Mexico: The Speedbumps

Last 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Performance Reviews

You may already realize that my boss is quite the character. If you don't, you can find some stories about it here (and here and here (with MS Paints!) and here).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

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."

So...yeah.

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!

This is how that went down:

Boss calls me into his office. "Shine, what do you think of New Employee?"

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.

Boss: "Anything else? Do you think we should keep him around?"

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."

Boss: "Oh, he does just fine in the field. Let me ask you this, though. Would you date him?"

Me: ".........Ummmmm....what?"

Boss: "Would you, you know...date him?"

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?"

Boss: "Oh, I was just curious. He has a girlfriend? What's she like?"

Me: "Honestly, Boss, I have no idea. None. I've never met the girl."

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.

Okay, 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.

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.

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.

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.

Here are the items I needed: noodles, Kosher salt, cheese, cream.

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.

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.

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, we all know how that goes...)

I have to say, if I never have to go to another Albertson's again? It will be far too soon.

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).

For dessert, my friend out-did herself with a Triple-Chocolate Mousse Cake. TASTY.

And if that had been the end of the day? It would have been a fun and relaxing Thanksgiving.

Have you ever...

Woken up one morning and realized that maybe you are, in fact, more like your ex-boyfriend than you care to admit?

Because I just did.

I just uttered the words "But I don't want to be dependent on anyone." Fuck me.

That is all.

I don't want to hear it. Hell, I don't even want to see it. But yes, I did it.

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

When I was on the drugs a couple of weeks ago, I might have decided it would be a good idea to record a video of myself.

Now, it's my wedding gift to LiLu and Maxie.

It's disturbing on more levels than one. Good luck.

Some people just shouldn't pole dance.

And that person is me. Well, and my friend Gofahne.

If you know anything about anything, you know that Alice, over at Alice's Wonderland has just started level 5 pole dancing. And she seems to love it. Well, aside from that amazing upside down drawing of herself on the pole the other day. By the way? That was awesome.

This is a lot of the reason I thought this would be a good, fun thing to do. I mean, if Alice does it...how bad could it be? She doesn't really seem like a skank whore, right?

(And she's not, folks. Seriously. Okay, I don't really know, but it doesn't sound like she is.)

So when Gofahne sent me the link to the Groupon for pole dancing class, I said, "Um, yes please! LET'S DO IT!"

(A fact I later denied vehemently while trying to blame the whole experience on Gofahne. What?)

Well, last Friday was the day. The day of the pole dancing class.

First, let me say that the studio is a "half address." Meaning that it's a tiny little unmarked door in a strip of other bars, clubs, and restaurants. Meaning that I couldn't find the damn thing. Of course, I had left my phone at home. So I stopped and asked a valet guy, who suddenly was a whole lot more interested in what I was doing than necessary.

Gofahne had the same trouble finding the place. She tried to call me, which was useless. I realized that this might be the case, so I walked outside to see if I could find her. Lo and behold, she's driving down the busy street in front of me.

I yelled for all I was worth, jumping up and down, flapping my arms, running after her car. I chased her up and down the road (I was on the sidewalk) at a run about three times before I finally got her attention. That's when I noticed that everyone on the side of the road was staring at me.

Hell, I would have been staring at me, too. I waved, curtsied, and jogged off to meet Gofahne at her car.

We went upstairs and...all skank broke loose.

I'm not kidding.

The instructor, I can't remember her name, but let's call her Talula, was wearing little boy shorts underwear, as were half the girls in the class. I was wearing yoga pants. Clearly I didn't get the memo to just arrive in my underwear.

My favorite part of the Groupon description?

"Note: Bring comfortable, fitted workout wear and bottled water to class. Prior to class, don't apply lotion to your arms, hands, feet, legs, or steering wheel."

STEERING WHEEL? Um...

I asked Alice about this. She had no idea. I think it must mean something else. Hey baby, don't put lotion on my "steering wheel."

Within the first five minutes of class, Gofahne and I were given advice on "doin' it doggy style." Because, ladies, you know you have to pop your booty out, if you want him to hit the spot.

I nearly lost it at this point. And we were only five minutes in. Gofahne was little more than horrified.

I have to admit that I didn't expect it to be so challenging. I also didn't expect that the beginner class would involve immediately spinning around the pole with my feet off the ground.

Honestly, I have no skills in that department. I have huge bruises on my knees from trying. My arms were sore for days.

Also, to the girls in front of me? I had no urge to see your vagina. Also, you need to do some trimming.

I keed, I keed! Well, except about the vagina part.

