Cold, Wet, Foot in Mouth

Tonight Amy and I were sitting outside after work having a smoke when the marketing manager of our firm walks by us.

"Aren't your bums getting cold and wet from sitting there?" she asks

Trying to display some quickfire wit I reply "Well my bum is cold and wet but not because I am sitting here."

"Ew," she says and then walks away as I yell behind her "please forget what I just said, I didn't mean it to be so gross!"

I don't think that Amy and I have ever laughed so hard when we realized I basically just told an executive I shit my pants.

What was I thinking?

Snowshoes, Bearded Ladies, and the Papparazzi

Today was my big day to go snowshoeing at the Decordova Sculpture Park in Lincoln. I was a little bit excited, but mostly scared. I have never done it before and I wasn't sure if I was too out of shape or too uncoordinated to do it. On top of that, I had not met most of the people who were going, so social anxiety was setting in and since the excursion was at 1PM I felt it to be inappropriate for me to slug down a few diet and captains to loosen me up.

I woke up early and headed to Target in hopes to find a cheap pair of sensible boots because all I own is what Jude calls "fashion boots". Since you never know when you are going to be discovered and want to wear your fashion boots even when you are wearing sweat pants and a sauce stained t-shirt, I have never owned a bought or worn sensible boots (i.e. waterproof, comfortable, won't give me blisters, create a red ring around my calf, or chaf my upper thighs - ew, just kidding on the last one but not the second to last). In any case, Target did not have any womens sensible or fashion boots, so I had to go over to the men's section.

There was an older lady in the men's boots section, staring blankly at the huge selection of Mack work boots and other steel toed delights. I asked her if she had come across any women's boots and she looked at me and said no and that is why she was in the men's section too. This part of the story would seem pretty pointless unless I point out that when she looked up to speak to me I almost choked because she had a full mustache and beard. I am not talking about a few whiskers or a slight mustache, I am talking about Kenny Rogers, Jerry Garcia, Uncle Jesse of the Dukes of Hazzard. Let's just say it was noticeable. So I grabbed the manliest looking pair of steel toe boots, not caring if they were waterproof or not, and high tailed it out of there.

I made it to the Decordova in record time, taking the highway unnessesarily just because I have OCD and I can't get anywhere unless it is off of 128.

Heather and a few of her friends were already there, and I was instantly relaxed because I could just tell they were kind folks who won't judge due to my lack of education, love of reality TV, or obession with the Anna Nicole Smith trial(s). Of course, since this isn't info I usually share with strangers, I mean that they weren't going to hammer me with questions about my background or test my knowledge of art and current events (which as some of you know I could probably talk about but have no confidence doing so with PhD types).

Our tour guide come out soon after I got there and we started to line up for our snowshoes. There were a few people in front of me and I heard them saying some numbers but wasn't sure what they were being asked. As I got closer, the horror finally became clear. We had to tell her our weight so she could figure out what kind of snowshoes to give us.

But God was feeling generous towards me and he gave me a pass. The woman in front of me weighed just about the same as me so I was able to see which ones she was given and simply point out which ones I wanted. Thank frigin god because the only man on the trip just so happen to be standing right behind me and was surely going to hear exactly how overweight I was. I would like to think he wouldn't have been able to tell by my appearance alone. :-)

So we were off, I have to admit it was a little awkward at first, but I got the hang of it in no time. Our tour guide was great, she took us around from sculpture to sculpture and gave us just the right amount of information for us to draw our own conclusions on the pieces. Although I was impressed by the cool trojan horse piggy bank and the beautiful sculputre of Eve, I had to say that my favorite was the two teepees collapsed into each other made out of tires titled "No More Cookies and Milk", it made me feel kind of sad thinking about how when shit collapes all around you the good old days are seemingly gone.

In any case, there was a photographer from the local newspaper there following us around like the paparazzi, once the online edition comes out I will post it here.

Update - Amy Tells Me I Could Have Died From the Peanut Butter

Amy read my blog last night and told me this morning that someone actually died from eating the peanut butter !!!!

CAN YOU IMAGINE THAT??

Oh I could hear the speculation of the towns folk now now:

"I've heard she was into that Michael Hutchence's thing - what a freak"
"I've heard she's been into meth for years now..."
"I've noticed her looking a bit down lately, maybe she did herself in..."

