Halloween is approaching which means a few good things. This year people will be watching kids run around dressed up as Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber. Seriously people, what happened to ghosts, witches, princesses and pumpkins? Those were the cute days. I ran the gamut of costumes as a young babe including a mouse, unicorn, witch complete with a sparkly spiderweb cape (but no hat because I didn't want to ruin my perm), Medieval princess and Jasmine. I looked good. Every. Year. The coolest thing was that my mom sewed every single one of my costumes so I wasn't walking around with a bunch of cheap junk hanging off me. I was the real deal.
In preschool I showed up to our dress-up day as a scarecrow, only to find out that everyone and their doll was a princess, including my teachers. I was devastated. My outfit was suuuper awesome and thanks to a little positive reinforcement from mi madre, I strutted into that room thinking I was the next Raggedy Ann. But instead of riding my ego wave, I felt like a huge ass for not getting the memo to be a princess. I can honestly remember thinking, "Why didn't Mom tell me? I bet she did this on purpose." In retrospect, it's a little weird that there were so many princesses in the room that day. My memory shows a flashbulb image of two mid-fifty-something women floating around in poofy dresses holding wands and granting everyone's wishes. Next they hug my friend Kim, who I always thought was cooler than me, and giggled about being twinsssss(!!!). Me? I was overlooked in my honky scarecrow outfit, even down to when we lined up for pictures... we all climbed onto the piano to take a picture and I sulked my way to the back. Traumatic, I know.
From that day on I made sure I had the coolest outfit to wear to my class's Halloween party. I also brought the coolest treats--owl cookies that my mom slaved over for hours in the days leading up to our parties. It's quite obvious that my mom is awesome. If only I were that cool.
Growing up I've found that most late-teen-early-twenties and hell, late 40's, women still try to fit into their childhood costumes. It's inevitable not to see a boob or butt cheek hanging out on Halloween. I never understood the whole slooty costume thing. In defiance, I dressed up as a sack of M&Ms one year in college. (I've mentioned this before.) Watching the ho-face Fanta Girls run around that night, I felt a little bit better about myself as I was safely secured in what only can be described as a sleeping bag.
This year will be no different. I'm tossing back and forth either being a ski bum or camp counselor. Sexy, I know. My boss lent me his super awesome ski onesies, so it might be impossible not to wear that. The benefits are endless: more room for booze in my belly--thank you, elastic waist band and buttons up the front, no possible reason to be self-conscious, and really, who wouldn't want to wear a neon ski suit? I might end up looking like Barney, but at least I'll be happy about it. Yet again, it's my little eff you to the preschool princesses.
10/27/10
10/26/10
another seminar.
One of the perks of joining the corporate ranks is getting sent to seminars related to your department. Conversely, one of the pitfalls is not knowing what the hell everyone is talking about. This morning I woke up early, ate a few prunes for good measure, pulled my hair back in a schoolmarm bun because I needed to look "professional" (and secretly because I get sick of the whole hair washing/drying/ironing thing), and set out for the seminar. And really, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Come to think of it, I still don't know what I got myself into.
Point #1: This is something every seminar putter-onner needs to know. HAVE SIGNS. I really could care less if you write "THIS WAY ASSHOLES" and draw an arrow using a ball point pen on a piece of printer paper, just throw a girl a bone. I've yet to walk into a meeting like this not looking doe-eyed and having no clue who I need to talk to to get my freakin name tag and get a chair under me. I deduced that the Security desk was a bad choice mainly because of two ridiculously hefty men sitting behind it. They seemed to be doing a lot of good with their game of Who Can Stare Further Into Space. Super. Instead I went to a desk where three women were chirping about Lordknowswhat and took a solid 30 seconds to acknowledge my presence. In a voice not unlike one used for speaking to a child, I am asked, "Aaaand what can we help you with?" Before I could finish my sentence, I was told that so-and-so would take me to such-and-such room if I put my information here and took this badge.
Point #2: What are you supposed to talk about with so-and-so who is taking you to such-and-such room? Seriously... The weather? Make awkward early morning jokes? Insincere how-are-you's? I racked my brain to come up with something else, but settled on, "So how are you doing today?" One of these days I really just want to say, "Quick. Tell me your top three favorite kinds of pie. Aaaaand GO!" or "These underwear were really a fantastic choice. I feel like a new woman. What kind are you wearing?" or "So we had to have my cat euthanized 6 months ago and I still wake up in a pool of sweat screaming his name..."