The other thing I wasn't expecting? Being told (over and over) to "love my poonanny" or to "rub my poonanny."

Listen, my "poonanny" and I have a great relationship. But I don't really spend a lot of time loving or rubbing on it in front of fifteen women and a floor to ceiling mirror. Well, the mirror might be okay, but the fifteen women...yeah, it was just very odd.

Never realized how much I hate that word until that class.

To make a long story long, I'll just say this: I've never felt less sexy in my whole life. Ever. Including when I fell and busted my knee a couple of weeks ago.

It was the skankiest, most classless, least sexy thing I've ever done. Wherever my sexy is, it's not in pole dancing class.

And I think that chair I molested owes me dinner or something.

And I have two more classes. Why couldn't it have been a Groupon for Burlesque dance classes? Now that, I can get down with.

(HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO GINGERMANDY AND RACHEL!! 09/09/09!)

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.

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?

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 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.

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.

It's Friday, we should break up - In which I was going to break up with American Airlines, but instead I give you...

This guy (Courtesy of The Bloggess's Sex Column), not exactly SFW (I'm not really sure, but The Bloggess said it was probably SFW if your boss wasn't a dick, so I'd go with that):



I'm so confused. Is it sick? Is it awesome? Is it...Demolition Man, but a little better? Why don't they make any internets parts for girls? Do you just do it with your guy friends? Why do you have to stick that other part in your ass?

Lots of people like to masturbate with a vacuum cleaner? WTF?

I have only questions, no answers.

Since I'm on vacation, I thought I'd post the rest of those pictures.

So I've arrived in Seattle. My time in Denver was a blast. Good to see old friends and hang out. But Seattle? I want to make slow love to it all night long. It is amazing here. I just got cold walking to get coffee. COLD. In July.

Oh you know how people are always joking about not being able to walk in Seattle without tripping over a coffee shop? That's not really an exaggeration. At all.

Anyway, here are the pictures. Promise I'll log in and blog more later. After I shave my head and get several tattoos.


More from my younger days. This is me with my Aunt Dana's Boston Terrier, Tucker. I was scared to death of him, despite what it may look like.



My mom's second wedding. That's my sister's dad with the child molester mustache. He's not a child molester, though, I promise.



I'm at the beach! Someone carved my name in the sand with a shovel!



Meet Sanders, my first boyfriend. I suspect that he doesn't know he was my first boyfriend, but that's his problem. He lived next door to my aunt and uncle (I helped dig their pool with a spoon...dressed in my bikini. Shut up, I was three.).



Me and my little sister (of Moving Checklist fame) at Rock City in Chatanooga, Tennessee. Note the sexy hot skort things we're both wearing and my sister's 12-inch thick bangs. Anyone who's ever asked me what color my hair really is...I'm pretty sure this is it!



Let's move on to some scary hair. I really have no idea what the fuck I'm doing or why on earth I would still have such a picture in my picture album, but...here it is. Try not to be afraid.


Seriously...WTF?

Oh, and here's my I-have-no-idea-why-this-is-my-school-picture 8th grade school picture in Hawaii. With three of my best friends. And in case you were wondering, yes, I do believe that is a rodeo scene across the chest of my white button-down shirt. No, I have no idea why that would be the case.



On to high school, where my mom promptly made me do Glamour Shots. Please hold while I scrub the two inches of makeup off my face. I remember the whole time this "photo shoot" was taking place, feeling like I couldn't smile, lest I crack my face in half.



A montage of high school/high school dance pictures. Eesh.

My high school boyfriend, Marc. I'm wearing a vest. I don't know why.



In this one, I look possessed.



School pictures, junior and senior year. Who let me get a perm (no, it wasn't the first time)?






Sophomore homecoming. It seemed like a good idea at the time to go ahead and dance before we got our picture taken. Nice hair, eh? And seriously, if you haven't already, check out those eyebrows. They're like caterpillars. I hadn't really noticed yet, though.



Junior homecoming. Meet Tony. He was the goalie on our soccer team. And he had green eyes. And a car! Oh, and he was kind of a jerk. Why yes, those are chopsticks in my hair.



Senior prom. Meet Travis, son of the nudist parents. Oh, how my mom hated him.




We stayed at prom for about 45 minutes. Then we went out somewhere but I have no idea where no one tell my mom. I can't still get grounded for something I did 12 years ago, right? There must be a statute of limitations on that...

After senior prom. At the Village Inn. I'm wearing overalls. They were the thing then, trust me. Everyone was doing it.



After high school, I moved to Dallas, met some people, and did some stuff.

