...and then I found five dollars.

Justins Party

2011-10-25T16:00:00.000-05:00

Tuesday, 4:06 p.m. A text message from a number I don't recognize:

Is Kayla like planning justins party

Oh well. I was hitting a mid-afternoon slump.

Didn't you hear kayla was in a bus accident?

No I didn't

So your running the party

Yeah but I'm thinking about changing the theme. What do you think?

Um I just want to go a sport theme like the world series

How did she get In a bus accident

I don't know. She's been drinking a lot.

Who

Kayla. Everyone knows that.

O noo she was not in a accident and can I go to justin party

I don't want to do World Series. How about Rocky Horror Show?

Yea that works I really want to know if I can go. Jack and Mikey are going

Are Kayla and Justin still together?

What I don't know

Why wouldn't you be able to go?

I'm just asking to go I went last time I hate the science hw

IDK I'll think about it. Maybe you can do my HW for me. TTYT.

Bye

Another milestone reached.

2011-10-21T15:03:00.000-05:00

Well, it finally happened.

My mother asked me if I'm a lesbian.*

I have crossed another bridge every single 30-something must bravely cross.

*I'm not. Yet.

Pardon our dust.

2011-10-16T22:18:00.000-05:00

Yep, the neon cupcakes are gone. Also, since Ramona is no more (RIP), I felt it was time for a new title.

Here's the quick explanation. A friend of a friend of a friend was dragging a story out until everyone's eyes were sufficiently glazed over. His extremely long-winded point? He found five dollars.

As most of the crap I blog about falls into the same utterly painful category, I feel like this is pretty accurate.

I ought to wear a helmet.

2011-10-16T20:46:00.000-05:00

So I woke up with a big puffy eye the other morning. To everyone's shock and disappointment, it was not pink eye. I am actually able to refrain from sticking the same fingers in my eye that I stick in my butt. I have two hands, people. No, this mini-shiner came from a direct face-wall collision the night before. If you are a long-time reader, you may recall that I hate getting up to pee at night. I bet you didn't know this was the reason. Fortunately, the only damage was a little goose egg-type situation that lasted about 24 hours.

I'm a walking disaster. At any given time, I am 98 percent guaranteed to have an injury somewhere. I will often find mysterious giant green bruises…on my ass. How do I get a bruised ass? Am I sitting with too much force? Are my britches too tight? What am I doing wrong?

I broke two fingers playing kickball when I was a kid. Who does that? I went to scoop up a gently rolling grounder. And broke two fingers. So 20 years later, here I am, back on a kickball team. (The KILFs. Don't hurt yourself figuring it out.) Proudest moment of the season? My face-first flop onto first base. Not into first base. Just onto it. In my defense, it was muddy. Which really just meant that I looked like an asshole…covered in mud. I almost passed that dive off as intentional. Almost. No, seriously. At least I didn't break anything. We'll see how indoor season goes this fall. A lot more hard surfaces involved there.

I'm just glad my name isn't Grace. That would be a lot of pressure. Grace Kelly pretty much killed it. But I would not have been able to hang. Who's got two thumbs and has walked all the way across a college campus with the back of her skirt tucked into her tights? This girl.

How am I still allowed to go out in public?

Netflix is totally trying to win me back.

2011-09-26T19:50:00.000-05:00

Don't you find it strange that the same week I cancel my Netflix DVD subscription (which is now Qwikster or something), this just happens to arrive in the mail?

But wait. Here's the crazy part. This DVD? Totally not mine. No, seriously. It's not.

Uh-huh. I see right through your ploy, Netflix. You're trying to lure me back in with your little "mistakes." I'm not sure what I'm talking about. But rest assured...I've got my eye on you.

Subject: Construction Paper

2011-09-26T19:28:00.000-05:00

Allison,

Do you have any construction paper? Can I have a piece?

Thanks,
X

This was a work email I received today. Please keep in mind that (although it might seem like it most of the time), I do not work at a preschool.

Mr. X might have let the cat out of the bag here. Clearly other departments are having Krazy Kraft Korner time with glitter and pipe cleaners and safety scissors. They probably even have nap time!

Meanwhile, the marketing folks are out saving people's lives. Who do you call when you're stuck in the elevator? Marketing. Who do you count on to pull the fire alarm when the building goes up in flames? Marketing. Who's going to scream, "run" at the top of her lungs and then take off full speed in the wrong direction during an earthquake? That one was all me.

Southern Fried Kidlets

2011-09-05T08:49:00.000-05:00

I spent Labor Day weekend in

with my sister Anna and her family.

There are the twins, Madeline and Eli (4), and a new addition, Ward, who is two months old. If you're an aunt, you probably already know that you have to come bearing gifts. This consisted of circus peanuts, trucks for Eli, a princess beauty kit for Madeline, and a stuffed lion for Ward.

You could say the beauty kit was the hit of the weekend. In the kit was a selection on pink and purple hair accessories...and a tube of "lipstick." (A piece of plastic that looks like lipstick.) Madeline spent a lot of time deciding which clip(s) and scrunchies to adorn herself with each morning. And then there was the lipstick. She toted it around in a stuffed unicorn purse all weekend. And I have never seen anything like it. This little girl reapplied every 30 minutes.

"Oh, I just ate. My lipstick came off."
"I got sweaty playing outside. My lipstick came off."
"It's raining. My lipstick came off."

Hilarious.

We had a ton of fun playing outside.

At some point I was the bad witch(?) and the monkey bars lifter-upper. But mostly it was just, "Allison, watch me!"

They are total hams and posed for me at dinner time. I told them to "pretend you're eating." So they did.

But it was really because they didn't like what was for dinner at all, which they made crystal clear soon after.

I mentioned Ward. Remember?

It's kind of easy to forget this kid sometimes. He's so quiet. He just hangs out like this most of the time. Note the very serious expression. This is not just a random expression. This is how he looks all the time. I'm fairly certain he's a genius. He's pretty stinkin' cute, though.

I had fun with Anna and Brandon too, once all the little heads hit the pillows. We watched some serious football on Saturday. I had no idea that my bro-in-law played for Auburn his freshman year. Pretty bad-ass, right?

Day 21

2011-08-27T22:50:00.000-05:00

Here's a pretty pattern.

It's my shower curtain. I don't know if I've mentioned it yet, but I am borderline obsessed with World Market.

By the way...

2011-08-26T20:54:00.000-05:00

It was this thing.

The Tsaritsa was so close.

Days 18, 19, 20

2011-08-26T20:50:00.001-05:00

Slack attack. Sorry, I've been avoiding natural disasters in D.C.

I spy with my little eye...

The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell. This is an awesome book. Awesome. I just finished Freakonomics by Steven D. Levitt & Stephen J. Dubner. Fantastic. Before that? Confessions of an Economic Hitman by John Perkins. Wow. I'm on a roll here. I hope my next book doesn't suck.

Here's where the magic happens. And of course by magic I mean surfing the Interwebs while eating Easy Cheese straight from the can.

Day 17 - On the Shelf (Virginia Earthquake 2011)

2011-08-23T15:58:00.000-05:00

What a coincidence that today's photo would be "on the shelf." By now you have probably heard about the 5.8-magnitude earthquake that struck the East Coast today. Here's my shelf after the quake.

Nope, no damage. I came home to crooked pictures and opened doors(?), but nothing broken.

Let me say that that earthquake pretty much spoiled the thought of ever moving to California. Or Indonesia. That shit was not cool.

Day 16 - What I Ate

2011-08-22T16:15:00.000-05:00

Busy drafting a sales proposal + lost appetite =

Yep, that's it. Straight out of the pouch.

Weekend Agenda: Zombie Apocalypse

2011-08-21T14:28:00.000-05:00

It was just a typical Saturday night for me, running from flesh eating zombies.

My zombie apocalypse emergency kit: a map, a zombie warning whistle, water, a wipe for cleaning zombie bite wounds, a glow stick for when my flashlight dies, gum(?), and one "brain" token.

Days 14 & 15

2011-08-21T13:51:00.000-05:00

We have reached the halfway point.

I thought it would be a good idea to head to the United States Botanical Garden to take my day 15 photo. I snapped this when I wasn't running from the bees.