Once I got to the room and received my hand-written name tag (my name was not yet on "the list"), I sat down next to a woman I recognized from a Medical Marijuana conference I had attended a few months prior (Note: The conference was a lot less exciting than anticipated, except for the fact that they served brownies for dessert. Touche, conference putter-onners.) and it took me awhile before I could get her attention to even introduce myself. She was glued to her flip phone. And they say younger people are the textaholics of this day and age? Excuse me, but this over-40 woman was texting throughout the entire seminar. I, a woman 20 years her junior, only checked my phone once to find a text that read: "I shared a bagel with the trash. I had 3 chocolate cheesecakes." and I thought I was going to pee my pants. Instead I reminded myself that I had a bun in my hair and pulled myself together enough to pretend like I was listening to the speaker.
Truly, I had no idea what we were talking about. So what else could I do but smile and nod, then pretend to take notes when the speaker looked at me. I was in a room of about 20 professionals in my field who all worked for construction companies. Needless to say, we had nothing in common in addition to the blatant age gap. What I did pick up on was the fact that apparently because of my position in my company, I am now the default member of this "elite" group of individuals and will be expected to attend their meetings from now on. After figuring that out, I focused on picking up their lingo, wrote a few things down, and will study up on how to say things I don't know shit about in order to assimilate myself into this group. Shouldn't be too hard, right?
If anything, I'll keep getting fed delicious free breakfasts. One more point for the youngsters.
Point #1: This is something every seminar putter-onner needs to know. HAVE SIGNS. I really could care less if you write "THIS WAY ASSHOLES" and draw an arrow using a ball point pen on a piece of printer paper, just throw a girl a bone. I've yet to walk into a meeting like this not looking doe-eyed and having no clue who I need to talk to to get my freakin name tag and get a chair under me. I deduced that the Security desk was a bad choice mainly because of two ridiculously hefty men sitting behind it. They seemed to be doing a lot of good with their game of Who Can Stare Further Into Space. Super. Instead I went to a desk where three women were chirping about Lordknowswhat and took a solid 30 seconds to acknowledge my presence. In a voice not unlike one used for speaking to a child, I am asked, "Aaaand what can we help you with?" Before I could finish my sentence, I was told that so-and-so would take me to such-and-such room if I put my information here and took this badge.
Point #2: What are you supposed to talk about with so-and-so who is taking you to such-and-such room? Seriously... The weather? Make awkward early morning jokes? Insincere how-are-you's? I racked my brain to come up with something else, but settled on, "So how are you doing today?" One of these days I really just want to say, "Quick. Tell me your top three favorite kinds of pie. Aaaaand GO!" or "These underwear were really a fantastic choice. I feel like a new woman. What kind are you wearing?" or "So we had to have my cat euthanized 6 months ago and I still wake up in a pool of sweat screaming his name..."
Once I got to the room and received my hand-written name tag (my name was not yet on "the list"), I sat down next to a woman I recognized from a Medical Marijuana conference I had attended a few months prior (Note: The conference was a lot less exciting than anticipated, except for the fact that they served brownies for dessert. Touche, conference putter-onners.) and it took me awhile before I could get her attention to even introduce myself. She was glued to her flip phone. And they say younger people are the textaholics of this day and age? Excuse me, but this over-40 woman was texting throughout the entire seminar. I, a woman 20 years her junior, only checked my phone once to find a text that read: "I shared a bagel with the trash. I had 3 chocolate cheesecakes." and I thought I was going to pee my pants. Instead I reminded myself that I had a bun in my hair and pulled myself together enough to pretend like I was listening to the speaker.
Truly, I had no idea what we were talking about. So what else could I do but smile and nod, then pretend to take notes when the speaker looked at me. I was in a room of about 20 professionals in my field who all worked for construction companies. Needless to say, we had nothing in common in addition to the blatant age gap. What I did pick up on was the fact that apparently because of my position in my company, I am now the default member of this "elite" group of individuals and will be expected to attend their meetings from now on. After figuring that out, I focused on picking up their lingo, wrote a few things down, and will study up on how to say things I don't know shit about in order to assimilate myself into this group. Shouldn't be too hard, right?
If anything, I'll keep getting fed delicious free breakfasts. One more point for the youngsters.
10/22/10
dilemma.
I would never consider myself a political expert, much less enthusiast. Rather, I think I'd be more suitably categorized as watching-them-make-asses-of-themselves enthusiast. This fall's election season has been far short of a let-down for me in that arena. I get to watch the likes of Donkeys and Elephants butt heads, spewing the most unbelievable remarks at one another, but what gets me most are the interest groups. Have you noticed that the political ads made by the actual politicians are a little more sugar-coated than those by special interest groups?