Jay and I dated for almost five years. For some reason in this picture, he's trying to eat my face or something. I picked it because it's the only one where I might look cuter than him. He totally reminds me of Jim from The Office.



I blame this next picture on him. Completely.



Back in the day, before college, I spent a number of years selling houses. I looked like this:



These are some random embarrassing shots:





Oh, and I can't forget...the moment I knew I didn't want to have children. When they parked me at the foot of my stepmother's vagina and made me watch her give birth. I. Am. Never. Doing. That.



And last, but certainly not least, here's me...this morning, while sitting at a coffee shop in Seattle making this blog for you. Hi!



If I'm not home in a week...leave me the hell alone. I love it here!

It's time for a break.

Well, folks, it's about that time. Like everyone else on these here internets, I'm going to be taking a break. I'm just not sure where this blog is...

Just kidding.

I am going on vacation next week, though, so posting will probably be sporadic at best (And you said I couldn't learn something by watching Clueless! Use it in a sentence today.)

The good news is that I will be in at least three different states. And you know what that means! Opportunity for out of town crazies.

I just realized I never told you about the crazy I met in the airport on my way to Nashville, because I was so caught up in the breast situation.

For some unknown reason, my flight was canceled on the way to Nashville. Of course, I was already on my way to the airport when I found out. The next flight out was completely booked, so I ended up on an evening flight, with about five hours to spare in the airport.

I found the nearest bar, pulled up a stool and ordered a nice, cold, tall beer and geared myself up for some serious people watching. And boy did I get my money's worth.

From across the aisle, I see this man. Have you seen Spaceballs? If not, stop reading and go watch it. Seriously. What's wrong with you? If you have, do you remember Jim. J. Bullock as Prince Valium?



Now that we're all on the same page, I can tell you that this man in the airport totally had Prince Valium's haircut, but with bright orange hair. Well, and without the hat, unfortunately. He was wearing a purple velvet jacket, though.

He was walking toward my bar (like I own the place) with a cane and it appeared that someone had beaten the everloving shit out of him. He had cuts and scrapes all over his face, several bruises, and he was walking with a serious limp. He was also holding a Crown Royal bag.

He walked into the bar, and I could see the two men on either side of the only remaining seat thinking, "Please don't sit here, please don't sit here, please don't -- oh shit. He sat here."

He put his Crown Royal bag on the bar and propped his cane up on his stool and ordered a beer. The entire bar was nearly silent, as we all stared at this man. The bartender brought him his beer and he sipped it and sat there like no one was looking at him.

We all sort of went back about our business. I was staring out the window at passersby when I heard a loud, "KKKKCHHCHCHSSSHHHH!"

I turned to see the strange man looking dejectedly at the ground. Everyone was just staring, so I got up and walked over to see what happened. As I rounded the corner, all I could see all over the floor were nickels. See, in his Crown Royal bag? He had his entire life savings in nickels, apparently.

I got down on the floor and started gathering nickels. He was shaking like a little leaf and just sort of in shock. He had also dropped several bottles of pills. I scooped up the nickels and he held the Crown Royal bag open for me, as I dropped them inside. We got the mess all cleaned up and I handed him his meds and he sat back down.

The bar was completely silent. Also, I'm pretty sure the bartender was thinking, "Please don't pay me in nickels, please don't pay me in nickels."

I went back to my seat after I made sure he was secure on his stool. The noise level rose and everyone went about their business until, "KKKKCHHCHCHSSSHHHH!"

He dropped the nickels again. Once again, I helped him pick them up while most everyone else just stared. We repeated the process about twice more while he was still in the bar. He couldn't seem to hold on to anything.

After he paid his tab (I'm assuming not in nickels), he got up and limped his way out of the bar. Again, the bar was silent. Until I caught the eye of one of the guys who had been sitting next to the man and said, "Wonder who kicked his ass?" We all sort of started talking about it, like a bunch of strangers who have all been involved in a traumatic event.

I looked out the window and saw him slowly limping his way across the aisle to the gate when, "KKKKCHHCHCHSSSHHHH!" He dropped his bag of nickels again. In the middle of the walkway. Nickels are rolling everywhere, his medicine is on the ground. He dropped to his knees in a panic, meanwhile people all around him are slipping and swerving to get around him. He almost got beaned with at least one suitcase.

I rushed out in the aisle to help him out. His hands were too shaky to really do any good. We gathered up the change and his meds and I walked him over to the gate. He looked at me with these sad eyes and said, "Thank you. I want you to have this." And he handed me a nickel. A NICKEL. I almost burst out laughing on the spot, but instead I solemnly thanked him and went back to the bar.

