Anonymous Midwest Girl

life goes on, indeed.

2012-01-27T22:02:00.000-08:00

Man, I used to be one hell of a funny bitch. What happened??? It's like I hit 30 and suddenly was no fun anymore. Maychance (perbe?) I'll start posting again, even though I've lost all my followers and friends. Sob. I was once a not-really-big deal in the blogosphere!

But. I have a kid now. I grew a little human and she came out of me and now she sits up and eats and poops like a real person. Her name is Carys and she's amazing.

Whoa. I'm a mom. Weird.

life goes on. ?.

2010-04-14T17:42:00.000-07:00

In the time since I last posted, I found out I was pregnant. December 29, 2009.

2009 turned into 2010.

We celebrated Valentine's Day by telling my family we were having a baby.

We had an ultrasound and saw our perfect baby.

March turned into April, and we were oh-so-close to the halfway point of the pregnancy, April 20.

On April 12, far too early, we had our son, Caleb Anthony. He lived for 20 minutes.

On April 14, we're hanging in there. Barely.

I have a new blog about our new life.

border patrol? thank you for protecting us!

2009-11-15T12:45:00.000-08:00

One of my friends is a Canadian citizen who recently had to go through the US on her way to Mexico. She just emailed me these snippets from her conversations with the border guards and I can't stop laughing.

Him: Why does your friend live in Seattle if he's Canadian?
K: He works for Amazon.com.
Him: Why?
K: I don't know... because they hired him??
Him: How long has he worked there?
K: Almost 9 years. he has a visa, but he applied for a green card a couple years ago.
Hhim: Well, he's not gonna get it, I'll tell you that right now.
K: ...ok....

---------------

Him: Where are you going?
K: Mexico.
Him: Have you been to Mexico before?
K: No.
Him: Where in Mexico?
K: Puerto Vallarta. The resort is called Velas Vallarta.
Him: You're being pretty vague...where are you staying specifically?
K: Like I said, it's called Velas Vallarta, in Puerto Vallarta.
Him: Is it in Nuevo Vallarta?
K: No, it's in Puerto Vallarta.
Him: Yeah, but where is it?
K: I don't know...it's on the water.
Him: There are over 200 hotels on the water there, where is this one?
K: I don't know the address!

-----------------

Him: Have you ever been arrested?
K: No.
Him: You sure?
K: Yes, I'm sure I've never been arrested.
Him: I don't believe you.
K: Well, you have my passport, can't you see that on your computer that I've never been arrested?
Him: Well, I'm gonna let you go, but know I don't believe you.

---------------------

Him: Who booked the trip, you or your friend?
K: My friend.
Him: Why didn't you?
K: Well, only one of us was going to book it, since we were going together. So it was 50/50 odds.

-----------------------

Him, while searching my purse: What's this?
K: Just some mail I picked up on my way out the door.
Him: I'm going to open your bank statement.
K: Um...ok... (while thinking, "What, are you expecting to see 'DEPOSIT FROM TERRORIST ORGANIZATION: $2,000,000'????????????")

-----------------------

She also overheard the same guard asking another woman from their bus questions in another WTF interview.

Him: Are you going to work in the States?
Her: No, I'm going to visit my daughter.
Him: Well, does she live here illegally?
Her: No, she's a professor at the university and has been for 25 years.
Him: You come down here a lot.
Her: Yes, she's my daughter.
Him: Well, you shouldn't visit her so much.

Remembering Peter Alexander Bielfeld

2009-09-08T10:19:00.000-07:00

This post was written as part of Project 2996.

Firefighter Peter Bielfeld
Originally uploaded by elswatchoboracho

When he was five, little Petey had a tooth extracted. He was so upset that his father took him to a toy store and let him pick out any toy he wanted. Petey picked a big, red, shiny firetruck, which he kept for years afterward. “All he wanted to be was a fireman,” his father Ernest recalled.

Though his first job was working with his father as a paper handler at The Daily News, he did grow up and achieved his dream. By 2001, he had been a firefighter for over 19 years. He was known in the neighborhood for standing Ladder Company 42 in the Bronx smoking a cigar or walking around with his daughter.

On September 8, he suffered injuries fighting a fire in the Bronx. Three days later, he was in the FDNY’s medical office in Brooklyn when the call went out – planes had crashed into the World Trade Center buildings, they were burning, and people were dying. He borrowed a colleague's gear, and rushed to do what he had wanted to do since the age of five – fight fires and rescue people.

His brother Roger knew it. "This is what he wanted to do," said Roger. "You couldn't keep him out of there if you chained him up."

His father agreed. "I guess it was just meant to be," Ernest said. "You can't run away from what was meant to be."

After he died, it took nearly a year to locate his remains. In that time, a mural honoring him was painted in the Bronx. When his funeral was held on September 10, 2002, the fire truck bearing his coffin drove past the artwork. The college where he played football at retired his jersey, number 42 – ironically the same number of his ladder company.

Peter wasn’t just a firefighter, and he wasn’t just a hero – though that’s how he is remembered today. Perhaps more importantly, he was a son, a father, a brother, a brother-in-law, a cousin, an uncle. It’s difficult to remember at times that these were real people who had real lives that were cut short so quickly, and that real people miss them every day – that he wasn’t just one of the thousands that died. That’s why it’s so important to remember each victim individually, and I’m honored to have been chosen to remember Peter Alexander Bielfeld.

Sources:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/elswatchoboracho/2719675618/
http://www.fdnyc.mobi/346/BIELFE.gif
http://www.nyjnews.com/9/11/Firefighters
http://www.legacy.com/Sept11/Story.aspx?PersonID=132596
http://tnchick.com/archives/782
http://www.nydailynews.com/news/ny_crime/2008/05/28/2008-05-28_the_news_puts_up_5g_to_catch_vandal_who_.html#ixzz0QXKWMNRo

That's the way I roll...

2009-05-01T21:09:00.000-07:00

So I had an awkward moment at the chiropractor today. I found out I've been getting too naked.

Backstory:
When I first went to the doctor, I got x-rays (as they do). In order to get x-rays, of course, you have to disrobe and put on a lovely hospital-type gown. I went straight from getting x-rays to getting my first adjustment. The next time I went, they showed me to the same room I had previously used to change, and said to put my gown in the designated bin when I was finished. Cool, no problem, I can follow simple instructions like a fucking pro. So I again get naked (well, not entirely, I kept my Eeyore panties on. Why do I have Eeyore on my underwear? I truly have no clue.) and put a gown on. All goes well. This same scenario happens the next time...and the next time...and the next time...and so on, for like three months.

Today, I got shown to a room I hadn't used before to get ready. And prominently displayed on the door is this notice:

I did a double take when I saw that. Disrobe from the WAIST up? Why the heck have I been taking my pants off? Why hasn't anyone mentioned this small fact to me? Did the doctor specifically request that I be put in this prep room BECAUSE I'd been getting too naked and he wanted me to start putting some freaking pants on?? What if I went out WITH pants and he got offended? Why would that offend him?? I don't know, I couldn't think of anything but my inadvertent superfluous nudity. I wasn't thinking clearly.

Anyway, anticlimactic ending: I kept my pants on.

ARUBA!!!

2009-02-03T17:38:00.000-08:00

There's no more clever title than that...I'm still in beach mode so my thinking skillz (yes, that's right, skillZ) are not as sharp as they are when I'm here in the freezing cold midwest. Something about the low temperatures makes you sharper...NOT. If it did, clearly I would have been smart enough to move away from here and be living somewhere warmer.

Anywho (don't you hate that phrase?), last week my hubby and I went to Aruba. You could call it a late honeymoon, but we went with another couple and their two-year-old daughter, so if you DID call it that, you'd be wrong. Plus, that means I still get to take one in the future.

While I didn't take my filet mignon 5D camera or even my steak sandwich XTi, I did take my bologna point and shoot. If you're interested, you can check out pics from the trip - like this one

or maybe this one

or maybe you prefer a more heavily processed look?

There's also some taken with my crap underwater digital camera...really, it's amazing any of these turned out since I had no idea if I was taking a picture, had just taken a picture, or even if the camera was turned on.

You can see pictures of me snorkeling!

And precariously perched on the bow of a boat!

And rope swinging!

It was a pretty damn amazing trip and it was exceedingly hard to come back. The saddest part of the whole trip was when we were driving back from the airport after we got home, and I looked around and immediately slipped back into "Omaha" mode. It's a little depressing. Sigh.

Life, as it happens.

2008-12-17T12:26:00.000-08:00

I quite realize that no one ever checks this anymore. I wonder why that is?

It's not like I completely abandoned it.

No, not at all.

Only.....

Oh, right. I did.

Anyway, in the interim six or seven months since my last post, I got married. I'm now MRS. Anonymous Midwest Girl!

Here's me, about to be married. Hi about-to-be-married me!

Hey yourself, handsome.

Sigh, I still love my ring. This reminds me, since she set this shot up specifically to show her branding colors, these pictures were taking by the fabulous and extremely girl-crush worthy Darbi G, with the assistance of the equally fabulous Stacy Reeves.

Warning: we're bringing it, just ahead.

Oh, it was BROUGHT, yo.

Here's our wedding party.

I know, you didn't even there there was ONE person that cool in the Midwest, much less eight of us. Well, you know now. For future reference.

Here's us ACTUALLY getting married!

Caption: Holy crap, did I just do what I think I just did??

Here's my sister slash maid of honor giving her speech. All I heard was "blah blah blah most beautiful bride blah blah blah." Just kidding. Although I'm sure that was in there somewhere. In reality it was a perfect toast involving The Princess Bride.

Aww, isn't my husband cute? Squee! I love him! Sorry, got caught up in the newlywed bliss zone there. Please don't puke on your computer.

Here's our best man announcing to the world that AMBF (now AMH?) doesn't know how to do his own laundry.

Sadly, it's true.

Our first dance, where we somehow overcame history and did not trip over each other.

Then there was a lot of drinking and dancing. And dancing and drinking.

And.

Of course.

The traditional wedding s'mores.

We've now lived happily ever after for two months. Now just 600 or so to go....

P.S. In case you're wondering, I kept that NKOTB wallpaper up until just a few months ago, when I replaced it with an Obama victory one. Sometimes, though, when I've had enough hope, I kind of miss Joey's smoldering face in the morning.

My New Computer Wallpaper. That's Right. Suck it.

2008-05-14T08:05:00.001-07:00

iPhone? I DON'T THINK SO.

2008-05-12T12:15:00.000-07:00

To warn you, although this post does involve iPhone-ness, the title of the post has nothing to do with anything. I just thought it was kind of funny. In retrospect, not so much.

Anyway, I got an iPhone. It's okay. Actually I love it, but a couple things irritate me. And since Apple does not take kindly to unsolicited advice regarding their devices, I am posting them here. If you know someone who knows someone, you know, pass it on.

1. Apple squeezing you for every dollar you have.
I went to plug the phone into my car so I could listen to music during a drive, only to discover that the audio output jack thingy didn't work with it. It fit into the little hole, but it wasn't a good fit and nothing happened. Because the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, I took it to work and tried plugging it into my work speakers with, predictably, the same result. I went to the Apple store and found out that the audio output hole is sunk into the iPhone a bit, so normal audio jacks won't work for it; they're too short. So you have to buy a modifier. Which Apple is HAPPY to supply you. For a fee.

2. You can't save individual text messages.
On my old phone, if I wanted to save a specific text message, I could just lock it. I could delete all the other messages from that person, or even all the other text messages period. But with the iPhone, it saves it as an ongoing conversation, kind of like MSN Messanger - except with IMs, you can copy and paste a message and save it that way. And you can't do that with the iPhone. The only way to save an individual message is to save the entire conversation with that person, back from the very first text you sent or received from them. So I respectfully request that they let you save an individual text message and/or give the ability to email a text message. Similarly, you can't forward a text like you can on a regular phone. WANT. Oh, and you can't text a picture. WTF?

3. Um. Well, that's really it for now. But the text message thing really is irritating, because I am one of those damn texters.

4. Ha! I lied. I want the iPhone to support Flash applications as well.

5. Now done.

6. You didn't really believe me, did you? I do miss one-touch redialing.

7. And no video. Just still pics.

The end.

For NOW...(cue ominous music)...

....WORST POST EVER.....

Nazis Were Breastfed.

2008-05-02T08:03:00.000-07:00

After noting the "La Leche League" bumper sticker on the car next to us:

Dub: "What's the La Leche League?"
Scott's Girl: "Oh, man, they're scary. They're like crazy Nazi breastfeeders."
Scott: "They breastfeed Nazis?"

To be fair to Scott, this was funnier when it actually happened. Scott's delivery doesn't translate well to blogging.

HOLY CRAP! A post! I know, right??

2008-04-24T09:19:00.000-07:00

I've been avoiding posting here, because all I have to blog about is:

1. Wedding planning. Boring to anyone but the bride. And even usually to her.

OMG! What color scheme should I choose? Merlot and chocolate or apple green and chocolate? Or should I go with my original thought of garnet, tangerine, and chocolate?? Why does everything involve chocolate??? And if the bridesmaids wear chocolate, what color vest and tie should the groomsmen wear, because I am not a big fan of black tuxes and brown????

No, seriously. That's an internal struggle I've been having that should be shared with NO ONE.

2. How much I hate my job.

Answer: It's a lot. Like, so much so that I was driving on the interstate the other day and thought, "Hmm...if I 'accidentally' drove off this on ramp, I'd probably have to go to the hospital for at least a few days. That'd be some good time off work...."

3. How insanely jealous I am of one of my best friends, Dub. Who is currently GROWING HER VERY OWN TINY HUMAN BEING.

And how selfish and petty I feel for being jealous of her. Don't get me wrong, I'm crazily happy for her and am LOVING semi-experiencing this pregnancy with her, but every time I see her cute baby belly I want to cry. And to top it off, two of her other best friends are also pregnant and due pretty much the exact same minute as she is, so on top of the baby jealousy I feel left out as well. And to top that off, she can't be in my wedding because of the baby, so I am obviously five, as I thought: "She gets a baby, and I don't even get her as a bridesmaid? Not fair. Whaaaaaahhh." God, I'm awesome. Awesomely LAME.

4. Photography.

I loves it. And want to quit my real job and do it full-time. I'm trying to get myself in a place right now where I might be able to realistically do that next year, so fingers crossed. I have a photography blog of my very own and post about it over there. So if you are so very bored and want to read more, you can head on over. However, be warned that since it's, um, "professional" that you will not receive my trademark sense of humor and sarcastic wittiness. Although, to be fair, you didn't really receive that over here all that much either. You can't miss what you don't have!

Pretty, Pretty!

2008-02-17T11:53:00.001-08:00

I love you Chris and can't wait to marry you!

Everybody love the sexy mustard!

2007-11-02T09:58:00.000-07:00

I really love Halloween. I have fun dressing up and decorating the house and it combines two of my favorites - giving things to people (good things, I try not to give out STDs or the flu) and kids so freaking cute you could die.

So another Halloween has come and gone, and I have to say, well done! I was a little wary about the giving out of the candy this year and the universe proved me wrong. Last year it was all grabby kids, no "thank-you"s, teenagers who couldn't even pretend to dress up, and the new "my little brother is at home sick so I'm getting candy for him too, can I have two?" scheme that the kids had going. But this year I think they had mandantory manners classes at school or something, because everyone took only one piece, and everyone was dressed up, and everyone said thank you, and not one kid tried to scam me out of more candy!

Riley dressed up once again as Batman-Dog and was a big hit with the kids, although after the first few trick-or-treaters came by and he figured out he was getting neither playtime nor candy out of anyone he kind of lost interest and just sat at the top of the steps looking forlorn. That may have also been the costume. Apparently the animals don't appreciate the dressing up as much as the humans do. And I did have one "awww" moment when a little boy saw Riley and started to back up, and his mom stepped in and explained he was afraid of dogs. But then Riley sat down and the little boy exclaimed, "Oh! Mom! It's not a dog! It's Batdog! I'm not scared of Batdog!" and proceeded to pet him. His mom was shocked; apparently he's never touched a dog before. Well played, Riley, well played.