And then it would be revealed I died from eating tainted Peter Pan Peanut Butter and folks would think it was a story my family made up to cover up something embarassing like getting drunk and letting my car roll on top of me.

It's good to be alive. Especially on a Friday.

Nutterbutter Junkie

I have a confession to make – I am a full blown peanut butter addict.

Peanut butter is one of those foods I trick myself into believing is healthy for me (and for those who are not binge monsters it is) but then I abuse it to the point where I can no longer look myself in the mirror.

I hit rock bottom a few weeks ago after an extended peanut butter and whole wheat pita binge while watching “The Real Housewives of Orange County.” It may have been the anxiety of watching that show – the people on this show are so foolish I sometimes feel embarrassed for them, but I can’t turn away. I packed up all my peanut butter, 2 full and 1 half eaten jars of it, and brought it to my mother’s house explaining that I could not longer be trusted around its nutty goodness.

Last week I was visiting my mother and noticed she had the peanut butter on full display on the counter. I figured this was a ploy to shame me as she did when I was 16 and her and my dad found a joint in my coat pocket. They put it on a paper plate on the kitchen table for all who saw it to inquire about so I would have to tell them my big, dark, pot smoking secret. Most of these visitors were friends of mine and my brother so it did not have the effect they intended it to have, although my dad did threaten to invite the pastor over for tea.

Where was I? Oh, peanut butter. So I ask my mother what gives with my Peter Pan and she says:

“Oh, I forgot to tell you....wow, um, how have you been feeling?”

I went to check the bar codes on the Peter Pan and was quite shocked that the first three digits were 2111.

What are the frigin chances?

I tried to think back to that fateful night when I pretended to give up peanut butter forever - but I didn’t remember feeling like shit, or shall I say worse than normal - and if I did I guess I would have probably guessed it was god punishing me for worrying about eating too much peanut butter when there are starving people in the world. I should be lucky to be given the opportunity to contract salmonella poisoning, that's more than some folks get.

Is it Friday yet?

Trudging through sleet in 1997

There is something about the snow, or horrible weather in general, that can take the most groundbreaking, or mundane memory, and cement it into my head forever.

Walking home from the bus stop tonight was nothing less than a bitch, the sidewalks are covered in layers and layers of ice and the possibility of walking in the sand covered streets is zero due to the high volume of traffic.
I trudged though and as I was making my way up Market Street hands full of bags when a random memory hit me like a ton of bricks in such detail that it kind of shook me a bit.

It was December 23, 1997. Lady and I went to do some last minute shopping during what had to be the worst sleet storm I have ever experienced. But we were young, and we were foolish, and despite our families warnings not to go out in this, we did anyway. I was overly excited because I was picking up a Christmas gift for my then love intrest - let's call him Dick - at "Things Remembered" at the Arsenal mall . It was a flask, with a sentimental saying, and his initials. Ah, the days when I wasn't over myself and unashamed about cheesy romantic gestures! I want those days back.

So I got my flask, and after some hardcore power shopping at Ann & Hope, we loaded ourselves into Lady's '76 Impala. The plan was for Lady to drop me off at the Irish Village to meet Dick so I could give him his gift.

As we made our way down Arsenal Street toward Western Avenue we started second guessing our judgement (yeah right, we were 21 at the time and were pretty nervous we wouldn't make it to the bar within the next 10 minutes) when we noticed that cars were swerving and spinning out all over the road. It was only a matter before...oh shit....Lady and I had spun out and were now in a vertical position blocking traffic in all three lanes. After three minutes of sheer panic and screaming, no less than three people surrounded the car and started physically pushing us to the side of the road. We were so grateful, see there are good people in the world!! Or so we thought - looking back I am guessing people just wanted to get the car full of screaming girls onto the side of the road so they could be on their merry way.

Lady called her brother on her 1997 cell phone (get the visual, people). To this day, I have no idea how he got there so fast, or how he even found us to begin with because I am quite sure that in our panic we were not so good at giving him our exact location. But within 10 minutes he was there, and he pushed us back onto the road and on our way. Lady was going over to her Mom's on Western Avenue, so due to the fact we were both suffering from PTSS and I would have never forgiven myself if we got stuck again on the way up Market Street, I told her I'd get out on the corner and walk.

And walk I did, bags in hand, stressed out to the max over what just happened - but excited to give Dick his gift none the less.

