.”, “I am on my way to Belton to meet a guy I met on the internet, I am not going to answer my phone anymore.”You know I can’t make stuff like this up…) What was Whit’s punishment you ask…grounding? No. Grounding is as much a punishment for the adult as it is for the kid. In what I think was an act of sheer brilliance on my parent’s part Whitney’s punishment is only being allowed to hang out with Courtney. For those of you who don’t know my family or haven’t really been acquainted with them through this blog it would be important to know that Whitney and Courtney are about as different as they could be. Court is really direct, very loud, extremely temperamental, very ditzy, and one of the funniest people alive. Whit is quieter, very sensitive, really creative, sneaky, and able to talk her way out of anything. (Ya see how getting along may be difficult for these two.) Besides the fact that they are blood relatives the only thing they have in common is the fact that boys are completely fascinated by them. Maybe they will find that a bonding point. I for one can’t wait to see if this punishment ends in a brawl which, all things considered, isn’t that unlikely. Either way, exceptional parenting.

Reason #793 why I am glad I am not a firefighter

Read This. You won't be disappointed.

Friendly Reminder # 1

Don't tuck your shirt into your underwear. It just isn't attractive. (Specifically if you are a male wearing bright turquoise briefs...YIKES!!!)

The following took place between the hours of 12 pm and 1pm

Anyone who has spent any amount of time with me since January knows I have a date every Monday night. His name is Jack, and we are in love. (By we, I mean me.) He isn’t real, but I don’t care. If you haven’t ever seen 24 it is hands down the most addictive tv show I have ever seen. Every week I find myself on the edge of my couch yelling expletives, and at least once per episode “I LOVE YOU JACK!!!” at the top of my lungs. I bought the first season this weekend and have already watched the first 7 hours of the day. I am fairly sure I have been on the brink of heart attack a couple times. There is a reason only one hour is shown at a time. I know the dangers of watching too much tv (brain rotting and spewing out my ears), and being in love with a fictional character (but have you seen him? HELLO!!! He is a badass, He fights for what’s good, even if he is a little unethical. BUT he has tattoos, and ultimately he does what is right. Did I mention the tattoos?) but it is all worth it to feel like at the end of the day/season the country was saved from disaster. It also helps that my favorite character (with the exception of Jack obviously) is a spitting image of my sister in both appearance and personality. The constant scowl on her face coupled with her attitude problem laced with sarcasm gives the show a comic relief that is the final nail in the coffin of addiction. All that to say, if you call me between the hours of 8 and 9 on Monday night you will get my voicemail, if you come to visit, you will be asked to sit quietly until the scenes from next week are shown. If you would like to watch it with me be prepared to hear screaming, but feel free to join me in my weekly lovefest for Jack Bauer. Monday nights are so gloriously wonderful.

The one where I ramble...

It is not a good thing to drive back from lunch and see a man in 70's swimming trunks (although they hardly qualify as trunks) oiled up, tanning on a park bench. I almost had a yak-fest in my car.

Maybe I will pursue a network in hopes of landing a gig doing the exact opposite of Martha Stewart. Mention things that aren't good things, always wear black, avoid insider trading, only brush my hair when I feel like it not when some idiot with a stick permanently lodged up their bum finds it necessary. BUT I would still offer gardening tips, meal ideas, and crafts made out of popsicle sticks and colorful pipe cleaners. All done with my most pretentious accent...oh wait opposite...Brooklyn accent. There would be musical guests who I get to rate on a scale of 1 to 10 in a number of different categories including but not limited to "application of male eyeliner,"
"amount of stench," and obviously "amount ears will bleed if I listen to this for more than 5 minutes." I know Martha doesn't have musical guests, but if you are thinking that you must also remember Martha isn't known for wickedly fun parties. Snobbish, upper class soirees yes, rockin parties, no. I think it sounds like a great idea. I'll do three episodes and get cancelled. That's all I need to get a cult following anyway. Then I can do what I have always dreamed of Stand-up Comedy...oh wait, I hate being in front of people, and can only be moderately funny in writing. So no stand up comedy. A cult following could still land me some good gigs. Who knows, maybe I'll get a kool-aid ad spot. That would be righteous.

If you are easily offended don't read this post...actually you are probably better not reading anything on this blog

This weekend was filled with the usual psychotic episodes that make my life the one I enjoy living. This is a long one so hold on tight.

First up a round of politically incorrect with Grandma Nieman. While my sisters were spouting off comments like "I don't have to do anything because the teacher is sexist" and "GIVE ME SOME BUTTA!" (I will let you guess which sister said which comment.) I sat there, I laughed, I enjoyed the fact that I have crazy family members. Then in the middle of what were probably 3 conversations my grandma feels the need to share a very important question and loudly says "Have you seen that show with the miniatures?" to which we all stop and look at her assuming she is talking about thimbles, or porcelain knick knacks that exist only for grandmas and strange children. Seeing our quizzical brows she explains by saying "you know dwarfs, little people, you know Miniatures." Right grandma, miniatures. She goes on to explain the show. I couldn't tell you anything about it because my ears were in shock mode and my brain had to catch up, but I am sure if you google miniatures on tv you would come up with something very entertaining.

