Directionally Challenged

I may be beyond California, but some things NEVER change.

1.  I'm writing this blog instead of a paper due Sunday.  Then, I do not go home to write, but to the boy toy's house to play my wii.  Yah, you read that right.

2.  I shopped like I have money.  Seriously.  Granted, EVERYTHING was on sale.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

3.  I can't figure out where I am to save my life.  The other day I leave Home Depot (you read that right) and go to turn left onto the main thoroughfare, thinking that's the direction to home.  I have my gps on to go to a store in Rockville and it tells me to bust a B and go the other direction.  I'm thinking I'm going the direction to home, i.e. Rockville, and that this thing is nuts.

Suffice it say... the thing wasn't nuts.  I just had no f'ing clue where I was going.  Moral of the story here?  Don't worry too much about the East Coast jacking all that you know of Morgan.

ER Trips

I know, I bet you're wondering how in the world I can make an ER trip, make that two ER trips, funny.  Or fun.

Puh-lease, this is me we're talking about.  Granted, trip number two was not remotely as funny at the time, there are memories...

Trip number one was not done during a time of immense pain.  Therefore, there was much joking to be had with the nurses and doctor.  Let me tell you about the attractiveness that I was that night: burgandy soft pants that my butt looks huge in, a yellow Cal sweatshirt, a camo shirt under that, and a total granny bra under that.  Don't forget the cute little black shoes.  Yah, really.  I looked hot... make that like a hot mess.

I got hooked up to an IV, had a CT and then... the spinal tap.  Where I had to curl into this tight ball hanging over the food tray.  By then I had a gown on, but yay!  I kept my pants.  I was NOT one of those people roaming the halls with my heinie hanging out.  Now THAT would have been a sight for sore eyes.  Ok, that kinda hurt, not going to lie, but then I got even more drugs and was even loopier.  Best part of all of that?  I got to drive home.  Like a 100-year blind as a bat old fart. 

Trip number two was not quite so eventful.  I looked like shiza, but mainly because I hurt so bad, but my little outfit was cute!  Not that that's saying much... I was asked if I wanted to be left alone at the hospital (I almost wrote high school.. apparently the vicodan is still affecting me...), to which I almost gave a dirty eyeball, but that would have hurt too much.  I'm not going to name names, but the bedside manner of some people needs work.  Just sayin'.  I'm pretty sure I walked in with my brother.  Yes, yes, I don't have a brother, but it felt like I did...  You know, the teenage brothers who don't dare touch their sisters cause of cooties?  Yah, that kind.  Not only did I have horrendous head pains and a sore back, but I also had cooties.  Apparently I frequently have cooties, but that's for another blog...

So I'm still on the big daddy drugs.  I wish I could say I'm having a really good time on them... but I'm really not.  If I'm going to take big daddy drugs, I'd like to be a giggle monster and put on comedy routines.  I guess that's just asking for too much though.

Speaking of drugs... time to go pop some.

Sven

I am utterly thrilled to report that Sven and I have been reunited.

Yes, that shimmery, cold rod and I have become one again.

Heads out of the gutter.  Sven is pole.  A pole dancing pole.  Did I forget to mention I've gone back to pole dancing?

I will tell you this though.  Sven beat me up.

That's only one bruise... from a spin called the hook.  Yes, Sven is a lover beater clearly.

I also took a lap dancing class... really... lap... dancing.  Who wants one???  Sign up now!

And to remind you I'm just a tad bit more than a bruise and that Sven didn't get the best of me...

And a close-up...

I do clean up nice, don't I?

Old Problem

You know you're old when you make an Urkel reference and all the young adults/children you work with have NO CLUE what you're talking about.

You know you're old when you buy One-A-Day multivitamins, then scrutinize the bottle wondering how many you should take.  Worse, when you can barely read the bottle.

You know you're old when you talk about Armageddon, Liv Tyler, and Bruce Willis and again... blank stares.

Let's not even discuss the wrinkles, the getting hit on by a post-50 year old man, and not getting carded.  Let's just not discuss these things.

The Swiss

Sunday afternoon, I received a text from Derrick asking me if I want to go shopping with him.

Um... duh???

So off we go, in the process meeting a friend from Germany, Dominic.

Part of the trip we spent in a Halloween store as I'm beginning to ponder what I should be - seeing as how I'll actually be doing something this Halloween.

I saw this and am trying to talk Michael into it.  Feel free to help me out.

Then Dominic notices something.

And proceeds to ask Derrick and I....

What is the Swiss doing here???

For those of you who do not know the above symbol, it is the American Red Cross.  Not the Swiss.  Aaaahhh.  Who doesn't love the foreigners?

Outtake Reel

Prior to starting school (yes, again,) I had a few assignments.  One such assignment was to tape myself teaching something - non-academic.  So I drafted Annie to be my "student" and drafted Christine to jack her chocolate milkshake recipe to "teach."

The video itself came out juuuuust fine.  It was the outtakes that were the most fun.  I'm only going to share two.  It could be that Annie and I were either (a) nuts (b) tired or (c) just having way too good of a time.  Hopefully you will to when viewing...

The Towel Incident

AND

Blender???

I will say this.  My arms are looking fabulous.  But aprons do NOTHING for a gal's fabulous figure.  So I have been inspired to take up the needle and thread and create an apron that is suitable for women.

Gentlemen, heads OUT of the gutter.  I am NOT referring to a french maid's costume.

A New Kind of Hybrid

I'm not going to discuss what made me think of this, but...

In my complete lack of shame, I just had to share this idea with you.  It's the idea for a whole new kind of hybrid car.

What if cars could be run on people gas?  Have a patched up hole in pants/skirts that get undone, sit on the seat and let 'er rip.  Granted, nobody would want to sleep with you, but what a great form of birth control.

And the price of beans would go up.  Now that's kind of sad.

Who wants to sing the bean song with me?

Massage

I went for a massage last week for the specific purpose of working a knot out of my shoulder.  Not only did the knot NOT get worked out (um, homeboy, put yourself to use), but I ended up with a fascinating massage experience.

I chose to go to a different style of massage that afternoon as it was after work and before dinner, so I wanted to not get greased up as I'd have to shower and gunk up my hair.  Yes, that was the SOLE reason I chose the place.  Nevermind the fact it was also pretty cheap.  What's so different about it?  You keep your clothes on.

I wore a tank, regular bra, and super loose pants, thinking comfort.

Well, lucky me, every single time this dude's arms went down my back, there would go my pants!  Did I forget to mention this is one big open room?  Whoops!  There went my pants again!  Let me tell you the lesson I learned from this - don't wear those pants and make sure I have real undies on that day.  We're not going to discuss the blushing that went on.  Luckily the dude was asexual, so whew!  No wonder there was a "this is a non-sexual massage" note that we had to initial on the liability form...

And then there was the 7-C's.  Make a C-shape with your hand, then on somebody else leg, squeeze from the knee up 7 times, ending near the crotch area.  The higher up you can go, the less ticklish they are.  Well, there was a form of the 7-C's during this massage.  I have never, in my life, wanted to laugh soooo bad.  I didn't want to laugh and make the poor man feel bad, but seriously man, I die on the first C!!!