From the Files of the Obvious

2007-10-10T09:32:00.000-07:00

"You will be happy upon receiving good news."

Um, fortune cookie? No shit. That's generally how it works. Good news = happiness. I don't generally receive good news and fall to my knees in despair and rent my clothes in sorrow. Can you even pretend to come up with an actual fortune for me rather than stating a known equation?

IQ is slipping away....

2007-09-08T17:46:00.001-07:00

Oh, god, someone please stop me. I am watching "High School Musical 2" and I can't tear myself away from it. This is not good.

Look, Shiney Movey Things!

2007-08-30T13:23:00.000-07:00

1. Yesterday I parked next to a person who had nine ribbon magnets for various causes on their trunk, only one of which was the ubiquitious yellow "Suppor Our Troops" one. I had an inexplicable urge to arrange them in rainbow order (ROY G. BIV, holla!). I fought it, but barely.

2. In a hurry to get out of the gas station the other day, I apparently didn't tighten the gas cap all the way. Which caused my check engine light to come on. Which, considering I have spent a decent amount of money fixing things on my car in the not-too-distant past, caused a great deal of alarm. Somehow it didn't cross my mind that something as innocent as a loose gas cap could - or would - make the light come on. However, I am so on top of things that when I had to get gas again this morning, the light was still on, as I hadn't taken it in yet (figuring it was still driving without making any terrible noises). I saw the loose gas cap and thought, "There is no way in hell that would cause the check engine light to come on because that would be asinine and I know it costs like $70 just to get the check engine light diagnosed, and surely there is NO WAY one would be charged $70 for a loose gas cap." So I made sure to tighten it and of course, when I started the car again, the light was off. That. is. stupid.

3. September 20 through 23, I will be in Vegas with AMBF and my good buddies Dub and Magnum DI. Don't bother clicking Magnum's link, he hasn't posted since April because he's a douche. AMBF and I went to Vegas together in December with my family, and I've been twice for work. Dub and Magnum have been there twice together, once with her family and once with his, and I think Dub went for her 21st birthday, maybe with her mom. I might be making that up. Anyway, it will be my first trip there with friends and it should be fun. We're spending a weekend, which should be just enough time to grab one of those big yard-high drinks and wander the streets, lose some money gambling, go to Penn & Teller (love them) and maybe see some boobs. Like boobs that you pay for, not just random drunk old ladies flashing you on the street like last time.

I am a total ass.

2007-08-22T15:02:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty retarded quite often. And hopefully no one takes offense to me using that word, because in reality, I'm actually being quite retarded.

Like today. A while ago a new fast food restaurant went up in our neighborhood. And every once in a while we'd drive by and I'd comment, "Hmm, sometime we'll have to try that restaurant." Today someone told me that said new restaurant is one of their favorite fast food places. And I re-told this story to AMBF, reiterating the fact that we should try it sometime.

He replied, "Yuck."

"How do you know? Have you been there before?"

"Yeah. Several times."

And before I even had the logical thought of "Dude, if it's yuck, why have you gone several times?", I'm thinking, WHAT? You went to a new restaurant without consulting me? Don't you know that you must check in with me before doing ANYTHING IN LIFE because I might want to do it too? How dare you stop at a very convenient restaurant that is exactly on your way home from work to eat on days when I was gone at school until very late? Here I was waiting to try the restaurant with you so we can enjoy an experience together, only to find out you are off discovering new restaurants and new shops and new cities and probably new planets and life forms. And I was getting quite bitter about it.

Because I am an unreasonable asshole. I need to be punched in the face.

Luckily this was all over IM (instant messaging for you un-hip folks) so as long as I don't tell anyone about my unreasonable assy-ness, he'll never know.

Is it wrong that this makes me totally adore Alex Trebeck?

2007-08-16T21:14:00.000-07:00

Why I've Been Away. And The Answer is Surprisingly Not Booze.

2007-07-03T21:11:00.000-07:00

Note: This probably doesn't mark the beginning of regular posting again. I know, I know...collective sigh of disappointment. Wait, what? That sounded a little more like a sigh of RELIEF. Hmpf to you.

I've been crazy, madly, deeply busy the past few months. I've always loved photography, and a little while ago I decided to pursue it in a more career-related fashion. I started taking photography classes (in addition to pursuing my business management degree, which I've been doing for the past, oh, two hundred years) and interning with local photographers who I admired. I've been creating a website (not done) and portfolio and pricing lists and real, grown-up business type things. In addition to working my regular full-time job.

In an ideal world I'd be a kindergarten teacher during the day (long-held dream occupation) and a photographer nights and summers. In that world I'm also two inches shorter and 30 pounds lighter, but strangely my boobs are the same size. Also, I have Ariel's hair.

So you can blame my newest obsession for taking my time away from you. My three readers (that figure includes my grandma).

Add to my blog

Never Before Has a Truer Comic Been Drawn.

2007-04-20T13:36:00.000-07:00

Credit to XKCD.

Where's a Stork When You Need One?*

2007-04-10T09:55:00.000-07:00

If it was possible to get knocked up through sheer willpower, I'd now be simultaneously carrying the babies of Barack Obama and Jon Stewart.

*I bet Amazon.com sells storks.

I Am Pretty Much a Professional Mechanic.

2007-04-04T11:19:00.002-07:00

AMBF: Hey, what happened to that awful noise your car was making?
Me: Oh, I fixed it.
AMBF: Really? When? Where did you take it?
Me: This morning. And I did it myself.
AMBF: No kidding? How?
Me: I turned the radio up.

Amazon, Amazon, Is There Anything With Which You Can't Provide Me?

2007-03-26T12:00:00.000-07:00

This is probably the oddest banner ad I've ever seen. An advertisement for elk meat would be a bit strange in and of itself, but the use of the word "carcass" is downright bizarre. And faintly unappetizing.

I'm relieved that they specified this was a NEW elk carcass. GOD KNOWS I WOULDN'T WANT A USED ONE.

For the curious, when you click the ad you are taken here. I recommend reading the reviews for a bit of a chuckle (although these are nowhere near the scope and hilarity of the milk reviews), and also be sure to click to view the full-sized image (or just click here), because who doesn't love a glistening meat shot?

Omaha, This 40-Degree Weather Isn't Doing A Lot to Win Me Back.

2007-03-20T14:39:00.000-07:00

It's over. Done. Finito. It was actually over two days ago, but until today the pain of such a tragic loss was still to great to blog about it. Even now, looking at these pictures brings a tear to my eye. Oh, SXSW. Oh, Austin. My dear, sweet Austin. Austin, with your warm weather, your amazing people, your fried pickles. It was great while it lasted. I'll be back soon, I promise.

Click above picture to be taken to the Flickr album (pictures in reverse chronological order).

Head over to Dub's blog for a great round-up of the trip. I might steal her format and make some lists of my own, but no promises. This blog is full of empty post promises, and I don't want to do that to you again. I gave up making empty post promises for Lent. Magnum DI and Scott also both promise to have recaps up at some point, but I wouldn't put too much stock in their words either. Just look at Scott: he promised to write more "this weekend" two weeks ago, and he's got nothing.

There's Not a Lot of Time to Blog When You're Watching Six Movies a Day

2007-03-16T09:48:00.000-07:00

Blah, blah, blah, movies, blah, blah, blah, concerts , blah, blah, blah, B-list celebrities, blah, blah, blah, drinking, blah, blah, blah, FRIED PICKLES. Yes, that's right. FRIED PICKLES. With ranch sauce. How have I lived 26 years on this earth and never enjoyed a fried pickle before??? I even vaguely remember seeing them on menus before and thinking how disgusting they sounded. How wrong I was. How very wrong I was.

Recap coming next week-ish when I get back.

Okay...just to whet your appetites...one picture from the trip.

Have you ever been driving down the road thinking, "God, a tamale would really hit the spot right now. And you know what else I could use? A little Cum Sucking Teen Vamps. I haven't seen that movie in forever."

Don't worry. There's a place that caters to your unique needs:

Too Bad, That Ten Bucks Could Have Bought Me a Beer.

2007-03-06T13:39:00.000-08:00

Yeah, that bet? SO NOT WORTH IT. Around 11 last night when I was finishing up my last serving, I started to feel really sick. I had a headache and was completely nauseated. As in, I actually went and sat by the toilet for a little bit just in case. Although, now that I think about it, wouldn't that be what a TRUE Celebrity diet is all about? Throwing up? Throwing up and cigarettes?

Needless to say, I had some toast to help calm my stomach, which was busy punching itself to punish me for this stupid idea. The toast made me lose ten bucks, but let me keep my dignity. Or something.

In other news, news that does not involve bodily fluids being expelled through orifices for which they were not intended, I'm going to South by Southwest Film Festival in Austin in - count 'em - TWO DAYS! We leave Thursday morning. "We" being myself, AMBF, Dub, Magnum, and "Needs to get himself a more interesting nickname" Scott. Expect more pictures of my face exploding, lots of Sixth Street drinking stories, and some B-list celebrity stalking attempts (John Stamos, I'm looking at you!). Last time we went I had a broken rib, which dampened the festivities a bit for me, but it was an excuse to get even more drunk...you know, to dull the pain. I will also super glue my ID to my forehead this year, as I had managed to lose my ID on, of all nights, St. Patrick's Day. Yes, the biggest drinking night of the year, and I had to go back to the hotel room by myself while everyone else partied all night. For some reason, the bars wouldn't accept my YMCA membership card as a form of ID.

Jerkfaces.

I Fully Expect the Paparazzi to Show Up Any Minute.

2007-03-05T15:59:00.000-08:00

9:30 AM: Receive the following email from my co-conspirator in the Celebrity Juice Diet Challenge, NAK: "Hey, AMG. No go on the bet today. Mrs. NAK and I are meeting her parents for dinner tomorrow. Next week?" Unfortunately, actually COMPLETELY fortunately, I can't do it next week because I'll be at South by Southwest. Awesome. There's a sweet spaghetti/sub place serving lunch today that I didn't want to miss anyway.
12:00 PM: Mmmmm spaghetti.
1:30 PM: Receive following email from NAK: "You should do it today and tomorrow, I'll do it Wednesday and Thursday, and we can compare notes. Also, that way I can see if it kills you first."
1:31 PM: Send following email to NAK: "Negative. I already ate lunch."
1:32 PM: Receive following email from NAK: "Just start it now and end it Wednesday afternoon. Or are you pussing out on me?"
1:35 PM: How did he know I was planning on pussing out? I grudgingly pull the bottle from the fridge and crack it open.
1:36 PM: It totally smells like ass.
1:37 PM: Surprisingly, it doesn't taste too bad. Like orange juice with an slight aftertaste. I can totally do this.
2:00 PM: This 8oz serving is supposed to last me FOUR HOURS?
2:05 PM: Whoops, it's gone.
3:30 PM: Feeling rather burpy. Kind of reminds me of that scene in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory where Charlie and his grandpa burp their way out of peril. I wish there was a drink like that in real life.
6:00 PM: I'm HUNGRY.

Whatever, I'll be in Austin in Eight Days Anyway.

2007-03-01T14:33:00.000-08:00

Hey, Phil.

What the fuck happened to the early spring?

See how the snow is up to our neighbor's knees? See the snow covering the front door? That's messed up. Someone out there really pissed off God today, and I'M LOOKING AT YOU.

Funny, I Thought the Celebrity Diet Would Consist of Cocaine and Diet Pills.

2007-02-26T17:40:00.000-08:00

Me: Hey! Look! It's your LAST CHANCE to buy the Original Celebrity Juice Diet! If you pass this up it will be GONE FOREVER.

NAK: But there's always the Celebrity Juice Diet.

Me: Or the Hollywood 48-Hour Miracle Diet. And if you're really pressed for time, you could try the 24-hour version.

NAK: I wonder if they work. Never mind, they say "As-Seen-on-TV" so they must work.

Me: Excellent point. The TV never lies to you. It's a well-documented fact.

NAK: I wonder what they taste like.

Me: I imagine they taste like sweaty goat balls. Sweaty goat balls that were left in the sun for weeks. Sweaty goat balls that were left in the sun for weeks to marinate in warthog urine. STALE warthog urine.

NAK: I don't know, I kind of want to try it.

Me: Oh, please don't. I know where this is going and I don't like it.

NAK: Let's try it.

Me: Let's not.

NAK: I bet you ten bucks you couldn't last the full two days.

Me: [Crumbling because I am a sucker for stupid bets] Fine. But you have to do it too.

We've set a date for next Monday. I'll keep you posted. POSTED. Ha! Get it? GET IT? I kill myself sometimes. (Wipes tear.)

Sweetness in Typography

2007-02-24T16:02:00.000-08:00

A short, fun little film for fans of any or all of the following: Pulp Fiction, fonts, the word motherfucker. (Click on the image to view film.)

**NOTE: If the image link doesn't work for you, try clicking here. If that doesn't work, then you must not have the super special secret version of Quicktime you need to watch it. If you're at work it might not work either - my work blocks video. Not that I'm AT work trying to watch it. Because, you know, that would be a waste of my company's money. And so very wrong. Ahem.

You can also go here for a lower-quality version.

Excuse Me, But Your Bush is Showing.

2007-02-20T11:53:00.000-08:00

In response to my anti-American, pro-terrorist post below, I received an email from someone who was truly shocked that I dared not support AMERICA, but rather those asswipe French traitors, by continuing to use the phrase "French Fries":

(This is verbatim)
"you should be sent to cuba with all the other terrorists. If you don't support Bush you don't support AMERICA. How can you even keep using the word french on AMERICAN soil that our people spilled blood on? The french are all traiters. Our four fathers fought for your freedom with their lifes and you are just dissmissing it. You discust me and all true AMERICANS everywhere. AMERICA is the greatest most free country in the world and you are lucky to live here. You might as well have bombed us yourself if you don't want to support AMERICA."

Sir, you have convinced me to turn my back on my liberal, free-thinking, brainwashed ways. You have shown me the light. You have shown me an incredible ignorance of spelling, grammar, and punctuation. But that's the AMERICAN way! Yay public schools!

So, as of today, I am renouncing anything French. But the "freedom" thing is so done. It's old news. So instead of "freedom," I will be using the phrase "liberté." JUST KIDDING. That's French for "freedom" and would be like a kick in the vag to AMERICA. Are we far enough removed from our hostilities with Japan that I could use the word "ninja"? Because that would be pretty sweet. Or "douche" could be fun. But probably the best way to support AMERICA would be to use "Bush." As in our great leader, not the plant or the pubes.

Bush braid
Bush kiss
Bush toast
Bush bread
Bush vanilla ice cream
Bush twist
Bush maid
Cheese Bushie
Bush dressing
Bush horn
Pardon my Bush [heh]
Bush poodle
Bush manicure
Bush doors

Also, sir, let me know when you're going to tear down the Statue of Liberty. Because you know that's from the French, right?

In Which AMG Is Placed on the "No-Fly" List.

2007-02-19T15:56:00.000-08:00

Do you want the terrorists to win*? DO YOU, PUNK?

Because I do.****

I am fairly sure I got this score because of the way I answered "Did you start calling French fries 'freedom fries?". Which was "No, that's retarded."

My bad.

Obviously I hate America.

* Is this a joke?**

**I really hope this is a joke.***

***I saw this quiz when perusing stories about the Amanda Marcotte/John Edwards campaign debacle. One of the people who had commented on the story linked to his blog, where he proudly displayed his patriotic score of 0%:

****PLEASE BE AWARE THAT AMG IN NO WAY ACTUALLY WANTS THE TERRORISTS TO WIN. NOR DID SHE CELEBRATE WHEN 9/11 OCCURRED. IN FACT, SHE CRIED HARD AND CRIED OFTEN ON THAT DAY. SHE STAUNCHLY SUPPORTS OUR TROOPS, THOUGH SHE DOES NOT SUPPORT THE CURRENT ADMINISTRATION. SHE DOES NOT BELIEVE SHE IS A LOST CAUSE, NOR DOES SHE BELIEVE THAT "FREE THOUGHT" AND "BRAINWASHED" CAN LOGICALLY BE USED IN THE SAME SENTENCE.

