Friday, December 28, 2007

Love and Hate

Hello friends and enemies, it is me, BrokeInDC, back from a brief hiatus. The holidays always throw me off. Here is a little tid-bit to tide you over.



Things I Hate to Love

  • Dancing with the Stars
  • Gold shoes
  • Starbucks peppermint mochas
  • Leggings
  • Animal print clothes
  • Roseanne
  • Abbrev's
  • The scrolling marquee screen saver
  • Pictures/videos of funny cats



  • Star Wars
  • Lord of the Rings
  • Novelty clothing
  • Cheese


Things I Love to Hate
  • Loud talkers
  • Dogs dressed like people

(Isn't this the stupidest friggin thing you've ever seen)
  • Uggs
  • Pedestrians
  • Children that are not related to me
  • Puffy coats
  • Generic cell phone ring tones
  • Interrupters
  • People who talk on their cell phone excessively in social situations
  • Loud breathers
  • Velvet sweat suits
  • Camouflage

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Cereal Girl


Drumroll please...



Sistah girl has decided to grace my blog with her presence by writing a guest post. She told me this story the other day, and I knew I had to have her write a post about it.



Enjoy.


Last Friday I was in the midst of a long day in an attempt to finish xmas shopping. I realized that I was really hungry so I ventured into Panera to satisfy my belly. When I walked, in I noticed that it was extremely busy and immediately began to scan the restaurant for an open seat. In one of the far discarded corners of the room a girl was sitting at a table by herself and appearing to be enjoying what I thought was a bagel. All of the tables surrounding her were empty, so I thought to myself "That looks like a nice quiet girl, I will sit close to her b/c I'm by myself too".

So after I got my soup and sandwich I wandered over to the corner and seated myself at a table. I noticed as I walked by her and sat down, the girl didn't even look up. She appeared to be too engrossed in the magazine she was reading. After a few minutes of sitting and enjoying my chipotle chicken sandwich (which was quite tasty) I decided I would look at my neighbor and give her a friendly smile, but once I got a closer look I realized that she wasn't eating a bagel....she was eating cereal straight out of the box with her hands.

I continued to survey her and her belongings noticed that she had multiple boxes of opened cereal that she had apparently been eating. I say this because each box was torn open as if she just couldn't wait one second longer and didn't see the point in opening the box the proper way. She also had an enourmous duffle bag and an empty grocery bag from Trader Joe's (which was where I'm assuming she purchased her cereal). She was just sitting there at a table in Panera, blatantly stuffing handfuls of organic cereal from Trader Joe's into her mouth and intently reading a fashion magazine.

I sat at the table next to her for 20 minutes and watched her, she NEVER once looked up and noticed me staring at her. For the 20 minites I was there she picked up each box and shoved several large handfuls of cereal into her mouth. It appeared that she had been sitting there awhile too, because the floor around her was covered in cereal crumbs and she had an empty bottle of water sitting on the table. She hadn't even purchased anything from Panera! She simply went to the grocery store down the street, bought a few boxes of organic cereal, a magazine and decided to then go to Panera and enjoy her purchases.

At one point she got up to go to the bathroom and as she walked away with her cheeks stuffed with cereal (she looked like a chipmunk), she kept wiping cereal reminants off of her face and clothes. I sooo wished that someone had been there with me to see this, it was very bizarre.

-Sistah Girl





In A Nutshell...

I started my new job yesterday, and its quite lovely. However, due to said job, I will be unable to post on a regular schedule for a while. I will be trying to post in the evenings, but things are a little hectic at the mo', so I'll do what I can for you good people. Don't fret...I'll still be posting several times a week, so keep visiting my blog, duh.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

The Adventures of StuD


You guys wanna hear more about StuD? I thought so. I have enough stories about him to start a new blog, but that would just be silly.

So many people know that I am simply ridiculous. I make ridiculous decisions, say ridiculous things, have ridiculous stories, and I am also lucky enough to have a ridiculous boyfriend. Now if you think I am entertaining, you should spend an evening with StuD. He is a trip.

Last night StuD surprised me by popping over later in the evening. I was lounging on the couch, eating a bag of popcorn and watching some awful reality television when I heard a knock on the door. Not expecting any guests, I jumped off the couch and peered through the peephole. It was the boyf! I whipped open the door and StuD lumbered in, grinning.

He was dressed like some sort of trendy homeless person. He was wearing this huge hat with ear flaps that I had crocheted for him (yes, I am crafty, thank you), a Jcrew sweatshirt with a faux hood, gray slacks, and brown leather square-toed shoes. His face was scruffy from lack of shaving (its exam week). He sat down in my living room, opened my laptop, and said, "There is this GREAT Trisha Yearwood song I have to play for you."

What? I literally was speechless. Trisha Yearwood? Really?

StuD has recently been dabbling in country music. I knew it was bad news when he started casually scanning the country radio stations when we were in the car. And now he absolutely loves Trisha Yearwood. He played me a selection of her songs, bopping his ear-flapped head along to the music, with a big grin on his face. He even did this little point-and-shoot dance move thing with his hands during a particularly catchy part of "She's in Love with the Boy".

After getting his fill of Trisha Yearwood, I convinced him that we should turn it off so we could watch Project Runway. He half-heartedly complains about watching that show, but I think he really likes it, just because he can do his crappy impression of Tim Gunn, where he just says "Designers!" over and over again. If he tries to say anything else in a Tim Gunn voice he sounds like a weird British person.

So we watch Project Runway, with the occasional "Designers!" from StuD peppered in. After the show he starts to study for his Orbital Navigation exam (yes, StuD is studying to become a rocket scientist...true story). Suddenly he looks up from his book, "You wanna hear something really weird that happened to me during an interview?" he asked.

Of course I do!

He went on with his story...

"Remember when I interviewed with XYZ company a few weeks ago? Well, I didn't want to tell anyone about this, cause I felt really weird about it...but during the interview, the guy I was interviewing with re-situated himself...you know, like guys do. And so I stared at his crotch, because he had just re-situated it. I didn't mean to! But he totally saw me. It was like, I dunno, getting caught staring at a girls breasts while you're talking to her. So from then on the whole interview was uncomfortable and I felt really weird."

At this point I was laughing uncontrollably. I could just imagine StuD in his interview, all happy and confident because it is going great. But then for a second, he happens to stare at the wrong spot and get caught. I'm sure he looked like a deer in headlights. His eyes get really big when he is caught in some sort of bad act. For example, when he is trying to secretly eat my food, and I hear the crinkling of food packaging so I walk in the kitchen. He jumps out of the pantry real quick, his cheeks bulging a bit, stuffed with food, eyes wide as if to say, "What? I'm totally innocent and I am NOT eating your food." And then he smirks, cause he knows he is caught.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Step in Time


So lets talk about Mary Poppins. Love that movie, but when I watched it last night on ABC Family, I forgot how weird it was.

This is what StuD had to say about the movie:

"Its a demonic movie about the hardships of the children."

What? Are we talking about the same movie? Those kids have a nanny that sings them beautiful songs and cleans up the nursery with the snap of her fingers. That woman is a dream.

But she is also really vain and in love with herself. When she firsts arrives and starts to unpack her magic carpet bag, the woman whips out TWO mirrors: one gigantic mirror for the wall so she can "see all of my face at the same time" and one hand mirror. And then there is her description on the tape measure she measures Jane and Michael with. Her measurement reads "Mary Poppins. Practically perfect in every way." After she reads it out loud, she smiles sweetly as if to say "Duh, of course I'm perfect." And then when they jump into the sidewalk chalk painting, she wins that freakin' horse race sitting side-saddle on a carousel horse. Rosy-cheeked beeyotch.

