Some people just shouldn't date.

I am one of those people.

This weekend, I had my second OKCupid date. It was...interesting. Yeah, let's go with that.

First, I'd like to say, for the record, that I'm tired of being asked if I need to be in a relationship to feel like a whole person. I don't. I'm not expecting to find love on the internets. But it's good for stories and interesting experiences.

I also don't think that people only resort to online dating because they're pathetic, anti-social losers who can't meet people any other way. It's a valid, albeit less likely to work (just because there are a lot of weird things about it), way to meet people these days. I'm out all the time. I meet people in public all the time. I talk to strangers a lot.

That being said, this is definitely an adventure.

My first OKCupid date was fine. He was funny, but I didn't really feel very attracted to him. At the end of the date, he kissed me. And that pretty much sealed the deal. The kiss? Was meh. Dry with hard lips and no tongue. And I don't mean sweet and soft no tongue. I mean awkward no tongue.

My second date was Sunday night.

I'm just going to clear this up before I get started. I actually like Star Trek. Quite a bit even.

Okay, now that that's out of the way...

We met at a bar to watch the Denver Broncos/Chicago Bears pre-season game (Ouch, Jay Cutler. Rough reception). I didn't really have a lot of excitement about the date, but I figured a little football, a little beer, how bad could it be?

And really, it could have been much much worse.

We hung out for about three hours. For two of those hours, my date spoke of nothing but Star Trek. Now, I know we both like Star Trek, but unless we both show up in costume, it's probably just not a good idea to talk only about it for two hours. That's a lot of Star Trek.

The other hour, we mostly talked football. Which is fine with me.

I ordered a burger and a beer. He ordered some kind of appetizer thing and a beer. He had already started on one when I got there (20 minutes early), so this was his second.

He had a third and was schmammered. Like, got up to go to the bathroom and could barely walk, schmammered. Again, it's not like I'm against someone getting drunk, but maybe it's not such a great idea on a first date.

At that point, he was ready to go (obviously), so we paid the tab. I paid more than half, though my part was less than half. He insisted on paying cash, and I put in most of what I had. The tab was $46 or so, I put in $30 and he put in $20. Leaving the bartender...the worst tip in the world (less than 10%). When I tried to argue about it, he said, "I don't wanna do math" and led me out the door. Seriously? Minus 20 points. You do not leave the bartender a crappy tip.

We walked outside and he said, "So, can I walk you to your car?"

I said, "Oh...um, noooo...that's okay. I...parked really far away. There's no need for you to do that. No. And actually, you know, gosh I have to pee. I think I'm going to go back inside and do that (and leave the bartender the rest of my cash)."

I would think that any normal human being would have taken that as a "don't kiss me" sign, but before I knew it, he was leaning in, with his tongue literally sticking out of his mouth. I turned my face and pulled back quickly. But not fast enough. He licked up the entire right side of my face.

Ugh.

I said, "Okay, I'm going to go pee now. Um. Thanks!"

He said, "I'll call you soon!"

AAAAHAHHHHHHHH!

I went inside, gave the bartender my cash and waited for him to leave. Then I went to a nearby bar and had a beer on my own.

And actually met a funny and interesting man. Hhhmmm...

I don't really see the connection, but maybe it's just me...

Effective tomorrow, a new law will go into place, making September 11th a holiday for all firefighters in the state of Texas.

I'm confused. Please to discuss.

UPDATE: I should add more. The firefighters didn't even know about this. They're moving around their other holidays so as not to give them an extra one, so some firefighters are losing an extra day around the (actual) holidays, when they might have wanted to be out of town visiting their families. If they give the firefighters an extra holiday, all other city workers have to get one, too (at least in some municipalities). The police departments have actually requested to be left out of the whole thing. Not to mention, clearly not all firefighters can be off on the same day, so plenty of them will still have to work that day.

In other news, what about airline pilots? Office workers? Generally everyone who experienced loss in this tragedy? I'm so not in any way trying to diminish the contribution of the firefighters, but really...why just Texas? Shouldn't this at least be a national thing? Also, is it really appropriate to call it a holiday?

But the thing is, who can argue with it? It's like, if you argue, you're automatically a horrible human being who doesn't recognize or appreciate the tragedy that was 9/11.

Politicians make me gag.

It's Friday, we should break up - (Awesomely) Bad Ideas

You know the ones I'm talking about. Like Clear Pepsi. Ick.

I'm making a completely separate and really stupid personal decision right now, but I thought I'd share the awesomely bad idea I had last night.

It was time to dye my hairs. First of all, I always hate my hair for at least the first week (this time is no exception). It's either (that) too dark, too bright, too light, too...ugly. Whatever. Right now, it's far too dark.

Second, I can't really figure out how other people do this hair dyeing thing at home. I can't really do it with clothes on. I always drip the dye all over myself and then when I have clothes on, it's hard to get them off without getting dye all over them. So I just do it naked. It's easier that way.

Except of course, that I then have to rinse the dye out of my hair...naked.

I don't like to get in the shower and rinse it because I don't like the feeling that the dye is all over me. So I usually kneel in front of the tub and put my head under the faucet.

In a normal bathtub, this isn't really an issue. I, however, have a garden tub. And a busted knee. This time I particularly didn't want to get dye in my open wound, but I also didn't really want to kneel in front of the tub.

I stood there for a minute, contemplating. I didn't have many options. Grin through the pain (and thereby, surely get hair dye in my mouth, yuck!), get in the shower (and thereby, surely get hair dye in my open wound, yuck!), actually wash the glasses in my kitchen sink and rinse it in there (but it was time to rinse!), or...this:



Let me explain. You should know that I told my eight-year-old niece about the situation, and she drew that picture. I think she's quite good, no?

That's a lie. I drew it. I'm a terrible artist. I know this. But here we are.

So my brilliant plan was to lie (Naked, mind you. Seriously, I'm this smart), long-ways along the edge of the tub, with one leg stretched out down the length of the tub. However, I couldn't really balance very well, so I ended up propping my other leg up on the toilet.

I should maybe mention that the proportions of this drawing are probably completely off. See above. I'm a terrible artist. You're getting an aerial view because I have no idea how to adjust my perspective to make corners and such. I tried and my tub just looked like it was about to fall over. So maybe that's where my talent lies. Drawing wobbly, unstable things.

And no, I don't have an amputated arm. That one was just up underneath me. Also, um, I have no idea how to draw my own ass. So I just went without. I tried with disastrous results. Which have been burned.

This technique actually worked pretty well, for the first ten minutes. When I still couldn't get all the dye out, though, my arms started to fall asleep. It was hard to breath with the tub pressing on my lungs. And I got dye in my eyes. Of course.

All this so I could hate my hair for a week.

Some people actually do get in the shower before they turn on the water.

There's an email or a website or a list of some kind going around right now. I've gotten it about five times. And it's funny. Oh, and true.

However, I take issue with one of the "truisms": I find it hard to believe there are actually people who get in the shower first and THEN turn on the water.

Because, well, for years, that's exactly what I did.

When I was younger, at some point, we had one of those bathtubs that's a bathtub, but still has a sliding door on top. Or maybe it wasn't me, but one of my friends. Or a relative. Okay, I don't remember, but I encountered one somewhere.



I was so terrified of slipping and falling on my vagina that I didn't want to step into a wet bathtub. I still am a little.

I'm really clumsy. You know this. Don't make me show you my knee again.

Since I was terrified of breaking my vagina, I would step into the tub, turn the water on, and get it to the right temperature.

Then I would pull the little knob and shrink back against the back of the tub, so that the first spray of water (always cold) wouldn't hit me.

I didn't even know other people got in the shower after turning on the water. I mean, who wants to break a vagina?

In which I ramble on about relationships and you skim or skip this one.

In my recent contemplative-about-relationships state, I’ve been paying close attention to my friends’ relationships. That and I can’t seem to let go of that Sex and the City scene. And here’s what I’ve come up with: I am not a simple girl. I never ever will be. And that makes me so happy.

