that's probably not how it happened.

Bees.

2011-09-05T23:05:00.003-05:00

One of my most favorite things to do in the world is to go running with my sister Emily. We used to run together all the time growing up, but just as everything else in life changes as we grow up (um, hello, like the sounds my gut makes - but that's a whole different post), our opportunities to run together pretty much stopped. But last weekend while we were visiting Mom and Dad at the farm, she unexpectedly accepted my invitation to go on a 4 mile run. I was absolutely thrilled! Mostly because I knew this would happen:

About half a mile into our route, we saw a car coming toward us on a very rarely traveled country road. Knowing that we have probably already caught the eye of the occupants of this car (mostly because this particular country landscape doesn't typically include runners), Emily and I made eye contact with each other. Without any more prompting than just a single word ("bees"), Emily and I kicked it into our complete immature ridiculous mode we've perfected so well over the years.

We get attacked by a swarm of non-existent bees.

See, it starts with just a single wave of a hand in front of our faces like we're shooing a pesty gnat. It gradually intensifies to a quick swat of the t-shirt or a kick of the foot. Then, with confused "what WAS that?!" facial expressions, we brush our hands down our forearms, shake our heads, and just when it looks like we escaped a minor insect annoyance, the ridiculousness begins. We go absolutely bat-shit crazy. We duck around, spit, scream, and start swinging both arms around and flailing like...well, like we're being attacked by a swarm of vicious bees. (There was a similar "attack" years ago when Emily lost her balance and rolled down a ditch after turning up the intensity a little too much. That was pretty fantastic too, and completely believable.) We tend to stay in character pretty well, but after the car passes, we burst out into giggles that eventually ruin our pace and we have to make a considerable effort to pull it together and finish our run. It's pure fun.

No one has ever stopped to help us escape the bees, but I can't say I blame them. Those f*ckers can be pretty dangerous.

Threat.

2011-08-22T22:40:00.005-05:00

A few years ago, I ran my last marathon. Well, I thought it was going to be my last. Because, let's face it, those things hurt in the most ridiculous way. But lately I've been inspired to run more. Sunday was my first long run in a while, so I hammered out 6 miles. When I say "hammered", I mean I wish I would have been hammered for this experience because it sucked.

About .004 miles in, I stepped in dog poo. Perhaps I should have turned my ass around right then and gone back inside to eat raw cookie dough, but I'm an idiot so I didn't get the hint. About 4 miles in, I stopped in a grocery store to collapse into a water fountain, but it looked like someone else had the same idea, but instead, they puked in it. Change of plan. About 5.5 miles in, I was waiting at a stop light next to a gas station. A fairly gnarly homeless man started walking toward me. This was our brief conversation:

Homeless Guy: "Ma'am?"

Me: (panting and holding my side trying to kinda ignore him) "Huh?"

Homeless Guy: "Now, Miss, I'm not going to hurt you."

First of all, who starts a conversation like that? Secondly, what's with your TEETH?!

Me: "Stop."

Homeless Guy: "No, I'm not going to hurt you."

Me: "Dude, get the f*ck away from me."

Homeless Guy: "I just want to-"

Me: "Seriously, if you don't get away from me right now, you're going to be choking on your own balls. Back the f*ck off."

Where in the WORLD did I come up with that? How did THAT sentence beat out "I'm going to call the police" or "I'm going to go all bat-shit crazy on you"? Those are more expected statements from me, so the fact that I threatened a man with his own testicles is pretty wild.

But I like it and I can't wait to use it again.

Breakdown.

2011-06-27T22:43:00.004-05:00

I had a major break down last night. I'm talkin - it was an award winning temper tantrum. Why, you ask? Can I make a list?

1. There is a mouse that ate through my KITCHEN CABINET. Seriously. The damn thing ate through WOOD to get at a plastic wrapped cardboard box of green tea. That was after I had already removed three shelves of food the night before because it helped itself to a bag of walnuts and a can of quaker oats and then shit all over the place. Thanks, Mickey.

2. My air conditioner called it quits last summer and since I've been a little worried about becoming suddenly unemployed lately, I haven't been able to justify spending $5k on cold air. And even if I did feel like it was ok to get it fixed right now, I wouldn't be able to take off work to meet the AC guy. I'm getting good at sleeping in puddles of my own sweat.

3. The small crack in my windshield has recently become a GRAND F-ING CANYON. If I make it to work without it shattering into my lap this week, it will be a miracle.

4. My throwing arm is getting really strong, and I'm proud to say that my aim is fantastic too. This good news is brought you to courtesy of the jackass woodpecker that keeps gnawing away the wood siding on the east side of my house. I've thrown approximately 13,000 rocks at this asshole bird so it will JUST STOP IT!

5. The person who is allowing their dog to shit in my lawn is going to have a really bad day when I find out where he lives. I want to personally pee on his kitchen floor.

6. Why won't my ice-maker work? And why are there pools of cold water dripping onto my laundry room floor in the basement, which just happens to be directly below the kitchen? This is puzzling.

Ok, speed round:

7. My hail damaged roof: Damn.

8. New flowers planted out front: Dead.

9. Missing drywall from remodeling attempt: Dusty.

10. Lawn: Embarrassing.

So I completely broke down. My poor mother and sister had to listen to me sob about life being "so hard". I haven't been this pathetic since 1997 when my high school boyfriend knocked up some chick in the drama club.

Treadmill rules.

2011-06-14T22:27:00.002-05:00

There are rules, you know. Treadmill rules. If you can't follow them, you need to leave the gym.

1. If you find yourself running at the same tempo as the person on the treadmill next to you, switch it up. You're annoying.

2. If you're walking at 2.5 MPH, puffing up an incline of 20-stupid-percent, holding on to the bars for dear life and flailing around like an orangutan, maybe you should consider a different regimen.

3. I'm clearly aware of how funny you think that sitcom is because I can hear your cackling above my Katie Perry playlist. However, everyone in the 6 rows of equipment behind you thinks you're suffering an exercise induced screaming seizure. Calm the eff down.

4. The treadmill is not a stretching machine. If you've just thrown your leg over the hand rail to stretch your delicate hamstring and you jack me in the elbow, I'm going to swing my fist directly into your genitals.

5. You are impressing no one by starting with an easy FULL OUT EFFING SPRINT for nine seconds and then cracking the emergency stop button so you can call that a warm up and hit the free weights. Stop it. We think you're annoying.

6. If you refuse to wipe off the speckles of sweat you've sprayed all over the machine, I'm probably going to find you in the locker room and wring out the sweat in my tank top into your gym bag. Stop being gross, Miss Groady Grosserton.

Hey baby.

2011-06-05T19:56:00.001-05:00

Remember in high school when you drove your dad’s 1982 Ford Granada Station Wagon? Remember it had fake wood side paneling that was peeling off? Remember how you drove it down Douglas Street on Friday nights and hoped the car full of cute varsity baseball players with their caps on backwards in the next lane would notice you? Remember that? You weren’t one of the cool girls at school because you had no idea how to French braid your hair and your eyebrow (singular) was like a dead ferret sprawled across your forehead. Remember that?

Fast forward to June 2011. I’m driving my much cooler car about a mile from my neighborhood. It’s a beautiful night, so I have all the windows down, the sunroof open, and I’m listening to Paperboy’s Ditty – clearly channeling 1994 but embracing being 32. My eyebrows are nicely shaped, and I’m feeling good about my deodorant. As if written in a script, a car full of Justin Biebers pulls up next to me and they’re yelling at me. Not yelling at me like “Hey, old lady, your left taillight is out!” but the kind of yelling a 16 year old high school girl dreams about.

High school boy: “Hey babe! Hey! Baby, what’s your name?”

Me: (humoring them) “Ha-ha, hi.”

High school boy: “Follow us to Sonic, ‘kay?”

Can you believe it? They want to know my name and they want to share a cherry limeade with me! I can barely contain my sheer joy and obvious cool-chick status. I glance their way, give a little smile and…

…a bug flies directly into my cornea. I jolt my head back, let out a rant that sounds kinda like “holy-geez-ugh-hot-fugger” while I immediately start to cry. I take both hands off the steering wheel to peel tiny insect wings out of my eye and my car veers into their lane. After the screaming subsides, I pull myself together and drive the rest of the way home with one hand holding my eyeball in.

Prepare.

2011-02-06T21:31:00.004-06:00

Now I get it. Now I understand why mothers tell their children to always wear clean underwear...just in case they get hit by a car. No, I didn't get caught wearing dirty underwear. But I did want to run and hide when the firemen caught a glimpse of the bras and panties strewn about my bedroom floor.

Thank God they were clean. From now on, I will keep my bedroom in "Unexpected Firemen Visit" condition. You know, just in case I get hit by a car. Or have a carbon monoxide leak.

Thousand words

2011-01-29T16:00:00.005-06:00

A friend of mine sent me a link to some photographs of a wedding on Ever Ours. I couldn't help but share these two pictures with you. I don't know this bride or her groom, and I don't know her story, but I absolutely love these pictures.

That's all. Carry on.

My sisters.

2010-11-16T18:00:00.003-06:00

My sisters are amazing people. They are both changing the world in different ways, and I couldn't be more proud of them.

I called Emily today to thank her for some advice she gave a friend of mine, and I hung up feeling so thankful for her. She wanted to give that same piece of advice to someone who needed it several years ago, but she missed her opportunity. This time, it was perfect timing.

Shannon just finished a big project for work that seemed to consume every last drop of her soul. She worked intensely on something that she really believed in, and then at the one point when she had to release control, it fell apart. I saw her deflated and exhausted a few days ago, and I wished there was some way I could repair her.

Today I found this:

"Many people have died for what they believe...the real courage is living and suffering for what you believe." - Christopher Paolini

By no means am I discrediting those who made the ultimate sacrifice for something they feel so strongly about, but instead, I'm saluting those who have endured the pain and know the familiar flavor of allegiance.

My craving.

2010-11-14T21:09:00.002-06:00

Something is wrong with me.

I’ve heard people say that their bodies changed a lot when they turned 30, and I’ve been able to experience just a couple of those things in the last year or so. For example, there are some noises my body is making that are new to me. And there are places my body is storing fat that are pretty much impossible for me to flatten. And I’m liking seafood and mushrooms lately. All of those changes are ones I can deal with. But I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect to be - all of a sudden - craving cigarettes.

What?! But I’m COMPLETELY against those life-sucking, nasty, pathetic pieces of our culture. I hate them. I hate that I’ve had relationships end because of them. I hate that there are two special people in my life who lost a parent to the disease those awful sticks created. How in the world could my former cross country/track/dance team/marathon running body now desire such an awful thing?

Last night, I was out at a bar watching football with some friends. A couple of them got up to take their usual once-an-hour smoke break and inside my head I was BEGGING them to invite me to go with them. There was this excitement that stung my spine and I had to concentrate on staying in my chair. I'm like a friggin crack baby.

And today, I was lying back getting my hair washed and my hair stylist had just come back from a smoke break. The scalp massage was to die for, but the waft of sweet Marlboros paraded through my nostrils and I just wanted to grab her around the neck and suck all the breath from her lungs. (Wow. I didn’t know I felt that way until I wrote it. I know I should delete it, but think I’ll keep it.)

What is wrong with me? How long is that going to last? Couldn’t I have taken on a better addiction? Like an uncontrollable urge to recycle?

Positive result.

2010-10-29T15:53:00.005-05:00

My department at work decided it would be fitting to have a Maternity Ward theme for Halloween since 4 people got knocked up recently. So the office is crawling with doctors, nurses, pregnant patients, giddy grandmas, and a stork. Me? I dressed as a positive pregnancy test. A pee stick, if you will.

The stork won the costume contest, but I won the plethora of disgusted looks.

Broken Monday.

2010-10-25T14:21:00.006-05:00

The fax machine in the mail room at work is broken so I couldn't fax in my Chipotle order for lunch. This isn't unusual, so I came back to my office to call in my order but my phone won't make outgoing calls. No worries...I'll just stand in line like the common folk. On my way to Chipotle, I stopped in at Walgreen's to get some passport pictures taken. Knowing that I should probably put on some mascara before my Kodak moment, I dug it out of my purse, twisted the cap, and the wand broke in half and got stuck in the tube. I aborted the "look pretty in a document that will stick around for ten years" mission and headed inside to find out their camera was broken. So I drove across the street to the CVS and their film processors were broken. I gave up and came back to the office.

Upon my return, I checked my email and found out a computer at one of our remote campuses won't print to the printer next to it. Since I'm not there, I logged into our service website to submit a work order, but that site is down. I almost threw myself up against the wall, but I was worried that I'd break something. Instead, I took four deep breaths -- sometimes when I'm frustrated, all I have to do is grab my iPod and listen to Sugarland's "It Happens" to be able to laugh it all off. I plugged my iPod into these neato miniature speakers on my desk and the batteries are dead.

I'm calling it a day.

I'm lazy.

2010-10-21T22:11:00.002-05:00

Five reasons why I know I'm lazy:

1. Yesterday I asked the gym guy (again) how long it had been since I had been in. March 16. Awesome.

2. My new car has that cool keyless entry thing. I have gotten so used to not using keys that today I pitched a silent fit outside my office because I had to actually take my keys out of my bag to open the door.

3. The cable company turned off my cable yesterday due to non-payment. That is COMPLETELY unlike me. The reason why I didn't pay my cable bill is because I couldn't remember my password. Why didn't I just submit a request to change my password? Dunno.

4. All the laundry I did last weekend is neatly folded. But I haven't put any of it into a single drawer. It's all neatly piled on the love seat in my living room. There is space in the drawers, but no desire to move it there.

5. After work I went to the gym and then to the grocery store. When I was bringing the groceries into the house, I REFUSED to make 2 trips. So I carried my purse, laptop bag, large clothes bag, 4 grocery bags, gym bag, a handful of papers to grade, and a water bottle all at once. There is no reason to do that.

Transferred by mistake.

2010-09-12T20:32:00.003-05:00

My phone call to the Backwoods corporate office went something like this:

Backwoods Brad: "Hi, this is Brad."

Me: "Brad?"

Backwoods Brad: "Yes, how can I help you?"

(Uh, I hope he doesn't mean he's Brad, the VP of Operations, per http://www.backwoods.com/, cause his job is way too hot-shot to be taking my call. Where's Normal Ned? Or Shipping Sharon? Are they around? Cause now I'm feeling a little pressured to say something productive.)

Me: "I’m sorry, Brad. I think I was transferred to you by mistake. I just wanted to give some feedback about my recent online purchase. Can I talk to someone who prepares merchandise for shipment?"

Backwoods Brad: "Well, I can probably still help you."

Me: "Oh, ok. Well, a couple weeks ago I made an online purchase and I suppose I was feeling a little silly because in the comments section of the order I –"

Backwoods Brad: "Are you the one who requested the smiley face?"

Me: "Uh. Yeah. I am. That’s weird. How did you know?"

Backwoods Brad: "I read your blog."