Ladies, All I'm Saying Is He Knows How to Use His Fingers. IfyouknowwhatImean. And I Think You Do.

2007-02-17T22:11:00.000-08:00

Ever know a guy for years, only to one day discover hidden talents that you had no idea existed?

Well, I had NO idea that Scott was a guitar god. A GUITAR HERO* GOD. Seriously, in the first ten minutes of playing, he was getting five stars and 100,000 points on medium level regularly**. Watching him breeze through riffs that had taken me weeks to master made me lose all will to ever play the game again, specifically in front of anyone with ears. Deaf people would be okay, maybe. Deaf and blind people for sure. And maybe infants and rabbits. But don't worry, that won't stop me from playing - even JAMMING - in private. If all my fingers were sliced off in a freak typing*** accident, I would still play with my toes. Actually, with my clumsy fingers and distinct inability to reach the fifth button, I might be better off playing with my toes.

The dude sat down and beat the game on medium level in one straight shot before he got up again. In less than two hours (after messing around in Quick Play mode for an hour). It took me two hours to figure out how to turn the game ON. (Just kidding. It only took 45 minutes.)

And I also want to say ON RECORD that Scott doubted the amazing awesomeness of Guitar Hero when I first suggested we play it. And when he was going through training, he doubted again. And when someone asked him a question during the second song, his eyes glazed over and he responded, "I can't talk now. I'm ROCKING.****"

* If you haven't played this yet, make new friends with someone who has it. Even if you actually hate them and they smell bad, it's totally worth it. EVEN IF THEY'RE UGLY.

**To be fair, he does play the guitar quite well in real life, so he might have a slight advantage over us no-musical folks who took weeks just to master the easy level. Like me.

*** I first wrote "masturbation" instead of "typing" here, but edited it because a) I'm Catholic and that's not something Catholics do, and b) sometimes my parents read this and I think they would appreciate not not having that visual. Hopefully this type is too small for them to read. Hi mom!

**** With his band Fuckass.

In Other News, I am the Father of Anna Nicole's Baby.

2007-02-16T12:02:00.000-08:00

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Shit on a stick. Shit crackers.

Gah.

A few days ago, it was slick out, and I slid into the person in front of me at a stop light. We got out, appraised the damage, and mutually decided that there wasn't much, if anything. The bumper of his car had a small white scrape across the back of it, and it looked like snow and salt from my car had transferred to his - I rubbed it a little, and it seemed to be coming off nicely. No cracks, no dents, no bumpers falling off. We exchanged contact information "just in case" (and I quote him there). A few days pass, and it completely falls from my mind since minor accidents like that are super common in slick weather, and I hadn't heard from him, and besides, we both agreed that it didn't look like there was any damage.

Except then today he called* and he wants $515 for a new bumper**. Do I just want to pay it or would I like him to go through my insurance? Would I like to pay him an arm or a leg? Would I like him to fuck me up the ass with our without lube?

Fucking snow.

*I googled his number when he called, and dude owns a law firm. Just sayin'.

**I know this is about right for a new bumper, but seriously? A whole new bumper for one small scrape?

A Valentine's Day Classic, Revisited

2007-02-14T08:52:00.000-08:00

Field Guide to Valentine's Day

Also...worst Valentine's Day card ever? You probably should not even click on that link, because if you view it and even snicker a little, you will immediately be swallowed up by the flames of hell. I already can feel the fire lapping at my feet for just posting it, it's that wrong. The person who sent it to me? Satan himself came and took them away. I can't even imagine the fate that befell the person who originally drew it.

Yes, I am HARD CORE.

2007-02-13T10:36:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, I went to jail.

And I readily - even proudly - admit to it. It's especially amusing when someone starts boasting about being in jail and how the food wasn't so bad, and I can casually respond, "I don't know, I think the food sucked!" And when they don't believe me, I whip off my shirt and show them my prison tattoos as proof.

It was a balmy summer afternoon in 2003, and I was on my lunch break from work when I got pulled over for having expired tags. Tags which had expired...THAT MORNING. Thankfully, the officer told me she would let me off with a fix-it ticket, just as soon as she ran my plates to make sure I didn't have any outstanding warrants. We both chuckled heartily because me? Outstanding warrants? I would imagine someone with outstanding warrants leads a far more interesting life than I do.

However, she came back to my car a few minutes later with a grim expression and told me that she was going to have to take me to jail, on account of...an outstanding warrant. My clever reply was, "Don't you think if I did something to deserve a warrant out for my arrest I would remember it?" She asked if I had any unpaid tickets and I suddenly remembered my speeding ticket from a while ago. But it was a $35* ticket, and surely they don't send people to jail for that, do they? Turns out, they do! Happily! She had me get out of the car and lean against it spread eagle while she patted me down. Then she cuffed me. With handcuffs. Around my wrists. And did I mention that this was just a few blocks from my work on one of the busiest streets around, so hundreds of people driving by are witnessing this?

She kindly let me sit in the front of the car with her. That was nice because if you see someone in the front of a cop car you don't automatically think LOW-DOWN WORTHLESS CRIMINAL SCUM like you do if you see someone in the back. By the time we get to the jail, I was laughing at the pure silliness of the situation and was in good spirits.

They checked me in, and luckily I happened to have enough cash in my purse to cover the ticket so someone ran next door to the courthouse to pay it. They assured me that doing that would mean I'd be free! In no time! I joked with the prison officials, and after they took my picture, I asked if I could get a copy - or better yet, take a picture in an orange jumpsuit. Unfortunately, the jumpsuits were only for people who were being processed to spend the night, and I was getting out! Any minute! Again with the reminder that I would be leaving jail very soon!

They put me in a holding cell - a small, cement, L-shaped room with stained cement benches lining both walls, a phone at one end, and a toilet tucked into the foot of the "L". The room reeked of urine and sweat, and there were ten or so other ladies packed in there. I use the word "ladies" very loosely there, because the one on the phone wearing (I'm not kidding) a red evening dress? I'm pretty sure "she" was a he.

Apparently I was WAY overdressed for the occasion of being put in jail in my skirt, heels, and white button-down blouse. I looked so out of place that the women immediately latched onto me and started questioning me about what I had done. After I admitted to not paying a speeding ticket, and such a small one at that, the women in the room took up my cause and loudly proclaimed to the guards outside that I should be let out, and that this was a travesty, and advising me that I should call my lawyer.

Which reminded me I actually should probably call someone - work or the boyfriend, at least - and tell them where I was. Only problem was, the phone was being hogged by the cross dresser. I tried several times to use it, only to be rebuffed in with a gentle, "Bitch, don't you DARE try to take this mutha-fucking phone away from me, I am talking to my goddamn son of a bitch lawyer who charges me a dime for every mutha-fucking minute on the phone, and there is no way your little cunt ass is cutting in on me!" I asked the guards if there was another phone, but they just pointed me back to the phone in our cell. I wasn't quite comfortable tattling on the cross-dresser, mainly because I wanted to leave jail with my entrails still safely tucked inside my body.

I'd been in the cell a few hours, still laughing and joking with the guards and other inmates, when someone came by and told me that my paperwork had been done for a while, but that the NCIC database was down and they couldn't release me until they had checked for out-of-state warrants. I would have argued that I was pretty sure I didn't have any, but then again I didn't think I had any IN-state ones, and look where that got me!

He also informed me that they stopped processing at 8PM and if I was still there at that time, I'd be staying the night. Oh, and since it was Friday, make that the whole the weekend too. At that moment I burst into tears. I was cold and hungry and frustrated and scared. My crying caused the ladies around me to renew their campaign for my release, and they started alternately trying to comfort me and threatening the guards with bodily harm.

Finally, the computer came back up and they were able to clear my name. They still had some paperwork for me to sign, so they sat me in an interview room and went to get it. No surprise this took another hour or so, and while I was waiting I was treated to a brown-bag jailhouse dinner of a smooshed PB&J, apple, and warm milk. Yum! Once I had signed the release forms, they let me out. Only no one knew where I was. I had no car, no cell phone (it had died) and no money (I had used it all to pay my ticket). I was across town from home in a not-so-great area. Despite that, though, I was in a great mood. I had just been released! From jail! I think I started giggling to myself in the middle of the street.

I started walking up the street and finally saw a cab (it's actually rare that cabs are driving around like that in this area, so that was a huge bonus). He let me use his cell phone, and I made two calls: one to work, and one to AMBF. I was expecting worry and panic. Instead, I got this:

Me: "Hello, work? It's me...were you wondering where I was?"
Work: "Oh, no, we got slow so we gave out downtime. We just assumed you took it and went home early."
Me: "What? No, no! I was in jail!"
Work: "Oh..."

Me: "Hey! AMBF! It's me! I'm okay!"
AMBF: "Um...why wouldn't you be?"
Me: "What? Weren't you wondering where I was all day?"
AMBF: "No....aren't you at work? Haven't you been there all day?"
Me: "No! I was in jail! You mean, you haven't been worried about me??"
AMBF: "Um....no.....sorry?"

No one even knew I was gone - it's all that transvestite's fault for not letting me make calls! Next time I go to jail I'll make damn sure everyone knows I'm there so they can worry about me. And I always wonder how much it cost the city to arrest me and keep me in jail for nine hours and feed me, all to reap $35*?

I don't regret it at, though - I won't even tell you how many games of "I Never" I've lasted through with the "I've been in jail" card. But? It's a lot.

*Okay, $70 with court costs. But $35 sounds better in this case.

Not To Mention I Always Wanted Her Hair....

2007-02-09T12:27:00.000-08:00

I recently re-discovered an old favorite movie, a staple throughout my childhood, in the form of a two-disc special edition DVD.

But something disturbed me this time around. Ariel got married at 16?*

No wonder I feel like an old maid at the ripe old age of 26, Disney.

And how old was Eric, anyway? I'm not sure what the statutory rape laws are under the sea, but he had to be cutting it pretty close.

*Where was the moral uproar and public outrage? Were there no protests and boycotts over the fact that Disney was condoning underage wedlock? Do we have lesser standards for our mermaid sisters than we do our own two-legged daughters?

**For the record, and perhaps some public embarrassment, the combination of this movie and the movie Splash had me utterly convinced for quite a while that I was, without a doubt, a mermaid. I poured salt in my bathtub a la Madison, and when that didn't work to give me fins I reasoned that DUH, it was just a movie where that worked and obviously you had to be in the real ocean to switch. So on my first trip to the coast I kissed my mom goodbye and told her I was going to go live with my real family, my mermaid family, and ran into the water. The fact that nothing happened is a disappointment I'm still coming to terms with.

I Don't Remember Learning This in Catholic School...

2007-02-05T14:11:00.000-08:00

(Credit: Jessica Hagy*)

* View my other favorites here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, or really you should just go read her entire archives already because if I keep this up the list will be eight miles long.

** Okay, just a few more here, here, here, here, and here.

***And here.

Mortifying Family Moments, Number 203

2007-01-30T13:28:00.000-08:00

(After AMBF* helped me carry something up the stairs at his mom's house.)

Me: Thanks, babe!
His mom: That was sweet...but why does she get help and not me?
His little sister: Duh, mom. He's sleeping with her!
Me: [..............]
His mom: [..............]
His little sister: Well, he is!

*That would be "Anonymous Midwest Boyfriend" for any newbies.

You know what's fun?

2007-01-25T11:29:00.000-08:00

My new Nintendo Wii.*

Let me say, it is just as much fun as those commercials lead you to believe. In fact, I think it may be the most fun you can possibly have with your clothes on.

Of course, I have not yet tried naked Wii-ing, so it very well may prove to be the most fun you can have WITHOUT your clothes as well. Although I wouldn't recommend it for males. Your little bits would be swinging around and flailing about and I have a feeling you'd only end up hurt.

*For you hardcore gamers saying to yourself, "Tsk, tsk. A Wii? You realize they completely sacrificed graphic quality in order to bring you that little Nunchuck, right? And it doesn't even play Blu-ray?" Yes, we also have a PS3. And I have a PSP. But with the new Wii and my Nintendo DS, which I carry with me at all times and play a ridiculous amount, I am a Nintendo girl at heart.

** Oh, yeah, and my eye surgery went great. I'll post more about that soon. Maybe. And also maybe about being possibly blacklisted by local dog walkers.

In Which AMG Goes Blind and is Thankfully Relieved of Her Blogging Duties (Which She's Pretty Much Already Relieved Herself Of Anyway)

2007-01-15T14:00:00.000-08:00

Although my blogging the last six or so months has been sporadic (speaking of sporadic, did anyone else watch "Clueless" yesterday?) at best, it doesn't mean that I haven't been composing posts. Wonderful, intelligent, and witty posts. Unfortunately all this composing has taken place in my head, and when I sit at a computer my thoughts don't translate well into words. Actually I can't say that for sure because generally when I sit at a computer I read everyone else's blogs and surf gossip sites and update my Photobucket account and see if anyone new has left me a comment on my MySpace page, and don't do so much with the opening of Blogger and writing my own posts.

Things I've considered writing about but haven't include:

-Monster truck rallies, my attendance of*
-Turtles, my acquierence** of
-Friends, the discovery of a long lost one
-Girl crushes, the re-emergence of an old one
-New Year's, celebrations involving
-New Year's resolutions, my lack of
-Dogs, how mine is preparing me for motherhood by keeping me awake all night
-Concession stand food, my great love of, including funnel cakes, soft pretzels, and Dippin' Dots.

You can obviously see the great post possibilities that lie within that list. In fact, if you're struggling for a topic, feel free to borrow one.

However, tomorrow I am undergoing surgery and may VERY WELL COME OUT BLIND. Okay, the chances of that are perhaps closer to "one in a billion" than "VERY WELL," but it was on the list of possible side effects. And it's not Lasik. Lasik, of course, being the much cheaper, easier, proven, and faster healing method. I am not a candidate for Lasik, because my eyeballs? They have no corneas. Or something like that.***

Rather I am doing the more expensive, more difficult, more beta-version, more invasive procedure. On the plus side, I am knocked out. Whereas with Lasik all you get is a Valium. Although from what I've heard of Valium it may be worth going through Lasik just to get one.

So tomorrow I am getting contacts implanted in my eyes. (GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION WARNING WHICH IS REALLY NOT ALL THAT GRAPHIC BUT SOME PEOPLE APPARENTLY ARE SQUEAMISH ABOUT THINGS LIKE THIS) The surgeon will make a 3mm incision in my eye, then will insert a rolled up lens between the pupil and the cornea, where it will unfurl and presto! correct my vision. Usually no stitches are needed. That part worries me because what if stitches are needed and I have to have stitches in my EYEBALL? Your eyeball doesn't seem like a part of your body that would take stitches very well, and plus, it's stitches in your eyeball. Your eyeball. With stitches. That just seems a tad uncomfortable.

If all goes well, I should be seeing fine within a few hours and back to my normal activities in two or three days (for the purposes of work, let's call it three days).

In preparation for the surgery, I had to get something done called a YAG iridotomy, which I not only spelled right on my first try, but is also a fancy way of saying "drilling holes in your eyes with lasers." See, the lens implants block the natural valves in your eyes that regulate pressure between the back and front of your eye. So to counteract that, they make NEW holes in your eyes. With lasers! And although they are just making two new holes in each eyes, they have to drill your eye approximately thirty times! Each! Only I did not know that! And was expecting just a "Zap, Zap!" And that's not what happened! And if you're just expecting two "Zap, Zaps" and are holding your breath waiting for it to be over, and you start to relax after the second one because you believe it to be done, only to have it continue for what seems like a millennium, each succeeding "Zap!" hurts to an exponential power! So that by the time they are done with the first eye you are ready to vomit or pass out or both (hopefully in that order)! It's fun! In their defense, I guess I never really ASKED about the specifics of the procedure, just assumed that it would be two shots. And we all know what assuming does. That's right. It makes a donkey out of me and you. Or something like that.