I disagree with the term simple, though, because I am not complicated. And that’s kind of the opposite of simple, isn’t it? I think I’m pretty easy (and no, I don’t mean that way).

I’m logical and rational, I think things through, I’m not terribly dramatic, I tell the truth (sometimes when I probably shouldn’t), I’m straight-forward, I laugh a lot, I’m confident, I like sports, I have no problem peeing outside, I don’t cry very often, I watch chick flicks and go shopping with my friends, I’m fun to be around, I don’t need to have my hand held at a party full of people I don’t know, I have my own life, I’m fiercely loyal until you betray me.

However.

I have my own opinion. And I’m not scared to tell you what it is, even if it differs from yours. I like to discuss things. I’m not scared to tell you I think you’re wrong. I do expect you to do what you say you’re going to do. I do expect you to treat me at least as well as I treat you. I do expect you to make an effort with my friends and my family. I do expect you to not be an idiot. And it helps if you’re funny.

The thing is, it’s hard to be with a girl like me because I’m probably smarter than you. Or funnier than you. Or cuter than you. Or more outgoing than you. Or all of the above. And that’s kind of a scary thing. Because…I might leave if I find something better. You might have to put on your thinking cap to hang out with me. You might have to actually put forth some effort, if you want to be with me.

Don’t worry. I’m not claiming to be an original here. There’s a whole slew of women out there just like me. Not that we all have the same qualities, but we’re all confident and strong and opinionated and funny and smart. And that makes us “complicated.”

The so-called simple girls are easy because they will likely just glom on to whatever you’re already doing. They aren’t going to push you or challenge you. They probably just want to be with someone and once they find someone, they’re happy to settle and put up with any amount of crap…to avoid being alone. Their self-esteem probably isn’t the greatest, though it will often seem like it is (at least at first). They come in all shapes and sizes. And they're everywhere.

Most of my girlfriends who are in relationships right now don’t seem very happy to me. They complain and whine and moan, but they stay.

“He never wants to hang out with my friends.”

“We never have sex any more.”

“He doesn’t do anything nice for me.”

“He makes me feel stupid and small.”

“He never wants to leave the house.”

“He’s not there for me when I need him.”

"He's mean to me when he's drunk."

"Well, yes, he sleeps with hookers, but he says it's only because I don't give him what he needs." (I keed...mostly)

My question? “So why are you with him?”

The answer is always: “Well…because I love him.” Or, “Really, it’s not as bad as I just made it sound.”

And I’ve been there, believe me. I was with a man who broke me. I cared far more about his happiness and comfort than I ever did about my own. I loved him more than I loved me. It wasn’t that way when we started dating, but slowly, over time, things changed. I was so worried about him that I forgot to be worried about me. Which made me miserable. I wasn’t a miserable person, but I was miserable in the relationship. I couldn’t figure out why. But it was because I gave me up to be with someone else. I was so lost, I didn’t even know who I was any more.

It pretty much all boils down to this: Most men are lazy and most women think they “need” a man. Also, there's a damn big difference between love and habit. Learn it.

I know approximately two happy couples. Maybe three. And that’s counting Lilu and B who I don’t actually know, but love anyway (Hi, I’m a stalker!).

As women, we generally want to feel special. We go after men who are emotionally unavailable, or dangerous, or just generally jerks because we feel like if they would just see how special we are, they would want to change and chill out and be with us. But that’s not how it works.

I believe that people can change, but I don’t believe they change for anyone but themselves. I wanted to be that special girl once. Now, I just want to do my own thing and live my own life and not have to deal with anyone else’s emotional mommy issues (or whatever, I’m not being specific…ahem). If you want to ride this train, you better have your shit together. Trust me, it's worth it.

If that man that you’re with is treating you like crap, he’s probably always going to treat you like crap. If you’re happy with that, by all means stay. But sit down and think about it for a week. Is that really what you want? A lifetime of being unhappy just to be with someone else? Because I think you’re better than that. Until you think you’re better than that, though, you’ll probably just stay with that guy because he’s there.

You look great, but I? Am a fat cow.*

I just had possibly one of the best weekends ever. Aside from falling off a step trying to get Thai takeout and busting my knee. Which originally looked like this:



And now, looks like this:



You're welcome. And just to further gross you out, it won't stop oozing. It oozed in my bed last night and when I woke up this morning, the hairs that I had shed in my bed were all crusted in the ooze (What? It's TMI Monday!). Yummy.

Friday night was amazing. Inglorious Basterds was truly glorious (and seeing it with Graygrrrl made it that much better! A serious case of the giggles had by all). As of right now, it is my new favorite Tarantino movie. Brad Pitt was fucking genius. GENIUS. It was bloody and gutsy and just the right amount of random, useless, over-the-top violence. Then I met @gaveupthefight and friends (Really, too many to name. She is one popular woman) at the club for some booty shakin'. And booty shake we did. Only got better when the Pretty Bitch (she loves it when I call her this, I swear! Maybe), @nataliecottrell showed up. She may be gorgeous, but man is she hilarious. We danced until our clothes were soaked.

Saturday I met up with @mouthful, Little Ring, and Chihuahua Balls for rock climbing and hot wings. Also, 34 ounces of everclear lemonade. Such a great idea, considering I was going on a HUGE pubcrawl later that day. Here are the rocks I climbed. I was considering getting some action shots, but it's just awkward to keep up with a camera while climbing. You'll just have to trust me that my ass is MAGIC in my climbing harness (this is a lie).




Saturday evening, I attended the Dallas Becomes Chicago Pub Crawl. I had a fan-fucking-tastic time with @beckbee, @mikerehyer and about 200 or so other people. No really, there were at least 200 people there. The whole thing is public transportation-based. I can only imagine how the regular patrons of the DART rail felt about 200 people in matching Tshirts flooding the train all night.



One of our stops was Lee Harvey's. A great little bar with a huge outdoor area where people can bring dogs and stuff. Barb found a hoola hoop and went to town. The picture's a little blurry, but I think it captures the essence.



We all messed with our shirts at the second bar, to customize them. Mine turned out like this:



With the help of some lovely ladies.

It was a ton of fun and I'm hoping to get to do it again next year.

When I got home on Sunday morning, I. Could. Not. Move. For about five hours. I finally picked myself up off the couch (at 12:30 pm) and went to get Thai food take-out. I missed the step on my way out of the restaurant, which is why my knee looks vaguely like hamburger. My legs just wouldn't hold me up.

I pulled my ass together, though, to make it to @gaveupthefight's pool party. Where everyone promptly said, "Good god, woman, what the hell happened to your knee?!?"

My response? "There was a step."

Signature drink of the day? Brandy's Tall Paul. It was DELICIOUS. I saw it on her blog and I've been wanting to try it ever since. It was a huge hit and everyone loved it. Thanks, Brandy!

Needless to say, I couldn't really get in the pool. Motorboater made an appearance and felt the need to apologize for his behavior last Saturday. Can someone please just let him know that saying nothing is better than being a dick and apologizing later? I've had enough. Also the fact that I jumped six feet in the air when he touched my back should probably have been some kind of indication that I'm particularly interested in him being anywhere near me.

The second pool party of the day was also a blast. However, I learned that beer pong? Not so fun to watch. And it takes a really long time.

And today? I'm exhausted.

*This is in reference to one of the skinniest girls I know taking diet pills because she's decided she's fat. Seriously, at least complain about it to a skinny person. I don't want to hear it. Your waist is the size of my thigh. And said girl is GORGEOUS anyway. I might have to slap her. Then we probably won't be friends, and I love her too much for that already.

It's Friday, we should break up - Dating

(Today, my funny is gone. Feel free to skip this one.)

I think maybe I'm done trying to date. I suck at it and I'm picky and it just hasn't been working out for me.

I can't seem to find a happy medium between emotionally unavailable and cries at Disney movies. It's exhausting. I'm kind of a man when it comes to feelings and relationships. At least at the beginning. I don't like to talk about my feelings, so I probably don't want to hear about yours right away.

