Saturday, January 22, 2011

Kiddo and Ramona's Next Adventure

Here's the big announcement as a QR code:

If you're not tech-savvy, you'll have to read this long, drawn-out post to find out what it says. Or you could just scroll to the bottom. But that would be like digging through the Lucky Charms to find the 3-D sticker, instead of letting it fall into your bowl as nature intended. Is there a child alive who actually waited for that crap? In my house, you had to dig for the prize before one of the other three kids stole it. As a matter of fact, you had to get up early and race to the breakfast table to be the first to open the new cereal box. Wait? Pshaw. No little sister of mine was going to get to the color-changing plastic spoon first. You've already read the end of this blog, haven't you?

Let me tell you a story about a girl trying to find her place in this crazy, mixed-up world.

After high school in Virginia, I found myself in South Carolina. I wish someone had talked me out of this. Yes, I got to wear a hat that said COCKS. Yes, because I was on the swim team, there were plenty of t-shirts about being the 'Cocks and being wet, fast and strong. Yes, I got hazed and lived to tell about it. But I was miserable there. We went on a field trip to the swamp. The swamp.

So I left and came back to Virginia for a spell. I had a good time at JMU. I met some of my bestest besties there, and I went to my first bar - when I turned 21. (Loooooserrrr.) I ordered a Miller Lite and a Coke. And I drank the Coke. But eventually I got bored and decided to move.

I picked Portland, Oregon. I don't know why. I think I saw it on TV and it seemed like a nice place. Plus I was friends with a bunch of dreadlock-sporting, nag champa-burning, Birkenstock-wearing hippies at JMU. I'm positive Oregon came up at some point. I worked for 1-800-Remotes, worked at a pub with frequent trashy girl fights, and occasionally attended art school.

Then I woke up one morning and decided I wanted to be a flight attendant. So I moved to Dallas. I did a lot less flying the first year than drinking beer, flirting with dudes, getting my acrylics (ew, ew, ew) done, and lounging by my apartment pool. That year was like one long vacation. Of course, that was reflected in our pay. It's OK - a friend of mine carried ginormous purses...big enough to sneak beers into bars and popcorn into movie theaters. Hey, you do what you have to do to survive.

Sadly, our Dallas base closed that year. I got sent to the booming metropolis of...Salt Lake City. The mountains are pretty and stuff, but that place gave me the creeps. I don't mean to offend anyone who's a Mormon, but while I'm inspecting a zit in the ladies' or chowing on Sbarro at the mall are not the times to solicit me about becoming a member. Just because I look like a sad, lonely individual with pepperoni on my flannel shirt doesn't mean that I am one. Now if you had thrown in some incentives - say, a discount on my wireless plan, a gym membership - I might have considered it. But I'm a modern consumer, so some crappy little pamphlet is not going to do the trick.

Then I got sent to Atlanta. Let me just get this out of the way: I hate Atlanta. Some people are really down with the A-town, but I find it dirty and hot, and full of traffic and rude people. It didn't help that my job as a flight attendant was becoming more and more draining. I was minutes from pulling a Steven Slater. I decided it was time to get serious and finish my degree, or I might be dealing with pissy, entitled frequent fliers and wearing polyester forevah.

So I moved back to Dallas.

I started J-school. (That just sounds cool, and I'm pretty sure it only counts if you went to like, Columbia or something, but whatever. I totally went to J-school.) After two exhausting years of juggling full-time school, a job and internships...

...I graduated.

I scored an awesome job...

...and was laid off nearly immediately.

Next stop: New Jersey. I mean, duh, right? I love love loved living there. I started out in Newark, which made me pretty hard-core right off the bat, and eventually moved to Hoboken. I became a public transportation convert, a pizza connoisseur, and a lovable asshole. I even perfected my fish-face.

(Good, right?) But as everyone knows, you can take the girl out of Texas...

Seriously, it's like Texas has some kind of Star Trek magnetic sucky tractor beam or something. Wouldn't you know it, I plopped right back down in Dallas in 2009. Damn you Texas, I just can't resist the lure of your delicious greasy state fair food. Mmmm, fried cheesecake...Ggglgllgggg...

So now, sweet readers (all four of you), I'm moving on. I'm going to DC to try my hand at politics. Bwahahaha! Just kidding. I'm pretty sure you have to at least keep up with what's going on in the world to have a chance at election in this country. Oh...wait...

But for real, I'm moving to DC Friday. I'm pretty pumped. I'm not really cool with the fact that if we're ever nuked, I'm going down, but I am super excited about Shmuffins.

P.S. Everyone keep your fingers crossed for Ramona. She passed inspection, barely, but she is not pleased about being dragged on another long trip.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Destination: Procrastination

If it weren't for the last minute, I wouldn't get anything done. And I don't know about yours, but my clock doesn't say 4:59 yet. So I think I'll list a few more things that I will not be announcing next week. (I know, I know, you've all been losing sleep. Don't worry, it's only a few days away now.)

