Can someone please tell me when cargo pants made their comeback? I wasn't sure they were ever "in" in the first place...
Don't even get me started on man-jorts. Yes, my stepdad still wears them. I forgive him because he's awesome.
Best conversation I've had in at least a week:
Him: What are you up to?
Me: Organizing a CPR course for our employees.
Him: Sweet. I hope you got very anatomically correct practice dummies.
Me: I wouldn't have it any other way. Groping is a big part of CPR.
Him: Oh don't I know it. I'm super certified.
It really is the little things in life.
6/30/10
kettle corn.
It's Wednesday. I move tomorrow and leave town Friday. At the moment, I'm working on controlling my stress level through a healthy little combination of exercise, meditation and mantras, salivating over my friends' food blogs, and trail mix. And let me tell you, I freaking love trail mix, but that's beside the point.
Last night I had a program committee meeting to plan my sorority alumni group's events for this coming year. Although I may not appear to be, I am a sorority girl at heart. Judge if you will, but I can also kick some ass while wearing heels (and have about 50 other close girlyfriends who can and will do the same), so the choice is yours. After the meeting, I headed home to pack and clean. Mind you, I've been "playing it smart" by not turning on my AC for the past few days... which has resulted in a string of sweaty nights and sweating while I'm trying to get ready for work in the morning. And believeyoume, trying to put makeup on over a layer of schweat is about as fun as watching a sloth race a snail. SO, while I was dancing around my kitchen sweat-packing, I also was noticing how nasty a kitchen can get. There was old rice stuck in the drain-side sink (omigod sick), unidentifiable goo on the floor, crumbly things in the drawers, and stickiness/greasiness I can't even talk about. I'm pretty sure in a former life I was a French maid (hehehe) because I lurrrv to clean.
I finally fell into bed around 11. And by bed, I do mean my mom's air mattress she loaned to me while I make my transition from A to B. Sexy, I know. The best part is that it slowly leaks air, so I wake up every morning wrapped up like a burrito in the middle of the deflating mattress. Well last night I must have been working really hard because I hardly remember waking up in the middle of the night to stumble into the bathroom, closely followed by the kitchen... and this morning I woke up next to a bag of kettle corn. What the hell. Is this what my life has come to? Sleep eating? I used to be a sleep walker and was totally fine with that, mostly because of the stories people would tell me the next morning about what I had done.
Example: My dad's family went up north on a camping trip and little 8-year-old-MelMel had to wee in the middle of the night. I was cool enough to be sharing a tent with my parents (2 older bros shared a "boys only" tent and my older sister was going through her "everyone-especially-my-younger-sister-stay-the-eff-away-from-me" phase, so she had her own tent... bastards). Somehow I got up and out of the zipper door, then popped a squat on the outside of the tent. When I got back inside, I laid down on a piece of luggage and fell back asleep. My stepmom woke me up to put me back in my sleeping bag and little did I know, she had witnessed the whole thing. The next morning we scouted out the damage and saw what basically equated to a dog marking his territory on the side of our tent... woopsies.
So yes, sleep walking I'm cool with. Sleep eating though? I mean come on, that's how people become obese! The scary thing is that I can't even set a trap for myself or try to hide my food from myself... because then I'll just outsmart myself by finding it. Give me a break.
Last night I had a program committee meeting to plan my sorority alumni group's events for this coming year. Although I may not appear to be, I am a sorority girl at heart. Judge if you will, but I can also kick some ass while wearing heels (and have about 50 other close girlyfriends who can and will do the same), so the choice is yours. After the meeting, I headed home to pack and clean. Mind you, I've been "playing it smart" by not turning on my AC for the past few days... which has resulted in a string of sweaty nights and sweating while I'm trying to get ready for work in the morning. And believeyoume, trying to put makeup on over a layer of schweat is about as fun as watching a sloth race a snail. SO, while I was dancing around my kitchen sweat-packing, I also was noticing how nasty a kitchen can get. There was old rice stuck in the drain-side sink (omigod sick), unidentifiable goo on the floor, crumbly things in the drawers, and stickiness/greasiness I can't even talk about. I'm pretty sure in a former life I was a French maid (hehehe) because I lurrrv to clean.
I finally fell into bed around 11. And by bed, I do mean my mom's air mattress she loaned to me while I make my transition from A to B. Sexy, I know. The best part is that it slowly leaks air, so I wake up every morning wrapped up like a burrito in the middle of the deflating mattress. Well last night I must have been working really hard because I hardly remember waking up in the middle of the night to stumble into the bathroom, closely followed by the kitchen... and this morning I woke up next to a bag of kettle corn. What the hell. Is this what my life has come to? Sleep eating? I used to be a sleep walker and was totally fine with that, mostly because of the stories people would tell me the next morning about what I had done.