He dropped his nickels two more times before they finally sat him down in a wheelchair. I felt like I had done my god Samaritan deeds for...the YEAR, so I let someone else handle it. I really wish I had asked him what happened to his face. It's probably better to just make up stories in my head.

What good deeds have you done for crazies?

[Author's Note: This story is 100% true. I promise. I couldn't make this kind of crap up. I'm not that creative.]

Could I please just meet a boy who doesn't want to wear my skin?

I'm just going to start at the beginning, repetitive though it may be. It's really long. Far too long. But when I sent it to Rebecca (do you ZooLoo? I do!) over at Losing it to see if she could help me edit it down, her response was "You. Cannot. Edit. Any. Of. This." So here it is, in all its glory. Feel free to skim it, peruse it, glance at it, print it out and light it on fire, or not read it at all. I won't hold it against you. There's some really good stuff in here, though. How did all of this happen in two months?


At the end of January, I got dumped by a douchebag of epic proportions. I wrote about it endlessly as if anyone cared. As it turned out, some people did (thanks for your support, guys!). Who knew?

I wasted far too much energy and far too many tears on someone who really never cared about me in the first place.

I closed myself off and shut myself down for a good four months. Then, one day, it was like the light just came on again. I started going out more and hanging out with my friends while not wearing my pajamas. I found some new hobbies. I met some new people. It was great.

Then I ran into Motorboater. We all remember him, right? Very quickly, though we’d only really been out a few times, he got really attached to me. It freaked me out. A lot. The whole time I was saying things like, “I’m not really ready for anything serious” and “Gosh, I kinda think you’re a jackass” and “Gee, no, I really don’t trust you.” And still, it didn’t dissuade him.

Then came the day when he decided to go into weird, slightly psychotic mode. There were phone calls and text messages and he asked me to meet his mom (after like three dates…wtf?). My personal favorite was when he asked me if I wanted to come hang out with him and his mom (no), and I said I had plans to go rock climbing with my friends and then we were going to have dinner. His response? “Cancel that. I haven’t seen you in a week.”

Not bloody likely. (Sometimes I don an English accent when I'm pissed.)

After a couple more calls and texts and some guilt trip about how he didn’t have anyone to talk to because his mom was hanging out with the guy she picked up at the last bar, I agreed to come out for one beer. Then his mom gave that stranger a blow job in front of the bar. And I was done. Stick a fork in me, whatever.

I didn’t hear from him for a while after that, which was fine with me. Then he called me one night, while I was at dinner with my mom. I didn’t call him back. That was the end of it. So I thought.

A week or so later, I ran into him at a bar. I tried to be nice and just sort of friendly let’s let bygones be bygones about the whole thing. But Motorboater? No…he steadfastly refused to speak to me for most of the evening, but while sitting at my table. Ugh. Then he finally left. At 2:00 am, I receive a text about how he didn’t think that seeing me would affect him, but it does and it really sucks when someone tells you they don’t want to get hurt, but then they ignore your calls and act like nothing’s wrong and how he knows that this is what happened to me in my last relationship, so he knows I know how much this hurts.

What?

So my year and a half long relationship is comparable to our three dates? No. Save that drama for your mama (not that she doesn’t cause enough of it on her own.). I’m out.

Then I met this guy and we were friends and I really enjoyed that and then he kissed me and it was nice and we went out once, but I was worried about it ending our friendship so I had to say something and I think I hurt his feelings, but we’re still friends and everything is okay. I hope. (And he reads my blog. Everyone say hi!)

Last week, I was shopping for groceries and this guy sort of…hit on me. Blah blah, he asked me out and he seemed cool, so I said yes. We had a really great first date. Like really great. Movie first date great. We had a really great first kiss. Like really great. Better than movie first kiss great. (Of course the next day, via text message he FREAKED me out by telling me he felt like we were involved and asking me if I felt the same…wtf? After what follows, you can totally come back up here and say, “Uh, shine? RED FLAG!” and you will be completely right and I will buy you a beer. Or a cupcake.)

And I got excited. About a boy. We hung out a couple more times. I decided to overlook that he was wearing crocs, for crying out loud…who does that? Plus, he was a smoker. Still, I was excited. Our second date was also good. Then we had our third date. It can only be described as awkward with a touch of defensive. I’m not sure what happened, but the whole time we were at dinner, things were just…off. He told me stories I wouldn’t tell someone I was trying to impress, he quizzed me on music (Because he knew I had dated a couple of musicians and he’s a musician, blah blah. Oh, by the way, I’m DONE with musicians. I hope…), and generally acted in a bizarre fashion.