And here are my shoes. Plastic flip flops and band-aids...typical.

Day 13

2011-08-19T21:30:00.001-05:00

This is the George Washington Masonic National Memorial. I always thought the Masons were a secret club like the Skulls. Guess not, since the guy who sold me my car is a member.

I cannot say "from a distance" without Bette Midler popping into my head. I know all of the words, by the way, since this was a song from one of our awesome school musicals.

Day 12

2011-08-18T21:40:00.000-05:00

Can you guess what this is?

Day 11

2011-08-18T16:12:00.002-05:00

Reading is fun.

If they had the Book It! program for adults, I would eat so many personal pan pizzas that I'd have to have a wall removed to leave the house. If I had a twin, we'd buy motorcycles and hats and ride them around, and we'd hold a Guinness World Record.

But I don't have a twin. So I'll just have to try another route.

Man, I love those personal pan pizzas. And reading.

The return of panty-head.

2011-08-18T15:49:00.000-05:00

Why do robbers keep putting underpants on their heads?

Don't people own scissors? Just get one of those beanie hats, cut two holes, and voila! You've got yourself a robber mask! Or use face paint. Go in that convenience store looking like this, and see if you get caught...

That would be pretty tough to describe to the police, now wouldn't it?

Don't be so lazy, criminals. Don't be so sloppy. Let's see a little effort, a little planning, a little drive. Grabbing the first pair of size 16 Hanes Her Way's you fumble across does not a successful robbery make. Stop putting panties on your head. It's just embarrassing.

Day 10

2011-08-17T11:20:00.000-05:00

I've always been a crappy painter. But I try. Here's a detail of one of my craptastic paintings.

Yes, it is for sale.

Days 8 & 9

2011-08-15T19:18:00.001-05:00

My pretty car provided the perfect setting for my day 8 assignment. Look at all these thingamabobs and doohickeys!

I would just like to tell you how exciting it is to rock out to satellite radio. Every day I get excited about it. Every fucking day. Especially when I listen to the 80s station. And when I flip back and forth between that and the 90s station, it's all over. The other day I almost ran off the road swapping between AC/DC and Billy Idol. Keep in mind that Ramona had no music. Period. Yes, I have a fantastic set of pipes, but one can only be entertained by singing the Milkshake Song to herself for so long...especially when the only lyrics one knows accurately are "la la la la la." And no music meant no car dancing. I'm a seriously good car dancer. If there is ever a "SYTYCCD," I will rock that shit.

And here is my day 9 photo. It's me, headless.

Days 6 & 7

2011-08-13T17:47:00.000-05:00

You might have noticed I skipped day 5 (someone I love). I'll be turning that assignment in late.

As for a childhood memory, I caught these two playing the hand slap game while they waited for the Metro. I loved playing this when I was a kid.

Don't know what the hand slap game is?

Now for something new. This photo has a double meaning.

The shirt is new. Because I'm attempting to train for...my first half marathon. Yep, totally busted on marathon runners in the not-so-distant past. But this is different. It's a half marathon...twice the fun.

Day 4 - Favorite Color(s)

2011-08-10T12:02:00.000-05:00

You will now learn two things about me.

1. My ultimate, all-time favorite color is hot pink. (But my favorite combo is pink, red and orange.)

2. My closet is color-organized.

So now you know.

Day 3 - Clouds

2011-08-09T18:31:00.000-05:00

When commuting to work, I opt for two Metro transfers each way instead of just one. That affords me a few minutes at the outdoor King Street station (as opposed to the underground L'Enfant Plaza), where I can get a little bit of fresh air. The platform is high above the street, so the view is great, and I've taken quite a few nice photos from this vantage point.

Pretty self-explanatory here...

Day 2 - What I Wore

2011-08-08T10:02:00.001-05:00

This could have been a super-duper easy one for me, due to my obsession with bathroom mirror photos. But I tried to change it up a bit.

T-shirt: H&M, Skirt: J.Crew, Shoes: Aldo

30 Day Photo Challenge

2011-08-07T21:35:00.000-05:00

I'm "competing" in a 30 day photo challenge, as detailed on this lovely blog. Technically it should have started August 1, but my competition started today.

Here is the list:

And here is entry #1:

I wanted to go for a no-fooling bare-faced portrait, so I took this when I first got up...before coffee. So if you ever hit the jackpot and find yourself spending the night at my place, this is what you get to look forward to waking up to! But seriously, don't hold your breath.

Apparently I'm 14 years old.

2011-08-07T21:09:00.000-05:00

I haven't gone over my 450 allowed minutes in a pretty long time, but lately I haven't even been close.

Why? Oh, just because I've gotten into the habit of sending between 1,000 and 1,500 text messages a month.

OMG. WTF?

Am I going to start sneaking out the back door of my own apartment next?

Dudes, I'm going to PARIS!

2011-07-17T18:23:00.001-05:00

After blabbing incessantly about it for two years, I finally hit the Purchase button and got myself a ticket to Paris for my birthday in October.

Cheese! Chocolate! Croissants! Start your diets! Get out the elastic waist pants! I'M GOING TO PARIS!

I went to Paris once before, in high school, clearly at the height of my fashion awesomeness. (I'm on the far left.)

Nothing screams Parisian like baggy jort-overalls.

But this trip will be different. Not only has my style savvy evolved over the last 15 years, I'm also a super mature adult.

I'm a slight francophile. That's what happens when you start French lessons at age 7. I have an unusual enthusiasm for pastries, and like Monica Geller, I could live in a house of cheese. My middle name is even French. Of course, since neither of my parents speak one word of French, I actually have a French boy's middle name, minus the cool accent. But whatever. So what better way to celebrate a milestone like my 32nd birthday than a trip to the (imaginary) motherland?

Although the only thing I've done so far is bought a plane ticket, I've already pretty much planned the entire trip in my head. And of course, I have compiled a list of movies for inspiration.

View from the Top - This is like the worst movie. Ever. Seriously terrible. But it's about flight attendants, and I used to be a flight attendant. And Gwynnie looks pretty cute in her yellow outfit strolling around Paris by herself. I figure that will be me. Looking gorgeous, strolling around the city in lipstick and heels, sitting on benches, staring wistfully out into the distance. Yeah, that's about right.

Amélie - This is the quintessential Parisian flick. If my visit is like this, I'm not coming back.

Midnight in Paris - While a lot of this movie takes place in the 1920s, it is beautiful nonetheless. I don't plan to do any time traveling while I'm there. If I do, it will be with my sports almanac so I can make a fortune betting, like Biff Tannen.

Something's Gotta Give - Diane Keaton always plays rich chicks. Basically I just want to go to Paris with her so she can buy me stuff.

Hotel Chevalier - This prologue to The Darjeeling Limited takes place in a Paris hotel room. It combines Paris, room service, Jason Schwartzman and Natalie Portman, all of which I am in love with. My long-term plan is to live a life of luxury in a beautiful Parisian hotel. This will be a location scouting trip for that.

So, uh...

2011-07-12T23:30:00.001-05:00

I've been struggling with this post because I knew I would want to write this:

Sorry about the hiatus. I've been getting treatment for depression.

This is a happy blog, with cupcakes in the title, so I won't go into too many icky details. Suffice it to say that this is a real condition, and it blows. I was drowning inside. I slowly stopped functioning. I didn't recognize my own face in the mirror. Horrible, poisonous words spewed out of my mouth. I hurt people I loved and pushed everyone else away. I really mean this…if you need help, get it.

Whew, that's out of the way.

Fast forward to July. Things are looking up. As a matter of fact, they're pretty freakin' sweet.

Life-Sweetness Exhibit A: The progression of my bathroom mirror photos... (I kind of have a thing, all right? Bite me.)

...from this: (I was smiling in both of these, I swear, no joke.)

...to this:

(*Cool points if you can name the movie reference on my t-shirt.)

...and occasionally this:

Life-Sweetness Exhibit B: I can run 2.5 miles without stopping. So what if I get passed by hunched-over old men and ladies pushing strollers of triplets? I look really cute. Observe:

(*Cool points if you can name the TV show reference on my t-shirt.)

Hmmmm.