Example: My dad's family went up north on a camping trip and little 8-year-old-MelMel had to wee in the middle of the night. I was cool enough to be sharing a tent with my parents (2 older bros shared a "boys only" tent and my older sister was going through her "everyone-especially-my-younger-sister-stay-the-eff-away-from-me" phase, so she had her own tent... bastards). Somehow I got up and out of the zipper door, then popped a squat on the outside of the tent. When I got back inside, I laid down on a piece of luggage and fell back asleep. My stepmom woke me up to put me back in my sleeping bag and little did I know, she had witnessed the whole thing. The next morning we scouted out the damage and saw what basically equated to a dog marking his territory on the side of our tent... woopsies.
So yes, sleep walking I'm cool with. Sleep eating though? I mean come on, that's how people become obese! The scary thing is that I can't even set a trap for myself or try to hide my food from myself... because then I'll just outsmart myself by finding it. Give me a break.
6/25/10
1987.
This. Is why I love the life I live:
http://www.break.com/index/the-1987-dance-aerobics-championship.html
There's no way to be unhappy after watching that. So much brilliance went on in 1987:
1. January 3 Aretha Franklin becomes the first woman inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. You have no idea how awesome it is to know that this happened in my birth year. Lady Aretha = My Idol.
2. April 19 The Simpsons cartoon first appears on The Tracy Ullman Show. Another childhood staple of mine. Whoever didn't grow up watching The Simpsons and/or Ren & Stimpy has led an incomplete life.
3. July 1 A darling 10-lb., 2-oz. black-haired/silvery-eyed baby girl was born in Phelps Memorial Hospital, capturing the hearts of young and old. Me, duh.
4. July 3 In the Soviet Union, Vladimir Nikolayev is sentenced to death for cannibalism. Sweet Jesus, this is just messy.
5. September 7-21 The world's first conference on artificial life is held at Los Alamos National Laboratory. I don't know whether this was a good thing or not...
6. October 11 The first National Coming Out Day is held in celebration of the second National March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights. Of course I'm in full support of this--who doesn't love a good Pride Parade? It's like Disney World meets your own backyard!! My how things have changed since then. I wonder if the guys in the video participated...
7. October 14-16 The United States is caught up in a drama that unfolds on television as a young child, Jessica McClure, falls down a well in Midland, Texas, and is later rescued. BABY JESSICA! I find it slightly ridiculous that people still talk about this. Shit happens, people. Ever heard of the Great Plains Pioneers? I guarantee they had Baby Jessica's every other day.
8. December 9 Microsoft releases Windows 2.0. This has got to be closely related to the blockbuster hit Weird Science...
9. Undated Tinker Hatfield designed the Nike Air Max. The Air Pump (10x better) followed a few short years behind the inception of this little gem.
10. Undated A squirrel closes down the New York Stock Exchange when it burrows through a telephone line. Goooood stuffffff.
http://www.break.com/index/the-1987-dance-aerobics-championship.html
There's no way to be unhappy after watching that. So much brilliance went on in 1987:
1. January 3 Aretha Franklin becomes the first woman inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. You have no idea how awesome it is to know that this happened in my birth year. Lady Aretha = My Idol.
2. April 19 The Simpsons cartoon first appears on The Tracy Ullman Show. Another childhood staple of mine. Whoever didn't grow up watching The Simpsons and/or Ren & Stimpy has led an incomplete life.
3. July 1 A darling 10-lb., 2-oz. black-haired/silvery-eyed baby girl was born in Phelps Memorial Hospital, capturing the hearts of young and old. Me, duh.
4. July 3 In the Soviet Union, Vladimir Nikolayev is sentenced to death for cannibalism. Sweet Jesus, this is just messy.
5. September 7-21 The world's first conference on artificial life is held at Los Alamos National Laboratory. I don't know whether this was a good thing or not...
6. October 11 The first National Coming Out Day is held in celebration of the second National March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights. Of course I'm in full support of this--who doesn't love a good Pride Parade? It's like Disney World meets your own backyard!! My how things have changed since then. I wonder if the guys in the video participated...
7. October 14-16 The United States is caught up in a drama that unfolds on television as a young child, Jessica McClure, falls down a well in Midland, Texas, and is later rescued. BABY JESSICA! I find it slightly ridiculous that people still talk about this. Shit happens, people. Ever heard of the Great Plains Pioneers? I guarantee they had Baby Jessica's every other day.
8. December 9 Microsoft releases Windows 2.0. This has got to be closely related to the blockbuster hit Weird Science...
9. Undated Tinker Hatfield designed the Nike Air Max. The Air Pump (10x better) followed a few short years behind the inception of this little gem.
10. Undated A squirrel closes down the New York Stock Exchange when it burrows through a telephone line. Goooood stuffffff.
coloring book.
After a long day inside office walls, I'll be honest, that girl completely turned my frown upside-down.