Oh, I should mention here that he also had this thing for asking me what I was thinking. Do boys outside of high school still do that? I thought you men were all about not knowing what we’re thinking. And this wasn’t just like hey we’re sitting in silence for five minutes and you have this pained expression on your face so I’m going to ask you what you’re thinking because it seems like I should. This was like hey we’re kissing, but now I’m going to pull back and ask, “What are you thinking?” or say, “Penny for your thoughts…” Yeah, in that moment, you don’t want to know what I’m thinking. Trust me. It’s about what an idiot you are, though.

If I want you to know what I’m thinking, I’ll tell you. Does it seem to anyone that I have a problem saying what’s on my mind?

Also, if he texted me mushy crap like “Miss you, XOXO” I didn’t really respond (Because ew). Then a few minutes later I would get a text about how I didn’t respond. Usually fairly defensive in nature. “So I guess no hugs and kisses from you?” Ugh. I don’t really play that crap. It’s weird and stupid and I don’t get it. WHEN I’VE KNOWN SOMEONE FOR A WEEK. I don’t actually miss you, yo. So I’m not going to lie.

Then his roommate came home and everything sort of went into the shitter. It was already teetering on the edge, anyway. Then his incredibly conservative, incredibly republican, incredibly aggressive roommate gave me the third degree for an hour and a half. And he (my date) said the words “Obama is a complete fucking idiot.”

Sure, everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion. But really? Obama’s a complete fucking idiot? I just don’t think so. I refuse to sit and be attacked about my politics by people I barely know. Hell, I refuse to discuss politics with anyone.

I grimly muscled through it and about 15 more what are you thinkings and the next day, I promptly called my bestest mcbestest friend in the whole wide world and the love of my life (it’s really too bad neither of us is a man), Cheese, to discuss. We decided that he definitely lost points and that I was probably going to have to end it.

I was in favor of just letting it fizzle out. After all, we’d only known each other for a week and it wasn’t like we were friends or anything. But oh, no.

Every Monday night, after I work for 12 hours straight, I meet my mom for dinner. We’re trying to have a relationship and stuff. I guess while I was at dinner, he texted me, “Thinkin bout ya! :-)” I know there’s nothing wrong with that, per se. But we’ve only known each other a week and that’s the 37th such text I’ve received. It’s just a little much for me.

After dinner, I called Cheese and we talked while I drove home. Then I downloaded and installed the latest update for my phone (Hello, texting in landscape, you sexy beast!), which took a good half hour. Then my phone rang. Him again.

“Hi. Miss you. What are you doing?”

It’s 11:00 pm on Monday, I’m in my bed. Duh.

“You know, when I text you, it’s totally okay if you text me back. It’s not going to freak me out.”

At this point, I’m pretty sure me skinning a live animal in front of you wouldn’t freak you out. I let out a big sigh and explained that I was busy and shit.

We got off the phone and I went to sleep thinking, yeah, that’s over.

Wednesday, while I was at work, he called me. I didn’t answer BECAUSE I WAS AT WORK. He left me a message, “Uh, hey. It’s me. Give me a call if you don’t mind.”

Five minutes later, he texted me: Hey you! Any chance u may be able to hang after jits 2nite?

Thirty minutes later: Guess u r 2 busy 2 talk 2 me. Drop a line when u can if u don’t mind. Thanks.

(Can I just mention here how much I hate this kind of text? Unless you're phone is old, I see no reason that you can't type out at least most of the words. It takes me forever to translate and it gives me a headache.)

Two hours later: Is everything ok? Not like you to not respond. (To which I kind of wanted to scream “YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW ME, YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IS ‘LIKE’ ME!)

Three hours after that: Well…Hope u r ok.

Then at 11:00 pm, a minute and a half long voicemail including crap like, “I just want to make sure you're okay and you're safe and I haven't done anything to piss you off...just please call me and let me know you're okay, sweetie."

So, okay, with no response from me whatsoever, he called twice, left me two voicemails, and texted me four times. By this point I was so twitchy and annoyed about the whole thing, I didn’t even want to talk to him. Had it been one phone call or one text message (maybe even two texts), I would have gotten in touch with him and we would have proceeded with the fizzle.

Instead, at this point, I’m kind of concerned that he’s going to make a suit of my skin and wear it to feel pretty.

This morning, I sent him the following text:

I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. I didn’t have my phone with me yesterday, and coming home to two phone calls, two voicemails, and four text messages is way too much, way too fast for me. I’m sure that you’ll find someone who will be thrilled with this level of attention, but that someone is not me. I just don’t see a future for us.