In my humble opinion, and judging by what's been splattered across the media, it seems like politicians are more interested in whose doodle they're going to snazz, or vice versa, respectively. Fidelity has become a mere glimmer of morality as much as infidelity has become cause for comedic relief. The thing I don't get--and someone, please, help me out here--is what some people find so alluring about themselves. The last thing I want is some icky pot-bellied, bad-haired man trying out one of his world-renowned pickup lines on me. Woof. And ladies, don't think you're getting off the hook either. The most attractive female politician any of us has seen in a loooong time is Mrs. Palin; however, if you ever catch an episode of O'Reilly you may notice that every single one of his female analysts (whether psychologists, political experts, word-root-finders...) are very attractive. Not that this is a bad thing. I agree, people are more inclined to believe what an sensibly (or outrageously) attractive person has to say rather than someone less appealing, yet I can't help but find this humorous, if not a little creepy on behalf of the aforementioned peeps.
I digress.
So now the great challenge is to decide to whom I cast my vote. In the senate race, I can go for the extreme right-winged candidate who is clearly hated by one particular women's interest groups that has put out an ad saying he will end abortion and birth control... or I can go for the extreme lefty who pissed all of the state's money down the drain. Hmmm decisions decisions. They sound like such great guys. The governor's race isn't much better. I believe the Lefty was called a hooligan and I honestly haven't heard much about the Righty. I think I'll vote anti-hooligan, although I do love me a good shenanigan.
My conundrum: The political and economic scene couldn't be in worse shambles, although I feel strongly that Americans need to look down at their pointed fingers and realize "ohhh shit, there are three pointing back at me." Duh. We're the ones falling for the ponzi schemes, the political bullshit and asinine media coverage. Come on people, quit believing everything the media tell you. Let's go over this one more time: economy does not equal stock market. Rinse and repeat.
So. Do I stick it out and give these policies some time? Um, hell no. I didn't agree with them in the first place. I think I'll stick with my partay and see what bandages we can apply to this giant fracture, or what I feel more suitably can be labeled: shitstorm.
In my humble opinion, and judging by what's been splattered across the media, it seems like politicians are more interested in whose doodle they're going to snazz, or vice versa, respectively. Fidelity has become a mere glimmer of morality as much as infidelity has become cause for comedic relief. The thing I don't get--and someone, please, help me out here--is what some people find so alluring about themselves. The last thing I want is some icky pot-bellied, bad-haired man trying out one of his world-renowned pickup lines on me. Woof. And ladies, don't think you're getting off the hook either. The most attractive female politician any of us has seen in a loooong time is Mrs. Palin; however, if you ever catch an episode of O'Reilly you may notice that every single one of his female analysts (whether psychologists, political experts, word-root-finders...) are very attractive. Not that this is a bad thing. I agree, people are more inclined to believe what an sensibly (or outrageously) attractive person has to say rather than someone less appealing, yet I can't help but find this humorous, if not a little creepy on behalf of the aforementioned peeps.
I digress.
So now the great challenge is to decide to whom I cast my vote. In the senate race, I can go for the extreme right-winged candidate who is clearly hated by one particular women's interest groups that has put out an ad saying he will end abortion and birth control... or I can go for the extreme lefty who pissed all of the state's money down the drain. Hmmm decisions decisions. They sound like such great guys. The governor's race isn't much better. I believe the Lefty was called a hooligan and I honestly haven't heard much about the Righty. I think I'll vote anti-hooligan, although I do love me a good shenanigan.
My conundrum: The political and economic scene couldn't be in worse shambles, although I feel strongly that Americans need to look down at their pointed fingers and realize "ohhh shit, there are three pointing back at me." Duh. We're the ones falling for the ponzi schemes, the political bullshit and asinine media coverage. Come on people, quit believing everything the media tell you. Let's go over this one more time: economy does not equal stock market. Rinse and repeat.
So. Do I stick it out and give these policies some time? Um, hell no. I didn't agree with them in the first place. I think I'll stick with my partay and see what bandages we can apply to this giant fracture, or what I feel more suitably can be labeled: shitstorm.
what's better.
What's better than...
Loading up someone's facebook post with a blog-like string of responses.
Yawning then seeing someone else yawn, then another then another then another.
Getting a personal email in your inbox.
A long-overdue hug from your best friends (T-minus 24 hours).
Winning a game of Scrabble against people smarter than you.
Hearing someone fart in the stall next to you. Just tryyy not to laugh.
Laughing until you cry and your abs feel like they're on fire.
Finishing a long run without tripping on a crack.
Huncalfroyo.
Getting TWSS'd.
Kittens. (and puppies...)
Getting flowers for no reason. <--side note: For Sadie Hawkins my sophomore year in high school I sent flowers to my friend Dirk with a note asking if he'd be my date. After that, flowers started pouring into the secretary's office with notes to guys on them. Not saying that I maybe started a weird trend... but I think I did. And by the way, Dirk loved the flowers and was the best Sadie Hawkins date ever.
Challenging your mom to a beer shotgunning contest... and losing.