HAHAHAHAHA! Awesome. Backwoods reads my blog. That's so unproductive, I love it.

Hi Backwoods. Thanks for rockin my month!

Through my foot.

2010-09-03T10:50:00.002-05:00

Wouldn't it be a lot easier if our bodies were built to pee and poop through our feet? We could just kick off a flip-flop, stick our foot in a hole, and squeeze it out.

Cool people at Backwoods.

2010-08-28T23:03:00.014-05:00

I love cool people. Especially cool people who get a kick out of the same kinds of things I do. And cool people who go out of their way for a good story.

For at least a year, I have been drooling over my friend Melissa's Patagonia bag. This one:

Isn't it fantastic? I KNOW! Melissa is hip, and I wanted to be hip too. So I ordered this bag online (hello Backwoods - free shipping? Okie dokie!) and I typed in all my info, and then before submitting everything, there was an option to leave a comment on the order. Maybe I don't make many online purchases, because I thought this was a little odd. (I dunno, is that normal?) Since I was given (I think) a rare opportunity to comment freely, I decided to make a small request. This is what I wrote:

"I would like for my order to also include a small piece of paper with a smiley face drawn on it, please. Or I'd even be pleased with a picture of a frog. I like both equally. That will make my day."

Sure enough, tucked inside one of the pockets of my shiny new bag was this:

and this:

Yeah. That's a picture of a frog riding a motorcycle. Tell me Backwoods doesn't have the coolest people working for them! I love cool Backwoods people.

Like it's hot.

2010-08-23T22:39:00.009-05:00

This is my friend on the night of her bachelorette party:

I know, she's hot, right? Yep. Not only is she hot, she's really considerate. For example, hypothetically, if one of her friends accidentally fell into a fountain, she'd help. Like this:

See? She's holding her friend's purse. I know...she's doubled-over laughing, but the laughing only ensued when she knew her friend was definitely not drowning in 8 inches of slimy fountain water. Isn't that nice?

I'd like to point out that I am NOT the one who fell into the fountain, but I am the other considerate friend who continued to take as many pictures as possible to document this ridiculousness. I can't post them though, because of my contract with TMZ.

So, this considerate hottie is also multi-talented. She moonlights as a choreographer and dance instructor. Here is her enthusiastic student in the middle of a private lesson:

He learned how to "drop it like it's hot". Naturally.

My second-favorite moment of this bachelorette party was when our other friend, who shall remain nameless, but who's picture will be proudly displayed here...

...got lost in a hotel room closet. She walked in, closed the door behind her, and it took her about 14 seconds to find her way out of it. But, cut her some slack, it was a large well lit closet that was kinda easily confused with the bathroom located right next to it. It happens to everyone. Sorta. Never.

Up to this.

2010-08-17T22:21:00.018-05:00

The other day, someone said, "Hey, what have you been up to lately?" and I was like, "Um, I don't know, just working a lot, I guess," but what I should have said was:

"Gosh, I've been so busy, I..."

hiked this:

caught, weighed, and ate this:

taught them:

floated with them:

helped her:

missed him:

cut this:

celebrated them:

lost him:

and found her:

She hurt her ankle.

2010-07-28T14:34:00.004-05:00

Visit this chick's blog: http://serendipityfiftytwo.blogspot.com/2010/07/week-twenty-nine.html

Tell me that isn't something I would do. The only reason why she's not my best friend is because her sister already is. I'm too A.D.D. to be able to manage two.

You'll probably gag.

2010-07-05T16:40:00.002-05:00

You know that baby bunny that was dropped to his untimely death a couple days ago? Pretty sure he showed up today. In my shower drain.

Yeah, you're probably going to gag in a sec.

I just pulled a very heavy 6 feet of twisted grimy hunk of hair out of my shower drain. It was quite possibly the grossest thing I have ever seen. Not only the grossest thing I've seen, but by far the worst smelling thing on the planet. And when I squinted my eyes and turned my head just a little (which was what I was doing because I was crying and getting ready to puke onto the bath mat) that slimy mess looked kinda like the bunny. I'm here in front of my laptop right now to research the city's waste disposal laws to see if I'm required to schedule a special pick-up for this thing, or if I should just let it out and watch it run away.

Today was quite lively.

2010-07-01T23:50:00.000-05:00

On my way home from work, a hawk dropped a bleeding baby bunny on the hood of my car. My first thought was that it sounded different than what I thought a squishy bleeding bunny would sound like as it hit a solid sheet of metal. My second thought was how pissed the hawk must be.

At lunch I saw a big burly guy with a black leather vest riding an insanely large motorcycle and I swear he had a monkey on his handlebars. It was a patriotic monkey - holding an American flag. With its tail.

I mentally corrected the same person’s grammar about seventeen times today within a 2 minute conversation. She was making good points, so I dismissed the minor infractions. Then she completely impressed me by dropping any attempt to be classy at all by going on this white-trash rant about something completely inappropriate that probably offended at least six people in the room. But I had to give it to her. At least she was consistently ignorant.

Holy cow, alert the media! This bra I’m wearing today rocks my world. It’s top-notch. It’s one of the best I’ve ever worn. Not only that, but it’s super sexy. I want to show, like, everyone. I want to stand in the front window of my house in just this bra (showing my best side, and turning this way, and then turning this other way, and then putting my hand on my hip and leaning back a little, and then pivoting this way…) to show off its awesomeness. I won’t do that because Creepy McCreepster lives down the street and the last thing I need is this dude drooling in my yard again.

Thanks Carrie.

2010-06-09T14:26:00.002-05:00

I was having a conversation with Carrie Underwood today. I was like, "Carrie, what should I do?" and she was like, "Well, I don't wanna spend my life jaded, waiting to wake up one day and find that I've let all these years go by wasted," and I was like, "You're right. Me neither."

And so, I'm going to cut my hair.

Name change.

2010-06-08T13:41:00.005-05:00

Did you know I teach sometimes? Yeah, there is a school out there that allows me (for some unknown reason) to teach in their adult professional programs. Lately I've been teaching a class about management concepts to professionals who want to be better managers. That would only funny if you knew that I've never been in management. (Not sure who gave that the thumbs up in the hiring meeting.)

Regardless, you're probably wondering what this has to do with that cutesy title up there. Well, I found out recently that my students were Googling my name, finding this blog, and perhaps viewing me as a tad less professional than what they originally expected. I was stupid when I first started this blog and used my whole first name in the web address. Yep, that's pretty dumb to plaster my name to a site where I sometimes talk about topics like poop, hitting on strange men, and not shaving my legs for 100 days. (Wait, did I tell you that story yet? I should. Mental note...) So, instead of doing what my mother would prefer (that would be only writing things that wouldn't embarrass her when she saw people she knows), I decided just to remove my name. That way, Mom can be embarrassed privately. You're welcome, Mom!

So, now I can move forward on the really embarrassing stories... like how I pulled BOTH hamstrings at the same time while sitting on my couch.

Score.

2010-05-04T09:55:00.002-05:00

My neck hurts. I think it's broken.

Either I need to stop wearing wide legged pants, or I need to invest in elbow pads, knee pads, neck brace, and a helmet. That damn baby gate is kicking my ass.

Baby gate - 4, Annie - 0.

Damn.

Physics damage.

2010-05-02T22:28:00.004-05:00

This is actually from a few years ago. It's one of my favorite dialogues that never got posted. I'm assuming I didn't post it because the subject, at the time, was still kinda touchy, but I've changed some of the details to protect the innocent. Enjoy.

Friend: Hey you made it! Here, sit over here. That chair has something kinda rank on it and this is a rank-free day, my friend!

Me: Ah, yes. I prefer to go rank-less today.

Mr. Waiter: Well, it’s your lucky day because we’re all out of rank. What can I get you instead?

Me: Aw, fantastical! I’ll have a hot chocolate with skim milk and no rank then, please.

Friend: Fantastical? Cute scarf, by the way.

Me: Thanks! Here, try it on. I’m not sure where I got that, the word, not the scarf. But it is a habit and I like it. Don’t try to break it. I don’t want no stinkin patch. I enjoy the word and all its glory.

Friend: Ok. So, catch me up, woman. Tell me how much of a moron you are.

Me: Ugh, I blew it. Totally. I blew it so bad I need a gigantic Swiffer the size of Prairie Village to clean up this mess.

Friend: So, what do you mean you blew it? What did you do?

Me: Well, remember how (other friend’s name) royally screwed up everything with that rugby guy she dated our Sophomore year? She did just about everything in every scene of that “He’s Just Not That Into You” movie?

Friend: That was a good movie.

Me: I know. Hello Bradley Cooper, right?

Friend: Hello, Bradley, can I dry hump you until our clothes disintegrate?

Me: Disintegrate? Wow. I admire that.

Friend: I’m talkin, there’ll be so much friction, physics teachers around the world will be referencing that madness. There will be theories based off of it.

Me: You’ll be on page 344, right next to some dumbass graph. It will be a picture of you with the front of your clothes all worn away. And Bradley Cooper will be there grinning and taking a long drag.

Friend: Mmm. Yeah… Um, ok so back to you blowing it. What’s the damage?

Me: Nothing totally awful. But just kinda awful. I think I already told you about the night a few months ago when he and I met up for a drink and I ended up getting stupid-nervous and didn't drink a drop but, of course, said way too much. I went totally balls-to-the-wall honest with him. Ugh.

Friend: I still can’t believe you had the guts to do that. But I’m truly very proud of you! And you knew there was a chance it might backfire…

Me: And at the time, I think it was good to let that out, and good for him to hear. I bared my soul that night and put myself in a very vulnerable position.

Friend: Pretty sure you got that line from “The Bachelor”.

Me: Oh, the finale is on Monday! We gotta watch that and be overly critical and judgmental!

Friend: It’s a date. Anastasia? Will you accept this rose?

Me: I thought you’d never ask.

Friend: What were we talking about?

Me: Who cares. Dry humping and roses, er something?

Slap happy.

2010-04-28T23:16:00.001-05:00

Yep. Pretty sure I got somewhere close to negative-three hours of sleep last night. All day today, I’ve been operating on a combination of high fructose corn syrup and this weird slap-happy high that has caused me to think EVERYTHING is hysterical. Since my sister and her family have moved in with me temporarily, they have had the immense pleasure to witness some of this today. For example:

1. My nephew, Landon, is 15 months old. Today, he learned how to say “poop”. If that isn’t awesome enough, my sister called me at work and put him on the phone so he could share his new word with me. How do you say “Ah, yes, you said ‘poop’! Good boy!” in a professional environment? I didn’t because I couldn’t stop laughing long enough to say anything! Saying “poop” is just fuggin funny.

2. The only way my sister and brother-in-law are able to get Landon to go to bed is to prove to him that Aunt Naner is going to bed and therefore, staying awake to play without her would be terribly boring. (I’m assuming this is already widely accepted as truth within my whole social circle.) So, every night for the last couple weeks, I’ve had to go to my room and pretend to be asleep. They bring him to my door and peer in to see that Aunt Naner is fast asleep. Tonight, I realized how ridiculous it was and immediately ruined the whole thing with my uncontrollable laughing seizure. Aunt Naner is a big fat faker.

3. So that Landon doesn’t come tearing into my bedroom at inappropriate times, we’ve put up a baby gate just outside my bedroom door. Tonight when I was “going night-night because I’m sleepy”, I slowly dragged my “sleepy” self to my room, stepped over the gate, and caught my toe on my pant leg while in the mid baby-gate straddle. I’m not sure Landon has ever heard a crash like that before. I went down HARD. (That’s what she said.) I was so tired though, all I could do was lay there and try to muffle my laughter in my shirt.

Her role.

2010-04-01T14:43:00.003-05:00

I don't know this woman, I've never met her, but I like her because she's honest. This post made me hold my breath. It's pretty moving even without a moral or a satisfying conclusion.

This week.

2010-04-01T14:35:00.003-05:00

This week isn't even over and it's already fantastic!

So, there are these lyrics from three different songs that seem to rotate in and out of my head this week, and I can't seem to get over them.

"We could stay here where things became unclear Fighting what’s left of the right way..."

and...

"What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you..."

and...

"Your boy is like a memory with some sense of touch and a melody..."

I'm not going to tell you the artists because people always make judgments of lyrics based on who wrote them. That's not fair. (I suppose you cheaters will do a Topeka search on them anyway and screw up my point, but if you do, just know that I'll want to kick you in the Achilles next time I see you.) The good news is that they're cool lyrics, so at least I wasn't humming a Ricky Martin song - which by the way, how KUH-RAZY is it that he's GAY? WHAT?! I was shocked. This week is going down in history.

Other neat stuff from my week:

Words that are hard for me to remember how to spell this week:
Accelleration
Vaccuum
Diarhea
Sentance

I caught up with a really super special person in my life this week, and I'll give you 8 reasons why I'm happy about that:

1. This person is one of the wittiest people know. Witty is valuable, and I like that in my life.

2. This person makes me laugh more than most people can. Erin Matyak makes me laugh the most, but this person is a close second.

3. This person always has neat things going on. I sometimes strive to be more like that.

4. I thought for sure this person moved far far away and never wanted to come back. Now I know there is a short road.

5. This person is a plethora of ideas. Good ones. Like, I'd support an online "ideas store" where they could be sold for top dollar! They are that good!

6. Two of my three favorite stories to tell (yeah, of all time!) include this person as one of the main characters.

7. Sometimes I get wrapped up in really unimportant stuff, and this person shows me the simple stuff. Simplicity is a goal of mine, but this person doesn't make fun of me when I say that, cause life keeps getting less simple.

8. This person will, perhaps, be satisfied with 7 reasons, but I hope there is a smile knowing I continue to strive for 8.

Big decisions.

2010-03-02T21:48:00.003-06:00

I've made some big decisions in the last few days.

1. I've decided that I won't wash a load of darks with an entire wedding invitation thrown in the mix anymore.

2. I've decided that I'll start sweeping more than just one section of the kitchen floor when glass shatters and spreads across eight rooms.

3. And when I'm throwing away broken glass, and the three really big pieces start to slide out of my hand, I won't have a knee-jerk reaction and try to catch them against my stomach.

4. I've decided that I won't bake cookies for 24 minutes longer than what the recipe suggests anymore.

5. And I've decided that I won't use a Swiffer and excessive force when trying to silence the smoke detector anymore.

6. I've decided that I won't depend on the automatic shut-off switch in my gas tank when I'm fillin' 'er up at Quick Trip anymore.

Good trade.

2010-03-02T21:44:00.000-06:00

Erin: “You know what would be fun? We should take a whole afternoon off work and visit the Kansas City Board of Trade!”

Me: “I’m sorry, the what?”

Erin: “The Kansas City Board of Trade! Where they trade wheat and stuff.”

So we did. And we watched a magnificent 29 seconds of pure mayhem on the trade floor where 13 ridiculously dressed traders herded together to get yelled at and punched in the face by one single angry trader.