But lets talk about some other aspects of the movie. What's the deal with the man who lives next door to the Banks' and shoots a cannon off his roof every hour. The "admiral" has recreated a ship deck on his roof, apparently not over the fact that he used to be a boat captain or something. He is also quite knowledgeable about the weather. Even though the man shoots a cannon off his roof, I would take him over Mr. Wilson any day.

Another interesting character is the man who loves to laugh. Uncle Albert. Whose uncle is he? They call him Uncle Albert, but I really do not think that Jane, Michael, Mary Poppins, or Burt are his nieces or nephews. In my opinion, it is bad news if a man prefers to be called "Uncle" and he is no one's uncle. In any case, he loves to laugh. And float on the ceiling. Drugs must be involved.

And then they go to the bank. Good heavens, the bank and the goddamn tuppins. Michael just wanted to feed the birds, but no. Those rickety old bankers attacked that little boy for his tuppins. But if I were Michael, I sure as hell would not want to feed the birds. That bird lady with her deep, hollow "Feed the birds, tuppins a bag" always freaked me out. And those birds are crawling all over her! Birds are disgusting, and terrifying. Michael, I think you should keep your tuppins.

My sister and I grew up loving Mary Poppins. We used to watch it in our sweet gigantic conversion van, eating chicken nugget happy meals. How charmingly Midwest. We also used to stomp around our living room shaking sticks, dancing along to "Step in Time." Best number of the movie, I say. God, I wanted to be a chimney sweep so bad.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Airborne Rabies


During my time in college I discovered that Airborne, the herbal health formula that is supposed to boost your immune system during flights, is an excellent hangover remedy. My path to this discovery was an adventure.

Last year I went out with my friends just before Christmas break. End of exams, no homework, woo hoo. Needless to say, we partied a little too hard and I still felt a little rough around the edges the next morning when I got to the airport to catch a flight home to Ohio. I also was beginning to feel a cold coming on, so I figured I better grab some cold-eez or something to deter my sickness. The airport convenience store did not have any cold-eez, but they did have Airborne. I briefly skimmed the package, saw that it would help me "combat germs" and promptly bought it. Assuming it was some sort of pill I was supposed to take before the flight, I headed towards the drinking fountain by the bathrooms. I opened the box and pulled out the small tube containing the Airborne. I popped the top, pulled out a giant tablet, and thought, "Hmmm...these must be like giant Tums. I guess I don't need to swallow anything, just chew it." I popped one in my mouth chomped down hard.

Big mistake.

Airborne tablets are not "giant Tums". They are effervescent tablets, that you are supposed to drop in a glass of water. As soon as they touch anything wet, they begin to effervesce. A lot.

The moment the tablet touched my tongue, chaos ensued. The tablet was effervescing everywhere and foam was spewing out of my mouth, making me look like I had a raging case of rabies. I panicked, wide eyed and gurgling, and attempted to run to the nearby bathroom. Unfortunately I had ALL my luggage with me, which was a huge deterrence. I panicked even more, because everyone knows at the airport you are not supposed to leave luggage unattended! I threw caution to the wind and ran towards the bathroom, my wheeling suitcase dragging on its side, my coat flying behind me and my giant tote bag jostling all over the place, all the while foaming at the mouth. Its a good thing there was no one in my way, and that the drinking fountain was fairly close to the restrooms.

I reached the bathroom sink, dropped my luggage, and spit out the fizzing tablet. I was shocked. "What the hell kind of Tums are these?!" I thought to myself as I glanced down at the small tube still clutched in my hand. I finally took the time to properly read the directions: Drop one effervescent tablet into 4 to 6 ounces of water, let fully dissolve (about 1 minute) and drink.

I went and bought myself a bottle of water and everything was fine. After correctly drinking a dose of Airborne, I felt great. Hydration + Airborne = even greater success.

Thursday, December 6, 2007

Etiquette and Resignation

So what is the proper etiquette for Holiday Parties? I'm talking about what to wear, how much to drink, who to invite, what to serve, how to be a good guest, what to do at the office party...etc. I was discussing this today on the wondrous G-chat with my friend Hurricane. We had come across the topic of Holiday Party invitations, and how one should react to not being invited to a party. She recounted her reaction to an ice-skating party she was not invited to in the third grade:

Hurricane: "Oh Suzy, did my invitation to your ice-skating party get lost in the mail? 'Cause I know you would have invited me."

Hurricane is one of my favorite people. Her shrewd humor was demonstrated as a mere third grader, sarcastically commenting on an invitation to an ice-skating party.

Once when I was in first grade, all my friends were whispering about going to "Jane's" birthday party. I had not received an invitation. When I asked her about it, she told me she "ran out of invitations". I was crushed that the local pharmacy had sold out of birthday invitations...what rotten luck.



Ok, so the next part of my blog is going to be, well, quite descriptive. But the description is necessary to properly convey the situation. So be warned that you may discover some revealing information about me. But I'm willing to do it for a laugh. Enjoy.

Today I resigned from my job.

I was extremely nervous about having to tell my supervisor that I had found a new job and was leaving. Someone else had just resigned earlier this week, so it was just like a second beating over the head for my employer that an additional person was leaving as well. I had been thinking about it all morning, which didn't help my nervousness.

When I get nervous, I tend to smile a lot. I'm talking shit-eating grin. I think everything is hysterical, even in the most inappropriate situations. I try my hardest to keep a straight, sober face, but I can never manage it and always end up looking messed up in the end. My mind is telling my face to act normal, but my nerves are telling it to smile. It never works out.

Also when I get nervous, I tend to sweat a lot, generally in the pit areas. I am normally a dry person, but when I get really nervous, the glands open. I think this is a fairly common nervous symptom, no big deal.

Red splotches around my neck also come along with my nervousness. And when I drink. I have very pale, sensitive skin so any strong change in mood or similar situation tends to affect the color of my neck.

And the final, most embarrassing thing that happens only when I get extremely nervous: I tend to...um...putting it delicately...I tend to break wind. Yes, I said it. Now we're not talking rip roaring situations, we're talking silent situations. One may notice an odd essence, I would say.

So, when I finally was able to go talk to my boss, I was terrified of the state I was in. I imagined myself from his perspective: a grinning, sweaty, smelly, splotchy mess sitting in front of him, perched uncomfortably in the office chair. My face was probably twisting between grin and scowl in my attempt to look normal, and I was terrified to open my mouth, because I knew a loud peal of laughter would most likely come out of it. I'm sure it was terrifying for him.


Disclaimer: Just so you know, I generally have enough composure to hide these unfortunate ailments that affect me during nervousness. I'm sure I didn't look that bad...at least I hope...

P.S. When I was googling a synonym for the word "Fart", a colleague came up to my desk before I could successfully minimize the screen. Damn.

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Commute Adventure

The other day I was enjoying a leisurely drive home from work...you know, heavy DC traffic makes for a "leisurely" drive. My typical commute home includes navigating the nightmare that is the Capital Beltway, or 495/95, whatever you wish to call it. It is my joy every day to drive on the Beltway right into the Woodrow Wilson Bridge bottleneck. For those of you who do not live in the DC area, the Woodrow Wilson Bridge spans the Potomac River, linking Maryland and Virginia. Because this bridge is so vital for people traveling in and out of DC into Maryland on their daily commute, it has inevitably become a huge traffic "problem area". They are expanding the bridge to allow traffic to flow more freely through this area. I'm quivering with excitement for the bridge to be completed...if it does really help out with traffic, that is.

