tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2799203398962337082024-03-13T22:49:45.844-05:00shine out loudStranger than Fictionshinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.comBlogger215125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-69854434290790707132010-01-13T07:37:00.000-06:002010-01-13T10:14:46.543-06:00Oh no! You're on the wrong page.Please to <a href="http://www.ishineoutloud.com/shine"><span style="font-weight:bold;">CLICK HERE INSTEAD!</span></a>shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-88391438056443651912009-12-17T06:37:00.002-06:002009-12-17T08:47:43.695-06:00TMI Thursday - No, but really...this happened.<span style="font-style:italic;">Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for <a href="http://www.livitluvit.com">LiLu's</a> <a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/category/tmi-thursday">TMI Thursday</a>!<br /></span><br /><center><a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/category/tmi-thursday" target="_blank"><img src="http://i556.photobucket.com/albums/ss5/Livitluvit/tmithursday.jpg" border="0" alt="TMI Thursday" /></a></center><br /><br /><br />I'm writing this on Tuesday because well, because it happened last night. I'd like to keep all the details fresh.<br /><br />Last night, after I got home from work, I decided to take a bath before meeting my mom for dinner. For those of you who know me, you know how much I love a good bath. I had about an hour, so I settled in with a book for a good soak.<br /><br />Of course, in the middle of it, I had to get out and poop, but that's a whole different TMI story. Probably one that doesn't need to be told.<br /><br />Anyway, I finished my bath, but instead of reaching down to unplug the drain while I was still sitting in it, the way I normally would, I just...got out of the tub. With all the water still sitting in it.<br /><br />I realized my mistake as I was drying myself off, so I went to the side of the tub where the drain is located, so I could lean down and unplug it. <br /><br />Sounds simple, right? But here's the thing. My skin was still all wet. And my shower curtain is vinyl. It was basically like sitting in a car with vinyl seats on a hot summer day. My skin stuck to the shower curtain like a tongue to a frozen metal pole. All of my momentum was carrying me forward. I lost my footing and proceeded to fall, head first, back into the tub. Pulling the shower curtain into the tub with me, but somehow not ripping it from its metal loops on the rod itself.<br /><br />It took me a few minutes to come to terms with what had just happened and then a couple more minutes to untangle myself. I got out of the tub, dried myself off and realized...I still hadn't unplugged the drain.shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-70509936294667599982009-12-15T06:37:00.000-06:002009-12-15T06:37:00.353-06:00Mexico: The SpeedbumpsLast year, over spring break, I took a little trip to Me-hee-co. It was lovely. The beach was awesome, as was the swim-up bar. Who doesn’t love a swim-up bar? But I think my favorite part of the whole thing was the speed bumps.<br /><br />I know, I know. It seems weird. Mexican speed bumps are the shit, though. There are at least five different kinds, and they’re everywhere. Residential streets, highways, sidewalks, hallways, you name it. And they take that shit seriously in Mexico.<br /><br />First, they have the normal, average, everyday USA kind, but about 2 inches taller. If you’re in your teeny tiny car, it’ll rip you up if you don’t slow down. So everyone slows down. These were mostly in public parking lots, like the airport.<br /><br />Then there are… well, how do I put this? You know the road tits? The ones they use for the left turn lane, so you’ll think really long and hard about trying to get out of it once you’re in it? They’re like the lane dividers but ten times the size? Well, there are speed bumps made out of two to three rows of those. They’re all over the highways and busy streets. They seemed to be the most effective. No one speeds over those things.<br /><br />After that, we have the big-wide-rounded-top speed bump. It was my favorite when I lived in El Paso, because it’s fun to speed over that kind. They had them in the Target parking lot, and we always referred to them as “Target Speed Bumps.” It never occurred to me that Target may not put those in parking lots nation-wide. What a disappointment. But they had some in Mexico. Not as fun because the cab drivers slowed down too much.<br /><br />The next ones are the slant-up-flat-top-slant-down kind. I don’t really enjoy these so much. They were the least prevalent, usually seen at check points and things like that. I actually only remember encountering them on the day trip to Chichen Itza. I was on this giant bus. And I get carsick. The tour guide wouldn’t shut up. He kept making these incredibly ridiculous numerological parallels between the Mayan pyramid and everyday things in Western culture. Yeah, I’m pretty sure the Maya didn’t know anything about Snow White and the Seven Dwarves or that there would eventually be 52 cards in a deck. But thanks, dude. Glad you could listen to yourself talk for nine hours.<br /><br />My all-time favorite speed bumps were these ones that were almost the reverse of the slant-up-flat-top-slant-down kind. There were two slant-down-flat-bottom-slant-up-flat-top ones in a row. These were everywhere, but mostly in the residential neighborhoods. Like the one on the way to the hotel. It was almost like they just decided to build in structured potholes. Probably you could get away with speeding over those things, but I wouldn’t advise it.<br /><br />Of course none of that matters, since lanes and speed limits are really barely even suggestions in Playa del Carmen. Going the wrong way, but in the right lane? No problem. Just pull a U-turn in front of all the traffic, they won’t mind. And if you happen to drive a tour bus, you have the right of way. At all times. Even if it means the guy driving the other way while you’re passing someone has to go off-roading for a few minutes. Some would call it a really boring game of chicken, in which everyone knows who the winner will be. On another trip, some passengers were telling us about the driving in the Dominican Republic. Apparently, there mothers will drive little scooters while just holding their children onto their sides, sort of football style in my imagination. Compared to that, the driving in Playa del Carmen is amazing.shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-38421516944464860532009-12-14T08:37:00.005-06:002009-12-14T12:53:28.577-06:00Why my kindergarten* boyfriend was not the love of my life.To start your Monday morning off right, Rebecca over at <a href="http://losingitinaz.blogspot.com/">Losing It in AZ</a> came up with an awesome idea. We should all share some stories of our past failed relationships. These stories can be about any relationship: a boyfriend, your mom, your cousin, your boss, your cat...you get the picture. Obviously, you're going to want to hop on this train, because I think if we put our heads together, we can come up with a really hilarious collection of our failures.<br /><br /><center><a href="http://losingitinaz.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://i1000.photobucket.com/albums/af128/shine_out_loud/Fail.jpg" border="0" alt="Failed Relationship Mondays"/></a></center><br /> <br /><br />Failed Relationship: Josh, kindergarten boyfriend<br />Age: 4 <br />Length of Relationship: Approximately 48 hours<br /><br />I started kindergarten* at the ripe old age of four. As you can imagine, I was the youngest person in my class. Actually, I was pretty much the youngest person in my class until I graduated from high school. You see, my mom had to work. And, well, she needed me out of her hair. So even though I was three months past the cut-off birth date for admittance into school, she talked them in to taking me off her hands. <br /><br />I was in class with my cousin Summer, who was a giant trouble maker. I bet she still is. She's the reason I got spanked for talking at nap time. You see, I was big into rule following. I still am, actually. It's just that now I pick and choose instead of following all rules presented to me. Life's more fun this way. Oh, and my mom ALWAYS signed that little piece of paper saying they could spank me at school. Rude.<br /><br />Anyway, in our class, there was a boy. And this boy would steal my jacket and color on my paper and eat my chapstick and drop the see-saw really hard when I was on the other end. It was love, obviously. Except, of course, that I hated him. Then one day, he gave me a Valentine. Oh, that day was Valentine's Day. I suppose I should clear that up, so you don't think that he was some weirdo kid making Valentines on April 12th or something.<br /><br />Oh man, I was so excited. I got a Valentine! <br /><br />From a boy.<br /><br />Weird.<br /><br />Kind of icky.<br /><br />Well, maybe it could be all right, if he would stop eating my chapstick. Ass.<br /><br />After that, he held my hand and we played together at recess. Somehow this still involved him stealing my jacket during tag, but I think that's because he would always grab onto it to try to catch me, and I would unzip it and skip out of it (Yes, I totally mean skip. I was always a crappy runner, so I would skip and I could still beat most of the boys. True story.), leaving him holding my jacket and looking puzzled. Worked. Every. Time.