Another lesson, warn the poor technician ahead of time.

Speaking of technicians/aestheticians - I went in for my eyebrow waxing.  We were chatting away (when don't I do this???) and she says, completely seriously, "It's been a hairy summer."

Are your hairs under control?

Fraidy-Cat

Yes, that's me. 

I was tapped for the duties of taking care of plants, grabbing mail, jacking the house when my power was out, etc while the ol' bf's fam bam is away.

For whatever reason, the toilet on the main floor is not working.  Much to my dismay every time I remember I have a bladder and it's not big.  So I rush off down the stairs to the basement.

Every single time I walk back UP the stairs, I get the crap scared out of me.  EVERY SINGLE TIME.  By what?

Yes, those masks.  Every single time I think they're real human beings who have broken into the house to rape and kill me.  I have a rather fanciful imagination - but really man???

Did I forget to mention that when the power was out at both my place and this place, I refused to sleep downstairs in the only bed in the house I'll sleep in because I was afraid of the dark and the boogey men hiding in the closet?

I'll go bow my head in shame now...

Another Moment!

Oh gosh!  Oh gosh!  Oh gosh!

So I got asked out again.  No, not by the same creepster.  But by a Montgomery County police officer!

I looked about as crappy as yesterday, except with shorts on instead of workout pants.

I'm not sure what's going on here.  Either I'm looking five billion times hotter than I did before (which doesn't say much for me) or somehow I'm sending off some kind of vibe because said boy of last blog is five billion miles away?  No clue.  None whatsoever.

But within an hour of waking up to catch a cop... I don't know what I'm doing really, really right or really, really wrong, but hey now, way to make a girl's day!

See?  We really can depend on our cop force to protect us... protection from feeling like crap.

As for anything else... well.  I'll leave you to your opinions on that one.

A Moment

Well ladies and gents - it has finally happened.  I have had a funny moment.  Yes, yes, it has been a while.  Mucho stress and lots going on and all.  But, I just had to share this particular moment.

This particular moment MADE MY DAY.  As well as made me laugh.  I woke up messenging with the boy I'm currently dating who's halfway across the world - this beats that.  I actually checked some things off my checklist - this beats that.  I'm drinking coffee after a full day of no eating and only drinking water - this beats that.  Yes, it is just that good.  Either that or my life is just that boring these days.  Whatever.

To preface the actual story, it must be noted my attire.  From the ground up - flip flops that have seen better days, workout capris that have seen better days, with hairy legs distended from them, a v-neck, long sleeved shirt that is good enough for a pig to sleep in, a sports bra that hey now, actually holds the girls, no make-up, hair in a sloppy mess and otherwise looking like CRAP.  You'll see why this stellar review of myself matters.

I was in Starbs, getting myself a drink before work (who doesn't need coffee before work???) and chatting up with the folks there.  Suffice it to say I'm a frequent customer...

I grab my drink and a man starts this conversation with me...

Him: You're awfully polite.

Me: Yes, am times I am. 

Him: That's a rarity these days.  That's a really nice quality.

Me: Thanks!  Nice of you to say.  (Are we sensing I'm ready to leave yet???)

Him: I know this is kind of odd, but would you like to go out sometime?

Me... starring at him with my chin on the ground.  I just got asked out on a date, by somebody who's name I do not know, looking like I do (i.e. not exactly my best and I do clean up nice if I do say so myself,) all because I'm polite???  Well... polite in public.  We won't discuss the explusion of air from any orifices of body holes here.

I, of course, profusely thanked him and declined.  Clearly. 

And walked to work wondering if that really just happened or if my mind is playing dirty tricks on me because of the lack of fuel.  Could be either at this point.

On that bombshell, it's time to rock the work world, since I've already so headily rocked the dating one.

Surprise, Surprise

Well, ladies and gents... my return to the blogging world is with much fanfare.  How much fanfare you ask?

So much fanfare, I got a ticket out of it.

That's right.  Start laughing now.  It has finally happened on the eastside.  I got a speeding ticket.  Ok, wow, y'all did not need to laugh that hard at my $156 spanking.  Geez!

Deets:
1. VA is a bumf*ck state, it has a 55 mph limit on highways.  Who in the flaming hell does that???
2. I was going 74, as hey now, it's a Sunday.  I didn't think cops worked on Sundays
3.  I generally go even faster...
4. I was 1 (count that, one) mph from getting nailed for reckless, thank God for being from California, looking good today and having a great rack

My last speeding ticket was 65 in a 35... in California... the July before I left.  So almost exactly two years later.  That speeding ticket?  Got tossed out, the cop remembered me after the fact... he was only my DARE officer for two years...  Did I mention... 65 in a 35?  I.e. 30 mph over?  In town?  Not on highway?  I.e. much more reckless?

Well this uptight VA rat was definitely not my DARE officer.  But I'll still be showing up in court.  With my great rack, nicely packaged in an excellent suit.  We'll see just how much of that $156 spanking I'll actually have to owe up on.

So what have I learned from this?  If my mother and father, read, father, is reading this, I learned that I shouldn't speed.

What did I really learn?  That cops work Sundays and to not drive or live or work in Virginia.  Actually, to never go to Virginia again unless I'm sleeping through it in the passenger seat.

We All Make Mistakes Sometimes

Even the fabulous, illustrious fabulousness that is me.

A friend of mine showed me a picture.  It was all folded up so I had to unfold it and it ended up vertical.

I was thoroughly amused by this, thinking wow, somebody can really gas it up if they lift themselves off a chair or seated position.

Yyyaaahhh, apparently this little sign was not meant to be vertical, but rather, horizontal.

AAAAHHHH!!!!  I SEE IT NOW!  Dead serious, had NO idea that this was the way it was to go.  But bending over does seem a whole lot easier than trying to lift yourself off a chair...

I then find out this little, teensy, tiny mistake was mentioned to someone else, who expressed surprise as I apparently have toilet humor... meant in the nicest way possible of course.

Me?  Toilet humor?  NEVER.

And a lovely bombshell to end out this blog...

Did you know that the ancient Romans used pigeon poop to bleach their hair?

(Folks, please don't try this at home.  If you do, let me know, so I don't come visit you)

Up in the Grill with a Dash of Snarky

Story one made me cry laughing today.  It's probably not as funny to you, because, hey now, you weren't lucky enough to be there.  But I shall try.  Story two is a small reminder of the lovely snarky tongue that I possess.

*Story One*
I was hanging with one of my best gal pals who was telling me alllll about a workout experience she had the other night.  She had bought a pair of workout pants that are generally going to be a mite bit small on her, but , woohoo, they fit!  So she wears them to this dance class, thinking, they make my legs look hot and it'll inspire me to work even harder!  Only to have her pants "get up in (her) grill the entire time."  In layman's terms, her pants rode up her butt and into her crotch the entire night.  Let me tell you folks, that is seriously every kind of uncomfortable.  Stick a branch up your nose, hair in a blender, suppository up your ass, any of that is more comfortable than a tight ass pair of pants up your grill when working out.  Suffice it to say, I died laughing at her. I died laughing even harder when she told me I was the first person she thought of to tell.  Which of course means that I'm sharing with all of you.

