In other news, I just got an email from a bestie saying, "Mmmmmmmmm I can't wait to bite into an ear of corn. Nom nom nom." and I can't stop laughing.
If those ears of corn have effing worms in them tonight, immabepissssed.
7/23/10
gooey banana.
I don't think this is what bananas are supposed to look like. I know they're supposed to be mushy and stuff, but really? What's with the goo? Gross.
It is now lying in the garbage can where it belongs and I'm eating PB M&Ms, despite someone just having told me, "Remember, you need to get into a swimming suit soon..." I'm over it.
In other news, I just got an email from a bestie saying, "Mmmmmmmmm I can't wait to bite into an ear of corn. Nom nom nom." and I can't stop laughing.
If those ears of corn have effing worms in them tonight, immabepissssed.
In other news, I just got an email from a bestie saying, "Mmmmmmmmm I can't wait to bite into an ear of corn. Nom nom nom." and I can't stop laughing.
If those ears of corn have effing worms in them tonight, immabepissssed.
morning drive.
Aside from the traffic, I love Colorado roadways for one reason: people watching. I've never seen more people booger-snatching, bouncing around and singing, MOWing down on cheeseburgers, burning one down and just generally being socially abnormal. On the mornings that I'd rather be doing a million other things than getting in my car and hopping on the freeway (i.e. every morning), these people help to lighten my mood.
Last night I was sitting at a stop light and did the whole look-at-someone-until-they-look-at-you thing to a guy who had a gnarly scar across his mouth (like the joker). While I was studying his face, I was formulating every single scenario I could to explain what happened to him ranging from a cat scratch (ruled out by the size of the scar) to a combat fight in Vietnam or Korea or Detroit to a real-life version of The Fight Club to a domestic dispute in which his ladyfriend kicked his ass, then took one of her heels to his face (sometime my imagination gets the best of me). Naturally my reflexes didn't match his, so before I could pretend like nothing happened, he was smiling and waving at me. Oh God. I gave him a half-ass smile, then thanked the Lawd for the green light to turn left and get the hellouttathere. I'm sure he's gotten used to people staring at him, but that doesn't make me any less embarrassed to be ranked among the masses in the gawker category. Point: Scar man. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't let people see me stare anymore, which brings me to this morning...
Sitting at yet another stop light, I looked over to see a guy sitting in a Jeep covered in stickers announcing to the world that the guy driving is a complete weirdo. Whywhywhy do people think they need to do this? It's not like I'm throwing a "Warning: Cat-lady in the driver's seat" sticker on the back of my wheelz any time soon for obvious reasons: I don't actively seek judgement. Seeing a sticker that says "God Bless the Freaks" makes me cringe. I don't know anyone who would read that and think to themselves, sweeeeet there's a freak driving that car and good news, God is blessing him. Then again, maybe the people I know are too normal. I should step outside my box. Anyway, all tangents aside, my point is that this time, I was stealth enough to nab a picture of this guy's car. And believe me, I felt as proud as I did on the day I was able to ride my bike without training wheels. Clearly my next step is to become a CIA agent.
Last night I was sitting at a stop light and did the whole look-at-someone-until-they-look-at-you thing to a guy who had a gnarly scar across his mouth (like the joker). While I was studying his face, I was formulating every single scenario I could to explain what happened to him ranging from a cat scratch (ruled out by the size of the scar) to a combat fight in Vietnam or Korea or Detroit to a real-life version of The Fight Club to a domestic dispute in which his ladyfriend kicked his ass, then took one of her heels to his face (sometime my imagination gets the best of me). Naturally my reflexes didn't match his, so before I could pretend like nothing happened, he was smiling and waving at me. Oh God. I gave him a half-ass smile, then thanked the Lawd for the green light to turn left and get the hellouttathere. I'm sure he's gotten used to people staring at him, but that doesn't make me any less embarrassed to be ranked among the masses in the gawker category. Point: Scar man. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't let people see me stare anymore, which brings me to this morning...
Sitting at yet another stop light, I looked over to see a guy sitting in a Jeep covered in stickers announcing to the world that the guy driving is a complete weirdo. Whywhywhy do people think they need to do this? It's not like I'm throwing a "Warning: Cat-lady in the driver's seat" sticker on the back of my wheelz any time soon for obvious reasons: I don't actively seek judgement. Seeing a sticker that says "God Bless the Freaks" makes me cringe. I don't know anyone who would read that and think to themselves, sweeeeet there's a freak driving that car and good news, God is blessing him. Then again, maybe the people I know are too normal. I should step outside my box. Anyway, all tangents aside, my point is that this time, I was stealth enough to nab a picture of this guy's car. And believe me, I felt as proud as I did on the day I was able to ride my bike without training wheels. Clearly my next step is to become a CIA agent.I think I sense a new goal in the works...