*To get the full effect of this list one must read every comma as the word comma, not just a pause. Therefore you'd say "Monster truck rallies (pause) comma (pause) my attendance of." See how much funnier it is that way?

**Apparently not an actual form of the word acquire. But it should be. So I'm leaving it.

***Or something like that = in order to have healthy eyes, your corneas must be at least 250 microns thick. After Lasik, mine would be 280 microns thick. Which means that there would be virtually no room for them to go back and make any adjustments, and if my eyes got worse I would be back to glasses or contacts since they couldn't do another Lasik procedure. Versus ICL, which is fully reversible and I can still do Lasik later if they perfect it even more.

Can You Spell Bitter? B-I-T-T-E-R.

2006-12-21T17:46:00.000-08:00

Perhaps the funniest videos I've seen today. The night is still young, so I'm leaving open the possibility that something funnier will come along open, but I doubt it.

Two Eyes, Four Eyes, Six Eyes, a Dollar!

2006-12-15T10:31:00.000-08:00

So I've kind of put myself in a self-imposed exile this week (did I really need to specify that it was "self-imposed" since I clearly said I put myself in it? Hence it was obviously self-imposed? Probably not, but that's just me, good ole' redundant AMG). Why? Not because of any contagious sickness or hideous deformity or because I'm taking time to find myself, but because I have to wear my glasses all week since I'm getting my eyes mapped in preparation for either Lasik or ICL. Which sucks when there is a perfectly good pair of contact lenses sitting on my sink.

At least it sucks for me, because wearing my glasses immediately takes me back to the time between sixth grade and ninth grade when I cried myself to sleep almost every night. To the time when I had giant purple plastic glasses with inch-thick frames, the biggest overbite this side of modern dentistry complete with snaggletooth, a short haircut that could possibly be considered "in" now by some emo boy but looked awful on me, giant dimples that only served to highlight my huge cheeks, and a body that was not only somewhere on the curve scale between a two-by-four and a surfboard but was also a foot taller than everyone else in my grade, including the boys. And sometimes the teacher.

I tried to fit in...oh, did I try. I went to a small school, with under 50 kids in the entire grade, and I was good friends with most of them up until about sixth grade, when looks suddenly started to matter and the tiny blonde girls with straight teeth and emerging boobs rocketed to the top of the popularity scale. This was driven into sudden, sharp, and heartbreaking focus when I was invited to the birthday party of a girl who had previously been one of my closest friends, only to be told that it would be better if I didn't go, since her mother made her invite me. As I felt my grasp on my life-long friends slipping away, I tried to buy them back with gifts of hand-decorated barrettes and pencil toppers and drawings (my sketches of Lisa Frank unicorns had always been insanely popular), which only developed into fodder for the snubbings. I developed an insane crush on a boy, which the entire class knew about, and it served only to massively embarrass both me and him. My lack of an Adidas winter coat (the solid color one with two stripes down the arms) and that brand of gym shorts everyone had, the name of which I can't remember now but I think it started with a "U", cemented my place in the lowest echelon of students, above only Laura G. and Jacob C., two extremely bright kids with the unfortunate pairing of horrendous acne and a complete lack of social skills. Either because of or in spite of the fact that it was a Catholic school, the teasing was vicious and cruel, and I can even now, fourteen years later, call out the worst offenders by name. I had three girlfriends who served as confidants, but their constant bickering about who was better friends with whom meant I never grew exceptionally close to any of them.

Up until sixth grade, my status as a teacher's child had protected me from the worst of it and had given me a sort of celebrity status among the children, since I was given unprecedented access into the private lives of the teachers and grew up knowing their first names - and sometimes (gasp!) even visited their homes (shocking since common theory held that the teachers all lived at school). That protective wall crumbled around me at the beginning of sixth grade, and it never fully recovered, even to this day. However, the start of high school offered welcome relief, as I went to an all-girls school where the worst of the boys couldn't go and the worst of the girls didn't follow. I got braces for my teeth and the snaggletooth pulled. I learned that girls can be vicious and cruel, for sure, but that when you take boys out of the equation, the playing field levels out - with most of the students receiving first honors and the top students racing for valedictorian with A+ GPAs that tied stretching into the fifth or sixth digit, brains began to outrank beauty for importance.

Sophomore year I blossomed, as my hair had grown out, I lost the braces, got contacts, grew into my cheeks and dimples, developed hips and boobs, and perhaps most importantly had close, true friends. It was still difficult, as the emotional trauma of the last few years had left me completely raw and lacking confidence, but I can point to that year as the year I began to grow into myself and thought for the first time ever that maybe I could grow up to be pretty.

An abusive boyfriend my senior year through my first two years of college knocked me flat on my ass both physically and emotionally, and the growth I had experienced through then regressed a bit. However, that experience never matched the pain of grade school, which may explain my blasé and cursory attitude towards both him and the situation.

Five years later, I'm happier and more confident than ever - except when I put on my glasses and remember how I couldn't wear sunglasses OR play "Heads Up, Seven Up" without them smooshing my face, which is a grievous injustice for an eight-year-old.

Speaking of "Heads Up, Seven Up"...I feel like a game. Anyone in?

Merry Christmas to All, and to All a Broken Eardrum.

2006-12-06T11:08:00.000-08:00

What, you hate me for not posting? It's okay, I hate me too. And wow, do I have stories to tell, like about the time when Riley (my dog) swallowed a three foot long string and I had to make him vomit it up so it wouldn't tangle up his intestines and kill him and he was barfing everywhere and it was so gross I almost puked too, but it worked in the end and yes, I just used three different words to describe the act of forcing your stomach contents to exit through your mouth. Yay for visuals!

In that spirit, let me wish you all a very merry Christmas. And all that jazz. And the thing about the little gift I'm giving you below (courtesy of The Sneeze) is that you have to let it play all the way through. Promise me you will.

_{(or download an mp3 version.)}

** Now available with 100% more zombies!

Fun at Walgreens. Of Course, When is Walgreen's NOT Fun?

2006-11-06T13:58:00.000-08:00

In the checkout line at Walgreens:

NAK: You know what would be fun? Taking this [pointing at Ex-lax, a stool softener] and this [pointing at Fibercon, a stool hardner] at the same time and see which one wins.
Me: You should totally do that. With photographic documentation. It could be a photo finish!
NAK: We should make Ex-lax/Fibercon cookies for the next food day and watch the hilarity ensue.
Me: Or not ensue, depending on which one wins.
NAK: Department outing to the bathroom! It'd be a team-building exercise!
Me: They keep saying they want us to get to know each other better. What could be more personal than a poop-off?

Things That Didn't Come Out Quite as Intended Part 1

2006-10-31T09:18:00.000-08:00

Me: Scott! Do you want to come over tonight? AMBF is out of town so I need your massive manhood to protect me from all the candy-grubbing little trick or treaters who get mad when I don't give them candy for their little sister who is at home sick!
Scott: (silence)
Me: Hello?
Scott: You need my what?
Me: Your massi.....um, er. That's not what I meant!
Scott: Because if that's what you want, I'm on my way over now.

Most Poetic Spam Email Ever?

2006-10-25T07:50:00.000-07:00

(It helps to imagine this being read aloud in a darkened hipster coffeehouse, a la Charlie McKenzie...."Woman! Woe-man! Whooooa-man! She was a thief, you gotta believe, she stole my heart and my cat!")

To: XXXXXXX@yahoo.com
From: xghlysas@sbcglobal123.com
Subject: Must read! Important!
A vacuum cleaner brainwashes a stovepipe near a particle accelerator, because the insurance agent is a big fan of the vacuum cleaner beyond a vacuum cleaner. An anomaly brainwashes a feline nation. A Eurasian avocado pit satiates the diskette of the line dancer. Furthermore, a cargo bay inside a grand piano feels nagging remorse, and a turkey around a bottle of beer operates a small fruit stand with an umbrella for a globule. When you see a cosmopolitan cowboy, it means that the diskette earns frequent flier miles.

A Eurasian avocado pit satiates the diskette of the line dancer? A cargo bay inside a grand piano feels nagging remorse? Poetry in motion, my friends. This is no less than the work of the T.S. Eliot, the Walt Whitman of spam.

And I was commanded to write about how awesome movie night is going to be tonight. So be warned: the level of awesomeness experienced by those attending tonight's movie night is to exceed the awesomeness of any other themed night ever experienced by anyone in the history of themed nights.

Life Could Only Get Better If I Woke Up This Morning and Looked Like Adriana Lima.

2006-09-28T14:29:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure yesterday was the best day ever. Because I got a new laptop! It's so purdy! And fast! And even though it's only 12.1", it feels huge to me because my old one (AKA SlowCrackedBrokeAss) was only 11". That extra inch can make all the difference in the world, ifyouknowwhati'msayin'. And what I'm saying is, I don't need my glasses with the new one.

But as awesome as the new laptop was, what really made the day great was the ten pounds of meat I received. I love meat. I love especially 10 filet mignons, 20 gourmet burgers, and an assortment of steak skewers, pork chops, sirloins, chicken breasts, and other dead animal body parts I can't even name. And not just did I get a literal ton of meat, I got a literal ton of meat from the best meat store in the whole world, the super duper famous Omaha Steaks. Ah, meat. Meat meat meat. I will so be grilling my ass off in the coming weeks. And you all (the one person who is left reading this) are welcome to come over for some famous AMBF-prepared steaks.

P.S. As I was typing this, I burped the most noxious burp ever, derived from a lethal combination of deviled eggs, meatballs, crab salad, potato salad, SunChips, and apple crisp. Yes, folks, it was potluck food day at work today.

MC Pee Pants, Anyone? Sir Loin? Little Brittle? Hesh Hipplewhite? Anyone? Anyone?

2006-09-20T09:53:00.000-07:00

Sunday night I saw what was indubitably the greatest concert in the history of the world. Original Woodstock? Like a five year old's first piano concert compared to this.

Who was this sultan of smack, this lyrical lyricist, this musical mystic?

It was MC Chris, bitches. MC Chris of Aqua Teen Hunger Force and MC Pee Pants fame. Holla!

He's like a little 3/4 scale person.

My autographed CD. Note the heart. I think he wants to marry me.

Here are two videos from the show. The first is a video of him preforming one of his songs. The second is a segue he did between songs. Terrible video, but funny, funny stuff.

MC Chris Video 1

MC Chris Video 2

Why I Love My Dog

2006-08-30T20:31:00.000-07:00

He does shit like this to crack me up...

(Not to mention his excellent choice in cereals...)

No, I Wasn't Dead. I Was Just in Canada.

2006-08-28T11:55:00.000-07:00

Which is maybe close to the same thing. Except, I really loved Toronto. So now I feel bad for all the Canada bashing, eh?

Toronto is cool like this.

Which is a trio of guys walking down the street wearing old school Vans, old school Adidas, some kind of cool velcro-instead-of-laces shoe (which you can't really see well, but they are the red and white ones in the front), cuffed jeans, skinny jeans, and a bracelet. So to recap, we have a) a trio of guys, b) walking, c) in three pairs of cool shoes, d) wearing two instances of cool jeans, and e) a bracelet. That's too much coolness for me to handle and I nearly died there on the sidewalk.

Toronto is also cool like this and this and this.

Other things I liked about Toronto: all the bikers (as in cyclists, not motors), all the dogs, all the little boutique shops. The kind of hippy dippy liberal vibe. Lots of yummy little restaurants. Going to see Second City. The Asian guys with Canadian accents. The Hard Rock Cafe overlooking the Skydome. Hockey! And the guy whose fingers are pictured below.

This guy sitting on a bike, obviously homeless, stopped me and asked me if I could spare a smile. Right, exactly - I was expecting him to ask for money, and he asked for a smile. So I did a double-take and laughed, but then...ah, ye gods, I was caught in a half hour conversation with him and now way to escape. He showed me this little picture he drew and was very proud of it and asked me to take a picture of it. But it was really very sweet and hard to resist, all, "You can take a picture of it if you want; I don't mind!" He also asked me to take a picture of this.

He had a long story to go with this (he had a long story to go with everything), but mostly he was awed by the two tiny die floating in the handle. He made sure to position it for the picture with the die adding up to seven because that's lucky.

I really, really hate to say this...it goes against everything I know and every grain of my body....but I wouldn't mind living in Toronto. Oh, shit. I totally forgot. The place has NO pop selection at all. I could not find anything but Coke or Pepsi or some knock off of Mountain Dew. And I had a minor catastrophe when we were trying to take a taxi somewhere and were out of Canadian dollars, and BOTH freaking ATM machines within walking distance took Interac and Mastercard only. NOT VISA. I was in Montecatini Treme, a tiny non-touristy town in freaking Italy a gazillion miles away, and their ATMs took Visa. But Toronto - a hop, skip, and a jump away from New York - doesn't. So maybe I won't move there. Bastards. (Okay, that's kind of not fair because we later found about fifty that did...but the two that were there when we needed them most didn't. So they're still bastards.)

She Went Ahead and Married Him Despite the Scratches on His Back from the Stripper.

2006-08-08T09:16:00.000-07:00

So the wedding of the groom from the previous post's bachelor party got married on Saturday. The day after the party, she came to our house with a basket full of cookies - chocolate chip, even! - as a thanks for hosting the party. Apparently, he came home with a bloody shirt, gouges on his back, and no boxers. And she brought cookies to thank us for that. Now THAT'S a keeper!

The wedding was very nice and the bride looked gorgeous and the groom was handsome and the wedding video showed the customary cute baby pictures and awkward teen moments. The beer and wine flowed freely and all was going well.

Until...

The bouquet toss.

Understand that this is one of the first guys from AMBF's circle of friends to fall from bachelorhood. So we're essentially a bunch of singletons in marriage terms, although a few of the couples have been dating for even longer than AMBF and I have been. The rest of the wedding attendees were old relatives that were already married. So there were maybe eight of us unmarried girls, most with long-term boyfriends, who were eligible to go catch the bouquet. Oh, and the four-year-old flower girl. Her too.

As commitment-phobe as most of the guys in the group are, none of the girls wanted to go up and catch the flowers and put that pressure on their boyfriend, or perhaps more importantly, put their boyfriend in prime position for teasing from the guys whose girlfriends didn't catch the flowers.

As the DJ called us out, we all caught eyes across the room and shook our heads in subtle "NO FREAKING WAY AM I GOING UP THERE" cues. That is, until we looked at the empty floor and the poor forlorn bride there by herself. So we sighed, gathered together, and went up, making sure to stay well back from the bride.

She threw!

And the bouquet flew over our heads by maybe five feet. We all just turned and watched it fell. I felt horrible for the bride. After what seemed like eternity but was probably just a few seconds, I picked up the bouquet and tried to give it to the flower girl, who was the only one in the audience who didn't have a boyfriend using all his energy to send "DO NOT CATCH THAT THING" mental thoughts our way.

"Oh, I already have flowers," she said. "You keep them!" What a sweetheart. Right. I tried again. "No, these are different flowers. They're pretty! You should keep them!" Fervently thinking, "Bitch, take the damn flowers so none of us have to accept responsibility!" But she politely declined again. Maybe she realized that the ring bearer had been paying particular attention to her during the dancing and didn't want to put pressure on him to take their relationship to the next level. In their case, kindergarten.

The photographer was desperately looking for someone, anyone to take the flowers so he could get the "bride with the catcher of her bouquet!" photos, and when I turned around from talking to the flower girl, all the other girls had left me. So I was standing there with the flowers and no one to pass them off to. Sigh. I smiled, took the pictures, and bolted back to the table where I tried in vain to head off all the comments I knew AMBF was already getting. "I didn't catch it!" I cried to his friends. "I picked it up! It doesn't count! I tried to give them away! It doesn't mean anything!"