I did go and buy myself my first pair of for-serious running shoes. They's my magic shews. Pretty much pillows stuffed with muffins and puppies, wrapped in rainbows.

I had the perfect excuse to spend the bucks on them after I ruined my last pair...

(*Cool points for me for wearing a t-shirt that says, "Life is such a beach.")

Just try not to be impressed. Try.

Life-Sweetness Exhibit C: This one is bittersweet. Bwahahaha! Fuck that, Ramona is gone. I bought myself a new ride. I am the proud new mom of this hot little number...

Not only does she have working brakes and a floor that I can't see the road through...she has a moonroof! And...music!!! Sigh...I love her.

So I suppose I'll need to rename the blog at some point. Being a bit of a free spirit, I figured I'd let my new car pick her own name when she's ready. If she picks Malibu Barbie or Chocolate Chip or Rainbow, I'll just have to live with it.

Fodder

2011-04-09T10:43:00.001-05:00

Life: it's all fodder for my (imaginary) novel. However, since I have no idea what I'm doing, I will probably just leave a crapload of scattered notes for my (imaginary) editor and have him piece it all together post-mortem a la David Foster Wallace.

Here are some tidbits just from the last couple of weeks.

While enjoying a leisurely walk down the street the other evening, I saw a group of people through in a ground-floor room. The room had windows all the way around, and they were gathered attentively in a circle. I assumed it was a book reading or lecture. I slowed down a bit to check it out, and that's when I noticed the large projection screen at the front of the room. Wait, what is that? OH. IT'S A GIANT VAGINA WITH A BABY'S HEAD COMING OUT OF IT. Guess it's a birthing class, and not a reading. Wasn't ready for that one.

I took the last bus home the other night. The bus driver got lost and skipped my neighborhood. I did get a private tour of Mt. Vernon, but I gotta say - there's not much going on there at 9:00 on a Thursday night. The bus driver was really apologetic and drove me home...in my very own personal bus. I am totally kicking myself for not asking her to hit the drive-through and the liquor store on the way.

I do not care what you say. Toe shoes are weird and gross. And this lady had UGGS in her bag. I don't understand. Aren't those furry mammoth-foot boots made for comfort? Why would she need to change into these? To be trendy? But wait, are Uggs not trendy as well? My mind is blown. Also, I would never shop with this person.

As part of my transformation into the full too-old-to-be-a-hipster-but-kinda-still-acting-like-one lifestyle, I bought a bike. This is my first bike in at least 12 years. The last time I attempted to ride one, my bell-bottoms (yeah, WHAT?) got stuck in something, and I fell into the road on campus. Instead of anyone asking if I was OK, cars honked and laughed as they drove by. But I'm back in the saddle again. I was a little shaky at first, but I got the hang of it after a few minutes. Just like riding a bike...wocka wocka. A gang of kids whizzed by me on their bikes as I was struggling to stay upright. Whatever, I'm older and my bike is totally cooler. Towanda!

Hmmm, but what if it's questionable?...

Moving 2011: The Finale (Hopefully)

2011-04-09T10:10:00.000-05:00

Moving is terrible. Terrible.

The weather never seems to cooperate for my moves. Mother Nature has her panties perpetually in a wad as my boxes are being hauled up and down the stairs. This time I had a personal raincloud.

From Dallas to DC.

That's right. It literally never. stopped. pouring. rain. for. three. days. A little icing on the cake, the windshield wipers broke somewhere in Alabama. So we got to spend a little time at the Penske repair shop in an *ahem* industrial area of town. Sol and I got to spend three hours on a bench in a tiny room. We really tried to make the best of the situation.

We checked out all the awards.

We did creepy body tricks.

And just as I was at my wits' end and about to break down and eat one of the chocolate mini-donuts from the random sack on the counter, I decided to spew my frustration on Twitter. Wouldn't you know it...Penske's Director of Communications and PR actually responded (and on a Saturday). Snaps, Randy Ryerson, you rock. Moral of the story? Vent via Twitter - it gets results.

But moving on to the high points of the road trip:

Multiple stops for the buttery deliciousness of Hardees' biscuits.
Road snacks! From Combos to Hostess cakes, nothing unprocessed made its way into the cabin of that truck.
Ever had a three-day long caffeine buzz? I have!
Who knew gas stations had so many video choices...

Prepare to have your little minds blown.

2011-03-21T20:06:00.001-05:00

You're looking at me looking at Sol, looking at me, looking at Sol...or something equally as triptastic. You may now go back to whatever it is you were doing, which was clearly worth interrupting for this.

OK, I am aware that I am lame. This is my "hey, what what's that over there??" tactic to buy me a little time before a new post. Is it working?

Kiddo and Ramona's World Domination - Phase One: Moving to DC

2011-02-26T18:26:00.000-06:00

I assume you've all been on pins and needles waiting for my next post. I implore you to keep in mind that conquering the world is a burdensome task, and it has taken most of my energy over the past month. Although I can't reveal too many details of the plan, I would like to share a little slice of my life in my new home.

Ramona and I are both excited to be a little further north. Mostly for the snow. OK, entirely for the snow. But wouldn't you know...the week I left Dallas, they got smacked with a whopper of a snowstorm. Twice. More proof that my former life was spent plowing down nuns and children in my car. But I did happen to snap a photo of the one time it has snowed here since I moved. It was at least half an inch.

I am currently shacking in the basement of my good friends and their cute kidlets (ages 3 and 5). I have learned more about Hello Kitty, coloring and poop in the last month than I've learned in 30 years. Parents, how the hell do you do it? Slow clap.

It's nice to be close to my homegirls. At some point in the future we will be living together in Miami, prowling the retirement homes for men and going to bingo...and having crazy adventures. I'll change my name to Blanche. Meet Rose and Sophia (Dorothy couldn't make it out).

I left my hipster man back in Dallas. Figured I'd let him miss me for a while. So we've taken to photos and Skype.

Damn hipsters.

He came to visit last weekend, and we had a great time browsing bookstores and drinking coffee. It reminded me how much cooler he is than me.

Meanwhile, I took a picture of this squirrel. Check out his junk.

Then we had some champagne.

Overall, a successful jump into ~~politics~~ world domination. I leave you with this warning.

Kiddo and Ramona's Next Adventure

2011-01-22T12:53:00.002-06:00

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.

Destination: Procrastination

2011-01-20T10:49:00.000-06:00

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 rêver.

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.

All work and no play...

2011-01-17T20:54:00.001-06:00

OK, you guys. I am officially the worst. I 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.)

Ta Ta, 2010: A Photo Essay

2011-01-02T02:10:00.004-06:00

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.

Enjoy.

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.

Fail.

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.

The Airing of Grievances

2010-12-23T18:40:00.001-06:00

In recognition of Festivus, I will now air my annual grievances.

Why does The New York Times Weddings section only showcase Jewish couples with strings of Ivy League degrees and 20-year age gaps?
LOLCats are not funny.

Who uses words like, "leverage" or "aggregate" or "spur" on a regular basis? Lame marketing people like me.
Raise your hand if you have run/are going to run/are currently running a marathon. Oh, everyone in the world? Good job.
Unless you are a 9-year-old girl, Twilight sucks. It sucks. Same for Harry Potter. Adults, these obsessions are totally creepy.
I got a $263 bill for sitting in a doctor's office for 10 minutes. No undressing. No exam. Nothing. High-deductible health insurance can bite me.
I just got a ticket from the City of Dallas for running a red light. I was caught on camera. I was in the intersection for...wait for it...0.3 seconds. I'm considering taking a photo of a $100 bill and sending it to them.
Zits and wrinkles. This is some kind of cruel cosmic joke.
How do you get through college with bad grammar and spelling? How?
Sarah Palin.

Moving on to the feats of strength. Where's my beer?

Happy Festivus, all.

Aliens I Wish NASA Had Discovered Today

2010-12-02T19:57:00.002-06:00

So NASA found this stuff in a California lake today.

The headlines were more than a little misleading. Evidently NASA discovered...some weird lima bean-looking bacteria that sprout in arsenic. Awesome times ten. Now I'm sure to anyone who paid attention in biology class or ~~passed~~ did well in chemistry, this is kind of cool.

