The Guessing Game

Guess what I got this weekend?

*



(Bonus: Guess how many minutes I wasted taking these pictures when I should have been rushing back to work?)

*who says being a cheerleader doesn't pay off later in life?


Guess what happens when it doesn't rain in your state for something like eleventy hundred days and then it suddenly does perhaps overwhelming your apartment complex's shoddy drainage system?



(Bonus: Guess who's glad she lives on the second floor?)


Guess who likey the red wine?



(the same answer works for guess who likes to drink while she posts?)

That Guy.

So recently I started a MySpace.com page, and yes I know. I am so very. very late to the game. Whatever. MySpace.com is basically a big ol' networking thing – essentially a place to find people you have long since forgotten. And as always it's a contest to see who has the most friends.

It's like Google for friends. So you search. Every name you can think of. Yes, it’s a bit of a guilty pleasure because you’re secretly hoping that all the mean girls you knew in high school have been married seven times with 8 kids, an arrest record and of course you hope they're 72 pounds heavier.

And then the inevitable happens, you don’t want to do it, but you do.

You search for an old flame.

And up pops his profile.

There he is smiling back at you, That Guy.

That Guy you dated for five months what seems like a million years ago. That Guy who made you swear off the entire male species. That Guy who broke your heart into a million pieces. That Guy who left crumpled up on your dorm floor in the fetal position bawling because he just didn’t have the time for you. Left you to be picked up, snot in all, by your best friend, who had to grab you by the shoulders and tell you that you deserved better because That Guy convinced you that you didn’t.

That Guy that made you doubt yourself. That Guy forced you to look at yourself at little deeper. That Guy kept you withdrawn and quiet.

That Guy probably wouldn’t even know how to spell your name; you were just a blip on his radar. But every time you begin a clean sweep of the proverbial baggage you carry there is That Guy.

That Guy who used you for what he wanted, and never took time to see what you needed. That Guy who turned into a needy shell of your former self. That Guy who offered you only scraps of respect and love, and yet you clung to them as proof that he cared, right?

That Guy, he sucks.

But That Guy made it possible to find You.

Post in which I Make No Attempt to Masquerade a Pile of Randomness into an Entry.

Sometimes when my brain hears, read, or sees something unusual it thinks that would make a totally fucking awesome band name. Today's totally fucking awesome band name: Wishful Psychosis. How hard do you think that band would rock? Twice as hard as Static Portal that's for sure.

*************

This weekend I am going to be getting a bed. A REAL. BED. The one I currently own was one of those I'm-in-college-I-am going-to find-the-cheapest-bed-I-can-find specials. And let's just say, you get what you pay for. It kinda sags in the middle so when more than one person is sleeping on it, both parties end up rolling towards each other throughout the night. If you're not dating it can end up pretty awkward in the morning. Anyways, I can't tell you how excited I am to be getting a new bed. It makes me feel like a real live ADULT. Because this is what adults do, right? We get excited about purchases like beds, cars, couches and loveseats. These kinda purchases serve as my trips to Disney World now. I hope I'm tall enough for the "Locked in 4.9% APR Financing," if not I'll just take a ride on the "30 Days Same As Cash!"

***************

This past weekend I became aware of a phenomenon I like to The Cross-Introduction of Friends. It occurs when you try to introduce two different groups of friends to each other. We all have our different groups of friends like your bestest group of friends, your drinking buddies, work friends, or the random group which could be folks you met in a yoga class/Tupperware party/blogosphere. In my case, my random group is people I know from the dog park. The Cross-Introduction of Friends can go either two ways: introducing a random friend to your close friends, or a close friend to a group of random people.

Random friend meeting your close group of friends goes a little like this:
"Hey everybody meet Random Friend. Random Friend this is Everybody, we are going to sit here and drink while laughing hysterically at inside jokes that we will not bother to explain to you because you won't get it. Random Friend, I hope you enjoy drinking by yourself."

Introducing a close friend to a group of random friends works a little different. There's this added pressure because you fear your good friend will take one look at your random friends and think to herself, good gawd your friend-making skills suck. Or that she will come up to you and say something like, "Hey, did you know Random Friend had a pot farm in his backyard/collects ceramic dolls/invited me to a swingers party?"

*************

Lately I've been getting in the elevator and forgetting to press the Lobby floor button. Sometimes I just sit there for like five minutes before I realize that, FUCK! I'm not moving. Other times the elevator starts to go down, but stops at a lower floor. When that person gets on the elevator and sees that the lobby button isn't pressed they look at me like, what a idiot. And then they sigh and make an exaggerated motion out of pushing the button. Like oh no, you had to expend an extra calorie to push the button, I should forever be in your debt. Please.

***************

While searching my work computer – I was making sure all the porn was gone, you know, just in case – I came across some random pictures that I thought I would share with you:

These are some of my Work Friends. Their Cross-Introduction is equally hard because there's all that venting and bitching about people that no one outside of the office cares about.

I never got around to doing a proper Halloween post, but I found these pictures that I was going to use. Nikki and I had the best costumes ever for the second year running - Mall Walkers.