I had dinner with one of my best friends @newslacker this week and he basically told me I was being a little too hard on boys. Especially for talking about their feelings. He's kind of a sensitive guy and I'm okay with that. It's not that I'm uncaring. I just don't want you to tell me you love me on the second date. Or say that you think we're involved after we've been out once. Or introduce me to your mom after three dates.

I just want things to happen the way they happen. No pushing. Just LET IT BE WHAT IT IS.

Is that so wrong?

I know I probably seem like kind of a bitch. But I'm really not. I just miss feeling the butterflies, you know? And until I feel them, I don't want to hear about your feelings.

Also, this: (Sorry boys, it's Sex and the City, but it totally describes how I feel right now for some reason.)



Now...where can I find some of those butterflies?

TMI Thursday - Gas Pump Fail

Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for LiLu's TMI Thursday!

Several of you have commented that you'd like to hear the story of how I accidentally walked in on a donkey show. And I really want to tell you. But I can't tell you here. I'm going to try to write that story up elsewhere today, so if you'd like to read it, shoot me an email (ishineoutloud [at] gmail [dot] com) and I'll send you the link when the story is posted.

Today, at shine out loud, however, I'm going to tell you about a rather embarrassing incident that happened to me quite a few years ago (Read: TEN). You'll recall that I used to work at Kohl's Department Store. If you click to go read that, I'm sorry. Really, I am. But if I had to deal with it, I feel like it would be wrong of me to keep it from you.

I had to dress up for work in the department store, which usually meant I was annoyed and uncomfortable. I had one pair of shoes, however, that looked dressy enough, but had these giant rubber-ish soles, so they were really comfy. Look, it was 1999 or something. Trust me, they were cute at the time. Kind of like this:



I was forced to wear pantyhose at this job. Much like Lemmonex isn't interested in working in a place that will make her remove her nose stud, I am not interested in working in a place that will force me to wear pantyhose. EVER AGAIN. They are the most horrifyingly uncomfortable things I've ever had to wear. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with my legs. Hell, they make pantyhose to look like legs, anyway. Why not just put my legs right on out there? Sexist bastards.

And if you're about to tell me that you've worn pantyhose all your life, and they're not uncomfortable, hear this: That's the pantyhose talking. You've been brainwashed.

That was quite a detour, but I think it was a necessary one.

On the day in question, I was wearing a sheer lavender shirt with a white cami underneath, an A-line skirt, pantyhose, and the aforementioned Mary Jane shoes. I had to be at work right after lunch, which happened to be a really busy time for the main street in my 'hood.

On my way to work, I noticed I had almost no gas, so I stopped at a 7-11 right off the main drag. I pulled my car up to the gas pump (there was only one) and turned off my engine.

Now, I should explain that the gas pump had those concrete barriers around it to make sure that if someone crashes into the ends of the pump, they don't take out the pump itself. Sometimes these consist of giant concrete poles, but these were little concrete half walls. They came up to about my thigh.

I got out of my car, walked over to the pump station, and did the whole paying thing. As I reached for the handle of the pump itself and started turning toward my car, my shoes sort of...tripped me up. They stayed in their current position, while my body tried to make a 180 degree turn. You can imagine that this didn't really go over very well, especially when you consider how clumsy I am already.

I toppled over backward and landed, wedged in between the concrete half-wall barrier and the pump station. Hard. Unable to move my hips and wriggle out hard. Legs up in the air arms flailing hard.

All this time, mind you, there are cars on the road right next to me. Stopped at the traffic light. People were laughing and honking and cat-calling (as everyone could now see up my skirt).

I managed to brace with my hands against the concrete and the pump station, twist my hips, and get my feet on the ground. When I finally got myself into a standing position, which took quite a bit of effort, there were about 15 cars of faces staring at me, not to mention everyone inside the 7-11 and everyone in the parking lot.

My pantyhose were ripped (Oh, darn!), my shirt was torn and smudged with black, and I had huge bruises on my arms and legs. I. Was. Not. Happy. And having a bunch of people hollering (What? I'm from Tennessee. It's a word.) at me wasn't helping.

Also, in the melee, my gas cap flew out of my hand or off my car or whatever. The point? It was lost. I had no idea where it was, so I started looking around for it. Some guy in the parking lot said, "Hey! Hey. Lady!"

I turned and gave him my best bitch look. I really didn't need any more comments from the peanut gallery. "Look. I've had enough, okay? So just keep your fucking comments to yourself, asshole."

He looked at me, sort of taken aback, and said, "Um. I think it's over there." He was pointing at my gas cap.

I felt like a jerk. I was late for work. And my pantyhose were ripped!

Failure to use a turn signal when you're not changing lanes may result in the acquisition of a ticket.

Monday night, I was driving home from dinner with my mom, talking to Cheese on the phone. I was in the far left lane on the highway because that's how I do. Also, my exit is a left exit. I like to be prepared. There was a car beside me in the next lane over.

All of a sudden, in my rear view mirror, I see a speeding car come riding up on my ass. It's a cop. I check my speed to make sure I'm not going 85 mph. Sometimes this happens when you're not looking, ya know? I was going about 65 mph, though. No problem.

Mr. Policeman Asshole was seriously on the edge of my bumper. I couldn't even see his headlights. We proceeded in this fashion for about five miles. At which point, his lights flash on and he slows down.

Ummm....WTF?

To Cheese: "Uh, I think I'm getting pulled over. But I wasn't even speeding! I have to go."

I hang up the phone and start pulling over to the right. Once I get there, I put my car in park and turn on my hazard lights. Of course, I'm BLINDED by the policeman asshole car spotlight. I HATE those things.

The policeman asshole comes up to my window.

PA: "Is this your car?"

Me: "Um." (FREAKING OUT. Has someone reported my car stolen or something?!?) "Yeah."

PA: "License and insurance."

I got out my wallet and handed him my driver's license. His response? To bark "INSURANCE" at me, like I'm some kind of idiot.

I said, "I'm getting it. Just give me a second to find it."

Of course, I can't find it. It must have fallen out of my wallet. And I can't really reach or see into my glove compartment well enough to tell if I have the current one in there. And no, I wasn't about to take off my seat belt to look. I don't really need a seat belt ticket on top of whatever the hell ticket I was about to get.

Oh, it happens like that. I was in the car with a friend who got a ticket for not wearing his seat belt when he had only taken it off to get stuff out of his glove compartment.

Me: "I can't seem to find the piece of paper, but can I show you my insurance card in my email? I have it on my phone."

PA: "You can do that?"

Me: "Yeah."

PA: "Well, that's pretty cool. I'll be back with your license in a minute."

I should mention here that I had to piss like a racehorse. I drank three glasses of tea AND a cup of coffee at dinner with my mom. I knew I had to pee when I left the restaurant, but I figured it was only about a half hour home, and I could make it. I had already told Cheese 10 times that I had to pee so bad it was about to come out of my mouth.

Mr. Policeman Asshole took my license, went back to the squad car, and (I'm guessing) talked about sports, boobs, and donuts with his partner for the next 15 minutes. My bladder was aching. Aching.

When he finally came back to my car, I showed him my insurance card on my phone, and he said, "Well, ma'am. I'm going to have to give you a ticket for failure to use your turn signal when changing lanes."

Me: "Uh, when did I change lanes?"

PA: "Back there. Now, that's a really dangerous thing to do. People are always getting messed up in this area because they don't signal lane changes. This is for your safety, ma'am."

But.

I DIDN'T CHANGE LANES. At least, I hadn't for the five miles he was behind me. HE WAS BEHIND ME.

What can I do, though? I took the ticket, he told me to be careful, and I drove away.

I called Cheese back and said, "Guess what the fuck I just got a ticket for doing?"

Cheese said, "Not using your turn signal."

Me: "Are you...here? How did you know that?"

Apparently, "that's how they get ya." Because there's no way, really, for me to prove that I didn't change lanes or that I did use my signal or whatever.