Reggae.
Finishing a book.
Waking up at 1:30 in the morning and realizing you have hourrrrs left to sleep.
The first sip of a blended margarita... and let's be honest, all the other sips (or gulps) are fantastic too.
A good yoga sesh.
Dancing by yourself in the middle of a crowd. <--try it.
Waking up without a hangover on the weekend.
...obviously I'm bored. That's all.
Loading up someone's facebook post with a blog-like string of responses.
Yawning then seeing someone else yawn, then another then another then another.
Getting a personal email in your inbox.
A long-overdue hug from your best friends (T-minus 24 hours).
Winning a game of Scrabble against people smarter than you.
Hearing someone fart in the stall next to you. Just tryyy not to laugh.
Laughing until you cry and your abs feel like they're on fire.
Finishing a long run without tripping on a crack.
Huncalfroyo.
Getting TWSS'd.
Kittens. (and puppies...)
Getting flowers for no reason. <--side note: For Sadie Hawkins my sophomore year in high school I sent flowers to my friend Dirk with a note asking if he'd be my date. After that, flowers started pouring into the secretary's office with notes to guys on them. Not saying that I maybe started a weird trend... but I think I did. And by the way, Dirk loved the flowers and was the best Sadie Hawkins date ever.
Challenging your mom to a beer shotgunning contest... and losing.
Reggae.
Finishing a book.
Waking up at 1:30 in the morning and realizing you have hourrrrs left to sleep.
The first sip of a blended margarita... and let's be honest, all the other sips (or gulps) are fantastic too.
A good yoga sesh.
Dancing by yourself in the middle of a crowd. <--try it.
Waking up without a hangover on the weekend.
...obviously I'm bored. That's all.
10/15/10
piratey things.
For the past two weeks all I've seen on the news are developing stories about a Colorado man shot by Mexican pirates in a lake straddling the USA-Mex border (I heard the term straddling this morning and really enjoyed the fact that the anchor used it.). I don't have a problem with the fact that news stations have made this tragic story a national headline. What I do have a problem with is the backlash from this guy's family... and don't even get me started on angry Colorado citizens (I'll get to them later).
Let me just say that I regard this situation to be extremely tumultuous for someone to try to grasp as a reality, so I understand the tears and desire for justice. Contrastly, I find it ludicrous that they are calling out President Obama and Secretary Clinton to help them in their plight for justice. Seriously guys. "Help us Obama! We need our justice! Help me find my husband and bring him hoooome!" Are you effing kidding me? "Secretary, we need your help. We can't do this without you." For God's sake. I can bet you Mr. Obama and Ms. Clinton can do about as much as my next door neighbor for this situation with the exception of maybe meeting with Mexico's prez and saying, "Hey, I know this is kind of awkward, but these two women are totally holding us accountable (I know, wtf right?) and we need your help to make us look good. Can you, like, at least make it look like you're searching?" When did people become so needy that they feel entitled to have the president and secretary of state lead their search party? I for one find this ridiculous.
To add insult to injury, last week a group of angry protesters marched to the Mexican Consolate in Denver to demand justice. Huh... will someone please explain to me what a group of Denverian diplomats are going to do in this situation? Rent a speed boat to go search pirated waters for a man's body? Give me a break.
Some news stations even have gone so far as to point fingers at the wife, questioning her part in the murder. Again, someone pleasssse give me a break. No no no. Then of course fingers got pointed toward Mexican drug cartel. Hmm, so what happened next? A Mexican official was found decapitated. People: shut. up.
Moving on to the term "pirate." When I first heard the broadcast of this story, all I could picture was Johnny Depp harpooning some guy off his giant ship. Apparently I still live in a Disney box and expect a pirate to be wearing an eye patch and MC Hammer pants, have about 6 teeth in his mouth and a parrot perched on his shoulder. And I know I'm not the only one. I even played out in my head this little fantasy involving a big fancy dancy pirate ship with One-Eyed Willy (in his prime) manning the wheel. He was throwing his head back and laughing while his shipmates were having a dance party with a bunch of slooty piratehookers on the deck because they had just raided another ship for gold. I guess my assumptions were a little off... but if anyone doesn't believe the story of The Goonies couldn't be real, shame on them; they have no sense of adventure. Once my suspension of disbelief let go its control of my thoughts, I realized that this was probably kind of a serious situation. And I did care... until they started in with all of their woe-is-me-because-I-have-my-ten-seconds-of-fame shenanigans. I changed the channel to Curious George.