<br /><br />This is about the time I learned an important lesson. Boys are dumb.<br /><br />Write that down.<br /><br />About a week later, I found out that he had also given a Valentine to one of our other female classmates. What a jerk! We "broke up" and he stopped eating my chapstick (Yay!) and I refused to play tag and that, my friends, was the end of that.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">*Actually, for all I know, all of this could have happened in the first, second, third, or fourth grade. Those memories are all sort of jumbled together in my mind. Except I know that in third or fourth grade I peed on myself and had to wear a borrowed Alf sweatshirt for the rest of the day. Along with borrowed pants, obviously. I didn't manage to just pee on my torso. Wow, that was embarrassing...</span>shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-76618352726491300432009-12-10T08:37:00.002-06:002009-12-10T09:31:27.334-06:00TMI Thursday - Gynecologists are the new celebrity hairstylists, apparently.<span style="font-style:italic;">Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for <a href="http://www.livitluvit.com">LiLu's</a> <a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/category/tmi-thursday">TMI Thursday</a>!<br /></span><br /><center><a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/category/tmi-thursday" target="_blank"><img src="http://i556.photobucket.com/albums/ss5/Livitluvit/tmithursday.jpg" border="0" alt="TMI Thursday" /></a></center><br /><br />Today is my 30th birthday. WTF? How did this HAPPEN?<br /><br />Boys? Feel free to skip this one. It's about going to the GYN. (That's gynecologist, for those of you who didn't bother to read the title.)<br /><br />A little over a year ago, I found a super great awesometastic gynecologist. I'd tell you his name, but I don't remember it.<br /><br />And therein lies the problem.<br /><br />I can't remember his name. Which makes it really hard to make an appointment. I do remember where he practiced, so I went online to look him up, just knowing that if I heard the name, it would trigger my memory.<br /><br />It didn't. Or else he's not there. I'm pretty sure he's disappeared off the face of the earth. So after a small freak out, I set about the business of finding a new GYN. Fun!<br /><br />This, of course, involved asking all my friends for referrals. <br /><br />I quickly realized that all gynecologist's offices, if not all doctor's offices, have incredibly long, convoluted answering machine thingamabobbies that make very little sense. Could you at least go in numerical order, guys?<br /><br />The first lady parts doctor I called wasn't accepting new patients at all. Apparently she has all the business she needs.<br /><br />The second womanly doctor was accepting new patients, but she didn't have any "new patient appointments" open until March. Thanks, but I'd like to not get pregnant in the next three months.<br /><br />The third woman didn't have any appointments until June.<br /><br />The fourth wasn't accepting new patients.<br /><br />The fifth had retired.<br /><br />What the HELL, people? I feel like I'm in Hollywood and trying to get an appointment with the latest and greatest waxer or hair stylist or something. You poke around in people's vaginas. <br /><br />Luckily the woman who retired worked in a group, so I managed to get an appointment with one of the other doctors at the end of the month. Whew.<br /><br />Now I just have to deal with all my anxiety about having a new lady in my parts. I almost had to resort to Planned Parenthood.<br /><br />I don't know how many of you have ever used Planned Parenthood for your basic gynecological needs, but...it's not very pleasant. At least, my experience never has been, and I went for years.<br /><br />I had one doctor tell me that if I was so worried about getting pregnant (after I asked her a simple question about trying a new method of birth control. Something along the lines of, "How effective is this, compared to the pill?"), I should probably just not have sex. Um, dude. You're PLANNED PARENTHOOD. I asked you about BIRTH CONTROL. You should be thrilled that I'm responsible. <br /><br />Then there was the doctor who acted like I was some sort of sinner and she would have to cast out the demons because I have...SLEPT WITH MORE THAN ONE PERSON.<br /><br />Then there was the doctor who didn't bother to, ya know, even TRY to be gentle with my girly bits. That one was the worst.<br /><br />In related news, I hate the gynecologist. I just want my awesome dude back. No, that's a lie. What I want is to be a dude and not have to worry about this crap. What I want is to not be forced to go have my business poked and prodded just because I don't want to get pregnant. I'm being RESPONSIBLE and for that? I'm forced to go have my bits checked out once a year, for which I have to pay, then I have to pay for my prescription for birth control.<br /><br />What I really want? Is to have my tubes tied, but I'm not allowed to make that decision until I'm 35-years-old. Which, let's face it, is coming at me like a freight train. Now, I love being a girl, and I wouldn't trade it, but let's stop with the inequality where this shit is concerned, mkay?shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-79887357214690997362009-12-09T07:37:00.001-06:002009-12-09T08:30:49.541-06:00Performance ReviewsYou may already realize that my boss is quite the character. If you don't, you can find some stories about it <a href="http://meshealle.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-promise-its-self-defense.html">here</a> (and <a href="http://meshealle.blogspot.com/2009/06/sexual-harassment-geriatric-style.html">here</a> and <a href="http://meshealle.blogspot.com/2009/05/im-new-lisa-frank-germans-are-tricky.html">here</a> (with MS Paints!) and <a href="http://meshealle.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-have-no-idea-what-youre-talking-about.html">here</a>). <br /><br />Now that we've taken care of that, and you can see what I'm working with over here, I'm going to tell you a little bit about what Performance Reviews are like in our office. Basically, think Michael Scott...but older.<br /><br />These days, I pretty much run the office, so I'm the one who does payroll and all that jazz. Which, ya know, means if you work in my office? You should probably not piss me off. Look, it's not that I don't LIKE archaeology (but I don't really like the kind we do), it's just that it pays better to do what I do now. And it was a full-time gig. I don't know if you've noticed, but the economy's not really doing so hot. Full-time = good idea.<br /><br />Last year, my boss decided that maybe it would be wise for us to have an employee handbook. He decided this because a coworker and I pretty much beat him down until he came up with the idea all by himself. Unfortunately, this meant that I had to write an employee handbook. I had no earthly idea how to go about that, so I gathered a few examples and set about writing it up. This also meant that I had to pick my boss's brain on every subject from lunch breaks to vacation time to pay increases to attendance. Trust me, my boss's brain is not really a pretty place to be.<br /><br />It turns out that my boss does not believe in giving his employees "cost of living" raises. He went on and on about how he didn't believe in just giving someone an increase in pay for doing the exact same amount of work, and so, if anyone wanted a raise from him, they'd have to come talk to him about it.<br /><br />Yes, I tried to explain that cost of living raises are designed to keep employees' salaries in line with inflation and that not giving them essentially means that he's making it more difficult for the employees to live, while they're still doing the same amount of work, etc. He didn't buy it.<br /><br />I argued and argued, but to no avail. And alas, it says in our employee handbook that no cost of living raises should be expected and that if an employee feels he deserves a raise, he is required to discuss the matter with the boss. Of course, no one but me will actually do that.<br /><br />Every year, at the end of the year, we're supposed to have a "Performance Review." Last year, I think mine went something like this:<br /><br />Boss walks up to my desk. "Shine, go ahead and give yourself a such-and-such cost of living raise. Oh, and here's the list for everyone else."<br /><br />So...yeah.<br /><br />After an employee has been here for three months, he is also entitled to a "Performance Review" from the boss. This review should determine the employee's future status with the company and his rate of pay for the coming year. About six months ago, we hired a new guy. He was only supposed to be here for a month. But, after three months, when he was still here, it was time for a Performance Review with the boss!<br /><br />This is how that went down:<br /><br />Boss calls me into his office. "Shine, what do you think of New Employee?"<br /><br />Me: "Well, I think he works hard. He's not scared to ask questions. I've read some of his stuff and he seems to have a really good grip on the English language.<br /><br />Boss: "Anything else? Do you think we should keep him around?"<br /><br />Me: "I think NE is a pretty good asset. He's a little flaky, but I think he more than makes up for that with his writing. I don't know how he is in the field, though."<br /><br />Boss: "Oh, he does just fine in the field. Let me ask you this, though. Would you date him?"