*Story Two*
I hear about a young man who is about to get himself into serious trouble with his current girlfriend, courtesy of my current lovebug.  In the process, I hear about one of his more... shall we say... annoying to me exes.  Yah, I know what all you ladies are thinking, who the fuck wants to hear about one of the more annoying exes?  So I responded the only way I know how.  With my beloved snarky tongue.
"That you fell for her in the first place confirms my answer that you're all flaming fucking idiots who can't see past an easy lay and a happy dick."
Ladies and gentlemen, I always win.  Even when I'm wrong (which I most certainly was not tonight), I win.

My ego and vanity are legion.  My smartass, beautiful tongue is priceless.

You want a shot at me?  Get in line.

On that note, dinner is calling my name.

Run for Your Life!

I was talking to the first guy I ever met while doing the actual online dating thing.  We NEVER dated, became fast friends and still are.  For those of you who don't know Mikey, let me remind you of exactly who he is.  One afternoon he was over at the house, chatting with myself and my mom, while I was looking something up on the computer - I being me had a background of me on it.  Mikey cracks a joke about me just wanting to look at my girls, with mom responding... On that note, don't you think my daughter needs a breast reduction?  I've never seen that boy speechless.

So!  We were chatting last night as he was curious how to tell if you have an allergic reaction (apparently I look like a doctor now???) and he asked about graduation... finding out the boy met the family and two of the besties.  There may or may not be a pic on facebook where I noted that the boy looks like he has a pornstache.

Mikey: Did the pornstached boytoy run away screaming?

Me: Nooooooo.  He stayed.

Mikey: Why?  Did you have a leash on him?  Or just a gps tracker?  Maybe a self-destruct bomb in his skull if he runs?

Me: Well, somebody's inventive!

And there you have it ladies and gents, nobody can stay with me unless I have them under lock and key.

Actually... this really isn't a bad idea...

MAPTON Feminine Care Products

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaack!  Actually, I'm not.  I'm procrastinating like a badass and just HAD to share about a lil conversation that had Christine and I IN TEARS.  We're still laughing ten minutes later.  It's probably one of those situations where it's only funny when you're there, but I'm telling you about it anyways!

For my final paper, I'm creating an advertisement.  I've decided to make it an advertisement for tampons due to a variety of reasons, not the least of which, it's funny.

I scrambled the letters "t-a-m-p-o-n" to create MAPTON.  So, my pseudo company name is MAPTON Feminine Care Products.  Now... I need a slogan.

But first, what is my advertisement going to portray?  Well, since the paper is on groups that get less than a fair shake in ads (read, anything other than skinny and white), I first decided I need a body in a wheelchair.  Since most people assume that a body in a wheelchair must mean an ad about the special olympics, it was time to show that same body in a different circumstance.

So circumstance one is a few girls playing basketball or something with the slogan reading...
"MAP your way to healthy living without a TON of blood"
But... I don't know about y'all... that's kinda gross.

Then I thought, well, nobody expects a person in a wheelchair at the clubs, so what about that???
"My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard... is not going to happen if you're not prepared with MAPTON Feminine Care Products."
Well... first of all, copywrite issues.  Second of all, just nowhere near as funny.  Even if it's not as gross.

So... circumstance three it is.  A wedding!  With inspiration from an episode of Say Yes to the Dress, who showed an episode of a gal in a wheelchair with a specially designed dress for her wheels.  No, there was no mention of blood.
"Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue...  Not red.  Use MAPTON Feminine Care Products to save your special day"

And third time is a charm!!!  Circumstance three is being used.  I.e. slogan #3 was behind the curtain.

Now, let's just hope my professor finds that as hilarious as we do...

Anybody else have any other brilliant ideas???

Love...

I bet you think this is going to be a sappy blog, estolling the virtues of an amazing boyfriend...

My first thought is, what virtues???  I kid!  I kid!

No, seriously.  The remainder of this blog will be about a web page that was forwarded to me that I, of course, just had to share.

(If things of the female nature scare or embarrass you, I'd just stopping your reading now...)

What is this web page that I just HAD to write about?

Love Your Vagina.

I kid you not.  Love Your Vagina.  Go check it out.  You can read about a mooncup and using this contraption to care for your... wait a minute.  What do YOU call it?  Well, have no fear.  If you have yet to figure out what name works for you, check out this link.  You call yours WHAT?!  If there is one page you go visit as a result of this blog, let it be that one.  Be prepared to be shocked, amused and otherwise horrified.

I'd list out a few of my faves, but that would take a while.  Too many of them are just tooooo funny!  Love love love it!

So ladies (and gentlemen... and more ladies if that's your preference...), go love on that nifty powerful little being that runs the world... or is the root of all evil... whatever your preference...

Opposites Attract?!

I've never been a particularly firm believer in this concept of opposites attract.  I'm fairly in line with, there are some similarities and some differences.  I look to my parents as a fairly solid example of mostly opposites attracting though, which makes it even odder that I'm not a particularly firm believer.

My dad's pretty easy-going about... well... everything.  Mom's very high stress and go, go, goes!  (Remind you of anyone???  Not me...)  Dad's republican, mom's dem.  They practice different types of law (but hey now!  Both lawyers!) and really not interested in the same types of movies and the like.  Dad loves sushi and Chinese food, mom can't stand the former and puts up with the latter.  Mom likes to be social when she can, dad just doesn't care (unless mom makes him care of course! ;))  The list goes on.

Similarities include: a love of football, generally the same likes in music, both practice law as independent contractors and both like to have a few drinks out at dinner to relax.  Just to name a short few.

I always figured I'd date on my next round a geeky guy who likes to read and has a degree in some type of humanities.  Someone who every so often likes to go out and do things and so on and so forth.  No, no, this is not the vision of the perfect man or any of that, just what I figured was coming next.

Well, this morning reiterated that that particular vision was WRONG.

I'm dating an auditor.  Please, tell me every stick up the ass joke you can find, because I looooooooooooove hearing those.  And then sharing them.  And how they sound awfully familiar... P.s. one of our similarities is that we're both jerks, so don't get the idea in your head that he's dumping me over this, if anything, I've made him wet his pants in glee.

He's helping his family out with their taxes.

Direct quote, "I'm rocking out donations."

As I sit here reading two books for my thesis, Unbearable Weight and Freakery, one about bodies and the other about disabilities.

Does anybody else see the slight differences we have going on here?  Rocking out NUMBERS???  GROSS!!!


But hey now, to each their own.  Who am I to say that numbers are gross?  Ok, I'm totally the girl to say numbers are gross, so I'm just going to leave him to rocking out the digits while I go do something normal.

The Second Coming

As we now all know, I'm a nun.  Not by choice per se, but I am.  So good little me is doing everything as she's supposed to.  Did I mention I'm no longer a Sunday School teacher?  I'll let you stew on whether I quit or got kicked out...

But these last few days have been distressing.  I've been rather weepy, rather hungry, and rather headachy.  Yet, there's been no viable reason showing up for these rather conspicuous signs of female funness.