Let me just say that I regard this situation to be extremely tumultuous for someone to try to grasp as a reality, so I understand the tears and desire for justice. Contrastly, I find it ludicrous that they are calling out President Obama and Secretary Clinton to help them in their plight for justice. Seriously guys. "Help us Obama! We need our justice! Help me find my husband and bring him hoooome!" Are you effing kidding me? "Secretary, we need your help. We can't do this without you." For God's sake. I can bet you Mr. Obama and Ms. Clinton can do about as much as my next door neighbor for this situation with the exception of maybe meeting with Mexico's prez and saying, "Hey, I know this is kind of awkward, but these two women are totally holding us accountable (I know, wtf right?) and we need your help to make us look good. Can you, like, at least make it look like you're searching?" When did people become so needy that they feel entitled to have the president and secretary of state lead their search party? I for one find this ridiculous.
To add insult to injury, last week a group of angry protesters marched to the Mexican Consolate in Denver to demand justice. Huh... will someone please explain to me what a group of Denverian diplomats are going to do in this situation? Rent a speed boat to go search pirated waters for a man's body? Give me a break.
Some news stations even have gone so far as to point fingers at the wife, questioning her part in the murder. Again, someone pleasssse give me a break. No no no. Then of course fingers got pointed toward Mexican drug cartel. Hmm, so what happened next? A Mexican official was found decapitated. People: shut. up.
Moving on to the term "pirate." When I first heard the broadcast of this story, all I could picture was Johnny Depp harpooning some guy off his giant ship. Apparently I still live in a Disney box and expect a pirate to be wearing an eye patch and MC Hammer pants, have about 6 teeth in his mouth and a parrot perched on his shoulder. And I know I'm not the only one. I even played out in my head this little fantasy involving a big fancy dancy pirate ship with One-Eyed Willy (in his prime) manning the wheel. He was throwing his head back and laughing while his shipmates were having a dance party with a bunch of slooty piratehookers on the deck because they had just raided another ship for gold. I guess my assumptions were a little off... but if anyone doesn't believe the story of The Goonies couldn't be real, shame on them; they have no sense of adventure. Once my suspension of disbelief let go its control of my thoughts, I realized that this was probably kind of a serious situation. And I did care... until they started in with all of their woe-is-me-because-I-have-my-ten-seconds-of-fame shenanigans. I changed the channel to Curious George.
10/12/10
bugs?
In case you missed it... (reference: an email I sent two weeks ago). It took me awhile to admit this to anyone but my close friends and family, but once I got over it it was actually kind of fun to talk about. Finding wolf spiders and bed bugs in your apartment isn't exactly something a person should brag about, but it does make for kind of a funny story. Because my landlord refused to believe that the bug I found was in fact of the bed, I made sure I did everything perfectly to prepare for the exterminator. So annoying. After flipping my apartment upside down and washing every piece of clothing I own (thanks to a giant envelope full of quarters from my landlord... so awesome), I got a call from the guy saying I was right--it was a bed bug. I couldn't figure out whether to be happy because I was right or to cry because of why I was right.
Gooooood morning!
SO. This. Has. Been. The. Week. From. Hell. Or so they say. Maybe I'm just being dramatic (not unlike me...?), but then again I don't know too many people who actually enjoy living with bugs. As I said to Kyle last night, I think I'm getting desensitized to pests because I didn't even scream when I found a wolf spider in my "dining area" last night. And Lord knows... I hate spiders. In addition to the bug sitch, I was graceful enough to catch my toe in a crack and superman slide onto the sidewalk during a run last week, leaving my palms and knees so scraped that I have to take a little extra time to do things. (Am I being dramatic again?) Thankfully, I have a wonderful friend who has let me couch surf at her place this week. Catherine, I owe you big time.
Things I've gained from this experience:
1. Humility... and/or humiliation.
2. A cleaner apartment.
3. A new friend who lives in my building and is straight out of the cast of Jersey Shore... FIST PUMPS!... thanks to me spending several hours in the laundry room last night.
4. Neutrality toward bugs.
In an effort to spread awareness about the 19th-Century-like bed bug infestations that have been occurring throughout the Metro Denver area, I decided I'd share some pictures of what I've seen (and done) this past week. That way, if you see one of these bad boys crawling around on your blankets, you'll know what it is. Beware: it's gross, but if I can handle it... so can you. :) These things happen people.
Lots of bugless love.
P.S. The exterminator comes today. Thank. God.
P.P.S. I'm strongly considering moving into the sunshine bus in the last picture.
Gooooood morning!
SO. This. Has. Been. The. Week. From. Hell. Or so they say. Maybe I'm just being dramatic (not unlike me...?), but then again I don't know too many people who actually enjoy living with bugs. As I said to Kyle last night, I think I'm getting desensitized to pests because I didn't even scream when I found a wolf spider in my "dining area" last night. And Lord knows... I hate spiders. In addition to the bug sitch, I was graceful enough to catch my toe in a crack and superman slide onto the sidewalk during a run last week, leaving my palms and knees so scraped that I have to take a little extra time to do things. (Am I being dramatic again?) Thankfully, I have a wonderful friend who has let me couch surf at her place this week. Catherine, I owe you big time.