Here's Nikki and I doing one of our many victory laps, the key was to not get the pace up too fast - you would hate to pull a muscle or something. Charlie went as Ernie, of Bert and Ernie fame. He shaved half his head, and died his hair black - that's dedication folks. And there might have been someone who ended up with orange paint all over her face because she could resist how cute Ernie looked.

For those of you who didn't believe this story. Here's some proof. Judging by the picture's shakiness,I would say this is one of the later ones.

Recently I have developed a bad habit of taking artsy fartsy photos while I'm out hanging with my friends. Because apparently I think I am just that cool.

Chuck sent me some pictures of My First Baby cathing some dog biscuits in mid air. And guess who taught him that trick? His momma, of course!

Okay, girls. Let's stop wearing gaucho pants. Now. The reason? They ride up your ASS! And me and the rest of the world have to sit there and stare at it. YOUR FUCKIN' ASS CRACK!

This picture is why I love Texas. I consider this woman a walking mullet. I;m sure from the front she's quite nice looking, but then you get to the back and it's like AAAAAAAH, Slut City. Tramp stamp? Check. Way too low rise pants? Check. Muffin top? Check. Hideous red thong "peeking" out? Check. Although, I'll give her credit for bringing the Gucci purse, you know, to class it up a bit.

Meme's the word

Memes are not usually my thing, but I just could not resist indulging in the Diva's awesome shout out.

This used to be my wee little blog, and suddenly Oh My God! people are reading what I am writing? Crap.

So anywho, here's the list:

FIVE JOBS YOU HAVE HAD IN YOUR LIFE:
1. One Hour Photo Girl (I cannot tell you how many rolls of film I developed for my friends and me at no charge. Oh, and the one hour photo people TOTALLY make fun of you in your pictures – and if you have the audacity to bring me a roll of you NUDE around town I will steal them and make fun of the size of your peter)

2. Dillard's Sales Associate (between the panty hose and having to lug around a clear purse, I don't think I have ever been so depressed at a job before)

3. Summer Day Camp Counselor (I hate other people's children)

4. Gap Girl (Hours and hours of folding can be undone in ten minutes of SALE-MANIA)

5. Copywriter (HAHHAHAHAHA)


FIVE MOVIES YOU WATCH OVER AND OVER:
1. Fools Rush In ("The white people are melting out here!")

2. Bridget Jones's Diary ("PS. Love your tits in that top")

3. Christmas Vacation ("This is our family's first kidnapping")

4. Father of the Bride – when Steve Martin says "I just know I will remember this moment for the
rest of my life," hello water works.

5. Ice Age ("Ah, come on no one falls asleep that fast)


FIVE PLACES YOU'VE LIVED:
1. Tulsa, OK

2. Minneapolis, MN

3. San Francisco, CA

4. Chicago, IL

5. Dallas, TX


FIVE TV SHOWS YOU LOVE TO WATCH:
A lot of these aren't on anymore – thank god for DVD
1. Sex and the City (that annoying person that always quotes SATC, yeah that's me)

2. Friends

3. Family Guy

4. CSI: Las Vegas

5. Daily Show

**Honorable Mention: From the Earth to the Moon – technically a mini series, but so frickin' good. I'm a bit of a Space Geek, not Sci-Fi geek, ahem, Gina!


FIVE PLACES YOU'VE BEEN ON VACATION:
1. Pagosa Springs, CO

2. Norway (the sun never set!)

3. Disney World

4. Cancun

5. Lake Tahoe


FIVE WEBSITES YOU VISIT DAILY:
(only on a blog would this actually tell someone something about yourself)
1. Here, here, here, and here.

2. Dooce.com

3. Amalah.com

4. Gofugyourself.com

5. Dailyshow.com (fake news is much funnier than the real stuff)


FIVE OF YOUR FAVORITE FOODS:
1. Chips and Salsa (I could live off this, and one things for sure MINNESOTA doesn't have a clue about salsa)

2. Pasta

3. Green Beans

4. Pickles

5. Guacamole


FIVE PLACES YOU WOULD RATHER BE:
1. Sausalito, CA

2. On a mountain

3. Chicago

4. In my man's arms

5. Out of debt


FIVE PLACES YOU CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT:
(This is the reason I hate music – all the judging…)

1. The Little Mermaid Soundtrack – it was one of the first CDs that was MINE, and I listened to it everyday. I know every word by heart. Look at this stuff, isn't it neat. Wouldn't you think my collection is complete...

2. Ropin' The Wind - Garth Brooks – snicker all you want, I'm from Oklahoma and Garth was HUGE. It also reminds me of my first backpacking trip where I wore out the cassette because I played it over and over and over and over.

3. Brushfire Fairytales – Jack Johnson – oh Jack, could you come and hang out and play your guitar for me? Thanks in advance.