Round Two: I babysat three of my favorite children on Saturday night. In a matter of 3 hours we played soccer and basketball, painted nails, made/ate dinner, played house, watched portions of a movie about horses, and learned never to bring a bag of sour worms into a house with kids. It was really fun with the exception of the end of the night when they had been "in bed" for half an hour, but strangely I heard footsteps upstairs. I suspected potential takeover by hostile Russians but as I made my way up the stairs I found one of the girls with 2 different pajamas on at the same time, a tiara, and sparkly flip flops, when I say "this is not dress up time" she says "I was cold." Well, praise the Lord you got that tiara on child. You may have frozen to death in this 60 degree weather without a sparkly piece of metal gracing your head. The second kid was stapling about 30 sheets of paper together and when I said "time for bed, put down the stapler." She screamed as if I told her I was taking them all hostage and they would never see anything with sugar in it again. I put her in bed and she screamed. I told her she couldn't staple anymore, but she could stop screaming and go to sleep. She screamed. I hugged her, put her in bed, and left the room. She stopped screaming. All of that pales in comparison to the comment made earlier in the evening. I should probably mention these kids ask questions about everything. The youngest always finds a way to pull out my bra strap and ask what it is. She is not satisfied with the answer a strap. Anyway. We played house. Apparently house has changed since I was little. There were charts involved. I had to state my real name and age, my fake name and age, and what role I would be playing in the house. I was 35 with 3 kids under the age of 3. All of them managed to break limbs and required medical attention and crutches within the first 10 minutes. When deciding my fake age, one of the kids said 20. I said absolutely no way am I 20 with 3 kids. The oldest then asks me "How old are you for real?" I say "24." She says "are you married?" I say "No." She says "Do you have any kids?" I again say "No." She then replies "well, I DON'T WANT YOU TO END UP AN OLD MAID." I laughed for about a minute and then said "Well I don't want to either. Thanks for the encouragement."

A Warning

Eating 10 packs of sweet and low in an 8 hour period is similar to chasing a hit of cocaine with a laxative...not that I would know.

Please tell me everyone has stories from their childhood involving farris wheels an coffee torture.

My recent trip inspired me to reflect on the many vacations I took as a child. We traveled a lot. My last name should have been Jolie-Pitt. Maybe I’ll look into getting it changed. Although we were hardly on the frontlines promoting world peace, we most certainly were being relentlessly photographed by the paparazzi…and by paparazzi I mean my mom.

We used to drive to New Mexico at least once every year to see family. It is a 14 hour drive. We started going down there when I was around 10 which means my younger sisters would have been 7 and 4. That is a kind of torture the government needs to look into. Chain the "knower of information" to the wall and make them endure 3 kids, 10 and under, for 14 hours. It would be a lot less bloody, and everyone would leave with all their fingernails. Anyway. On one trip my grandma crashed the car into the guard rail (which stopped us from plummeting down a cliff) when she fell asleep at the wheel. None of us were hurt, but I did cause a full glass of hot coffee to be dumped on my crotch while I was sleeping. I think I was an awkward 12 or 13 at the time. There was no rest stop in sight so I had to change clothes in front of everyone. It was AWESOME!!! It only proves that sleeping on the floor of a moving vehicle is not a good idea. shocker.



Different Trip.Place: The amusement park Frontier City (a.k.a gateway to hell) . We all get on the farris wheel. When we get to the very top a huge storm roles in. It was the kind of storm that always happens in movies at the exact moment someone is trying to escape something, or realizes they really need to make out. Maybe rain lets off a pheromone that sends a signal that says KISS RIGHT NOW OR THE WORLD WILL END!!! Well, since I was related to everyone in the gondola it was decided we needed to escape not make out. We were at the very top, the sky was black, and it was lightening. I smoked a cigarette and watched everyone else scream. Okay, so I didn’t smoke. But I don’t remember being that scared, most likely because I was in a tremendous amount of shock because of my mom’s reaction. She was screaming profanity off the top of the farris wheel. I don’t think I had ever really heard my mom cuss before that point, and she whipped out every word in the book. The farris wheel conductor man got an earful….along with the rest of Frontier City. I am sure there were parents holding their hands over their kid’s ears crying and praying for mercy as they thought the day of judgment was there, and God was a PMSing woman. Eventually we made it off sans cuts, bruises, and lightening strikes. It was all worth it knowing that I now have an everlasting memory of my mom yelling like a drunken sailor. O childhood, how I miss you so. (Actual farris wheel o' death pictured....terrifying isn't it.)