7/21/10
lotion.
Someone just came by rubbing her hands with lotion from the ladies' room and you know what?...
That's all.
- I hatehatehate the smell of unscented hand lotion.
- Not to mention the sound it makes when you slather it all over your hands.
- And the nasty hard remnants that block up the pump.
- Don't even get me started on the greasy overly-lotioned feeling you end up with... making it IMPOSSIBLE to do ANYTHING with your hands until you wipe it all off on a towel deeming the whole process: pointless.
- I can still smell it... gross.
That's all.
bro gift.
My birthday gift from my brother came in the mail. He sent me a Beatles poster which I about J'd in my P (if I even could...) when I saw it and two books, one of which is a vampire thriller. And his note read:
"I thought you could use a good vampire story, rather than that Twilight crap."
My brother is awesome.
"I thought you could use a good vampire story, rather than that Twilight crap."
My brother is awesome.
7/20/10
stellar morning.
This morning I woke up and step aerobic'd with Cher. And let me tell you, it was a real treat. Since about the last thing I want to do at 5:30 in the morning is put on my sneaks and sweat, at least I can find solace in Cher's black lace ruffled leotard and black high tops, not to mention her wise cracks: "Address your bench! 'Hello bench!'" (What?) and "...like I curtsied for the Queen? I did meet the Queen, you know. Yeah she was wearing a great outfit... great jewels." I loooove that she had to announce to her fitness class/video that she met the Queen.
Anyway, as I was aerobic-ing, I vowed to myself never to let anyone actually see me doing it because there's no way I look even remotely normal/sexy/coordinated/athletic and I'm really not interested in sharing that aspect of my life with anyone other than Cher. Case in point: I was stretching my calves like the sporty ladies on the vid do and somehow managed to almost tumble backwards as the step fell off its supports. Awesome. I mean, I love watching/hearing about other people doing things like trip on a non-existant crack in the sidewalk, run into glass doors, lose their footing on a treadmill, fall out of a chair (all of these have happened to me...) or hit themselves in the face with their own rifle... but when it actually happens to you, it feels like the world might end. The good news is, even if you're not able to laugh at yourself, at least someone else can get a little giggle in at your expense. It's a small sacrifice for a greater cause, people.
Anyway, as I was aerobic-ing, I vowed to myself never to let anyone actually see me doing it because there's no way I look even remotely normal/sexy/coordinated/athletic and I'm really not interested in sharing that aspect of my life with anyone other than Cher. Case in point: I was stretching my calves like the sporty ladies on the vid do and somehow managed to almost tumble backwards as the step fell off its supports. Awesome. I mean, I love watching/hearing about other people doing things like trip on a non-existant crack in the sidewalk, run into glass doors, lose their footing on a treadmill, fall out of a chair (all of these have happened to me...) or hit themselves in the face with their own rifle... but when it actually happens to you, it feels like the world might end. The good news is, even if you're not able to laugh at yourself, at least someone else can get a little giggle in at your expense. It's a small sacrifice for a greater cause, people.
7/15/10
my pearly whites.
In other news... I just had a conversation with my friend about how badly her kitten's farts/poo smells. Why I was chosen to receive this information is questionable, but if there's any doubt about this making my day better, that would be false. Everyone needs to have conversations like that every once in awhile... or every day, whatever.
7/13/10
super nanny.
Last Saturday I babysat for my favorite little tyke who I'll refer to as Jet (not sure why, but it seems to fit his personality). After a 10-second cryfest when his mom left (I distracted him by carrying him around upside down for awhile... thinking of how I'd feel being carried around upside actually kind of nauseates me, but for some reason kids love it. Whatever, it works.), we dove into serious play mode including a trip to the park and Jet showing me how he can ride his new bike. Mind you, him "riding" his new bike actually was me pushing this weird-looking bike thing and him pedaling at random, basically having no effect on whether he was moving forward or not. The only tricky part was getting him to keep the handlebars going straight... I'm sure we looked really special walking down the sidewalk running into flower pots, garages and falling into cracks as Jet thought it was necessary to crank his bars right and left at will.