And then we bought souvenirs: stress balls shaped like loaves of bread. Because when we’re stressed, we want to be able to remember the day at the Kansas City Board of Trade and know that nothing in our day is going to get so bad that we want to punch a fellow trader in the face.

To continue the wheat-trading trend, we vowed to eat all things made of wheat for lunch. Pizza crust, happily, is made from wheat. And Boulevard Wheat is also, happily, made from wheat. And to conclude our wheat-trading day, we traded pints just before the first sip.

Neither of us punched the other in the face.

8 sides

2010-02-18T17:11:00.003-06:00

I just drew a perfect octagon. Seriously. It's beautiful. I wish you could see it.

Car entertainment.

2010-02-13T13:31:00.003-06:00

The SUV in front of me had a drop-down TV screen playing a feature film for all to see. I thought this was extremely annoying because of all the movies they could play, they chose something that I would probably guess was called "Betty's Bouncing Backside".

Ugh. Can you believe that? HELLO! How about being considerate of others around you? How about keeping in mind that there are CHILDREN in cars right next to you? How about a little decency, guys? And how about showing a film I haven't seen?

Jeez.

Paper Jam.

2010-02-13T09:57:00.003-06:00

I was alone all day at our satellite office yesterday. I'm like a 4-year old child - don't leave me by myself for longer than 20 seconds.

I was in a silly mood and photocopied something of mine (ahem) I shouldn't have. The problem is...there was a paper jam and I couldn't find where it was. I left the office without being able to retrieve anything. Somewhere in that copy machine is a picture I DON'T want someone to see.

How does this keep happening to me?

Another gym story

2010-01-18T23:25:00.002-06:00

I had my gym bag packed. I practiced my lock combination to make sure I could remember it. I mapquested my gym. When I got there, the skinny bitch at the front desk was flirting with the hot dude. They barely noticed me. I like to think that is because I blend in so well with all the other super fit chicks there.

Skinny Bitch: "Bla bla bla...triceps....bla bla bla...you're hot...bla bla bla..."

Me: (ahem)

Hot Dude: "I'm so hot...bla bla bla..."

Me: "Um, excuse me?"

Skinny Bitch: "Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart. How are you today?"

Me: "I'm well, thank you."

Skinny Bitch: "I like your scarf! It's pretty."

Hm...maybe she's not a bitch after all. She's actually kinda nice. I think I kinda like her. Now I feel bad. I obviously need to lighten up. She's not a bitch at all.

Me: "Thank you. It's my favorite."

Skinny...Lady: (scanning my membership card) "You're all set, Anastasia. Have a great workout!"

Me: (I can't believe I'm going to ask this.) "Um, can you maybe check my account and see when the last time I was here?"

Skinny Lady: "Absolutely...looks like it was...um-"

She stopped abrubtly.

Me: "When?"

Skinny Lady: (whispering) "It was...September 23rd."

Me: "WHAT?!"

That's when everything came to a screeching halt. The lights dimmed. The air-conditioning turned off. Everyone on the treadmills stepped off to look at me. The dudes lifting 765 pounds froze mid-extension. The kick-boxing class stopped the music. Everyone was staring at me and my pretty scarf. They all stood there in complete disgust. I overheard someone getting out of the lap pool repeating those words like a prayer. September 23rd!

Me: "Um, well...I...um...." (Oh God.)

The silence stung. People started shaking their heads and looking at the floor. The guys playing racquetball exchanged glances and turned away. They couldn't even look at me.

Me: "Oh, God."

Hot Dude: (with wild eyes) "Well, you must travel for work a lot, right?"

Me: "Um..." (Tell the truth, tell the truth, don't lie! Own up to this! Tell the truth, Anastasia!)

Skinny Lady: (drawing circles on the floor tiles in complete discomfort)

Me: "Yeah. Yeah, I travel for work, like ALL THE TIME, and I'm NEVER home. Ever. I mean, I'm home like, MAYBE one day a month. It's so crazy, and my boss - WOW, she's always sending me somewhere, you know? Like, ALL THE TIME... because who's gonna take care of the Baltimore office in this crazy time, right? Ugh, Baltimore. It's just keeping me away from home for WEEKS, you know...?"

Skinny Lady: (Nodding and breathing deeply) "Yeah."

Hot Dude: "Yeah."

Me: "Yeah."

And with that, the whole gym returned to normal. The chick on the bike started peddling again. The trainers continued counting lunges. The cleaning lady got back to mopping the floor. And all was forgiven.

You know, because I travel for work.

If I didn't have one.

2010-01-16T21:45:00.002-06:00

If I didn't have a chin... it would be hard to fold bath towels. Or bed sheets. So I'd take take the shelves out of my linen closet, throw the sheets and towels into a big heap, and use the shelves to make a display case for all my plaques for "overcoming the odds" that I received from people like the mayor and other not-really-important people who recognize people like chinless people for not giving up on life just because we don't have chins. And if I were having a bad day, and someone said, "hey, sweetie, chin up!" I wouldn't have that option so my life would never get better.

If I didn't have thumbs... it would be hard to put on pantyhose. Or any panties, for that matter. And if that was just too difficult, I'd go panty-less. And complain of a draft all day long until someone gave me a pair of rubber prosthetic thumbs. At night before I went to bed, I'd take them off and put them on my nightstand. But if I were a forgetful 3rd grader and forgot to put my thumbs on in the morning and if there was a substitute teacher at school that day and we got to play "Heads Up Seven Up", I'd probably be bored to death, because when they said "heads down, thumbs up", I'd never get picked.

Why I will continue to shop at HyVee.

2009-12-03T20:07:00.003-06:00

With only a jug of orange juice and a can of chicken noodle soup in my hands, I shuffled my sicky-poo self toward the only open register at the grocery store. There was one customer checking out, and she only had one item, so I was silently relieved that this was going to be a quick stop and I could get home to my electric blanket. For the last couple days, I’d been feeling like someone had forced broken glass Tabasco bottles down my throat and stuffed a cactus into my sinus cavity. This was not a pretty day for me.

So, just as I was getting ready to step into the checkout lane, a man (I will respectfully refer to as Mr. Punkass) and his shopping cart flew in from behind me, just missing the skin on the back of my left heel, and almost took out a whole display of beef jerky just to squeeze in front of me. I thought for sure it was just an accident because why in the world would anyone plow in front of a girl (again, carrying only two items) with an overstuffed cart about to explode like a Doritos and bacon volcano? I mean, maybe someone pushed him from behind? Or maybe his cart was having some brake problems, right?

No, Mr. Punkass is just a socially retarded jerk. I looked up at his face as he glanced over his shoulder at me.

Me: “Are you serious?”

Mr. Punkass: “What? I was here first.”

You were here first?! I wanted so badly to reach out and rub my I-can’t-find-a-kleenex sleeve all over the back of his neck and cough pieces of green jellyfish goo into his hair. I was completely stunned. As I always do when these things happen to me, I took 6 seconds to scan the area for hidden cameras or Ashton Kutcher.

This is when things started going my way.

Just a couple feet away, a store manager (who obviously saw this all happen) acknowledged that a line was forming, announced that he could take the next person in line and blocked Mr. Punkass in the line like he was boxing out for a rebound. He personally ushered me to the next register leaving Mr. Punkass pouting behind us.

My Hero: “Ma’am, I’d be happy to take care of you at this register.”

Me: “Oh, that is very kind of you, thank you.”

But wait. That’s not the end of the story. It gets better.

It took me all of 4.3 seconds to pay for my items, and as I was putting my billfold back into my purse, I turned to see how long Mr. Punkass would be waiting in line. That’s when I got the best thrill of my week. Remember there was a lady in line first, with only one item? That one item needed a price check. And it was a gigantic economy-size box of tampons.

Deadlines

2009-11-13T21:24:00.005-06:00

In the breakroom at my office, someone posted a flyer that reads something like:

Adorable Tabby Cat Looking for Loving Home
Orange and white, 3 years old
Loves children and other animals
Call Cindy at....

So I was thinking the other day: in order to speed up this adoption process and give interest calls a little boost, why not give this baby a deadline?

Adorable Tabby Cat Looking for Loving Home
Orange and white, 3 years old
If no takers by Thursday, the cat dies by drowning.
Cally Cindy at...

More specific please.

2009-10-07T22:06:00.002-05:00

I would like to propose a new law. And I know this proposal is VERY not P.C., but just hear me out.

It should be required for all handicapped drivers who use handicapped logos on their cars (on license plates as well as on those temporary tags hung on the rear-view mirror) to broadcast specifically what their handicap is. That way, those of us who find ourselves driving in the same vicinity of these handicapped drivers can make a more appropriate assessment as to how we want to react to possible "unfortunate" driving skills.

For example, if I were driving behind a woman with a handicapped logo and her specific disability posted on her bumper that states: "I am operating without a corpus callosum", I'll understand why she drives like a complete idiot, and save the long list of profanities for a more deserving candidate. But the jackass who blew out his knee in 1996 jumping off a balcony at Mardi Gras and is incapable of driving like a human, is going to get the finger. Seriously.

So, do I need to start one of those petition things, or what?

Skittles spark inappropriate emails

2009-09-14T15:17:00.002-05:00

I bought a large bag of Skittles to share with my coworkers. I sent a mass email saying:

"Stop by my cube if you want to 'taste the rainbow'."

About 4.6 seconds later, I was reminded how creative and kinda disgusting my coworkers are. They should all be ashamed. And I hope they live in fear of the same kind of HR phone call I got a couple years ago when I made fun of a coworker and accidentally copied him on the email. Ugh. That was a bad week.

but wait-

2009-08-21T23:48:00.002-05:00

Wait! Before I go to bed...

Did you hear about that woman who was murdered by that VH1 reality show dude? He pulled out her teeth and cut off her fingers. The only way her body was identified was by the serial number on her breast implants. That is awful.

Um...

...so, I need to get breast implants. You know, just in case.

Tough week

2009-08-21T23:23:00.002-05:00

I'm not one to complain (um, yeah I am), but it's been a tough week. Not just a normal tough week, but an emotional dunk-my-head-into-a-bucket-of-hormones-and-blow-my-nose tough week. Yeah. One of those. I pretty much cried at everything, and wanted to throw a fabulous irate fit in the middle of the housewares aisle at Wal-Mart. See, I was looking for a magazine rack to put next to the potty in the downstairs bathroom, and I couldn't find one. I caught myself right before I plopped down because there was a used kleenex right where I was going to put my hand, so I changed my mind about the whole fit thing.

I was also mad at everyone. Yes, I was probably mad at you. (Some person in Virginia reads my blog pretty regularly, I don't know who he/she is, but I was mad at him/her too. No reason.)

And I cried a lot because I missed everyone. Yes, I probably missed you, even though I was also mad at you.

So anyway, I'm feeling a little better. I missed you and I was mad at you but I am forgiving you.

You're welcome.

Neglect-itis

2009-08-19T22:57:00.004-05:00

A text from Shannon: “You need to put something on your blog. It’s suffering from I’ve-got-a-new-boyfriend-neglect-itis.”

Yep. Got a boyfriend. You good friends out there know I have always hated putting titles on my relationships because it was about as suffocating as duct-taping a plastic bag on my head and locking myself in a Taco Bell bathroom. But this guy is pretty neat-o, so I don’t mind the titles.

So, I guess the time I used to spend on writing meaningless jibberish on my blog has been replaced by romantic picnics, waking up early to watch the sunrise, and dancing in the rain. Sigh. No. None of that is happening. BUT – we did hold hands on our way to the Johnny on the Spot a couple weekends ago. That was hot.

You know what else I haven’t been doing? Going to the gym. I used to go straight there immediately after work, but who wants to do that when there’s a hot dude grilling steaks on the grill at your house? Not me. (Sorry, Mom. Not I.) But yesterday, I finally came out of my semi-24Hour-Fitness-Retirement, forced myself into a sports bra, and dragged my now-much-bigger-ass to the gym. Since it had been a while, I jokingly asked the trainer/secretary at the front desk for a map of the facility so I could find the locker room again:

Me: "Hi."

Jackass at front desk: "Hey, where you been, woman?"

Me: "I know, I know. It's been a while."

Jackass at front desk: (looking me up and down) "Yes it has. You should do my training class on Tuesdays."

Me: "Yeah, ok. See you there. So, is there a map or could you point me to the locker room? I forgot where it is."

Jackass at front desk: "For real?"

Me: "Um, no. I was kidding."

Jackass at front desk: "You really forgot?"

Me: "No. I was kidding."

Jackass at front desk: "Ah. Ok. Cause I was like, 'girl, you know you need to git here and work your stuff out if you don't even remember where the locker room is, cause daaaaang...'"

Me: "Ok."

Jackass at front desk: "You gonna come on Tuesday to my class, girl?"

Me: "No. I hate you."

I left Jackass and his his marinating-in-steroids shrinking testicles at their post so I could get started on my workout. Come to find out, that locker room is still in the same place as about a month ago. (Ok, fine. Two months ago.) Lockers #111 and #121 are my favorite, but some other bitches took them, so I had to settle for #133. Ugh. I should have turned around right then.

So I was getting ready to lock up my stuff when I realized I had NO IDEA what my lock combination was anymore. It was just sitting in the palm of my hand, locked and secure.

31 – 24 – 1? Nope. “Oops. Oh, well then it’s gotta be…”

34 – 21 – 1? Nope. “Hm, I could have sworn that was it. How bout...”

24 – 21 – 3? Nope. “This is stupid.”

31 – 24 – 1? “You just tried that, idiot. FOCUS!”

33 – 22 – 4? “Fugger!”

So I sat there and decided to relax and tried not to think about the numbers so when I casually tried again a few minutes later it would come naturally. Like muscle-memory. My fingers would just turn to the right numbers like I did almost every day a month ago. (OK! TWO months ago. Get off my back!) It wasn't until I realized that I was the creepy fat girl staring at the ceiling in the women's locker room that I felt like a complete loser. If only I had a double chocolate brownie to rub all over my face, it could have been a picture-perfect day at the gym.

I eventually figured out the combination. The numbers were: the age I don't want to be, the age that was super fun, and my second luckiest number. (I know, how could I EVER forget those? They're SOOOO obvious!)

Man, my boyfriend is the luckiest guy in the world.

Tell it.

2009-07-27T21:16:00.002-05:00

I'm sorry. I know I told you I'd post my most embarrassing moment, but every time I start thinking about it, I worry that I'm going to tell it wrong. See, Daniel has this crazy-almost-scary perfect memory so he can recount anything said at any time. Honestly, I know I'd tell the story, and then he'd look at me like an idiot, roll his eyes, and tell the story like it actually happened. So, I'm going to ask him to just go ahead and tell it.

Daniel. Please? Tell us a story.

My career capsule.