<br /><br />Me: ".........Ummmmm....what?"<br /><br />Boss: "Would you, you know...date him?"<br /><br />Me: "........Ummmm, well, uh, considering that he works here and that he HAS a girlfriend and that he's nearly five years younger than me...no. I really don't think I would. Why do you ask?"<br /><br />Boss: "Oh, I was just curious. He has a girlfriend? What's she like?"<br /><br />Me: "Honestly, Boss, I have no idea. None. I've never met the girl."<br /><br />And now NE has a full-time position with our company. I can't say I'm sure whether the correct answer was "Yeah, I'd date him" or "Um, Hell no," nor do I see what in the FUCK that has to do with his employment status at our firm, but there you have it. A Performance Review by Boss.shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-51419742839379339242009-12-08T09:37:00.001-06:002009-12-08T10:47:44.014-06:00You know what I'm sick of hearing about?Tiger Woods.<br /><br />Guess what people...I JUST DON'T CARE that he slept with a bunch of women who weren't his wife. <br /><br />Not even a tiny bit. <br /><br />Less than you're thinking even.<br /><br />And yet here I am talking about it because it's all I hear about on the damn radio. <br /><br />Let me ask you this: Did Tiger Woods ever sign up to be anything but a really good golfer? Nope. So he cheated on his wife. He can still probably swing a golf club and that's all I expect of him. Whatever else he wants to do in his spare time is really none of my business.<br /><br />Please tell the media to get it together. There MUST be something else to talk about, right? Anything? Hell, I'd even listen to more TO talk if it means I don't have to listen to everyone act like Tiger Woods has raped and murdered a small child or something.shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-25844177373302607522009-12-07T08:37:00.001-06:002009-12-07T10:43:57.302-06:00In which I pretend that you're going to find this interesting, but we all know the truth.My apartment occasionally gets a little out of control in the messy department. <br /><br />I know. You're shocked, right?<br /><br />Generally, I'm not unclean, just cluttered. Basically meaning that while my kitchen is pretty clean, there are clothes EVERYWHERE. This gets particularly bad when I do anything that messes with my routine. <br /><br />Oh, man, I just totally lied to you guys. I don't have a routine at all! Ha!<br /><br />What I really mean is, this generally happens when I don't bother to make time for me at home.<br /><br />And lately? I really haven't been.<br /><br />Finally, the mess just got to be TOO MUCH. So I cleaned. And I did ALL my laundry. All of it. This is no small feat.<br /><br />Here's what I discovered:<br /><br />1. That purse that I lost? Was exactly where I thought it was. It was just covered up by my spring jacket.<br /><br />2. I own most of the world's stock in wife-beater tank tops. I do use them for sleeping, working out, and other things, but 40 of them? Probably too many.<br /><br />3. There is now enough underwear in my underwear drawer for me to go about six months without needing to wash any. And that's after I got rid of all the pairs that I don't like.<br /><br />4. I probably have 100 pairs of socks. This is not an exaggeration.<br /><br />5. My carpet doesn't actually have any red flecks in it. Apparently that was just my hair.<br /><br />6. My bed looks really weird when it's made.<br /><br />7. There's a chair in my room that I hadn't seen in six months because it was covered in clothing.<br /><br />8. There's actually carpet on my closet floor. I even know what it looks like now.<br /><br />9. I have enough workout pants to work out every single day for at least a month without running out. That does not include shorts. Don't even get me started on the sports bras.<br /><br />10. And finally, my bed is REALLY REALLY comfy. I hadn't slept in it in at least two months.<br /><br />So you see where cleaning your apartment can get you, kids? I realized at the point when I was vacuuming that I hadn't actually vacuumed since I moved in. That's just wrong. Don't tell my mother.shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-24466983468512769322009-12-03T10:37:00.000-06:002009-12-03T11:57:20.700-06:00Twitter just scared me. A lot.So okay, yeah, I know...it's <a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/category/tmi-thursday">TMI Thursday</a>. And you should really go look at <a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/2009/12/tmi-thursday-the-%E2%80%9Cpost-secret%E2%80%9D-edition-vol-vi.html">LiLu's TMI Thursday Post Secret blahbadies</a>. Like now. I'll wait.<br /><br />I actually did have a TMI story all ready to write up today, but...then I decided to search for something on Twitter. And my mind has been blown. In a bad way.<br /><br />Shot through the brain! And you're to blame. Twitter, you give the English Language a bad name.<br /><br />Okay, I think I'm done with my Bon Jovi moment of the morning.<br /><br />I've been thinking to myself (because really who else hears me when I think?), "Self, there must be a better way to googly chat on your phone than this really stupid Google Talk application that shuts off every time you close the window. I mean, people out there are clever. They must have come up with something."<br /><br />And then <a href="http://twitter.com/jenniferalaine">Jenn</a> over at <a href="http://youllgrowtoloveme.com/">You'll Grow to Love Me</a> (WHAT? You're not reading her stuff? GO READ IT NOW. I'll wait...again.) tweeted a little somethin' somethin' about downloading an application called <a href="http://www.beejive.com/index.htm">BeeJive</a>. Hmmmm...<br /><br />Then I promptly forgot all about it.<br /><br />This morning, I remembered and looked to Twitter for advice. None was forthcoming, so I typed "BeeJive" into the search box. <br /><br />Such a bad idea.<br /><br />Here are some of the profiles that caught my eye:<br /><br /><a href="http://twitter.com/ThaNiqqaD">ThaNiggaD</a><br /><br />Favorite Tweet: <span style="font-style:italic;">Its crazy when u sellin drugs @ a yung age but u doin it n the wrong way! U gotta kno 2 hand off the right way!wtf I seen ur whole exchange</span><br /><br /><a href="http://twitter.com/JAZZY_C0UTURE">JAZZY_C0UTURE</a><br /><br />Favorite Tweet: <span style="font-style:italic;">#twitterafterdark get me open while im cummin down ya throat and! U wna b my main squeeze nigga? dnt ya? Ya wanna lick btween my knees niqqa</span><br /><br /><a href="http://twitter.com/DreyDaybaby">DreyDayBaby</a><br /><br />Favorite Tweet: <span style="font-style:italic;">@[some other twitterer] oh yea I feel u .. Your a junior rite? I'm at my cuzins job christmas party deep in da bx sumwhere lol<br /></span><br /><a href="http://twitter.com/Pattiicakez">Patticakez</a><br /><br />Favorite Tweet: <span style="font-style:italic;">#sidechickawareness you call him and he talking to you like u 1 of his boys then says aight my nigga ima call u later and hangs up lmfao</span><br /><br />And my PERSONAL FAVORITE - <a href="http://twitter.com/Swaggz9mg">Swaggz9mg</a><br /><br />Favorite Tweet: <span style="font-style:italic;">Dis new ubertwitter app is iight I cud fuck wit it</span><br /><br />I love that last guy because between all the horrid spelling and bizarre sentence structure, there's this tweet: <span style="font-style:italic;">Work is dead right now surprisingly.<br /></span><br />That one tweet gives me hope that people actually DO know how to spell and make sentences. And then crashes me back to the ground when I realize that this means that they're just CHOOSING not to bother. <br /><br />Sad Panda.<br /><br />In other news, I think I'm going to go ahead and download BeeJive.shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-64716806459880183162009-12-02T08:37:00.000-06:002009-12-02T09:27:25.421-06:00Holiday GrumpsAunt Kim, if you're reading this, I'm NOT talking about you. Well, unless I mention whistling. Then I'm probably talking about you. But I don't think it's going to come up.<br /><br />(My Aunt Kim and Uncle Howard and a couple of my aunts on my dad's side are pretty normal and fun and don't talk about Jesus all the time.)<br /><br />While chatting with <a href="http://gofahneroad.blogspot.com/">Gofahne</a> on Monday morning (I know, I wish she would blog more too! But we have to let her go at her own pace, folks. Be nice.) about our respective Thanksgiving weekends, I went on a little rant about holidays.<br /><br />You see, my sister (we all remember <a href="http://meshealle.blogspot.com/2009/07/in-which-i-make-fun-of-my-sister-little.html">my sister</a>, right?) started a campaign a couple of months ago to get everyone together in Tennessee for Christmas this year. She asked me about it and I said that I probably couldn't go because I can't really afford a ticket and I don't want to take more time off work. The campaign continued to the rest of the family.<br /><br />Most of my family still lives in Tennessee. This includes my dad's family. My mom's parents and my mom's youngest sister (<a href="http://meshealle.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-had-forgotten-that-my-sister-was-also.html">Aunt Dana</a>, who also made an appearance in both posts about my sister) live here in Dallas (well, the 'burbs), along with my mom and step-dad. My sister lives in New York with her boyfriend.