What do most people do on vacations?

Run through the hotel at one in the morning to escape a fire that is engulfing the building? If you are a part of my weekend vacation than yes, that is exactly what you would do. I should clarify that the "fire" turned out to be the result of some idiot's decision to parade their stupidity around like they were starting a movement to promote mindless acts of idiocy. In their attempt to make their movement public the ringleader attempted to extinguish what in their mind must have looked like something being swallowed whole by flames. (Probably seen with the help of cocaine, most likely snorted off of a toilet seat.) Lesson from this: Don't use a fire extinguisher unless you have an actual FIRE, symbolic fire does not count. (Specifically if you are in a hotel.) They release enough smoke to bring down King Kong and will cause an earsplitting noise to pierce the ears of many potentially irate people who will find you and force you to listen to Kenny G and eat gluttonous amounts of creamed peas. Yes. I am that mean.

Secondly, 17 year old girls are weird. I know I used to be one. However, I fully remember using complete sentences without having to delve into my word bank and reuse. Apparently someone has been brainwashing these young things and now like every other like word is like like. Like I am like totally like not kidding. You're like totally like irritated with me like right now, aren't you? Drive me up a wall and shoot me. I just about lost my patience on a couple occasions but stopped myself short of yelling anything profane and causing 2 teenage girls to cry the tears of a misunderstood generation. What has happened to me? I used a filter, I fear I am loosing my edge....No (laughter under my breath) That will never happen.

Creativity is taking over my life...well, creativity and business

Alright, it is the post you have all been waiting for. The introduction of the stuff I have been talking about so vaguely for the past two months....here, and here, oh and here. Well not only do you get to hear about it, you get to see it. The anticipation is killing you isn't it.

I am going to abbreviate this because it is a rather long story. The basic premise is I have my own line of distressed clothing. I buy new or lightly used jeans and hoodies (at this point, much more to come) totally mess them up with the help of bleach and scissors. I then make it awesome with paint, patches, embroidery, buttons, beads, whatever I think is cool. They are getting marketed by the brilliant Lisa Strange. This weekend they will be traveling to Washington D.C. and next they will be going to Iowa. There is a store in KC that is selling them already...although she doesn't have the best jeans and I have been slacking in getting stuff to her because I am trying to build inventory at the moment. However, if you are interested in having your jeans painted I will be doing a promotional painting session that costs $10 a pair (for charity) this Thursday. It will be from 6-9 @ Retrophilia .

I had a photo shot this past weekend. It showcases the hoodies. In the future I will not be the model. In a couple weeks there will be another shoot with people who actually have asses to fill out the jeans. Anyway, if you don't know Brooke Raymond a. you should, and b. she is a rockstar photographer. She is the one who did the shoot, she is awesome.

http://flickr.com/photos/brooke/sets/72057594081567267/ here is the link!!!Enjoy.

Weird needs about 12 more letters, all of which are consonants, to fully explain my life.

For whatever reason people who were given more than their allotment of weird in their DNA are very drawn to me. My life has definitely been seasoned by these types of people. (Sometimes a little rosemary makes something just that much better. There are also times when it is more reminiscent of getting cayenne pepper poured directly into your eyes.) Some become close friends, others remain legends in the vault of stories I carry with me, and whip out when I am reminded of them. This weekend only added to the stories.

I was walking out of Wal-Mart when I hear
"Excuse Me?"
I, thinking I must have dropped something/ left my card behind/ had a wide open fly said
"Yes"
The woman staring at me then asks "Are you Jewish?"
To which I quizzically respond "No.?."
Her reply was "Oh, I couldn't tell."

I know what you are all thinking. No, I was not running around the store screaming "SHALOM!!!!" at the top of my lungs. I didn't even so much as step into the Kosher food section.

To cap off the whole story I saw her driving away and she drove a big white car with huge red letters on the side that read "HAVE A MITZVAH TODAY!"

Next story: Place: Target. The one in Ward Parkway. It is my favorite not because of the selection, but because of the staff, they are always doing crazy things. Singing at the top of their lungs while they ring me up, you know the usual.

Surprisingly it was not the staff doing weird things this trip. First, I see a mom and son (about 10 years old) in the underwear section. The mom looks at the boy and says "you are wired.." in a "seriously child if you don't stop running in place and screaming I will not hesitate to put this bra over your head and make you run around the store saying I am a pretty little girl" sort of way and proceeds to dump a bottle of aquafina on his head. As she does this the boy yells "I AM STILL WIRED!!!"

Then when I am leaving the bathroom a brother and sister come into THE WOMAN'S BATHROOM!!! The boy is about 12 or 13 so it isn't like he needs help or doesn't realize there's a difference. I don't know why he was in there. He did feel the need to share that he was probably going to "cut the cheese." I really appreciated that warning.