When we got back, we went in for a little juice break and what does little Jet do? He chugged down some Apple J, fooled me into giving him two packs of gummy things (oops), then walked over to me, froze for a second, then dropped a huuuuge F bomb. Fart, that is. I felt like a proud mother goose watching her gosling fly. I was so surprised he actually pulled that off, it took me a second to collect my thoughts until I finally could ask, "WHAT was THAT?" He grinned and announced, "I fawted!" I knew I loved this kid before, but come on, this just sealed the deal. Naturally, I high-fived him and tried to pull the whole matronly "say excuse me" thing, but all I could do was laugh. So there I was at a "mature 23," giggling with a 2-year-old over a fart. Super.
Being the 2-year-old that Jet is, he hasn't quite mastered his language skills yet. He was running around outside yelling what I could only distinguish as "asshole!". I'm not gonna deny the fact that this was adorable, but I kept asking what he was talking about and why he was saying that word... and never got a response until his mom got home. Apparently some 8th grade-neighbor came over the other day and taught him how to say Awesome. So when his mom got home and he all of a sudden became this crazed child running around yelling asshole, he was actually telling her, "Hey mom, she's AWESOME." Nothing like a little street cred from a toddler. Cheers to me.
When we got back, we went in for a little juice break and what does little Jet do? He chugged down some Apple J, fooled me into giving him two packs of gummy things (oops), then walked over to me, froze for a second, then dropped a huuuuge F bomb. Fart, that is. I felt like a proud mother goose watching her gosling fly. I was so surprised he actually pulled that off, it took me a second to collect my thoughts until I finally could ask, "WHAT was THAT?" He grinned and announced, "I fawted!" I knew I loved this kid before, but come on, this just sealed the deal. Naturally, I high-fived him and tried to pull the whole matronly "say excuse me" thing, but all I could do was laugh. So there I was at a "mature 23," giggling with a 2-year-old over a fart. Super.
Being the 2-year-old that Jet is, he hasn't quite mastered his language skills yet. He was running around outside yelling what I could only distinguish as "asshole!". I'm not gonna deny the fact that this was adorable, but I kept asking what he was talking about and why he was saying that word... and never got a response until his mom got home. Apparently some 8th grade-neighbor came over the other day and taught him how to say Awesome. So when his mom got home and he all of a sudden became this crazed child running around yelling asshole, he was actually telling her, "Hey mom, she's AWESOME." Nothing like a little street cred from a toddler. Cheers to me.
7/8/10
safe travels.
Last weekend I took a little trip to Destin to visit an L-T I've taken a liking to. Let me just begin with: I almost didn't make it. Thursday happened to be my birthday, and what did I choose to do on my 23rd? I moved. Fast forward to Thursday night... I was up to my eye balls in what looks like Hiroshima in my new apartment, so instead of going to bed and dealing with it later, I went into Martha Stewart mode and dove in. Around 2:45 I decided to take a nap, then woke up again at quarter till 4:00, about the time I was planning on driving to the airport to catch my flight...
Long story short, I made it to the airport at 5:30... (flight time: 6:10). The people at the check-in desk were way awesome, got me checked in in .2 seconds, then yelled at me to "RUN FORREST RUNNNN" as I hauled ass to the security line. If I wasn't in a rush, I would have been annoyed at their mocking. When I got to security, the guard looked at my ticket after I asked him if there was any way I could cut to the front of the Godforsakenly long line and said, "Ehh you'll have time." Omigod. F*CK YOU BUDDY. So I got in line and pouted for about 5 minutes before I started asking people if I could cut. Thank God for foreign travelers. This lovely little lady with bright red lipstick and hair to match let me move in front of her. Later I found out she didn't speak English; she was just a nod-and-smile'r. Like I said, thank God for foreign travelers. After I made it through security, I hauled even more ass (Flip flops were a bad choice. I may have slipped on a stair or two... just awesome.) to my gate, which was appropriately located at the end of a long terminal, and got on the plane 10 minutes before take-off. I promptly headed for the bathroom so I could change into a dry pair of shorts.
On my flight to Hotlanta, I sat next to two brothers: Austin (10) and Darnell? (8). Just adorable. Austin talked my ear off--bless his heart--after having nuzzled on my shoulder nearly the whole flight. Precious. Highlights from our conversation include:
1. "Last year on the 4th we were lighting fireworks, then went out back and someone had shot through our dad's car window..." Fantastic.