So after Miss Tatum was snoring away, I retreated to the basement and spotted a few coloring books. It is a well-known fact in my family that one of my Achilles' Heels (I have a few...) is coloring. Yes, I am a week shy of 23, get over it. After perusing through a few princess-y books, I settled on The Dark Knight and found this little gem attached here. Never in my life have I seen such a ridiculous excuse for a coloring book page than this. And let me just say, I couldn't have been happier. Somehow it's completely natural for Bruce Wayne to be doing gymnastics on a saddle horse tucked away in a forest in between kicking ass and taking names. And it wouldn't be complete without his trusty butler Alfred staring admiringly at his manbits. Needless to say, purple felt like the right color choice for his leotard (and believeyoume, that is a leotard hugging Brucey's little nads tightly in place under his stretch pants).
Basically, I want to know everything about this picture and its artist and won't rest until I have my answers. I need to color more often.
6/24/10
sportysportsportz.
This morning as I was driving away from Starbucks after having ordered 1 grande skinny hazelnut latte (no-sug/non-fat por favor) and receiving 1 grande iced skinny vanilla latte... (Mind you that I didn't make a scene as many a douche will do. Instead, I giggled to the adorable little teeny bopper barista boy and said in my best and kindest, yet pushed-over, voice, "Omigosh no it's fine! They all taste the same anyway... don't even worry about it. I'll take the vanillar." I love me some good service industry mistakes.) I was thinking about my day yesterday which was chalked full of sports:
AM: USA vs. Algeria World Cup biz
NOON: Demo from the Long Drive Champ
PM: Rockies vs. Red Sox series at Coors Field
God bless America.
One thing I just lurrrv about American sports fanatics (or non-fanatics... in the US fair-weatheredness is second-nature) is what they will do A. to watch a game, and B. while they're at a game. As the diligent little HR girl that I am, I was delivering checks to Finance yesterday and came across one of the conference rooms packed full of my company's cool kids watching the final minutes to the US-ALG soccer game. So as the cool kid and somewhat fair-weatherer that I am, I stopped in and parked it in the back of the room to watch. And ohhhh mah gawd am I glad I did. I instantly turned into an American Outlaw (see: insane soccer fan base) and when the U.S. made the game winning goal at 92 minutes, I'm sure everyone went a little damp in the pants. After the giant uproar in the conference room, people came running (literally, run-ing) to see what the commotion was about and once seeing the screen, instantly melded into Outlaws themselves. It's a fever... and I dig it.
Next thing I knew, I was in my coworker's car headed out to a company picnic at our golf course to be filled with large amounts of delicious gut-rot food (which made for a very unpleasant afternoon back at my desk) and to watch a demonstration from the U.S.'s Long Drive Champion (or maybe World's? whatever). So out walks this little pipsqueak of a man in white skin-tight golf pants (secretly I was a little jealous) and he proceeds to launch a bunch of golf balls 400+ yards showing little to no effort. Insert: company underoo change #2 of the day. This was just ridiculous, but not quite as entertaining as the crowd's OOOOs and AHHHs as Pip drove the ball through a piece of plywood, 2 watermelons, backwards, upsidedownwards, onhiskneeswards, and anyotherwaywards. So I guess Long Driving is a sport these days... I know so little about the world.
The afternoon druggggggggg on and at 5:00 I scored a ticket to the Rockies-Red Sox game, making the rollercoaster day instantly spike back up. What I lovelovelove about baseball can be summed up in the following:
1. Bathroom breaks are acceptable at any and all times because of the copious amounts of alcohol consumed. People understand that when you gotta go, you gotta go.
2. People yell obscenities thinking the pitcher/ump/whoever actually can hear them... from hundreds of yards away above all of the other drunken screaming fans...
3. Balding, middle-aged men always find it appropriate to take off their shirts, rain or shine, revealing hairy beerbellies and sweaty manbizoobies, and "twist it round their head like a helicopter..." (thank you, Bloc Party). No nonsense there.
4. The Seventh Inning Stretch is undeniably an excuse for people to stand and pretend like they're stretching their legs, but rrrrreally what they're doing is airing out their swassy bits. (Definiton of swass: SEE: Heidijo and Sarahbelle circa 2008 Czech Days...)
5. The sno-cone guy believes you when you say you're more interested in him than the sno-cones... damn you coworker friend for putting me in that superawkward pozish.
6. Do people really watch the game? All I see people doing when the big screen cuts to them is... DANCING! Their eyes are glazed over in that dopey state of blissful wiggliness known to all dancers and definitely are not anywhere focused on the field in front of them. And for this reason and this reason alone, I am in love with baseball.
That is all. Thank you, U.S.A., for amusing me with your sporty things.
AM: USA vs. Algeria World Cup biz
NOON: Demo from the Long Drive Champ
PM: Rockies vs. Red Sox series at Coors Field
God bless America.