As I was saying, the other day I was relishing my daily jaunt home from work, and what did I see on the congested Beltway but a man on a BICYCLE. Yes a typical bicycle commuter, complete with rolled up suit pants, helmet, sporty backpack, and a tie flapping in the wind. He was just biking along, as if it was his daily routine to bike on the expressway around DC.

Does this man have a death wish?

Yeah, sure, traffic goes pretty slow during that time of day, but COME ON. Semi-trucks, crazy businessmen, soccer moms, snipers...anything can be found on the DC Beltway, so why the hell would you ride your BIKE on it?

I happened to be on the phone with my friend EB at the time, and mid-conversation about her holiday party I cried out, "There's a business man on a bike on the beltway! A BUSINESSMAN, ON THE BELTWAY, ON A BIKE!"

We laughed about it a bit, but I soon passed him (strongly resisting the urge to swerve out of my lane to run him down). I continued my convo with EB in the stop-and-go traffic. I had finally reached the bridge, and once again, I saw the man on the bike.

I cried into the phone, "There he is again! The business biker! ON THE WOODROW WILSON BRIDGE!"

Not only was traffic so slow that a man on a BICYCLE was beating me home, but he was bicycling on the BRIDGE. There is no bike path! Crazy man.

For your reference, I have skillfully recreated the scenario using the latest in Paint technology:




Now, you must understand that this photo, while it generally shows the current state of bridge construction, it DOES NOT demonstrate the amount of traffic that is on it during rush hour. I'm talking bumper to bumper, jam-packed the whole way across the bridge. And this genius was riding his bike through it.

Monday, December 3, 2007

Voicemail from...?


So this morning I rolled into work, ready to start the week, and noticed the little red light on the phone in my luxuriously spacious cube was blinking. Egads, I had a voice mail. (And by luxuriously spacious I mean uncomfortably cramped)

But who would be calling me over the weekend and leaving me a message on my work phone? What could this person possibly want? A favor, a sales call...for heaven's sake who was calling me?

It was Melisse...and she wanted to come over to play with my boys and spend the night. At least that's what the message said.

Now, I do not know who Melisse is, nor how old she is. She sounded about 6 or 7 to me. She had a very quiet babyish voice, and I could hear her mother in the background helping her through the message. Too bad her deficient mother neglected to make sure she dialed the correct number.

I also do not have any boys, or ANY children for that matter, for Melisse to play with as she requested. I especially do not want her to come spend the night.

The message went like this (as soon as I heard it I replayed it so I could type it down word for word):

Little girl's voice: Hey can you pick me up so I can play with your boys and stay the night.

Mom whispering to little girl in the background:
Who are you?

Little girl's voice:
I'm Melisse. Its Melisse, and I want to play with your boys and come over to sleep **long pause** to come over and sleep. Bye. click.


After listening to the message, I looked around confused as if the message would have been directed at another person in my office. Surely Melisse was not calling me.

Unfortunately I had turned off my phone manager over the weekend, so I was unable to check the number to call Melisse back to tell her: No, I will not pick you up; and No, you cannot play with my boys; and No, you cannot come spend the night. I would then ask to speak with her mother, and tell to teach Melisse how to correctly dial a telephone.

Actually no, I hope I hear from Melisse again. It made my Monday that much more interesting.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Prozac

I didn't have time to post earlier today I was super busy.


Sike.


I was only halfway busy. Got a new proj today at work, and my lunch hour was spent doing research rather than whipping up a witty post.

I will, however, make note of a sign that I saw when I was home over Thanksgiving. This sign was an advertisement hanging on the chain link fence at the local K-Mart:

GENERIC PROZAC
$15.00 PER BOTTLE!!!

While I thought this sign was ridiculous and hilarious, it also represents a morbid view of the US. K-Mart (corporate giant) is advertising for generic Prozac (the go-to drug) at $15.00, while right next to that sign was an advertisement for a sale on Pepsi. Its sad that Americans view Prozac as common as soda, and its even sadder that K-Mart is advertising a special sale on the medication, as if it is a household staple. Excuse me while I go take a generic Prozac to cheer myself up.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Secret Shower, Part Deux


Yesterday, after reading my blog for the first time, a co-worker came up to me and said conspiratorially, "I have some information on the secret shower."

Excited, I swiveled around in my desk chair to give him my full attention.

"What?! What do you know about the secret shower?" I asked him excitedly.

He replied, "The girl that just had her baby goes in there to pump her breast milk."








Vom.









I am so disappointed. I thought it was some fantastic hiding place for someone. No, it is not. It is now the breast milk room. No longer a secret shower (even though there is a shower in there). Damn.

But speaking of pregnant ladies, there were THREE of them when I first came to work here. Three pregnant ladies, ready to pop. I do not drink the water here...there is obviously some kind of fertilizer in it.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Weirdest.Bathroom.Story.Ever.


Ok, so this is a story from the holiday season a few years ago. I had completely forgotten about this series of events until my friend Pretty reminded me of it on a previous post. I have also realized I have an absurd amount of bathroom stories.

Anyways...

I am originally from the very nice state of Ohio. I grew up just outside of Toledo. The city of Toledo has a very lovely zoo. Around Christmas-time, they decorate the zoo with all kinds of lights. Its actually pretty amazing, because the entire zoo is covered with twinkling lights in cool designs. My friends and I used to go every winter.

I will never forget the one time I went to the Toledo Zoo Lights.

We arrived at the zoo and went to get our tickets. It was very busy at the zoo that evening...the lines were super long. After purchasing my ticket, I told my friends I would meet them at the gate because I had to use the restroom. Super long line there as well.

Now, all sorts of people go to the Toledo zoo. Country folk, city slickers, rich, poor, white, black, red, yellow...and apparently very hungry children.

I was waiting in line for the bathroom, minding my own business. I had finally made my way just inside the door, but there were still about 6 or 7 ladies ahead of me. As I was standing there, I saw a mother yelling at her child through the stall.

"Are you almost done yet?!" the mom called to her kid through the stall.

"Almost!" came a muffled response.

"Hurry up! We have to see the lights...the place closes in an hour! What are you doing in there?!" the mom yelled.

Meanwhile, everyone in the bathroom is politely ignoring the woman yelling at her child through the bathroom stall. And it was a packed bathroom. This was occurring in front of a whole slew of people. The woman continued to yell at her kid, who had been there for about five minutes at this point. The girl had a whiny, high-pitched 8-year-old voice, and obviously did not want to be bothered while she was using the restroom.


"If you're doing what I think you are doing, I'm coming in there and dragging you out of this zoo!" the woman yelled at her daughter.

"Noooo, waiiiiit. I'm almost done!" came the oddly muffled reply from the stall.






Finally, the woman got down on her HANDS AND KNEES, looked under the stall, and cried out:


"I SEE YOU IN THERE EATING TOILET PAPER! YOU COME OUT HERE THIS INSTANT!"


This woman proceeded to wrench open the door and yank out a chubby little girl with gigantic wads of toilet paper stuffed in her mouth. I mean, this girls mouth was BULGING with toilet paper. She even had a stray toilet paper trail hanging down her chin. At this point, EVERYONE in the bathroom was staring. I mean, how can you not?