2009-06-25T20:25:00.007-05:00

This is my friend Daniel (and me, he's on the left):

I love him to pieces. And sometimes he has great ideas. Tonight, I'm copying one of them...which I just realized he actually copied from someone else, so maybe that is a bad example of an idea he had since he didn't really have it. (And I suppose this is also the perfect time to publish the tease for my next post: The complete description of one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. Thanks to Daniel. On the trip when that picture was taken. Stay tuned.)

But anyway... Lookie! This is my workspace! This is where I do what I do when I do it. It's also where I do kinda nothing sometimes:

The stuff worth pointing out, from left to right:

My "MVP - You Kick Ass" trophy from my MBA program study group. I was so flattered to receive this until I found out everyone in the group got one. Whatever. Its a borderline inappropriate thing to keep in a professional environment, and I love that. It's also the ONLY personal item I keep in my cube. Yes. The only one.

Four-picture frame given to me by my boss when Grub was born. She did this because she noticed I didn't have anything personal in my cube. I thanked her, because it was so thoughtful of her (isn't she sweet? LOVE her!), and displayed it right there. The goofy generic pictures that came with the frame greet me every morning. I've named the girl Zoe, and the doggie Zoe.

The binders. The thin white one says "Strategies for Success". The thick blue one? "Strategies for Complete and Utter Failure". There is much more information in that one.

Phone headset. Although my job requires me to communicate with clients on the phone quite a bit, I have a severe hatred for talking on the phone for more than about 4 minutes. With my friends, I typically say something like, "I gotta pee now, can I talk to you later?" to end the torture. Most of the time, I don't end conversations with clients that way anymore.

Vacation calendar. Although posted alongside my professional calendar, it gets much more consideration. Since this picture was taken, the rest of 2009 is posted with all K-State football games, birthdays, and other possible future excuses to call in sick.

The entire back wall of my cube is windows. I get a great view of things like this worm on the window:

See? Now you can visualize me spinning on my spinny-chair, talking to clients for no longer than 4 minutes, and filling the big blue binder one work-day at a time.

Before I die.

2009-06-24T22:14:00.002-05:00

A blogger friend of mine reminded me of something today: Sometimes we work so hard on accomplishing all our goals and checking off all the items on our never ending lists, we forget to allow ourselves the opportunity to stop being a work in progress, and start enjoying the progress we have already made.

Now, I'm a lists person, as you probably remember from previous posts. It's somewhat of an addiction. (Like my addiction to peanut butter M&Ms. And Oil of Olay moisturizer.) So of course I have a list of things I want to do before I die. Right now, I'm in the "reflect on the progress I've already made" zone, while I physically, mentally and spiritually prepare for my next crossing-off. But soon, I'll tackle the next item. (So don't rush me. Lay off.)

Here, my friends, is a short excerpt from my list. In no particular order.

Get arrested for something funny.
Start a massive food fight.
Shave my head. (Thanks for ruining this one, Brittany. Jeez.)
Work for a day in a tollbooth.
Kiss him in Times Square.
Go spelunking in Switzerland.
Feel completely comfortable in my own skin.
Have piggy-back relays to the 50 yard line and back.
Go on a hot air balloon ride.
Learn to surf.
Give birth.
Drive so far I run out of gas. On purpose.
Complete a triathlon.
Go to a sumo wrestling event and start the wave.
Sing with a gospel choir.
Throw and break something ridiculously expensive out of sheer anger.
Be a hugger at the Special Olympics.
Land a powerful punch right smack in the middle of his face.

Crash.

2009-06-09T13:08:00.003-05:00

Yesterday was the second time in 3 weeks that I witnessed a car accident on my lunch break. What are the odds of that?

Oh my God. I'm causing those accidents, aren't I? Shit.

Sometimes.

2009-06-02T21:32:00.002-05:00

Sometimes I forget that I have a whole wall of windows that form one complete side of my cubicle. Like when I have a wedgie.

Sorry old man. My bad.

From my brother-in-law

2009-06-01T17:33:00.002-05:00

This is a quote from Dennis Miller. Quite appropriate after this week's events in Wichita, Kansas:

"I do, believe it or not, consider myself to be a Christian -- and I'm sorry, you just don't go shooting doctors. If a judgment's to be made, God gets to make it. Not you. Him. You are Barney Fife. Keep your bullet in your shirt pocket. All right? You know, God is Andy Taylor. If abortion is wrong, and I believe in many cases it is, somewhere down the line God's gonna let you know about it. And believe me, God paybacks are an eternal bitch. Somebody else's abortion is none of your business. And listen, if you really believe that your God is telling you to kill an abortionist in his name, then you've got to crush some tinfoil on your antenna, pal, because you're gettin' some heavy interference."

I don't know her, but I love her.

2009-05-29T23:26:00.002-05:00

Do you remember that story about the poopy honeymoon? Remember? The gal who had the most embarrassing honeymoon of all time? I can't find it on her blog, but I'm going to search a little more. If you have the link, please send it to me.

In the meantime, read the same gal's post from today. She is seriously one of my favorite people on Earth right now. I love her, and I hope we can become best friends someday soon.

Shannon

2009-05-10T21:14:00.003-05:00

Three (of a billion) reasons why I love my sister Shannon to pieces:

1. She gives me every opportunity to say stupid shit all the time, and then when I do, she lets out these awesome bursts of laughter as if she wasn't expecting it. It's like she hands me a Super Soaker Max 5000 and a bucket of water and then stands there and waits.

2. She and I go all giggly-googly over Justin on Brothers and Sisters together, and we text back and forth like 5th graders passing notes about the cute boy in class. Fifth grade is so much more fun with Shannon in my class.

3. She reads my blog, and then sends me this because the last paragraph reminded her of my most recent boy issue (which, she loves getting updates about, too). It is perfect, and so relevant. My sister is so on top of it.

Happy Mother's Day

2009-05-10T17:02:00.002-05:00

I was mowing the lawn today when I saw a blue remote-controlled car swerve into my driveway. It raced up the drive, took a hard left, approached the lawn bag ramp full speed, and went flying off the side. It landed on it's side with all four wheels still spinning. Knowing the kid couldn't be too far behind, I stopped the lawn mower and waited for the driver, giggling as I remembered playing with a car just like that when I was about 10.

Kid: (rounding the corner) "Oh, hey."

Me: "That's a sweet ride you got there."

Kid: "Yeah, but it's not faster than my other one. Do you want to see it? I can go get it!"

Me: "You know, I'd love to see it, but I have to do my chores. Maybe another time?"

Kid: "Sure," (thinking hard) "Hey, where are your kids?"

Me: "Oh, I don't have kids."

Kid: "Why not?"

Me: "Um, well, I...I guess because I don't have a husband for them to have a daddy."

Kid: "I don't have a daddy but my mom still has me."

(Crap. Nice job, Mean Lady who lives on the corner. Maybe you can knock him down on the concrete and throw rocks at him, too.)

Kid: "But you seem like you'd have kids."

Me: "Oh, why do you say that?"

Kid: "Cause you're nice to me."

(Oh, my heart!)

Me: "That's because I think you're cool."

Kid: "Yeah."

Me: "Well, I really like kids, and maybe I'll have some someday before I get really super old. And if you're still my neighbor, then you can teach them how to drive those cars."

Kid: (Looking bright-eyed and too excited for how long he'd really have to wait to get to do that.) "Yeah, that would be cool. Ok, I'll see you later!"

Me: "Ok, see ya!"

Kid: "Happy Mother's Day!"

Me: (laughing) "Thanks, buddy!"

Temper Tantrum Guy

2009-05-09T20:54:00.004-05:00

I hurt someone's feelings this week. No. Wait. I'm not going to blame myself for that. Let me start over:

Someone's feelings were hurt this week.

So there was this guy, right? He was awesome. Very funny. A great dad to his kids. Thoughtful. Intelligent. Fun. I met him on Monday, we hit it off, talked a lot for a couple days, then on day three (yes, DAY THREE) while I was in meetings at work, he sent enough text messages to fill up my entire phone. He "dumped me" in about a 45 minute time frame. Huh?!

Let me explain:
Boy meets girl. Boy and girl laugh a lot together. Boy and girl make plans to hang out. Girl goes to work. Boy gets anxious and reveals his insecurity of getting blown off due to little contact on this third day. Girl sympathizes and reminds him she is away from her phone the majority of the day. Boy gets upset about the lack of response while girl is working. Girl is in meetings all day and misses boy's texting temper tantrum. Boy says very mean things to girl via more text messages. Girl is still in meetings. Boy's head explodes and says more mean things. Girl gets back to her desk after meetings, reads texts messages, and has no idea what in the world just happened.

Can I share with you the most interesting text I received this week from Temper Tantrum Guy?

"Thanks for making this easy. I should have seen this coming. It's why I left my ex. Jobs don’t trump people."

Dude. I knew you for three days. THREE! My job definitely trumps you. Yes.

I'm so sorry your feelings were hurt. Saying mean things to me like that was pretty uncalled for, though. If I could have had a part in the argument, I would have more to say. But, I didn't, so I don't.

Thumbs up

2009-04-29T12:41:00.009-05:00

Last night, I was using a public restroom. We girls must be very cautious about hovering and not allowing any of our dainty skin to touch the toilet, right? Seeing that my quads are still a little sore from the Trolley Run on Sunday, this was a difficult task. I had to keep adjusting and standing up and wiggling around a little. What made this "rest"-room experience worse was that the toilet paper roll had run out. Thank goodness for those Twin Toilet Paper Dispensers though, right?!

For those of you who use toilet paper on a regular basis, you already know that when one roll runs out on these things, another roll is patiently waiting. All you have to do is slide the little trap door thingy at the bottom over to the other side, and retrieve your prize.

I did this. I slid the trap door over, stuck my hand up there and THWAAAP! The damn trap door's spring broke, sending the sharp little plastic machete zipping across it's track, scraping and pinning my poor little thumb against the side. Let me remind you, I'm trying to stay hovering. The pain was just too much for me handle and I let out a little "eeeeeuuukpt hot hot hot!" to which someone 3 stalls over replied, "Um, are you ok, er can I, um...?" (Which, I thought was very thoughtful of her.) Then the unthinkable happened. I sat down.

NO! I know, I know. It was terrifying! I jumped back up with thumb still pinned in the toilet paper dispenser and cringed. My eyes were watering. I might have gagged. I knew I would have to jerk my thumb out, waddle to the sink with my pants around my ankles, toss my bare ass into a stream of hot water, lather up with the hand soap, and hope I can wash away all the complete nastiness on my bum.

I don't even remember if I flushed.

Ok, no, I didn't actually waddle over to wash my ass in a public sink. I wanted to, but who knows what kind of infectious diseases are lingering around those, too? We shall patiently wait for Daniel to comment on any related public health concerns we all need to be aware of now.

Because

2009-04-19T21:40:00.002-05:00

Because "twenty years from now you'll be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the things you did..."

I went turkey hunting on a whim. I had enough time to buy a total red-neck camouflage "Keystone Light" ball cap, and then I woke up at 4am to meet two new guy friends out at some farm south of Lawrence. In the rain. Armed with big scary guns.

And it was fantastic!

Everything about it was so cool. Even the fact that we sat in mud through torrential rains was just great. The guys were so nice, the farm was beautiful, the air was sweet, and I couldn't be more thrilled with my first hunting trip. Here's what I learned:

1. There is no giggling in turkey hunting.

2. Be calm. Don't freak out when you see your first turkey.

3. Be still. Don't freak out when you see your first turkey.

4. When told to slowly get your gun ready to shoot a turkey, move s-l-o-w-l-y.

5. Mud on a severe incline is slippery.

6. Mud on a severe incline is even more slippery after you have already fallen in it twice.

7. Gravity is funny.

On my list.

2009-04-19T13:26:00.004-05:00

Have you visited Annie Parson's blog? It's fantastic! Today she posted a couple links of her fav YouTube videos, and I couldn't help but share my love for one of them too. I want to do this someday!

Sorry.

2009-04-17T09:49:00.003-05:00

Ok, everyone. Calm down. Perhaps I owe you an apology for causing concern with my work-rage post from yesterday. I'm very sorry to have worried you.

And thank you. I do feel quite blessed that you care enough to try to talk me down from the ledge. Allyson is the only one who commented publicly on the post (no, AG, I don't want you to quit), but I did receive emails, FB messages, and phone calls from several of you. Here is my favorite:

Him: "Are you going to 'off' someone tomorrow?"

Me: "I might flip someone 'off', but I have no plans of physically harming anyone."

Him: "You're boring."

Me: "Because I'm not going to harm someone for being bad at their job?"

Him: "I got new underwear today."

Me: "Awesome. You definitely have A.D.D."

Him: "I do not. I'm clean. I always wrap it up! I hear that shit can burn!"

Me: "...?"

Please.

2009-04-16T11:54:00.003-05:00

Please do your job. Just do what you're paid to do. I'm not even asking you to do MORE than what you're getting paid to do. Just do the minimum. I don't care. (Later you will read my plea for you to do more, but you can ignore that one if this "do the minimum" is still a stretch for you.)

Please quit if you can't handle your job. There are many people who can and we will happily fill your position with someone competent. Hell, we might not even need to fill it because we have been doing your job for you for quite a while.

Please stop pretending that your job is more important than anyone else's. It's really not. You think that because you're stupid. You have no earthly idea what happens outside your little bubble.

Please remember that you actually HAVE a job right now because of our clients. So stop treating them like poop. This is where I'm going to ask you to do more than the minimum: please treat our clients better than poop.

Please stop acting like you're in third grade. Please stop pouting. Please stop waiting for everyone to notice that you're pouting. We don't like you and we're hoping you will quit.

Please.

Don't eat that.

2009-04-11T09:43:00.009-05:00

I don't eat anything blue. Ever since I was a kid, I have had this aversion to blue foods and drinks. When my sisters and I ate Bomb-Pops on the driveway, I'd eat the red and white part, and then give the blue part to my sisters. Blue drinks always look like Windex. Why would you put something like that in your mouth? Blue is just the most unnatural color for food. Have you seen these Whopper Robin Eggs candy lately? Notice the blue ones. They might be the most disgusting looking food I have ever seen in my life. Not only are they a terrible shade of unnatural blue, they are shaped like a bird's egg. A BIRD'S EGG, people! Like a little gooey and feathery animal with a crunchy beak is forming inside of it. Robin's eggs really are blue, so there is some truth in their design. Now, why would you eat a robin's egg?

So, I love my newest coworker to death, we'll call her Ruby Paully, and I can't blame her for not knowing about my no-blue-food diet, but yesterday when we were chattin it up in the Food Cube at work (yes, we have a cubical dedicated only to food) I saw her take a bite of a blue Whopper Robin Egg. I had a physical reaction to it. I cried. I'm 30 years old and I CRIED at the sight of her consuming something blue! I cried because my body was having such a hard time not gagging and I was trying to stay under control and I just couldn't do it. I was almost bawling. There was blue stuff all over her lips and dripping onto her fingers. I couldn't watch. I just stood there looking off into space and CRIED!