I think if these encounters suddenly ended I would not know how to function. How do you react when you are surrounded by perfect socially acceptable beings?! That is a kind of alternate universe I don't want to go to, it just isn't fun. And to be quite honest most the people I love wouldn't be there.

Holy Skunk Pelts Batman! We're being FOLLOWED!!!!!!

This + this = Sarah's worst nightmare! I wish I would have had a video camera in my car yesterday. Sarah and I were in my car on the way back to her house after dinner. We pull up to a stop light and without even a flinch Sarah looks at me and says “that is the worst toupee I have ever seen.” That was the understatement of the year. This elderly (I am not exaggerating) man had what looked like a skunk pelt that he took a curling iron to on his head. We began noticing that he was staring at us. Let me take this opportunity to define stare in this instance. By stare I mean eyes squinting, face scrunched to half its size and his nose had to be no less than ½ an inch from the window. (I blame Sarah. She was sitting closest to him. Don’t show that cute face off girl…unless you want some old man lovin’….I fear I may have just lost a friend.) It was then we realized this man was pacing us. I just sat there staring at him because I wanted him to know I saw him, and that I could kick his butt if he tried anything. Luckily I was wearing a sleeveless shirt so I could show off my massive guns. The next stoplight we came to I stopped about 20 feet behind the car in front of me to see what the dude was trying to pull. He stopped right next to my car. It should be noted that there were no cars in front of him. Sarah had yet to see the mug I had been staring at. I don’t think I have ever seen her so freaked out. She claims that face will give her nightmares…which may actually be true. I don’t think I can put words to the kind of strange this face was. I decided that since there are cars behind me and I haven’t had a turn signal on now would be the time to lose him. I slam on the gas and make a really quick left turn. It is really good I had the “bat out of hell” button installed. Sarah then sees the man turn around in a parking lot and did something I have never seen or heard her do in our nearly 7 year friendship. She screamed at the top of her lungs, which makes me start laughing because it was so unexpected. I went to bed last night and just started laughing hysterically because I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Thanks Sarah, It was a great car ride.

Sorry. Not Sorry.

I am sorry that...

No one I am friends with got to watch a webcast of our home office being invaded by an old woman dressed as a fairy spouting off lewd comments and trying to get things out of mens back pockets with her wand. And they paid her to do it. Did I mention that it was broadcast to about 13,000 employees?

Sometimes I wear fuzzy socks and try to "ice skate" on our wood floors, and usually end up making a loud thud.

I have eaten half a bag of mint patties today.

I wasn't there when my boss was at a client's house (inside) and was told in all seriousness to watch out for gliders (flying squirrels.)

I have a habit of turning ordinary sentences into raps, and then seeing how long I can freestyle before I run out of rhyming words.

I take up more than the allotted decibels for my size.

the music in Pride and Prejudice makes me want to do an old ballet bar routine.

In an effort to make where I grew up cutting edge I cut all the neighborkid's bangs to approximately 1/2 inch of fuzz when I was 6.

I am not really sorry.

Smells Like Teen Spandex

The beginning of the year signifies one thing in my family. DANCE COMPETITION season! The final competition was this past weekend. Every year I walk away from these competitions with approximately 300 less brain cells than I came into it with. This year colorful commentary was there every weekend. One weekend in particular was the climax. In a matter of a couple hours all of the following things happened.

I made conversation with this woman in the hallway because she had the coolest shoes on. I noticed everyone was kind of watching me talk to her, but I chose to think they were all freaks and I was the normal one. Turns out she is a really famous dancer and was one of the judges. I still maintain that they were all freaks...I am sure famous dancers like to be told they look cute just as much as those of us who don't have muscles that are visible when doing arduous things like pointing.

I tried to reserve some seats when some women were getting up and one of them looked at me like I had just kicked a three-legged puppy and said "We aren't leaving." (really rudely) I held my tongue because I know the type of people who will start a fight. She was one of them. I didn't want to have to beat her up in front of 1,000 people.

Every boy that took the stage only buttoned the second button on their dress shirt so that their skinny 16-year-old boy abs could easily be viewed by everyone in the auditorium. I am sorry if that is the new thing to do, but please, you look ridiculous. Everyone knows the 3rd button is a much sexier option.

A chick in one of the worst dances of the evening kept making a face that would scare Hannibal Lector. It was a pucker so big it made her eyes shut almost completely. I didn't get it, but I did laugh.

A girl used my face as a spot. (Spot- when turning a dancer will keep their eye on one spot, typically a spot on a wall, in order to keep dizziness and yaking at bay.) I didn't know where to look. I chose the high road and made the weirdest faces I could.

Last but not least during a song appropriately titled "skin" a girl popped out of her costume and didn't realize it for about a minute. Maybe they should have considered costumes that weren't scraps of fabric tied around their bodies. Just an idea from the department of obvious.