So thank you, Mr. Policeman Asshole Dallas Constable Dickhead. I appreciate the life lesson, but maybe next time you could let me break the rules before punishing me. I don't care about your quota. May your wife's vagina shrivel up and seal shut so you never get laid again. May you lose your penis in a tragic donut-hole-cutting incident. Also, STOP SPEEDING AND TAILGATING, douche. And I didn't see you signal when you changed lanes either. Prick.

At least I managed to not pee myself in the car while I was waiting. Just barely.

If you look closely, you can see a real cougar in the wild...only she's wearing leopard print.

The Willis and I went out for drinks last night. At our second stop, we ran into...Motorboater! AND HIS MOM!



If you look carefully, you can see Motorboater's mom over The Willis's shoulder. Yes, she sat down right behind us.

Motorboater didn't speak to me for the entire night. Not even when he decided to hang out with him mom (Who was hitting on some guy wearing a top hat. Yes. A TOP HAT.) right next to us. Which was fine with me, really. But kind of awkward.

The Willis and I left around 1:00 am. When we got in the car, I heard my phone signal that I had received a text message.

"Oh that better not be from Motorboater."

But it was. Of course.

Text #1: "Wow, thought I recognized you but wasn't sure as I hadn't seen you in a while (Note: I look exactly the same. It's been less than two months.). You look great. Fantastic. Didn't mean to me rude."

Response #1: "It's cool. I just figured you weren't speaking to me."

Now, I realize I probably should have just said nothing. But he was being sort of nice and I didn't want to be an asshole. Especially because we kind of tend to end up in the same places a lot, and I'd rather it not be awkward every time.

Text #2: "No, I realized from the girl after you I have some issues I need to deal with. I was prob a bit over the top in being mad at you. I am sorry."

Response #2: "It's no biggie. I'm not sweatin' it."

Honestly, what else am I supposed to say here?

Text #3: "Word. But I was still a jack ass (I'm not editing). But from our convos you expected nothing but."

First of all, you don't remember what I look like, but you remember our conversations? I doubt both of those are true. Second of all, I pretty much called him a jackass the entire time we were "dating."

Response #3: (At this point, I'm a little irritated that we have to continue this coversation) "I did actually try to tell you you were a jackass. You just weren't interested in listening."

I don't feel like I'm doing anything to encourage a continued conversation.

Text #4: "I was angry. Not an excuse but there are some things I need to get straight before I can deal with anyone else. I take small things very personally right now. Not sure how to get over that but at least know where it stems from and that is a start."

Response #4: "Like I said. No skin off my back. I'm good."

Read: I'm not a therapist, but maybe you should get one. Also, there's really no need to explain that you're a jackass, since I've known that for years.

Text #5: "That attitude was part of my prob. Needed somebody that gave a shit."

So okay, fuck you. Now I'm really annoyed. AND IT'S 1:00 IN THE MORNING. WTF?

Response #5: "I told you from second one that I wasn't interested in anything serious. It's not that I don't give a shit, but I barely know you. And I'm not really interested in taking on anyone else's shit right now and you have a lot of it. All I'm trying to say is that I didn't take your anger personally. If you want to make it personal, that's a different story."

Cheese and rice people. What the hell?

Text #6: "Sorry, anger slipped for a moment. All I wanted to do was say that you look great. I can tell that you stuck with working out and it shows. C'mon, I wasn't even sure it was you!"

What I wanted to say here: "And I can tell that your genius 'walk up and down the stairs' plan hasn't really panned out at all. Also, I looked good two months ago and I look exactly the same now. Feel free to grow up. Fuck you."

Response #6: "Thanks."

Lesson learned. Just don't bother to respond to text messages, even if they seem reasonable and nice on the surface.

I had forgotten that my sister was also a little OCD at Christmas, too!

You may remember reading about my sister's move. She reminded me in the comments section (In which both she and her boyfriend commented. They are hilarious.) that she had also gone off the deep end a little bit for Christmas.

Now I love a schedule and a plan as much as the next girl. I'm just well aware that they rarely work out. My sister, Sarah, and my aunt, Dana, continue to live their lives as though every plan they make will work perfectly. And if not, don't worry, there's a backup plan. Or twelve.

I love them both dearly, but neither are really living in the same reality as the rest of us.

You'll notice that I'm not actually on the schedule at all (because of course I can't really be counted upon for much and I was busy with my head up my ass about the guy I was dating anyway). Though, as it turned out, I had a hand in quite a lot of the cooking. Because trying to plan my mother is like trying to cage an enraged bull in an aquarium. Futile at best. Disastrous at worst. But she does try really hard. (Hi Mom! Love you!)

(Did I mention that my mom actually started read my blog yesterday. Yeah...)

Sarah's list is wonderfully color coded already. Anything I add, I'll add in orange and bold and these [] thingies..

And now I give you...my family's Christmas schedule!

On 12/22/08, Sarah wrote:

Please review this schedule....

Christmas Eve

12:15-1: Travel to Lake Village
1-2:30: Christmas Caroling at Lake Village (Expected Attendance: Pops, Nana, Ginger, Gary, Sarah, Dana, Osiris, Omar, Carlos and Fernando) [I HATE CAROLING. I HATE CHRISTMAS MUSIC. Though I have a soft spot for Amy Grant Christmas music. Shut up, she used to go to our church and she rarely gets blasted at me EVERYWHERE I GO for two months before Christmas.]
2:30-3:00: Travel to Prairie Estate
3:00-4:30: Christmas Caroling at Prairie Estate [See above.]
4:30-5: Travel Home
5:00-7: Final Christmas Dinner Preparations
7: Christmas Eve Dinner (Expected Attendance: Nana, Pops, Ginger, Gary, Dana, Rachel and Sarah)

Christmas

1:30: Travel to The Forum (7827Park Lane, off of 75 on Park Lane)
2-5: Volunteer at The Forum (activities include playing bingo with residence and serving snacks to residence at the nursing home) (Expected Attendance: Pops, Ginger, Gary, Sarah and Dana) [What?!? I would have attended, but I was going to a Christmas day thing with some friends. It was white elephant. I got a plastic dead grandmother in a rocking chair. You can't buy memories like these.]
5-7: Christmas Dinner Preparations
7: Christmas Dinner (Expected Attendance: Nana, Pops, Ginger, Gary, Dana and Sarah)


Some Notes

1. I hope everyone enjoys this volunteering activity-- surprisingly, it took me quite a bit of time to find a facility that would allow a group our size to volunteer together. (Other organization required training, background checks, or had to split us up). [It seems odd to me that there's this much of a pain in the assness associated with volunteering. I'm not surprised more people just choose to stay home.]

2. Christmas Eve Dinner Menu: Turkey, Ham, Broccoli and Cheese Casserole, Cheese Spaghetti, Creamed Corn, Deviled Eggs, Banana Pudding, Banana-less pudding, Dressing, Sweet Potato Casserole, Garlic Mashed Potatoes, Rolls, Sparkle Punch and Sweet Tea

3. Christmas Dinner Menu: Pork Tenderloin, Pesto Pasta, Twiced Baked Potatoes, Mixed Vegetables and Cheesy Garlic Bread


Any additional menu requests must be submitted tonight (12/22) [Yes, there's a deadline.]


Sarah

Later that day on 12/22/2008, Sarah wrote:

Here are details for the Christmas Eve Dinner Preparations-- they are color coded so its easy to see what each of us is responsible for....Dana is blue, Sarah is Purple [I'm sorry, this looks more like pink, but I'm not going through and changing it now. Just pretend it's purple.], Ginger is Red, and Nana is Green.

Turkey- Dana

Ham- Dana [Dana is the meat preparer and griller of the family. She has more grill tools than any one single human could ever need and she is HILARIOUS out there.]



Broccoli and Rice Casserole- Sarah will prepare on Tuesday (cracker topping will be placed on Wednesday by Sarah)[This is not a joke, folks. This cracker topping will not place itself!]