Yawn.

NASA, here are a few alien life forms actually worth a place in my Facebook status.

Yoda

He is the man, er whatever. He is a lean, green fighting machine. Plus he knows everything. And just try to talk like that. Stupid you'll sound.

Howard the Duck

Not only did Howard kick the Dark Overlord's ass, he totally scored with babelicious rocker chick Lea Thompson. Sounds like one alien duck (??) I'd like to meet.

ALF

I think a planet full of ALFs would be fantastic. He could help us get the damn cat population down.

Coneheads

I'm always looking for new companions with whom to consume mass quantities.

The Cocoon Dudes

Wilford Brimley never had to worry about his diabetes supplies again.

Ewoks

How are these adorable-icious little cuddly things even aliens? I bet somewhere on their planet we would also discover chocolate fountains and money trees.

E.T.

He has a thing for Reeses Pieces, he can make your bicycle fly, he has cute glow-in-the-dark insides, he loves beer, and he won't hog the conversation. Win.

Now, there are a few aliens I would rather leave on Pluto (if Pluto exists...has NASA figured that whole thing out yet?)...

Aliens

These are the scariest things I have ever seen. If these actually exist somewhere, we are unbelievably screwed. So Richard Branson wants to sell us all tickets into outer space, huh? Unless there is a Ripley clone seated next to me...with a bazooka...count me out, Dick.

Predator

Second scariest thing in outer space? This. Although AVP made this guy look a little wussy, I still wouldn't want to run into him in a dark alley. I mean, the Governator got his ass handed to him back in the 80s.

Spock

The hand thing, the ears, the Vulcan Mind Probe...I don't trust this guy.

The Three Morons from "Earth Girls are Easy"

Most. Obnoxious. Aliens. Ever. Really, Gina? Really?

Happy Holidays: Throwin' 'Bows and Crackin' Nuts

2010-11-26T18:58:00.000-06:00

Even though the malls have been swathed in candy canes and jingle bells since the day after Halloween, everyone knows that the "holiday season" doesn't officially start until Thanksgiving...and really technically the day after Thanksgiving.

Do not ever attempt to mix Halloween and Christmas. Unless you happen to be Tim Burton. Which you're not. Unless you are...Tim, if you read my blog, be a pal and pass me Johnny Depp's contact info.

I opted to forgo the annual family Thanksgiving gathering in Alabama. You know, too far, too expensive, not enough time, yada yada yada. There is typically a pretty good spread. Some of my favorites are cheese grits and sweet potato casserole. My mother always brings the ambrosia...which is essentially just mandarin oranges and coconut. I don't really know why it's called ambrosia, since this stuff pretty much sucks, and supposedly ambrosia is Greek for food of the gods or something. Whoever claimed the name "ambrosia" for this crap was blowing it more than a little out of proportion.

Evidently there were t-shirts at Thanksgiving this year. One can only hope that's a new annual tradition. After dinner, I'm sure everyone grabbed their shotguns and went out back to kill stuff and play on the tractor. Seriously.

Last year

I enjoyed a DiGiorno pizza on Thanksgiving. Actually I didn't really enjoy it that much, because I burned the crap out of it. Good thing I had a bag of Butterfinger bells to save the meal.

I wasn't going to hit the stores on Black Friday. In fact, I was considering a day of serious soul-searching. But after stumbling upon a Target ad for a door-buster (read: 4 a.m.) deal on a $12 air mattress cha-CHING, I decided I pretty much had no choice. Soul-searching will have to wait.

I made the two-mile drive from my apartment and found the Target parking lot...packed. At 4:17 in the morning. After a few minutes of mental preparation while playing, Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger," I made my way to the entrance, ready to throw some 'bows if necessary. I floated stealthily between bleary-eyed shoppers carrying TVs and made a beeline toward the camping supply area to locate my loot. Wah-waaahhhh. What a piece of shit. I couldn't believe I dragged my ass out into the 25-degree morning - coffeeless - for this. Well, I figured since I was already up, I might as well get into the fucking holiday spirit and check out the decorations, damn it.

A few minutes later, I emerged with a $20 plastic Canadian fir tree, and all four limbs.

Coffeeeee...

Let me just say that I can be a bit of a Scrooge at times. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but I was really in the holiday spirit when I got home. If I had any eggnog, I would have been chugging it. If I owned a Santa sweater to wear over my candy cane turtleneck, I would have put it on. If I had Mariah Carey's Christmas album...all right, you got me, I own pretty much every album Mariah Carey ever released, but that's all in the past. It was a dark time in my life.

Anyway, I decked the halls.

Every time I added an ornament, I had to adjust the tree so it wouldn't fall to that side.

I figured while I was at it, I would bust out my one and only collection. My mother started collections for all three girls when we were pretty young.

Julia - Snowbabies

Anna - Madame Alexander dolls

And these are my Nutcrackers.

Some of these little suckers have been around for 20 years.

Yeah, they're pretty cute. But I am highly skeptical of any actual nut-cracking abilities.

Sunday Funday: Allison's Treasure Chest

2010-11-21T18:30:00.000-06:00

I'm not a keeper.

I mean, I am a keeper; I don't keep stuff. Like many of my most lovable qualities, I get that from my mother. I think she's part Amish. She loved coming through our bedrooms regularly with Hefty bags and disappearing with anything that happened to be touching a surface - clothes, toys, homework, children...there used to be eight of us.

So aside from explaining the circumstances to my boyfriend, living for months with only an air mattress, a few clothes, and some paper plates wasn't that odd for me. But I do allow myself one Tupperware bin of random old crap.

Because Sol went home to New York for Thanksgiving, I spent today performing essential Sunday beauty rituals and cleaning my apartment. When I go out of town, he plays video games, shoots guns, and somehow manages to turn his apartment into a frat house. When he goes out of town, I watch chick flicks, eat Hostess cakes and turn my apartment into a salon.

While I waited for my honey and egg mask to soften my skin, my olive oil to condition my hair, and my nail polish to dry, I decided to clean out my junk bin.

You may know I am a bit of a pool shark. It really got going when I was bartending in Portland back in 2003. I joined the APA (American Poolplayers Association) and scored a sweet patch. For my denim jacket, of course.

That same year my coworkers begged me to join their bowling league. I don't think they ever actually let me bowl. I have a sneaking suspicion they needed an extra person.

Yeah I have a pager. What's up.

I guarantee this tape has The Cranberries and/or Sir Mix-A-Lot.

Let's take it back a little further. Now let me just explain that back in the day, my life consisted of exactly two things: breaking swimming records and making A's in school.

Nerd alert...

You're not seeing double. I was in the Academic Spotlight twice. I told the interviewer I was going to be an architect in North Carolina. Yeah, that didn't quite pan out.

Good thing I was also well on my way to being an entrepreneur.

But most of my celebrity has come from my swimming abilities.

You might notice the fine-looking hunk of teenage dude behind me and think, "Wow, I wonder what it would've been like to be a swimmer and hang out with hot, mostly-naked guys all the time?" Yeah, totally not that cool. Most of them were even dorkier than I was, and at 5 a.m. practice, they just smell like morning breath. The last thing you're thinking about is the fact that they're sporting banana hammocks. Also, they shave their legs and armpits several times a year. Point me to the soccer field.

Unfortunately, I was born with chlorine in my blood.

(OMG, Julia, you look so nerdy in this picture.)

So that's about the extent of the contents of my treasure chest, besides some old W-2s from Chili's and a couple of love letters from my mom. Wow, my life is infinitely cooler now.

I've lost my city feet.

2010-11-17T12:54:00.002-06:00

I just got back from four days in New York. Bliss. (OK, two days in New York, two days in Jersey.) Photo essay samples in 3, 2, 1...

I went to MoMA and saw some fantastic art (albeit a lot of hoo-hoos and ha-has), downed my weight in pizza, bagels, and soy cappuccinos, walked approximately 29 miles in heels (atouristsayswhat?), and complained non-stop about the "cold" weather...which, incidentally, was the reason I wanted to visit in the first place. One huge disappointment? No hipster sightings whatsoever. What a load of crap.

Sigh...