Things I've gained from this experience:
1. Humility... and/or humiliation.
2. A cleaner apartment.
3. A new friend who lives in my building and is straight out of the cast of Jersey Shore... FIST PUMPS!... thanks to me spending several hours in the laundry room last night.
4. Neutrality toward bugs.
In an effort to spread awareness about the 19th-Century-like bed bug infestations that have been occurring throughout the Metro Denver area, I decided I'd share some pictures of what I've seen (and done) this past week. That way, if you see one of these bad boys crawling around on your blankets, you'll know what it is. Beware: it's gross, but if I can handle it... so can you. :) These things happen people.
Lots of bugless love.
P.S. The exterminator comes today. Thank. God.
P.P.S. I'm strongly considering moving into the sunshine bus in the last picture.
rainy days and scrunchies.
This morning I woke up in a foggy haze at 7:20. Mind you, I'm supposed to be at work by 8:00 and it usually takes me about 20 minutes to get there. Awesome. Surprisingly I rolled in at a decent time, so once again: I'm thankful to have my job.
Today it's a rainy mess outside and in my opinion, rain storms are only good for about three things.
1. Long runs. My first weekend in Australia I experienced what I can only describe as a hurricane on campus, so what did I do? I went running. My mom was superawesome (duh) enough to send with me a snazzy little rain pant/jacket combo, so at least I looked good. This especially helped when I would get to a point having no clue where I was and had a combination of ohhhshiiitttt/complete ritard look on my face. It was precious. I don't know that I made many friends that weekend, mostly because people deduced that I was insane.
2. Movies. In college I spent an entire 48ish hours watching episode after episode of The OC with my roommate and then-bf because of inclimate weather. There's nothing like sitting three-deep on a tiny futon, buried in (Cooler Ranch) Doritos, nacho cheese, M&Ms and mini pizza wrappers... mmmm.
3. Sitting on my parents' back deck watching the lightning and listening to the rain fall. Neb's good for a few things.
So today? It's pouring outside and all I really want to be doing is be curled up in a snuggie watching episodes of Dexter, It's Always Sunny and (for old time's sake) I Love Lucy, followed by a round of movies including, but not limited to: The Parent Trap, Under the Tuscan Sun, Major League and The Goonies. Of course I'd be buried in popcorn bags, Hot Tamales, and for kicks... a large chocolate malt and fries from McDonald's.
Ohmygod fat.fat.fat... I love myself and I hate myself. (See--> Harvard Sailing Team vids...)
Anyway, I just got a text from Kyle who told me he found my headband in his squadron... hmm. [I should probably interject the reason I was missing my headband... one of his friends took it a couple weekends ago and wore it out to the bars (weird?), then didn't give it back.] It was hanging on the door to a room, so naturally I assumed it was being used for the "scrunchie rule." For those of you who don't know what the scrunchie rule is, you should and I can't believe you've spent this much time not knowing. Maybe this was just a UNL dorm thing, but in my opinion, it's common knowledge that if you see a scrunchie on a door handle, it means: DO NOT ENTER... sexytime in progress. No? Well, now you know. And speaking of scrunchies, when I was in grade/middle school, the cool thing to do was to wear 1 scrunchie in your hair and the other on your wrist. I wish I knew why, but apparently it looked cool. I even had lime green, purple and blue "hair" scrunchies. Gross. But let me tell you, I LOVE seeing scrunchies on people now. It's really a special treat. To this day I wear a hairband on my wrist (in case of an emergency ponytail situation). Bad habit? I think not. But looking back on my formative years, all I see is this (and I have no issues with it):
Today it's a rainy mess outside and in my opinion, rain storms are only good for about three things.
1. Long runs. My first weekend in Australia I experienced what I can only describe as a hurricane on campus, so what did I do? I went running. My mom was superawesome (duh) enough to send with me a snazzy little rain pant/jacket combo, so at least I looked good. This especially helped when I would get to a point having no clue where I was and had a combination of ohhhshiiitttt/complete ritard look on my face. It was precious. I don't know that I made many friends that weekend, mostly because people deduced that I was insane.
2. Movies. In college I spent an entire 48ish hours watching episode after episode of The OC with my roommate and then-bf because of inclimate weather. There's nothing like sitting three-deep on a tiny futon, buried in (Cooler Ranch) Doritos, nacho cheese, M&Ms and mini pizza wrappers... mmmm.