Cheese Spaghetti: Sarah will prepare on Tuesday



Creamed Corn: Sarah will commence prep work on Tuesday by taking the ear and juices off the cob [This just sounds really gross to me, even though I know we're talking about corn. I don't really ever want to hear "ear" and "juices" in the same action again.], Ginger will do the final cooking on Wednesday after we get back from Caroling [NOPE.]



Deviled Eggs: Sarah will boil eggs on Wednesday morning before Caroling, Sarah will make the deviled eggs on Wednesday after returning from Caroling [You'd think since Sarah is the one doing all the preparing AND Sarah is the one making the schedule, she wouldn't necessarily feel the need to be so detailed. But you'd be wrong.] [And I think I made these.]


Banana Pudding/Banana-less Pudding: Nana will bring on Wednesday [Neither Dana nor I actually like the bananas in the banana pudding. They get all slimy. NO THANK YOU.]



Dressing- Nana prepare and bring on Wednesday



Sweet Potato Casserole- Dana making on Tuesday [This meant it had brown sugar and pecans instead of marshmallows, I think. I don't like sweet potatoes, but I LOVE marshmallows.]



Mashed Potatoes- Sarah will shave [What the hell kind of hairy potatoes are we eating?!?], cut, and boil the potatoes on Wednesday morning before Caroling, Nana will mash and prepare the potatoes on Wednesday evening [I would like to add that this is NOT what happened. Somehow, Mom decided to mash the cooked potatoes the night before without any of the appropriate ingredients. This was a HORRIBLE IDEA. In case you were wondering. This is why we have an agenda, people, let's respect it.]



Rolls- Sarah will place in the oven on Wednesday night after the Turkey is done



Sparkle Punch- Ginger will make on Wednesday Evening [I made this.]

Sarah


I should add here that Mom (Ginger) didn't make it home from seeing patients until about a half hour before we ate dinner. There were many moments of confusion before Nana (Mom's mom) showed up to guide us through the "making creamed corn" process. Also, I made a huge mess of the deviled eggs, but I really only like the filling anyway. Sarah did place the rolls in the oven on Wednesday night after the Turkey was done. I think Turkey is capitalized because it is Very Important on holidays. I pretty much hate turkey all the time, though, so I refuse to capitalize. Leave me alone, turkey. I want a new holiday meat (TWSS?).

Dear Men,

Please have less vagina. Be less dramatic. STOP BOTHERING ME WITH YOUR FEELINGS AND CRAP.

I don't care.

This does not mean that I don't care about anything. It means that I don't care about you. You who I barely know. You who I went out with a few times. You who didn't really do anything for me. You, holding on to all your anger and crap. You who felt the need to text me and be all fucking dramatic at 1:00 am. You who expected me to be all broken up that you were angry with me when I didn't want to go out again.

I. Do. Not. CARE.

Because you're not worth caring about.

But do NOT make that about me. If you were worth it, I would care.

Also, don't tell me you're a jackass and get mad when I agree. You're a jackass.

I am done. Save your drama for your mama.

It's Friday, we should break up - So-called "invisible solid" deodorant.

Wait a minute. It's not "so-called 'invisible solid' deodorant." It's either "so-called" or "invisible solid." Cause there ain't nothing invisible about it.

It's all over my clothes.



Secret, Dove, Degree, you're all the same. "New! Improved! Formula!" That just means the old formula sucked and you know it. Unfortunately, you've made little progress in this arena.

Even more unfortunate is the fact that there are so few other options. That clear stuff does weird things to my clothes. And it feels all wet and sticky. In a really bad way.

I'm at a loss here, but I stand strong. Invisible solid deordorant? We're threw.

TMI Thursday - Tidal Wave

Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for LiLu's TMI Thursday!

(This is really gross. I'm just going to warn you now. It still makes me puke in my mouth a little. I don't think I've ever actually managed to tell this story in its full glory. Please don't hate me.)

I used to work retail. A lot of retail. My services (hehe) have graced establishments such as Sam Goody, American Eagle Outfitters, Lids (the baseball cap store), and some shoe store in a horrible outlet mall where I swear they just used a dump truck to dump all the shoes in there without a concern about having them in pairs. Ugh.

But possibly my worst retail experience was at Kohl's. I don't know if you have them where you live, but they're a discount-ish department store, kind of like Target, but without the groceries.

My title? Department Supervisor of the Lingerie Department. Sounds sexy, right? No.

I'm sorry to burst your bubble here, boys, but WOMEN ARE NASTY. Okay, not all of us are nasty, but the nasty ones more than make up for any nastiness lost by us normal girls.

Basically, it was my job to make sure that all the bras and panties and sexy nighties and pajamas found their homes on hangers and that all the dressing rooms were clean. By the way, I wouldn't hang up a bra now if you paid me money to do it (I probably would).

I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't try on underwear. I know what size I wear and I buy that size. If I get it home (wash it) and try it on and it doesn't fit, well, I'm just out that money. Not all women feel this way.

NOTE: If you're a woman and you're reading this, when you buy underwear WASH IT BEFORE YOU PUT IT ON. Trust me on this one.

I had to keep a stash of gloves in my little podium because I was constantly finding tried-on underwear in the dressing room. AND I'M NOT TOUCHING THAT WITH MY BARE SKIN. Gross.

Then I started finding dirty, used, pre-owned underwear in the dressing rooms with the empty hangers from the brand-new, clean(ish) underwear that had been stolen.

The last straw?

I walked into the dressing room and was hit with a wave of stench in the air. I gagged and walked back out. But really, no one was going to deal with whatever it was but me. So I trudged back in. One by one, I opened the dressing rooms and peeked in. Expecting to find some small, dead mammal. Oh, how I would have preferred that to what I actually found in the last stall.

It seems the last woman in the dressing room was having a visit. From her Aunt Flow. A really really really really really big visit. Like someone climbed up into her uterus and used a Samurai sword to shred it big one.

In the dressing room, I found her underwear, which was soaked clean through. Her used tampon. And her old, worn, and...distinctly-more-red-than-anything-else pants. And a GIANT red spot on the carpet.

She had taken clothes and underwear from various departments and apparently decided that my dressing room was the place to change.

I nearly puked, turned, and ran. I found my manager and explained. I was told that I needed to start cleaning it up. I quit.

I only have one thing to say to this.

So I received this message on OKCupid:

You have a very nice profile and you're a very beautiful woman, I like the fact that you don't hold back on cussing sounds kinda crazy but I enjoy a woman who cusses and isn't afraid to offend. Smart ass women turn me on and so do redheads yeah I'm proly to crazy for you but I thought I would email you and find out I'm not looking to have any more kids I've got two that are half grown and I'm done LOL but I'm just looking for a honest, good hearted woman that cusses and speaks her mind when she wants, has her own opinion and doesn't just agree with me right away type, someone who can be my friend as well as lover, someone to walk holding hands with on the beach as well as play wrestle with each other over the last cupcake in the house :)
I laugh and smile all the time it's a brain problem people say...Well holla back if u want to ?

THERE IS ONLY ONE PERIOD IN THE WHOLE DAMN THING. I'm scared.

I got nothin'.

Last night, I stayed out far too late and now I'm sleepy and I feel a little like throwing up. So I leave you with this (introduced to me by Graygrrrl). You might not find it funny, but oh crap it makes me giggle every time. NO WAY. NOT NOW NOT NEVER.



In other news, I have a date on Friday night and I'm not sure how I feel about that. I have the nerves. Here's to hoping he doesn't want to wear my skin!

This may be the most awesome thing a computer has every generated and spit out at me.

Having heard reasonably good things about OKCupid around the blogosphere, I decided to sign up this weekend. Saturday, I spent the WHOLE DAY in my apartment, doing absolutely nothing. Sans pants. I did put on pants around 9:00 pm to go to Taco Bell and get some tacos (which I then tweeted about inappropriately, but not to the extent that I was making taco jokes in my head...).

At one point, it looked like this:



And I couldn't stop giggling. Hi, I'm a 15-year-old boy, but with better boobs and less acne.