Since this was Easter weekend and all, my biggest concern was...

I was the carrier of the second coming of Christ.  I may not be Virgin Morgan, but hey now, nun status is close enough.

Rest assured, I am not.

Especially since I'm about to go to Hell for saying this...

I totally think Mary and Joseph did the hanky panky and the pull-out method just didn't work.

And with that... I'm out.

I Am A NUN!

I'll get to the reason why soon enough... well, the semi reason why.  Come on now people, I don't go THAT far into my personal life.  Or do I???

So today I go to look at a condo to rent from the boy toy's rents.  Ok, fiiiiiiiine, a little more respect.  The boyfriend's parents.  It's in Maryland, which I want.  It's near a mall, which is dangerous.  It's near all of my assorted boys (you heard me), which is fantastic.  And it's got hardwood floors, which is just too cool.

After he gets us lost a few times while trying to show me around the building itself (gym, pool, tennis courts, personal parking spot)... we head to the condo itself.  He opens the door.  Did I mention his grandmother currently lives there?  Yes, she's getting booted.  To the street.  I kid, I kid.  But still.  Door opens and it was a very distinct smell.  I just don't understand how all old people smell alike.  She's not in a home yet, she shouldn't smell yet.  It's like... does a certain age hit and BOOM, you reek?  She's well taken care of, has a beautiful place, so it's clearly not her amazing family being lax in caring for her.  So it's clearly an OLD thing.

So M and I are standing on the balcony (I kid you not, start with the m&m jokes now, I'm prepared) and we see these two adults/young adults playing football on the tennis courts and they weren't doing so hot, so of course we were talking smack.  Like we could do any better.  Yah, I've done well.  Then we discussed the velocity of different aged cupcakes if dropped off the balcony.  I never said we were normal...

So then I got dumped for taxes.  I'd love to say I got dumped for family time or something else normal, but no, I got dumped for taxes. Clearly, I'm not a thrilling date.  So I met a friend I met online, Mary.  Awesome, awesome, awesome girl.  I had the time of my life.  We have SO much in common.

Namely, we're nuns.  Well, modified nuns.  Our respective boy toy's are well aware of this and are even complicit in this happenstance.  We swear, but otherwise, we are the BESTEST lil girls anybody ever did see.  Wow, y'all didn't have to go and faint on me.  That really is kind of rude.  Could you please show a little more respect to a woman of the cloth???  Or a version of that...  I figured on this Easter Sunday, it was appropriate to make this correlation and to meet this new friend on this day was a sign.  Nuns who are not trying to be nuns must band together and stand tall.  Our nun-i-ness makes us special and unique and... oh who am I kidding?  We all know the truth.

Other than the fact we were called nuns... for various and assorted reasons... I'll let you think on that...

More... HAIR

And holy crap, it's been years since I last wrote.  Talk about being a delinquent.  I've withheld my brilliance from you for so long.  Please accept my sincerest apologies for such a lapse.

But!  Onto making you laugh this Easter Sunday.  And for those of you who celebrate otherwise, Happy Passover or simply, Happy Sunday!  Yes, I'm a dork.  Get over it.

First of all, did the hair ever get fixed?  Am I still orange and ugly?  Only one way to find out...

That's how I now walk around.  Everyday.  All day.  Really...

Ok, or not...

And that is what I call normal.  Isn't it amazing how I can be transformed???

Now if I could just go from jerky to nice... we'd all be in a better place.

Hair!

And no, not the musical.  My own.

It started last week getting my hair cut.  It went really well!  (Excuse the no make-up... only to share myself with you do I defile myself on a public blog.)

 I'M KIDDING!!!  THAT IS NOT HOW IT ENDED UP!!!

Super cute, right?!















And then mom and I were having a discussion about hair and what I want to do with it - as in go blonder for summer.  We also discussed how she didn't get her hair professionally colored until she was much older than I am now.

So... I decided to experiement.  I mean... it is just hair... I figured I want to go lighter for summer, so I'll highlight my hair.  I did not do blonde, I got a caramel brown highlight kit from Harris Teeter.

Here's a fun one of me... with the highlight cap on and my hair sticking out...

(Excuse the blurriness... it is a camera phone after all... the blackberry doesn't take such hot pictures)

And then I drove to Joe and Derrick's place.  And this is how I went out in public...

And... it...

Turned....

Blonde and...

ORANGE!  I kid you not.

Suffice it to say... the experiment did NOT go too well...

Sad part is, I'd love this pic if my hair were normal.  I look so sneaky... and I'm clearly howling with laughter at myself.

Upshot is, I'm going by my fabulous hairstylist today to notate that no longer will I be trying to save money and what can she do to rescue it for now.  I'll deal with highlights for graduation.

More pictures when it gets rescued.  Whenever that may be...

I hope you all enjoyed the debasement of me, myself, and I.

All Things Poop

Ok, maybe not ALL things.  I mean, this isn't supposed to be a book blog.

I remember when I was a mere youngster, there was a book called Everybody Poops.  A book that didn't make a joke of, or pull any punches, about the natural process of pooping.

First of all, what is poop?  According to urbandictionary.com, it is: Bodily waste of varying color, viscosity, shape, odor and texture. Usually exits the body through your pooper, speed, noise and degree of pain may vary depending on what you ate.  The only disagreement I majorly have is to describe the chute in which poop exits as the pooper as, according to proper grammar, you cannot use the word being defined in the definition.  The technical term for this would be the anus.

Now where is this coming from you might ask?  Well, for those of you who know my sneaky brain, this is an excellent way for me to discuss skid marks without the dire threat delineated in the prior blog being enacted upon me.  And then, of course, the prior discussions of expulsions of air out of the anus, otherwise known as the act of farting.

As we've already discussed the expulsion of air, there isn't much to say about the act itself (I mean, I'm pretty sure I don't need to know if you're a grunter, groaner, plant your feet and push, or whatever else).  So that leaves us with the after effects.  And then, I have some other random things to share that I have learned while doing "research" for this blog.

Skid marks.  There was a poll done (not by me!).  One person said that it's the after effects left on the lid of the toilet.  Another said that it was anything left behind after flushing.  I was a bit confused by these answers as why would they be described as "skid marks"?  Well, I said it was the racing stripe left behind in the underwear.  I was right according to my new best friend: urban dictionary.  UD: an elongated stain in the rear of one's underwear caused by one of the following: 1)rubbing of the underwear on an insufficiently wiped anus after excrementing 2)expelling juicy farts (butt cheese) into the underwear over an extended period.  Granted, this was far more in depth than anything I'd come up with...

Ok, new lessons time.  What is "butt cheese"???  Take a guess please.  Just take a guess.
Butt cheese: The accumulation of feces, toilet paper, lint, and other detritus in the area between the buttocks. With time and mechanical action, assuming the appropriate binding elements are present, butt cheese takes a granular form which is known as dingleberries. Uncontrolled, butt cheese can progress beyond dingleberries to dinglebombs or in the vernacular "butt grapes".  Ok, whoever has the time to come up with this shit (har har) has way too much time on their hands.