One thing I just lurrrv about American sports fanatics (or non-fanatics... in the US fair-weatheredness is second-nature) is what they will do A. to watch a game, and B. while they're at a game. As the diligent little HR girl that I am, I was delivering checks to Finance yesterday and came across one of the conference rooms packed full of my company's cool kids watching the final minutes to the US-ALG soccer game. So as the cool kid and somewhat fair-weatherer that I am, I stopped in and parked it in the back of the room to watch. And ohhhh mah gawd am I glad I did. I instantly turned into an American Outlaw (see: insane soccer fan base) and when the U.S. made the game winning goal at 92 minutes, I'm sure everyone went a little damp in the pants. After the giant uproar in the conference room, people came running (literally, run-ing) to see what the commotion was about and once seeing the screen, instantly melded into Outlaws themselves. It's a fever... and I dig it.
Next thing I knew, I was in my coworker's car headed out to a company picnic at our golf course to be filled with large amounts of delicious gut-rot food (which made for a very unpleasant afternoon back at my desk) and to watch a demonstration from the U.S.'s Long Drive Champion (or maybe World's? whatever). So out walks this little pipsqueak of a man in white skin-tight golf pants (secretly I was a little jealous) and he proceeds to launch a bunch of golf balls 400+ yards showing little to no effort. Insert: company underoo change #2 of the day. This was just ridiculous, but not quite as entertaining as the crowd's OOOOs and AHHHs as Pip drove the ball through a piece of plywood, 2 watermelons, backwards, upsidedownwards, onhiskneeswards, and anyotherwaywards. So I guess Long Driving is a sport these days... I know so little about the world.
The afternoon druggggggggg on and at 5:00 I scored a ticket to the Rockies-Red Sox game, making the rollercoaster day instantly spike back up. What I lovelovelove about baseball can be summed up in the following:
1. Bathroom breaks are acceptable at any and all times because of the copious amounts of alcohol consumed. People understand that when you gotta go, you gotta go.
2. People yell obscenities thinking the pitcher/ump/whoever actually can hear them... from hundreds of yards away above all of the other drunken screaming fans...
3. Balding, middle-aged men always find it appropriate to take off their shirts, rain or shine, revealing hairy beerbellies and sweaty manbizoobies, and "twist it round their head like a helicopter..." (thank you, Bloc Party). No nonsense there.
4. The Seventh Inning Stretch is undeniably an excuse for people to stand and pretend like they're stretching their legs, but rrrrreally what they're doing is airing out their swassy bits. (Definiton of swass: SEE: Heidijo and Sarahbelle circa 2008 Czech Days...)
5. The sno-cone guy believes you when you say you're more interested in him than the sno-cones... damn you coworker friend for putting me in that superawkward pozish.
6. Do people really watch the game? All I see people doing when the big screen cuts to them is... DANCING! Their eyes are glazed over in that dopey state of blissful wiggliness known to all dancers and definitely are not anywhere focused on the field in front of them. And for this reason and this reason alone, I am in love with baseball.
That is all. Thank you, U.S.A., for amusing me with your sporty things.
6/14/10
cruise number two and other adventures.
Well last week was just a real treat. I don't even know where to start... how about with Wednesday? After a long day at work, there really isn't anything I'd rather be doing than drinking and trying to balance on a two-wheeler up and down the streets of Denva. Can you blame me? So naturally I packed up my Crown and Diet, loaded my bikes on my supersweet bike rack that I've become too lazy to actually take off my car when I'm not using it (priorities people), and headed for my friend's apartment for a little night of debauchery.
We spent a good... 10 minutes... figuring out our outfits for the night [mine was a combination of an old Scarlet and Cream outfit (word to my screamers), duct tape and bubble wrap]. It was so effing hot I thought my bubble wrap headband was going to melt to my head. Imagine trying to explain that shit to my department in the morning... Anyway, after a few bumps in the road, a sing-a-long down the Cherry Creek Trail, and a few added friends, we made it to Braun's. I offered to buy the first pitcher as any lady should, so I set off for the bar upstairs. Well. Thirty minutes later I was still standing at the bar (literally leaning over it) staring at the mothereffing bartenders who apparently thought every single person around me was A. cuter and B. more important to serve drinks to. Assholes. So with a towel toss toward the bar, I gave up and went downstairs, only to run into... the Topless Cruiser, Boobs McGee! My night improved tenfold at that moment because the week before I had devised a plan for the next time I saw her. I needed to know what her motivation was, not to mention what she was on, and here was the response I got (after I snagged a picture of course--SCORE): "Ha, this musssst beee yerr firssst time at Cruisersss." Smug betch. So I snapped back, "Actually, no, I've Cruised before. I just want to know why you don't like to wear anything." That's all I could come up with..."Ehh well, I jussst like ta beee neked. Beforrre the end of the sssummerrr I'll beee like completely neked." Good. Problem solved.