<br /><br />I mentioned all of that so you could see that this will involve a lot of plane tickets. I guess I probably could have just told you that and saved a paragraph.<br /><br />Now, I had already told my sister that I probably couldn't make and I thought my mother had said the same thing. Then my sister's boyfriend passed the bar in New York (YAY! CONGRATULATIONS!) and started his first job as a lawyer with a really good law firm and he can't really leave to go visit Tennessee for Christmas. So now my sister, who started all this mess, can't actually go to Tennessee either.<br /><br />In the meantime, my mom jumped on board with the "everyone in Tennessee for Christmas plan." She asked me about it and I said the same things about a plane ticket and not taking time off work. I said I would think about it, but that I wasn't really all that interested.<br /><br />She heard, "Yes."<br /><br />Now we return to Thanksgiving evening. After Princess and I finished <a href="http://meshealle.blogspot.com/2009/11/okay-yes-ive-talked-about-this-before.html">dinner with my friends</a>, we had to haul our cookies all the out to the 'burbs for "dessert" with my family. My mom had been quite distressed that I wasn't spending Thanksgiving with the family (despite the fact that I hadn't done so for the last two of them) and had been trying to convince me to just invite my friends (who had their own plans, yo) up to her house for Thanksgiving. <br /><br />You can imagine my surprise (except I wasn't really, because this is pretty typically the case) when Princess and I showed up at 7:00 pm and they had just sat down to eat. Mom had been working all day, as usual, so no one even cooked anything. Imagine if I had invited my friends up to my parents house for a dinner of Luby's that was supposed to take place at 6:00 and didn't actually happen until 7:00 pm. <br /><br />This is one of those things that I just don't understand about my mother, but that's a topic for another day.<br /><br />Quickly the topic turned to Tennessee for the holidays. I said, "Yeah, I don't think I'll be there (blah blah plane ticket time off work blah)." <br /><br />My mom said, "What?!? I thought you said you were going?"<br /><br />Crap.<br /><br />Now, I'm facing off with my mom AND my Nana. No excuse is really working. What I really want to say is, "I DON'T WANT TO SPEND THE HOLIDAYS FEELING UNCOMFORTABLE AND EXHAUSTED BECAUSE I HAVE TO TRY TO SEE EVERY RELATIVE I HAVE IN TENNESSEE IN 48 HOURS. Also, I don't really like Christmas or Christmas carols or spending endless hours with my family." You see, I was trying to AVOID saying all that.<br /><br />Me: I can't really afford a plane ticket right now.<br /><br />Mom: That's okay. I can help you out with that.<br /><br />Me: I don't really want to take more time off work and I don't have any vacations days left.<br /><br />Mom: Well, you can wait to leave on Christmas Eve after work.<br /><br />Me: So really, it doesn't matter what I want?<br /><br />Everyone: Geez! Don't get all upset! If you don't want to go, just say so! We don't want you to spend time with us if you don't want to!<br /><br />CRAP.<br /><br />Me: Yeah, I don't really want to go. I just want to have a nice, relaxing, quiet Christmas and if I go to Tennessee, I will be exhausted.<br /><br />And I thought it was over.<br /><br />WRONG.<br /><br />About an hour later, my mom brought it up again. I think I left it at, "FINE. You buy the plane ticket and tell me where to be, since I clearly have no say in the matter.<br /><br />She said, "Okay."<br /><br />So it looks like I'm going to Tennessee for Christmas. Or maybe I'm not. I'm at the mercy of my mother now. When we had dinner on Monday night, she said, "Sarah can't come? This was all her idea...maybe we should just scratch the whole plan and go to New York to visit her."<br /><br />I'm guessing I'll know the plan on Christmas Eve.<br /><br />I recounted this story to Gofahne and she said, "The holidays are meant to torment single people that would rather just chill, relax, and be alone. I swear that is their purpose."<br /><br />I kind of agree. <br /><br />Look, I don't hate my family. I'm just tired of everything always being on someone else's terms. What about what I want? I suppose the difference between my dad's family and my mom's family is that I actually feel like my dad's family wants to see me and isn't just pursuing some bizarre "Our family loves to be together, see everyone? We're PERFECT!" ritual. However, my dad's mom only talks about calories and Jesus any more and my dad's dad goes on about socially conservative politics all the time and I just can't take that crap. You can see the dilemma, right?shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-17997142441281113702009-12-01T07:37:00.001-06:002009-12-01T09:11:47.135-06:00We'll get back to your regular grumpy holiday blogging tomorrow, today? It's poo time.I understand that popular notion of waiting until you get to the office to take your morning dump. The toilet is clean (except that you pooped in it yesterday morning and our cleaning people only come on the weekends), you're at work so you're getting paid to relieve yourself of the giant load of crap you're hauling around in your intestines, and there's the added bonus of subjecting your coworkers to the smell of death wafting from your rectum.<br /><br />What's that you say? You've never contemplated the third one? Ah! Then you obviously don't work in my office.<br /><br />See, most offices have restrooms for men and restrooms for women and they aren't located, say, in the middle of the space. At my job? We only have one bathroom downstairs and one bathroom upstairs and both of them are within a (two year old's) stone's throw of each and every desk. Which means each and every person. Which mostly means ME. (Obviously.)<br /><br />Every morning, most of my coworkers choose to wait until they get to work to take their morning poo. I've ranted about this before, but I feel the need to do it again, because I just got knocked in the face with POO SMELL.<br /><br />Here's the thing, boys. It's disgusting. I don't care who you are, your shit does, in fact, STINK. We also have several different kinds of poopers in the office.<br /><br />The "I Have a Lot of Gas and I'm Going to Force You to Listen to It, But Then We're All Going to Have to Pretend That Didn't Happen" Pooper: I hate to tell you this, but having to listen to you relieve your bowels every morning is really not inspiring any more respect for your cause here at work. If you feel like it's going to be a gassy one? Please poop at home.<br /><br />The "I Just Rocked a Big Deuce and I'm Going to Leave the Door Wide Open and Never Bother to Use the Air Freshener so Thoughtfully Provided for Me" Pooper: If I never have to smell your crap again, it will be far too soon. Please subject your wife to this, she took vows. I didn't. That doorway is in direct path to my desk. For the love of all that is orange, please close the door at least a little and feel free to use that fancy little bottle of Febreez (which, actually, now just smells like poop to me anyway...but at least it's slightly prettier poop than whatever roadkill you've been consuming).<br /><br />The "Close the Door All the Way and Trap the Smell in the Bathroom" Pooper: While I'm generally okay with you trying to be considerate about the smell, all you're doing is making it worse when I realize that I have to pee. Which is inevitably about five minutes after you've expelled the large quantity of meat you ate for dinner last night right into the work toilet we all share.<br /><br />The "I Work Upstairs, but I Don't Want to Smell my Own Poop While I'm Working" Pooper: Seriously, POOP IN YOUR OWN BATHROOM. I'm already dealing with a lot of poop down here, I don't need you adding to it. If you get the urge, just as you come downstairs? I feel sure that you can hold onto that log until you get back upstairs to your own space. I usually manage to hold mine ALL DAY. Hell, I barely even pee at the office any more if I can help it. <br /><br />So, this is to you, dear Office Poopers. Please, please, please...KEEP YOUR POOP IN YOUR OWN TOILET. If you're so regular that you can plan your poop for every morning right as you get to work? Please schedule that poop with your intestines just a little bit earlier. You know, when you're at home. I'll talk to the boss about counting that time as work, so you can get paid. It's not like you're doing anything useful in the bathroom for that half hour anyway.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">**In case you didn't notice (seriously, what's wrong with you?), I changed the layout on my blog. What do you think?**</span>shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-1417468319348580952009-11-30T08:37:00.000-06:002009-11-30T10:27:15.177-06:00Okay, yes, I've talked about this before, but it's my blog and I'm going to talk about it again.Grocery stores. Grocery stores. GROCERY STORES.<br /><br />As I'm sure most of you know, this past Thursday was the day of the turkey. Frankly, I'm not a fan of turkey, so Thanksgiving is one of my least favorite holidays. <br /><br />This year, Princess and I were going to hang out with two of my friends (who just got married) for a grown-up Thanksgiving. They were doing most of the cooking (because they're both really great cooks), but I was told to bring anything that means Thanksgiving to me. So I did.<br /><br />Unfortunately, this meant a trip to the grocery store. I shudder to think what might have happened had I been there to pick up more than five items.