And no, you do NOT need to mention how much time I have on my hands.  It's called procrastination.  I'm excellent at such things.

And another one.  "Poopsocking".  Take your guess now.  Just take it.
Poopsocking: Defacating into a sock in order to avoid having to get up from your computer to use the toilet. Often utilized when playing online role playing games.
Do I really need to add commentary on this one???  Please tell me none of you have ever done this, otherwise I'm going to be a bit concerned.  Cause how do you keep playing your game and wipe???  Ok, maybe asking questions is NOT a good idea in this circumstance...

Ok ladies and gents, I believe you've had enough of the stinky world of she-it this evening.  Enjoy your regular dose of fun on the pot.

Thought of the day (courtesy of my father): If you land in shit, turn it into fertilizer and sell it!

I Wish...

I could tell you not one, but TWO funny stories.

But I can't.

Because I have been sworn to secrecy.  I will give you a hint, just to juice up your imagination.  One was about hooters, not the restaurant, but my own and those that go hoot hoot.  And the second was about skid marks.

*GACK*  I may have said too much already!  What's going to happen to me???

I'm going to be kicked out!  This was my dire warning!!!

Kicked out of what exactly?  I don't exactly know... a cult maybe?  Ooooo, wouldn't that be fun?  Me in a cult???  Oh man!  The ass kicking I could do there!  I could be all sneaky and seductive and scary and sanctimonious and, and, and... all those other s-words that may not be appropriate to include on this not so family friendly blog.

Irrespective of the fact that I have no earthly idea of what I'll be kicked out of, I'll heed the warning of those better than me... wait... there is none better than me.  Ok, I'll heed the warning of the lesser peons that I find amusing and entertaining and therefore have some wish to keep around.  I.E. I'm  not telling you the stories.

Well...  not here... if you really want to know... maybe I can dish to you on the DL (that's down low to those of you not up on the acronyms and for those of you who don't know what the down low is... I just can't help you).

Oh oh oh!  I must go!  I'm about to spill it!

NCAA vs. NAACP

Do YOU know the difference between these two organizations?  I had thought this was a fairly simple question. I did not realize it was that easy to mix these two acronyms up... or to not even know what one of them even  means.  If you're over the age of two, I had kind of figured you'd know.

Well, I know a rather bright young man.  He was one of the auditors on Howard University at some point.  (Skinny white boy driving to work everyday in a Benz... anybody else surprised he didn't get shot???  Aaahhh, the un-pc-ness of Mo... Christina or Derrick, you're not allowed to kill me.)

He's reviewing the invoices of HU for auditing purposes and says to a co-worker (who happens to be African-American) something to the effect of,

"In doing the NAACP audit of the basketball team, we need to..."

The co-workers response?

"You don't know much about sports do you?"

Let me clarify in case you happen to be in this poor young man's court... or in this case... the stands.

NAACP stands for the National Association for the Advancement of Colored people.  Now, a traditionally African-American college is what HU is, therefore, the NAACP is not a difficult conclusion to come to.  Except it has nothing to do with a federally-funded school or its sports.

What this poor man was going for was the NCAA.

The NCAA is the National Collegiate Athletic Association.  Let's connect the dots.  College+Basketball=Part of the NCAA... not the NAACP.

The acronyms are a little funny and awfully similar, don't get me wrong.

But... did anybody watch sports or take history???

I'll stop now before he keeps reading and then smacks the crap out of me for sharing such a private embarrassment about him.

But I simply couldn't not share this with you.  The laughter I gleaned from this was thrilling...

Underoos

Last night ended up being an epic night.  First I get home late and had forgotten to eat dinner earlier, so I ate some macaroni.  I proceeded to have the choking experience of a lifetime.  I saved my own life though, by providing myself the Heimlich maneuver. And out comes flying the macaroni.

And then, I was up late writing a paper.  Yes, the night before it's due.  No, my professor does not read this blog.  I hope.

I moved around.  I sat at my desk.  Got distracted.  So, I sat on the floor to watch figure skating and write.  Of course, getting as distracted as a girl can get.  Then I moved to my bed.  Yes, I moved to my bed to make me concentrate on my paper.  Yes, at 11:45 at night.  No, I don't really make sense to me either.  So, around 1:00 in the morning, I get up to get ready for bed.  And I discover that I have the world's biggest wedgie.  I honestly am not quite sure how I managed to not have to go to the emergency room to have it extracted.

And of course, waking up at 5:00 means I'm rather tired.  So I stop by Starbs on my way in to work and take my first sip of the coffee based drink I had purchased.

I was transported to Big O Heaven.  Yes, one slurp of coffee did it for me.  The big "it".  Yes, I'm assuming you're probably thinking I don't get out much.

And you'd be right.

Lent

Aaahhh, it is that time of year again.  What do I give up and then promptly fail miserably at giving up?

Swearing?  Been there, done that, failed within 20 minutes (and that's being lenient).

Chocolate?  Just don't eat it enough anymore.

Booze?  Wait... what's booze?

A bad habit of late is sleeping too much during the day.  Yes ladies and gents, I am 25 and I am a perpetual napper.

So I had decided to give up napping - as of yesterday.  Then I had to get up at the ass-crack of dawn, was super tired already, and decided that wasn't the hottest idea I'd ever had, so I figured out something else.

And then I napped today.  And had the nuttiest dream I've ever had.  Can we say... disturbing?

I decided that maybe it was a sign.  I am to go back to the giving up of napping and figure I have a free pass on today as such.

Gggggrrrr, time to become an adult.  How depressing.

World's Shortest Fairy Tale

There's the man's version, that I was given.  And then there's the woman's take on the man's version.

World's Shortest Fairy Tale -- Once upon a time, a guy asked a girl 'Will you marry me?' The girl said, 'NO!' And the guy lived happily ever after and rode motorcycles and went fishing and hunting and played golf a lot and drank beer and scotch and had tons of money in the bank and left the toilet seat up and farted whenever he wanted. -- The end.

World's Shortest Load of Shit -- Once upon a time, a guy asked a girl 'Will you marry me?'  The girl said, 'NO!'  Her reason for such an emphatic answer was for his lack of grammar, hick attitudes, and horrible athleticism.  The guy lived in a drunken state of beer and scotch with NO money in the bank because of his gambling addiction, drinking problem, and penchant for prostitutes.  -- The End.

Costo

I went to Costco today!  And didn't buy a darn thing!  Gosh... I'm proud of myself.

I went with a friend of mine I don't see all that often, so it was just time to chill out and catch up (even though we talk more than I particularly want to admit.)  We get in the door when he realizes he's left his mother's list in the car.  So I take the cart and head straight for books.  Are we surprised???  And tell him to meet me there.  He gets back and asks me if I've found anything I liked.  Um... it's me... and books... duh?

So we get back to the house and he does some work, as do I (from memory!  go me!) and then he has me chatting with a co-worker, because he'd joked about having a hot California girl in his home.  So I'm chatting away (who can't I talk to?) when the guy tells his dad, "Yah, Morgan's talking to (co-worker name)."  Dad's response?  "Oh shit, you're going to get fired."