Yeah, it didn't work. Poor AMBF. Thankfully the attention was temporarily taken off him when one of their friends elbowed an eight-year-old boy out of the way to catch the garter.

Ah, weddings.

A Post Not for Those Under the Age of 18, Either Physically or Mentally

2006-07-31T09:17:00.000-07:00

Last night it was 99 degrees at 10:00 at night.

What I want to know is, who pissed off God? It wasn't me.

Actually, it might have been me. Does God get mad if you buy Hustler magazine?

Wait, it wasn't for me! I swear!

Saturday evening a bachelor party was hosted at my house. The actual host himself was neither AMBF nor our roommate, but a good friend (who we'll call Flounder, because that's what everyone calls him) currently living in Texas, therefore needing to borrow our place of residence for the night of - I hope - extreme debauchery. The plan was for everyone to meet at our place, play poker, then move to the strip club.

AMBF and Roomie both had golf Saturday morning, so it was up to me and Flounder's girlfriend (as of 11:30 last night, fiancee! Congratulations, guys!) to help Flounder get ready for the party. The first thing we did was make 90 Everclear jello shots. I didn't have one, but I heard they were pretty noxious. Then we went shopping for liquor and decorations. That is, if a life-size Fatty Patty blow-up doll (with "large hanging breasts"! And a "plump juicy anus!") counts as a decoration. Which in my mind it totally does. We also got him a crown with 3D boobies on it and the classic ball-and-chain to wear around his ankle. For ambiance we picked up a Hustler magazine that came with a free DVD, and, of course, XXX playing cards for the poker game. Flounder dropped me and his girlfriend (now fiancee!) back off at my house so we could set up while he took the groom-to-be out for dinner. We laid out the food, started the porn, and blew up Fatty Patty. The party was supposed to start at 6:30. However, by six, neither Flounder nor AMBF nor Roomie were home, and the guests had already started to arrive (who gets to a bachelor party a half hour early??). So the early arrivers were a little confused to find the only people at the bachelor party were two girlfriends reading Hustler and watching "Extreme Office Sex 4". Eventually, though, Flounder returned and we were forced to leave and miss the rest of the fun. Somehow I think our night of playing Catch Phrase with the girls didn't quite match up to the level of fun that was experienced by the bachelor party attendees, though...particularly when, the next morning, I saw a note that said this:

AMG, AMBF, and Roomie:

Thanks for hosting this. Last night I saw God between a black stripper's butt cheeks. It was beautiful.

Love,
Groom-to-Be

The Three Steps to Living a Fulfilled Life

2006-07-20T10:32:00.000-07:00

1. Buy Lemmings for PSP (important note: buy PSP first if not already owned). That's right, mother effing Lemmings, i.e. the best computer game ever made, i.e. the occupation to which many childhood hours were lost, i.e. the game I always wished would come back.

2. Sit with a favorite snack food.

3. Play Lemmings for hours and hours and hours. Repeat as necessary.

Also important in life fulfillment: seeing a big-haired, heavy metal 80s band before you die. I am not an Anthrax fan, but they were fun and they put on a hell of a show. And had very large hair. Sad fact? I totally recognized the guitarist, Scott Ian, from his many appearances on VH1's "I Love the 70s/80s/90s" specials.

Rob Zombie? Holy cow, hands down one of the best shows I've ever been too. There were the expected boobies (actually more goth chick than old lady) (also present in animated form on his accompanying video screen) (also present in 60s go-go dancer form on his accompanying video screen) (also present in bad horror flick victim form on his accompanying video screen), but beyond that, he really engaged the crowd and his intra-band chatter was hilarious. His intelligence just radiates off him - whether you liked "Devil's Rejects" or not, the director's commentary was brilliant. I would like to have a (closely supervised by a third party) beer with him. Side note: I couldn't link to Rob Zombie's website from work due to "tasteless, gross" content. Heh.

And to complete the completely unrelated topic trifecta, and to humor those other dog lovers, and to piss of those who are scared of this becoming a puppy blog, here are some recent pics of Riley:

Oh, and P.S. I really hated Malan the first episode of Project Runway and couldn't wait to see him gone, but I didn't hate him as much this episode and his exit interview totally broke my heart. Boo.

Uneventful? I Spoke (Well, Wrote) Too Soon!

2006-07-07T17:16:00.000-07:00

There has been a death in the AMG household.

Not just a death.

But....a murder. Duh duh duhhhhhhh.

Don't worry. The offender has been apprehended and dealt with severely. Meaning laughing and lots of playing catch with the head of the victim.

On another note, while performing the autopsy of the dead, I found this tag. Keep in mind this toy was bought at a pet store with a big tag that said "PLUSH DOG TOY."

Maybe the perpetrator found out that this decoration had been masquerading as a toy and felt the need for some vigilante justice.

Dear God, Are You There? It's Me, AMG. I Need a Life!

2006-07-06T10:49:00.000-07:00

Has everyone abandoned me yet due to my lack of posts? Please come back. I've been so busy lately with work and my other work and school and obedience training (for the dog, not for me, although I am sure I could use some) and cleaning and watching Gone with the Wind (love that movie and it's been on maybe fifty times in the last week) and just lots of stuff. Nothing important, just lots of little things that have added up to no free time for AMG. To give you an idea of the busy-ness, the Fourth of July was the first time I've cracked a beer in weeks. Pretty horrific, I know.

That, plus absolutely nothing of interest has been going on. No major test taking, no having alien babies removed, no moving cross-country, no Dyke Marches, not even any cute kid stories. My life, at the moment, is completely devoid of interest. I haven't even been able to watch much TV in order to make witty commentary on the commercials. I haven't seen any movies lately, haven't been to any parties lately (except the Fourth of July party, and there were no car fires this year, and no accidental explosions, not even any food poisoning. Which, while gross, maybe would have livened up the weekend a bit). Even the dog's been good, so no overly cute dog stories. Maybe the most interesting thing that's happened in the last couple weeks is I switched from drinking Diet Mountain Dew to Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper. WOW! I know! Can you believe it??? Crazy shit, I tell you.

Sigh.

I am going to a Rob Zombie concert next Tuesday, so maybe I'll have something interesting after that. At least I'll probably get to see some white trash old lady boobies. And won't that be fun!

I Forgot to Add a Title, So Here It Is.

2006-06-24T15:03:00.000-07:00

I love traveling. Well, no. I hate flying. I hate the uncomfortable seats and the cramped legroom and the smell and the slight headache you get from the pressure. However, I do love layovers and airports. I love everything about them. I love the occasional panicked traveler running as fast as they can trying to make their flight. I love the people tucked away in random, out-of-the-way corners reading books and checking their email. I love the people trying desperately to make their backpacks into comfortable pillows so they can sleep at the gate. I love the variety of restaurants, where you can choose between a Big Mac and gourmet crabcakes. I love the million shops that sell the exact same thing every fifty feet and I love that you can find any magazine your little heart desires. I love the guys in full business suits sitting next to the teenager in a sweatsuit. I love duty-free. I love the trams and trains and shuttles that take you from one terminal to the next. Airports make me happy.

Anyway, it's a good thing I love airports so much, because otherwise my a) sitting on the runway for 45 minutes before leaving for the first leg of my flight and b) finding out the second leg of my flight was delayed three hours would have sucked. Now, I realize that three hours is not a long time, considering there are a full twenty-four of them in a day. However, when your flight is already a late flight, meaning you were originally supposed to get in at midnight, it really sucks to find out you won't even be leaving until 12:45 am.

Other than those minor debacles, the trip turned out pretty decently (oh, if you leave out the part where on two separate occasions I left first my wallet in the shuttle and then my phone in the hotel room. Both were recovered successfully.).

I had really no free time, so I didn't get to check out any of Montreal other than the offices I was visiting, but I was both intrigued and slightly disappointed to find that only one guy in the entire group had the stereotypical Canadian accent, eh? The rest had French accents. In retrospect I realize I should have expected that, but in my provincial thinking I didn't. Oh, but I did get to go to the retro 70s bar. Which was kind of kitschy and fun. I did not, however, find out what a chi-chi bar was.

Okay, Maybe "Several" Bottles of Wine Was an Overkill

2006-06-16T13:17:00.000-07:00

As we approach the end of the week, things are looking up, though I've no doubt that they will begin to slide downhill again when I meet BDG (Bad Day Guy) in Canada. The wine? It helped.

Canada, oh Canada. I have never been there before, and this trip will hardly count, since it's for just a day and a half and I will be in business meetings most of that time. Specifically, I'll be visiting Montreal, which I have heard is the home of the largest strip club in the world. Unfortunately I will not have time to partake in the age-old tradition of stuffing bills in the g-string of a lady gyrating in front of me (do ladies gyrate?). However, I have been promised a visit to - and here I quote my hostess - a "retro 70's bar with fantastic martinis," the "cutest little pub," a "nice dive bar to play pool and foosball" and finally a "nice chi chi bar." First, I am not sure I trust the judgment of someone who uses the adjective "cute" to describe a pub, or uses the words "nice" and "dive" to describe the same bar. Second, I don't know what a chi chi bar is. Is that a Canadian thing? I know chi as in the Greek letter and chi as in the life energy, and I know chi chi as in Chi Chi Rodriguez and Chi Chi LaRue, but in a bar context, I have no idea. Regardless, it looks like I will be getting smashed in a corporate-sanctioned night. Which is awesome.

Excuse the Lack of Posts While I Drown My Sorrows in Wine and Ice Cream.

2006-06-14T13:56:00.000-07:00

If one were having the worst week ever (think terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week) (for a variety reasons not to be gone into here), and one found out that next Monday one was being forced to go to Canada with the very same person who was causing at least 56% of said bad week, it would be completely appropriate for one to buy several bottles of wine and a tub of chocolate-chip-cookie-dough ice cream and finish them off all in one night, correct?

Just nod and pass the spoon.

I Would Rather Give a Virginity Award to a Whore

2006-06-08T21:04:00.000-07:00

Most sexually-innuendo-laden phrase uttered by Scott tonight: "Make sure you look closely at the box as you stick it in."

I'll Tell You What I Need, What I Really, Really Need

2006-06-06T12:17:00.000-07:00

Because Blogger has been sucking sweaty goat balls lately, you don't get the awesome, rockin' post that I spent hours composing. Instead you get this.

I stole this from someone. I don't know who. It's old. But I was bored today, obviously not while at work though, because that would be wrong. It would be wrong, wrong, wrong to be doing this at work. So I'm not. (Ahem.)

The idea is - and again, this is old, but maybe someone out there hasn't seen it yet - the idea is to put your name and "needs" into Google and see what it is you need. Usually you find out you need things that you didn't even know existed, let along needed. But really, who knows you better than Google? No one, that's right.

So, what do I need?

AMG* needs...bodyguards.
Not the news AMG needs to hear right now
AMG needs...to make an effort to bring up attendance at general meetings.
AMG needs...a 5.4L V8 to produce 360 hp.
AMG needs...to drop this attitude.
Whatever AMG needs, AMG gets.
AMG needs...you.
AMG needs...her Goldeneye. [No, I swear that came up!]
AMG needs...to speak up.
AMG needs...a guide to find Chen Lo in China.
AMG needs...no complicated configuration at the server side.
AMG needs...to use stealth just as much as combat maneuvers.
AMG needs...a cheeky smile.
AMG needs...to retire gracefully with a mug of cocoa & a tartan rug, sit in front of the fire dribbling wee into her fur-lined slippers.
AMG needs...to drop Rex's stepdad at the airport.
AMG needs...at least 50% of health to make it (even if you are poisoned by the lizards, you can still make it!).
AMG needs...to go.

* This is a mix of results using both my real name and AMG. So some of you clever readers out there might be able to easily figure out my real non-anonymous name. But be kind and don't help those pervert stalkers out there find me by saying it. Please?

Just Call Me Grace Kelly

2006-06-02T11:20:00.000-07:00

Just when you thought she couldn't possibly get any classier...

You saw her drinking champagne from a can.

I Call It the "Tom Sawyer."

2006-05-31T11:37:00.000-07:00

Have you ever tried getting someone to do something crappy for you by inserting a bunch of exclamation points into your request? Like maybe the pure enthusiasm with which you ask will cause them to overlook the extreme crappiness of the task and do it? "Oh, wow, I normally would never want to do that, but she's so excited about I can practically see the exclamation points coming out of her mouth! I must be wrong! This must be a fun thing to do! I can't believe she doesn't want to do it herself! I'd better jump on it before she changes her mind!"

Yeah, it didn't work for me either.

An Awkward Moment with the Waxer

2006-05-25T14:09:00.000-07:00

As I'm undressing the lower half of my body in preparation for the wax, I notice a new display of necklaces and earrings has been set out. I glance at it as I walk to the torture table where the waxing will commence. Ana, my 60-year-old Russian waxer, notices me looking and stops me at the display. "AMG," she crows, "aren't they beautiful?" "Um, yes, very," I respond, uncomfortably aware that I am standing clad only in a t-shirt and bra. "Here, this one will look very nice on you!" she says, taking it off the display. I glance down, confirm that I am jewelry shopping with my bunky in full display, and stammer, "Yes, it's pretty....maybe I'll look at them after we're, ahem, done." And I have underwear on, I silently add. "No, no, try it on!" she says, walking behind me to drape it over my shoulders. Again, I'm completely cognizant that my bare ass - and more - is on full display. Granted, it's just me and her in a private room, but still....it's, you know, my stuff. And it's out. After she fastens the clasp, she steers me to a full length mirror to look at it. "It's wonderful!" she exclaims. "It brings out your eyes and matches your hair!" I wonder which hair she's referring to - the stuff on my head or the stuff she's about to rip out. Needless to say, it was an effective sales pitch as I quickly agreed to buy the necklace and matching earrings if only to get on with the business at hand.

A Conversation That Would Have Been Awesome Had It Actually Occurred.

2006-05-21T21:29:00.000-07:00

After listening to John Landis talk about making the movie "Animal House" when he was only 27 years old:

Me, to Scott: "So, Scott, you're 27. Where's your 'Animal House'?"
Scott: "Oh, it's here....in my pants!"*

* How the conversation actually went:
Me, to Scott: "So, Scott, you're 27. Where's your 'Animal House'?"
Scott: "Oh, well, you know, I haven't yet had the amount of time I really need to dedicate myself to truly focusing on making..."
Me, interrupting: "You know, you totally should have just answered 'In my pants.'"

How I Imagine My Mother's Conversations with People She Hasn't Seen in a While Go

2006-05-18T09:20:00.000-07:00

"Oh, hi! So nice to see you again! Yeah, the family's great. Brother is going to be a junior this year, he's getting great grades and will be looking for his first job this summer. Youngest Sister graduated from high school this week, also with fantastic grades, and will be starting at State School next fall. She works at The Local Supermarket and keeps getting promotion after promotion! Middle Sister will be graduating from college in December, and after that will be entering LAW SCHOOL! I know, how exciting! We're very proud of her. She also works two jobs, so she's very busy.

"What? Oh, yes. We do have another daughter. Oldest Sister. [That would be me - AMG.] She...um...she's still in school. Yes, she did graduate high school in 1999. No, she's not going to be a doctor or a lawyer....no, I don't know what her problem is. No, no kids. No, she's not even married. She, um, she works. Yes. She works. We're...we're (cough) very proud of her too, of course."

Yeah, I Know. He Couldn't Possibly Get Any Cuter Unless Flowers Were Growing Out His Butt.

2006-05-11T19:33:00.001-07:00

Here's Riley trying to slaughter a pig for our dinner later that night. Good boy. We love pork!

* I promise this won't turn into a "dog blog." Unless he does something extraordinary, I'll try to keep my adoring puppy posts to a minimum.** Does looking impossibly cute count as extraordinary?

** Okay, one more quick story. You know your life has changed when you unflinchingly pull a dead decaying rabbit foot, complete with bones sticking out of it, from your dog's mouth. Now that's love.