So we cruised on to the the circle of death in which I did not partake due to the superior importance of A. the portable toilets, and B. a phone call (or what some people like to call drunkdials, whatever). After that was when my night made a little turn for the worst. We were riding down 20th to Wynkoop and what happens? I blow my back tire. Of course this happens to me, and in a sketchy neighborhood no less. So after some serious but failed Cruiser Rescue Efforts, I called a cab and booked it home. Oh and hey, the cab driver charged me an extra dollar for my bike... whatever. All in all, not a bad second round with the Cruisers, but this week I have nowhere to go but up. Theme: Rainbow Night. Yessss.
My weekend definitely turned around with a little visit from none other than the world's greatest lady... my mom. Despite a slapintheface of nasty weather, we managed to accomplish a few things. Highlights include:
1. Staying at a hotel with two rugby teams... and through the workout room window watching them walk around the pool puffing their chests, trying to out-man each other. I made it a point not to look because I don't believe in encouraging animalistic behavior (OK, that's kind of a lie), but it was too special not to watch.
2. MGMT concert at Red Rocks. Standing under a tiny red umbrella with two friends + mom while the sideways-angled rain mocked our feeble attempt at staying dry. At least I got to boog to an extended version of Electric Groove. That made it all worth it.
3. Trip with mama to Georgetown that ended in a little visit to a winery. Aaaaand a few tastings later, we walked out with enough wine to serve the Last Supper ten times over. Life is good.
4. Birthday dinner at Marrakesh. We mentioned to the waiter that we wanted to take our time with our meal, so each time he and/or the chef walked by they reminded us that there was "No rush, nice and slow, just take your time." I appreciated their enthusiasm for our request, but after the twentieth time someone tells you to take your time, it gets a little old. But regardless, the food was amazing, we downed even more wine, chatted like the little Kathy's we are, and three hours later fell into a cab and headed for the hotel in hot pursuit of a night cap.
5. Actually having to walk around Bed Bath and Beyond carrying a Shake Weight. I heard somewhere that they make lovely Father's Day gifts, so I thought I'd pick one up for my step-pops, naturally. I made it a point not to make eye contact with anyone even though I could feel their eyes burning through my left arm that was doing a half-ass job of covering up the damn weight. The good news is that he's gonna love it. Point: me.
We spent a good... 10 minutes... figuring out our outfits for the night [mine was a combination of an old Scarlet and Cream outfit (word to my screamers), duct tape and bubble wrap]. It was so effing hot I thought my bubble wrap headband was going to melt to my head. Imagine trying to explain that shit to my department in the morning... Anyway, after a few bumps in the road, a sing-a-long down the Cherry Creek Trail, and a few added friends, we made it to Braun's. I offered to buy the first pitcher as any lady should, so I set off for the bar upstairs. Well. Thirty minutes later I was still standing at the bar (literally leaning over it) staring at the mothereffing bartenders who apparently thought every single person around me was A. cuter and B. more important to serve drinks to. Assholes. So with a towel toss toward the bar, I gave up and went downstairs, only to run into... the Topless Cruiser, Boobs McGee! My night improved tenfold at that moment because the week before I had devised a plan for the next time I saw her. I needed to know what her motivation was, not to mention what she was on, and here was the response I got (after I snagged a picture of course--SCORE): "Ha, this musssst beee yerr firssst time at Cruisersss." Smug betch. So I snapped back, "Actually, no, I've Cruised before. I just want to know why you don't like to wear anything." That's all I could come up with..."Ehh well, I jussst like ta beee neked. Beforrre the end of the sssummerrr I'll beee like completely neked." Good. Problem solved.
So we cruised on to the the circle of death in which I did not partake due to the superior importance of A. the portable toilets, and B. a phone call (or what some people like to call drunkdials, whatever). After that was when my night made a little turn for the worst. We were riding down 20th to Wynkoop and what happens? I blow my back tire. Of course this happens to me, and in a sketchy neighborhood no less. So after some serious but failed Cruiser Rescue Efforts, I called a cab and booked it home. Oh and hey, the cab driver charged me an extra dollar for my bike... whatever. All in all, not a bad second round with the Cruisers, but this week I have nowhere to go but up. Theme: Rainbow Night. Yessss.
My weekend definitely turned around with a little visit from none other than the world's greatest lady... my mom. Despite a slapintheface of nasty weather, we managed to accomplish a few things. Highlights include:
1. Staying at a hotel with two rugby teams... and through the workout room window watching them walk around the pool puffing their chests, trying to out-man each other. I made it a point not to look because I don't believe in encouraging animalistic behavior (OK, that's kind of a lie), but it was too special not to watch.
2. MGMT concert at Red Rocks. Standing under a tiny red umbrella with two friends + mom while the sideways-angled rain mocked our feeble attempt at staying dry. At least I got to boog to an extended version of Electric Groove. That made it all worth it.
3. Trip with mama to Georgetown that ended in a little visit to a winery. Aaaaand a few tastings later, we walked out with enough wine to serve the Last Supper ten times over. Life is good.