Essentially, my rep has not only hit the mother of this family, but the father as well.  I'm pretty sure there are filthy lies being spread about me to gain me this type of rep :P.  I'm getting the feeling I'm going to have to start my version of back-talking.

And that, ladies and gents, was my illustrious Valentine's day.

I hope your day was fabulous and filled with whatever you were hoping for.  I am personally of my father's opinion of this day - hallmark holiday that See's candy has cashed in on.

On that note, off to do some lovin' on my salad.

Midget in the Snow!

Yes, two blogs in one day.  Count yourselves amongst the lucky and the loved.  No, really.

I'm not a total dingbat.  I did not drive this morning.  Instead, I took a two hour trip on metro to get to work.  Yes, an hour turned into two.  Can we say - ridiculous?

And that doesn't count me having to walk... yes, walk... a half mile.  Seemingly simple, yes?  No. 

Bethesda doesn't understand that people not only need to walk on their sidewalks, but cross the street as well.  My first obstacle came when I had to cross a rather large street to get to coffee.  There was a small break on my side, a tiny walk-thru in the middle and then... slush on the other side.  I started off well, got my heiny nice and wet in the middle (cause it didn't quite fit...) and my boots and pants soaked on the other side.  This was all thrilling to say the least.

Obstacle two consists of me having to walk down a thin strip opened up on the sidewalk... a strip of ice, but an open strip none-the-less.  When I realized, either I go or the person at the other end goes, too bad we had both committed to going before realizing this small problem.  Was he a gentleman and step aside into the snow?  NOPE.  What is wrong with people these days?  So who went into the knee high snow?  That's right.  Yours truly.

And then... obstacle three.  I gear up to cross a small side street when I notice... the snow mound is as tall as my waist!  With no pass through spot!  So I hoof it a bit up the street (and I mean, up), but it's not so much hoofting as skating as it was pure ice all the way up.  I cross and walk back down, except... there's still no spot to cross through to get to the sidewalk!  The snow is up to my thighs, yes, shorty me.  Lo and behold, I spy footprints through the snow.  So off I go.  Into footprint one.

And literally having to a leg lift as high as I've ever done to get my other foot into the next print and on and on.  One foot after the other, having to do leg lifts like nobody's business.  I bet I looked realllll lovely, concentrating, probably sticking my tongue out while doing so, trying to get one leg out of the snow and back into the snow in front of me.  I made progress... just verrrrrrry slowly.

So, essentially, vertically challenged me got buried in the snow.

Thrilling I tell you, thrilling.

Fancy Pants

Only because this made me die laughing...

A WOMAN'S WEEK AT THE GYM

If you read this without laughing out loud, there is
something wrong with you. This is dedicated to everyone who
ever attempted to get into a regular workout routine

Dear Diary,
For my birthday this year, I purchased a week of personal training at the local health club. Although I am still ingreat shape since being a high school football cheerleader43 years ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give it a try. I called the club and made my
reservations with a personal trainer named Christo, who identified himself as a 26-year-old aerobics instructor and model for athletic clothing and swim wear. Friends seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started! The club encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress...

MONDAY:
Started my day at 6:00 a.m. Tough to get out of bed, but found it was well worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Christo waiting for me. He is something of a Greek god-- with blond hair, dancing eyes, and a dazzling white smile. Woo Hoo!! Christo gave me a tour and showed me the machines.. I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which he conducted his aerobics class after my workout today. Very inspiring! Christo was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, although my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time he was round... This is going to be a FANTASTICweek!!

TUESDAY:
I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the door. Christo made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air then he put weights on it! My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made the full mile. His rewarding smile made it all worthwhile. I feel GREAT! It's a whole new life for me.

WEDNESDAY:
The only way I can brush my teeth is by laying the toothbrush on the counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. I believe I have a hernia in both pectorals. Driving was OK as long as I didn't try to steer or stop. I parked on top of a GEO in the club parking lot. Christo was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered other club members. His voice is a little too perky for that early in the morning and when he scolds, he gets this nasally whine that is VERY annoying. My chest hurt when I got on the treadmill, so Christo put me on the stair monster. Why the h e l l would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators? Christo told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy
life. He said some other s&*t too.

THURSDAY:
A$$hole was waiting for me with his vampire-like teeth exposed as his thin, cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl. I couldn't help being a half an hour late-- it took me that long to tie my shoes. He took me to work out with dumbbells. When he was not looking, I ran and hid in the restroom. He sent some skinny b!^@h to find me. Then, as punishment, he put me on the rowing machine-- which I sank.

FRIDAY:
I hate that ba$^@#d Christo more than any human being has ever hated any other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny, anemic, anorexic, little aerobic instructor. If there was a part of my body I could move without unbearable pain, I would beat him with it. Christo wanted me to work on my triceps... I don't have any triceps! And if you don't want dents in the floor, don't hand me the d a m n barbells or anything that weighs more than
a sandwich.. The treadmill flung me off and I landed on a health and nutrition teacher. Why couldn't it have been someone softer, like the drama coach or the choir director?

SATURDAY:
Satan left a message on my answering machine in his grating, shrilly voice wondering why I did not show up today. Just hearing his voice made me want to smash the machine with my
planner; however, I lacked the strength to even use the TV remote and ended up catching eleven straight hours of the Weather Channel...

SUNDAY:
I'm having the Church van pick me up for services today so I can go and thank GOD that this week is over. I will also pray that next year my husband will choose a gift for me that is fun-- like a root canal or a hysterectomy. I still say if God had wanted me to bend over, he would have sprinkled the floor with diamonds!!!

Squirrel

Today, I braved the wild outdoors to go to work and make a few bucks.  And I kid you not when I say, a few bucks.

I then braved the wild outdoors to walk what seemed like a million miles to a friend's house.  With un-shoveled sidewalks and carrying two not-lightweight bags, what would normally take a little less than a half-hour took a full hour.

To get there and be belittled.  I kid you not.  I suppose I ought to preface this with the fact that this particular friend calls me Midget, or Midgerita.  (Makes me want a margarita... maybe three or four on this cold, snowy night)

He goes to the window (yes, "he", dad, don't flip, noooo hanky panky!) and calls me over.  I HAVE to see this squirrel that's doing some squirrel dance on the fence.

I look and look and look and not only do I not see a squirrel doing a booty dance, I don't see a squirrel PERIOD.  "It's right there!  How do you not see the damn squirrel???" 

So I'm standing there thinking this man is a total nut, when he looks down at me.  And by down, I mean not that far down.  When it dawns on him.

I'm too short to see the damn squirrel on the fence over the mound of snow blocking my way.

To which I then proceeded to get laughed at, while I jump up and down trying to see the squirrel doing his booty dance.  To which the squirrel then stops and runs away, denying me my chance to see an animal doing the booty dance.

Now, I'm personally of the opinion that I'm owed a booty dance.  Anybody else of the opinion that I should make him show me one???

(And yes, I'll post it on youtube after, just for y'all and your viewing pleasure.)

Steak and BJ Day

I was at a bar on Wednesday night.  Yes, a work night.  Yes, after class.  Yes, I am a delinquent.