One Damn Fine Looking Canine

2006-05-10T10:24:00.000-07:00

I would like to introduce the internet to the newest member of the Anonymous Midwest Family*...Riley! Or Samson. Dante? Or possibly, dear readers, a name that you suggest. Because that's what I'm asking for. Names. For this adorable, three-month-old mixed breed (fixed) puppy. Right now, I'm leaning towards Riley. But if you have the most awesomest, most perfect name ever, do share! Ideas are good!

**UPDATE** Riley is still a front runner. What do you guys think about Hugo? (Yes, I was was watching Lost tonight.)

*It's official! He's home with us now!

This Must Be the Plan that Tara Reid is On.

2006-05-08T09:51:00.000-07:00

I have been doing pretty good lately with the whole diet and exercise thing. Not that I'm trying to necessarily lose weight, but I am aiming to tone up and be healthier. Or, more exactly, look like Adriana Lima. Can you get a sexy pout through exercise?

So this past week, I've been doing EXCELLENT with it. That is, if by "diet and exercise" you mean drinking tons of beer, eating awesome fried bar food, and playing video games whenever not drinking. I blame Scott entirely for this, as two of the celebrations have been in his honor, and even though one other outing wasn't for him, we went with him. Monday? Play your new video game all night, rationalizing that you could work out tomorrow. Hah! Little did you know what the rest of the week would bring... Tuesday? Scott's birthday! Drink! Wednesday? Feel sick and lay in bed all day playing video games. Thursday? Go to a concert and drink! Friday? Go to a bar and drink! Saturday? Go to Scott's graduation party and drink! Do not pass go! Do not collect $200! In fact, spend $200 on the bar tab! Sunday? Okay, Sunday was actually productive and I did everything I hadn't done in the past week, like laundry and cleaning and showering, and I even managed a quick jog on the treadmill.

Best line of the night Saturday, said by the newly Doctor-ed Scott (Dr. Scott, Pharm.D.) as he was handing out drink tickets: "Here you go. It's a prescription....to get wasted." Awesome.

The Post That Will Not Be of Interest to Any Man.

2006-05-01T09:26:00.000-07:00

Last week, I made the big decision to get laser hair removal on my legs. I made this decision based on a variety of reasons, but mostly because I hate the act of shaving but also hate the feeling of unshaved legs. Yes, I set the feminist movement back about fifty years, but I am a big fan of smooth and silky. So I was sitting in the chair, getting ready to begin the process, and the PA (I don't know what that stands for, but that's what she called herself) asked if I was prepared for the pain. This was after they had used topical anesthetic and ice to numb my legs. Was I ready? Lady, I get hairs forcefully ripped out by the root with hot wax in some very delicate areas on a regular basis. Yes, I think I can handle it.*

*And I could. It didn't hardly hurt at all, really.

Someone Please Lift Me for a Keg Stand, Quick!

2006-04-21T14:38:00.000-07:00

Okay, I am getting a bit scared I may be....(gulp)....maturing. It is gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous out, and I want nothing more than to go lay out and start tanning so I have a deep, dark glow by the time summer rolls around....but I'm not.

I've blogged about my love for tanning before, and nothing's changed. I still love the feeling of the sun warming my body all over, the smell of coconut tanning oil, the look of my body when it's all brown and smooth and sleek, but for the first time ever, I'm a little scared to do it. I am actually considering the future and the likelihood of skin cancer and melanoma and such. I went tanning last week, and actually felt guilty as I was laying there. This is absolutely UNHEARD OF. Thinking of future consequences for your actions today? This is most certainly not the AMG we all know and love. What the hell is going on here?

Whatever it is, I hope it clears up by June. I have a cute bikini that just won't look right in a pasty-ass, non-golden body.

P.S. Holy shit, three posts in one week? What is this, Christmas? Ya'll are some lucky fucks, you are.

Free Food Will Be My Downfall

2006-04-19T14:27:00.000-07:00

If there's one thing I'm completely ambivalent about, it's potluck food days at work. My department has about one a month, supposedly in honor of everyone who has a birthday or anniversary that month, except I'm pretty sure it's actually a plot by all the older, um, bigger women in the building to add to their numbers. There are a lot of big girls that work here. I don't know if it's because work consists of sitting on your ass all day, or if large women are drawn to this industry, or maybe they were once all tiny, svelte girls who became trapped in the food day paradox and thus gained a collective ton. And note, by "big," I don't mean ten or twenty pounds overweight. I mean one or two hundred pounds overweight.

Now hear this. I love food. I have a hard time going an hour without eating. I am constantly in a state of wanting to eat. For these reasons, I love potluck food days. Chances are that at least a few of my favorite foods will show up in a variety of forms. Lil' Smokies? Would you like those with or without a bacon wrap? (Seriously, someone has way too much time on their hands if they are able to individually wrap a hundred mini-sausages with tiny pieces of bacon). Deviled eggs? Of course! With or without paprika? People bring in sloppy joes, chicken tortillas, nachos, salmon dip, quiche, souffles, baked beans, casseroles, noodles, egg rolls.... and then you have dessert. Seven-layer bars, cookies, brownies, doughnuts, pies, cakes, pastries, and things I can't even identify. You can bet your sweet ass that it's all super rich, full fat, heavy cream, 100% lard, too. Really, it's ridiculous the amount of food that is brought in. Yummy food! Available all day! For free! In humongous amounts! And did I mention it's all free? For those reasons, I love food day. Never mind that I usually totally forget about it, bring nothing but take part anyway. No one needs to know that (for which reason I'm publishing that fact on the internet for all to see).

However. However, I'm trying to eat healthy. Well, healthIER. Because I love to eat so much, I try to limit what I do eat to things that won't cause me to become one of the Big Ladies of Work. I usually have a Lean Cuisine for lunch (side note: to others who eat frozen dinners for lunch, have you tried their new pannini sandwiches? DIVINE, I tell you!) and snack on cereal or baked chips during the day, supplementing the food with about eight cans of diet Mt. Dew. I also usually grab a few handfuls of M&Ms from the secretary's desk throughout the day, but I try to block those moments out of my mind, because if you don't remember it, it doesn't count. That works for sex, too, by the way.

But food day TOTALLY FUCKS THIS UP. I know it's only once a month, but it's enough food for the entire month without eating anything else. It's a lotta food. And to a food addict like me, well, I just can't stop. I love food day, but I hate it, because I can't resist all the food, and it messes with my healthy(er) eating. Frankly, I'm surprised I'm still up and writing this and not laying on the floor, drooling everywhere, in a massive and deep food coma.

So. Can ya'll just have the next food day and forget to tell me about it? I won't be mad. Unless someone brings cream puffs.

Eat? Drink? Shower? None of Those Are Priorities Right Now.

2006-04-17T12:24:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry, I can't talk right now. I am completely and utterly immersed in and addicted to the Sims 2 game I just got for my new cell phone (and no, for the hundreth time it's NOT A RAZR!). Now, if you can excuse me, my Sim needs to use the toilet before she wets herself.

I (BANG) Can't (CRASH) Concentrate (WHAM) Today (BOOM) for (WHACK) Some (RATTLE) Reason (CRASH BOOM BANG*)

2006-04-12T09:02:00.000-07:00

So right now, they (oh, those mysterious "they" people that so much in life gets credited to!) are redoing the roof at my work. Currently they are working on the section of roof that is roughly, I don't know, right above my office. It is so loud, I can't think or work or really function at all. At one point today, I had something to write about. However, after sitting under heavy construction all day, it has been literally pounded out of my head. I've been staring at the same email for the past thirty minutes trying to compose a response, but my train of thought is continually interrupted by loud bangs, and I suspect this is what it would sound like if there were sumo wrestlers on the roof throwing each other around.

The one plus? There are some hot shirtless (hello, because it's EIGHTY LOVELY DEGREES OUT) workers hovering around the building.

*What's up with that thang? I wanna know, how does it hang?

I Know This is a Terrible Post, But Life Has Been Boring Lately So Just Bear With Me.

2006-04-07T10:13:00.000-07:00

For the most part, I love my job. I have my own office, a comfy chair, and a fish. There are, of course, things I would change, such as accidentally pushing this guy who thinks he's my boss but actually isn't and doesn't put any money towards my paycheck but nonetheless wants to have his grimy little fingers all over everything I do over a cliff. Just little things like that. That and the goddamn air conditioning in this building. What is the point of having four seasons outside if every single day it's just one degree above freezing inside? I have dealt with this over the past six years with a variety of methods, such as layering, wrapping blankets around me, and - this is the best solution - cranking my space heater up to 120 degrees and aiming it straight at me. This worked even better once I got my own office, and my tiny 8' by 12' space would became a sauna in no time. While I might freeze any time I had to leave my office, at least inside that room I was toasty and comfortable (although visitors have been known to break out in a sweat and faint).

However. In a seemingly unrelated incident that will shortly become related, last week I bought a slice of Snickers Cheesecake when I was at lunch. I wasn't hungry, but it looked so good I had to have some (much like that 14-year-old looked to Roman Polanski). So when I got back to work, I wrote my name on the box and put it in the shared refrigerator. The next day, I decide that I would like me some cheesecake. In fact, I'm ravenous for it at this point. I go to get it, and...it's gone. Someone has taken it. Gasp! I'm crushed, since I was so longing for it at that point.

Later that night, a solution dawns on me. I know! I will get a mini-fridge for my office! It's the perfect solution, as I could store a dozen cans of Diet Mountain Dew in it and all my future cheesecake purchases would be safe!

I buy one and plug it in. Hmmm. Now here's the problem. I can no longer plug in my heater (together it'd be too many amps for my outlet to handle). A decision has to be made. Cold drinks and cheesecake or warm, fuzzy heat? So far, I've gone for the cold drinks (which, of course, have led me to be even colder). I've coped by keeping my coat on all day and wrapping a blanket around my legs. I've gone a week on the cold office regimen, and I don't know how much longer I can do this. Is it wrong to say I can't wait for menopause and the hot flashes?

I Can Honestly Say I Never Thought I Would See These Words in a Sentence in My Life (Emphasis Mine).

2006-04-03T09:24:00.000-07:00

"The suspects were arrested Thursday without incident. Each man faces 18 charges — five counts of felonious castration without malice, five counts of felonious conspiracy to commit castration without malice and eight counts of misdemeanor performing medical acts without a license."
(link)

Unicorns, Simpsons, Mucus, and Toilets. A Perfect Tuesday Afternoon.

2006-03-28T11:57:00.000-08:00

Hmphf. Apparently the fornication of unicorns doesn't interest most of you. Freaks.

And hey! Did anyone catch "The Simpsons" on Sunday? Notice they used the real-life intro I posted a few days ago? I take 100% total credit for that. Without me, they would never have done it. Thank you, thank you.

I have been fighting off a could the past couple weeks, complete with enough mucus to fill a swimming pool. I don't understand how I can literally go through 15 feet of toilet paper blowing my nose, finally clear it, only to have to repeat the process ten minutes later. Where does it all come from? I don't even think there's enough space in my entire body to hold that much. I'm pretty sure I may not be human, but rather an alien of some sort. I have a really gross story about mucus, but since someone may be reading this and eating lunch, I'll save it for the footnotes. So: *.

Finally. A memo to all the ladies that work in this building with me. STOP USING THE TOILET RIGHT NEXT TO ME WHEN THE ENTIRE FREAKING BATHROOM IS EMPTY AND YOU HAVE YOUR CHOICE OF TEN OTHER STALLS. This bothers me more than anything. It's rude, and frankly quite creepy. I specifically always choose one of the two stalls on the end to halve the chance of this happening, and yet...you still do it. I understand my shoes are beyond cute and you want to stare at them, but don't do it from the stall next door. I already loathe going to the bathroom in public places, and if I'm forced to do it, I really don't want someone right next to me. I freeze up and can't finish. Then I have to wait for you to get done, wash your hands, and leave before I can go again. And god forbid someone else come in during that time. Ugh. And also. If you flush the toilet, make sure it all flushes away. If it doesn't...wait for it....flush it again! I know this is a revolutionary idea, but it's fucking disgusting to open a door and see someone's lunch from yesterday sitting in the toilet. And also. Who is the genius who designed these bathrooms? The toilets are like a foot and a half off the ground. I feel like I'm sitting in a chair in a kindergarten room, those little plastic ones you barely fit into. My knees hit my chest when I sit down! This is the other reason I choose the stalls at the ends. They're the handicapped ones, and they are of actual normal height. Yes, I use handicapped stalls and I'm not handicapped. Every single time. I'm sure I'm going to hell, but it is worth it.

* Okay, now the mucus story. So I can't hock a loogie for anything. This means when I start coughing, I either have to cough it all the way out or swallow it back down. Which is as disgusting as it sounds. The other day, I had this mucus shit that kept coming up, and I kept swallowing it. It kept happening, and I kept gagging and almost throwing up because it felt so gross (which now that I think about it, throwing up would have solved the problem. Maybe next time.). So the next time I cough, I can feel it in the back of my throat, and I can't stand it anymore. Using my fingers, I reach down my throat and pull out this wad of mucus. It was literally the size and shape of a Cadbury egg. And fairly solid, too, like the consistency of that stuff you throw against the wall and it sticks, then slooooowly starts to slide down? It was probably the most disgusting experience of my entire life. However, of course, once it was out and I threw it on the ground, I wanted to show everyone. "Wow, look at what I just pulled out of my throat! It's so nasty!" I still gag a little thinking about it.

I Will Probably Have Nightmares About This for Years to Come

2006-03-27T06:12:00.000-08:00

Ever wonder about the secret love life of the unicorn?

Well, wonder no more.

Not safe for work, British school kids, anyone who still believes in magic, or people who enjoy not having graphic images of unicorns doing it burned in their brains. Notice the word "graphic" there. You can't say I didn't warn you!

Awkward Work Situation #62

2006-03-23T09:27:00.000-08:00

When you're walking down a hallway and the person coming towards you smiles and starts to wave, but you aren't sure if it's meant for you or someone behind you that you can't see, because while you know this person, you don't know them well enough to warrant a smile and a wave (more expected would maybe be a nod), and you don't know how to react because you don't want to be a haughty bitch and ignore them but at the same time you don't want to be that overeager idiot who is waving and smiling at someone who is not waving and smiling at you.

My extremely mature reaction is to duck in the bathroom and pretend you didn't see them until they've passed.

And Don't Pretend Like You Haven't Always Wanted One.

2006-03-21T13:25:00.000-08:00

I know what I'm getting everyone for Christmas this year.

What. The Hell???

2006-03-20T08:39:00.000-08:00

This weekend it snowed somewhere between four and six inches. And we're supposed to get another six plus before tomorrow, bringing us to somewhere over a foot of snow.

Hello, God? Are you there? It's me, super freaking pissed off midwest girl who was hoping that maybe, just maybe, the snow and cold weather would be over by, oh, I don't know, the FIRST DAY OF SPRING? This is how you usher in Spring? This is how you define "in like a lion, out like a lamb?" This is an average high of 50 degrees with two inches of precipitation? Maybe someone (not naming any names, God) needs to go back to math class. An unexpected day of heavy snow was fine fifteen years ago when I was in grade school and welcomed any excuse not to go to school and instead make snow angels; however, today, without the privilege of snow days, it is most certainly not acceptable.

I'm warning you, God, or Al Roker, or whoever it is that controls the weather, this is your last chance. If it doesn't reach at least 60 degrees in the next seven days, it's hello Scientology!

Luck o' the Irish, or Why I Love Green Beer, or Hello, Toilet!

2006-03-17T09:40:00.000-08:00

In honor of my dearly departed female blog crush Lindsey (who is pictured below and whose blog died a painful, painful death for those of us addicted to her), I am going to re-post her classic Ode to St. Patrick's day.

Twas the night before St. Pat’s, and all through my house
I could focus on nothing but my tingling mouth
My tastebuds were eager for the taste of green beer
You see, I am irish – and my day is near.
I knew it was coming, I’ve waited for this
When red hair and freckles now warrant a kiss!