On Sunday, I found out that my ex-boyfriend is moving in with his girlfriend after only six months. I feel a little...hurt. But I'm surprisingly okay with it because I DO NOT WANT THAT. Certainly not with him. I was pretty prepared for it anyway. I figure they'll be married before next summer.

The thing is...have you seen the movie Good Luck, Chuck? I haven't. But I'm pretty sure it's about me. I'm always the girl you date immediately before you realize that you're ready to settle down. Just not with me! Because I expect things like:

1. You should really do what you say you're going to do. All the time.
2. If you're going to be late, please let me know.
3. Your actions speak far louder than your words. Please act accordingly.
4. Don't be a douchebag.

These things are really beyond the capabilities of most men. So after they date me, they meet some chick with low self-esteem (don't think I haven't been there. I have. But I still expect you to do what you say you're going to do. Like all the time.), who just wants to do everything they want and never questions them and basically runs around with no spine and they marry her.

This has happened at least three times.

And a couple of months ago, this news of cohabitation would have probably upset me. As I stood there, thinking about it (wishing, really, that I didn't know it), I realized something. I don't want that at all. Living with him would have been one of the worst ideas in the world. Yeah, yeah, we were supposed to move in together. He thought maybe after being together for two years, he would be okay with the idea. It would have been horrible. I had already compromised so much of who I was and what I wanted that I didn't even know me any more. It was a recipe for disaster, because I cannot function like that long-term.

Keep in mind, I'm not blaming him for this. It was my fault. I let it happen. Because his comfort was far more important to me than mine. Rest assured. That will never happen again. I've signed up for a serious ass-whipping with most of my friends should I ever inadvertently start losing myself for some guy.

Even if he's a great guy (ex-boyfriend is not).

I know that this is going to sound like bullshit to most of you. And I know you'll think I only feel this way because I haven't "met the right guy yet." And maybe you're right. But here it is: I'm perfectly happy being with me. Meeting a guy is just icing on the cake. No, that's not right. Icing on cake is a necessity. Meeting a guy is like...getting an iPhone 3GS, when I already have a 3G. Or something that's kick ass, but not really essential.

The nice thing about this is, it means I refuse to settle. I refuse to compromise who I am to be with someone else. I briefly lost track of this, and I was miserable. It won't happen again.

So I'm not really sure how serious about this "dating" thing I am, but online dating usually makes for at least some entertaining stories. I had some doozies last time I tried it (years ago).

So I logged into OKCupid and filled out a profile. I answered a bunch of questions about life and math and stuff, and filled in how my "ideal match" would answer the same questions. (My favorite? "Do you know what sperm tastes like?" And how would I like my "ideal match" to answer that? Hmmm...) At the bottom of my little home page, they were taunting me with making my profile more complete. "Do this and your profile will be 55% complete! Now do this and your profile will be 60% complete!"

I'm a sucker for this kind of thing.

One of the things I had to do was take some "Dating Persona Test." Dutifully, I answered all their questions, though I did have to guess on "How many people have you kissed?" I have no idea. The result of my test was this:

THE DIRTY LITTLE SECRET
(which, seriously, sounds pretty awesome, eh?)

Innocent but fundamentally sexual, like the word “finger”. You are the Dirty Little Secret.

Few women have the confidence for sex mastery, and among nice girls, like you, it’s almost unheard of. So congratulations. You’ve had plenty of adventures, but you’ve remained a kind, thoughtful person. Your friends appreciate your exploits. They even live vicariously through you.

You seek pleasure, but you’re not irresponsible. You are organized and cautious, and you choose your lovers wisely. One, you don’t like dirtbags. And two, you like to maintain control. Or at least lose it selectively. You might notice that older men single you out. They have an eye for your sensual nature. Take it as a compliment.

You enjoy making people happy, and it’s inevitable that many guys will fall harder for you than you for them. You’re not completely comfortable in a serious, long-term relationship right now. Our guess is that the key to extended happiness will be finding a responsible, but kinky, mate.

Uh, dudes? I sound awesome. Just sayin'.

Having a bar across the street from your apartment is better than not having a bar across the street your apartment.

(Note: I'm not actually talking about this bar...it just had the right name.)

Friday night, Cheese met me at my apartment, and we went to the bar across the street. It's been open for months, but I'd yet to have a beer there. I'd heard from Graygrrrl that it was a lot like our old home, Ben's Halfyard House. EXCITEMENT!

I will say this: I'm not sure I agree. The members of the service staff I encountered were almost exclusively a new brand of stupid. With the exception of one waitress. I didn't talk to the bartender, though. I'm willing to give it the benefit of the doubt, though as I can WALK HOME FROM THE BAR.

Cheese and I sat down at a booth and inspected the menu. Typical bar food and a selection of pizzas. At the bottom of the menu, we found some delicious sounding calzones and desserts. Oddly these were all priced $0.00. Yay! Free food!

I ordered a salad and a Shiner (I promise that I'm telling you this for a reason) and Cheese ordered a spinach and mushroom calzone and a Boddington's pear apple Guinness cider pale ale (she actually ordered this once because she got all intimidated by the taps and I'm determined to never let her forget it...in related news, Cheese does not like beer.)

The waitress looked down at Cheese and said, "Um. We don't have calzones."

So apparently $0.00 means "we don't have calzones," not "calzones are free." My dreams of dessert walked out the door in that moment (aside from the cupcake Cheese brought me from the stash I bought her for her birthday).

Cheese ordered a (cheese) pizza instead and we moved on with our lives.

It turned out that Cheese knew someone at the bar. When he walked by the first time, she yelled (completely out of the blue, you understand), "Donny Baseball!"

To which I replied, "I like hockey pucks!"

What? I thought we were yelling out random sports crap.

She went out to smoke with "Donny Baseball," and I overheard THE MOST AWESOME CONVERSATION OF THE WEEK.

There were a couple of dudes sitting at the bar behind our booth and they kept yelling out weird stuff like "I didn't sign up to be in no swingers' party" and "I don't need nobody looking at me like that." No idea what any of that was about, but when Cheese left, I started listening in.

At this point, they were flirting with one of the waitresses. Always a good plan. Of course, I didn't realize the genius I was hearing at first. But then...

"I don't wanna make this all sexual. I want to like know you. Like really know you. Like know you're favorite color and shit. The real stuff. I don't want to cloud that by making things all sexual right now. What is your favorite color?"

This is all being said by the guy who was shouting about swingers' parties, while the waitress is practically sitting in his friend's lap.

The waitress apparently relayed her favorite color, because the guy said to his friend, "Look how she just threw that out there like that?"

As though favorite colors are the stuff secrets are made of. Actually, my favorite color is a secret from now on. Please forget that you know my favorite color is orange. Thanks.

Then he says to the waitress, "You know, there's a good chance I'm going to remember that shit later. But I'm not going to ask you any more questions because I don't want to lose that one. So I can know you. You know. For real."

Then he and his friends hugged the poor girl until I suspect she couldn't breathe and left.

The weirdest thing? I think the waitress was actually flattered.

I'd also like to add that my hair was doing this SEXY BEAST volume thing (What? I'm modest!). Like so:



And this is me, doing my best Jodi Sawyer impression (From Center Stage. Shut up Jay). I think I rock. Oh, let me explain. Jodi Sawyer only becomes a good dancer when she bites her lip (the night before her birthday, Cheese may or may not have done this about 75 times at her apartment after she took her Ambien. Also, she not only tried to kick my iPhone's ass, she practically licked it. It still hasn't recovered). Seriously. So I was doing my best:


Yes, I realize I look like an ass.

There's a picture of Cheese doing her best, but I suspect she'd kill me for posting it. So I'll keep it to myself.

It's Friday, we should break up - Texting

Truth? I love texting as much as the next person. Mostly because I sort of hate talking on the phone. It gets all hot and then makes my face all hot and the battery dies and I don't have very many minutes.

(Oh, I'm also totally breaking up with McDonald's...for yesterday's reasons.)