Ruby, I'm sorry for my unusual reaction to your enjoyment of the Easter candy. But it was BLUE for goodness sake. BLUE?!

Law.

2009-04-06T22:10:00.004-05:00

The good news is, she won't be teaching any more of your classes. The bad news is... econ is next.

:)
I'm proud of you.

Confession of confusion.

2009-04-05T21:25:00.000-05:00

Until probably 4th grade, I didn’t know the difference between a curb and a curve, deaf and death, or tourists and terrorists. I thought all fat women were pregnant. I thought teachers lived at school and their beds must have been hidden in the teacher’s lounge where we couldn’t see them.

And my favorite: I thought that all dogs were male and all cats were female and together they made puppies and kittens.

I was a pretty dumb child.

The Wrangler community.

2009-04-02T22:14:00.001-05:00

I don’t know how it started, but at some point, maybe in the early 1600’s, Jeep Wrangler drivers started waving at each other. It’s a strange phenomenon, but it’s also very cool. A friendly little wave to acknowledge “hey, you and I are driving similar vehicles” can really make my day. I try to wave at all the Wranglers I see, or at least toss up a “sup?” with two fingers over the steering wheel. Both are acceptable in the Wrangler community.

Today I pulled into a parking space right next to another Wrangler. The dude was on his phone and focusing on something next to him in the seat, so he didn’t catch my “sup”. So, I ignored him back and walked into the building. He came in just a few seconds later and we ended up waiting in silence for the elevator. I’m not one to love awkward silences, so I spoke up. Perhaps I should have just dealt with the silence because what I said was:

“If it would get a little hotter, you and I could take off our tops!”

I’ve never seen eyeballs that big before. And at first, I thought HE was the crazy one for his kinda-scary reaction, but then I remembered that there was NO WAY HE WOULD KNOW I WAS TALKING ABOUT OUR JEEPS! He didn’t see me pull up in my Wrangler, he didn’t see me acknowledging him, he had no idea! He was on the phone and doing a crossword, or some shit. So I elaborated:

“Um, our Wranglers, I mean. We can take the tops off our Wranglers when the weather gets nicer. It’s just so damn cold right now, you know? I mean, hello! It snowed like, what, yesterday, or something? Yeah, so…um, we could only do that when it warms up a little. So…”

I was sweating. Elaborating in a panic is such hard work. Then he made this story even better by saying:

“I don’t drive a Wrangler. I have a Civic.”

Google surprise.

2009-03-29T21:19:00.004-05:00

I suppose I should do this more often, but today I took a few minutes to Google my name. You know, just to see what I've been up to. The first three sites Google spit out were:

1. PeekYou - Who are these stalkers?

2. LinkedIn - Because I definitely need to be virtually linked to more people.

3. Facebook - What is this book of faces?

And then...I found something kinda fantastic. Someone with the same name as mine is very loved. I swear I didn't have anything to do with this, and I'm sad that it is not longer available.

Being Discreet.

2009-03-21T19:46:00.000-05:00

Sometimes when I try really hard to be discreet, it ends up backfiring on me. Go figure, right? I discover that I would have been much better off tap-dancing on bubble wrap under a flashing marquee with my pants on fire. Yesterday was one of those days, minus the fire.

We ladies don’t normally like to broadcast where we are in our menstrual cycles, that is, unless we’re appearing on a commercial break during a Lifetime Original Movie. But for the sake of this post, I’ll go ahead and fess up. Dude. I’m on my period. (Gentlemen, are you rethinking clicking on this link now?) If you work in my office, you probably already knew this though. Why? Oh, thank you for asking. I’m happy to share.

Ladies, I think it’s stupid to take our purses into the restroom at work because it kinda looks like we either don’t trust our colleagues not to sift through our Costco receipts, or we’re OBVIOUSLY concealing sanitary products and utilizing them in the “room of rest”. Besides, when you turn around and lock the stall, where do you put that bag, huh? Gross.

So, I’ve made a habit on non-pants-pocket-wearing-days of stuffing a tampon up my sleeve before taking the short stroll. Ingenious, right? As long as I’m wearing long sleeves and I don’t have to high-five anyone on my way there, this usually works pretty well. Usually.

As I left the privacy of my cubical, I was finishing this game of tampon-hide-and-seek, rounded the corner and accidentally hit my forearm on the edge of the cubical wall. Did you know Tampax added jet propellers to their compact tampons? No? Neither did I, until the little guy came shooting out of my sleeve and across the hall. I panicked a little, ran toward it, and bent down to scoop it up before Eric could catch a peek of this horrible disaster. (Oh my GOD, what would I DO if ERIC knew I was MENSTRUATING?!) My scoop-and-conceal attempt was painfully unsuccessful though, because I inadvertently kicked it a few feet farther and squarely in the middle of the hall’s intersection. WHAT?! Now the WHOLE OFFICE is going to know!

I wanted so badly to fall on it chest-first to trap it like a fumbled football, but I was afraid it would hurt my boobs. So I did what anyone would do if they were hiding something that was on the floor. I stomped on it.

And you know what? No one was around. NO ONE! I know this because when I returned to my cubical to retrieve a non-flat tampon out of my purse, I discovered that Eric was at lunch. And, there wasn’t a SINGLE PERSON in their cubical down either hallway. All of this was for NOTHING!

On my second attempt, I took my purse. And I wore a sandwich board. And I used a bullhorn announcing my period.

Can't you read the sign?

2009-03-09T21:58:00.007-05:00

Growing up, one of my best girlfriends always counted on "signs" to lead her toward making the right decisions in life. (When I say "life" I actually mean "junior year".) It was always entertaining to hear her analysis of what she thought was "seriously a sign, I swear to God it's a sign, Annie" that caused her to pick one prom dress over the other, or that pointed to "definitely, without a doubt" the man she was supposed to marry. Usually, these signs were sappy country love songs sung by kinda manly looking women, or pride-threatening injuries (which by itself was super funny because she was quite the hypochondriac, and still is). Personally, I think she was wrong about both the prom dress and the man she was supposed to marry, because CLEARLY she couldn't be happier with her soon-to-be fiance.

I'm not sure that I have ever believed in signs that much. I've just been making decisions like there's not a wrong one. Life has been about making it all up as I go along, and doing things (and going places) just for the story to tell later. A sign wasn't going to lead me anywhere. The wander-lust and free t-shirts were enough for me. You all have heard the story about my fantastic trip to Barrington, Illinois. Was that perfectly not-planned but insanely wonderful trip a sign for a life-changing decision? Yeah, probably, if you believe in that crap.

But lately, I can't help but notice little things pulling me in one direction over the other. I think it started about a year ago when I bought this house. Brad Papa and I walked in, I stepped one foot in the door and noticed I had a ladybug on the hem of my pants. (Ladybugs have always reminded me of comfort and home.) I temporarily ignored it, thinking I was just so exhausted from house-hunting that I just wanted this one to be "the one" so badly.

Since then, there have been a crap-load of "if-it-were-any-more-obvious-it-would-smell-and-taste-like-a-good-decision" signs. For example, when I took the Jeep to get the oil changed on Friday, the number they attached to my keys that matched the number they hung from the rear-view mirror was a number that has been haunting me about a bad decision I made just recently. I've been thinking about how badly I needed to fix that misstep, and now there it was - hanging in front of my face AND giving me a paper cut.

Hey, whoever is sending me these signs?! How about sending me a more specific sign about how to fix something that is unfixable? Maybe it can include step-by-step directions with color-coded tabs and an instructional video. Or better yet, cut it out with the shitty signs and JUST FIX IT FOR ME!

Productive potty

2009-03-04T22:38:00.003-06:00

Oh my gosh. You were right! I really CAN be very productive while on the potty!

Lately I've been reading my mail in the bathroom. Do you do this? You should. It gives you an opportunity to organize your bills, throw away junk mail (probably shouldn't flush it without consulting a pro), and if you have time, you can browse through your Apollo 401k statement, which might actually help you poop if you're constipated.

Typically, I don't get anything more exciting than the Val-Pac coupons in my mailbox, but tonight was different. I got something from Brad Papa, my realtor. Can I tell you how much I love Brad Papa? On a love scale between 1:"get outta my face" and 10:"here, take my kidney", I'd say he is an 8.2: "high-fives for being rad!". He sends me fun "thank you for being my client" stuff in the mail, and today he sent me a scratch-off LOTTERY TICKET! What?! I know! And guess what? I WON! (He's at http://www.papasinthehouse.com/ if you're looking for a super great realtor and free lottery tickets.)

I've also made some important decisions on the potty. Today, I decided the Charmin brand of toilet paper I bought at Costco is DEFINITELY their softest yet, and I will continue to buy this brand. I'm a big fan of the new pretty floral designs on it too. Flowers are pretty in a vase and on my bottom. Thank you, Charmin.

The scale I use very rarely (who wants to see that they've GAINED weight after pooping?) has a name. His name is Taylor. Only because the brand name "Taylor" is plastered right above the sad digital read-out right above my toes. Taylor and I don't always see eye to eye, so tonight I made sure I always win. Did you know you can alter the dial thingy on the bottom so it starts at -20lbs? Yep. Taylor and I are good pals as of 5 minutes ago.

I have this real fear that I'm going to forget something (or a lot of somethings) that is so super important, my life depends on it. So, I'm the type who makes lists. And lists of lists to make. I'm not kidding. Tonight I made a list of lists of things that will help me organize the baby shower on Sunday. I'll need a shopping list, a to-do list (sorted by room of the house and degree of importance), and an agenda to get all the lists completed. Yes, "clean bathroom" was on one of those lists because I can only reach so far from my perch. Please stop asking me for more than I can really handle in there. Thanks.

Injury report.

2009-02-26T20:33:00.003-06:00

When you hurt yourself, what do you say? "Ouch?" "Fugger?" "Ugh?" Not me. For some reason, I keep catching myself saying "HOT!" How dumb is that? Why is my brain so confused? And why do I keep getting hurt all the time? It's annoying...

Tuesday night: I read somewhere that I should dust off the wood trim with a dry soft cloth before I start painting it. So I wrapped my hand in a towel and dragged it across the top of my bedroom door. There was some split wood there I didn't see, but my finger caught it just right. Splinter from hell. Blood. "HOT!"

Last night: I was changing 6 small light bulbs in the chandelier above my stairs. I don't have a ladder, so I had to use a stool. Since I didn't fall to my death, I celebrated my successful chore as I climbed down. The stool tipped over, skidded across the hall, and I caught my armpit on the top of the banister. I weigh a little more than an average hippopottomous, so my arm was basically ripped from my body. "HOT!"

Tonight: I was perfecting my moon walk in the kitchen today and since I didn't have a sufficient warm-up, I strained a tendon or something on the bottom of my foot. I collapsed to my knees in horrific pain. "HOT!"

One of my favorite questions to ask people is, "What was your worst injury?" It always brings fun stories. So what's yours?

If there's anything I can do...

2009-02-22T12:32:00.002-06:00

My good friend Amy Jones is a total hoot. She works on the other side of the bathroom at my office, so I don't have a clear flying-monkey shot to her cubical, but the fact that we work on the same floor is good enough.

But Amy has had a rough few days. She lost someone very close to her just a couple days ago, so she's grieving and hurting. You know when you see someone who is usually pretty content, and then you find out they're sad now? It kinda shakes you up a bit. Well, we were IMing last night and she told me that although she appreciates that people are asking her "How are you doing?", because they obviously care and want to help, that's exactly when she starts falling apart again.

We all know that feeling. Why do we still ask people "How are you doing?" when you know the answer is "I'm really sad and upset and annoyed and my face hurts from all the crying I've been doing, and I've got snot all over my sleeve, I haven't had a normal bowel movement since Wednesday, and I just can't wrap my mind around why someone I love is no longer here, and please stop hugging me because you're invading my space and if you don't get out of my face and let go of my hand, I'm going to jab my elbow into your left eye."

Then we decided that maybe when people say, "If there's anything I can do for you..." we're going to go ahead and tell them to start doing things. You know, just to make the grieving process a little easier. And I'm not talking about making meals and bringing them to the house. I mean, really helpful things. So, here are some things you can do for Amy while she goes through this rough time.

1. Pick up all the dog poop in her back yard. She just hates doing that.

2. Shave her legs for her. She hasn't gotten around to it lately.

3. Do an interpretive dance of a topic of her choosing. (BTW: this one has been taken.)

4. Give her $20. Or $50, she's not picky.

5. Replace all the light bulbs in her house with those environmentally friendly ones.

6. Re-grout her shower, and/or install a whirlpool 2-person tub with massaging jets.

7. Buy her a Zamboni.

8. Build her a castle.

9. Write a letter to CBS asking for them to put Perfect Strangers back on the air.

10. Put up curtains on the windows in her cubical.

Thank you. You've been a huge help.

Ugh, this is annoying.

2009-02-22T12:11:00.004-06:00

This one was originally written on November 25, 2007. Posting it per request of Sara. You're welcome, girl.

I love that Thanksgiving is the dress rehearsal for Christmas. You get all the awkward moments all primed and perfected so everyone is geared up for the main event.

Annoying Relative: "Well, well...there's our beautiful Emily! Good to see you again!"

Me: "Actually, I'm Annie."

Annoying Relative: "Oh, my goodness, yes you are! Of course, Dear! Now, Annie, tell me...how old are you now? Almost 20, right?"

Me: "Close! I'll be 29 in January"

Annoying Relative: "Twenty NINE?! Oh my! Well, I'll be darned!

Me: "Yep, growin up."

Annoying Relative: "Well, do you have a special man in your life? Twenty NINE is getting up there, isn't it? Shouldn't you be getting married sometime soon like your sisters? It's your turn, you know!"

Me: "I was thinking about it, but I didn't want to make the same God-awful mistake you made."

Annoying Relative: "What was that dear?"

Me: "I said, I'm enjoying being single right now.

Annoying Relative: "Aw, that's so sweet."

Me: "I've been able to focus on my MBA and--"

Annoying Relative: "--oh, is that Emily over there? Aw, there is our beautiful Emily! Come over here, Darling!"

Me: "and I'd really like to slit my wrists right now..."

Annoying Relative: "Now, Annie. Why don't you visit us like your sister Emily does, huh? We never get to see you!"

Me: "Gosh, I know. I should really try to come out and visit. I've been so busy with--"

Annoying Relative: "It doesn't take that much time to swing by."

Me: "I know. I'll definitely do that soon."

Annoying Relative: "Because, you know, we're not going to be around forever."

Me: "That's fantastic news."

Annoying Relative: "What's that, Dear?"

Me: "Nothing."

Annoying Relative: "Is that Kathy? Oh, Kathy you must be so proud that Emily found someone like Chad!"

Me: "Dad, can I maybe borrow that knife?"

Tastes like chicken.

