In 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.

I know. You're shocked, right?

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.

Oh, man, I just totally lied to you guys. I don't have a routine at all! Ha!

What I really mean is, this generally happens when I don't bother to make time for me at home.

And lately? I really haven't been.

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.

Here's what I discovered:

1. That purse that I lost? Was exactly where I thought it was. It was just covered up by my spring jacket.

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.

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.

4. I probably have 100 pairs of socks. This is not an exaggeration.

5. My carpet doesn't actually have any red flecks in it. Apparently that was just my hair.

6. My bed looks really weird when it's made.

7. There's a chair in my room that I hadn't seen in six months because it was covered in clothing.

8. There's actually carpet on my closet floor. I even know what it looks like now.

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.

10. And finally, my bed is REALLY REALLY comfy. I hadn't slept in it in at least two months.

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.

Twitter just scared me. A lot.

So okay, yeah, I know...it's TMI Thursday. And you should really go look at LiLu's TMI Thursday Post Secret blahbadies. Like now. I'll wait.

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.

Shot through the brain! And you're to blame. Twitter, you give the English Language a bad name.

Okay, I think I'm done with my Bon Jovi moment of the morning.

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."

And then Jenn over at You'll Grow to Love Me (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 BeeJive. Hmmmm...

Then I promptly forgot all about it.

This morning, I remembered and looked to Twitter for advice. None was forthcoming, so I typed "BeeJive" into the search box.

Such a bad idea.

Here are some of the profiles that caught my eye:

ThaNiggaD

Favorite Tweet: 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

JAZZY_C0UTURE

Favorite Tweet: #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

DreyDayBaby

Favorite Tweet: @[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

Patticakez

Favorite Tweet: #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

And my PERSONAL FAVORITE - Swaggz9mg

Favorite Tweet: Dis new ubertwitter app is iight I cud fuck wit it

I love that last guy because between all the horrid spelling and bizarre sentence structure, there's this tweet: Work is dead right now surprisingly.

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.

Sad Panda.

In other news, I think I'm going to go ahead and download BeeJive.

Holiday Grumps

Aunt 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.

(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.)

While chatting with Gofahne 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.

You see, my sister (we all remember my sister, 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.

Most of my family still lives in Tennessee. This includes my dad's family. My mom's parents and my mom's youngest sister (Aunt Dana, 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.

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.

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.

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.

She heard, "Yes."

Now we return to Thanksgiving evening. After Princess and I finished dinner with my friends, 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.

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.

This is one of those things that I just don't understand about my mother, but that's a topic for another day.

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)."

My mom said, "What?!? I thought you said you were going?"

Crap.

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.

Me: I can't really afford a plane ticket right now.

Mom: That's okay. I can help you out with that.

Me: I don't really want to take more time off work and I don't have any vacations days left.

Mom: Well, you can wait to leave on Christmas Eve after work.

Me: So really, it doesn't matter what I want?

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!

CRAP.

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.

And I thought it was over.

WRONG.

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.

She said, "Okay."

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."

I'm guessing I'll know the plan on Christmas Eve.

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."

I kind of agree.

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?

We'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.

What's that you say? You've never contemplated the third one? Ah! Then you obviously don't work in my office.

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.)

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.

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.

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

**In case you didn't notice (seriously, what's wrong with you?), I changed the layout on my blog. What do you think?**

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.

It's [Wednesday], we should break up - Dallas Cowboys Fans

Since 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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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!

Wade Phillips said "ya know" too many times in the press conference after the game? OFF WITH HIS HEAD!

Roy Williams caught the ball? THAT'S JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH!

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.

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.

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.)

A metered reaction.

I love downtown Dallas. I really do.

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.

Here are the things I've discovered:

• Everything closes at like 7:00 pm. And I have no idea why.
  
• There's only one grocery store and I can't even keep a straight face while calling it that.
  
• There's a distinct lack of laid back dive bars.
  
• Walking everywhere you want to go is AWESOME.
  
• Everything is pretty damn close to where you are.
  
• 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.)
  
• Parking can be really easy if you know where to do it, however...
  
• No one knows how to park at the damn meters.
  

Last night, Princess and I planned to watch the Titans (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 Texans 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.

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!

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:



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*.

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.

*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.

(Dear Cleveland Browns, please please get it together. You're killing me. And I love you. --Shine.)