Which I think is damn near crystal clear (The Mole thinks I was far too nice). Not that I expected him to just deal and move on…since clearly he’s crazy.

He usually sleeps really late, so I wasn’t exactly expecting a response right away. I knew I was going to get one, mind you, just not in the next minute or two.

So I get this text:

Please don’t do this. I am very sorry that it was too much. I was genuinely concerned. I care and it gets the better of me when I worry. Please don’t end this…it just got started.

Ugh. First of all, no, you weren’t genuinely concerned. You were worried you had pissed me off, sure. But I’m a grown-up. Not returning a text message for a few hours is not a sign of death. Just a sign that I’m either a) busy, or b) don’t really want to talk to you. Either way, I’ll get back to you when I’m ready and pushing it is only going to make me want to talk to you less. Second of all, seriously, it’s been a fucking week. Get over it.

Then, before I even really had a chance to respond, which I didn’t think I particularly owed him anyway, since I had made myself clear, I get this text (we’re talking about maybe two minutes later…and again, I’M AT WORK):

Wow…No response to my feelings. Ok. Guess there is nothing I can say to change your mind. Thanks for the very little time we shared. Sorry to burden you with my care. Have a good one.

Boo fucking hoo is about all I have to say to that. Also, “Sorry to burden you with my care” is an INSTANT CLASSIC and I will be using it all the time. (Rebecca's reaction: also, sorry to burden you with my care is so awesome, i want to sew it on a pillow, stain it with my own blood and send it to someone. Hell, yeah. Sounds like a Christmas present to me.)

UPDATE: I received yet another text from him: I really wish you would reconsider. I thought we had a good thing starting between us.

It's a sad day...

Steve McNair, former quarterback for the Tennessee Titans was shot and killed on Saturday evening in downtown Nashville.

As I am a Titans fan, and a Steve McNair fan, I am sad about the loss.

Click here for the few details that are available.

Is it just me, or does it seem to be in fashion to be dead? That "if everyone else jumped off a bridge, would you do it too?" question kind of seems to make more sense now, doesn't it?

I would like a break from death, please.

Maybe I'll just start my own English Fail Blog.

Dear People Everywhere,

Be less dumb. Kthx.

Kisses with tongue,
shine

Just a few gems I picked up around the internets or on various products. I thought you might enjoy them. If you don't see any problem with the following statements, please stop reading my blog. Wait. No, I'm kidding. Don't leave! I love you!

On a website that sells cases and accessories for iPhones:

"The greatest guarder for LCD screen. 100% High Quality.

Show off your new iPhone 3G without the risk of scratching it. Our 3G iPhone screen protector are keep you an original color, protect against any dust and scratches and to eliminate glare. Precision made for and 100% fit on iPhone 3G. Comes with a free cloth to be used for swiping the screen clean before attacking the protector.

Prevent Peeping Design

Think about your privacy, everyone don't want to disclose your personal things to others. Think about a "prevent peeping" and "black voguish" design... then you won't be hesitated to have it!"

"Hard Plastic case is a miracle between Toughness and Luster, which gives a brilliant appearance, with high flexibility and durability, the shiny materials offer an excellent protection for your iPhone 3G."

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Let's have a party! Bring this 'bloody' sparkling case with your iPhone! You definitely will be the most extraordinary person in the venue!"

To be fair, I suspect these people are just the victims of a really bad translator. But it cracked me the FUCK up to read "bring this 'bloody' sparkling case with your iPhone!"

On my keyboard (years and years ago):

"Please read directions for proper use. Misuse of this product could cause fatal injury or death."

A couple of things. One, it's a KEYBOARD. Death seems unlikely. Two, fatal injuries usually involve death. Hence the whole use of the word fatal. Just sayin'.


This isn't about English, though there are a few bumps and bruises. I'm just wondering...who still FALLS for this crap? This one doesn't even make any sense to me:

FROM: MR. PHIL COLE
Dear Friend,

My name is Phil Cole, an oil merchant.
I have been diagnosed with cancer.
It has defiled all forms of medical
treatment, and right now I have only
few months to live, according to my
medical doctors.

I have not particularly lived my life
so well, as I never really cared for
anyone (not even myself) but my business.
Though I am very rich, I was never
generous, I was always hostile to people
and only focused on my business as
that was the only thing I cared for.

But now I regret all this as I now know
that there is more to life than just
wanting to have or make all the money
in the world.I believe when GOD gives
me a second chance to come to this world
I will live my life a different way
from how I have lived it.