The mother shoved the little girl, who had tears running down her face, over to the sink and started grabbing the toilet paper out of the kids mouth and tossing it in the sink, the whole time yelling, "What do you think you're doing? Why does this always happen? We are never coming to the zoo again! You're grounded!"

The little girl was crying and blubbering all over the place, pieces of toilet paper flying out of her mouth. It was one of those moments, where I was totally appalled at what I was seeing, I felt pity for the little girl, I felt sorry for the mom, I wanted to burst out laughing, and I couldn't stop thinking, "Damn, she must have been hungry."

The weirdest part was, after the mom dragged the little girl out of the bathroom (the little girl was still clutching a wad of toilet paper in hand), I looked around with my eyes wide, smiling, looking for someone to laugh with. EVERYONE WAS PRETENDING LIKE IT NEVER HAPPENED! I was pissed...I mean, that has got to be the WEIRDEST thing anyone in that bathroom had ever seen, and no one even made a comment or a smile. Maybe everyone in Toledo has kids that eat toilet paper, and that is just a daily occurrence.

Its too bad camera phones weren't out when this happened. I would have shamelessly taken a picture of that little girl chock full of TP.

Monday, November 26, 2007

To My Roommates

Yes, so it has been a while. Please excuse the lack of posts. Over Thanksgiving I had hardly any time to spend on blogging. C'est la vie.

But anyways, good Thanksgiving I guess. I ventured home to Ohio, the most exciting place in the world. Plenty of family drama to spice things up. Anyways, my mother had come to visit me a month ago, and she had left some stuff at my place. When I went home to Ohio, I packed it all up to bring back to her. According to her, she left some jogging pants and a shirt here, according to me, she had also left a pair of shoes.

"What shoes?" she asked in a phone conversation with me prior to my flight home, "What do they look like?"

"WEDGES mom. Camel colored wedges," I replied.

"I didn't leave any shoes there. I don't have any wedges," she claimed.

"YES you DO, mom. I will bring them, and then you will see."


So I fly home Wednesday before Thanksgiving and unpack all my things, including the pants, shirt, and shoes my mother left at my place in Alexandria.

"Here they are! Here are your SHOES!" I waved them in her face.

"Those aren't mine."

"What?! They are YOURS, you left them at my place!"

"Nope, not mine. I don't know whose shoes those are."


Dumbfounded, I realized they had to be one of my roommates. I had picked them up from next to our front door the same day my mom left, assuming they were hers. I had been hording them in my room for the past month, thinking "oh my mother and her shoes". But no no, Care or Suze, they belong to one of you. And I am sorry that I have been keeping them in my room for the past month.

I imagine my roommates have been walking by my room, glaring at their shoes sitting next to my bed thinking, "That bitch, she's stealing my SHOES."

I promise you guys that wasn't the case. I thought they were my mother's shoes.


Oh and also, I packed up my bike and brought it back from Ohio on the plane. It worked out great, and a few people even asked me if I was a professional biker:

"Do I look like one?" I responded.

"Yeah."

"Then yes," I boasted. "I am a professional biker. I'm on my way to a race in DC right now."



Excuse me whilst I go race my sweet bike...

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

The Secret Shower


My company has a secret...shower, that is. In the ladies restroom there is a door. For the past six months (since I started here) I assumed it was a supply closet. Little did I know, it is a shower. A small, doorless, curtainless, shower with a wooden bench next to it.

The other day I think someone was hiding in there.

I was minding my own business, using the restroom, when I heard someone walk in. Now, there are only two stalls in the ladies room. If someone walks in, you can hear them walking around and see their feet if they go into the neighboring stall. The phantom person who entered the restroom did not go into the neighboring stall as is standard procedure, but walked up to what I thought was the supply closet and opened it. I flushed, thinking to myself, "Hm, we must be out of paper towels in the employee lounge". I walked out of the stall and saw that there was no one else in the room and the "supply closet" door was closed. I just assumed the person had gotten what they needed and rushed out. I washed up and left the restroom.

Later that day I decided I wanted to see what kind of supplies the "supply closet" in the bathroom held. Dear me, I discovered it did not hold supplies, but a grungy shower. And then I started thinking...

If a person came into the bathroom, they may not have known I was in there. Maybe their final destination really was the secret shower. It could have been their plan all along...because who would walk in, open the secret shower door, and then leave, which is what I thought the person was doing when I still thought it was a supply closet. If it really was a supply closet, then walking in, grabbing something, then leaving would make sense. Since it is a SECRET SHOWER, a person coming in there to hide makes perfect sense. In my head, this person is lonely, and was probably eating lunch in there...or a twinkie. Or they just like hanging out in showers. Or they were hiding. Maybe there is an ongoing game of office hide-and-seek that I am not aware of.

Monday, November 19, 2007

"In India they eat FETUSES"


Somehow, StuD always manages to bring up some uncomfortable topic when we are around family: my family, his family, anyone else's family. For example, the summer before last he came home with me to visit my fam over the 4th of July. We had lunch with my straight-edge Ohio fam, who are moderately conservative. At the time, they didn't know StuD very well, and therefore didn't understand his humor and fascination with the most random things (its mind boggling the stuff he comes up with). We were all sitting at a lovely lunch at a picnic table in my Grandpa's backyard. At the time, my older sistah was preggers with her second child. StuD is a very conversational person, and always likes to bring up whatever random topic is going through his head at the time. Usually, when things pop into his head, he gets really excited, and when he tries to put his thoughts into words, sometimes he misses a few points and rushes through things. During lunch, he happened to be thinking about a recent food travel show we saw on the travel channel. Bear in mind, my older sister is with child during this conversation:

"Did you know..." StuD blurted out, "In India they eat FETUSES. We were watching this crazy documentary the other day..." he fades off.


Dead silence. Forks hanging in mid-air. All eyes on StuD.


I rush in, "ANIMAL fetuses. Not like, humans, or anything." nervous laugh, glance at my sister, who has a look that could kill on her face.

Stuart adds, "Oh yeah, yeah, sorry, animal fetuses. Its like, a delicacy. It was so disgusting, they were showing them clean it and prepare it for a big family meal."


More silence. Everyone glances down at their food.


Stuart then continued to comment on the nutritional value of this kind of delicacy. It was like, he kept digging himself into a hole that got deeper, and deeper, and deeper...

Now me, I thought it was fascinating, this fetus conversation. My relatives, not so much. The look on their faces as they listened to my boyf discuss fetus cuisine was unforgettable, and I almost spit out my lemonade when he first blurted out "they eat FETUSES" at our family table, where my sis was pregnant.

Lucky me, awkward family topics have been a recurring theme ever since. Once last year, I was visiting StuD's parent's house with him. In a convo with his mom and pop, StuD mentioned that a lot of his friends and family were getting married. I just sat there, kind of tuning out, looking around, while StuD and his parents continued the conversation about friends and family getting married. Unfortunately, in my mindless gazing, I happened to smile at StuD at EXACTLY the wrong time. Suddenly I heard his mother saying, "You guys aren't trying to tell us something, are you?!"

I panicked.

"No, no!!" I screeched in a high-pitched voice, "I'm just as freaked out by that as YOU are!"

awkward silence. nervous laughter all around.

I think Stuart said something at that point, but really I'm not sure because I blacked out after my mortifying comment. I mean, at the time StuD and I were still in school, we had only been dating for about a year, and marriage is the last thing on both of our minds. I never discuss it with StuD, let alone his parents.

Anyways, yesterday's Thanksgiving dinner with his family was no different. There was no individual circumstance of note, because at this point, whenever I hear a red-flag comment I just get up and leave the room.