*The last one is just photographic evidence that I am, in fact, taller than Shaunna.

Asphinctersayswhat

2010-11-08T23:41:00.000-06:00

I know "Wayne's World" by heart. Including Garth's Foxy Lady dance.

You're probably asking yourself, "Why hasn't anyone snapped her up yet?" It might be my penchant for devouring french fries in socks and belt. Or my nasty feet. Or my love of onion dip and Jerry Springer. But probably not.

And now that my highly desirable Wayne and Garth knowledge is out on the interwebs, my phone should start ringing off the hook any minute. Aaannnny minute.

Facebook Hiatus

2010-11-07T18:42:00.003-06:00

So I'm on Facebook hiatus.

Some people are addicted to crack. Some people are addicted to sex. Some people are addicted to food. I'm addicted to Facebook. I've been caught in a downward spiral ever since my departure from MySpace.

I know what you're thinking...that I used to rock a sweet mullet. Yes, yes I did.

If you've ever been in a 12-step program (which I assume most of you have), the first step is admitting you have a problem.

Check.

So now I've got to fill my days with more healthy pastimes, like:

Over-watering my plants, Lucy, Ethel and Mint Plant.
Drawing pages and pages of skulls in my sketchbook.
Washing down tubs of garlic hummus with really strong coffee.
Plucking out all my toe hair with tweezers.
Planning trips to Budapest.
Hammering.

All better than checking randos' lame TGIF, cute-thing-my-baby-just-did, and quote of the day status updates. The only downside? How much everyone will miss my awesome and hilarious status updates.

Belated Blog Birthday

2010-11-02T22:42:00.000-05:00

My blog turned one year old last week.

I turned 31.

Don't worry, a fire extinguisher was on hand. Just a heads-up to anyone who hasn't hit this fantastic milestone yet, it's not nearly as painful as turning 30. And I didn't even set the "soft deadline" for myself.

Last year on my birthday, I had just moved back to Texas and was seriously considering putting Visine in all five roommates' coffee. I treated myself to some enchiladas at a Mexican place down the street, overdrawing my bank account. I didn't mind, considering I hadn't eaten in a couple of days.

So things are already looking up this year.

On a very rare serious note, a co-worker died very suddenly last week. She was 30. It always takes a tragedy to make you remember to live as though you might not see tomorrow. Because you might not.

Famous Boys I Have Loved But Never Stalked

2010-10-21T18:43:00.000-05:00

Tom Selleck. I don't know if this one even counts. I remember my mother making me call this mustachioed piece of hunk "bootiful" when I was like two years old, while watching Magnum P.I. in the den. Check out those jeans. You can see everything. Maybe it really was love...

Michael Jackson. Pre-WTF, of course. MJ was the only man I thought I was going to marry. I would have been over the moon about doing my tap routine to Thriller in fourth grade (complete with cardboard headstones and black lights), had I not already moved on to my Wilson Phillips stage.

Michael J. Fox. This man is no chicken. He made me a firm believer in time travel. And I think puffy vests are sexy.

The entire cast of Newsies. This is a movie about Christian Bale singing and dancing, surrounded by lots of other hot, singing, dancing boys. I have been aware of Christian Bale since 1992. Well aware. Very well aware.

Jordan Catalano. "I'm in love. His name is Jordan Catalano. He was left back, twice. Once I almost touched his shoulder in the middle of a pop quiz. He's always closing his eyes, like it hurts to look at things."

Butch Walker. Once the lead singer of one of my all-time favorite glam-pop bands Marvelous 3, Butch gave me a little sugar buzz from the way he was flipping guitar picks into the audience at now-ancient-history Trax in Charlottesville. God I love those glasses.

Zack Braff. He's a gigantic dork. I'm a gigantic dork. He's got a crush on Natalie Portman. I've got a crush on Natalie Portman. We're like, brain twins.

Johnny Depp. Do I need to explain this one? I assume you all have imaginations.

Stuff I Hate, a Non-Exhaustive List (Part 2)

2010-10-19T23:06:00.001-05:00

Uggs. There's a reason these are nicknamed "Fuggs." It's because they are fucking ugly. Yes, looking sasquatchesque from the mid-fake-tanned-calf down is an awesome look. Especially when paired with skanky jorts. Why won't they just die already?

The word y'all in written form. Really? I hate this word enough when spoken. BUT. You took the time to reach for the shift and ' keys? The word you or the phrase you all are not only quicker to type, but they just sound, well, you know. If you still insist, remember it's y'all, not ya'll. Idiots.
Harry Potter and Twilight. I'm grouping these two into one insanely irritating bullet point. I read the first Harry Potter book. It was pretty entertaining. So I read the second. It was the same book. Maybe that's because I'm not nine years old - or 29 years old with an IQ of a nine year-old. I stand firm against Twilight. I guarantee I just offended at least three people.

Toe socks. WTF.

Hot weather. This blows considering I live in Texas. Where is it hotter? Arizona? The Mojave Desert? The Sun? It is not OK to run the A/C at night at the end of October, because it's still in the 80s outside. Know what I learned about this summer? Heat rash and $200 electricity bills.

Empty airline exit rows. My ass is stuffed between an Elvis impersonator and 6'8", 350-pound business traveler from Nebraska back here. There are two glorious roomy empty rows up there just begging for my company. Oh, but wait. What's that you say, Miss (crotchety old) Flight Attendant (on a power trip)? Those are reserved for passengers who've paid to sit there? You're kidding, right? Funny, I thought the exit rows were for exiting in an emergency. So since no one paid for the extra leg room, who helps when this plane is going down in a ball of flames? (I mean, yeah, probably no one at that point, but still.) If you are going to leave me back here with Elvis and Andre the Giant, I will be very hesitant to offer my former flight attendant skills should there be any kind of emergency. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, mkay? And bring me a Coke. In the can.

A dude ripping his face off, but not really so much.

2010-10-06T22:20:00.000-05:00

Evidently remote-control meat and stick-hands dropping Play Doh in a sink were super creepy back in the day.

What is kinda eerie is that the actress who played the lead in this movie (Poltergeist) died during the making of Poltergeist III, at age 12...legend has it, due to a curse from the real skeletons used in this movie.

Happy Halloween!

Office Spread: An Overview

2010-10-06T19:01:00.000-05:00

Office Spread (or Office Butt) is a very common affliction affecting millions of professionals around the world. Although it can be found in any working adult, it is most commonly found in those employed in the admininstrative, marketing and communications, technology and finance fields.

This condition is typically the result of long spans of time browsing Facebook and emailing cubemates from mesh-covered adjustable office chairs. Usage of buzzwords like "low-hanging fruit" and "target-rich environment" increases the risk of developing Office Spread. In addition, those who work in locations offering monthly or weekly birthday celebrations involving cake and/or ice cream nearly triple their risk.

Before Office Spread

After Office Spread

Signs and Symptoms

The main symptom of Office Spread is an enlarged ass. The condition is named for the spread of the buttcheeks, in some cases actually spilling over the sides of the office chair.

Office Spread can be accompanied by Grandma Arm, a condition in which the upper arm skin continues to reverberate long after a wave has been completed.

In severe cases, FUPA and cankles may develop.

Treatment

The only known treatment for Office Spread is exercise. Unfortunately, many who suffer from this condition develop a treadmill allergy.

My name is Simon. And I like to do drawrings.

2010-09-29T11:48:00.002-05:00

So you already know that I am an excellent dancer, singer, scientific genius, and ninja superhero. But you probably didn't know that I'm also kind of a Monet. Not this kind of a Monet...

Like, a real one?

Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I totally won the school art contest in fourth grade.

And now I've decided to go back to my artsy-fartsy roots by taking a class at the most prestigious of all local community colleges, Brookhaven. To really get into the mood, I've essentially plastered the walls of my apartment with my pieces (that's art-talk for drawings).

Now, I haven't watermarked any of my pieces (see above for definition)...also they were taken with a crappy cell phone camera...BUT you might want to say you knew me when. Or at least followed my blog.

I heart my co-workers.

2010-09-23T18:05:00.000-05:00

Me: "Hey, what's up?"

Female coworker: "Nothing...just buffin' my peach."