<br /><br />Here are the items I needed: noodles, Kosher salt, cheese, cream.<br /><br />This particular grocery store has always made very little sense to me, as is the case with most of the Albertson's in the metroplex. On top of that, they decided that the Thanksgiving holiday would be the best time to rearrange the store. <br /><br />So there were boxes all over and most of the aisles were mislabeled. My personal favorite: The milk/cream, yogurt, cheese, and eggs? Are all in different locations around the store. The cheese, specifically, isn't even all in one place. Half the cheese is with the produce and the other half? Is in the aisle with lunch meat. That aisle is labeled "frozen foods" and is in the middle of the store. No, I'm not joking.<br /><br />It probably took an hour to navigate and find the simple things I needed. More than once, some poor (usually male) soul looked up at me when I passed, "Do you know where I can find baking soda (or some such item)?" Sir, I don't even know where you can find the door at this point. (It turned out he really needed baking powder, and that they were completely out of it. Good thing he didn't get baking soda instead, <a href="http://meshealle.blogspot.com/2009/11/tmi-thursday-pancake-story.html">we all know how that goes</a>...)<br /><br />I have to say, if I never have to go to another Albertson's again? It will be far too soon.<br /><br />But then I made cheese and spaghetti (my must-have Thanksgiving food) and it was delicious. Princess and I made it to my friends' place, where we feasted on beef tenderloin, au grautin potatoes (for which, you probably would have given up your first-born...I have the recipe, but I don't want your children), cornbread dressing (seriously, we all have our own, and I didn't really like this variety as much as the one my Granddaddy makes), cheese and spaghetti (I can eat my weight in this stuff, seriously), and some really crunchy green beans (which I don't like).<br /><br />For dessert, my friend out-did herself with a Triple-Chocolate Mousse Cake. TASTY.<br /><br />And if that had been the end of the day? It would have been a fun and relaxing Thanksgiving.shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-83843131711109268852009-11-25T08:37:00.001-06:002009-11-25T09:16:44.382-06:00It's [Wednesday], we should break up - Dallas Cowboys FansSince today is, for all intents and purposes, Friday, and I will be spending the next four days (at least in theory) wrapped up in a blanket in my pajamas, watching endless hours of pointless television, reading books, and drinking hot chocolate from a giant mug that never empties, I'm going to break up with Dallas Cowboys fans today.<br /><br />Living in Dallas and NOT being a Dallas Cowboys fan is, well, kind of rough. You see, I love football. And in Dallas? The ONLY football I ever get to hear about is Dallas Cowboys football. They don't even talk about other games in passing. Aside from, yesterday, discussing the merits of luring Vince Young away from Tennessee to come to Dallas because he's so much better than Tony Romo (I'm not saying this, they were saying this. Vince is still on probation with me). May I remind you of the Vince Young who had to sit his ass on the bench last season because he got booed for throwing an interception and freaked the hell out? Even though he won the game. You really think he can HANDLE you Cowboys fans? No sir.<br /><br />But my issue isn't with the constant coverage. (Seriously, even when it's not football season and could we STOP talking about TO? He's GONE.) It's with the fans.<br /><br />The Cowboys are never allowed to lose. Ever. Every loss is ridiculous and a reason to fire everyone and Tony Romo sucks and Wade Phillips is incapable and Jason Garrett can go suck an egg and wasn't Roy Williams supposed to be good? More than that, though, no win is ever good enough. You Cowboys fans are like...an overbearing perfectionist mother. Oh, you got a 99 on your test, honey. Why didn't you get a 100? <br /><br />And even if they win, and they win by a lot (which, let's face it, just doesn't happen that often), the fans find something to bitch about. <br /><br />Tony Romo was given the key to the city in...Illinois or something and he had the AUDACITY to wear a backwards baseball cap to the ceremony? FIRE HIM!<br /><br />Wade Phillips said "ya know" too many times in the press conference after the game? OFF WITH HIS HEAD!<br /><br />Roy Williams caught the ball? THAT'S JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH!<br /><br />I'm soooo sick and tired of this crap. Get over it, people. Your team hasn't won a playoff game in 13 years. Your owner is, well, a little loony. Not Al Davis loony, but hey, at least Al Davis's team has been to the Superbowl in this decade. And I HATE the Raiders. But having watched them beat the Bengals last week? I'd say you Cowboys better at least be on your toes. <br /><br />And to all you sports talk radio hosts out there: Someone expressing some minor doubt in their team does NOT make them less of a fan. So shut your face. And to Arnie Spanier? May your Thanksgiving bring you salmonella. You are scum.<br /><br />So that's it Cowboys fans. I'm out. It's been a nice run (not really), but I just can't take any more. Don't call me, I'll call you. (Unless I know you and love you in spite of your Cowboys love. We can still hang. I'm not talking to you. Yet.)shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-23399685979973648682009-11-24T07:37:00.003-06:002009-11-24T08:28:32.823-06:00A metered reaction.I love downtown Dallas. I really do.<br /><br />I had never really spent much time downtown, but Princess lives in a schmancy high-rise building (for only another month, SADFACE) (his new apartment is awesome, though, so I'm not complaining), so I've had plenty of opportunity to get my downtown on. And I have.<br /><br />Here are the things I've discovered:<br /><ul><br /><li>Everything closes at like 7:00 pm. And I have no idea why.<br /><li>There's only one grocery store and I can't even keep a straight face while calling it that.<br /><li>There's a distinct lack of laid back dive bars.<br /><li>Walking everywhere you want to go is AWESOME.<br /><li>Everything is pretty damn close to where you are.<br /><li>The Walk/Don't Walk signs? Actually work. You don't even have to push the button like everywhere else in the DFW Metroplex. (Seriously, folks. There's just a steady "Don't Walk" hand, if you don't push the little button. In Dallas, we're serious about our cars. Please, dear pedestrians, get off the road. NOW. My personal favorite is when you push the little button, the "Walk" sign flashes up, you step off the curb, and immediately the "Don't Walk" sign is blinking at you. You must be The Flash to cross the street.) <br /><li>Parking can be really easy if you know where to do it, however...<br /><li><span style="font-weight:bold;">No one knows how to park at the damn meters.</span><br /></ul><br />Last night, Princess and I planned to watch the <a href="http://www.titansonline.com/">Titans</a> (WOOHOO!! It was a rough start to the season boys, but it's good to see us playing football again. Let's not talk about that Patriots game, mkay?) play the <a href="http://www.houstontexans.com/index.html">Texans</a> at a bar near his apartment. Usually he just picks me up because he's very concerned that my car will be vandalized and all my stuff will be stolen. You see, his apartment building? Has no guest parking. None. They have a parking garage, with the kookiest layout in the universe, FULL of empty parking spaces, but to get in it, you have to have the little key fob dealimajigger. You also have to have the key fob dealimajigger to get OUT of the parking garage. It's kind of a pain in the ass.<br /><br />On the occasions when I do drive over to his apartment, we either to the little dance to get me into the parking garage or else I just park at a meter on the street. They're all free after 6:00 pm. The only catch is, they start up again at 7:00 am. It's not so bad really. Just means I might actually be on time for work! <br /><br />Finding a meter can be tricky. Other people use them, and most of those people don't even remotely understand the concept of parking at a meter. You see...your car? Should not be in the middle of the parking meter itself. A la this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_QEFyLQIA_v4/SwvprET5A6I/AAAAAAAAAYI/ORkXkjQUcBg/s1600/Parking+Meters.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 258px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_QEFyLQIA_v4/SwvprET5A6I/AAAAAAAAAYI/ORkXkjQUcBg/s400/Parking+Meters.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407672703689229218" /></a><br /><br />This way, no one can park at the meter in front of yours, or possibly at the meter behind yours. Because you are taking up all the space. You can see the problem, right? With your single vehicle, you have occupied up to three free parking meters. This is about the time I curse you*.<br /><br />Last night, I passed about five such vehicles. WTF people? Get it together. I even googled "How to park at a parking meter" to see if I could find a tutorial, and guess what...even google thinks you should know how to do this. So please, get in your car, drive around, note the proper technique, and employ it immediately. Thank you.