Friday, November 16, 2007

Rules for Life

KJ, my best friend from home, recently sent me her boyf’s “Rules for Life” for people just out of college. He came up with these recently, and I’d like to share them, as they are excellent rules, kinda funny, and should generally be followed:


1. Limit your Facebook time. Change your picture no more than once every month. If life is a meal, make your profile an appetizer, not the entree.


2. Read: something that matters, something witty, or something funny. Buy books at used bookstores. It just makes sense.


3. Gain the ability to run 3 miles without stopping.


4. Try other beers, not just Bud light…fool.


5. Ask your more sarcastic friends what music they are listening to, and give it a try… also, try using different music for different scenarios… classic Coltrane to set a classic/old school mood, upbeat stuff when you are preparing to go out at night, etc.


6. Eat at local restaurants if possible. Satan owns 83947 McDonalds and 348759 Au bon Pain's.


7. Organize your email and your real mail. Time to be a grown-up. Use Gmail.


8. Be kind to service workers…(hotel staff, waiters, etc…) for they can make or break your day.


9. Keep your bathroom/kitchen clean. Good God.


10. Go to as many new events/experiences as you can: different sports, different performances, different types of concerts, festivals, bars, etc.


Ok, so these rules are quite useful and should be used as a guideline. But now, I’m going to comment on them, and make a few of my own suggestions.

Rule #1: Limiting your Facebook time is definitely something to consider. You should also regulate your content and who can see your profile if you are on the job hunt, as employers will DEFINITELY look you up. Side-note: Hurricane, getting rid of your Facebook account but still signing on to friends’ accounts to peruse Facebook DOES NOT count as limiting your Facebook time.

Rule #2: Good rule. Follow it. I also suggest keeping up on current events and news with this one. NPR during your commute is great for that.

Rule #3: I’m going to reduce that to having the ability to run one mile without stopping, because even though I’m an athletic and active person, I despise running. As an alternative, pick up a sport as a hobby. Go biking, play kickball, or come play volleyball with me, yay!

Rule #4: Duh.

Rule #5: Why do you have to ask your “more sarcastic friends” what they are listening to? I also found the different music for different scenarios advice quite amusing. I mean, who is like “I’m going out tonight to party hard! I’m gonna listen to some slow jams to pump me up…oh no, wait…according to the rules I should listen to something upbeat. Silly me.” I think most people know what music goes well with certain situations. But I do think its good to discover new music. I suggest hitting up places with local live musicians. Murphy’s in Old Town has a live musician every night of the week. Booya.

Rule #6: Good one. Don’t be afraid to try new foods, either. And I like the Satan reference.

Rule #7: This is an excellent rule. Organization in general is always a good thing. I also recommend organizing and understanding your finances, especially keeping track of your debt. Effing student loans…

Rule #8: Yes, be kind to people in general…even if you can’t stand them.

Rule #9: Amen.

Rule #10: New experiences are a great way to meet new interesting people.

Here are some additional rules, from moi:

  1. Buy at least one really nice suit (ladies too). I don’t care if your current job does not require it. Who knows when you might need to dress up and look professional.
  1. Start a hobby: biking, blogging, cooking, knitting, coin collecting, stalking…whatever. It will keep you busy and help you meet new people.
  1. Network. All the time. It will improve your communication skills as well as connect you with people, who may just help you out in the future.
  1. Travel. Take any opportunity you can to see new places. Even if it’s for work and they send you to Bumfuck, Oklahoma still make an effort to check out the neighborhood. Maybe you’ll find something badass.
  1. Talk to cab drivers. They usually have weird stories and it will make your cab ride more interesting.

  2. Learn to cook at least one good meal. Please don't live off Ramen for the rest of your life.

  3. Read my blog. It will brighten your day.

  4. Drink water. See blog title.

Got any rules of your own?

Thursday, November 15, 2007

New title, you likes?


"Hydration is the Key to Success" comes from one of my college adventures. Once, after a long night of drinking, I loudly proclaimed to all of my friends, "Hydration is the key to success!" if they wanted to reduce their morning hangovers. That became my mantra, and has stuck with me ever since. I can't tell you how many times I've uttered it to my friends during both drunk and sober adventures. I chose it as my new title because it is something that has stuck with me ever since I first proclaimed it. Here are some examples of why hydration really is the key to success:

1. Hangover reduction properties: if you drink water whilst drinking alcohol, you will feel SO much better in the morning

2. Skin moisturizing: moisturize your skin, for chrissake, you will look better and be nicer to touch, lotion=skin hydration

3. Illness: If you are starting to get a cold, drink a lot of water...you will get over your cold faster (according to scientist ME)

4. Swimming pools: pretty sweet, and filled with water

5. Drinking water=consuming 0 calories (this is the girly girl coming out in me, sorry)

6. Hydration is way better than dehydration

7. According to Healthlink, water makes up approximately 70 percent of our muscles and 75 percent of our brains...basically if you don't follow my mantra you will be weak and stupid


So, obviously, Hydration is the Key to Success, thus the new blog name. But I still hate the way my blog looks, because I'm a perfectionist and I'm still trying to figure out coding. Its so frustrating because I like to be able to change things immediately if I don't like the way they are, and with this I can't do that. In my mind, I know EXACTLY how I want my blog to look...but getting there is super frustrating, because I'm still learning how. enough bitching.

Blogging...a certain je ne sais quoi

Just a heads up: my blog will be going through some changes...title, layout, et cetera. I'm brand spanking new to blogging, and I want to personalize the brand of my blog some more. I will be trying some things out, and your feedback is more than welcome. The first change is the title of my blog. There is another Young, Broke, and Fabulous blog out there, so I'm going to change the title to something a little more personal to me. Not a big change, but a change none the less. I apologize write now if I eff up some of the coding and it looks like crap. I will do my best. Like I said, I'm a brand new blogger.


Quick Quotes: Excerpt from a phone conversation with my mom last night

Me: Mom, will you be upset if me or my sister don't have kids? I mean, will you be unhappy if you don't have grandkids?
Mom: No, I'll just do one of those rent-a-kid or borrow-a-kid things...


Um, where can you rent or borrow a child? Neighborhood children watch out.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Holy Toledo, Batman! It can fly!

I've been trying to get into biking since there are so many amazing bike trails in and around DC. It all started with StuD, really, who once biked from College Park to Alexandria because he had just started the whole biking thing and wanted to prove he could do it. He got lost in what he claims was the “ghetto” (hell, it probably was), ended up taking his bike on the metro to the Metro Center stop, and biked the rest of the way to my house. To all the serious bikers out there, this might not seem like a big deal, but StuD is fairly new to DC city biking, and plus, he’s the most ridiculous person I know, besides myself. So I had a good laugh when he told me he was biking from College Park to Alexandria.

For your reference:





Anyways, now I want a bike. And I’m getting one. My father is giving me his old bike, which is quite nice. The only problem I had was how to get it from Ohio to DC. I had several options for this: get the bike the next time I drove to Ohio (driving 8 hours, blegh), have it shipped to me, or pack it up and take it with me on the plane after my trip home for Thanksgiving. After doing some research on washcycle (great for all DC biking queries), I found it’s quite easy to pack a bike for shipping and flying purposes. And, on Southwest, they won’t charge you as long as it fits within their weight and size requirements. This is just another reason why I adore Southwest Airlines.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Velociraptor Hiccup


Today I’m going to share with you the story of my velociraptor hiccup. First of all, yes, that is how you spell velociraptor because I looked it up. Today I had a brief hiccup stint, and it reminded me of the time I went all Jurassic Park in middle school during a bout of hiccups.