Now that GOD has called me, I have
willed and given most of my property
and assets to my immediate and extended
family members as wellas few close friends of mine.
I want GOD to be merciful to me and
accept my soul, I have decided to give
arms to charity organizations and
research organization, as I want this to
be one of the last good deeds I do on earth.

So far, I have distributed money to some
charity organizations in the Peru, Brazil
and Malaysia where I made my money.
Now that my health has deteriorated
so badly, I cannot do this myself anymore.
I once asked members of my family to
close one of my accounts and distribute
the money which I have there to charity
organization in Eastern Europe and South
America, they refused and kept the money
to themselves.

Hence, I do not trust them anymore, as
they seem not to be contended with what
I have left for them.The last of my money
which no one knows of is the cash deposit
of Five Million US Dollars (US$5,000,000.00),
currently placed under the management of
my Fund Manager based in Europe.

Acknowledge this message so that I can
introduce you to my fund manager who will
handle the transfer of Trust Receivership
to you of the said funds as my Estate
Administrator.

I will want you to help me collect this
deposit and dispatched it to charity
organizations and Research Organizations
for research purposes.

God be with you.
Regards
Phil Cole
=

Serendipity

This post is something I wrote about my last apartment complex. My new apartment complex is nothing like this. Yay!

According to Dictionary.com, serendipity is:

1. an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident.
2. good fortune; luck

According to me serendipity is:

A horrible place to live. (And a not-so-great chick flick starring John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale.)

My apartments are called "Serendipity." I have to disagree with the naming, unless horrible smells, unfinished floors, missing drawers, horrible tasting water, constant loud music, people, and parties, and unfounded threats to turn off your electric bill "desirable discoveries by accident." I do not.

My apartment constantly smells of pot and Mexican food. I know what you're thinking, could there be a better combination? Yeah, I don't smoke pot, and I only want to smell Mexican food if I'm at a Mexican restaurant. It's not at all appetizing while I'm taking a shower. I asked them to fix it. I don't even think they ever came by for a whiff.

When I moved in my kitchen cabinets were missing two drawers. There are only three drawers total. It took almost three months to get the missing drawers. They tried to act like they had to order them...like I have custom cabinets. Please.

When I moved in, the floor under my dishwasher, stove and refrigerator was unfinished. Unpleasantly unfinished. That was nine months ago. The floor is still unfinished. I was told it was because when they have to move the appliances in, they needed that room. And I get that. But every other builder in the world has figured out how to finish the floor after installing the appliances. Why can't you? It's not like you're going to take them out and put them back once a week.

They decided to be cute and have all the light fixtures, with ceiling fans on remote controls. It's a great idea. Unless, of course, you don't bother to think out the fact that there are only so many codes for the signals, and my remote can work the fixtures in about 100 apartments. So at 4 am when I'm sleeping, but the girl downstairs is just getting home, you guessed it, she flips on my lights with hers. They came around a month ago and "fixed" the problem. In one room. It still happens in all the others.

When I moved in, my door was unpainted with no peep hole. My door frame consisted of several raw pieces of plywood. Stylish, eh? About three months or so after I moved in, they came by and painted my door frame to match the walls. Then a month after that, they came over and painted my door. Shut. They painted my door shut. I literally had to get assistance to get in my apartment. Then, a couple of weeks later, they came by and painted several splotches of a lighter color on my door frame. It has been that way for 4 months. They did install a peephole, though, so I guess I shouldn't complain.

Most of the other tenants in my building seem to know each other. One of them works for the apartment complex. He's the guy who gave me the brilliant explanation for my unfinished floor. He and all his buddies have a party every Friday night, in which they all stand outside, blocking various exits, shouting at the top of their lungs, and smoking. It's vile. And no one calls them on it because dude works at the apartment complex.

You know those drainage pipes that lead down the building from the roof, so that the water all comes down in an organized fashion? I'm sure you know what I mean. Well, at the bottom of those pipes, people often put these little...I don't know what to call them. Slanty pieces of concrete so that the water will run out and not just stop and puddle all in one place. Theoretically. You know the things I mean, I'm sure you've see them. Well, the dudes at my complex installed them backwards. So the slopes are facing toward the foundations of the buildings, rather than directing the water away. The cherry on that cake? They also left all the stickers with the pictures that show exactly how those things are supposed to be installed. Go Team!

Nearly all of the maintenance guys are skeezy and make nasty comments when I walk by, while looking at me as though I have no clothes on. It's lovely to come home.