4. The Paul Simon Collection (Disc 1) – sometimes I just listen to this and cry. Good tears, mind you.

5. Home – Dixie Chicks – okay, okay judge me.

FIVE PEOPLE I'M TAGGING:
(I'm changing the rules to two people)
DEEEEEEEEEE-pi
Fry me up some bacon, woman


And as Paul Harvey would say: Now you know the rest of the story.

I Miss The Snow, No Really I Do.

I mean seriously folks it's 54 degrees here and I walked to work in a fleece and a DOWN VEST. It's 54 degrees! It's the middle of January! Where's winter? Where's the snow? The world is ugly without snow in the winter. You get to see all that Deadness just hanging out in plain sight. In Minneapolis, the snow comes around the first of November and doesn't leave until April. A tad excessive? Yes, but you get my point. In Texas, we get no winter. Just temps that flirt with freezing and spring back up to 75 degrees in one day. And yes, I'm complaining.

During my first winter in Minneapolis not only was I shocked by The Cold, I was also shocked by how much people frolicked in it. Outside in the winter? Wow, these people were hardcore. There's figure skating, sledding, hockey, snow mobiling, ice fishing and of course skiing. Being wrapped in all this Winter Love I decided to mark one of those off my Things I Should ReallyDo list – skiing.

(And folks this is where we segue)

I had never skied before and when it was suggested on one lazy Saturday I thought, what the hell let's do this you only live once. I dressed as though we were headed to Antarctica with no less than eleventy frillion layers on. On the car ride out to the "resort" I started to play scenes of horrific skiing crashes in my head, and I was starting to get a little nervous. But no worries because my friend Nikki reassured that she hadn't skied in YEARS so she would be just as bad. Okay, no big deal.

I signed away my first born child to purchase a lift ticket that let us ski for the rest of the night. (We had arrived at around 4:30, probably because we were all really hungover and couldn't up and moving before then. I digress) I signed away my first child's college education to rent my ski equipment. Some perpetually stoned teenager asked if I what level of skier I was, and I instantly turned into a southern girl and began to talk incestantly about useless nonsense about my life. Mid way through me explaining that my family just never thought about skiing we would rather camp in the mountains he shouts to no one in particular BEGINNER! I was already humiliated and I hadn't even been on the slopes. I hear him ask Nikki the same question, and she replies Intermediate. INTERMEDIATE? What was all that crap about not skiing in FOR. EVER, Nikki? She gave me some bullshit about ski size and yada yada yada, but she still assured me she was going to be as bad as me on the hill. You can all see where this is going, can't you?

I put on my skis, and head outside into the snow. What no one prepared me for was how slapping two six foot planks on your feet seriously decreases your mobility. In order to move two inches I was expending about 90% of my energy. I FINALLY got on the lift. I still had no inclination of the upcoming hell. I still thought this was going to be SO. MUCH. FUN. Me, Nikki, and the rest of the crew just moseying on down the slopes. Then I saw it, the end of the lift. I started to panic. "How do we get off the lift?" I asked Nikki. "Flackety poo-poo!" she tells me. FLACKETY POO-POO?!? Nikki suddenly began speaking another language. And then it happened, it was go time – time to get off the lift. I would give my liftmates, Nikki and Taber, a perfect score for their dismount as for me? A negative 29. I fell. Hard. I screamed, "How do I get up?" Taber said something like, "Just gibblety gawker faddy da." RIGHT. I could have burned a hole straight through his skull with the lasers beams shooting out of my eyes at that point. Nikki was no help because she was off to the side laughing her ass off at my plight. All I heard was the alternating shouts of "Oh my god, I'm going to piss myself, AH HA HA HA!" and "GIBBELTY! THEN GAWKER FADDY DA! GIBBELTY!"

This was going to be a long night.

The lift operator didn't shut down the lift so I would just about stand I would get plowed over by some two year old getting of the lift, and the process would start over. After 20 minutes I was able to stand. I just wanted to get down the hill and never ski again, but unfortunately getting down the hill involved well, skiing. Of which I did not know how to do. After Nikki regained her bladder control I asked her, "Okay, do you know how to ski?" She assures me that all I needed to do was point my skis in the general direction that I wanted to go, and voila I would be skiing. I thought, okay I can do that. And then – wait for it, wait for it – FACE PLANT. See you just can't "point" your skis where you want to go, it doesn't work that way – again no one told me this. I looked back up the hill. I had gone 8 feet.

And that's how the rest of the virginal ski run would go: me flailing uncontrollably in 8 foot increments.

At the bottom of the hill I began to pick up a little momentum, and that's when the warning bells started to go off in my head. YOU'RE GOING TOO FAST TO SURVIVE! I began wailing at people down below to move out of my way because I had no idea how I was going to stop. And then my mind screamed, SACRAFICE YOUR BODY, IT'S THE ONLY WAY TO ESCAPE DEATH! So I ungracefully flopped onto my side and rolled to a stop. Thank God, I lived.

Somehow I managed to get myself back to my feet. I was exhausted. Mentally and physically. I looked back up from whence I came. I had traveled (maybe) 100 feet at about a 15 degree decline. The hill basically amounted to a glorified snow covered driveway.