4. Birthday dinner at Marrakesh. We mentioned to the waiter that we wanted to take our time with our meal, so each time he and/or the chef walked by they reminded us that there was "No rush, nice and slow, just take your time." I appreciated their enthusiasm for our request, but after the twentieth time someone tells you to take your time, it gets a little old. But regardless, the food was amazing, we downed even more wine, chatted like the little Kathy's we are, and three hours later fell into a cab and headed for the hotel in hot pursuit of a night cap.
5. Actually having to walk around Bed Bath and Beyond carrying a Shake Weight. I heard somewhere that they make lovely Father's Day gifts, so I thought I'd pick one up for my step-pops, naturally. I made it a point not to make eye contact with anyone even though I could feel their eyes burning through my left arm that was doing a half-ass job of covering up the damn weight. The good news is that he's gonna love it. Point: me.
6/7/10
photo albums.
Do you ever find yourself surfing through your own facebook pictures trying to decide which ones to untag because of whatever reason? Well, I do. About a year ago I went through a mass exodus of unflattering and sub-20-years-old photos, yet still manage to have over 1,300 tags. And no, I'm not trying to point out my coolness. I know people with over 2,000... which is actually just a little weird to me, but whatever. I mean really, how many drunken nights, bathroom montages, kissy faces, weird self-taken myspace poses, or hey-that's-my-arm-in-the-background pictures does someone need? I'll admit I do a routine sweep every few months, just to make sure I'm living up to my own classy standards. I of course leave some semi-unflattering ones because I think they're funny and would rather laugh about it than take them seriously, but I really don't need evidence of some stupid frat party I went to during the awkward stages of my freshman year. For example, I didn't really get the whole memo that Halloween = Excuse for girls to show as much T & A as possible. So instead of dressing up like a sexy M&M wearing spike heels and fishnets with drag queen style makeup, I borrowed my grandma's full-length, dark brown SACK of M&Ms costume and wore that bad boy to a Pike party. I'm pretty sure I was wearing my Patagonia atom bag too, which I didn't even take off in the shower my freshman year, and some neon Roos. God I was way too cool. Needless to say, I felt like the world's biggest toolbag watching the slutty Fanta girls (one of whom has some serious FB picture overhauling to do... UNLers, you all know exactly who I'm talking about) dancing on a stripper pole and accidentally spilling jungle juice down their fronts. Just precious.
So here's a question I've had since the invention of photo albums on the FB (which, by the way, I can remember being so pissed off about because it gave people even more of a chance to be creeps... I got over that one quickly): Is it legit to tag yourself in your own FB albums or no? I don't think anyone really knows the answer... maybe I should ask the creator. I think it's supa weird when people have albums of just pictures of themselves and even go so far as to title them something profound like "Me" or "I dunno" or "Roger" (or whatever your creepy name is...). Honestly, I don't have a problem with people tagging themselves. If you look good in a picture, girrrl you need to tag it. But there's a fine line between a humble tag and overstated vanity. Unfortunately, for the world's sake, most people's vanity usually takes precedence in the world of FB albums. I mean, just look at "Fanta girl's" profile. I actually can't even justify friending her because I don't condone such nonsense. Plus, I don't need to see her nasty wasty bod and Pulitzer prize winning thoughts of the day popping up on my news feed every 14.7 seconds. I feel like some people just take their FB way too far. And I don't plan on being one of them. But truth be told, my roommate sometimes shares with me this person's postings and I won't deny the entertainment. Maybe I'm not above all of this after all.
So here's a question I've had since the invention of photo albums on the FB (which, by the way, I can remember being so pissed off about because it gave people even more of a chance to be creeps... I got over that one quickly): Is it legit to tag yourself in your own FB albums or no? I don't think anyone really knows the answer... maybe I should ask the creator. I think it's supa weird when people have albums of just pictures of themselves and even go so far as to title them something profound like "Me" or "I dunno" or "Roger" (or whatever your creepy name is...). Honestly, I don't have a problem with people tagging themselves. If you look good in a picture, girrrl you need to tag it. But there's a fine line between a humble tag and overstated vanity. Unfortunately, for the world's sake, most people's vanity usually takes precedence in the world of FB albums. I mean, just look at "Fanta girl's" profile. I actually can't even justify friending her because I don't condone such nonsense. Plus, I don't need to see her nasty wasty bod and Pulitzer prize winning thoughts of the day popping up on my news feed every 14.7 seconds. I feel like some people just take their FB way too far. And I don't plan on being one of them. But truth be told, my roommate sometimes shares with me this person's postings and I won't deny the entertainment. Maybe I'm not above all of this after all.
6/4/10
this is real life.