<br /><br />*I'm pretty sure in New York or Seattle or Boston or DC, they'd shank you. So consider yourself lucky you only had me to deal with in this scenario.<br /><br />(Dear <a href="http://www.clevelandbrowns.com/">Cleveland Browns</a>, please please get it together. You're killing me. And I love you. --Shine.)shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-81774014907060607952009-11-23T08:37:00.000-06:002009-11-23T08:43:48.719-06:00Cancellation feels pretty darn good.I canceled my MySpace account today. <br /><br />Let me say, though, that I probably hadn't logged in or used the thing since February, at least. I would have probably canceled sooner, but I couldn't remember my password. It came to me in a flash of brilliance and short-term memory this morning, so I took the plunge.<br /><br />I know there are probably some friends that I only communicate with that way, which probably means I haven't talked to them in nearly a year. So I guess maybe we weren't very good friends, eh?<br /><br />Canceling my MySpace account feels like permanently closing a door on a past I no longer care to contemplate. It's not about you, MySpace friends. I assure you. If I remember who you are, I'm sure I love you dearly.<br /><br />I would say you should look me up on Facebook, but I barely use that. What can I say? <a href="http://twitter.com/shineoutloud">Follow me on Twitter</a>. Occasionally, my head finds its way out of my ass and I tweet something. Sometimes it's even funny. No promises, though.<br /><br />So long MySpace. I doubt I'll miss you.<br /><br />Oh, and Princess and I went to see Bob Saget on Saturday night. He wasn't really as funny as I might have hoped. And I <span style="font-weight:bold;">love</span> Bob Saget. The problem, I think, is that he's Bob effing Saget, so he doesn't have to bother to write material any more. He just says whatever comes to mind, with a healthy dose of curse words and a foul mouth. My thought for a good half of his act? I'm funnier than that (okay, maybe not <span style="font-style:italic;">today</span>, shut up)...<br /><br />That's not a good sign, Bob. Pull it together.<br /><br />It didn't help that the people sitting in the row with us each individually climbed over us to take a piss/get a drink/smoke/have sex in the bathroom three to four times (there were four of them). The rows at House of Blues are so tiny that there's literally no way to get out of the way without standing up. So every five to ten minutes, we were having to stand up to let these people by. Until the fourth or so time...then we just sat there and let them struggle. And seriously...DON'T touch me. If you can't hold your pee for an hour and a half, I have no sympathy for you. None. And if you know you have a bladder problem or are just completely obnoxious and rude, please...get an aisle seat.<br /><br />The guy who opened up for Bob, though? He had me doubled over and unable to breathe in all the right ways. <a href="http://www.ryanstout.com/">Ryan Stout</a>? Call me.shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-54383534109666404362009-11-20T08:28:00.004-06:002009-11-20T09:46:45.803-06:00It's Friday, we should break up - Hovering ServersYou know what time it is, guys! Time for another breakup. Read past breakups <a href="http://meshealle.blogspot.com/search/label/It%27s%20Friday%20we%20should%20break%20up">here!</a><br /><br />To be fair, this particular thing has only happened to me at Asian restaurants. I'm trying not to stereotype and suggest that only Asian servers do this, though. I'm sure that's not the case.<br /><br />Normally, when you go eat at a restaurant, half the time you're searching for your server. Your drink is empty, you never got any silverware, you need a new napkin, you spilled red wine down the front of your dress. Usually, they're nowhere to be found. Servers develop this skill which, frankly, I would love to master. It's the focused "I'm not going to look at you because I know you want something from me" skill.<br /><br />They walk past your table, careful not to meet your eye. You see them coming, of course, so your heart lifts, you raise a hand, you catch your breath, ready to speak and then...you're ignored. It's quite the letdown.<br /><br />Not the case at Asian restaurants. At least, when the restaurant is less than packed. They stand behind you, hovering, in case you have an iced tea emergency. They pick up every stray piece of paper or crumb or lemon seed you deposit on the table. They ask if they can get you anything...every five minutes. <br /><br />While all of that can be really really annoying, I've found that the solution is just to take incredibly graphic reading material to the restaurant with you. And no, I don't mean pornographic. That might not work. <br /><br />When I was in college, I often went to this little sushi place across from campus. The waitress would hover behind me as I ate, quietly judging my less than masterful skill with chopsticks, I'm sure. I, personally, don't want anyone to be standing behind me for an extended period. Ever. It makes me nervous. Like when your step-dad hovers around the back of the couch when you're trying to watch television. SIT DOWN!<br /><br />Anyway, I noticed that when I started taking my forensic anthropology and anatomy books in to study, she had absolutely no interest in standing behind me. I like to think it's because she couldn't handle all the pictures of dead people, but, to be perfectly honest, my anatomy lab book smelled like formaldehyde and rotting shark. So it was probably that. (No one really wanted to sit next to me in my other classes when I had my lab book with me, either. Go figure.)<br /><br />One day, however, this woman just CROSSED THE LINE. Now, I know that this was her job and she probably notices how much food everyone ordered and that kind of thing, but woman, it is NOT your place to comment. You see, that day, I had ordered an extra two sushi rolls to take home with me for dinner. I just ordered them all at once, because it's not like it matters. I ate two rolls and then asked for a box. She had already looked at me like I had two heads when I ordered four rolls, but now she said (and this is not me being a giant racist, this is what she said, verbatim), "That too much sushi. I didn't think you should eat all that. You get fat."<br /><br />Seriously?!?<br /><br />I said, "Just bring me a box. And my check." I never went back.<br /><br />Then yesterday, it happened again. Sort of. I went to this Thai place across the street from work. I ordered a Bento box with some sashimi and some sushi. It also came with a seaweed salad. Now, don't get me wrong, I like seaweed salad. I just wasn't in the mood for it that day. So I didn't eat it. I HAVE THAT OPTION.<br /><br />The woman came to pick up my mostly empty Bento box and she said, "You no eat salad? You no like it? It good for you."<br /><br />Thanks. But I don't have to eat it. I'm still going to pay for it and I just don't need your commentary on my eating habits or food choices. Though I appreciate that she at least didn't tell me I was going to get fat. <br /><br />To me, these women are as bad as the ladies who try to suggestive sell you a lip wax when you go to get your eyebrows done. You know what? I don't really HAVE a mustache. Please don't try to tell me "I need lip wax. It ugly." Screw you. We're finished!<br /><br />Except, of course, I'll still be eating in Asian restaurants, so I guess, um, we'll still be seeing a lot of each other. I hope this doesn't make things awkward. Please don't put any puppy in my food or anything. I was kidding! It was a joke!shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-50927629987902435002009-11-19T08:37:00.000-06:002009-11-19T08:46:26.913-06:00TMI Thursday - The Poop Ninja<span style="font-style:italic;">Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for <a href="http://www.livitluvit.com">LiLu's</a> <a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/category/tmi-thursday">TMI Thursday</a>!<br /></span><br /><center><a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/category/tmi-thursday" target="_blank"><img src="http://i556.photobucket.com/albums/ss5/Livitluvit/tmithursday.jpg" border="0" alt="TMI Thursday" /></a></center><br /><br />In a new relationship, there are always some adjustments to be made. I like to watch TV when I fall asleep, he doesn't. He likes to keep his syrup in the fridge, I don't. You know the drill.<br /><br />The biggest of these (hopefully) is poop. Not only am I not a big fan of sharing the bathroom with ANYONE, I don't want anyone smelling my poop, I don't want anyone to know I'm pooping, I don't want to poop in someone's bathroom, etc. I'd rather we all just pretend that pooping? Is not something I do.<br /><br />Now, I've been around enough men to know that pooping isn't really as big of a deal to them. And by the way, thanks guys. I really do love to smell your poop in the morning. Or the evening. Or all afternoon while I'm working. It's awesome.<br /><br />Well, Princess and I have been spending a lot of time sleeping in the same place. For warmth and the whatnot. You understand what I'm saying. Interestingly, neither of us is really willing to poop while the other is around. I was raised in the South with Southern Manners and all that, so technically I'm not even supposed to talk about my poop. You'll notice that lesson didn't really stick. At first, I thought I'd just be clever and suddenly have to "go home" for something. <span style="font-style:italic;">So I could poop</span>. Of course that leads to all kinds of questions and eventually I just had to say, "Look. I have to poop. And I'm not doing it here."