I turned around, confused. She was holding a peach...and she was buffing it.

Later, I explained to the same coworker that these...

...are not called "tennyshoes." They are tennis. shoes. As in you play tennis while wearing them. She wears them during her Latin Heat classes.

Then I found out that another coworker took this person to prom:

She was on American Gladiators, y'all. For realz.

Seriously, my job rules.

Sam Rockwell = Sid Vicious?

2010-09-22T14:34:00.000-05:00

Discuss.

Five Things I've Discovered Via Mobiiiiiile

2010-09-09T18:06:00.000-05:00

My left foot is the best-tasting part of my whole body. I have 18 mosquito bites on that foot. WTF. On a size 7.5 foot, that is a helluva lot of nibbles. There isn't enough Cortizone on the entire planet to stop this itching. I'm so freaking lucky I was too young to remember having chicken pox...my parents would have murdered me. I am not of the "leave it alone" school; I'm more of the "whine a crapload and scratch the shit out of it until you have an ugly scar" school.

EW.

There is at least one nude beach in Texas. It's called Hippie Hollow, natch. And it is frequented by people who ought to stay home when nude. As Jerry Seinfeld once said, "the thing you don't realize is that there's good naked and bad naked." These folks? Bad naked.

Taking mirror photos is hard. And dumb. But my hat is awesome.

Baby eels have no faces. Or more likely, tapas restaurants are scamming folks by painting gray stripes on delicious salty noodles and serving them as baby eels. Duh times ten.

You will always look at this. And then I will get to punch you.

So I'm a Slacker. Squared.

2010-09-01T17:24:00.000-05:00

Yeah, yeah, yeah, so it's been a while since my last post. I was keeping a running list of blog ideas in my BlackBerry, which was recently replaced by this little slice of heaven:

And the note application I'm now using sucks. So clearly it's not my fault.

Here's a partial list of things that have (and have not) been filling up my spare time:.

Brunch. This pseudo-meal has become a twice-a-week tradition. Getting hammered + breakfast foods = um, yes please. Hmmm, should I pair my bottomless mimosa with a cheeseburger or pancakes? The obvious choice is anything smothered in fried eggs.

Concerts. Nostalgia washed over me at the recent Toadies concert, where I guzzled lukewarm Bud Light, rocked my Chuck Taylors and threw the horns. I'll be doing the same at The Pixies show in a couple of weeks, but I'm pretty sure the Matt & Kim show calls for more hipster flare.
Work. Note to self: go to Idaho and mug this person.
Class. Again. Yep, I'm back in college. Kinda. Community college. I have now been in post-high school education for 13 years. That has to be some kind of record, although I guess Rodney Dangerfield is still slightly ahead.
Sweating to death. Seriously.

Not going to the gym. I quit my last gym, joined a new gym a month ago...and went three times. To be honest, I really don't foresee adding to that at any time in the near future. The reason I quit my last gym? They called and e-mailed nastygrams when I hadn't been for a while. My new gym doesn't give a crap whether I go or not, as long as I fork over $30 a month.
Not going on vacation. I seriously can't remember my last vacation. Was it to Jamaica for spring break 1999? Ah, memories: free Red Stripe beer and a nasty sunburn. And "staycations" don't count. Yeah, hanging out in my crappy apartment with a Mai Tai and a can of Easy Cheese is totally the same thing as a week in paradise.
Not watching TV. This will be changing shortly. It's football season, bitches. SKINS.

So there you have it, folks. You're all caught up. Please don't hate me for my last few weeks of booze-infused blog absence. ~~I promise~~ I'll try to never leave you again.

Dissecting the Hipster, Part 1

2010-08-03T18:55:00.004-05:00

I have no fucking clue what a hipster is. There, I said it.

I really thought all that mess was just kind of the style these days.

Now I just feel old and totally out of it. Clearly this means I have to start wearing nude pantyhose and orthopedic shoes and taking Metamucil and writing checks at the grocery store and keeping hard candy in my pocketbook now.

Hold the phone.

Let's wiki-pedia it. "Hipster is a slang term that first appeared in the 1940s, and was revived in the 1990s and 2000s often to describe types of young, recently-settled urban middle class adults and older teenagers with interests in non-mainstream fashion and culture, particularly alternative music, indie rock, independent film, magazines such as Vice and Clash, and websites like Pitchfork Media."

How about Urban Dictionary? "Hipsters are a subculture of men and women typically in their 20's and 30's that value independent thinking, counter-culture, progressive politics, an appreciation of art and indie-rock, creativity, intelligence, and witty banter...Hipsters reject the culturally-ignorant attitudes of mainstream consumers, and are often be seen wearing vintage and thrift store inspired fashions, tight-fitting jeans, old-school sneakers, and sometimes thick rimmed glasses. Both hipster men and women sport similar androgynous hair styles that include combinations of messy shag cuts and asymmetric side-swept bangs...Despite misconceptions based on their aesthetic tastes, hipsters tend to be well educated and often have liberal arts degrees, or degrees in maths and sciences, which also require certain creative analytical thinking abilities."

So, hipsters are men or women, 20-39, who like art and music, wear cool clothes, including old-school sneakers and funky glasses, have good hair with side-swept bangs, and college degrees? That sounds like half the people I saw out last weekend. That sounds like half the people I know.

(On an unrelated note, make sure you look up your name on Urban Dictionary. Mine is crazy accurate.)

I am now on a mission to decode the hipster mystery. To help me with this, Sol and I are engaging in a friendly game of Hipster Bingo. This might be preliminarily unfair, considering Sol is actually from New York, the mecca of all Hipsterdom, and he has an automatically cool name, grew up without television and wears cool Elvis Costello glasses. Hipster? Hmmmm...

Time to study The Hipster Handbook, I guess. Game on.

Criminal Stupidity: "Son, you've got a panty on your head."

2010-07-23T16:14:00.000-05:00

So you feel like knocking over a drive-thru. OK. What's the first thing you grab to cover your face from nosy surveillance cameras? Ski mask? Nah. Chewbacca mask? Nah. Dirty jock strap and some paper clips? Yeah, that's the ticket!

This dumbass brings to mind one of the funniest movie scenes in history.

Pseudo-Adulthood Chronicles: When I Feel Most Grown.

2010-07-21T19:46:00.000-05:00

So I'm 30 years old, but there are some things that always make me feel like an adult. Which I clearly am not.

Dry cleaning - This is like the ultimate grown-up errand. Every real adult's to-do list includes, "Pick up the dry cleaning." I have no special instructions regarding starch. I'm more like, "Please make sure this suit jacket doesn't still smell like happy hour when I come back for it." I'm not sure what it is about carrying a pile of freshly pressed slacks and blouses to my car...maybe it's simply the fact that in order to need dry cleaning, I have to wear professional clothing, unlike my typical uniform of knee socks, pizza-stained college t-shirts and pajama bottoms.

Gas pumping - This one is simple to figure out. No need to pump gas unless you can drive, which means that this is a chore only for those 16 and older. Grown-ups. I wonder if you can ever completely feel like an adult in states like Oregon or New Jersey, where you can't pump your own gas. I highly doubt it.

Having a P.O. box - I've moved a lot, right? So a few years back I finally wised up and got my very own post office box, to avoid the forwarding of forwarded mail from a twice-forwarded address. Making a special trip to the post office (with my very-own special key) just feels different than getting mail at home...along with infinite piles of those damned coupon sheets that never fail to bombard my mailbox at apartment complexes.

Buying booze - I gotta say, this is a major perk of adulthood. After you pass birthday number 21, I'm not sure any of the others are worth much. Long gone are the days of trolling liquor store parking lots for potential booze buyers and slipping them an extra $20. Not that I ever did that.

Going to jail - Just kidding.

Stuff I Hate, a Non-Exhaustive List (Part 2)

2010-07-17T11:42:00.003-05:00

Orange people. When will the madness end? I won't even go into that nasty, pungent chemical smell. (What is that, by the way? It can't be healthy.) Anyone who has ever studied art knows that orange is the exact complement to blue, which is to say that orange and blue are exact opposites...enemies. You know who's blue?

So orange people = Gargamel.