For some reason these last two weeks my body has just given me a huge F you and laughed at me while I sit there and cry. At the moment, I'm sitting here with my leg elevated, gracefully showing off the bag of ice I've Saran Wrapped to the top of my foot. I went for a run two days ago with one of my company's ultra-fit slinky marathoners (uphill both ways... not even kidding) and the next morning I woke up with a sore and swollen foot. Gross, I know. I could run the gammet of things to blame for this, but that's just annoying, so I'm sucking it up and probably will go for another run tomorrow. I'm going to assume that by the time my feet decide to fall off, I'll be able to get sweet prosthetics that are even better than real feet so I'm actually doing myself a favor.
WELL. Despite this foot biz, I went to the gym last night (because I needed an excuse to sit in the sauna). So, here's the backstory before I continue:
Within the last 24 hours, I've had some serious supacreep biz going on via Facebook. Yesterday I got a message from Rando McCreeperson #1 that said, "Hey, hows it goin" and displayed this 30-something's shirtless + visor photo. Let me just say this: There's no effing way I will ever in my life respond to random messages on FB, especially if your picture is of you rocking a visor. I mean come on. I was embarrassed for him. So today I opened my email to find yet another FB message from Rando McCreeperson #2 that said, "hey your beautiful lets be friends." Someone... anyone... Shoot me. His picture was this creepy self-taken attempt at a seductive pose but what it really looked like was the back cover photo of the lead in an underground mano en mano porn. And I wasn't happy about it. So naturally I sent out the pictures and messages to my coworkers so they could all get a taste of Facebook's Finest. I will be changing my Security Settings to Creeper Alert ASAP. And note to all of you FB creeps out there: If you ever think sending a message to someone you don't know is a good idea, you are wrong and always will be wrong. You deserve to be slapped in the face before a hearty suckerpunch.
So back to the gym... After a pathetic attempt at climbing, I decided to row instead. So considering my favorite thing to do at the gym is people watch, I couldn't keep my eyes from wandering while I tried to pretend I was getting a good work out. I glanced over and what do you know... some stout-ish guy wearing a visor walked up to the weight rack and I swear on Jude's grave, it was Rando #1. Visor: check, weird fluffy haircut: check, serious creep factor: double check, way too into himself for anyone's good: check. So I spent the rest of my time on the rowing machine staring at him as the paranoia set in and playing through various scenarios that included saying things like, "Oh heyyy you must be my new FB friend! I'm so glad you found me at my gym too..." or "I know at least one, if not 75, people who would gladly kick your ass at any time" or "Whotheeffdoyouthinkyouareyou [insert exploitive deleted...]." This went on for awhile as I daydreamt about all of the confrontational possibilities. My list was growing faster than I could think of things to say, but then I remembered two things: 1. I would rather drink a bottle of Tabasco then run the stairs at Red Rocks than confront somebody I have beef with and 2. If this was in fact said stalker man, why would I introduce myself? "Oh hey, I'll be leaving here in about 30 minutes after a nice steamy trip to the sauna so you can go ahead and hop in your car and follow me..." Right.
I guess these things happen in real life... not sure where I've been for the last 23 years...
WELL. Despite this foot biz, I went to the gym last night (because I needed an excuse to sit in the sauna). So, here's the backstory before I continue:
Within the last 24 hours, I've had some serious supacreep biz going on via Facebook. Yesterday I got a message from Rando McCreeperson #1 that said, "Hey, hows it goin" and displayed this 30-something's shirtless + visor photo. Let me just say this: There's no effing way I will ever in my life respond to random messages on FB, especially if your picture is of you rocking a visor. I mean come on. I was embarrassed for him. So today I opened my email to find yet another FB message from Rando McCreeperson #2 that said, "hey your beautiful lets be friends." Someone... anyone... Shoot me. His picture was this creepy self-taken attempt at a seductive pose but what it really looked like was the back cover photo of the lead in an underground mano en mano porn. And I wasn't happy about it. So naturally I sent out the pictures and messages to my coworkers so they could all get a taste of Facebook's Finest. I will be changing my Security Settings to Creeper Alert ASAP. And note to all of you FB creeps out there: If you ever think sending a message to someone you don't know is a good idea, you are wrong and always will be wrong. You deserve to be slapped in the face before a hearty suckerpunch.
So back to the gym... After a pathetic attempt at climbing, I decided to row instead. So considering my favorite thing to do at the gym is people watch, I couldn't keep my eyes from wandering while I tried to pretend I was getting a good work out. I glanced over and what do you know... some stout-ish guy wearing a visor walked up to the weight rack and I swear on Jude's grave, it was Rando #1. Visor: check, weird fluffy haircut: check, serious creep factor: double check, way too into himself for anyone's good: check. So I spent the rest of my time on the rowing machine staring at him as the paranoia set in and playing through various scenarios that included saying things like, "Oh heyyy you must be my new FB friend! I'm so glad you found me at my gym too..." or "I know at least one, if not 75, people who would gladly kick your ass at any time" or "Whotheeffdoyouthinkyouareyou [insert exploitive deleted...]." This went on for awhile as I daydreamt about all of the confrontational possibilities. My list was growing faster than I could think of things to say, but then I remembered two things: 1. I would rather drink a bottle of Tabasco then run the stairs at Red Rocks than confront somebody I have beef with and 2. If this was in fact said stalker man, why would I introduce myself? "Oh hey, I'll be leaving here in about 30 minutes after a nice steamy trip to the sauna so you can go ahead and hop in your car and follow me..." Right.