2. In reference to his cousin: "If he had super powers, he'd be at about 1,000%."
3. "Everyone in my family has been to the ER, 'cept me. I broke my brother's arm last year." (Why?) "Because he hit me on the head and made me mad." (Naturally.)
4. Austin had a lisp. To understand why this means so much to me, refer to my family's home videos circa 1992... then you might know why.
Once I got off the plane in Hotlanta and found out the computers were down, I planted myself in a seat next to my gate to observe the mayhem. And this is when I totally lost faith in our society. It was chaos. "No ma'am I'm sorry, I can't answer that question, our computers are down..." "But I was just wondering where the nearest restroom was...?" (That sort of thing.)
After getting tired of watching a bunch of incompetent people throwing temper tantrums, I walked over to the bar to check out the soccer game. I put my psuedo-serious-game-face on and asked the guy next to me what the score was (like I really cared). His answer? "Lebanon is up 2." Ohhhh Lebanon! Good! Woohoo! As it turns out, it was the Netherlands playing Brazil, but hey, I'll take Lebanon. So then he leans in (actually he leaned up because he was more of a nugget) and asks if I played sports. I told him I only played in high school (insert: leave-me-alone-look). Instead of acknowledging social cues, he then asked my name followed by a super awkwardly delivered "you're very pretty." I turned around and walked away, but don't you worry, he lurked around my gate until my flight boarded. Not creepy at all.
I made it to Destin. And I couldn't have been happier.
Long story short, I made it to the airport at 5:30... (flight time: 6:10). The people at the check-in desk were way awesome, got me checked in in .2 seconds, then yelled at me to "RUN FORREST RUNNNN" as I hauled ass to the security line. If I wasn't in a rush, I would have been annoyed at their mocking. When I got to security, the guard looked at my ticket after I asked him if there was any way I could cut to the front of the Godforsakenly long line and said, "Ehh you'll have time." Omigod. F*CK YOU BUDDY. So I got in line and pouted for about 5 minutes before I started asking people if I could cut. Thank God for foreign travelers. This lovely little lady with bright red lipstick and hair to match let me move in front of her. Later I found out she didn't speak English; she was just a nod-and-smile'r. Like I said, thank God for foreign travelers. After I made it through security, I hauled even more ass (Flip flops were a bad choice. I may have slipped on a stair or two... just awesome.) to my gate, which was appropriately located at the end of a long terminal, and got on the plane 10 minutes before take-off. I promptly headed for the bathroom so I could change into a dry pair of shorts.
On my flight to Hotlanta, I sat next to two brothers: Austin (10) and Darnell? (8). Just adorable. Austin talked my ear off--bless his heart--after having nuzzled on my shoulder nearly the whole flight. Precious. Highlights from our conversation include:
1. "Last year on the 4th we were lighting fireworks, then went out back and someone had shot through our dad's car window..." Fantastic.
2. In reference to his cousin: "If he had super powers, he'd be at about 1,000%."
3. "Everyone in my family has been to the ER, 'cept me. I broke my brother's arm last year." (Why?) "Because he hit me on the head and made me mad." (Naturally.)
4. Austin had a lisp. To understand why this means so much to me, refer to my family's home videos circa 1992... then you might know why.
Once I got off the plane in Hotlanta and found out the computers were down, I planted myself in a seat next to my gate to observe the mayhem. And this is when I totally lost faith in our society. It was chaos. "No ma'am I'm sorry, I can't answer that question, our computers are down..." "But I was just wondering where the nearest restroom was...?" (That sort of thing.)
After getting tired of watching a bunch of incompetent people throwing temper tantrums, I walked over to the bar to check out the soccer game. I put my psuedo-serious-game-face on and asked the guy next to me what the score was (like I really cared). His answer? "Lebanon is up 2." Ohhhh Lebanon! Good! Woohoo! As it turns out, it was the Netherlands playing Brazil, but hey, I'll take Lebanon. So then he leans in (actually he leaned up because he was more of a nugget) and asks if I played sports. I told him I only played in high school (insert: leave-me-alone-look). Instead of acknowledging social cues, he then asked my name followed by a super awkwardly delivered "you're very pretty." I turned around and walked away, but don't you worry, he lurked around my gate until my flight boarded. Not creepy at all.
I made it to Destin. And I couldn't have been happier.
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