I had fallen 700 times.

All my friends chimed in at once in that annoying sing-songy cheerleader tone, "Wanna go again?" I declined citing something like, "FUCK YOU MOTHERFUCKERS I'VE FUCKING HAD ENOUGH. WHERE THE FUCK IS THE FUCKING LODGE WHERE I CAN FUCKING GET A FUCKING DRINK?" All the while I was trying to stomp off, but ended up more like a hamster in its exercise wheel. And that was it, my breaking point.

I yelled, "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" and it could be heard in Canada. I clicked off my skis and threw them off to the side.

And because life already didn't suck enough, when I got to the lodge I realized I would be having drinks with Charlie's date. Oh what? I didn't mention that? That's right Charlie (we were not dating at the time, but I still had a wicked crush on him) had a "Friend" in town to "hang out" with. Sometimes there's just not enough joy in the world.

Our conversation went a lot like this:

The "Friend": Isn't Charlie the best? Isn't he just so sweet? Don't you just love him? We just love watching movies together, and I can't wait to marry him, blah blah BLAHBLAH!

Me: SHUT UP! FUUUUUUUUCK!

After becoming sufficiently buzzed on Captains and Coke, the gang joined the Charlie-Love-Fest in the lodge and asked if we were going back on the hill. Charlie's "Friend" said she didn't really feel like skiing anymore, she was just going to sit at the lodge and drink.

I was DEFINITELY going back outside.

The next trip down the hill was considerably better. Perhaps I was getting the hang of it, or perhaps it was the Captain Morgan. (the latter of course) When I fell, I laughed. And then very slowly I started to get the hang of it. I made one turn successfully and then another. The second post-Captains run I didn't fall once, and I realized why people would drop small car payments on this crap. The wind in your hair, the swish swish swish of your skis, the crunching of the snow, the two year olds screaming down the hill already forty times better than you would ever be – it was fucking awesome.

And then Nikki suggested we try some of the other runs.

"SURE! NO PROBLEM! ALCOHOL TALKING!"

We arrived at the top of the Black Diamond, which in fairness would have been the bunny slopes anywhere else. I was scared shitless. Captain Morgan took a hike. Nikki says something like, FINALLY we can do some real skiing.

BURN IN HELL, NIKKI.

It took me 45 minutes to get down that hill. It was a painfully slow process of criss crossing from one side of the mountain to the other, decreasing my elevation by about one foot each time. And if I got going to fast (i.e. over 2 mph) I would plop down on my butt.

And you know who stayed with me the whole way down? Charlie? That would have been sweet, huh. But alas, no he and Nikki were firing down the hill at warp speed. Instead it was Taber. After like ten minutes of getting NO. WHERE. I pleaded with him to go on down the hill. He was like no big deal, I don't want you to have to do this on your own. And he stayed with me the enitre way. How sweet was that? (YES, Charlie I'm looking at you!)

I didn't ski the big bad Black Diamond again, but I did return to the my lovely driveway, and skied by myself for about an hour. And it was one of the most peaceful times of my life. It was so quiet on the hill, except for the occasional two year old totally kicking my ass. But there I was, skiing! ME!

On the last ride up the ski lift I rode with Charlie. He looked at me and said, "Man you're awesome. I feel like I wasted my money on the "Friend" because she didn't ski. But you got back out here after that first time sucked, and still went for it." And I thought to myself, yeah I went for it. And that sums up that first year in Minneapolis – I WENT FOR IT.

And then I thought, I am SO TOTALLY over my crush on you , Charlie.

Heh.

It's Her Party and She'll Cry If She Wants To

Lily has spoken:

And her will? It has been made KNOWN.

Here's the thing, apparently Lily is punishing me for what? I'm not sure. But I have my sneaking suspicion it has a little to do with the fact that I'm not right by her side 24 hours of the day.

Ever since Romeo left with Charlie so they could "follow their dreams" - whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean - Lily has been getting more and more anxious when I leave to go to work. It reached a boiling point when she returned from being kennelled at the vet over the holidays. She refused to go in her crate when it was time for me to go, and I had to pick her up and force her in there. (Which NO, BAAAAD TWEETS. And yes, I know that now, thank you very much Mr. McSmartypants Dog Owner at the dog park.) Last week, I put her in her crate she started to shake violently. And the barking, oh the barking. Loud and horrific pleas for her Mama TO NOT LEAVE HER. My heart broke into about a thousand pieces because I? Was clearly the worst pet owner ever and if I could this to a dog how could I ever handle children. WAH WAH WAH.

Not only was Lily's anxiety affecting me, but it was taking it's toll on her as well. She woke up one morning and puked on the bedroom floor. (I was like HA you're not the first one!) Another morning she had explosive diarrhea that shot out of her ass twenty feet across the courtyard. Plus the barking was starting to annoy The Neighbor. And the last thing I wanted, and what I feared the most, was that the apartment people would make me choose my dog or risk eviction.