Rush. If I ever find myself in a prison-camp torture situation (pretty likely at some point in my life, actually), there are only a handful of things guaranteed to make me talk. I don't want to compromise my situation by divulging these outright, but a steady stream of Rush songs may or may not be on the list.

Getting up to pee at night. Maybe there's something to the adult diaper thing.

Bright Lights, Big(ger) City

2010-07-17T10:52:00.001-05:00

Well I'm over the moon. My very first business travel! (Those years of slinging peanuts and sodas do not count.) On Monday I'm heading to New York for a marketing and social media conference.

Fantasy version of the trip:
I step out of the airport in my Sunday best, and manage to awkwardly hail a cab.

He helps me with my luggage.

I'm practically hanging out the window all the way to the hotel, just to take it all in. (I was going to say I was peering out the top of a limo, but come on, that would just be cliché.)

The doorman at the hotel doesn't know quite what to make of me, nor I of him. But don't you worry - by the end of my journey, I'll win him over with my irresistible country charm...and you never know, I just might pick up some street smarts from him along the way.

The next day, I stumble into a radio station while I'm out looking for jobs. (Play along, all right?) They mistake me for a renowned radio talk show host, throw me on the air...and what do you know? I'm a total hit. No one ever finds out, I move to the city and live happily ever after.

Reality version of the trip:
I just moved back to Dallas from Hoboken, people. The most exciting thing about this trip is the 12-degree difference in temperature. Oh, and also H&M.

I'll be there for three days, only one in its entirety, which will be spend at a conference with other tech company marketing geeks like me. Score: Allison for free breakfast, lunch and "snacks." Fingers crossed for promotional schwag, including but not limited to, pens, thumb drives...could there be some type of laptop bag? Let's not get crazy.

Somehow those nutty gods of fortune saw to it that I will be there for my friend Josh's birthday Tuesday. We haven't made any solid plans yet, but I can promise it won't be nearly as off the chain as Josh's Birthday Extravaganza 2009.

Gift time! A cowboy hat, a mini flashlight, and a check for $12.60. Let's just say I paid off some folks' very old debts last year.

Blanket Forts FTW

2010-07-11T21:42:00.001-05:00

I just got the following picture message:

"Sweet!" I replied. "I loooove indoor camping. So fun!"

"Yeah, ha ha."

I assume the sender thought my response was oozing with my usual amount of sarcasm. Not so.

I freakin love inside tents, and it all started with blanket forts. Oh, you don't know about blanket forts? Let me edumuhcate you.

Blanket fort - When every pillow, sofa cushion, movable chair, and (obv.) blanket in the vicinity is used to assemble a complex, massive, sometimes multi-room-spanning construction of tunnels and chambers, through which children can burrow, while scarfing junk food and hoarding toys. Every mother's clean-up nightmare.

My siblings and I had some epic blanket forts. We would live in there for days, pretty much until my mother wanted to used the sofa...or a blanket...or a chair...or was looking for any of the the food in the house.

What is so special about forts for kids? Maybe it's having that first taste of your very own space, a place that's just your size, that you created, a place where you can hide and eat Oreos, or read a book, or daydream, even if it's a towel hung between two dining chairs.

I wonder if that tent in the picture message would have the same feeling now that I've had my own place(s) for so long? I doubt it, but I wish it would.

Check out the big brain on Joe!

2010-07-09T16:24:00.004-05:00

Baby bro Joe is officially a college graduate. We now have the complete set of diplomas.

He has decided to skip the commencement ceremony. I don't know...miss the chance to sit outside for hours in 100-degree weather with a buttload of people you don't know, while wearing a baggy polyester dress over your (hopefully) clothes, complete with an awesome matching cardboard hat with a tassel? Oh, and at the end, you get handed a ~~diploma~~ blank piece of paper, all while trying not to fall up and down the stairs? Count me in.

Joe is a super smart cookie, graduating with a philosophy degree. Yeah, yeah, let's have it. I'm sure he's heard it all.

I would just like to say, tease all you want. College is tough, especially when you're a super-star college athlete like my bro. No, for realz!

I just barely beat him out of school...and he's like seven years my junior. So big fist pumps.

Tommy: Did you hear I finally graduated?
Richard Hayden: Yeah, and just a shade under a decade too. All right.
Tommy: You know a lot of people go to college for seven years.
Richard Hayden: I know, they're called doctors.

And let's not bust too much on the philosophy thing, mkay? There are far less promising options out there.

He could have chosen to major in:

Equine journalism - Now, OK, I majored in journalism, and I'm not exactly playing in mountains of money like Scrooge McDuck. But I can't fathom the reason for spending four years learning how to construct proper sentences solely about Mr. Ed.

Canadian studies - Canada rules, eh? But are they really cool enough to study for four years? Now, I'd be down with Belize studies or Iceland studies. But...Canada? Really?

Bakery science and management - Mostly I'm just pissed because this was not my major. WTF. My entire college career could have been spent eating cupcakes? But seriously, you have to study to manage a bakery? Rule #1: Try not to eat yourself out of business (or into an untimely death). Rule #2: Lock the door when you leave.

Adventure education - This is some hippie, hippie shit here. Where else but in Vermont could you get a college degree in playing outside?

Sports ministry - And then in Kentucky, they put a religious spin on games, where you can learn to read scripture while you swim laps. And you can get a college degree for it.

So in short, congratulations to the final kiddo to graduate from college. Now we can follow our life-long dream and form a kick-ass all-sibling rock band.

Workday Sugarbuzz Mysteries: Muppet Massacres and Elevator Temptations

2010-07-05T21:23:00.000-05:00

If you're an avid reader of this award-winning blog, you might recall that I gave up sugar back in May. This lasted until my sister's wedding.

Temptation is truly everywhere.

Work is a real challenge. While on the elevator a couple of weeks ago, I looked down and saw this little morsel of heaven in a gold wrapper...toffee.

Luckily my office is on the third floor; if I had one more second to contemplate my choices, I definitely would have scooped it up and popped it in my pocket. No, I have no shame when it comes to snacking.

Just last week, I found this in the break room:

Make sure you read the note. The note says, "Eat me! Delicious cupcakes...They look funny b/c I took the icing off." Now, to most people these might be one of the single most unappetizing foods imaginable...scalped Elmos with crazy eyeballs. In addition, the little beasties came with an "Eat me" note attached. Remember what happened when Alice fell for that in Wonderland?

Amy created a slight breach of etiquette by skipping the triple dare and going right for the throat. Fortunately someone was standing by with the "Drink me" antidote.

You love me! You really love me!

2010-07-04T20:07:00.000-05:00

Ohmigosh! Warm fuzzies abound! Rad dudette Sasha at Things I Like to Eat (...and Other Nonsense) has given me my very first blog award!

Yes, I hear your cries of "speech, speech!" But sadly friends, my speech was totally ripped off a few years back. Here is exactly what I would have said:

I really still don't know how she got a hold of it.

In the grand tradition of blog awards, I'm passing this award along to some more awesome fellow bloggers:

Rachel at From Muffin Top to Six Pack Abs
Anna at Rooks Rundown
Sara at Sara In Le Petit Village

May the force be with you.

Road Trippin' Rules

2010-06-28T19:21:00.001-05:00

I went on a road trip last weekend from Harrisburg, PA to Dallas, TX...1,438 miles, for anyone interested. Now, because this was a bit of a last-minute trip, I did not adhere to the Road Trippin' Rules. Forgivable in this case, but if you're planning your own excursion, try to adhere to these tips for maximum funnage.

1. Road snacks are a necessary item. Preferred foods are Combos (pizza-flavored) and M&Ms (peanut, unless you're an allergic freak), but it is essential to stick purely to processed foods. Note: Hostess products may be a temptation at the gas station, but stay away. They are not car-friendly. Especially fruit pies.

2. Play car games. "Punch buggy" and the license plate game are two great standbys. I was introduced on this trip to two new games, both of which I lost royally, so ~~I do not recommend those games~~ those games are dumb.

3. Stock your iPod. Tunes are a must on long road trips, and it's best if you create an extra-special road trip mix, including hits like Willie Nelson's "On the Road Again" and Tom Cochrane's "Life is a Highway." Stay away from "I Can't Drive 55" by Van Halen. Why? Because that song sucks.