When I entered the IV Dick was sitting at the bar, chatting it up with some blouzah. I am calling her a blouzah in hindsight because when I got there I was so cold, and so relieved, the only thing on my mind was warming up my numb feet (of course my boots weren't waterproof, I was 21) and ordering a well deserved cocktail.

"You won't believe what....."
"You are late...." he cut me off
"Yeah, but I've got to tell you that....."
"I've been fucking waiting here for an hour, you were suppose to be here at...." he went on
"You know what, let me just settle down for a second and I'll tell you what happened."

So I headed into the Ladies room and got my shit together.... took off my coat, and most likely my boots (probably not but I should have), headed back and settled onto the stool next to him.

As I got it together, taking the iciles out of my hair, I said "holy shit, you will not even believe it, but....."

Dick: But nothing, it is ALWAYS something with you. And I am done."
Me: "Done?"
Dick: Done with you. And if you have not noticed, I am in the middle of a conversation here.
Me: Are you serious?
Dick: Never been more serious in my life.

Me:
No words spoken, just one flask on the bar . Merry Christmas.

Dick followed me out of the bar and thanked me. He had to add that he had a flask just like the one I just bought him but he appreciated it nonetheless.

And so I walked, up Market Street, to my house. Bags in hand, trudging through the snow.

Okay, absolutely cheesy sad blog... but the snow tends to bring it out in me.

Dear God....

Please do not let me wake up tomorrow to find Nat, Ed, Chet, et. al reporting on a crazy killer on the loose in the streets of Boston....

Killer Zodiac Advertising Campaign

Five Reasons Why I Am Glad You Are Single Today

I initially had this titled “Ten Reasons Why……” but then I got stumped. Maybe I’m not so glad you are single. For crying out loud go get laid.

1. While others are daydreaming about what their lover has planned you are focused on your job or at least pretending to look busy by running around the office with papers in your hand, acting self important, and unnecessarily hitting the reply-to all-button on emails just to prove……I don’t really know what your point is with that. But stop.

2. If you were in a relationship, you may not have time to take my calls and discuss what happened on Dr. Phil last night. Oh you missed it too? Let's take an educated guess - he was pissed at someone. And he loves his wife. Yeah, we get it.

3. Do you really need that chocolate? Hate to say it, but you've really packed it on since the holidays.

4. Think of all the free time you have to download internet porn now that you aren't wasting it shaving your legs or clipping your nose hair. As a side bonus you don't have to hide that porn from anyone - but remember, Jesus always knows. Always.

5. You are saving a ton of money on romantic getaways that you can put toward your model train and Hummel collection.

C26

This blog is for Amy.

As much as we discussed how much we hate our fetish for horrible chinese food, I have to admit, in celebration of the pig I felt it was my duty to just make my usual order, with a diet coke of course.

As I got my cash together (thanks to you) I decided to leave it by the door and am continplating just asking the delivery man to leave the food and grab the cash because I assume that I will be too involved with my cnn ans. I only feel free to do this because the delivery guy loves my tips so much that now he just knocks and comes right in (i live on the 2nd floor)...as I said earlier -

You know you are not in your twenties anymore when a man is more interested in your tips than he is your tits....


Witty.

Anna Nicole Poll

Sure there are millions of poll-worthy news items that we all should be paying more attention to than the Anna Nicole Smith saga.... but I can just can't resist. I'm a celebrity gossip addict.

Blogging for the Sake of Blogging

Sorry I haven't posted much this week, I promised myself I would blog at least every other day in the beginning but sometimes the creative juices run dry and more often than not life becomes unblogworthy, esp. when I get really busy (See focused) at work.

The most exciting thing that has happened this week is I finally signed up for snow shoeing! I've been dying to try this and a perfect oppurtunity presented itself. It is a quick beginners course followed by a tour of the Decordova Sculpture Park in Lincoln. I figure if I hate it, it's only a two hour stint and I don't have to invest in the gear because they provide the snow shoes for you.

I'll be sure to post an update. Hope all is well with everyone and as always, HAPPY HUMP DAY!

My Retarded Brother Tom

I don't think I can say anything that has not already been said about yesterday's scarily comedic events in Boston.

What I can comment on is how uneasy I get seeing Menino on national stations.

The way I see it, Tom is like a retarded younger brother - it's okay for ME to make fun of him, but if an outsider makes a crack I'm going to have to ask them to step outside.


Almost Friday, Folks!