So both of us decided to come up with a plan. I worked to reassure her that I wasn't going to abandon her. This mostly involved me leaving for random amounts of time in order to fool her into never knowing when I'd return. It takes me 45 minutes to leave the house now, but BY GOD Lily doesn't know if I will return in 5 minutes or 5 hours. MUWHAHA HA! I also decided to put Lily in my bedroom during the day because her crate is like one big Vietnam flashback for her right now. Then I promised her that I would get up a little earlier so we could take a short walk together while she finds the Ultimate Place to Poop. She promised me that she wouldn't get me evicted.

(The first time I left her in my room I tried to hide everything that I thought she would get into. Unfortunately, I forgot the roses that were on my nightstand. I came home to find that Lily had shredded 18 red roses across my room. Had she lit candles too it would have been the perfect romantic evening.)

But now it appears as if she's growing bored with the bedroom. Wednesday I came home to the picture above. It's what is left of a TV antenna box. She completely devoured it into a million little pieces. I think it's because she secretly hates that I make her listen to NPR all day, but Mommy secretly hates dumb dogs. I'm waiting for her to come up to me and say, "You know what? They should just confirm this old Alito coot, I'm sick of listening to the hearings. They're BOOOOOOORING."

Sometimes I feel like she is an overbearing girlfriend, the kind that has to know where you are and what you're doing every minute of every day. If she had opposable thumbs and could dial the phone, I know she would be calling me every ten minutes and saying "What do you mean you HAVE to work? Who is this Kat person you're always talking about? Do you think she's prettier than me? YOU THINK SHE'S PRETTIER THAN ME DON'T YOU!"

But no one is prettier than Miss Pixie Lily Pooter-Bauer, that's just craziness.

Don't be surprised if I start calling y'all the wrong names.

I am becoming my mother. I think it's something every woman dreads because didn't we all swear somewhere around the age of 15 that we would never be like our mothers. OH. MA. GAH.

Case in point, my mom has what I lovingly refer to as Sudden Screaming Syndrome, or SSS. You won't find it in any medical books, but know it could send you to the emergency room just as easy as a compound facture could. Sudden Screaming Syndrome produces blood curdling screams in situation where an, "Oh my, that slightly startled me" would have sufficed. You'll even see, or more appropriately hear the affects of SSS when my mom sneezes. Most every other human being's sneeze is a simple version AA-choo. But not my mom's sneeze. Her sneeze goes a little like this AHH- OH MY GOD I AM BEING STABBED WITH HOT POKERS IN MY KIDNEYS – choo. And the beauty of her sneeze is that it lacks any warning signs that would prepare you for The Sneeze. One minute you're deep in concentration chopping vegetables for the evening's DELICIOUS! salad, and then WHAM! BAM! My mom slaps you up-side the head with The Sneeze, and then you can only hope everyone enjoys salads with julienne carrots with a side of finger tip.

Once SSS stuck our family when we were driving home from the mall or somewhere as equally suburban, and we passed the local Chinese Buffet. At this point in Oklahoma Chiii-naise Boo-fays were somewhat of a novelty, and they were constantly packed with Rednecks getting their fill of "culture" and "gourmet cuisine." Then out of NO. WHERE. My mom screams/screeches/belts out, "OH MY GOODNESS!" at a pitch that presumably tortured every dog within a five mile radius of her. It's helpful to mention that at the time we were stopped in a bit of traffic jam because ahead of us was a car wreck with two fire trucks and an ambulance responding to it. So when everyone in car heard my mom shriek we perked up, expecting a carnage of the likes we had never seen. Was something exploding? Were there heads rolling around on the asphalt? WHATCOULD IT BE?! And then in a calm as ever voice she states, "Look at all those people waiting in line to eat at the Chinese buffet." We had all crapped our pants in anticipation of the unholy wreckage in front of us only to be disappointed by the (at max) 8 people waiting to indulge in all you eat chicken lo mein. Sudden Screaming Syndrome has impeccable timing like that.

In yet another incidence, we were in the car returning from a grueling shopping trip (SSS is 7 times more likely to occur inside a moving vehicle), and my step-dad, Marvin, in no uncertain terms had informed us that we were NOT stopping the car until we arrived home. Now in Oklahoma during the spring and summer, you'll see the occasional fruit stand along the side of the road. I never thought my mom was a particularly huge fruit fan, but when she saw this fruit stand she desperately wanted to stop. Marvin, being ever so understanding, said NO. I'm not quite sure how the events exactly unfolded in my mom's head, but I guess she believed if she couldn't stop at the fruit stand the she would just roll down the window and SCA.REAM. at the adorable old man running the stand, "GOT ANY WAAAATER-MELOOOON?!?" The poor guy dropped what he had in his hands and hit the deck because I can only imagine my mother screaming at him sounded like verbal machine gun fire from a Ford Taurus station wagon flying down the street at 70 miles per hour.