So all in all I would say it was a really winning year. Whit did great. Won a bunch of scholarships as per usual. And I, well I got to experience the pure joy of laughing at strangers.

I suppose 1/2 a lecture in nearly 24 years is good.

I made a good decision, and I got a lecture from my dad anyway. It is highly possible that he is trying to make up for never giving me a lecture before..at least not that I can remember. It is probable that the reason has much to do with my very high level of determination. This quality is most certainly a double-edged sword. Much of the time all logic is thrown out the window when I have a goal in sight. This, I am sure, is utterly frustrating as a parent. When your kid takes a cigar out of your mouth and breaks it in half when you're celebrating with your buddies because she is going to stop you from smoking if it means following you around and breaking everything you smoke, I'd imagine it is irritating. Or when I decided that procrastination is not the answer and I single handedly moved all of my bedroom furniture into my dad's old office in the basement. I say old office because it became the "old office" when it became my "new bedroom." Or when I tried setting up a "Say NO to Drugs" product sale at the end of my neighbors driveway only to get told by a mean old lady down the street that the cops were getting called on me...I don't get this either. I could see protesting if we were selling "Let's smoke some weed in 1993" t-shirts out of a tie-dyed spray-painted old suburban, but 10 year olds trying to make a dime, are ya kidding me lady? Nope she wasn't. Cops showed up. We went inside. Lesson learned, don't test old women. They call the cops, and are out of their minds. I think at least one of those instances required some sort of lecture, but I didn't even kind of get one until last weekend... I realized why about half-way through when I looked up and said "I don't know why we are talking about this, I have already made the right decision." Sometimes I scare myself because I know I will someday look down at a two year old who is picking up the phone to call third world countries and save babies and they will say "don't even think about the lecture mom, I am saving millions of kids, You can spare a couple bucks on a phone bill, they only have one shirt...have you seen your closet lately? Whatever I don't care. I AM MAKING THE RIGHT DECISION. " and at that point the world will implode.

I'll Cry if it Saves Me Money...

I can never talk my way out of tickets, ever. Unfortunately, I have the sometimes pain in the ass characteristic of telling it how it is. The inability to lie or cry when it would be most lucrative. So I find myself saying things like. "Yeah I know why you pulled me over. I was speeding." Very matter-of-factly, with very little emotion. Well, I got pulled over...again. I was so pissed off I started crying (because it is the 3rd time I have gotten pulled over for going 36 in a 25 when I didn't know I was in a 25.) Guess who didn't get a ticket for speeding?

I have compiled a list of things that do and do not work when trying to talk your way out of tickets (most are things I have actually witnessed or used)...

Do...(obviously a lot fewer of the dos because I always get the ticket)

1. be honest, and a good conversationalist. My mom once talked her way out of 5 tickets in a month because she told the truth, and within seconds had the officer chatting up a storm. One of those times she was with my girl scout troop. She was taking us to the prison, and you better believe she had that officer engaged in conversation about the jail.

2. If you actually have tears coming, use them to your advantage.

3. If you see the opportunity to flirt, do. (Sorry men, this may not be the best solution for you)

4. Stay calm. Even if you are crying this is crucial.


Do Not...

1. Get so upset you are crying but not breathing and wailing but not talking. It is a ticket, not an injection of deadly poison.

2. Get out of your car and start running. Specifically if you are a man in a thong leopard print leotard. Ick to the nth degree. Things I don't need to see, there are lots of them in that scenario.

3.Try and argue your way out of the ticket. For instance:
Cop: Do you know why I pulled you over?
Perp: Because you are either blind or can't read your radar gun...
Cop: You were going 50 in a 20, sir/ma'am.
Perp: No I wasn't. The road was slippery and I was on a hill. My brakes weren't working, and I think I am coming down with the flu so my eyes are really itchy.
Cop: Yes you were, and it's 85 degrees and dry, how was the road slippery?
Perp: oil spill? *wink*

4. wink

5. Get so pissed off you have to be tasered.



p.s. For those of you who gave really great input on the last post I have chosen not "nauty codpiece, " but ROLLICK for the name of my line. Thanks for all your really thoughtful input. It was really, um, well not at all helpful actually. It did make me laugh though. An update on all things rollick to come within the next couple days.

I would rather Panic! at the Disco than do anything at a Country bar.

It has been a long time since I got a CD that I couldn't get enough of. I am talking almost a year here. I have finally found a new poison. It is a band called Panic! at the disco. I got the CD on Saturday and I think I have listened to it all the way through 10 times already. For those of you who are worried my musical taste has taken a one way flight to crapville, don't worry. It's not Disco. The best way I can describe it is Fall out boys with more electronica. AND with song titles like "The only difference between suicide and matyrdom is the press coverage" how can you not love them. Awesome. At the very least download "Lying is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off" I will warn people who don't like cussing, there is some.