2009-02-15T22:54:00.003-06:00

I was driving to work with my hands placed perfectly at 10 and 2, when I noticed I had smeared toothpaste on the back of my thumb. I'm not sure how I didn't notice this after brushing my teeth not 30 minutes earlier, but stranger things have happened, I guess. (I usually have a hand towel next to the sink, as any normal person would, but apparently I settled for a quick wipe of my hand this morning instead.) I was wearing Crest Cool Mint like a damn thumb glove.

My first instinct was to wipe this kinda-already-dried toothpaste mess on my pants, but black pants look way better when they're not caked with non-black chalky substances. A brief inventory of the Jeep's contents turned up nothing suitable for wiping. Football? Cooler (with wheels)? Happy birthday card from my boss, complete with my name misspelled? None of this stuff will do. Of course, I could always slide my thumb across the side of the seat, but like the pants issue, my seats are black.

That's when it occurred to me. HELLO! It's toothpaste. This stuff belongs in your mouth anyway. Just lick it off, genius.

So I did.

I ran my tongue the full length of the white pasty ribbon on my thumb, closed my mouth, and allowed my tongue to scan my mouth, whipping up enough saliva to wash the toothpaste residue down. But then something terrible happened. The saliva that typically pools in my mouth was going dry. The tip of my tongue started going numb. The chalky substance turned into a cakey cream-ish texture, and the metallic taste immediately made me gag. UGHARTHWIPP! PIH! PIH! Oh my God, my tongue. My lips! Gross! PIH! What IS that?!

Wait. Ew. It's not toothpaste.

It's deodorant.

No coffee, please.

2009-02-08T18:44:00.002-06:00

I was craving a croissant sandwich from Burger King yesterday morning.

Drive thru lady: "Tank yo fo comink to Bahger Keeng, con I teck yo odar?"

Me: I'd like a number one please, with a large orange juice instead of the coffee."

Drive thru lady: "..."

Me: "That's all please."

Drive thru lady: "Awm, coffee?"

Me: "No. I'd like a large orange juice instead of the coffee, please."

Drive thru lady: "Awm... woianog oig aoiwh fiouhb oadhoiu howih?"

Me: "I'm sorry?"

Drive thru lady: "Giruhslg siughi iruel ewi riunan iuwrhuh wgywge?"

Me: "I'm sorry, I can't understand what you're saying."

Drive thru lady: "Awm.."

Me: (Maybe I can't understand you because my stomach is growling so loud, lady.) "No coffee. Instead I'd like a large orange juice."

Drive thru lady: "..."

Me: "Please." (Please shoot me in the head.)

Drive thru lady: "Goaiuhw qyoig oisjh wuyqifm mxgkjhg eoiu COFFEE."

Me: "But I don't want any coffee," (I can't have caffeine because I might get so high-strung I could tear this speaker box out of the ground and launch it into the street, lady.)

Drive thru lady: " Awm..."

Me: "Oh, wow."

Long pause...

Me: "Hello?"

New drive thru dude: "Hey, she just wants to know if you want some cream in your coffee."

Me: "But I don't want coffee. I'd like a large orange juice instead."

New drive thru dude: "Oh, cool. Ok."

Me: "That's all, please."

Drive thru lady: "Oh-keey. Pleece pool fowod."

I pulled to the window as I was (kinda) instructed. I paid with cash, she gave me my change, and handed me a greasy bag. Then, she handed me a coffee.

Me: "Ok, I -- um... ok, here's the thing, I don't WANT coffee. I want a large orange juice."

I shouldn't have been surprised to get a blank stare from Miss Gjiarihroauh Oeiuaoe.

Drive thru lady: "Oh-keey!"

And then she hands me a tiny carton of Roberts Dairy orange juice... a carton that wouldn't barely satisfy an anorexic fruit fly.

Me: "Thank you. This is good. But it's a small orange juice. Could I maybe have two of these?"

Drive thru lady: (Smiles.) "Tank yo."

Me: "Can I please have two of these?"

Drive thru lady: "Tank yo. Pleece pool fowod."

Me: "You're killin me, lady."

Drive thru lady: "Tank yo. Bye bye."

Wax on, wax off.

2009-02-03T21:31:00.002-06:00

I was asking my "Wax Girl" yesterday about the variety of services she offers. Now, I have only had my "Wax Girl" rip all the hair off my lip and brows... nothing else. But I was curious. So I asked her.

Me: "So, you need to tell me how this works."

Wax Girl: "Ok."

Me: "Because the thought of you fiddling around down there, purposely causing me so much pain that I leave in tears, and then you want me to PAY YOU for that? It just doesn't make sense to me."

Wax Girl: "I charge $35."

Me: "Ok, well, that's not quite what I was wondering."

Wax Girl: "Tax included."

Me: "Right. But um...I need details. When someone comes in for one of those appointments, how exactly do they, um... prepare?"

Wax Girl: "My clients just have to let it all grow for about two weeks. That way the wax can adhere and it's an easier and cleaner process. Some people say it hurts, and others say it's no big deal."

Me: "Two weeks?"

Wax Girl: "And you're in and out in about 15 minutes."

Me: "If I do that, I probably don't want you to wax my lip anymore."

Wax Girl: "Oh."

Me: "And we probably couldn't be friends anymore either."

Wax Girl: "Oh, okie dokie!" (Handing me a mirror to check out my newly shaped eyebrows.)

Me: "Thanks, Wax Girl. I'll probably just think a little more about that other appointment before I set it up."

Wax Girl: "What other appointment?"

Me: "You know, the bikini wax."

Wax Girl: "Oh, yeah, those hurt a lot."

Me: "What?

Wax Girl: "You'll cry so hard. Anyway, I charge $35."

Me: "To make me cry?"

Wax Girl: "No, Silly Anastasia! For the wax!"

Me: "You're really dumb."

Elevator Story #1: My Lucky Number

2009-02-02T21:25:00.002-06:00

A friend and I were in Chicago a few years ago for the Chicago Marathon. The day before the race, we were riding the hotel elevator up to our room when the elevator stopped at a random floor and the doors opened. Enter gorgeous athlete with the most amazing biceps you've ever wanted to taste.

Mr. Biceps: "Hi there."

Me: "Hi."

Mr. Biceps joined us, made a graceful turn to face the doors again, then leaned across me gently brushing my breast with his forearm. Ok, maybe I just imagined that part... yeah, probably did. Anyway, he leaned across and pressed the button for the 19th floor.

Mr. Biceps: (in this extra-smooth Rico Suave voice) "Excuse me."

Me: "Oh my gosh!"

Mr. Biceps: "I'm sorry?"

Friend: "What's wrong?"

Me: "This is awesome."

Friend: "What?!"

Me: "That was it!"

Friend: "What was it, Anastasia?" (Oh my God, is she still here?)

I looked Mr. Biceps in the eye and smiled. He squinted one eye and tilted his head just a tiny bit as he tried to understand my abrupt celebration.

Me: "Nineteen. It's my lucky number!"

Mr. Biceps: "Really?"

Stupid Friend: "No it's not."

Me: "Yeah, nineteen."

No-longer-my-friend: "I thought 23 was your lucky number." (She finally shut up and cowered in the corner when I gave her the "no-one-cares-about-what-you-think-right-now" look.)

Mr. Biceps: "Is that so? Nineteen?"

Me: "Mmm, uh huh. I think this is really good news for me tomorrow."

Mr. Biceps: "I take it you're running the marathon in the morning?"

Me: "Yeah, it's my first one.

Mr. Biceps: "It's Anastasia, is it?"

Me: "Yeah..."

Mr. Biceps: "Well, I'm glad I could be the one bringing you a little luck this weekend, Anastasia. Have fun tomorrow."

Just then, the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. My ex-friend marched out and left me standing there with my Romeo.

Me: "Thank you."

Mr. Biceps: "You're welcome." And the doors started to close.

Mr. Biceps ended our love affair with a most adorable crooked smile and a little wink. Do you have any idea what happens to my insides when someone super-cute winks at me? All my organs decide to shrivel up and then instantly explode into tiny little bubbles in about 0.4 seconds flat.

Me: (turning back to my friend) "Wow."

Friend: "I could have sworn your lucky number was 23."

Me: "It is, Stupid."

25 things I could have left to rest on facebook.

2009-02-02T21:21:00.000-06:00

1. I don't eat or drink anything blue. Blue food is unnatural. For several years, I couldn’t even eat off blue plates or drink from blue cups. A friend of mine changed her china pattern at the last minute because it had blue on it and she was afraid I wouldn’t come over for dinner.

2. When my sister and I were in the plane getting ready to skydive, I discovered that her helmet radio wasn’t on. She would have jumped without having any communication with the drop zone. I like to think I saved her life. She owes me.

3. Sometimes I get 4s and 7s mixed up. I have to concentrate really hard when I write them down.

4. I am unable to pronounce “Ulysses” S. Grant.

5. After dating someone for about three months, he surprised me one night be telling me he was married. This has prompted me to add “Are you married?” to the list of important questions to ask on a first date.

6. I choreograph entire group dance routines in my head on a regular basis. Someday, maybe I’ll actually convince a bunch of people to let me direct them.

7. Instead of having New Years resolutions, I try to do something new and scary every year. Last year, I bought a house. Previous to that, I completed marathons, earned my MBA, studied abroad, sang a solo on stage... This year, I’m not sure what I am going to do. Suggestions?

8. I missed my goal time for my first marathon by 6 seconds. I missed my goal time for my second marathon by almost an hour. Ugh.

9. The flying dog in The Never Ending Story used to scare me to death. I don’t remember doing it, but I’m pretty sure I peed my pants once because of that thing. I still don’t feel comfortable watching it.

10. I want SO BADLY to go to Prince Edward Island. Since I seem to be the “immediate gratification” kind of gal, I’ve requested the free travel guide. It will be here next week. Who's going with me?!

11. Yesterday I ordered new bedroom furniture. Somerset by Kincaid. I’ve never had matching bedroom furniture before. Now I’m 30 and a big girl with big girl furniture.

12. Every wedding reception I have ever been to has had the electric slide. My goal is to always be just one beat off and see how many people I can get to mess up and join me on my beat. Once I have at least half the people on my beat, I switch it again.

13. I miss stair sledding on sleeping bags.

14. Every year, I become more and more proud of both my sisters. They are so amazing and incredibly beautiful! I consider myself very lucky to be related to them.

15. I have not made or accepted any promises since January 1997. I accidentally used that word about a month ago and it made my stomach ache.

16. If I were running my office, I would require all employees to use at least an hour of “slacker time” every day to nap, do a craft project, play games, do yoga, or just hang out and chat. I think it inspires creativity, increases productivity and morale, and it’s generally good for the soul.

17. I like frosting.

18. There is a scene in “Love Actually” when Emma Thompson's character is trying to pull herself together after learning some bad news. When everything around her seems to be falling apart, she busies herself by smoothing out the wrinkles on a bedspread. That scene touched me more than any other scene in any other movie ever has in entire my life.

19. During a company teleconference, I was once dared via email by one of our reps in another state to use the words “toenail” and “tulips” somehow in conversation about overcoming client objections. I did it.

20. HAVE YOU SEEN MY ARM HAIR? It’s so dark. Every few months, I bleach my arm hair so I don’t look like a man.

21. I am creating a meditation area in my house. We should all invest in learning how to focus, relax, breathe, and calm our minds and bodies.

22. My friend Erin inspired me to stop “should-ing” all over myself. Therefore, I will stop saying “I should” do this or that. Instead, I’m going to either do it or shut the hell up.

23. Amazing things happen to me in elevators. I will add all those stories to my blog this week.

24. My favorite road trip of all time was when Gavin and I went to Barrington, Illinois just for a bologna sandwich. I think about that trip all the time.

25. Have you ever met my parents? If not, you really should. They will make you believe in true love again, and you’ll understand why my sisters and I are happy and successful people. Mom and Dad did “real good”.

Day 5.

2009-01-20T22:37:00.002-06:00

My nephew is 5 days old today. I don't know if you've seen poop from a little person who is fresh from the womb, but I saw some. It was quite possibly the strangest thing I've ever seen in my life.

I'll spare you and NOT post a picture.

Important topics.

2009-01-11T21:58:00.002-06:00

I just heard Larry Moore on KMBC 9 News say this:

"And next, President-Elect Obama has an exclusive ABC interview to discuss the economy, Gitmo, and the new puppy."

HAHAHA! God Bless America!

A typical week.

2009-01-11T00:23:00.001-06:00

Monday afternoon, I had a doctor’s appointment at Menorah Medical Center. I’m not Jewish, but I dated a Jewish guy a few years ago, so I think that gives me a free lifetime pass to a Jewish hospital. Anyway, the nurse called me in and led me down the hall to the last exam room. She was in the middle of telling me that I would need to completely disrobe, when she swung open the door to a very bright corner room with two full walls of windows. And no shades. She smiled and shut the door so I’d have some privacy. Privacy?! I’m sure everyone on 119th and Nall would agree that only a flashing neon arrow pointing to my exact location in the room would give me and my disrobed body less privacy. So, I used that opportunity to take advantage of my legitimate invitation to flash the entire city of Leawood, Kansas. A flamboyant naked jig on a Monday afternoon for all to see. You’re welcome, Leawood.

Tuesday night, I had to deliver some books to some students in another building. I put them in one of those old milk crates (the books, not the students), placed it on my roller-bag (cause it was heav-eeeee!), and ventured out. On my way out of the building, my coworker Eric said he gave me 5 seconds before that milk crate toppled over. Sure enough, once I stepped out into the parking lot, my whole bag and crate betrayed me, soared 8 feet in the air, and threw themselves against the pavement. So I did, too. I lay there until the landscape guy nudged me with his boot.

Wednesday night, I found myself still in my cubicle at 10:00pm. I suppose I was so focused that I didn’t realize how late it had gotten. And I suppose the cleaning lady with the backpack-vacuum was also so focused that she didn’t realize I was getting ready to scare the poop out of her. As if someone planned it, I came around the corner to grab something off the printer and the poor woman just about lost it. I’ve never seen anyone freak out like that before, but I’d pay $100 to see it again, and then maybe in slow motion, too.

Nothing happened on Thursday.

Friday I should have had somebody shoot me in the head. I was in a meeting with the Dean and I actually CHALLENGED him on his projections of a marketing project. Why in the world would someone challenge the Dean? On a Friday. In a bad economy. Wearing a scarf that could easily double as a noose.

Sick at Home, Part 2

2009-01-05T22:49:00.002-06:00

Oh, I didn’t tell you? Sorry. It must have slipped my mind. Barbara Walters stopped by this afternoon. It was no big deal. We taped, she left, and I got back to playing wii…

Barbara: Thank you for allowing us to come into your beautiful home, Miss Watson.

Me: (glancing around and immediately dismissing it) Oh, gosh. It’s quite the mess. If I had known you were coming…and please, call me Anastasia.

Barbara: Of course, Anastasia. And thank you for the tea.

Me: No. That’s mine. Give it back.

Barbara: Sorry, it was sitting here so I thought --

Me: No. Matthew brought it back from Istanbul after filming wrapped last month. It’s quite rare.