3. Sitting on my parents' back deck watching the lightning and listening to the rain fall. Neb's good for a few things.
So today? It's pouring outside and all I really want to be doing is be curled up in a snuggie watching episodes of Dexter, It's Always Sunny and (for old time's sake) I Love Lucy, followed by a round of movies including, but not limited to: The Parent Trap, Under the Tuscan Sun, Major League and The Goonies. Of course I'd be buried in popcorn bags, Hot Tamales, and for kicks... a large chocolate malt and fries from McDonald's.
Ohmygod fat.fat.fat... I love myself and I hate myself. (See--> Harvard Sailing Team vids...)
Anyway, I just got a text from Kyle who told me he found my headband in his squadron... hmm. [I should probably interject the reason I was missing my headband... one of his friends took it a couple weekends ago and wore it out to the bars (weird?), then didn't give it back.] It was hanging on the door to a room, so naturally I assumed it was being used for the "scrunchie rule." For those of you who don't know what the scrunchie rule is, you should and I can't believe you've spent this much time not knowing. Maybe this was just a UNL dorm thing, but in my opinion, it's common knowledge that if you see a scrunchie on a door handle, it means: DO NOT ENTER... sexytime in progress. No? Well, now you know. And speaking of scrunchies, when I was in grade/middle school, the cool thing to do was to wear 1 scrunchie in your hair and the other on your wrist. I wish I knew why, but apparently it looked cool. I even had lime green, purple and blue "hair" scrunchies. Gross. But let me tell you, I LOVE seeing scrunchies on people now. It's really a special treat. To this day I wear a hairband on my wrist (in case of an emergency ponytail situation). Bad habit? I think not. But looking back on my formative years, all I see is this (and I have no issues with it):
10/11/10
jennifer.
I know I just said I was going to avoid "I" posts as much as possible, but this news is just too snazz not to post. I bought a new car this past weekend let me tell you, the experience was a real treat. My superawesome madre and I have been emailing back and forth about the deterioration of my beloved Lois P. Aztek and and after forking over an arm and a leg for some repairs, we decided it was time I start seriously looking for a replacement. Well... it just so happened that one of the dealerships in my crackjack box of a hometown had in its possession a cherry red Jeep Liberty within my price range and an army green one a little above my range. Hello opportunity.
So Saturday morning we mosied down to give the Jeeps a little test drive. Brad, the dealer guy, and self-proclaimed "cousin of many" (?) in my tiny town, began by describing the features of the red Jeep. It had fantastic chrome detailing, so naturally I told him that that's perfect because it will match my own grill, which I'm planning to get soon in an effort to launch my rap/hiphop career. The joke wasn't received quite as well by him as it was my brother's girlfriend. I got more of a "heh heh... not sure what she's talking about" kind of deal from ol' Bradley.
A couple of glory days conversations ("Oh yeah I remember watching you play basketball..."), more joke attempts on my behalf ("Yeah, I was a lot cooler then...") and some signatures later, I gave Lois one last hug good-bye and drove off in my new sassy ride.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you... Jennifer:
Aside from my mom bursting with pride because her baby girl bought a Jeep (now I'm one of four in my family who owns a Jeep...) here are a couple of the responses I got:
1. "Really? But your old car had so much character..." That one stung a little. (Jennifer is full of character. Just look at that griiiiiill.)
2. "Whatwhatwhat? I already miss the van." Lois was not a van. She was oh-so-much-more.
RIP Lois P. Aztek. You did me good these past seven years. I hope whoever gets you next gives you the love you deserve.
So Saturday morning we mosied down to give the Jeeps a little test drive. Brad, the dealer guy, and self-proclaimed "cousin of many" (?) in my tiny town, began by describing the features of the red Jeep. It had fantastic chrome detailing, so naturally I told him that that's perfect because it will match my own grill, which I'm planning to get soon in an effort to launch my rap/hiphop career. The joke wasn't received quite as well by him as it was my brother's girlfriend. I got more of a "heh heh... not sure what she's talking about" kind of deal from ol' Bradley.
A couple of glory days conversations ("Oh yeah I remember watching you play basketball..."), more joke attempts on my behalf ("Yeah, I was a lot cooler then...") and some signatures later, I gave Lois one last hug good-bye and drove off in my new sassy ride.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you... Jennifer:
1. "Really? But your old car had so much character..." That one stung a little. (Jennifer is full of character. Just look at that griiiiiill.)
2. "Whatwhatwhat? I already miss the van." Lois was not a van. She was oh-so-much-more.
RIP Lois P. Aztek. You did me good these past seven years. I hope whoever gets you next gives you the love you deserve.
10/7/10
man pantz.