On a totally separate note I am looking for a name for some clothing design I am doing. All you word people I am talking to you. I want it to be one word. Obviously it has to be kind of edgy. No, it can't be expletive. Although da' Shit designs would be great. I am not a rapper. So there are your stipulations. Start thinking, and either post a comment or email me your ideas. (Quickly, I only have a couple days.)

Depressing Excitement

Last night was rough. Personally I had a great day, but after work I called my dad to chat about some tax stuff and realized the instant he answered the phone that something was not right. He was talking really fast, it made my hands sweat. One of his really good friends went to visit his daughter and found her dead. I don't know his friend or the daughter, but I have never heard my dad so shaken up in my life. My dad has always been a pillar of masculinity. I have only seen him shed one tear. When I talked to him later in the evening he was getting really choked up, and having a hard time talking. Before we got off the phone he told me he loved me. After a couple seconds I told him I loved him. It was one of the few times I think I actually thought about the weight of what I was saying. It was a hard, beautiful moment I will not soon forget. The reason I share this is not to talk about my sad night. It is because it was one of those evenings where I realized just how fleeting life is. I am left restless by that realization. Primarily because there is so much I want to do in my life that the thought of it quickly coming to an end leaves me aching for an urgency I do not have. I want an adventurous spirit (not in a mountain biking kind of way) the kind of spirit that doesn't allow fear to take hold when something potentially risky comes along. The kind of spirit that jumps off symbolic cliffs knowing that it may hurt to land, but it is a lot better than not knowing what it felt like to jump. Sometimes trusting that God actually knows what He is doing is really hard in those situations, but I know He will catch me if I put myself in a place for Him to do so. I don't believe I am on this earth to be a quiet, mild-mannered Christian. That just isn't who I am. It is time to start living life the way it was meant to be lived. With reckless abandon. Watch out for cliff jumpers.

The reason I am not an "inventor"

There is a reason my creativity is being harnessed in the wonderful industry of insurance. It is because when I come up with ideas for new things, inventions if you will, they are absolutely horrible. Today my idea's were centering around some sort of board game. A game that asks what celebrity had a propensity for what drug. (I know, I know I'm kinda playin it fast and loose with the word invention.) Questions would read something like this. Which child star's boredom in her early 20's led to her addiction to Methamphetamines? Ding Ding Ding Who is Stephanie Tanner. CCCOORREECCCTT! And then there would be information about that drug on the back of the playing card. For instance "This drug is the reason you can't get any Friggin' sudafed when you go to target at 9 pm and the pharmacy is closed." Who doesn't want to play that game? I think it sounds like at least 5 minutes of fun. Alright not really, but it is informative. We all know how well informative games sell. Maybe there could be a whole line of Warning games. The perils of alcohol. Different types of STD's. Ahhh. (That's a scream not Aww how cute those kitties would be if I stuck them in the blender...sorry Amy) Flashbacks to 8th grade and the co-ed slide show viewing of real life STD's. Talk about scare tactics. Making 13 year olds view stranger's sickly special places in a room with the opposite sex, NOT NICE!! I was a very shy girl then, I could barely spread a rumor let alone herpes. So no STD game. I will spare those pre-teens with parents who want to talk about sex with them in a "cool" way the pain. Instead I will invite them to any family event with me. They think talking to their parents about sex isn't fun try my grandma. Talk about fun, I got your fun right here.

Sometimes I think He is just showing off...

I literally had the best 3 days of my life last week. It is not really stuff I can share via internet, but it was good....Throw yourself in front of a truck and not care about it hitting you good. Apparently I have been looking at the ground while God's been waving His goodness banner (I don't really know what that means either) right in front of my face. I looked up just in time to be close-lined by it. Which is where I find myself now. Semi-unconscious, a little confused, overwhelmed, excited, nervous, and completely in awe of God. I didn't even see it coming. You just never know when everything is going to change.

On a completely separate note saying "I appreciate architecture." as an excuse for staring at my boobs, while very funny, will not get you a date with me.

I can find no reason to count sheep...

I go through periods where I will dream every night, then all of the sudden I won't have a dream for months. I have been dreaming a lot lately. It wasn't strange until two nights ago. I had a dream that I was on a show called Tight Rope Walking with the Stars, I will pause so that you can question my subconscious, and I was one of the washed up celebrities. I had to wear a very large pink tutu, and a leopard print leotard, and walk between buildings. It was bad. I can only assume that the 5 minutes of ice skating with the stars I watched before 24 affected my REM cycle. That or I really hope to be famous and then with the help of cocaine lose my rising fame (although now days drug habits only seem to boost careers.See Kate Moss.) so that 10 years down the road I can attempt to dance around on a piece of string hung between buildings. Hey, if Uncle Joey is there, count me in. In a related story Tanya Harding is now a boxer. The story is a year old, but I had no clue who it was. I guess she has finally found an outlet for aggression that doesn't involve conspiring to hit others with bats. Well done Tanya, well done.