And sadly, I learned over the holiday Sudden Screaming Syndrome is hereditary. I have begun to display the telltale warning signs of the disease. It happened when my mother and I decided to go shopping the day after Christmas because we are such a sucker for all those SALES! At our last stop I was attempting to park the behemoth of a vehicle known as Marvin's truck, when its rear view mirror got caught on the car next to me and folded backwards. Now, folks this is what these mirrors are designed to do, but it made a loud CR-ACKing sound. It was such a loud crack that it angered my mom's SSS intensely, and she let out the most blood curdling scream you have ever heard. To which I responded with my own Sudden Screaming Syndrome, "SHUUUUT UP MOTHER!" And look, I know I said shut up to my mom - tar and feather me later – but seriously people, the windows were down, and we were in a parking garage. In such a confined space that scream had the enough magnitude that shoppers were ducking for cover and I know all the mall security guards were thinking, this is it – THIS IS IT! - the day that I get to finally save someone.

And then I shot my mom a look that said, don't you dare say another word. And she knew what the look meant because she is the inventor of said look. And I knew just how to wield it because I have been on the receiving end of this look many a time in my life.

So after my blood pressure returned to normal and I stopped shaking violently (that's how loud and piercing this scream was) I parked the truck successfully. As we entered the mall a woman ran up to us to make sure everyone was okay. I kid you not.

If I have a daughter, I'm positive that I will pass my SSS on to her as my mom passed it on to me. And to her I apologize profusely in advance. Charlie already can't stand driving with me in the passenger seat. He's had to yell at me to STOP SCREAMING LIKE THAT, you're gonna give me a heart attack! I always retort, you have no idea what it looks like from over here – which is verbatim what my mom says. Again, I apologize because I know, oh how I KNOW what it feels to be in the driver seat with someone who has SSS in the passenger seat. All that gasping, the flailing arms and pounding of the imaginary brake pedal. I can only hope that Charlie will be as forgiving with me as Marvin is with my momma.

Even though my mom has put me through plenty of SSS episodes you better believe I still love her and couldn't ask for a better mom. I wouldn't trade her or any of her crazy sneezes for anything in the world. My mom is the strongest and most beautiful woman I know. She taught me everything I know, like never trust a man who has more hair products than you. She taught me to fear not the colon (as in the body organ not the punctuation mark), and that corn gives you good poopers. And with her infinite wisdom gained from her registered nurse days she taught me that Advil will cure ANYTHING. Cramps, headaches, broken bones, and possibly the ebola virus if given in large enough doses. To this day if you haven't tried to cure your ills with Advil, my mom will not believe you are truly sick. She was also wise enough to shove me in the largest burlap sack she could find when my chest, ahem, blossomed in 8th grade. But most importantly she taught me to always do things for myself, to be independent and to never try to fit into someone else's mold. Oh, and FINISH school before you get married.

So mom if you're reading, I just want you to know that no matter how old I get or how much those sneezes scare the ever loving crap out of me, I will never be too big for you to rock me to sleep in your arms.


Love,

Your baby girl, Poop

Brrrr. It's Cold in Here.

I'm assuming Satan is enjoying his new ice skates since Hell has clearly frozen over - the University of texas has won a national championship in football. That's not nearly as suprising as the fact that Mack Brown has won a national championship in FOOTBALL. Whuuuuuuuut?!

I have to give up to texas though, after they beat Ohio State I told many of my texas friends that they were going to win it all. That just had that certain luck that accompanies national championship teams. Plus, it is my firm belief that it all starts with the quarterback. A good quarterback can carry a team through tough games, but a great quarterback can move USC sized mountains. OUr year we had Heupel, and this year they had Young.

I am the biggest University of Oklahoma football fan ever, and by mandate I am supposed to detest all things burnt orange and given what USuCk did to us last year in the Orange Bowl I don't think I need to remind anyone of the Hot Hate I reserve for those tools. So you could say watching last night's game was a little like sitting in the dentist's chair, mouth agape and stuffed full of cotton, waiting to get the bad news about your cavities. You know you have them, and you know there's going to be novacaine shots followed that incessant drilling and drooling. But you have no choice but to sit there and watch and wallow in the unpleasantness. (And maybe hope that you're abducted by aliens)

All in all, I'm happy for texas (oh, I just threw up a little in my mouth) and texas fans (oh, I just threw up a lot in my mouth). I hope y'all enjoy it. I know I did in 2000. (Remind me to tell you the trip to the 2000 Orange Bowl sometime) And don't get too cocky about it because it hurts when you fall from grace. Real bad.

Okay enough football.

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


So seriously, you would not believe what happened to me last night. As I was lying in bed thinking how thrilled the folks in Hell must be with their new ice water (get it? GET IT? Hell froze over! Okay, enough sorry), I hear a bunch of sirens headed my way. I'm not a stranger to hearing sirens after living in urban areas for the last couple of years. And since my apartment is situated in between a stretch of road with a lot of bars and some shady shady neighborhoods, I thought nothing of it. Until the sirens kept coming and coming. I hear rubber squealing, revving engines, and not to mention a couple of impacts. It sounds like they are filming Dukes of Hazzard right outside my apartment. I leap from my bed, and exclaim HIGH SPEED PO-LICE (pronounced pooo-leeeese because I'm southern) CHASE.