<br /><br />One morning, things were getting really rough. I had to poop REALLY bad. I'm pretty sure I said, "Uuuhhhhh...I have to poooooppppp..." about a dozen times on the way to my place.<br /><br />What I had yet to see, though, was Princess pooping. I don't mean see. Princess, if you're reading this, <span style="font-style:italic;">please</span>. I never ever want to <span style="font-style:italic;">see</span> you poop. Like ever. I mean it. Anyway, it was like the man never pooped. <br /><br />Then one night, I woke up from a deep slumber (I'm like the soundest sleeper in the WORLD) to find myself alone in bed. Um, confusion, party of one. Then I looked over to see the light on under the bathroom door. Hmmmm...<br /><br />It turns out that, all this time, Princess has been waking himself up in the middle of the night (he claims it's early morning, I claim those are pretty much the same thing) to take a stealthy poop. So I'd never be the wiser. But I am. I saw it. Again, I didn't see <span style="font-style:italic;">the poop</span>. Just the evidence that the poop took place. Stick with me here, people.<br /><br />This morning, when I went to pee, I noticed that, even though I was the last one to pee last night, there was a new roll of toilet paper waiting for me. (Yes, Princess does actually put a new roll of toilet paper ON the toilet paper holder every time it's empty. <span style="font-style:italic;">I know</span>. He's mine, ladies.) When I came out of the bathroom, I glared accusingly at him and said, "Did you get up and poop in the middle of the night again?!"<br /><br />He looked at me and said, "Yep." Cue knowing smirk.<br /><br />Apparently, he's a morning pooper and he can't poop while I'm there (even though I leave for work before he does most of the time), so (because he's <span style="font-style:italic;">this</span> regular) he's trained himself to poop before I wake up. Ya know, at like 3:00 am.<br /><br />This led to an amusing conversation about super powers and that he should from now forth be called "Princess Poop Ninja" and how he poops so stealthily, no one will ever know it was him. Kinda like The Spleen from <span style="font-style:italic;">Mystery Men</span> only...well, more subtle. And with a tiara.shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-54434746813049160922009-11-17T13:37:00.001-06:002009-11-17T14:56:49.978-06:00I just can't leave this one alone.One of my most awesomest girlfriends, generally referred to as "<a href="http://nataliecottrell.blogspot.com/">Pretty Bitch</a>," wrote a <a href="http://nataliecottrell.blogspot.com/2009/11/platonic-my-ass.html">blog</a> on Friday, which I just came across today. I have some things to say about it. <br /><br />And we all know I'm never one to keep my mouth shut, right?<br /><br />So go read her blog and then come back here, m'kay? <a href="http://nataliecottrell.blogspot.com/2009/11/platonic-my-ass.html">GO!</a><br /><br />Basically, Nat holds a <span style="font-style:italic;">When Harry Met Sally</span> belief about the relationships that can happen between members of the opposite sex. That men and women can never really be "just friends." While I think she makes some very good points, and I agree that the whole situation can be sticky, I have a slightly different opinion.<br /><br />I might agree 100%, if I hadn't seen a male-female <span style="font-style:italic;">friendship</span> with my own two eyes. My ex-boyfriend and his friend/coworker were/are FRIENDS. And only that. When they started working together, they were both married. Her marriage ended first, and she was...a bit of a mess (for good reason). His marriage ended a couple of years later and no one would know if he was a mess or not because he doesn't show emotions like a human being. But there were opportunities for them to test the boundaries of their relationship and neither of them even wanted to. Simply put, they're not attracted to each other.<br /><br />Now, I know what you're thinking. I'm being naive and they were probably doin' it like monkeys behind my back. But they weren't. I can't say I know that for a fact, but I've never for a second doubted it. She met a guy and now they're married. My ex is living with his current girlfriend. And my ex and his friend have never even looked sideways at each other in that way, to my knowledge.<br /><br />If they were the last people on earth, would they do it? Probably. But that's not really saying much.<br /><br />While I do think that male-female friendships can complicate and put pressure on an intimate relationship, I think that's about more than just "men and women can't be friends." Your relationships are all based on trust, or should be, if they mean anything. And not trusting your partner to be able to have a friendship with a member of the opposite sex is just...sad. And more likely a problem with your relationship, not with your friendships.<br /><br />Additionally, I have several male friends of my own who are just that. Friends. I could turn to these guys for just about anything, and I would be there for them in the same way. And no one wants to make the sex with anyone else, or if they do, all parties are keeping their pretty parts in their pants. <br /><br />I'm not sure that I agree that a fleeting thought about another person naked or what it might be like to kiss that person constitutes awkwardness in a friendship (Honestly, I've contemplated this about nearly everyone I know...family members aside). Hell, once I had a sexy dream about one of my girlfriends and we've survived just fine. Though she was more than a little disturbed when I told her about it, as she's the least bi-curious person on the planet. <br /><br />The statement "Cheating is anything that dilutes the relationship" just...makes no sense to me. Gaining 150 pounds could dilute the relationship. Taking up a hobby and spending all your free time on it could dilute the relationship. Having to travel five days a week for work could dilute the relationship. All of those things are probably signs that something is wrong, but not a single one of them involves a third party. I would hardly call them cheating. I think I know what Natalie was trying to say (that anything you do with a member of the opposite sex that dilutes the relationship is cheating), and I respect her opinion, but I don't think this is the best way to say it. <br /><br />In truth, if you're closer to a same sex friend to a level that leaves out your significant other, you're probably diluting the relationship and treating your boy/girlfriend unfairly, but it's rare to hear anyone get worked up about that.<br /><br />I think that men and women can absolutely just be friends. And that it's perfectly acceptable to retain close friendships to members of either sex while you're in a serious relationship. Don't be stupid about it. Your significant other should probably be your closest relationship, if you're serious about it and it's gotten to that stage. But it doesn't mean that it's unhealthy or wrong to have close friendships. Period. <br /><br />What do you think? Is this possible?<br /><br />(I took a poll of some online friends. It seems that most men think this is totally possible and most women think that it's not. Obviously, there were a few exceptions and a couple of "maybe" or "in the right circumstances" answers, as well.)shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-89272924811756445062009-11-16T09:37:00.001-06:002009-11-16T11:00:24.528-06:00Have you ever...Woken up one morning and realized that maybe you are, in fact, more like your ex-boyfriend than you care to admit?<br /><br />Because I just did.<br /><br />I just uttered the words "But I don't want to be dependent on anyone." Fuck me.<br /><br />That is all.shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-40008500374908746552009-11-12T06:37:00.004-06:002009-11-12T06:37:00.497-06:00TMI Thursday - The Pancake Story<span style="font-style:italic;">Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for <a href="http://www.livitluvit.com">LiLu's</a> <a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/category/tmi-thursday">TMI Thursday</a>!<br /></span><br /><center><a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/category/tmi-thursday" target="_blank"><img src="http://i556.photobucket.com/albums/ss5/Livitluvit/tmithursday.jpg" border="0" alt="TMI Thursday" /></a></center><br /><br />Disclaimer: Despite what you may think after reading this story, I AM a good cook. I promise.<br /><br />A few years ago, I moved in with a boy. It was pretty much my first (and last) time ever to do so for any length of time. I had sort of lived with my high school boyfriend for a few months and I had kind of lived with my first Dallas boyfriend briefly, but technically he had his own room and we had another roommate. And when we broke up, we still had to live together. THAT was fun.<br /><br />So anyway, on a bright shiny day in December, I began the process of cohabitation. And yes, I do mean BRIGHT AND SHINY. We had a heat wave and it was nearly 90 degrees the entire time we were moving. I was only moving from about a half mile away and he...well, he didn't really have much stuff.