Ok, so I have the kind of hiccups that are super annoying. They are generally loud and noticeable, and no matter how much I try, I can never manage to keep my mouth closed to muffle the sound during a hiccup. All throughout my years of education, teachers and professors have hated me as soon as my hiccups come around. In middle school and high school I just giggled my way through it, but in college I just ended up leaving class and writing an email to the professor later apologizing (actually no, I never really made that kind of follow-up effort…I just wrote that because my parents read my blog…but then I remembered I’m 23 and I support myself, so boo ya ‘rents, I write what I want).

One time in middle school I had a horrific hiccup spell. I mean, these things were lasting all morning. Every 30 seconds I emitted a loud “yawp”, all my classmates would laugh, and my face would twist into a silly smirk. I wanted to look like I was embarrassed, but really I didn’t mind the hiccups because I loved the attention.

Finally it was 4th period and I was sitting in history class with Mrs. Ferret. Now, I’m calling her Mrs. Ferret because for the life of me I can’t remember her real name, but I do remember she looked like a ferret. She was an awful teacher and everyone hated her. She also had an awful daughter that was in my year. I can’t remember her name either, but I do remember we called her Rhonda Lids, because this chick would always wear this bright blue eye shadow slicked across her eyelids. Blegh.

Anyways, we had just had a huge test in Ferret’s class. Now Ferret was pretty psycho, and always wanted her classroom silent. If you made the smallest whisper to your friend, that beeyotch would hear it and yell at you immediately. You can imagine her excitement when I started yawping every 30 seconds with the hiccups.

She was passing back the big test we had taken, and the classroom was dead silent, except for my hiccups. After the first hiccup she looked daggers at me and sent me to the drinking fountain. Naturally, water did nothing. I came back from my drink of water and sat down, still hiccupping. She absolutely hated when people were noisy in her classroom, but I had the hiccups, which is something you can’t help, so she just kept getting angrier and angrier every timed I yawped. Ferret had finished passing out the tests and told us to take a few minutes to review them. I was sitting there, reviewing my test (which I had aced…I was a genius, please) and was starting to get tired. I had just had a hiccup, so I figured I’d be safe to yawn really quick before the next hiccup. Big mistake. You know when you try and talk while inhaling and it sounds all high-pitched and squawky? Well imagine a wide mouthed, inhaling huge ass hiccup. That thing could wake the dead. This is where Jurassic Park comes in. The noise I made was a loud “RAAAAAAAAAH!” that finished on a high note. Exactly like a velociraptor in the middle of a dead silent classroom.

I had thought the classroom was pretty quiet pre-hiccup, but after the velociraptor hiccup, you could have heard a pin drop. I had 30 wide eyed faces staring at me, including Ferret, who looked like she was going to explode. I looked around, stone-faced for a good ten seconds, and then busted out laughing.

Come find me some time and I will re-enact it for you.

Monday, November 12, 2007

To Ralph and Bruce: Thanks for a great weekend



As I am finally back to my regular schedule, hopefully my posts will also be more regular. Today I’d like to make note of my weekend, which was pretty ridiculous. Normally I’d preface the weekend story with a whole bunch of background information, but it will just take too long. I’m going to try and keep this brief…but I guess we’ll see where my written wanderings take us…

Friday night I had the pleasure of going out to a lovely dinner at The Palm with a group of friends. Dinner at The Palm in Dupont is always a good time, but it’s an even BETTER time when your friend’s father makes a loud toast in a thick southern accent that goes something like this:

“When the weather is hot and sticky

Ain’t no time to dunk your dicky.

When the dew is on the punkin’

That’s the time for dicky dunkin.”


Amen sir, amen.

He gave another toast that is even better, but I’m not even going to try and write it down for fear that I will butcher it completely. Needless to say, we rounded off The Palm with a shot of Grand Marnier and headed to Georgetown to find a bar to hang out in. Now normally, I don’t do dinner at The Palm and go out to bars Georgetown. I’m more of a Five Guys burgers and Murphy’s in Old Town kind of girl, but on occasion I like to mix it up.

So we went to Mr. Smiths in Georgetown to see what kind of trouble we could get into. Unfortunately, not a lot. There must have been some kind of asshole convention going on in Mr. Smiths, because everyone there SUCKED. Now, I’m not ragging on the bar. It seemed like it could have been a pretty cool place. The crowd was awful. I could bitch about it for the rest of the post, but I did enough bitching about it Friday night while I was there. Bottom line: no fun central.

Saturday I attended the Maryland vs. Boston College game. Ahem, GO TERPS! What an AWESOME game! Maryland won, C-dubs and I rushed the field, and then fun ensued. While on the field, C-dubs and I were high-fiving anyone who would come near us. We even did a brief sprint down the sideline, slapping the hands of the people who were “too cool” to rush the field and stayed in the stands. I rounded off this sprint by doing a magnificent, leaping high-five. You should have seen it: perfectly formed hand position, outstretched arms, shit-eating grin on my face, and legs in perfect scissor kick formation. Unfortunately I did not take into account the small gutter that follows the edge of the field. I crumpled into a heap against the stands. That guy I was trying to high-five was totally left hanging. What made it worse was that he didn’t even laugh. Now I thought it was hysterical that I fell, but that guy, not so much. He just kept his hand held up in the air, apparently pissed off that I missed. Sorry.

C-dubs was too excited to even notice I fell. Even though I told her several times, she just kept saying “Dude, that sucks” and continued to run around. She should have paid more attention to the fact that I fell down, because as we were running around the stadium to meet up with her father (visiting from out of town, giver of the “Dicky Toast”) she leapt off a set of stairs behind the team house, fell down, and broke two of her fingers.

I drug C-dubs inside the team house, where her father was waiting to meet up with us after the game.

Now, fortunately for C-dubs, her family is very good friends with the Friedgens (Ralph Friedgen = head coach for Maryland football). C-dub’s father was hanging out in the team house with Ralph’s wife, who whisked her away to see the trainer. We had just won a huge game against a ranked team, players were milling around the team house, and C-dubs was getting an x-ray from the Terp’s football trainer. After the x-ray, we went to Ralph’s office. It was surreal: the entire Friedgen family was sitting around chatting, Ralph was having a drink at his huge desk, C-dubs was chumming it up with the Friedgen daughters, and there I stood, feeling awkward but psyched out of my mind to be hanging out in the head coach’s office after a huge win. C-dub’s dad gave the “Dicky Toast” for the second time that weekend and then Ralph signed my sweatshirt.

Sunday was StuD’s birthday. We went to see Bruce Springsteen. Great concert, except when did Bruce get so political? Anyway, nothing too ridiculous happened at the concert. StuD and I had a great time, sang “Born to Run” at the top of our lungs, and danced around a bit. I would make fun of how many mid-life crisis male earrings I saw, but this post is too long already. Anyways, Bruce is a good way to wrap up a weekend.

**Side note: this wasn’t part of my weekend, but I thought it was funny. StuD’s roommate tailgated a little too hard on Saturday. Apparently he blacked out at his tailgate and woke up in the hospital, complete with a catheter. He had no recollection of how he got there. He then tried to escape the hospital, but a security guard caught him. Bummer.

Friday, November 9, 2007

I have to pee so bad, but...