The Rhythm is After Me

I have many love/hate relationships. Eating healthy, high heels, snow. But First and Foremost in the department of love/hate would be rap. I love dancing, always have. It is not unlikely that my death will come in the form of a fall due to booty dancing in my late 90's. What a great way to go. I imagine my first heavenly utterings would be something along the lines of "Ya see God. The rhythm eventually did get me, just like Gloria predicted. I thought we had a deal!!!" and we will all laugh and be on our way to eating mounds full of cheesecake dripping in Godiva.

ANYWAY...on with the love hate.

Love: anything by snoop, dre, eminem.

Hate: anything by anyone else. Specifically people who find the need to use the words laffy taffy, lady lumps, and refer to genitals as chick-o-sticks. I get the laffy taffy thing, but I refuse to think of my ass as taffy. Sorry I can't do it.

Love: Ain't nothin' but a G thang. 8 mile soundtrack. Either will always make my day better.

Hate: The following song lyrics: For the whole mess of words go here.
Rob a jewelry store and tell em make me a grill uh, uh Had a whole top diamonds and da bottom rows gold Yo we bout to start an epedimic wit dis one.
I have no words. I am gonna start an epedimic with this one too. How about I release a vile of small pox into their trailer? Do they even know what epidemic means? Clearly spelling isn't their strong suit.

really from here on out it is all hate.

Hate: Raps with any of the following phrases : You know who this is ,You know what this is,
You know who dis be.
I don't get it. In my eyes that is all Jermaine Dupri is good for/does. That is all he ever says. He knows and has worked with everyone, but all he ever does is say" You know who dis is, so so deaf." Well I am not deaf, so stop frickin' sayin' that. It's annoying, and also YOU MAKE NO SENSE!!!! One vile of Small pox for you too sir.


Hate:People in that particular sector of the industry (Rap/R&B) rename themselves after every couple of albums. Puff Daddy-Puffy-P.Diddy-Diddy; Jennifer Lopez-J-Lo; Mariah Carey-MiMi; From now on I am going by my alias Lil' Purrr'. Don't worry, if you don't like it it will be a symbol next week, and you can call my the artist formerly known as lil' purrr'.

Ahhh rap. Such a glorious explosion of culture.

Quote of the week:From who else...my sister

Her to Shalinn: My ass is as red as a stoplight....happens to most of us.
Shalinn and I: confused looks, and some laughing.
Her: Well happens to the best of us. You're going to have to look at it later, I have a weird spot. Ohh maybe Erin will look at it.

I don't get it either.

Lil' Purrr' out. You know who this is.

The frosting of my week...

I am having a severe case of writer's block. Maybe it is because my life has become consumed with work. Maybe it is because I don't get home before 10:00 most nights. Maybe it is because I have a lack of caffeine in my system and have a headache that may just blow my head right off. Ah addiction, it is such a beautiful frickin disaster.

To make up for my lack of blogging I will do a run of highlights from the last week.

My roommate getting hit in the mouth with a frisbiee ( causing her lip to swell up to about 5 times its normal size) the day of a first date. (I know that is more of a lowlight, but I am not making a list of lowlights)

Getting caught by the woman I lovingly refer to as fake mom checking out a guy. Not really all that funny until I realized who I was checking out. It was an guy we've have both known for a couple years, he got Nerd glasses*. They are attractive...very attractive, that's that.

Getting told the color orange accents my cheekbones. Somebody tell me what the hell that means. Last I knew changing my shirt could not in any way alter the bone structure of my face. Maybe it is a magic shirt.

This conversation.
Me: "He is a bastard."
Person: confused look, as if I am just saying that to be comforting
My response:"I am not trying to be nice here."

Steve Carell winning a golden globe. I love that man. If you haven't seen the office, British or American, consider yourself at a great disadvantage.

Watched my favorite bonus feature from Waiting for Guffman over and over and over again. "And I am proud of you too Dad you taught me.... how the gentle fragrance of a woman's hair can drive a man wild..." Again if you haven't seen this you are at a disadvantage. I actually question your sense of humor if you haven't watched either of these things. Yep, I am judging you.

Made a list of the top ten people I would make out with if given the opportunity. Don't worry Orlando Bloom is on there. I can tell you were worried. Your nails are nubbins aren't they.

Footnotes: (Yep, a blog with footnotes)

*Black plastic rimmed, Think more along the lines of Clark Kent, less along the lines of the kid in grade school who taped his glasses and was always found chewing his sleeve or snotting all over himself. Sick, who wants to date or square dance with that guy...oh wait I did have to square dance with that guy. Just my luck.

I am glad to have animal lovers in the world for this reason...