I'm still not pregnant. You can be sure of this because I would have flung myself out of a window already if were pregnant. Just kidding, just kidding. Kind of. But seriously, I'm a little afraid of/confused by babies. That "fever" thing hasn't hit me yet. Plus, I can't even imagine having to discuss menstruation or nocturnal emissions with a pimply-faced kid who hates my guts. Yeah, so cross pregnancy off the list.

I'm not a man. Nor am I considering becoming one. Sure, I think it would be sweet to toss the tampons  for good. Yes, it would be amazing to show up for work braless, unshowered and without makeup every day, instead of only a couple times a week. (I know, ew. Shut up.) And of course I would probably be a totally hot dude. And I would get a little taste of the sweet life, making that extra 25 percent just for having junk. But. Because I prefer men, I'd rather not be one. Also, what if the surgery or the hormone therapy got all botched, and I ended up more like a prepubescent boy with patchy stubble and zits and a cracking voice? Nope, I'll stick to being a woman, unfairness and all.

I'm not going to be on American Idol. Even though I could totally kick ass. (Although I might be too old. Ageists.) Steven Tyler and J. Lo? Really? Those two in one uttering just give me the heebie-jeebies.

I'm not going to run off and live in France. Yet. Une fille peut rĂªver.

I'm not writing a novel. I don't have any good ideas. I can make funny lists about my silly life all day long, but I could never write 400 pages about one thing. Don't get me wrong, I would love to write a book someday. I've tried to hang out and get the creative juices flowing out of my pencil into my notebook, but it always turns into Target shopping list. And sure, I look cool tapping away on my MacBook, but I'm just finding funny Jezebel stories to post on Facebook. Maybe someday, but for now, I save all my ideas for this crappy blog. You're welcome.

I'm not running a marathon. I'll leave that to everyone else on the planet.

Monday, January 17, 2011

All work and no play...

OK, you guys. I am officially the worstI swore I would never go on some crazy hiatus again, and look at me. But this time I have an excuse. I have an announcement.

But I'm not telling you until next week. (And you probably think I'm pregnant, but I'll save you that excitement at least. I'm not. Sorry. So put down the knit booties and breast pumps and return to your seats.)

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Ta Ta, 2010: A Photo Essay

Ahhhh, New Year's Eve. Full of hope. And beer. This year I spent the evening with friends watching the Old 97's, debating the merits of Crunch Berries and wearing funny hats. No complaints. I know I need to do a blog, but I'm feeling lazy so I'm cheating. I'm just dumping all of my random 2010 photos here and captioning them. Deal with it.


I met this guy in 2010. He's pretty great. Even if he does wear toe socks sometimes.

He enjoyed his first Sonic experience, but I was less than pleased when I discovered I had ordered the egg-and-hair sandwich.

I discovered my passion for brunch this year. I never knew I could love something so much.

I watched someone attempt to eat this four-pound burger in one hour. For a free t-shirt. 
Defeated. Time: eight minutes. The waitress told us after the attempt that no one had ever succeeded in finishing this thing. I smell a 2011 resolution...

My sister got married. I provided the penis straws for the bachelorette party.

For some reason, my two other siblings and I attempted to move the reception party out into the hallway. (BTW, that is my dance face, not constipation.)

I went to a nude beach. Not as awesome as you might imagine. Actually it was a little gross.
 Checking out some old naked junk...

I went to a few great concerts this year, including the Old 97's, Massive Attack and Matt & Kim. This is a photo of the Toadies, in case you can't tell.

I saw my family again this fall when my Grandpa passed away. My mother uses this as yet another new weapon of mass guilt: "Allison, you need to come home for the holidays. Everyone is dying. I could be next."

Lucy is alive, after eight months under my plant-murdering thumb. Ethel is also hanging on.

I inadvertently experimented with pyrotechnics this year. That Betty Crocker makes some bad-ass birthday candles.

On my birthday, it was confirmed that you can indeed find anything online. These bags contain Lucky Charms marshmallows.

I went to New York a couple of times this year. It's still dirty, smelly, crowded, overpriced and cold. I freakin' love it.
I got to see my friend Josh while I was in New York. Clearly he doesn't get out of the house much.

My rather sad fake Christmas tree.

We were actually going for "sexy" in the bottom photo. We turned out looking a bit more "confused."

Personally, I thought 2010 was totally kick-ass. I emerged healthy, loved and employed. I do have resolutions for the coming year, but I won't bore the few of you who are still awake after this snore-fest of a post. I'll save that content for the next snore-fest of a post.

Happy New Year.