I run over to my bedroom window, pull down the blinds in time to see a cop car catching air through the intersection and landing with burst of sparks from underneath his cruiser. Holy SHIT, that was AWE. SOME. I thinking to myself, man I wonder where the chase is going to end as I slowly panned my head to the left and? HOLY GUACOMOLE! Not two hundred yards from my apartment building is where!

So I grabbed my pajamas and coat and ran out of my apartment to do what any red blooded American would do - GAWK. There was a little Honda Civic (who out runs the cops in a Civic?!) that appeared to try take the corner too fast and ended up in the median, mowing down two street signs in the process. I counted at least 13 cars.

Then the neighbors came out, and since I hate socializing with neighbors I went back inside. But as I tried to go back to sleep I kept wondering what was that guy (or girl in all fairness) running from?

So, I invite of you to tell what you think it was.

I'll start. I think they were running from clowns trying to force feed him laxatives, that and the meth.

The Obligatory (and much belated) Year in Review

I know we are four days deep into the New Year but I'm still feeling nostalgic about last year - the ole Aught Five.

So without further ado: The Best and Worst of 2005.

Best Moment– Watching the sunset atop the Hancock Tower in Chicago with my Dad. It was early April around the time that Chicago begins to awaken from the deep slumber of winter. I had been laid off from my first job about a month earlier. I was really starting to get depressed – it was hard to get off the couch, I didn't want to talk to anyone lest they find out I was a failure at my job (your usual pity party). And then my Dad showed and forced me to clean the apartment and get out and enjoy Chicago. And never once did he get all Dad on me and pressure me about when I was going to find gainful employment and such. He just took me around the town and I finally got to sightsee in the town I had called home for seven months. The trip ended with us high above downtown Chicago watching the sun go down and city come alive under the night sky. It was absolutely breathtaking. After that weekend things started looking up. I got my book together, found a job, and moved to Dallas all within the month.


Worst Moment– Clearly without a doubt March 9th, 4:43 p.m. I was called into a room with five other coworkers and told that I should no longer expect a "paycheck" from them. I was in shock because NOT TWO WEEKS prior I asked my boss if I was on the chopping block and he told me, NO WORRIES. I remember how awkward it felt to pack up my desk and walk out of there. I was 26, this was my first job out of school and I had only been there 6 months! There's no way I could be getting laid off, right? And when I left the building, some bum asked me for some spare change I retorted with, "I'm sorry sir I just lost my job, and my student loan grace period ends in two days and I don't have a steady paycheck which means I fear ending up on this corner with you. So no, I'm keeping all my spare change for myself." Afterwards, I did what any self respecting recently laid-off girl would do – I got drunk and experimented with crazy illicit drugs. By getting drunk I mean 3 beers, and by crazy illicit drugs I mean Tylenol PM because I had a wicked upper respiratory infection. Parrrr-tay! Looking back now I can say it was probably for the best. They were paying me chicken scratch and the people were just not my kind of peeps.

Most Ill-Timed Ironic Comment – After the axe had fallen on my old job the CFO says, "I know this is probably bad timing but this is the first time I've ever had to lay anyone off, how do you think I did?" Do you really want me to answer that one right now?

Most Debaucherous Moment – this one is tough. But I'm going to have to go with Laurel's wedding. Tying the knot with endless amounts of alcohol and friends equals a fucking fabulous time. I broke my thumb and several sangria glasses, read a speech during the ceremony and never vomited once.


Best Purchase – Lily. (I woulda said Romeo, but technically I didn't purchase him) She's made Charlie's leaving me (AGAIN) a little less heartbreaking. She loves to get her belly scratched and I love her cold nose kisses. I have the best conversations with her, and she agrees that Hilary Duff needs to repay me for buying her insipid song.

Best Album– Tough one because there wasn't a lot to love this year, but I think I will go with Guero from Beck. Gone are his wah wah wah days of Sea Change and back is pure Beck. Great spring into summer album.

What I Really Want to Say the Best Song is – Kelly Clarkson's Since U Been Gone. Because um yeah, when I hear this song (even now) I kick up the volume and rock the fuck out. Seriously, someone hurt Kelly real bad and she was all like oh no you di'int. The whole album is like my freshmen through sophomore years in college all wrapped up in 12 perfectly produced pop songs. But since the album technically cam out in 2004, she can't win best album.

Don’t you dare judge me.

PS I totally took what I said about Guero from Amazon.com and my friend Ted because I wanted to sound all smart and stuff, but in reality I have no clue about music. And I just couldn't come right out with Kelly Clarkson I would have totally lost my street cred.

Oh, and I really did love Guero.

Best Movie – I'm going to cop out like the Golden globes break this one down into categories.

- Best Movie Overall – March of the Penguins. I am literally livid I didn't insist on seeing this is in IMAX. There's hardship, there's an unconquerable love, there's adorable little fluffy baby penguins and don't forget Morgan Freeman. And to top it off it is so beautifully shot. Rent it, buy it, see it because this movie is so worth it.