While at the bar, I spoke with some young men.  Yes, huge surprise, that I, Morgan Ashley, would speak to anybody.

Why did we speak?  Because the term "Steak and BJ Day" was overheard and it was necessary to find out exactly what this is.

So what is this you ask?  Well, you can go to the web site (I kid you not, web site, replete with sexy ads for hooking up): http://www.steakandbjday.com/ or you can read on...

Steak and BJ Day falls on March 14th every year as the response to Val Day.  As the young man explained it, women get flowers and a nice dinner, men get steak and a bj.

I inquired how this was fair, as if I'm to dish out the goods, I'd expect them done first.

After staring at me with open mouths for a few seconds (you must remember, people are not used to a cute lil gal who's got a mouth like a sailor), they sputtered that gals get flowers and dinner, that's how it goes.

I no longer wondered why these poor gentlemen were single.  Worse, all three are somehow in the law profession, did they miss the class on quid pro quo?  Reciprocation?  Do unto others as you want done unto you?

So, laddies, should you want your Steak and BJ Day to be a thrilling ride, remember to make Val Day a thrilling ride for your lass.

And ladies, don't hesitate to undercook the steak and feign that time of the month if he doesn't owe up.

Snowpacalypse

We got a ton of snow this weekend.  And I mean... a TON!  I went out in the DC version of a blizzard just to take some pics for the whole lot of you.  God, I am such a nice person.  Whatever am I going to do with all this niceness???

So I only took two pictures on my foray out on Saturday night, cause hey now, I wanted back into my warm apartment.

(Still falling!  It didn't stop until about 11pm after starting at 10am the day before)

(To give you an idea of how deep it already was when I went out)

(Snowed in cars!)

(The National Cathedral the morning after)

(Overlooking the houses the other direction)

(Looking down from 21 floors up)

(Made it outside!  I had to climb through one of those made snowbanks last night after coming back in cause they plowed right before I headed back.  It was certainly a... har har... trip)

(Random fountain down the block)

(I love to travel with a few feet of snow on top of my car.  How about you???)

And last, but not least, my favorite picture that makes me giggle.

 

Just seeing those little wipers poking out of the snow gives me such a thrill.  

Well, that's all for me folks.  Enjoy the DC Blizzard pics and I'll catch you next time.

Hyphens

My story today involves a veritable math geek.  We were discussing last names and he has more names than I do if you count the fact he's a "the second".  I asked if his last names were hyphenated.  He responds in the affirmative.  Then tells me,
"it's hypen"

Um, excuse you?  Did you, Mr. Statistics/Math/Science/CPA/Auditor Geek just try to tell me how to spell?  Me?  An English major from the #1 English Department in the country?  Not only that, but let's turn words into math.  We'll go back to our young'un years for this one.

The word is pronounced: hi-fen.  Well, we know that in this circumstance the hi section is hy due to the fact that... well... we just know.  But that's not the part screwed up, so we'll move on.  We also know by virtue of the fact we're old enough that the second part of the word is not "fen" as it is just never that easy.  So what else makes the f-sound? 

P+H=F-sound

It's math!  It's math!  Just with letters!  It's algebra!  Should I make a theorem about this and turn it into geometry?

Upshot is folks, sound out the word.  Then correct the writing geek. 

It's not hypen.  It's hyphen.

And that's your word lesson for the day.  Go use it in a sentence.

Hilarious Church Bulletins

They're Back! Those wonderful Church Bulletins! Thank God for church ladies with typewriters. These sentences (with all the BLOOPERS) actually appeared in church bulletins or were announced in church services:

The Fasting and Prayer Conference includes meals.

The sermon this morning: 'Jesus Walks on the Water.' The sermon tonight: 'Searching for Jesus.'

Ladies, don't forget the rummage sale. It's a chance to get rid of those things not worth keeping around the house. Bring your husbands.

Remember in prayer the many who are sick of our community. Smile at someone who is hard to love. Say 'Hell' to someone who doesn't care much about you.

Don't let worry kill you off - let the Church help.

Miss Charlene Mason sang 'I will not pass this way again,' giving obvious pleasure to the congregation.

For those of you who have children and don't know it, we have a nursery downstairs.

Next Thursday there will be tryouts for the choir. They need all the help they can get.

Irving Benson and Jessie Carter were married on October 24 in the church.. So ends a friendship that began in their school days.

A bean supper will be held on Tuesday evening in the church hall.. Music will follow.

At the evening service tonight, the sermon topic will be 'What Is Hell?' Come early and listen to our choir practice ..

Eight new choir robes are currently needed due to the addition of several new members and to the deterioration of some older ones.

Scouts are saving aluminum cans, bottles and other items to be recycled. Proceeds will be used to cripple children.

Please place your donation in the envelope along with the deceased person you want remembered.

The church will host an evening of fine dining, super entertainment and gracious hostility.

Potluck supper Sunday at 5:00 PM - prayer and medication to follow.

The ladies of the Church have cast off clothing of every kind. They may be seen in the basement on Friday afternoon.

This evening at 7 PM there will be a hymn singing in the park across from the Church. Bring a blanket and come prepared to sin.

Ladies Bible Study will be held Thursday morning at 10 AM. All ladies are invited to lunch in the Fellowship Hall after the B. S. Is done.

The pastor would appreciate it if the ladies of the Congregation would lend him their electric girdles for the pancake breakfast next Sunday.

Low Self Esteem Support Group will meet Thursday at 7 PM. Please use the back door.

The eighth-graders will be presenting Shakespeare's Hamlet in the Church basement Friday at 7 PM. The congregation is invited to attend this tragedy.

Weight Watchers will meet at 7 PM at the First Presbyterian Church.. Please use large double door at the side entrance.

The Associate Minister unveiled the church's new campaign slogan last Sunday: 'I Upped My Pledge - Up Yours.

Toilet Humor

*Warning*: Topics amusing to 5 year olds ahead.  If you consider yourself too good to enjoy what a 5 year old does, I'd suggest not reading ahead.

Yesterday, I was sent a link to an article, "Toilet Seat Dermatitis Making a Comeback" by Jennifer Warner.  Apparently, this is a special kind of rash on the poor heinies of children due to wooden toilet seats (um, what???) or harsh chemical cleaners.  Once thought to be obliterated in this country, apparently this condition is now on the list of pediatrician must-know.

This makes me think of the last few days and how they have somehow surrounded the posterior region.  No, I am not about to regale you with stories of my own (although mine did get checked out rather obviously as I walked down the hallway to my apartment... but no bragging).

The other day in yoga, a young man was on the mat in front of me.  I've seen him before and thought nothing of it.  Until he started shifting.  He'd lift his hip up and then would come the smell.  I kid you not.  In a room that is over 100 degrees and this man is pulling this kind of activity... or should I say pushing?  And he was right in front of me!!!  This was not one of my more thrilling days in yoga to say the least.