I have found the bumper sticker to end all bumper stickers. I wasn’t even looking for it and then while driving yesterday, I saw it. “You think it is hard to put on a condom TRY IT WITH PAWS. Please have your pet spayed or neutered” Perfection.

A low point

I just teared up reading about abused cocker spaniels who have seizures and 3 legs. Don't tell me that God can't transform.

Cuz' it's one, One, ONE strike you're out!

After yelling DEALBREAKER!!! when my roommate received a text message from an interested boy I realized, once again, that I may have issues. Apparently not everyone has a conscious list of things that would signify an almost immediate break-up if a behavior continued. Here is just a small list of things that will almost definitely get me to break-up with/ never date someone.

A Man who:

1.Considers text messaging a viable form of communication.

2.Has no sense of personal space
2a.Has no respect for others personal space
2b.Insists on invading my personal space when around others...for instance lap sitting

3. Enjoys long phone conversations when we only live 10 minutes apart.

4. Reads any form of comic books, wizard magazine, or anything in the realm of fantasy...this includes porn.

5. thinks a clever way to pick me up is to pass me notes with song lyrics: ex. Hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name....NO! no, I will not tell you my name you yellow pants wearing FREAK.

6. doesn't understand that biking in any form is not a date. Even if I do get training wheels.

7. Takes pictures of me without permission.

8. Follows me around in a van.

9. Cries more than I do.

10. Calls himself a musician due to a run in with a triangle at a 3rd grade production of Les Mis.

Whether or not it is a list you write down or not, YOU have dealbreakers too. Yes, you sitting there all smug pretending you are better than me.

Crazy Coffee Whores and the Media...A Lethal Combination

As a redhead I have found that I often get told that I look like anyone else who has red hair. Here are a list of people I don't look like that I have been told I do...

specimen # 1: Nicole Kidman. Not a chance in hell.

specimen # 2: Kathy Griffin. Maybe if you are drunk to the point of not remembering who you are Kathy and I bear a slight resemblance.

specimen # 3: Alright this is where I draw the line. It is time to set down the crack pipe and admit yourself to the local rehab center. If I look like Carrot Top then there is a magical world filled with diamond- lined pastel clouds , fat-free McDonald's cheeseburgers, and PEEPs waiting for me outside of the office.

And Finally specimen # 4: Lindsay Lohan. I get this comparison the most by far, but it doesn't make it anymore true. This lady who works at Starbucks tells me I look like a different teenage celebrity everytime I go in. Last week it was Hilary Duff, this week it was Lindsay. I think she may have taken the espresso machine hostage in the back room and rid it of all its "poison" a.k.a. espresso. Crazy Coffee Junkie.

The Point: Don't tell me I look like anyone famous, I will not believe you.

Cats in Hell?

New Years. A time for celebration, sequins, and false eyelashes...okay maybe that is just something I do. I glittered up and hopped in my car like a rhinestone cowboy(girl) ready to take on the very wild Rodeo Drive. Watch out 2006 there is a new glamour girl in town and she isn't afraid to wear sweats to work or stilettos to the store. You just never know when I will strike...

Some of the high points of the last day of 2005:

I was at my grandma's 70th birthday party and my sister kept asking "What is aniece?" I looked at her like she had to be kidding, but I know better. I started laughing and explained to her what A NIECE was. I think she may need therapy. She openly admits that her role model is Jessica Simpson. I, for one, am shocked.

This may be a low point:
We were playing trivial pursuit and the following exchange took place:
"What actor's pot bellied pig"
Me: interrupting the person asking the question yelled"GEORGE CLOONEY"
Everyone: confused looks, and a shaking head.

I was right.
Why I retain such useless information I don't know, but I do. I am really good at Trivial Pursuit because of it.

Later in the evening while watching New Years in NYC I began to think about being there with 8,999 other people for 9 hours. Honestly, my thoughts were surrounding the fact that finding a bathroom in that city is about as worthwhile as searching for the lost city of Atlantis in my basement. And this is what I felt the need to share with the whole room.
"That is like hell without cats."
To which Graham replied "the animal or the musical?"
I obviously replied "either."

Can you imagine. Being freezing cold surrounded by obnoxious people who push, Not being able to see past 5 feet, with the exception of the times the "smelly" guy with far too much body hair who has managed to drink my body weight in Natural Light insists on dancing around, AND you haven't peed since you left this morning. On top of all of that there are small animals that meow and smell like poop, and people in spandex with furry headgear and face paint frolicking around. If that doesn't describe hell, don't talk to me, I won't understand you.

Lastly, I got drunk dialed by my sister @ 1:45 in the morning while she was in the car with my dad. When she asked why I was still up and I replied "why are you calling me if you didn't think I would be up?" She got really pissed and held the phone away from her head and made me listen to a conversation she had with my dad. I talked to her yesterday and she had no recollection of the phone call. I am going to start using drunk dials as black male. Just a warning for you drunk dialers out there.