Barbara: Oh, yes, your very attractive and talented fiancé, Matt Damon. Now, Anastasia, tell me. Are you in love?

Me: (blushing) Oh, Barbara, he’s my everything. My whole world. My entire life. My love. He’s wonderful and beautiful, and everything in between.

Barbara: You have goosebumps!

Me: (giggling shyly) I was hoping you wouldn’t see that. Gosh, every time I talk about him my body reacts. Sometimes I get so warm my fingers will swell and I can’t get the ring off my hand.

Barbara: Ok, you have to tell us…

Me: (pausing….and then giving in) Twelve!

Barbara: Twelve?

Me: Yes. Twelve karat diamond. It was a modest gift.

Barbara: It’s almost as beautiful as you are. Tell me, how did you react when you found out you were named People Magazine’s Sexiest Woman Alive?

Me: Oh, I thought we weren’t going to talk about that! It is so embarrassing!

Barbara: (leaning closer) Where were you? Who told you?

Me: Gosh, I think we were in Scotland. Matthew and I had just spent the most amazing night walking the cobblestone streets and feeding each other chocolate-covered strawberries. When we returned to our castle, there was a note waiting for us in the foyer from his agent. He read it aloud, kissed me and begged me never to leave him. He knew B.P. would call eventually –

Barbara: B.P.?

Me: Brad Pitt. He and Ange – oh, sorry, we call her Ange. I’m referring to Angelina Jolie. Anyway, Matthew knows Brad wanted to leave Ange for me. You know. Because of my hotness.

Barbara: Clearly. Go on, please.

Me: So, I told him I would never leave him. But I had my fingers crossed behind my back.

Barbara: Ah, then it isn’t binding.

Me: Exactly. I’m young, obviously, and I need to be sure that the man I choose can keep up with me.

Barbara: I’m sorry for the interruption, but may I use your bathroom?

Me: Sure! Just go down the hall, take a left, go through the arch, take the elevator to the third level. Once the butler greets you, he can take you to the rope swing. The swing will take you to the balcony of the second building. Go through the double glass doors, down the marble stairs, and follow that hall. The sixth door on your right will lead you through the ballroom and into my private spa. Ask the woman at the front desk to point you to the fire pole. Ride the fire pole down to the theatre and take your first left. Rub the belly of the wooden Buddha and a secret door will open behind you. This is the super-secret passage to the bathroom. Then, just come back the way you came.

Barbara: Um…

Me: Ok, I’ll wait here. See ya in a few.

Sick at home... Part 1

2009-01-03T20:28:00.002-06:00

Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming to my recital. I’ve been studying ballet for well over four and a half minutes, and it is my treat to share with you my perfected Spinny-Thing. When I’m done, and I’ve had a chance to get up off the kitchen linoleum and use my sleeve to wipe the sicky-goo that has whipped across my cheek, I will be available for autographs, pictures, marriage proposals, and I can answer any questions you may have on my technique.

Before we begin, however, I’d like to point out the beautiful room behind you that was so carefully rearranged about thirteen times just to put the furniture exactly where it was in the beginning. Gorgeous, isn’t it? We’ll proceed to that room briefly after the second costume change to study my latest graceful exercise-ball act, the Balance-On-My-Tummy-and-Fly-Forward-Without-Damaging-the-Banister move.

Yes, the Christmas tree is gone. I’m sorry to have disappointed you with the lack of holiday spirit in the room, though it is almost March, right? You can find the tree and both strands of lights lying on its side on the back porch, precisely where I threw it last night when I was sick and tired of looking at the damn thing.

One last thing before we begin: please turn off your cell phones. I understand it is Saturday night and the rest of the world is having fun without us. But really… who are the lucky ones tonight, right?

By the way...

2009-01-03T16:23:00.003-06:00

My bestest friend Erin took me golfing for my very first time in September. It was super duper fun. Despite my near perfect score, and despite my newly learned golf habit of lying about everything, the best part was meeting Tony. We were getting ready to tee off at hole number 34 or something, when the dude playing behind us started yelling at us.

Tony: "Hey-yee! Hey-yee, gools! I'm weal fast. Can I pway froo?"

Me: "I have no idea what that dude just said. He should enunciate."

Erin: "He wants to play through, which means we step aside and let him go ahead of us. Looks like he's by himself, so we'll just let him go."

Me: "But he's still not done with that last hole. He's still putting. Can he do that? Is that ok?"

Erin: "Um...yeah. Let's just let him play through. I think he's...um..."

Me: "Oh, he's mentally disabled."

We waited for...oh about 17 minutes while Tony carefully lined up his next 4 putts at the hole behind us. He would kneel down, test the wind, eye the slope of the green, stand back up, prepare his shot, stop, get back down on his hands and knees, double-knot his shoelaces, take a better look at the situation, contemplate the creation of the universe, stand back up, and make his putt. Meanwhile, Erin and I finished an entire Sudoku book. Finally, he came bouncing over.

Tony: "Hi! Hi! Hi! By the way, my name is Tony. What is your name?"

Me: "Hi Tony. This is Erin and my name is Anastasia."

Tony: "Ah-nuh-stay-... Thath long. By the way, how many letterth aw in Ah-nuh-stay-ja? How do you thpell that? What does that mean? By the way, I nevah hood that name befow."

Me: "Oh, well, I guess it is Russian, and there are 9 letters in my name. Is your real name Anthony?"

Tony: "WHA-?! HEY! HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT?"

Me: (Completely unprepared to answer that.) "Um, well-"

Tony: By the way, I'm going to play in the math-tuhs. I'm gowing to pwactuth weal hawd and then thumday, you can watch me play on TV, by the way."

Me: "Oh cool!"

Tony: "By the way, can I have a hug?"

Me: "Yes, of course you can have a hug, Tony!"

Tony didn't really hug back. He stood rigid, giggled and just moved on ahead of us. As Erin and I watched him walk away, we also found ourselves casually searching for the hidden cameras. Was this some kind of 60 Minutes special about being kind to those who are mentally handicapped? We waited... and looked around... scanned the trees... and then shrugged.

Erin: "Someone is going to jump out of the trees as soon as we start laughing."

With that, we both started cracking up. We couldn't help it. But no one came running and no microphones were stuffed in our faces. It was good news, because we weren't laughing at Tony. We were thoroughly enjoying the fact that our new friend was able to share with us his genuine love for playing golf, making friends, and enjoying a beautiful day. It put everything into perspective, and from there I made a point to memorize the moment. The day, the people, the weather, and everything else that made that exchange so special is something I'll remember for a very long time. Perhaps I really will see Tony play on TV someday.

Me: "By the way, Tony totally made my day."

Erin: "By the way, me too."

In quotes

2009-01-02T23:12:00.003-06:00

A couple quotes I found tonight that I really like:

“You just have to keep trying to do good work, and hope that it leads to more good work. I want to look back on my career and be proud of the work, and be proud that I tried everything. Yes, I want to look back and know that I was terrible at a variety of things.”
-Jon Stewart

“You know what I hate? Indian givers... no, I take that back.”
-Emo Phillips

Bowl Game

2008-12-31T20:36:00.003-06:00

WHAT?! There is a Chick-fil-a Bowl Game? How did I not know about this heavenly event? And why aren't I there right now?!

Who knew about this and didn't tell me? And you call yourselves my friends?!

Ugh.

Membership.

2008-12-29T15:53:00.003-06:00

Have you been outside today? It's gorgeous! So of COURSE I didn't go running outside and soak up some of this amazing weather. Instead, I went to the gym. I'm kind of an idiot today. But I'm glad I went. Lately I've been needing someone to tap-dance all over my self esteem.

All in all, it was a great short workout. I don't know if all girls do this, but sometimes when I'm running, I'll listen to the same song over and over on my iPod and choreograph a whole dance routine in my head. Yeah, that's right. A dance routine. I am a girl. (You'd like it if you saw it in my head the way I see it.)

Anyway, I was on my way out of the gym and reached out to push the handle on the door to - you know... OPEN IT. We do this everyday, right? We push the handle, the door swings open, we step through, and TAH-DAH! We're outside. Well, I'm not sure what happened, but I tried to push the handle and I missed and jammed the heal of my hand against the glass. My feet must not have gotten the message that my hands failed in their ONE door-opening-task responsibility, because then my right foot and left knee smacked up against the glass and made a terrible crash. So not to look like a complete loser, I just kept leaning into the door hoping that now my breasts (which are comfortably smashed up against the glass) would somehow activate the door-opening-magic-hidden-button and I would be set free.

That's when Jackass In Ugly Ball Cap walks up, easily PULLS the door open and says: "So, how's that membership working out for ya?"

My idiot response?: "I was stretching my calves, wise guy."

Ugh, I'm so embarrassed. Why don't I just keep my mouth shut and maybe not go out in public?

Friday night was not different.

2008-12-28T13:26:00.002-06:00

Not since college have I been hung over twice in 6 days. It has been a little much for me lately. Last Saturday's "Get Your Christmas On" party was funny and silly and enough to make my head pound for 11 hours afterward. I stupidly thought Friday night would be different.

8:00pm - This will be fun! I don't go out very often anymore. Meet some new people, have a couple drinks, hug Erin - I'm so glad she's back from Abu Dhabi. I'll wear this red sweater. It's warm. And my coat covers my ass. That’s important. I’ll be so cozy.

9:00pm - Where am I going? I should have gotten directions before I left. Aw, the Plaza looks so pretty! What?! What is that guy doing without a coat on? Moron. It's December! “Nice tank-top, idiot.” He's going to freeze.

9:25pm – Ok, Erin’s friend actually gave me some pretty good directions. I'll park here. Oh no. Parallel parking. Ok, I can do this. And… nope. I'll try again. Well, that wasn't it either. This is funny. I’m glad I can laugh at myself. Third time's a charm, right? Mmm... nope. Ok, I’ll try cranking the wheel right about…here. Dammit! This is not funny. I want to cry. God, I hope there aren’t 400 people in that building watching this. I’m going to see myself on YouTube. C’mon, Annie. This is it. Do it. Make us proud. And… YES! I rock.

9:30pm - Oh my God! It is crappin HOT out here! Does that say 68 degrees? What? Crap. This sweater and coat get-up is stupid. How did I not know it was so warm outside? I’ll just run back to the car and – oh hey! Thanks for coming down to let me in! Dammit. He looks cute. (Pretty sure I’m sweating like I just dug a trench half-way across New Mexico.)

10:00pm – He has Boulevard? Uh oh. I think I’m going to be in trouble tonight. I’ll be sure to pace myself.

10:20pm – “Erin, this peach champagne is soooooo good! I’m killin the bottle.”

11:00-ish – What? We’re going now? Ok. Let me finish this…

11:15 -or so – Haha! He has to parallel park. And this space is WAAAAY small. There’s no way. He’s going to hit that car. No way. Wow. Huh…he’s pretty good. How did he do that? First try? That’s amazing. (I think I have sweat marks. Gross. I’m burning up.)

Probably 11:30pm – Wow, this place is hoppin! But they all look so young. God, I’m old. Am I old? I’m old. Ick, those people look barely 21. Anyway... “Ladies! First round’s on me! What do you want?!” Oh gosh. Stupid question. “Ok, 3 Jager shots and 3 Boulevard Wheats. Erin, I’m so glad you’re home!”

Maybe midnight? – I can’t feel my face.

Lil after that – That boy is cute. Oh, so is that one. I should tell him I think so.

Way too soon after that last thought – “Hi, you’re cute.” Oh my God. What are you doing? “You’re 22 years old? Oh, yeah, me too.” (What?!) “You’re in the Marines? You were in Afghanistan? Thank you for your service. No, I’m not crying.”

I have no idea what time it was – “Erin! I just told that guy he’s cute. He’s cute, right? Ok, good. He served in Abu Dhabi! Yeah, for real! Wait, no. You were in Abu Dhabi. He was…oh, who cares. Yeah, he bought me this drink. So sweet right? Hey, what’s your cute friend doing outside?” Oh, smoking. I should go talk to him. He’s cute.

Still not sure what time it was – Here, I’ll just take a quick puff off his cigarette and – BLAH! Kuh-kuh-kugblah! Gross. Ok, I don’t smoke. That was dumb.

Who cares what time it is? – Why are the lights on? Closing? But I haven’t finished my-- hey, give that back! Well, you’re probably right. I’ve had too many.

Pretty close to sunrise, I’m sure – This apartment building has such pretty carpet. I need water, please. Oh, thank you. Now, I need to go on a walk. “Erin, I’m going to go on a walk.” I’ll just go out to the hall and – WHOA! Sorry! Didn’t mean to interrupt, Blondie. Um, I’ll just step around you two here…um, sorry. Excuse me. Gross. Where are the stairs? What floor am I on just in case I get lost? Is that a six? Or a nine? Pretty sure I’m up-right, so that has to be a six. Stairs. Perfect. I need a workout anyway. I’ll just run up and down these stairs and burn off some of this alcohol.

After two flights of stairs – I’ll just sit down right here and take a short nap. Oh, I’m sweating again. Go figure. I should take the elevator back up. “Egzuz me sir, can you telga me where the elbilator, er ebilvator, mmm, I need 9th floor.”

Doors open – That’s not it. Where am I? God, this carpet is pretty.

Doors open again – That’s not it either. Where does the cute guy live again? Concentrate. Where does the cute guy live? You made a point of trying to remember. Oh, hell, just push all the buttons.

Doors open for the fourth time – “Erin! Hi! No, I juzz wend for a short chalk. I’m fine.” Hello, cute guy. Oh you wan to talk? “Ok, bu-bye Erin. I lugva you, and I’m so back you are glad to be from Augbu-bahadi.” He’s talking. Concentrate. Stand still. Listen and nod. His collar is a little messed up. Don’t fix it. Don’t touch it. Concentrate on what he is saying. Aww…he’s sweet. Right?

Bedtime – I’ll just curl up right here. I’m freezing. How am I freezing? I'm wearing a damn sweater in 68 degree heat! I’m glad I brought my coat. Is that thunder? Oh my God, I’m so dizzy. Maybe I should run some more stairs.

A few hours later – I think my eyes have been jabbed with drumsticks. Why does my ankle hurt? What time is it? Man, there are a lot of sleeping people. Oh, please don’t puke yet. Try to make it home.

Home – Hello toilet. Like my sweater?

That smells bad.

2008-12-18T21:07:00.001-06:00

You know what does not smell good? Microwaved pulled pork in "natural juices".

Bluughk!

Welcome home.

2008-12-15T19:51:00.003-06:00

We've talked about this before. The reason I don't have a dog is because dogs shed, smell things they shouldn't, and poop. A lot. And as I have proven time and time again, if there is a single turd in a 500 acre area, I will undoubtedly find it, step in it, and end up smearing it all over the floorboard of your vehicle.

So you can imagine my outrage when I pulled into my driveway tonight and some douchebag is allowing his two humongous twin monster-dogs to take an INSANE DUMP IN MY FRONT LAWN!