Here's the thing, though, guys. And I want you to listen carefully.

Are you listening? I mean, reading, actually. Are you reading?

TEXTING IS NOT AN EXCUSE TO SOUND LIKE AN IDIOT.

I kind of already hate internet speak. It already gives me a headache when people don't know when to use "your" and when to use "you're." I don't understand the point of putting a "2" in place of "to." At all. That's saving you, what? A fraction of a second? If that?

So if you're trying to get in my pants, texting me "yo yo ms shine wat u doin 2nite" just isn't going to help matters. In fact, that's a sure-fire way to guarantee you'll never hear from me again.

From now on, I'm pretty much going to have to require all men to send me a text message before I agree to go out with them.

In other news, the youngster texted me at midnight-thirty last night. "What r u up too? Want to meet up?" (Seriously...it was "too." I'm never going to have another boyfriend as long as I live if I keep this up, I realize.)

He does realize that I realize that this means, "I'm not getting any anywhere else tonight, wanna have sex?" right? The funniest part? I said no, that I was going to bed because it was late and I had to be up early, blah blah. And then he sent me this: "I got a new phone, so I lost your number for sometime." And then what? The phone number fairy dropped it off for you? I'm not buying that at all. Don't bother making up excuses for why you haven't called me in a while...I was thrilled when you stopped. Actually, the only reason I responded was because I had sort of forgotten who he was. Oops. Proceed with the blowing off. Part deux.

Look, it's okay to be picky. Picky is how you don't end up with another douchey boyfriend. I promise.

TMI Thursday - Sometimes it just ain't pretty

Welcome to TMI Thursday. Please buckle your seat belts and keep all your appendages to yourself. Or share with your neighbor.

As you know, LiLu started this whole TMI mess and now...well, it won't stop.

If you'd prefer a more racy TMI story, shoot me an email and I'll tell you where to find one. This will probably not work if I actually know you or you are a member of my family.

If you've ever thought to yourself, "Oh, hey, that shine is pretty cute. I might have myself a little bloggy crush on her..." (I realize this is unlikely, but I'm warning you anyway), this story will probably cure you of that. Or you can stop reading here.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

I had the brilliant idea to go to McDonald's for lunch. You see, it's close and it's fast, and I really wanted some French fries (yes, Antje, I know French fries are the devil and so is McDonald's, but I did it anyway). I was trying to finish up Water for Elephants for book club with my mom and sister, so I just wanted to sit somewhere and read.

I ordered a cheeseburger and some fries and sat down. Next to the play area. Like an idiot. Just in case you were thinking you could have any semblance of peace at a McDonald's, you'd be wrong. I'm not really super fond of kids to begin with, but screaming ones are really not my fave.

I ate about half my food, read as much of my book as I could, and left with a big, fat headache and an urge to kick kittens. Which I would never do, of course.

When I got back to the office, I dove right back into my work...but within a half hour, something was just not right.

Have you seen Van Wilder? I know, I know, but I love that movie. Possibly because I love Ryan Reynolds (and Kal Penn). At the end, there's a scene in which the incredibly intelligent and talented (I keed!) Tara Reid puts "colon blow" in her douchebag boyfriend's pre-exam shake. Mid-exam, his stomach starts to make all these rumbling noises.

Wait. Here, just go watch it (embedding disabled by request...blah).

Done?

So basically, I'm sitting at my desk when...RUMBLE. It felt like something was shaking up my intestines. And I don't poo at work, people. We only have one bathroom and I do NOT poo in it. But this time? I wasn't really capable of waiting it out. There were noises coming from my intestines that were probably scaring people in the next county.

I went into the bathroom and basically...assploded. It was like liquid in there. My poor insides were practically crying with relief. I've never been so happy to take a shit in my life. Ever.

The bad news? One of the boys had just taken a shit. Which means I had to sit in there smelling it. The good news? No one is the wiser about my assplosion.

I'm sorry to do this to you, folks. And I know you'll probably never look at me the same again. But every once in a while, a girl has to take a really big shit.

This is how you found my blog?

I try not to obsessively check my blog stats. Because I don't care if anyone is reading or not (yeah...right...), of course. Yesterday, though, I happened to notice that people were arriving at my blog through some interesting google searches (though none anywhere near as awesome as those of Mr. Johnny Virgil).

For obvious reasons, if you google a question about poo, you're probably going to end up here. These were my favorite poo searches:

1. morning poo
I'm so glad someone searched for this. Good to know that the morning poo isn't just a problem in my office. Whoever you are, here's my two cents: the morning poo cannot be stopped. Also, men's asses are a home for vile, dead, smelly shit.

2. "i can't poo"
I'd suggest one of those over-the-counter constipation medications. You can get them at the grocery store. And eating less cheese. But who wants to eat less cheese? Just call me Dr. Shine!

3. men who have poo
Is this some sort of fetish thing? Because gross. If it's just a question, yes. All men have poo.

Then, there are the requisite pee searches:

1. my sweet relief had to pee
I'm not sure, but I think this is a country music song. Also, I've been there...

2. had to pee
Why are you googling this, asshole? Go pee. Is it more complicated than I think?

3. peeper cam peeps while peeing dude pees
This is my personal favorite. Who googles this? I bet you were really disappointed when you ended up here. But I'll set up a peeper cam for next time. LiLu, I'm watching you...sorry, but you talk about pee the most. It's only fair.

It seems people are frequently visiting me for "How-to" advice:

1. how to talk to a guy you first meet
Step one, think of something to say. Step two, open your mouth and let the words fall out. Step three, try not to sound like an idiot. Or an asshole.

2. how to attract a christian boy who just got dumped
I have great advice for this one. Why would you want to? Don't. My grandparents are proof that (at least some) Christians are a little wacky...

3. how to make my 5 year old sister shut up
This, my friend, is not an easy task. The problem is, it's very easy to get in trouble with the authorities...or your parents. I have no idea how old you are. You could try duct tape over her mouth, but most five-year-olds are wise to that game, and will just pull it off. Kind of like that scene in Four Rooms with the ointment on the eyes. Just go watch the movie and come back. I wouldn't suggest hiding a dead hooker under the mattress. That didn't really get those kids to shut up. Maybe you should try putting on a Disney movie or something. I hear kids like those. I went through the same thing with my sister.

4. how to put on a girdle
Very very carefully. Also, don't. Seriously, screw those people who say you need one.

5. how to expose yourself to a minor
I'm really curious as to how this one got you here. I don't think I've ever exposed myself to a minor. On purpose. There were a couple of times at the beach in Mexico last year when my swimsuit...well, I didn't do it on purpose. Please, sir (or madam, I'm not sexist), don't expose yourself to any minors. I believe the children are our future (even if they're getting dumber everyday). Oh, I may not have been a minor, but I did have a similar experience.

6. how to make clothing out of crown royal bags
Interesting. I'm guessing this has something to do with a sewing machine and as I'm deathly (irrationally) afraid of those, I'm going to suggest you go back to google for this one.

7. how to meet boys.
Okay, pay attention here, because this is really complicated. Ready? Leave your house. Get out and do things. Oh, and it helps if you have a personality. Please watch out for the crazies.

8. should i date her because i can
I don't even know what this means. But probably not.

There was one question I'd really like to address: is shine out of jail? And the answer is...no. I'm still in the big house. For exposing myself to a minor. I keed! I've never even been in jail. But I have bailed quite a few friends out of Mexican jail.

We're pretty much down to just random crap now:

yogurt eating methods
YOU EAT YOGURT WITH A SPOON. What the hell is wrong with you people?

boy fuck mom blogspot
I'm worried that this might have been an actual effort to find my blog. Because of, you know, the story about Motorboater.