<br /><br />Our apartment was wonderful, still one of my favorite apartments, despite the two soccer players who moved in upstairs and tortured us until all hours of the night. We had a pretty sizable balcony, on which we put my old breakfast table. <br /><br />On our first weekend, I got up early. I was going to surprise him with "breakfast on the balcony."<br /><br />I decided to make eggs, sausage or bacon (I can't remember which), and pancakes. From scratch. No Bisquick for this girl. I set up the table outside, started the coffee and then pulled out all of the ingredients for the pancakes. Everything turned out beautifully. I poured the coffee, put the food on the plates and took everything outside.<br /><br />He took his first big bite of pancakes and got this funny look on his face.<br /><br />"What's the matter?"<br /><br />"They taste kind of...<span style="font-style:italic;">funny</span>."<br /><br />So I cut off a piece of mine, forked it up, and shoveled it in my mouth. My mouth exploded with the flavor of salty, syrup-covered hairspray. I spit my pancake out into the courtyard below our apartment and said, <span style="font-weight:bold;">"THE PANCAKES ARE BAD."</span><br /><br />He said, "They're not that bad," and started to take another bite.<br /><br />I said, "STOP EATING THEM. THEY'RE TERRIBLE."<br /><br />I couldn't figure out what I had done. I followed the recipe exactly.<br /><br />Then I went into the kitchen. Immediately, the problem was clear. Instead of baking <span style="font-style:italic;">powder</span>, as the recipe suggests, I accidentally grabbed the baking <span style="font-style:italic;">soda</span>.shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-39801015959168763392009-11-11T11:37:00.002-06:002009-11-11T14:41:21.635-06:00I'm just one of those weird people.In email. In chat. On Twitter. Pretty much everywhere in my life, I'm the person who is always writing in complete sentences, with proper punctuation. Only rarely do I abbreviate things (WTF? is totally the new black, so shut it).<br /><br />Things you'll never find in any written message from me (unless someone is holding a gun to my head):<br /><br /><center><span style="font-weight:bold;">u</span> - as in "you."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">ur</span> - as in "your" or "you're," how handy that you don't even have to figure out which one.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">lol, LOL, lololol</span> - or any combination thereof. Also, I'm probably not laughing out loud. I don't lie about that sort of thing. For instance, mooog35? Caused me to actually launch snot across my desk with the joke at the end of this post. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2</span> - as in "to" or "too," or hell even as in "two." I actually follow the "if it's less than two digits, write it out" rule. And again, how lucky that you don't have to figure out which to use, "to" or "too."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">dont, cant, shouldnt, didnt</span> - as in "don't," "can't," "shouldn't," "didn't."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Wednesday's, DVD's, steak's</span> - as in "Wednesdays," "DVDs," "steaks." Plurals don't need an apostrophe. Ever.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">tho</span> - it has three more letters people. How lazy can we be?</center><br /><br />I'm sure there are others, but I can't think of any more.<br /><br />The thing is, seeing any of those things in written communication to me? Pretty much causes me to stop paying attention. I try, but it's hard to take anything seriously when I have to translate it in my head. And I know I have some friends who do this...and I'm not judging you (only a little), but know that it is a testament to my love for you that I continue to translate. With anyone else? I'm out. <br /><br />Don't feel bad. I'm the weird one. All the cool kids are doing it. But I don't want to get dumber, so I think I'll stick with complete sentences and stuff.shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-22523048110546003242009-11-10T08:37:00.002-06:002009-11-10T08:38:20.280-06:00Today is TuesdayAnd I can't think of a title for my blog post.<br /><br />I'm hard at work on my NaNoWriMo novel, but I keep forgetting to update my word count. Never fear, WriMo Buddies! I am writing. My internets at home are sketchy at best.<br /><br />I'd like to say it's going well, but...well, I can't. It's been tough this year. But I'm pretty determined to make it.<br /><br />Having said all of that (it was a lot, I know!), I don't have much for you today. <br /><br />Except that I've been pretty much listening to this song on repeat in my car (Aunt Kim, don't click that. I mean it. Mom, you too...if you've managed to find my blog again. You won't be happy.), what? It's INSPIRATIONAL.<br /><br />Also, I love this kid. He's so special. <span style="font-style:italic;">We got dicks like Jesus.</span><br /><br /><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/znrGMyCeTmY&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/znrGMyCeTmY&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><br /><br />I'm alternating with this one. I'm pretty sure I've got more junk in my trunk than a Honda. My favorite line: <span style="font-style:italic;">Jean wasn't fat, she was easy to catch.</span><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/5Sk9ot1cYww&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/5Sk9ot1cYww&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Tell me you don't want to shake your booty on the dance floor right now, I dare you.shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-25174962566710623462009-11-09T09:37:00.001-06:002009-11-09T09:55:12.993-06:00And also, too, as well.People.<br /><br />People people people.<br /><br />Just because Sarah Palin says, "...and also, too..." doesn't mean you should. In fact, whatever Sarah Palin says, you should probably just go ahead and say the opposite. But I don't want to get political up in this blog.<br /><br />Also. Too. As well. They all mean pretty much the same damn thing. Which means there's no need for you to use more than one in any given sentence on Any Given Sunday. Oops. That last part was about football.<br /><br />Actually, let's change the subject for a second.<br /><br />MY TITANS WON!! In case you haven't noticed, they've been basically falling all over themselves this season. Justin Gage? Call me. Chris Johnson? You're delish. Keep up the good work, boys.shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-25322692363081974382009-11-06T07:37:00.000-06:002009-11-06T07:37:00.706-06:00It's Friday, we should break up - Handwriting Edition<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_QEFyLQIA_v4/SvMGk5DOrSI/AAAAAAAAAXo/A5dbMzRxDY8/s1600-h/Friday+Handwriting.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_QEFyLQIA_v4/SvMGk5DOrSI/AAAAAAAAAXo/A5dbMzRxDY8/s400/Friday+Handwriting.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400667609006779682" /></a><br /><br />So, as you can see...my handwriting is terrible. And I blatantly stole this from <a href="http://www.mylittlebecky.com/2009/11/handwriting-post-eeeee.html">mylittlebecky</a> and <a href="http://www.thepqnation.com/justagirl/">Just a Girl</a>. And probably even <a href="http://aliceblogs.blogspot.com/2009/11/handwritten-you-may-or-may-not-be-able.html">Alice</a>, since I read hers too.<br /><br />Happy Friday, y'all!shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279920339896233708.post-35788299874406325852009-11-05T06:37:00.000-06:002009-11-05T06:37:00.175-06:00The Rules for Dating ShineFirst of all, before you say anything, this blog is about ME, okay? Just so we're clear.<br /><br />And yes, if you want to know how awesome I am, you can just ask me.<br /><br />So for future (or possibly current) reference (I'm looking at you, Princess), these are the Top Ten Rules for Dating Shine (as of today, who knows what tomorrow will bring?):<br /><br />1. Do what you say you're going to do. There are no exceptions to this rule. (Okay, probably if you call AHEAD OF TIME with a good reason for why you can't do the thing you said you'd do, I'll let it slide. Once or twice.)<br /><br />2. Do not cling to me like Leo after the Titanic sank. I will let go. This means you should have your own life/friends/hobbies.<br /><br />3. You MUST want to <strike>make the sexy time</strike> play cards. Often. Death and disability are no excuse. What?<br /><br />4. If you listen to Nickelback or Creed (even on accident), you should probably get out of my face before I punch you in the vagina.<br /><br />5. I can pay for myself, open my own doors, and I do NOT need you to protect me. But all of those things can be nice, in their place.<br /><br />6. Be a man. A real one. <br /><br /><ul><br /><li>I don't need to hear about every single one of your feelings. Talk to your therapist/best friend/dog about the trivial stuff.<br /><li>Find it on your own. You can look up directions as easily as I can.<br /><li>Have manners. If your mama didn't teach them to you, please buy a book or something.<br /></ul> <br /><br />7. I'm funny. Acknowledge.<br /><br />8. If you wear a class ring, you need not apply.<br /><br />9. The L-word is not a salutation. Use it as such, and it means nothing.<br /><br />10. I like cake. Feed it to me.<br /><br />These are really in no particular order, except the first. It's kind of like that rule about Fight Club. Break it, and the rest of the shiz doesn't matter.shinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05232945031746773775noreply@blogger.com21