What?! Who does this? I live 7 strides from a frickin' park, on a fairly annoying incline, and there is a long patch of grass on the other side of the sidewalk that is BEGGING to be pooped in. So why in the hell are your dogs squeezing Duraflame logs out right next to my door?

I stopped the Jeep in my driveway, rolled down the window, threw my hands up, and gave this neighbor-dude my best "Are-you-kidding-me?!" look. He bent down, pretended to scoop up NOTHING in his hand, and then walked on. That was it.

Next time, I'm going to follow this pooper-non-scooper jackass home, climb onto his roof, and urinate into his chimney.

Deuce's Daddy

2008-12-14T20:34:00.002-06:00

The top three reasons why I like being friends with Deuce's Daddy:

1. He's ultra obnoxious and plays along with really stupid made-up situational conversations. I'd bet that 78.34% of our conversations are complete bull. (Unless he thinks it's less than that, in which case, I owe him an apology.)

2. When I asked him what he wants to be when he grows up, he said "happy".

3. If he were given $50 from Reader's Digest for contributing a story, he'd use that money to buy chicken.

Chick-fil-hey I love this place!

2008-12-13T14:49:00.003-06:00

One of the things I like most about my job, is it's proximity to Chick-fil-a. I'm not kidding. I love Chick-fil-a more than I love my dog. (I know, I know... I don't have a dog. But if I did, I'd name him "Chicken-sandwich-with-no-pickles-large-waffle-fries-and-a-lemonade-with-no-ice-please". Not only are the chicken sandwiches uh-may-zing, but whenever I say "thank you", they have to say "my pleasure". I've heard that super-sweet and generous response a record 6 times in one order before. Beat that.

Pizza guy

2008-12-05T22:07:00.001-06:00

One day in the Phoenix airport, the guy who was serving those little boxed personal saw-dust pizzas was ringing me up at the register. He looked just as pathetic as he did in his picture ID clipped to his collar. As you may know, I regularly feel it is my job to talk to those kinds of people and try to perk them up. And you might also know that I regularly fail.

Me: "Hi there!"

Pathetic Guy: "Huh? Oh, sorry about your wait."

Me: "Oh, no problem. Looks like you don't have a lot of help back there. You're doing a great job!"

Pathetic Guy: "Um, yeah. Thanks lady."

Me: (Lady? LADY? What?!) "Are they wearing you out today?"

Pathetic Guy: (with no change of expression) "I have to get two toenails removed tomorrow."

Me: (caught totally off guard) "Ok... ew."

Pathetic Guy: "Yeah, so I'm like, not happy."

Me: (ABORT! ABORT!) "Ok... Um, alrighty then."

Pathetic Guy: "Have a nice day."

Holes in my butterfly net

2008-12-05T20:00:00.002-06:00

I never had a butterfly net as a kid, so I don't really know how to use one now. Is there an instruction book for these things? Maybe a "how to" guide that I should have read? I guess I'm just not doing this right.

Or maybe there are holes in my butterfly net.

What kind of baby?

2008-11-27T08:41:00.003-06:00

My 7-month prego sister, Emily and I have been going to the K-State football games for many years. The family that sits in front of us is just as cute as can be (and tolerant, I should add). Little Alex is 3 and his brother Andrew is 7, so you wouldn't really expect them to notice (or even care) that Emily's belly is, well... getting huge. Until this last game. They hadn't seen Emily in a couple weeks and a lot of baby-growing has taken place apparently, because this is what happened.

Emily: "Hi Alex!"

Alex: (Staring wide eyed directly at Emily's belly. Almost paralyzed with shock, he couldn't say a word.)

Me: "I know, Alex. She's totally let herself go, right? I tell her that but she doesn't listen."

Alex: (Still no response, just a painful stare.)

Emily: "My baby is getting bigger, huh?"

Alex: (Looking up at Emily with complete confusion) "Baby?"

Emily: "Yeah, I have a baby in my belly."

Alex: "Is the baby cold?"

Emily: "Oh, no, it's not cold. That's why it is in my belly so it can stay warm and grow until it is ready to come out."

Me: (Praying he asks how it is going to come out because I crave those embarrassing moments when a parent has to dance around those kinds of questions in public.)

Alex: "Um, what kind of baby is it going to be?"

Me: "That's a good question, Alex." (and very strangely worded, if you ask me.) "What kind of baby do you think it is going to be?"

Alex: (Thinking hard for about 4 seconds, he lights up) "I think it's going to be a PIRATE!"

Tell me that's not the cutest thing you've ever heard.

Thank you, Officer

2008-11-16T22:37:00.000-06:00

Officer: "I clocked you going 40 in a 30, Ma'am."

Me: "Ew."

Officer: "Did you know this was a 30-mile-per-hour zone?"

Me: "No, I didn't. I mean, I know back there it's 65, and I knew this would be slower, but I didn't know it was that slow."

Officer: "Back there?" (pointing the opposite direction)

Me: "Yeah."

Officer: "That road is 60."

Me: "Er...yes, and that is why I was driving a safe 59."

Officer: "Right. So, where are you headed?"

Me: "I'm going to the game, Sir."

Officer: "Who's your team?"

Me: "Well, I'm a Wildcat, Sir!"

Officer: "Good answer. But I'm surprised you're even going to the game today. K-State is obviously going to lose."

Me: "Oh, NO WE ARE NOT, WE'RE GONNA --"

Officer: (stares at me over his sunglasses)

Me: "Er, yeah, we're going to lose. Yep. Losing miserably today."

Officer: "I'm going to let you off with a warning, Ma'am. Why don't you slow down? Be careful. Have fun at the game."

Me: "Thanks," (under my breath) "I still think we've got a chance to win."

Officer: "What's that?"

Me: "I said, 'I have a cramp in my shin'."

Road Rage Letter

2008-11-16T21:28:00.001-06:00

Dear Fellow KC Drivers,

Please learn to merge.

Thank you.

Anastasia

Pathetic.

2008-11-10T20:43:00.002-06:00

I can't cook anything worth a shit. Recipes are stupid, they lie, and I am way too A.D.D. to be able to time out an entire meal. And when I say "entire meal", I mean mashed potatoes, chicken strips, and a glass of water.

I don't have the right tools to really do any of it right anyway. For example, mashing potatoes. It doesn't sound hard. I've mashed many things in my life. But I've never tried to mash something and ended up with it dripping off the light fixture. In the livingroom.

I Believe

2008-11-04T21:18:00.004-06:00

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Dear Friend,

Ok. Since I have not replied to any of these silly political emails you've sent me over the last, I don't know, 6 months... I'm going to go ahead and give you my reply now. You've had your opportunity to spill your beliefs, so tonight I'll take my turn.

I believe our nation needs inspiration - the kind that lifts us back up and allows us to make something out of almost nothing. I believe in going with your gut feeling and supporting those who do the same. I believe in long-term goals and being patient, because progress takes a lot of effort and a lot of time. I believe in the the "good" I know is inside everyone and nurturing that. I believe our President is less powerful than what most people have been led to believe and our communities can make more change than he or she ever could. I believe that if we want less crime, we are the ones who can band together, educate our communities, and make our country safer. I believe that if we want to find other sources of energy, we'll find them without the government. I believe that those things that we're not able to change, will cost money. I believe in education and it's power to make us all responsible leaders for the generations that follow us. I believe that life is precious, but so is the right to choose what is best for me. I believe that love is beautiful, and no one should be able to tell us who we can or can't share our love with.

Since we've both had our turns at this, go ahead and take me off your political email distribution list. The first few were funny because I knew you were just trying to get a rouse out of me, and that's totally why I sincerely love and adore you. But since we've both had the opportunity to share what we believe, I think we're better off being silent until after Tuesday.

I love you and miss you and believe in YOU and your dreams and goals and everything that makes you happy and whole.

:)
Anastasia

Operator Error

2008-11-03T21:10:00.000-06:00

I have a hard time operating...

...motion-sensor paper towel dispensers. I spend so much time waving my hands back and forth, when the paper towel finally comes scrolling out, my hands are already waved-dry.

...my new clothes steamer. Steam rises, I'm often reminded, as I hold the hanger still and burn the shit out of my fingers.

...the programmable thermostat. Now that I've changed the schedule on the stupid thing, I went from being sometimes uncomfortable to GUARANTEED UNCOMFORTABLE ALL FREAKIN DAY LONG!

...my cable guide. What's this On Demand stuff, and why can't I record Oprah's highly anticipated sex-talk episode? I want to watch that and maybe... um, pause it, you know?

I have one shaved leg.

2008-10-30T22:24:00.003-05:00

So much funny stuff happens in my shower. Sometimes I feel like I'm at a circus when I'm in there.

Before I get into that, let me take you back. The other day at the gym I was doing sit-ups next to Hot Blue Tank Top Guy. I always do 100 reps (let's not talk about why my abs still look like melting Silly Putty) but in several different positions. Sideways, the other sideways, center, knees up, knees down, and with my legs crossed up in the air. Well, this particular day, during "legs crossed up in the air", I noticed Hot Blue Tank Top Guy had glanced over at the exact second my pant legs scooted down to reveal a shocking display of a week's worth of not shaving. Oops. Gross. Sorry, Hot Blue Tank Top Guy, for making you gag. I guess I'll talk to you...never.

Which brings us back to my shower this morning. In an attempt to ensure no one else flees the country after seeing my legs ever again, I invested some time to smooth-ify.

This is a good time to mention that I don't have fabulous balance.

Three minutes into shaving my right leg, a crazy Kansas earthquake shook my whole house, forcing me to lose my balance and knock over every single item on the shelf. I stood up, hit my head on the shower caddy, forcing the showerhead to shoot water almost straight up in the air. When I reached up to stop the flow of water from damaging the underside of the shingles on my roof, I caught my pinky finger on the loop of my loofa. It bent my finger back, I screamed like Carrie Bradshaw, and doubled over to cradle my poor pinky. After coming to, I set everything back on the shelf and noticed the shave gel can had lost it's whole nozzel. Actually, it had shattered into about four hundred pieces. I was no longer able operate the gel applicater thingy. Once I discovered that I would not be able to get any shave gel out of the damn thing, I immediately started cracking up. I will have to go at least a whole day with only one shaved leg.

The guy with the squeeky cart

2008-10-28T23:55:00.002-05:00

You know when you meet someone and you just adore them right away and you know you have to do everything in your power to make sure that person will be your best friend and stay in your life for a really long time, but you don't really know how to do that without putting yourself in that really awkward position where you have to overcome the fear of looking desperate (or just plain weird) by offering your phone number and you don't have much time so you have to think fast and just make it happen before you regret it for the rest of your life? That happened at Walmart yesterday.

What? At Walmart? I know. I was only there to pick up trash bags (the kind that have the yellow drawstrings) and I wanted to price the clothes steamers (because they come highly recommended by my best bud, Erin) and I wanted it to be a quick trip. But perhaps Dad's addiction to $4 DVD sales is contagious because I found myself browsing through a whole shelf of them and almost lost a grasp on reality. Then it happened. This terrible screeching shopping cart (or maybe it was actually a dying cat being kicked with an ice-skate) slowly brought me out of my DVD coma. Who actually picks a cart, realizes it makes a terrible screech, and then keeps pushing it? No one. We put that piece of shit back and grab the other cart that has the crushed dixie cup from last week's Sample Sunday stuck in the corner. Who in their right mind would keep pushing the annoying one?

I turned around with the "why in the hell didn't you put that cart back?" look plastered on my face and met the eyes of a man who might have just changed my life in that split second. He immediately made me giggle. He was probably in his late 20’s, couldn’t be taller than 5’7”, he was a little on the chubby side, but had the most inviting and playful style. He raised his eyebrows at me and said simply, “I know. Go ahead. Laugh. Stare. I can’t be mad at ya.” I threw my hands up in surrender and just laughed, trying to convince him that I was not laughing at him. But he knew better. He continued walking backward as he passed me and the shelf of Hollywood’s Worst, giggling a little in return. A simple “Yeah?” and this amazing grin almost convinced me to join him for the rest of his lap around the store. Yes, the grin was almost unbearable, but this weird gut feeling I had was what promised a rich friendship and many years of uncontrollable giggles.

But I must have been too busy yesterday to give in. Too busy at Walmart.

Why in the world wasn’t I following him? Why was I still standing there? Why did I go back to checking out stupid $4 DVDs? Hello?! Wasn’t my gut telling me to catch up with him? Was I waiting for him to beg me to be his friend? What in the hell was I doing?

The screeching eventually faded into the auto parts section and he and his wonderfulness disappeared around a corner. I’d be lying if I said I left it at that, but in all honesty, I spent the next 20 minutes casually scoping out the lawn hoses, craft yarns, cat food, and Lysol in order to accidentally run into him again. After admitting my mistake and giving up, I left Walmart still giggling a little. I don’t know who that guy was, but he really did make a huge impression on me.

So much, that I think I’ll choose the piece of shit cart next time.

I'm not funny.

2008-10-22T17:05:00.002-05:00

Newsflash! My mother read some of my blog entries, and although this might not come as a surprise to you, I have to announce that she does not think I'm funny. Especially the entry about my fly being down all day. I got "the look" for that one. And the one about Mr. Woodcock... she actually used my middle name.

Sigh... that's too bad.

knock knock

2008-10-19T11:42:00.003-05:00

It's Sunday morning. I have just woken up, flopped out of bed, and hear my doorbell ring. I look outside, see a man and a woman wearing matching khaki pants and holding Bibles. (You know it's coming, right?) So I grab a pen and post-it notepad...

Me: "Yes?"

Man in khakis: "Good morning on this beautiful day that Jesus Christ Our Savior provided us!"

Me: "Who?"

Woman in khakis: (looking confused) "Ma'am, we are here in your neighborhood this morning to talk to our brothers and sisters about the love of Jesus Christ and -- "

Me: (interrupting her) "Ok, right. But this isn't a good time for me right now," (preparing to write on my post-it note) "So I'll just come to your house when I feel like it. What's your address?"

Man in khakis: (stunned) "Um, well we..."

Woman in khakis: "Oh, ma'am, we can't do that --"

Me: "Really? That's interesting because I didn't invite you to my house either."

They both stood there completely speechless. After the most awkward 15 seconds of their lives...

Me: "Ok, then. Catch ya later, homies!"

Can you believe this?

2008-10-16T21:32:00.001-05:00

I just ate the rest of the brownies in the pan. They are gone.

Ick.

The Biggest Loser

2008-10-14T20:04:00.002-05:00

Oh my gosh, have you seen this "Big Loser" show? Have you watched it while eating brownies straight out of the pan? I highly recommend it. This stuff tastes SOOOOOOO good when you're watching other people deprive themselves of chocolate, white bread, and like...air.

It's on right now. Who is this hottie Bob the Trainer Dude? I love him and his tat and his calves and his stubble and his cargo shorts. I wonder what he puts in all those pockets. Maybe brownies?