I picked out my outfit in all shades of green
It made me look sexy, fierce, gorgeous and lean.
I reflected on last year – though the day was a blur
It was Liz, Becky, Abby and yours truly – Murr
We headed to Sunset – in H-wood C-A
We stocked up on liquor – this would be a good day.
“TO DUBLINS!” we shouted, “It’s time to throw down!”
And we caused quite a scene, we rocked that damn town.
We partied with Wee-Man, who danced there all night
[Taller than expected – about Abby’s height]
DMX and his crew took a liking to us
But we tried to stay cool without making a fuss
With the alcohol flowing, the night wasn’t over
We hopped in their caravan of new black Range Rovers
Our tour of LA was wild and fun
But we were just hammered and our night was done.
This year better live up to the years in the past
I need liquor in me – and I need it fast!

Pour Bailey’s! Pour Guiness!
Pour it in my mouth!
Add a large shot of SoCo
(as I’m from the south)
My tummy is rumbling, for green beer I thirst
Being wasted is awesome. Being sober’s the worst.
My BACs too low, let’s make it go higher
I’ll drink like a champ, and I’ll never tire
For hours and hours and drink after drink
I’ll just keep on chugging with no time to think
I’m Irish you guys - I live for this stuff
You call it a problem, and I say that’s tough
I’m sorry you’re jealous that I have red hair
I know that you’re jealous when all the boys stare
But this is my day now – it’s my time to glow
The same goes for all the hot irish I know
Yeah Cammie! And Lohan (I’m sure she’ll have fun)
Go Carrottop (even though your career’s done)
Hey Colin Farrell! Come on, raise your glass!
Pierce Brosnan – pound this (while I pinch your ass).

My blood will flow green on this fine March day
My Irish Pride’s out, put here on display
I’ll eat lucky charms (with no milk, but beer)
I’ll feast on potatoes, for carbs I don’t fear
I’ll get f*cking hammered and dance how I please
On tables, on poles, I may even climb trees.
And I hope that our fans out there are now thinking,
“That Lindsey is right! A day of just drinking!”
So party with me – every moment’s red letter!
And happy St. Patty’s from Lindsey [Way Better]

Is Better Late Than Never True or is That Just What Procrastinators Tell themselves to Feel Better?

2006-03-16T14:02:00.000-08:00

So. As some of you may remember, last June I went to Europe with my little sister. When I got back, I promptly began to post pictures of said trip on my AMG Goes to Europe blog*. I got most of them up, and then...I don't know what happened. I just stopped.

But! Today I posted the rest! See? I can finish things I start, mom!**

Added are pictures from Vatican City, Pompeii and Sorrento, and Capri and Naples. Ironically, Sorrento and Capri are home to the most beautiful of the pictures I took, so of course I would add them last. Also added are three pictures in Montecatini Treme at the end of the Florence and Pisa section.

I still have a hard time believing that I was actually in Italy. I want to go back. Any takers? Your treat?

* Does anyone else find it weird that Blogger doesn't recognize the word blog?
** As long as I have nine months to do it!

Is There an Internet Addicts Anonymous?

2006-03-15T13:28:00.000-08:00

My life stopped today. That is, the network - and therefore the internet - was down at work. Meaning that not only could I not complete any of my work, but no mindless internet browsing to ward off boredom. The first few minutes weren't bad, but you can only play so many losing games of Solitare (and later Minesweeper) before you slowly go crazy.

"I know!" you think (as me). "I'll check out some of the 'Lost' forums while I wait, letting my immense inner dorkiness run wild." Oh, right. The internet is not accessible. Never mind.

"That's okay!" you brighten. "I have that package I need to mail. I'll run to the post office!" Um, except you need the internet to find which one is the closest.

"Okaaaay...," you think. "Oh. I will make my car payment!" You go to pull up a browser window, then remember. No go.

You play another game of Solitare and lose again. You switch to FreeCell, only to realize you don't know how to play, the directions don't make sense, and your strategy of randomly clicking on cards doesn't seem to be making anything progressive happen. You close the game and stare blankly at your useless computer.

"Ah," you remember. "I have that Sudoku book in my desk!" You whip it out, finish the puzzle you were working on, and flip to the next one. Only...there is no next one. That was the last puzzle in the book.

"I should totally blog about this, seeing as this is the most interesting thing to happen to me in the past few months, and for once I'm actually having somewhat clever thoughts about what I could post," you think. You excitedly go to open the internet. "Oh...that's right. No internet."

You sit dejectedly for a second, then decide that the lack of internet can't keep this blogger down! You open a Word document and start typing. When you're done, you realize retrospectively that your thoughts were not all that clever, and debate not saving it. However, saving it is at least something to do. So you do.

When your less-than-mediocre post is saved, you sit back. You tidy your desk. You contemplate going home, but you need the money. Then, you laugh delightedly."Ha! Walgreens! I can't believe I've been sitting here, reduced to cleaning off my desk, when WALGREENS is waiting for me just across the street!"

You go to Walgreens and buy dozens of completely unnecessary but wonderful items, such as a backrest neck massager (only $5!) that only kind of works. Walgreens, you remember, is great. "It's no coincidence that both Walgreens and wonderful start with a 'w'!" you think giddily. You thank God that there isn't a Target within walking distance, or else all of your rent money would have just gone down the drain.

Back at work, you try to open an IE window (no Firefox here, folks!). And it's. still. down. So you shoot yourself in the head. At least it's something to do.

Finally, at 3 p.m., six hours after it first went down, it's up.

God bless the freaking internet. However did I ever live without thee?

A Collection of Quotes from This Weekend, or Why I Love My Friends.

2006-03-13T11:29:00.000-08:00

"You're mad that your stripper was unreliable?" (pause) "Um, duh?"

"I'm a non-practicing atheist."

"Ha! He registered for beer for their wedding shower?" (turning to his fiancee) "Honey, when we do that, I'm registering for underage Asian strippers!"
(Her response) "Good luck. I don't think they sell those at Target."

"I'm going to tell my parents I became a Hasidic Jew so later I can be like, just kidding! I'm just Episcopalian."

"Sam turned me off of Jesus forever."

"I know how to drink and handle it. I was in rehab, remember?"

"It's the first step!! The FIRST STEP!!"
(Response) "The first step to what?"
"The first step to....the second step."

"I love you, man, and I'm not just saying that because I'm drunk. I'm saying that because I love you and I want to stick it in your ass."

"Yeah, so I gained a few pounds this semester..."
(Response) "No you didn't. You just got FAT."

"No, I don't need a ride home. If I get pulled over, I'll just throw up on him."

"Can you smoke pot while you're pregnant or would that be bad?"

"I'm hungry. I wish there was a place where you could just drive up and get food, like through a window. Yeah, that'd be awesome."

"So when you go to register for the wedding presents, they give you this little gun that you just use to point to the things that you want, and..."
(Interrupting) "Wait, what??? They give you a gun? Isn't that a little dangerous?"

Life Could Not Possibly Get Better at This Point Unless Drugs Were Involved.

2006-03-10T09:39:00.000-08:00

Can I just say, there is no way today could possibly be a bad day. One, it's Friday, which is always a plus. Two, spring, my friends, has sprung. It's supposed to get into the mid-sixties today. And we all know how I feel about warm weather. That is, it's a gift from the gods and anyone who says they prefer to be cold over being hot should be shot on site. Check back with me when it's 102 degrees with 98% humidity and see if I still feel that way. And I'll likely punch you in the face due to being cranky from crotch sweat and heat exhaustion. But for now, the weather is gorgeous. Three and four, I went grocery shopping yesterday and stumbled across two items that are going to change my life forever.

The first (can you keep up with all the numbers and counting in this post?) was this. Yes. Your eyes do not deceive you. That is CARAMEL DELITE ICE CREAM. I realize they're called Samoas (which is a retarded name) in the link and apparently everywhere but here, but I recognized their caramelly coconutty deliciousness immediately. I LOVE those cookies. And to have them mixed with my favorite food group, ice cream, is just further proof that God loves me. And it's light ice cream to boot, which means that I can convince myself that it's a health food and eat as much of it as I want!

The other food discovery was that they now make lean Totino's pizza rolls. To see why this is huge, understand that I lived on pizza rolls when I was in college. Since I am no longer burning a massive amount of calories daily running from one end of campus to the other and doing all those keg stands, I have of late been trying to eat more healthily. This unfortunately includes cutting pizza rolls out of my daily food intake. However, I can now introduce my body back to these, the crack cocaine of pizza-related snacks.

If I were to eat those pizza rolls on a sunny, warm day with that ice cream for dessert, I might spontaneously erupt in unstoppable orgasms. Which might not be a bad thing now that I think about it. Um, excuse me. I'll be right back. Ahem.

Further Proof That Little Elves Who Enjoy Fucking with* Me on Occasion Live in My House.

2006-03-08T09:37:00.000-08:00

How is it even possible that I can be sitting in bed, change the channel, and immediately lose the remote? I just had it. Literally two seconds ago. I have a defective gene in me somewhere. The able-to-keep-track-of-things-you-touch-for-more-than-a-split-second gene.

* I couldn't remember if "with" was a preposition and therefore should be capitalized in the title, so I quietly sang to myself the "Preposition Song" I learned in high school. I will be happy to provide lyrics and/or sing it to anyone who asks! And what a treat that would be, because I roughly have the voice of a dying alley cat, or Ashlee Simpson**! Also note that in that same English class we learned that all of Emily Dickinson's poems can be sung to the theme from "Gilligan's Island." Try it. "Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves, And Immortality!" I am a loser.

** Have you heard her new song "L.O.V.E."? The first few times I heard it I wasn't really paying attention, and thought she was singing " 'Ello, 'ello, 'ello," like the British way cooler version of "hello." Interestingly enough, AMBF, upon hearing that song for the first time, had the exact same thought. Proof positive that we're soul mates. Same misheard Ashlee Simpson song lyrics? Check.

Possibly the Coolest. Thing. Ever. (Other Than That Other Thing.)

2006-03-04T13:08:00.000-08:00

Click to play and be amazed!

(link)

All I Need to Know in Life I Learned from a Chicago Taxi Driver.

2006-02-28T12:09:00.000-08:00

I was in Chicago this weekend, courtesy of United and $60 round-trip tickets. (Unfortunately the courtesy of United ended when we were trying to get back, stood in line for 45 minutes waiting to check in, only to find that our eTicket confirmation number wouldn't work in the self-check-in kiosks, so we had to go wait another 30 minutes in the "ticket problems" line, only to find that the hour and 15 minutes we had waited in line brought us to within 45 minutes of our departure time, so the airline wouldn't accept our luggage. I know, WTF, right?? We ended up being waitlisted for a flight that left an hour after our original one and luckily got on it, so United is off my shitlist now. But for a few hours there, they were at the top and I was mentally going through the items in my carry on to see what could possibly used to kill the ticket agent. Unfortunately, there wasn't much. But I was devising a plan involving Twizzlers and a copy of Cosmo. I'll keep the plan under wraps in case I ever need to use it, but I think it would have worked.)

So, to recap, I was in Chicago this weekend. And I learned two lessons: 1) If I ever rob a bank, I will no doubt include a Chicago cab driver in my entourage as the getaway driver. And 2) Chicago strip clubs suck. Oh, and a third one. 3) If you see a turquoise suede trench coat in a store window, and you really feel like you have to have it, just go in an buy it. Because otherwise you'll walk a few more blocks, decide you really can't live without it, and have to walk all the way back to get it. And you'll get more compliments on it than you ever have on any other piece of clothing you've ever owned, and you'll feel amazing wearing it, and you'll never regret buying it. At least I haven't in the nearly 72 hours I've owned it. And, before anyone comments on the cost, it's a tax return splurge that I never would have been able to afford normally. So shut up.

**UPDATE ON THE WHOLE STRIP CLUB THING, and also the part where my parents and/or any relatives should stop reading.**

So I don't mind going to a strip club every now and again. To me, it's like going to a bar, only there happen to be some naked girls in front of me. I will say that I prefer topless bars, because for some reason I just get squeamish about seeing someone's hoo-ha all up close and personal. But that's just me. My favorite club is one here where the chairs are plush and comfy, has great music, and it's very girl-friendly. And dang, what the dancers will do for a dollar! The usual T&A-in-the-face action, but also lots of acrobatic stuff involving legs over your shoulders, heads in your lap, flipping upside down over you, beating you with your own belt (which I haven't personally experienced, but I've seen it, and it's freaking hilarious). To summarize, you get a lot of action for your buck.

One night in Chicago, AMBF and I decided to go to one, as we reasoned that since Chicago is six times bigger than the city we're from, the strip clubs would be six times better! Indisputable logic, right? Um, no. You had to pay the normal cover charge, but then there was also a mandatory coat check you had to pay for, and you had to pay an extra fee if you wanted to sit anywhere in view of the stage and not along a wall. And once in, we found out you didn't get anything for your dollar other than the dancer walking over to you and pulling her garter belt out so you can slide the dollar underneath. Looking around, we noticed that almost no one was putting dollars out, but there were an awful lot of table dances going on. So I got one, thinking that must be what the club was known for. Um, no. Other than shaking my hand when she came over, she barely touched me. She actually apologized at one point for bumping her boob on my arm (awkward...!). It was more of the same throughout the club. There were handshakes, but as far as usual strip club touching goes, there was none. It might have been worth it had we not paid so much to get in and even more to sit by the stage, but it was a total rip-off for what we did invest. So the moral is, don't go to VIP's in Chicago.

I Have Now Accomplished Everything I Wanted to in Life.

2006-02-22T10:48:00.000-08:00

So apparently, if you want to up your comment count, all you have to do is "bash" Coldplay in a post, and your comment intake will up 200%. Except it wasn't really bashing them so much as it was making a couple of sarcastic comments and mixing them in with praise like "I was pretty pumped about it..." and "...it was a good show..." and "...it was a very enjoyable show..." and "It truly was really cool..." and "...it was a very faithful and terrific rendition...". Which obviously are clear-cut statements of hate.

Anyway. I digress.

I - or at least this blog - am a search result for "grab a fraggle by its cock" (see how I bolded that to draw attention to it?). I am pretty sure nothing I accomplish in life from this point on will ever match the feeling of pride that this gives me. I am planning on going home and photoshopping myself a certificate to hang on my wall next to my diploma and Presidential Physical Fitness Award from fifth grade, my two previous greatest life accomplishments.

This blog also appears in the search results for:

"i want to kill my co-workers"
"i pity the fool"
"nazi girl"
"girl for me" (Apparently, I am the girl for someone out there!)
"martha stewart butt"
"office whore"
"girl X case" (I don't even know what this means?)
"grab a fraggle by its cock" (I know I already said this one, but I just wanted to type it again.)

I feel like I should be concerned about the government perhaps swooping in and confiscating my computer, between "I want to kill my co-workers" and "nazi girl". And, of course, "martha stewart butt." That one is disturbing and I want to know who out there is interested in that ass. Although theoretically I should probably be more concerned that someone is interested in grabbing the penis of a muppet. But really, that doesn't disturb me. I've always found Wembley Fraggle strangely arousing. And don't tell me you didn't always wonder if Red was truly a red-head....No? Um, perhaps I've said too much.

Signs That You May Need to Up the Caliber of Friends That You Hang Out With, Number 46

2006-02-21T12:07:00.000-08:00

AMBF: The clue is "animal" and it's four letters, beginning with "m" and ending with "e".
AMG: Mole.
AMBF: The "l" is right, but there's no "o."
AMG: Mule.
Drunk friend, belligerently: Dude, no. He said it ends with an "e"!
Drunk friend, muttering to himself: Dumbasses.

Things That Would Have Been Creepy Had They Not Been Said By My 60-Year-Old Russian Wax Lady, and Were Therefore Pretty Adorable.

2006-02-18T13:42:00.000-08:00

Part 1.

"You want that I should take it all off or I leave a little playground in front?"