I'm sitting in Starbucks right now, pretending to enjoy coffee. Our internet is out at our house, and by our internet I mean there is something wrong with the neighbors internet (get it fixed Wilson!). I really really really have to use the restroom, but there is this guy sitting next to me. He has been for the last 30 minutes. Who cares, you say? Here is my dilemma...

If I go to the bathroom, I'll have to bring my computer, my jacket, and my bag with me. The guy sitting next to me looks nice and respectable, but he could be NOVA's most notorious laptop thief, who knows.. I really have no problem with bringing everything with me to the bathroom, but then the guy will KNOW that I think he is a potential thief. And then I'll have to come back, set everything back down, and sit next to the guy that knows I think he could be a thief. So I just wrote all that and realized I'm being somewhat ridiculous. You know what, thief? I don't care if you know what I think about you!

Bathroom Break

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

Rantings of a Night Shift Lunatic



Let me preface this post by saying that it was actually written at 3am last night. I couldn’t post it immediately because of shifty internet connection.

Proceed…

It’s been a few days since my last post (thanks for the reminder, Hurricane). This is mostly because my work schedule is ridiculous this week. A special project is coming through my company, and we are running it on our presses 24-hours a day. They asked me to help out on the night shift, which is from 6pm-6am. Yes, I know it sucks, don’t rub it in. But that is why my posts will be irregular this week…however they should be interesting because I’ll be writing them in the middle of the night, running on no sleep.

So on to the post…

I’ve been trying to sleep all day so I can stay up all night for this special project shift. I’m generally really bitter when I stumble out of bed at 5pm to go to work for 12 hours in the middle of the night. I’m EXTRA bitter when I roll out my townhouse and there is an effing ice cream truck in my ‘hood, blasting that annoying as hell creepy kiddie music. First of all, ITS NOVEMBER, not to mention that by 5pm its starting to get dark outside. What perv is cruising around in his ice cream truck in Alexandria in November trying to sell ice cream at night? I totally bought some. Haha, sike. (Is that how you spell sike, psych…)

So working the nightshift pretty much sucks, but there are some interesting folks lurking around. It’s like the nightshift is a parallel universe within my company. Everyone kind of looks like a mutated version of their dayshift counterpart, forced to roam the office in the middle of the night, kept hidden away from all the regular daytime workers.

There is this one guy that I swear is Chris Farley, resurrected from those SNL skits where they talk about “Da Bears” and “Da Bulls” and “Ditka”. He has a huge red ‘stache. He is also wearing jean shorts, high black socks, work boots, and a trucker hat. Not what Farley wears in the skits, I know, but I imagine if Farley came to work at our company in the middle of the night that is what he would wear.

And then there is this other guy, who is doing quality control. His job is to check proofs to make sure everything is correct before we start printing. Not only is he checking the proofs, but he is so bad ass that he is ALSO doing arm curls with free weights while checking things over. Whenever I walk by he whispers some ridiculously huge number to himself as he does another curl, “One-thousand-fifty-seven, one-thousand-fifty-eight…” Imagine a guy reading a book very closely, flipping pages with one hand and doing arm curls with the other. I’m not lying…that is really what he is doing.

I should start walking around the office carrying free weights. I mean, think of the workout you would get. Instead of sitting through another boring old meeting trying not to fall asleep, why not spruce it up a bit with some bicep curls:

The boss asks, “Um, we’re discussing the implementation of a new revenue source, what the hell are you doing?”

My reply, “Sir, I really like to include exercise in ALL aspects of my life. Keeps me in the game, you know, helps me keep that competitive mentality.”

The boss says, “You know what, I think you’ve got something there. Spiffing good idea.”


Next day…EVERYONE carrying free weights around the office.


And that is why they keep workout man on the night shift.


Thursday, November 1, 2007

Piss protocol and Twinkies

What is the protocol for the men’s bathroom? If you walk in to the men’s room and there is someone peeing in there, are there a required number of urinals that should be between you and the other man peeing? I was walking by the men’s restroom in my office today and saw two men walk out, having a conversation. It made me wonder…when did their conversation start? Did it begin prior to urination, during urination, or post urination?

I realized I had no idea about male etiquette in a public restroom…never mind Senator Craig and his toe tapping.

When women go into the restroom, they have conversations, but typically the conversation stops when urination begins. Ok, so this might be too much information for the guys out there, but I’m just saying…girls talk a lot in the bathroom, but when we are actually “going” the conversation pauses, to be continued after the flush. At least that is how I roll.

But what about guys? Is there typically conversation during a piss session? If you know a guy in the bathroom, do you walk over and hang out right next-door? Or do you leave a few urinals of space between you and your friend? And how does this work in the office? Especially when the guy you’re peeing next to is your boss. Its like the men’s restroom is women’s final frontier…a vast, turbulent expanse where the Sun’s influence ends, only to be entered at great risk. Yuck, I just wrote that sentence and cringed to think that a male bathroom would be women’s final frontier…but I thought the sentence sounded catchy.

Anyways, since I know nothing of male bathroom adventures, here is a women’s bathroom story for your reading pleasure…

Here at Dunder Mifflin folks often bring in snacks to share. This includes cookies, bagels, bread, candy, etc. A few weeks ago, prior to my blogging days, someone had left a box of Twinkies for the taking. Damn them. I had to walk by the counter where they were sitting like ten times during the day, every time averting my eyes so as to not be any more tempted by Twinkie goodness. At the end of the day, the box was gone, but there was one Twinkie left chilling on the counter, taunting me.

I broke down and grabbed it.

But then I immediately panicked and guilt set in. Who wants to be seen eating a Twinkie? I mean, they are actually really disgusting…a fallice shaped cake filled with cream. I took a lap around the office, clutching the Twinkie and trying to decide the best place to eat it in shame. Of course! The bathroom!

With a sly grin I slipped into the ladies room and huddled in a stall. As a started to open the flimsy cellophane packaging someone else walked into the bathroom. Since I was so focused eating my Twinkie in peace, the entrance of a person scared the crap out of me. Startled, I jumped, and the half-opened Twinkie slipped out of my hands and landed with a loud “PLOP” into the toilet. Great. Now I had a toilet Twinkie and the person who just walked in probably thought I was taking a huge dump. Panicking, I pulled down my pants and sat on the john.

Which is worse? Hearing a person take a crap or finding them with a Twinkie in the toilet. My gut reaction was that it would be more embarrassing to be seen walking out of the stall and tossing a soggy Twinkie in the trashcan than to be heard going to the bathroom. So I pretended to be using the toilet until the person left. I pretended. I swear. There is no way I would pee on a Twinkie and then have to reach in to remove it. And I had to remove it! The wrapper was still on! And what if someone walked in behind me, saw the Twinkie, and was like “What the hell was she doing in there?”. So, the person finally left and I quickly recovered the Twinkie and tossed it. Effing Twinkie. I then washed my hands three times. I’ll never attempt to eat a Twinkie again.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

EVERYONE WE KNOW is just giving out candy?



Happy Halloween to all. My blog title today is courtesy of Jerry Seinfeld, from his stand-up routine. Hilarious.

Everyone and their mother is probably blogging about Halloween today, but it’s my blog, and I do what I want.

I’m looking forward to handing out candy this evening to all the kiddies. I sound like a total creep, but I’ve never handed out candy to kids before, and it will be fun to see all their costumes. I grew up in Ohio in a rural area, and we never had any kids coming to our house to collect candy. My sister and I would always have to go “in to town” to go trick-or-treating.