I think I've gotten away from the true intent of this little blog (I still don't like admitting that it's a "blog"), so I'm gonna take a step back in an effort to get in touch with my innerblog... that's not a word... but what I mean is that I think this has gotten a little "soap-boxy/day-in-the-life-of-me" and I'm not sure what's more annoying than continual word vomit in the form of "I statements." SO it's back to basics bitches. I'm not saying I won't recount awesomeness that happens in my life (See--> Africa or Climbing Things), but I like the whole unraveling pop culture with plenty of sarcasm thing.
Yesterday I caught sight of something that sent my imagination in a tail spin. I was eating lunch and noticed a middle-aged man walking by my table over to his little nook of OCD. (This is another thing I need to talk about sometime, but for now... I'll keep going.) As he passed I noticed he was wearing a polo and khakis, but something just didn't seem right. Or fit right. His waist was about the circumference of an apple and he had hips. No, he wasn't a woman, but he did have a mom butt. I mean, I was even a little jealous because I feel like he had a better lady butt than me.
So this led me to look at other guys' butts, naturally. Well, actually let me back up a second. Take a look at the picture above... although this may appear to be a man's butt, in reality it is more of a he-she butt. And why? Because this guy actually has a pair of breasties. Thanks to the photographic skillz of my gentleman friend, this picture is now more than just a picture of a man in a G-string; it's inspiration. If this guy has the balls (and boobs...) to walk around in a silver G-string bikini, I don't want to hear excuses about people not wanting to do something because they'll feel stupid. This guy walks up and down the beach flaunting his bits (and sassy blonde skullet) and tight little tush daily. Now THAT is See Me Run shit if I ever saw it.
Back to my thoughts... after doing some man-butt research (strictly for educational purposes only, I swear), I've concluded a few things:
1. More guys have hips than you'd think.
2. Khakis aren't flattering unless you have a "hockey butt." (I may or may not have borrowed that term from someone.) Let's just say, athleticism isn't the worst thing when it comes to rocking some chinos.
3. Dockers with pleats in front are a no no because they lend too much ease to potential bif's.
4. Bedazzled and snazzed up jeans belong only on women, tweens and gay men.
5. There generally are only two types of man-butts: apple bottoms and pancake butts.
6. Back-sided happy trails are unacceptable and should be removed regardless of any Nancy Pants (no pun intended) excuse. No one needs to know that you have a forest hiding in your underthings.
7. Belts and suspenders are encouraged at all times.
8. ...Although I do love me a good plumber's crack.
9. I still say no to skinny jeans on guys. Face it, it does nothing for your butt.
10. I recently saw the inside of a zipper that said "Lucky You" and was overjoyed. Well done, Lucky Brand. Keep it up.
Yesterday I caught sight of something that sent my imagination in a tail spin. I was eating lunch and noticed a middle-aged man walking by my table over to his little nook of OCD. (This is another thing I need to talk about sometime, but for now... I'll keep going.) As he passed I noticed he was wearing a polo and khakis, but something just didn't seem right. Or fit right. His waist was about the circumference of an apple and he had hips. No, he wasn't a woman, but he did have a mom butt. I mean, I was even a little jealous because I feel like he had a better lady butt than me.
So this led me to look at other guys' butts, naturally. Well, actually let me back up a second. Take a look at the picture above... although this may appear to be a man's butt, in reality it is more of a he-she butt. And why? Because this guy actually has a pair of breasties. Thanks to the photographic skillz of my gentleman friend, this picture is now more than just a picture of a man in a G-string; it's inspiration. If this guy has the balls (and boobs...) to walk around in a silver G-string bikini, I don't want to hear excuses about people not wanting to do something because they'll feel stupid. This guy walks up and down the beach flaunting his bits (and sassy blonde skullet) and tight little tush daily. Now THAT is See Me Run shit if I ever saw it.
Back to my thoughts... after doing some man-butt research (strictly for educational purposes only, I swear), I've concluded a few things:
1. More guys have hips than you'd think.
2. Khakis aren't flattering unless you have a "hockey butt." (I may or may not have borrowed that term from someone.) Let's just say, athleticism isn't the worst thing when it comes to rocking some chinos.
3. Dockers with pleats in front are a no no because they lend too much ease to potential bif's.
4. Bedazzled and snazzed up jeans belong only on women, tweens and gay men.
5. There generally are only two types of man-butts: apple bottoms and pancake butts.
6. Back-sided happy trails are unacceptable and should be removed regardless of any Nancy Pants (no pun intended) excuse. No one needs to know that you have a forest hiding in your underthings.
7. Belts and suspenders are encouraged at all times.
8. ...Although I do love me a good plumber's crack.
9. I still say no to skinny jeans on guys. Face it, it does nothing for your butt.
10. I recently saw the inside of a zipper that said "Lucky You" and was overjoyed. Well done, Lucky Brand. Keep it up.
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