Because Really, Aren't Chocolates What Valentine's Day is All About? And If Not, I'm Not Sure I Want to Be a Part of This.

2006-02-15T08:47:00.000-08:00

So the first thing I did upon receiving a box of gourmet chocolates from AMBF was throw the nutritional information insert away. Because....I just don't want to know. Then I picked out all the caramel ones and all the coconut ones and ate them. Then, a few minutes later, I finished those nut cluster ones. Then I giggled for a minute at the names of some of the chocolates (Vermont Nut Cream? Seriously?), then I ate some more. Then I decided to just finish it off, because a) it's a holiday so calories don't count, and b) I'm getting a treadmill today with my tax return money, so the calories are already practically burned off. Add that to the fact that the calories don't count today, and I'm actually negative calories. See? I'm practically starving myself, what with the caloric depletion and all. Will someone get the girl a burger already?

Sorry, I'm on a bit of a sugar high right now and the whole concentrating-on-writing-an-awesome-post thing just isn't happening. Mmmm caramel. Mmmm coconut. Mmmm chocolate. Mmmm Jake Gyllenhaal. Sorry, that last one just kinda slipped out.

If I don't post tomorrow, will someone check on me? I might be in a chocolate coma, passed out on the floor with chocolate spread all over my face and wrappers strewn around my supine body.

Field Guide to Valentines Day (Yes, It's a Repeat, But It's a Classic)

2006-02-14T08:42:00.000-08:00

Yes, men of America (do they celebrate Valentine's Day anywhere else?), it is that time of year again. The time of red and pink hearts, of candy and roses (conveniently marked up 120%), and of Al Capone and massacres.

Men, here's the deal. We (and by 'we', I mean your collective wives, fiancees, girlfriends, female best friend whose pants you have been trying to get in for the past two years, and one-night stand that kind of turned into an ongoing regular thing) all know it's a commercial holiday that has been exploited by Hallmark. Really, what did St. Valentine ever do for us that is worthy of celebrating? Where did this holiday come from? Even the History Channel doesn't know! And what the History Channel doesn't know isn't worth knowing (unless the Discovery Channel knows it, and then it is. And if they both know it, then it should be tattooed on your chest.).

"The history of Valentine's Day -- and its patron saint -- is shrouded in mystery." - So-called "historian" from the History Channel. If he really was a historian, wouldn't he know?

One theory (mine) is that this so-called "Saint Valentine" was actually a Hallmark executive who traveled back in time to ruin this day for men from the third century on. This is evident from the following line:

"Although the truth behind the Valentine legends is murky, the stories certainly emphasize his appeal as a sympathetic, heroic, and, most importantly, romantic figure." - Same so-called "historian" from the History Channel.

No man without something to gain, most likely lots and lots of money, would be sympathetic, heroic, and romantic. Definitely not all at once. Unless maybe he was gay. Or Robin Hood. Who might have been gay.

I also learned that in Roman times, the holiday was celebrated in a very, um, unusual way, with a much more obvious show of love and affection:

"The boys then sliced the goat's hide into strips, dipped them in the sacrificial blood and took to the streets, gently slapping both women and fields of crops with the goathide strips." - Same so called "historian" from the History Channel. Boy, this guy is smart!

I mean, really, what screams love like being whipped with a bloody goat strip? That's pretty hot if you ask me. It also sounds like the name of a metal band: The Bloody Goat Strips.

Afterwards, the Romans continued the fun by whoring out their young girls:

"Later in the day, according to legend, all the young women in the city would place their names in a big urn. The city's bachelors would then each choose a name out of the urn and become paired for the year with his chosen woman. These matches often ended in marriage." - Is there nothing you don't know?

Can you just see that? "Oh, god, I got Johnny again. He does that weird thing with his pinkie, remember? Sigh. Oh, well, I just have to sleep with him for a year. Who'd you get? Oh, wow, you are like, totally lucky. Everyone wants Bobby! He's incredible in bed. Susie is going to be sooooooooooooo jealous!"

So now that we all know the history of this special day, I can continue with what I started to say six paragraphs and four quotes ago. To refresh your memory, I was talking (or rather, you were reading) about how this holiday is commercialized. This is true. No argument from me. However, guys, this is the one time of the year (okay, besides our birthday) that we expect a mushy card and a gratuitous display of affection. Preferably in the form of a two-pound box of chocolates from Godivia. And thirty-six roses, because the dozen thing is just so tired. And maybe that 2.5 carat diamond solitaire ring.

If you play your cards right on those two days (Valentine's and birthday), then you can skate through the rest of the year. And if those two days happen to be on the same day, then you are gold. We have condensed all of our lofty expectations for romance into this one, single day. One day out of 365. So don't think of it as a commercialized holiday created to boister sales of cards, think of it as an escape. As a safety line. We women are actually giving you the easy way out! Plus we like chocolate.

So print out this handy holiday check list to see where you will stand with your woman (or women, I guess. You dog!). Adjust if necessary.

Valentine's Day Gift Guide

__ Mushy card: 5 points.
Add an additional two points for each handwritten paragraph. Subtract one if any paragraph contains a phrase found on a candy conversation heart, and it's minus two if you spell the word love as "luv." Add another point for each 3D element of the card. Finally, add another point for each square inch over the standard card size.

__ Roses: 2 points each.
Double the points if the roses are longstem. Triple the points if they are delivered to her work for all of her co-workers to "Ohhh" and "Ahhh" over to her face but secretly want to kill her in a jealous rage. Quadruple the points if her bouquet is larger than that of any of her other co-workers, even that new girl with her "perfect" husband who everyone knows is sleeping around on her. If you personally deliver the roses dressed in a bear suit, stop taking this right now. That's a little creepy.

__ Chocolate: 1 point for each fat gram that she will later complain has gone straight to her hips.
Add two points if they are caramel, because those are my favorites. And send me some, would ya?

__ Stuffed animal: 15 points.
Add five points if the stuffed animal has a special significance that only you two would understand (i.e. if you give her a bee because you call her "honey," or a fish because your first date was at a seafood restaurant, or a puppy because your favorite position is doggie style). Add two points if said animal is holding a heart. Subtract one if "I love you" is embroidered on the heart in cursive. That's cheesy.

__ Jewelry: See below. Double any points for 24 carat gold, triple for platinum. Add 20 points for each semi-precious stone, add 30 points for each diamond under 1 carat, and 50 points for each diamond larger than one carat.
Tennis bracelet: 100 points.
Earrings: 200 points.
Necklace: 300 points.
Ring: a. Engagement ring: One million points. You win! You hit the jackpot and are guaranteed a lay tonight, and at least a couple times a week for the next few years. Until your marriage becomes repetitive and you start to take her for granted, and she stops shaving for you. But it's a start, at least.
b. Other ring: 400 points.
c. Other ring when she was expecting an engagement ring: Subtract all point earned thus far and get yourself some good lotion. You're going to need it in the future!

Add all of your points up. More than ten should get you laid. More than 100 should get you laid for the next week or so and get you a good "guys' night out." More than 1,o00 and you are making the rest of the male species look really bad, and you could probably get your best friend's girlfriend into bed if you wanted to. You know, if she's really hot.

Conversation Overheard at My House Last Night

2006-02-10T07:59:00.000-08:00

Magnum DI: Dude, I love my DVR. I love you for telling me to get one.
AMBF: Yeah, they're awesome.
Magnum DI: I love it so much, and I love you so much, I want to have gay sex with you right now. (pause) Not gay gay sex, but appreciative gay sex.
AMBF: There's a difference?
Magnum DI: Yes. With appreciative gay sex, I include the reach-around.

If Only I...Actually, Nothing, I Just Had to Complete the Posts Titled "If Only I..." Trifecta.

2006-02-09T09:52:00.000-08:00

I truly thought that it would be a long time before a song came out that would knock either "Photograph" or "My Humps" out of my most-hated songs list, but then Ashlee - dear, dear Ashlee - Simpson came out with this song. Woman, wasn't the Saturday Night Live debacle enough for you?

In other news, I went to my favorite little Chinese restaurant yesterday for lunch. You know the one - it's run by a family, and only the son speaks fluent English, and the mom kind of reminds you of the soup nazi from Seinfeld, and NO SUBSTITUTIONS, as they always remind you, but the food's really excellent? Yes, that one. I'm perusing the menu options, and feeling a bit adventurous, I decide to try something I've never had before and point to the General Tso's Chicken.

"Is that hot?" I ask the mother.

She steps back, looks me up and down, and after a few seconds of studying me carefully though squinting eyes*, slowly begins to nod. "Yes. Yes, is hot. But you handle it. Okay for you."

I am immensely curious what about my look made her decide that, while it was indeed a spicy dish, I could handle it. Now I want to bring people back there and have her appraise each person for their hot-food worthiness: "Yes. No. Yes. Too hot for you!! No, you no handle!"

*You should know that by "squinting eyes," I'm not calling attention to the facial feature that most people of Asian ancestry sport. I'm referring to the actual squinting of her eyes as she stared at me.

If Only I'd Thought of This a Hundred Years Ago, I'd Be Rich!

2006-02-07T11:42:00.000-08:00

For some reason, I don't really like drinking out of cups. I much prefer drinking out of straws or cans or, preferably, bottles (particularly when said bottles contain beer). I don't know why I prefer bottles over cups; maybe I wasn't breast fed enough as a child. Or maybe I'm just a drunk.

So, anyway, at work, I have a supply of empty water bottles, like - how relevant! - the one on the left there. No, your left. There you go.

Every day I fill a bottle up with ice and water. The only thing is, the mouth of the bottle is so small, it's hard to get the ice in. Even the crushed ice that the machine dispenses. So I kind of use my hand to funnel the ice into the bottle. And inevitably end up getting ice all over the place.

Yesterday, as I was doing this, I had the following thought process:

Gahhh. Maybe I should just cut off the top of this bottle so the opening is bigger. Actually, you know, what they should do is make a water bottle where the cap is attached to the top of the bottle, and it unscrews a bit further down, so when you unscrew it it's unscrewing at a wider part of the bottle, so you can easily get the ice in. Oh, my god, this is brilliant. And you know what else? They should put a handle on the side of it to make it easier to carry. Holy cow. Okay, what's the number to the patent office? This idea is friggin amazing. Oh, good, there's N-Dawg. I need to tell him about this.

"N-Dawg! Ohmigod! Listen to this awesome idea I had!" I proceed to explain said awesome idea.

He looks a bit confused, then looks down at what he's carrying in his hand, holds it up, and asks, "Um, wouldn't that just be....this?"

That's right. I had just invented the travel coffee mug.

Patent office, you may disregard the messages I left for you.

If Only I Had a Guitar and a Hound Dog, I Could Write a Song.

2006-02-06T09:14:00.000-08:00

Saturday morning, I experienced the worst few hours of my life. Of your life, too, unless you have lost a limb in a horrible machinery accident. In fact, it might take the loss of two limbs to equal the horribleness of my morning.

To set the stage, I had previously agreed to baby-sit for this woman's baby at the high school where her older daughter was having a dance recital. At 8:00 on Saturday morning.

So at about 1:30 AM on Saturday morning, when I'm staggering home from the bar, I check my messages and find out that she left me a message saying she might not need me, as her husband might be able to make it to the recital after all, and that she'd call and let me know. At 7:30 AM, I wake up, head pounding, and check my messages. Nothing. I call, get a hold of her, and she says yes, she still needs me. So I get up, get dressed (barely), take some aspirin, and head out the door.

At 7:45 AM, about two miles from my house, my tire blows out on the interstate. Fuck fuck fuck. At this time, I realize I left my cell phone at home. Fuck again. So I get out and try to flag someone down. Did I mention that this morning it happens to be TWENTY EFFING DEGREES out? Apparently, I look extremely dangerous, because I'm standing in the cold for about fifteen minutes before someone finally stops. First I call the mom to tell her I'll be a bit late, and she says it's fine. I call AMBF, expecting him to be my knight in shining armor and come rescue me, and...he doesn't answer his phone. Because it's 8:00 on a Saturday morning. And no one in their right mind is up. And I don't have my cell phone, so I don't know anyone else's number to call. I give the guy back his cell, and he speeds away, before I could ask for a ride anywhere.

So. I guess I'll be trying to change the tire. Which I've done before, and can do easily, except, again, it's 20 degrees out. And I have no hat, no gloves, no scarf.

So I try to change the tire. Only Volkswagen put these black plastic caps on the lugnuts, and I can't get them off. There is no tool in the kit that matches the opening on them. And it's cold. And it's early. And I'm hungover. I'm at this point just crouching by the tire, holding a tire iron, staring at the wheel, willing it to remove itself. My hands are blue, and I'm on the verge of tears. Which is stupid, it's just a tire, right? But I was being foiled by bits of black plastic.

Finally, someone sees me and pulls over. Super nice old guy with a long white beard. He has it all, the super deluxe tire iron, the nice tire jack, and, most importantly, GLOVES. He and I change the tire in a jiffy (except for one bit, where the tire won't come off, even with both of us kicking it, but he gets some really heavy tool he had in his truck and bangs on it and it eventually comes off). I'm finally good to go. A few minutes late, but good to go. Like the CrunchWrap Supreme at Taco Bell.

So I get to the street that the high school is on, and can't find it. I know it's on this street, but I missed it somehow. I stop at a gas station to ask, and they tell me it's a few miles down the road. Which seems strange, because I didn't think it was that far, but whatever. Gas station attendants are always right. I find the high school that they were talking about, and it's the wrong one. At this point, I'm just like, "Fuck it, I'm going home. Screw this." I turn around and start driving home, and on the way back I see the right school. So I go in, and look for the mom. There are hundreds of people milling about and like a gazillion dressing rooms. I can't find her, so I borrow someone's cell to call. No answer. I leave a message and keep looking. A few minutes later, I see her daughter, who leads me to her mom, who tells me, "Oh! I just called you. My husband made it after all, so I don't need you."

Seriously. Fucking A. Fucking fuckety fuckhead. Fuck fuck.

Stephanie, Stephanie, Stephanie. I'm So Disappointed.

2006-02-01T09:41:00.000-08:00

Oh. My. God. I have to say, I never thought that Stephanie would be the one to go the meth route. D.J. always seemed to be teetering on the edge of sanity, or Kimmy Gibbler, certainly. But Stephanie always seemed so wholesome. The world as I know it is crumbling around me.

Mmmm, I Suddenly Feel Like Lasagna.

2006-01-29T10:37:00.000-08:00

Last night, because I felt like I was too intelligent and I wanted to knock my IQ down a few points, I watched a few episodes of "Dr. 90210." I'd never seen it before, and if you value your sight, you may want to refrain as well.

So, here's my question. Of course they have to blur the nips and the pubes, but apparently showing the entire inside of someone is just totally fine? It won't scar you emotionally at all to see them shove a tube from someone's belly button to their boobs, or to open a chin to the bone, or to lift all the skin off a nose and file down the cartilage, or to lift up someone's stomach skin and expose the layer of fatty tissue underneath. Those images are fine and dandy. I don't know about you, but as a small child, I think that seeing six inches of someone's skin cut off and laid out on a table for display would bother me slightly more than seeing, god forbid, a nipple. After all, everybody's born with nipples. Sometimes even more than two! I'm not saying censors need to become more strict, just maybe think about what's truly damaging to one's psyche.

And also. Who on earth would choose a plastic surgeon that looks like a slimy pimp? And not a true blue pimp either, but a white guy who wants to be a pimp so he tries really, really hard, but just looks like a white guy trying to look like a pimp. To wit:

Not to mention the fact that his wife looks like someone who was really cute before she allowed her husband to go all knife-crazy on her. Like Pamela Anderson. In just a few short years and with a few hundred thousand dollars and eighty pounds of silicone, you too can go from this:

To this:

Wow! Who wouldn't want to jump on that bandwagon? I know I do! Plus, you get the added bonus of getting to bang Tommy Lee! How's that for an unexpected treat! All that and herpes too!