I'm posting this because today, when I got home from work, they had put a notice on my door threatening to turn off my electricity. Why, you ask? Because I have an outstanding balance! Apparently, when I moved in, they didn't credit me for paying my pet deposit. I paid it. They just didn't record it. So I go in there, and the lady in the office says, "Oh, you didn't pay your pet fee." Like hell I didn't. She's currently going through her files, because they're not smart enough to see that when I make my monthly payments they're for my rent and my utilities. So I have a huge rent credit, but it looks like I've never paid my electric bill, save for once or twice. Plus, they never recorded my pet deposit.

See, every month, I get this notice on my door telling me they're going to turn off my electricity because I haven't paid my bill. Assholes that they are, they decided it would be really cute to have my electric bill due two days before my rent every month, so instead of just being able to make one payment, I'm supposed to make two. I refuse. I'm not fucking doing it. I will make one payment. It will include both my rent and my utilities, but I'm only doing it once. Fuck you.

My suggestion to you, friends, is that next time you're looking for an apartment, you think long and hard before deciding on Serendipity.

Damn it, they caught me!

So they caught me before I could destroy the entire infrastructure of the United States to smithereens with my...archaeology report. Oh, wait. That doesn't make any sense, does it?

Last week, I put a report in the mail to someone at the Army Corps of Engineers office in Fort Worth, Texas. Today it came back in the mail with this message:

"We regret that your mail was not collected or is being returned to you due to heightened security requirements. All mail that bears postage stamps and weighs more than 13 ounces MUST be taken by the customer to a retail service associated at a Post Office."

So they weren't worried about the fact that my possible terrorist device was in the mail twice as long as it would have been if they had just sent it to Fort Worth as requested. As long as I personally bring my possible terrorist device to the post office (does that really have to be capitalized? I'll admit I'm not sure of the rules in that case) they'll send it anywhere I want it to go? Huh.

So I'm warning any and all potential accidental terrorists out there, DO NOT PUT STAMPS ON YOUR HEAVY POSSIBLY TERRORIST DEVICES.



Take it to the post office. They'll help you out. Though not with a smile. Those people are pissed. Probably because Homeland Security now makes them deal with a person every time a package over 13 ounces runs through the mail. Go figure, we're more worried about terrorist activity than angry postal workers these days.

Yeah, I said it.

A collection of random crap I've said this week. Most of it to the same person, actually. I'm shocked that anyone continues to talk to me.

UPDATE: According to a friend talking to me is akin to the whole train wreck situation. You just do it to see what I'll say next. But in a good way. Or something. I don't know, it was kind of confusing, actually.

1. You just...pulled a hand...out of your ass?

2. In my head, you are totally a large-ish black woman with questionable fashion style. A la Jackee. (Said to peterdewolf go read his blog because it's awesome)

3. All I want to do is shout "LEGO my vagina!"

4. It's possible though that he who sucks at Twitter may actually be better at life.

5. I'm not sure how you say "Dude. Your mom? Is kind of a whore..."

6. Dude. The cake is always truth. That Portal game is a lie.

7. My periods keep to themselves. Because they know I want to murder them.

8. I can't spin when I've just grabbed a stranger's ass. I lose all concentration. Oops! I just grabbed your ass!

9. Checking the sexual predator list is always a good time.

10. I heard they were in your backyard on the regular. Look, why wouldn't you look for 1st century civilization in your backyard? If you don't do it, who will? And just think if you found something...It would be really exciting and I could do my dissertation on it even though I don't want to be an archaeologist. So really, it's all about me.

11. How long before it gets weird that I have no idea what your name is?

12. I know. I'm basically Obama. But whiter.

13. Bad grammar is not racially specific. Unless stupid people are their own race.

14. Fish have legs. (I feel like there must have been a reason to say this, but I have no idea what it was...)

15. I'm not old enough for this. Back off. (Said to the 60-year-old man who tried to hit on me.)

16. So that "0" key? On my number pad? Does not function as a space bar. Like ever.

17. Plus, see...your Twitter is like the small, intimate, unplugged venue. You can really cater to your followers. Whatever that might mean. I'm pretty sure it has to do with presents. Personally? I'll take ice cream.

18. Mouthful is pretty kick ass.

19. Oh. Wow. They're subliminal. I just built them right in. (said about exclamation points)

20. I prefer pro-wrestling where the hugging is choreographed.

21. Do I have to eat the baby? Cause that could get awkward.

22. Personally, I think you seem like more of a manscara dude.

23. It's hard to believe, but pretty-ish men on reality television may actually be dumber (and wear more makeup) than pretty-ish women on reality television. Oh Daisy!

24. This chicken was into some kinky stuff.

25. I got a little turned on when I felt my back muscles today. Seriously. Check out my biceps!