And then last night a friend and I were talking about relationships and sneaking in statements that would throw another person off guard, a sneak attack.  She happens to think of something else when discussing sneak attacks.  When I then get a text message to this effect, "on the bus today, i farted.  it smelled.  i didn't care.  so there."  My essential response?  Remind me not to ride a bus with you.  I then got regaled with other stories of such activities, including always warning friends of what's coming.  I'm pretty sure I still don't want to be on a bus with this person.

So I'm off to write my proposal, work, go to yoga, and hopefully have no other posterior related incidents in the process.

Although, please, feel free to regale me with stories of your own personal posterior set backs or recent experiences with others who have chosen to share their posterior hot air.

Stories

Up the wazoo to share, but I shall only do two or three to save your poor eyes.

The first dates back to Saturday.  Where I have not one, but two stories.

The first involves lunch with Christine.  We meet around 2pm for a meal at a cute little restaurant, Busboys & Poets.  We sit, we carefully consider what will make for a healthy meal, and then proceed to eat it, enjoy it, and enjoy chatting.  Next thing you know, the waiter comes by, asking, "Would you ladies like to see the dinner menu?"  We'd been sitting there chatting for long enough that we ended up staying through two meals.  Go us!  But we were healthy during both meals - although now I'm having a major hankering for grits again.  Yes, you heard me, grits.

The second involves a lovely trip to the hospital with a friend of mine who needed to go for various purposes.  Well, we're hanging in the room when in walks a med student, graduating in 2010.  It was clear he was still figuring all of it out and I just really wanted to pat him on the head and tell him it's ok.  Then in walks a gyno.  Let me tell you, this girl was having no female problems, so why send in a gyno to follow up the young doc who was so bumbly, I couldn't tell ya.  Yet, she walks in, glances at me, turns back to the patient and says, "so who do you have with you here?  your mom?"  The look on my friends face made her add, "your sister?"  While I just sat there, she looks at me, and I look back going, "do I really look that old tonight???"  Now I'm mom, whee.

And last, but certainly not least.  Derrick decides to attend yoga with me today.  Well, we somehow get talked into doing the 90-Day Challenge.  Where you have to attend a session a day for 90 days and the reward is a free month.  I'm all about a free month, so why not???  What's the worst that'll happen?  We don't make it?  Ok!

Well, seeing as how we both had a fair amount of drinks last night, hot yoga today was probably not the smartest idea we've ever had as we both performed worse than the first time we went.  Pathetic.  Well, there was one pose where you're standing with your legs spread (you  heard me, legs spread) and bent over from the waist.  Well, Derrick and I happened to place our mats rather close to each other, so as I was coming up, I somehow managed to butt my head straight into his butt.  Gives a whole new meaning to having a head up your ass.

On that note.. have a good night!

German and Sex?

I've ordered language books on Amazon.  I've also considered learning German, amongst a few other languages (I tend to think far too ahead of myself... clearly). 

To note, Amazon makes recommendations based on the items  you've rated, purchased, and have on your wish list.

Well, I put the learning German book on my wish list as a reminder that I want to step outside of my boundaries one of these days and do something interesting and somewhat out of the blue.

Amazon recommends a rather interesting book to me, one based on the fact that I have this German language teaching book on my wish list.  It's called Frenzy: 60 Tales of Seduction or some such type thing.

UM???  Because I might, maybe, possibly, want to learn German, I'm being smacked with a SEX book???  Or maybe Amazon really knows... I'll just stop there.

I kid.  I kid.  But if someone could please explain to me the connection between learning German and reading about doing the nasty, I'd really appreciate it.

Who Needs a Prince?

 

 

BC?

No, I am not referring to Before Christ.

I'm referring to birth control.  Which I take solely for purposes of... um... controlling mood swings.  Really.  That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

You're probably wondering why I'd share such "private" information.  Only because there is a story that must be shared.

I was prescribed a new one and started it yesterday.  I go to open the package.  Previously, it was a little packet of pills in a box, open the little box, dump out the package, and pop the pills out.  Pretty simple right?

Not so much with the new ones.  It's this hard shell with the package tucked into it.  So I'm yanking and pulling and the little sucker just is not coming out.  I'm trying to pry open the box, whole nine yards.  When it happens.  I manage to slide out the package by twisting it on it's axis from inside this hard box contraption.  I'm a little confused why this must be so difficult.  I mean, if you were to take this for other purposes (although I can't imagine what they are...)... don't they want you to take it???

I can do a multitude of things, opening pill cases and containers are apparently not on that list of things.

Garbage

I get to Starbucks near work this morning, in order to get some studying time in before my shift starts.  As it is a full day today, the last of my worries is how I look (go figure this would be true right???).

As I was a delinquent this weekend and didn't do my laundry, I'm down to very few underoos.  So I'm wearing a pair that say, "Dear Santa" on the front and "I want everything, Love me" stamped across my butt.  Yes, this is covered up by a pair of jeans.

Yet, I could handle Santa bringing me everything, heck, maybe these will give me good luck today!

Well, that hope was squashed early on.  I walk across the little parking lot, only to get stared at, then whistled at by the garbage men.

Santa, when I said I wanted everything, I was not referring to garbage! 

On another note, happy birthday Annie!!!  I'm looking forward to our oh so thrilling appointment.

A Claification

In reference to my spread legs.

I sit like a man.  That's all there is to it.  No, really.  Not quite the point.

Apparently, I was never to hear this comment.  Which saddens me immensely because it is comments such as these that get me through the day.  It has been a long-standing joke amongst my friends and even family what kind of girl I REALLY am.

I mean, hello, let's take a look at the evidence... spread legs... low-cut tops... home every Friday and Saturday nights...

Wait... wait... I have been vindicated!  I'm not THAT kind of girl.

So I encourage all who read to share such comments with me.  Granted, it hasn't stopped most of you who know and love me, but for those who may be relatively new to the world of Mo... raunchy is my middle name (sorry Mom, lost the other two to give room to raunchy... maybe you can find them in my sock drawer???  Oh wait, that's also my undies drawer... nope, there is no way the lost middle names will be found in the monstrosities of my bras... sorry Mama!)

Who knows?  Maybe next you'll see me dancing around in a little elf suit borrowed from a dear ol' friend of mine... And yes, that comment is going to get him in trouble all over again.

Anybody else sensing my ultimate plan here???  I do so like causing trouble...

Devil in disguise, ladies and gents.  I bet you never knew you were in the presence of such greatness.

On this bombshell, I bid you all good night.

Pizza Dreams

I haven't updated!  Don't hurt me!  I know you're all so very disappointed not to have had a daily dose of yours truly - but I am back in action!

For once in my life, I went to bed halfway early last night.  About two hours into my sleep, I vaguely wake-up, smelling pizza.  I couldn't figure out why the smell was so strong, had someone broken in, with pizza???  I'm totally okay with a break-in if they bring pizza... just saying...

And apparently, in my half comatose, but dying for pizza state, I texted Lynn.  Go figure?  It was somewhat horrifying to check my texts this morning.  I haven't been that afraid to check my text messages since the last time I was falling down toasted - and it has been a long time since that sorry state. 

And no mom, I did not drink on a work night, so alcohol is not to blame.

Just a desperate wish for a really excellent piece of pizza.

I never said I made sense...