I remember in Elementary school we were all supposed to dress up for Halloween during the school day. We would then parade around town in our costumes in the middle of the day for all the townsfolk to admire us. Grades 1-6; cheesy costumes, elaborate costumes, and costumes that the parents obviously threw together that morning so their kid would not feel like a loser. All marching down the streets of Woodville, Ohio. It was kind of weird, now that I think about it. Traipsing around town once for trick-or-treating is enough. I mean, we didn’t even get any candy for that stupid Halloween march. The only people who actually cared about the school’s daytime Halloween procession were the parents of the kids who lived on the three-block radius that we walked.

My sister and I always had pretty cool costumes. Ask my sister about her “Debil” costume. There is an embarrassing home video (I won’t go into too much detail) of my sister and I playing in our Halloween costumes when we were about 5 and 6 years old. I had on a magnificent pink cape. I was probably a princess or something, I don’t even remember. And Sistah had on her “Debil” costume, which eventually became too hot. She promptly discarded it. Apparently she did not like to wear undergarments under her costumes. My loving parents got this all on video. Thank goodness we were done trick-or-treating. I can just imagine her standing on someone’s front porch, making some comment about being “too hot” and dropping trou.

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Most expensive cat ever


The more you find out about the world, the more opportunities there are to laugh at it.
–Bill Nye

Thank you, science guy.

I’m not much of a quote sharer, but I received this quote on my Quote of the Day section on my Google homepage. I like Bill Nye, and I like laughing, so naturally I really liked this quote. And speaking of laughing at the world…

Have you heard of the Allerca Lifestyle Pets? This company has come up with a way to breed cats that will not trigger the allergies of people who are allergic to cats. When I first heard about this a few years ago, I though “That’s absolutely ridiculous.” I totally love cats, but who would pay $5,950 (starting price) for a cat they have to wait 15 months to get.

As much as I hate to say this, if I had the money, I totally would buy one.

Go ahead, laugh. Yes, its absurd and ridiculous, and I DEFINITELY can’t afford it, but I’ve wanted a pet for so long. I can’t get a dog because I wouldn’t be home enough to properly walk it and take care of it. A cat would be perfect…except for the boyf. Thanks StuD, for being allergic to cats.

So just a heads up for Christmas, anyone who cares, I’ll take one Allerca cat, please.



Monday, October 29, 2007

Talking to the sky at work


So I have a pretty nasty cough. I’m talking dry hacking, lung wheezing, and disgustingly annoying cough. My co-workers love me right now.

I sit in a cube in the middle of a pretty open space at work. While us folks at Dunder-Mifflin (office reference, new code name for my place of employment) have a bit of privacy from the high walls of our cubes, you can still hear pretty much ANYTHING anyone is saying at any time. So a hacking cough is pretty hard to suppress.

Throughout the day, after each of my embarrassing coughing fits, someone from across the freaking office will yell out “Go home!” or “That sounds terrible!” or “Is that contagious?!”. It has been hard to distinguish who exactly is yelling these things, because there are about 15 of us on this floor. What I usually end up doing is looking up at the ceiling and yelling “I’m sorry!” or “Yeah, I know!” or “I went to the doctor this morning!”. Isn’t common decency, or even technology, supposed to prevent this kind of communication? I mean, I’m obviously sick. It won’t hurt you to walk a few feet to my cube make your comment, rather than yell it across the office. Heck, the trip might even be worth it. I often keep candy and fun things to play with at my desk. If walking a few feet is too hard, then you can shoot me an email. I’ll take anything to prevent myself from talking to the sky at work.

Sunday, October 28, 2007

Folding chairs with leg rests make Saturday better


There’s nothing like seeing an old friend and calling her by the wrong name. No, no, let me rephrase that. There’s nothing like loudly introducing your co-worker to an old friend, calling her by the wrong name, laughing hysterically, and then blanking for three minutes while trying to recover. Are you kidding me? There is no recovery from that, especially when you’ve been drinking for six hours. Tailgates are always a mess. I stumbled away in shame.

Who thought of tailgating, anyways? What alcoholic decided to wake up at 7am Saturday morning for a 3pm game, and said, “Well, the game starts in eight hours, I better start drinking.” A genius, that’s who. Tailgating is possibly one of my favorite activities. It’s a perfectly logical excuse to drink in the middle of the day in the middle of a big parking lot. Get yourself a grill and a folding chair and you’re set.

Saturday morning started off pretty well. I was chilling in the parking lot in my awesome folding chair (with fancy attachable leg rest) staking out my tailgating spaces. It was my job to hold several spaces for my co-workers, who happened to be a couple hours late. Assholes. It was pretty early, so the parking lot was only a quarter full. Here I am, blond chick, sitting all by herself in an empty parking lot in a folding chair next to a grill and a table full of food. I’m so badass I can’t even stand it.

The parking lot started to fill up, my friends eventually arrived, and the tailgate properly commenced. Twelve hours later I had missed the game (I never bothered to get a ticket, anyway) and I was regretting all those burnt hot dogs I had consumed. Somehow I made it through another tailgate without embarrassing myself too badly (sorry A-Wo if you’re reading this) and with all my possessions and integrity intact.

Friday, October 26, 2007

Hey Mr. Wilson!


Before I get into Mr. Wilson, I will give you a little information on my place of residence. I live in an affluent area just south of DC, lets call it "Alexandria". Ha, I really do live there. Anyways, I stumbled across this lovely little town home on craigslist. Two girls were looking for a third roommate, and there I was, ready-made awesomeness ready to move in. My roommates, Care and Suze, are pretty sweet (if you want better code names let me know). Suze works her ass off, but really she has the best job ever because they send her around Europe. Care loves wine and cheese (who doesn't?!) and we always enjoy some together while watching the most recent ridiculous reality TV show. Our neighborhood is quite nice and charming, and we have a wide variety of neighbors of all shapes, sizes, and colors. You know, artsy folk, young couples, a few kids...and then there is Mr. Wilson. He hates us.

So let me tell you about Mr. Wilson who lives across the street. We've always called him that, but who knows what kind of wretched name he really has. He always sits on his front porch with his dog, a drooling mess of a Golden Retriever. I don't think he works, but makes it his job to sit on his front porch all day and night with his dog, keeping watch on our 'hood. I've seen him go inside his house maybe once since I moved in, which was 6 months ago. One evening Care and I saw him with a pillow and blanket, bundled up on his porch with his dog. I swear he slept on that porch that night.

Anyways, Mr. Wilson and I got off to a bad start the day I moved in. I had used a POD to move my things, and was going to leave it in my parking space for a week so I could have time to unload everything. Mr. Wilson was perched on his porch the morning the POD and I showed up. I smiled and said "Hi!" and he promptly informed me "You know you can't keep that thing here in this neighborhood." Thanks for the warm welcome, Wilson.

Not wanting to piss my new neighbor and my community off, I asked the POD driver if I could just unload everything real quick and then he could just take the POD back right away. He seemed really annoyed, because that meant he would have to help me move everything, but grudgingly agreed. I ran to my car to get the key to unload the industrial sized lock on the POD. Classic move, I had locked my keys in my car. So basically I'm stuck with a pissed off Wilson, a pissed off POD driver, and a big POD container which could not be opened sitting in front of my townhouse. What a dream.

Long story shortened a bit; the POD driver was apparently skilled at breaking into cars. We busted in to my car, retrieved my keys, and managed to move out a bedroom and a half of belongings within an hour. All under the watchful eye of Mr. Wilson.