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***