I guess these things happen in real life... not sure where I've been for the last 23 years...
6/1/10
plum.
This past weekend I went to Neb to celebrate my grandpa's 80th birthday at my dad's family's cabin on Plum Creek. First of all, consider me the world's worst person for not realizing my gpop was 80 this year until a couple months ago when I got my gma's "Shhhhh it's a surpriiiiiiise" invitation. The worst granddaughter of the year award came by courier shortly thereafter. But when I saw my grandpa actually stop dead in his tracks because he couldn't believe his whole family came out to celebrate his life, I'll be honest... I got super misty (no surprise there). I was just happy I was wearing sunglasses. I'm gonna go ahead and be a brat and brag about the fact that I got to hug him first (like it was my idea the whooooole time). But really, the weekend was awesome with the exception of one tiny fact: mi padre spotted my stamp. And no, we're not talking tramp style. Give me a break, I have more class than that. But there definitely was a reason I kept this little detail of my life from my pops as long as I could. The last thing I need in my life is to feel like a failure as a daughter... but when you hear from your brother of your dad, "One of my greatest accomplishments as a parent is the fact that you and your sister don't have tattoos..." you feel a little bit like a dumbass. Secretly the spite was a little fun, but not enough to outweigh the complete un-awesomeness of my role as a daughter. So after about 5 minutes, I got over it and on with my life. Sort of. I think despite the sarcasm, Pops realized that I'm still an OK little lady. It could be worse.
Soooo the weekend progressed with an ungodly amount of food (I'm pretty sure I ate my body weight in my gmom's caramel pecan rolls, onion dip, trail mix, raisin bars and cookies... not to mention being forced seconds, thirds, and eighths at every meal), tubing with my cousin which was basically the equivalent of getting caned (skidding across a set of waves going 30 mph feels more being launched out of a cannon at a set of stone steps... a fact I apparently had forgotten despite my 23 summers at the lake), watching my dad jump off the dock via a mini trampoline... and by "jump" clearly I mean "barely skim off the edge"... just fantastic, drinking Miller High Life..., pretending I was a gymnast on the trampoline, listening to my uncle's band's debut album "Yes, Indeed" from his Hawaiian group the Na Hilahila Boys (toolegittoquit), sleeping open-air style with my parents-brother-cousins-cousin+girlfriend-uncle-aunt+uncle-and spiders on the second floor loft of the cabin (surprisingly this has never been awkward except for the time I walked up the stairs to find my g-parent's foreign exchange student stark naked... the same person who just so happened to make a surprise visit this past weekend. ohh the irony.), watching my grandparents' blind dog try to maneuver around the cabin and occasionally fall off the deck..., winning a swimming race against my older brother (OK, maybe I was the only one who thought it was a race, but I still considered it a victory), and painting a piggy bank during the inevitable and unavoidable arts and crafts time (unless you have chest hair). Ok, so the pig painting actually was pretty fun thanks to my stepmom, but whatever.
This is my family and this is my life. Jealousy is understandable.
Soooo the weekend progressed with an ungodly amount of food (I'm pretty sure I ate my body weight in my gmom's caramel pecan rolls, onion dip, trail mix, raisin bars and cookies... not to mention being forced seconds, thirds, and eighths at every meal), tubing with my cousin which was basically the equivalent of getting caned (skidding across a set of waves going 30 mph feels more being launched out of a cannon at a set of stone steps... a fact I apparently had forgotten despite my 23 summers at the lake), watching my dad jump off the dock via a mini trampoline... and by "jump" clearly I mean "barely skim off the edge"... just fantastic, drinking Miller High Life..., pretending I was a gymnast on the trampoline, listening to my uncle's band's debut album "Yes, Indeed" from his Hawaiian group the Na Hilahila Boys (toolegittoquit), sleeping open-air style with my parents-brother-cousins-cousin+girlfriend-uncle-aunt+uncle-and spiders on the second floor loft of the cabin (surprisingly this has never been awkward except for the time I walked up the stairs to find my g-parent's foreign exchange student stark naked... the same person who just so happened to make a surprise visit this past weekend. ohh the irony.), watching my grandparents' blind dog try to maneuver around the cabin and occasionally fall off the deck..., winning a swimming race against my older brother (OK, maybe I was the only one who thought it was a race, but I still considered it a victory), and painting a piggy bank during the inevitable and unavoidable arts and crafts time (unless you have chest hair). Ok, so the pig painting actually was pretty fun thanks to my stepmom, but whatever.
This is my family and this is my life. Jealousy is understandable.
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