"krusty's summer sauce camp" singles
I can't even begin to explain this. Is this the thing The Clevelanders were talking about? How did that land someone here? Also, summer sauce camp sounds kinda fun. Can I go next year?

does hellboy drink tecate light
Well, actually, Hellboy and I are really good friends and I will tell you that I would spank him if I ever caught him drinking Tecate Light. He's scared of me, you know. Because I'm hard core. Hellboy only drinks manly beer.

horny 30 year old milfs
Yes, please. I'm not sure how it led you here, but I hope you brought your own milfs. Because this vagina has not birthed any children. But I have experienced breastfeeding.

want to see the sexy nighty inn which boobs are come out
I can tell you without a doubt that you will never see this in person (unless you pay for it) unless you learn to spell and speak proper English. Unless you're not from America. In which case, I'm a douchebag. Don't be a fool. Stay in school. (Words of wisdom from Van Wilder.)

what makes you keep your penis up
Wow. Actually, it's a dilation of blood vessels in your actual penis caused my stimulation, whether it be touch or visual (or this guy's weird contraption). I didn't even look that up. This is the first time I've used that biology degree since college! In other news, drinking can have adverse affects on your penis's ability to stay up (also your balance). I should know, I dated an alcoholic for a year and a half.

sabrina is guilty because she ate blueberry pie!
What?

lisa frank shirt
It's not a T-shirt yet, but I've had many requests to make it one!

And now, for my two favorites:

punctuation pictures penis
What the hell does this mean and why would you google it? Also, way to research punctuation, people! I'm proud. Even if you did have to add penis to it.

i licked my sister breast brother and sister sex confession
I have no idea how this got you here, but I have to ask...WTF? Really? You want to see that? I mean, I can understand if it were two sisters maybe, but are we really that excited about incest these days? Gross, people. Gross.

My very first award. And I got it twice!

Jeff, over at This is Why You're Hold Time is so Long, and Mysterg, over at Meditations in an Emergency, have both seen fit to give me an award!

I'd like to thank my fingers. Without you, this never would have been possible. You guys type like some bad ass bitches. I love you.

The award I've received is...The Honest Scrap Award.



Which is weird because I make all this shit up. I've basically been lying to all of you this whole time. Actually, I'm not even from this planet.

(Okay, okay. I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. It's just too weird. And all of it has happened to me.)

They both seem to have different opinions of what one must do when one receives this award, so I'm going to do whatever I want.

According to Jeff: "The onus is on me to award this to three blogs, and they're to link back, thereby supplying the interwebs with more things to read on slow work days."

According to Mysterg, the rules are as follows:

1. “The Honest Scrap” award is not one to hold all to your self but it must be shared!
2. The recipient has to tell 10 true things about themselves in their blog that no one else knows.
3. The recipient has to pass along this prestigious award to 10 more bloggers.
4. Those 10 bloggers all have to be notified they have been given this award.
5. Those 10 bloggers should link back to the blog that awarded them.

Since everyone I know has already received this award, I'm going to go out searching for new bloggers and I'll let you know what I come up with in a later post. Or I'll forget all about this and be a lazy bitch. Please start taking bets now.

I do think it's fun to tell 10 true things about myself, though coming up with 10 things I haven't already spilled will be an interesting endeavor. And away we go!

1. I convinced myself I was allergic to bell peppers and told everyone in my life this was the case, when really I just don't like them. I don't think it's possible to be allergic to some peppers and not others, but I'm not sure.

2. I stopped believing in Christianity when I was about 10-years-old. Now I'm an atheist.

3. I am really helpful. Almost to a fault. Hence, the nickels.

4. I once sort of...stole a friend's boyfriend. And I still relish in it. She was kind of a bitch.

5. I have never smoked a cigarette, but I love a good cigar. And not in the Clinton way, you pervs.

6. When I was 15 or 16, I walked into a donkey show in Mexico. I promise to elaborate on this on a TMI Thursday sometime, but I don't promise it will be here.

7. If there's dancing in it, I will watch it. With the exception of Mama Mia! Sorry, I just can't get on board with that one. But So You Think You Can Dance, America's Best Dance Crew, Dancing with the Stars, Center Stage, Step Up, Stomp the Yard, Dirty Dancing. I've seen them all. Except that Dance Your Ass Off show, that's where I draw the line. I saw a clip on The Soup and it scared the crap out of me.

8. I am a complete wuss about pain. Even though I really want to get a tattoo, I probably never will because I'm scared of how much it will hurt.

9. I would usually rather stay home and watch zombie movies and eat ice cream than go out, but usually I go out anyway.

10. I kissed a girl and I liked it. Oh, that was Katy Perry's thing (I can neither confirm nor deny whether this is true for me). Sometimes I drink the olive juice from the green olive jar.

11. I hate email forwards more than mosquitoes. And I probably think less of you for sending me one. Unless it was in jest or to make fun of people.

12. Men who cannot spell are far less attractive to me than men who can spell. Regardless of actual looks.

13. I'm allergic to latex. How fun!

I decided to go with a baker's dozen, since there were two sets of rules anyway.

And for your first new blogger (and you guys thought I wasn't going to send you to anyone!), please go check out Graygrrrl at The Art of Throwing Stones. I know her in real life and she is one of the funniest, most confident, no bullshit people I've ever known. I'm a little scared of her, actually. Please don't tell her you don't like Twilight. She will beat your ass (but I still don't get it). I'll let her choose the rules she'd like to follow (though I tend to lean toward the ones with numbers being legit).

ABCs of me...

Blatantly stolen from Rachel. She blatantly stole it from Christina. So I don't feel so bad.

I do, however, feel kind of lazy. Without further ado, here are the ABCs of me:

A-Age: 29

B-Birth date: December 10, 1979.

C-Chore you hate: Laundry

D-Dog's name: Her name was Peanut and she was the most loverly dog in the whole wide world. She got hit by a car in November of last year.

E-Enter or Exit: Enter

F-Favorite color: Orange

H-Hair color: Ha! I have no idea. I think it's dirty blonde, naturally. But it's red now and has been for three years or so.

I-Instrument: Spoons. Yes, I can play. Or I could when I was a kid.

J-Job Title: Office Manager, I suppose.

K-Kids: No thanks. They make pills for this.

L-Living arrangements: Um, apartment? I don't do roommates.

M-Monkey or Moose: Monkey.

N-Nicknames: Shine, Merry Magdel-anal (long story), Cupcake

O-Odd thing about you: (Just one?)I can't really go to sleep if there are shoes on the floor because if I wake up at night, I usually think there's someone in my room and try to attack them only to fall on my face on the shoes. It ain't pretty. Also, strangers lick me. It's weird.

P-Pet Peeve: People who don't know the difference between then and than. People who don't do what they say they're going to do. People who are incapable of being on time.

Q-Quote from a movie: "It's fucking Sunday. And I've got to go to fucking work in four fucking hours 'cos every other fucker in my fucking department is fucking ill! Now can you see why I'm SO FUCKING ANGRY?" This isn't really my favorite favorite, probably, but I just watched Shaun of the Dead last night. And I don't want to think any more. It's an impressive amount of "fuck" in one sentence.

R-Right/Left Handed: I'm right-handed. But I can totally see out of my left eye just as well as my right.

S-Siblings: This is a really complicated question. Somewhere between 0 and 15.

T-Time you wake up? 6:30 - 7:00 am

U-Underwear: I'm a fan of the hipster (meaning sits on the hips, not meaning wears plaid scarves around my neck)/boyshort variety. Like so.

V-Veggie you dislike: I think peppers are a fruit, but I don't like them. Or carrots, but I guess those are a root. What the hell is a vegetable any more, even?

W-What makes you run late: I do not like to be late. But sometimes the key won't turn in my ignition. That makes me late.

X-X-Rays: Elbow, abdomen. Damn you, ulcer!

Y-Yummy food you make: Creamy chicken enchiladas, grilled shrimp nachos, gooey butter cake, fudge, divinity candy, cream cheese mints (delish!), macaroni and cheese (not from a box, you dope), salmon cakes, cheesy corn dip, chex mix. I really like to cook.

Z-Zoo Animal: The zoo makes me want to cry. But the primates at least get some space. And I like sharks. You know, to look at, not as friends. But all the poor cats are so sad. Stupid zoo.