- Best Movie That Made Me Nearly Piddle In My Chair from Laughing So Hard – The 40-Year-Old Virgin. Very funny, well-written dialogue, and a story that was at least plausible. And anyway, you know how I know you're gay? You listen to Coldplay.

- Best Tug At Your Heartstrings and Punch You in Your Throat Overly Sappy Movie – Sisterhood of The Traveling Pants. I bawled. Snot running, red puffy eye and hiccup inducing kind of bawling.

Best TV – Without a shadow of a doubt Grey's Anatomy. The boys are yummy and the girls are fabulous.

Best DVD Find – it's a tie between Space Camp (must send Max to outer space) and Watcher in the Woods (why in the world were we allowed to watch this in fourth grade?) Ain't nostalgia grand?

In Memoriam – H&M, Michigan Ave, culture, Michigan Lake, dependable public transportation, other people who don't own cars.

Christmas Break: The Picture Book

So I had this whole retrospective entry about 2005 ready to go, but unfortunately my brain was (is) not functioning properly at 7 a.m. today and I forgot all my notes about it. So instead I will commence with a photo essay detailing my holiday break. Photos will work much better than words, trust me.

(There are going to be a lot of pictures – more than 30 – let's see if this crashes Blogger. If you're on dial up you may want to turn back now.)


For the Christmas holiday I flew home to Tulsa for a couple of days, and unfortunately this meant I was going to have to kennel Lily for five whole days. So I bought her a bunch of toys before I left so she would continue to love me after I abandoned her (and mostly to appease my guilty guilty soul).



Here's Lily with her new and eventually doomed stuffed kitten. (and the fridge and the trash that Mom keeps forgetting to throw out.)




Lily wants you to know it was quick and nearly painless death and dismemberment.



She's all like, what kitten?



Anyway let's bring on the other cutie patootie babies in my life – my nephews.




This is Trey. He got a new tricycle and helmet for Christmas. He instantly fell in love with the helmet and wouldn't take it off. Ever.



Told you.



There is just too much scrumptious-ness in this picture for me to for me to describe.



You know what this entry needs? More helmet.



This is Joshua. It was his first Christmas. You know how I know?



Because the ornament says so.




We got him drunk and stoned and put him behind the wheel of a plastic Jeep. Aren't family traditions the best!




He is going to be the cutest gap-toothed hillbilly Kansas has ever seen. And if you've ever been to Kansas you know that's saying a lot.



Here we are gathered around the Christmas tree enjoying everyone's favorite Christmas movie – Independence Day.



And since I am a creative, here's my arty shot of the Christmas tree. (I am a walking cliché)


After the holiday I returned to Dallas, and guess who showed up too?




Hello, Lov-ah.



While Charlie was in Dallas we decided we would move the rest of my furniture/crap out of storage. Which turned my empty and depressing apartment into a disaster area.

I also made Charlie hang blinds and shelves. Which meant that I got to buy power tools and a laser level, and Charlie got to invent new cuss words. (And how cute was Handy Chuck? OH. MY. GOD. )

I have power tools, but no iron. Feminism rocks!



Lily enjoyed the new furniture, but secretly I think she questions my decorating tastes.



Seriously, this entry is turning into the Lifetime channel.



While Charlie lugged all my furniture up to my second floor apartment on one unseasonably 70 degree December day, I took pictures of the flowers I bought to make the Lov-ah's visit more romantic. (Charlie didn't notice the roses until I pointed them out to him) Here are some of the more impressive shots I took of them.







That last photo is begging to have "Footprints" embossed across it. Am I right or am I right?




This is after the last item has been moved. Got take a second here to drool over this man with his bulging muscles and his infinite patience and love for me. What a fox.



Here I am after the move. I look like I am fresh off the crack pipe. And I didn't lift a single thing.




People it doesn't get any better than this. We're laying on The Couch. Charlie has moved this couch going on five times now. Each time he says it's the last. This time after a long stretch of curse words he threatened to chainsaw it in half.

Not only did we move all my stuff, hang blinds, and hang shelves, but we also managed to watch the entire 4th Season of "24" on DVD. That's 24 hours of television folks – and a whole lot of not moving off The MOTHERFUCKING! STUPID PIECE OF SHIT! COCKHOLE! Couch.




And before you knew it, it was time to ring in the New Year.



He's so pretty.



Even the dudes want him.



Aren't sorority girls the hap-happiest group of bitches you know? Y'all it takes years of practice to be able to line up your hats, heads, and smiles on cue like that. We are professionals.



Sometime during the evening Elizabeth and I were abducted by aliens and they turned my face to a radioactive glowing shade of PALE. And gave me the ability to shoot laser beams from my face.



I know I have said this before, but the sign you're having a good time at a party? If something is spilled down the front of your shirt. Elizabeth seems to be caught in the tractor beam that my boobs give off. Usually it affects only creepy men at bars, but everyone has an off day.




And then Charlie had to leave and the break was over. And I'm officially the owner of a lonely heart again. AND a power drill.