4. Roadside attractions like five-legged cows and the biggest ball of string are purely for your entertainment. Fork over the $12 admission, ya tightwad, and check out the prairie dog city.

5. Regarding roadside restrooms: hover.

6. Wear loose clothing. Road bloat is real. Air conditioning + Combos + giving in to the Hostess temptation + McDonald's + busting your lungs to Tom Petty's "Free Falling" = gas.

7. Drive the speed limit, dumb ass. Especially in Virginia. Or anywhere in the southern states if you have New York tags. Have you seen My Cousin Vinny?

8. Stay awake...caffeinate. I am witness to the miraculous effect that seven cups of coffee and two Red Bulls can have.

An Abbreviated Employment (Pre)History

2010-06-21T18:38:00.001-05:00

I often get asked about the secret of my success. OK I will never be asked that question. But I've had some ~~awesome~~ ~~fun~~ interesting jobs in my life. Here are a few of them. (Yes, for real, just a few of them.) Laugh it up.

Position: Lifeguard
When: 1994-1997
Job Duties: Working on my tan; Acting too cool for school; Drinking as much free soda as I could possibly drink; Eating as many free microwave pizzas as I could possibly eat; Occasionally scooping a toddler out of the shallows before certain death; Blowing whistles
What I Learned: I really just don't tan well.

Position: Nanny
When: 1998
Job Duties: Going to the pool; Going to amusement parks; Going to the beach; Going to the mall; Going to the movies; Watching TV; Eating a ton of awesome crappy food; Oh yeah, hanging out with two rad kids who needed approximately zero supervision
What I Learned: Being paid to do nothing truly is my ultimate life goal, especially if it also involves unlimited snacks.

Position: Chilihead
When: 1998-2002
Job Duties: Stealing french fries off people's plates; Hiding outside by the dumpster at any mention of the words, "I need birthday singers"; Making up fake drink recipes, coloring them blue or green, serving them to drunk girls and calling them my specialties; Generally hating my life
What I Learned: You cannot, cannot get the smell of fajitas out of one of those polo shirts.

Position: Gadzooks Slave
When: 2001-ish (two weeks)
Job Duties: Selling crappy glittery halter tops to preteens; Climbing two stories on a wobbly ladder to reorganize the storage closet; Being ordered around by a bossy, bitchy 19-year-old store manager
What I Learned: Just leave on your lunch break and never come back. Seriously. Just leave. (Make sure you grab Sbarro on your way out of the mall, of course.)

Position: Flight Attendant
When: 2004-2006
Job Duties: Flying from ~~bar to bar~~ city to city in the US; Pointing my fingers on airplanes; Smiling; Wearing polyester, pantyhose and lipstick
What I Learned: US Weekly and People Magazine are more valuable to a flight attendant than actual cash.

Position: Call Center Rep
When: 2006 (two months)
Job Duties: Selling, selling, selling; Getting death threats from insanely pissed off customers
What I Learned: Never hang up, always be selling, even if the customer tells you to "go sit on something sharp, sweetie." (Yeah, I still don't know what that one meant. I think he was Irish?)

Position: Airline Gate Agent
When: 2006-2008
Job Duties: Hunky-dory flight operations at DFW airport, until not...like snow, or thunderstorms...or I think once a wheel fell off our plane?
What I Learned: Passengers will never understand.

"Oh, you hate your job? Why didn't you say so? There's a support group for that. It's called everybody, and they meet at the bar.” - Drew Carey

Stuff I Hate, a Non-Exhaustive List (Part 1):

2010-06-08T17:47:00.002-05:00

Those plastic loops that sneak their way out of the armpit area of any utterly age-inappropriate, see-through, polyester, braless, backless, sequined, under-twenty-bucks-but-so-what-it's-soon-to-be-smelling-like-Marlboros/vodka/cologne-and-tossed-in-the-Goodwill-pile-anyway top. I'm looking at you, Forever 21. There have been incredible scientific breakthroughs in clothes hanger technology over the years, rendering these armpit-nuisances worthless. Fail.

Cropped pants. Please, someone fill me in. I don't get it. I want to get it. I feel left out.

Norm MacDonald.

Cats doing stuff. I am an animal lover. People who know me know that. But this site makes me throw up a little in my mouth.

Babies doing stuff. Anne Geddes photos are simply frightening. See the baby-bunny-beastie below.

Biting into something you think has chocolate chips and discovering they're raisins.

Having a Perez Hilton Moment

2010-06-07T17:43:00.001-05:00

Sisterlympics: The Games We Played

2010-06-03T17:56:00.001-05:00

Since I've been blabbing so much about Julia's recent hitchin' festivities, I gave Matthew and her their own blog label.

How I thought this would go unchallenged by my other sister Anna, is beyond me. Not that she's starving for the spotlight.

So Anna, this post is just for you.

My parents got it on 28 years ago and eventually produced a big-mouthed blonde blessing named Anna. Now while she did ruin my only-child status, she was pretty cool for a brat. She was my first BFF. And as BFFs do, we loved playing together, and we came up with some pretty sweet games.

Péoplé: Not "people." Péoplé. Péoplé was essentially Barbies, but with other toys included - Care Bears, Breyer horses, She-Ra, My Little Ponies...One (fuzzy blue) pony in particular was Wind Whistler. Anna would make this annoying wind-whistling sound whenever that damn horse did anything, and she got this far-off look in her eyes when she would fly it around the room.

What a weirdo. To get back at her, I cut off one of her Barbies' hair. I told her it would look really good. It didn't. From that point forward, the ugly short-hair Barbie was the bitch Barbie.

Softball: I somehow always talked Anna into pitching. (Sucka!) And I somehow always hit her with the ball. And I somehow always got blamed. WTF? We didn't play a lot of softball.

Quitters: My parents foolishly allowed us to watch the movie "Critters" as children. This wasn't a foolish decision because of nightmares or anything wussy like that. It was foolish because we got super-into scaring the crap out of one another at a really young age. During games of Quitters, we would turn all the lights off and pretend we were being attacked by these little creatures from the movie.

Scare the Crap Out of Your Sister: This game involved hiding in your sister's room until she was in bed, and then...scaring the crap out of her. This was an awesome game. I was definitely the overall winner of this game.

Pick What You Want: Open a catalog and pick one item from each page, including color. Major penalty for picking the same thing someone else picked.

Pick Who You Are: Watch a TV show and pick who you are. For example, from Kids Incorporated, I was Renee, and Anna was Stacy. That's right, Anna picked Fergie, and I picked buck-toothed Renee.

These days the game we play most is phone tag. Love you, sister.

Mawwiage.

2010-06-02T19:28:00.000-05:00

Julia and Matthew went and got hitched. Much to my chagrin, Matt's last name does not happen to be Goolia. Ah well.

The wedding kicked ass, and congratulations to the new Mr. and Mrs. But this is my blog, so it's all about me on these here internets.

So now I'd like to go over a few things I learned about myself during my weekend in Statesboro, Georgia:

Evidently my skill as an orator is purely subjective. It depends solely on the preceding speaker, and whether or not the topic happens to be, "Disney movies really get me hot."
I do have self-control. When faced with a potentially disastrous opportunity like open access to the bride's Facebook account on her wedding day, as she's occupied with beauty rituals, I can resist any urge to update her status with "Julia is on a bus to Mexico," or "Julia is still so wasted." I can opt instead for "Julia is getting married today!" No, I don't regret that blown chance at all.
I am officially the fierce single sister. No, really, someone I had never met before knew this about me. Holla!
I am a dance machine, and it clearly runs in the family. My niece and nephew? Dude, they can breakdance at two years old. My mother and I might have gotten into a booty-dropping contest. And I definitely got a "whoa, a little too much" at one point.
I am positive that I ate something as a child that stunted my growth. My guesses? The McDonald's fish sandwiches or the tri-flavor popcorn from a tin. I've always been the family shrimp, but the height gap keeps expanding. I look like I stumbled out of Munchkin Land in most of the wedding photos.
Beer and cake are a classy combination, and I'm classy chick for loving the hell out of it.
Nope, still can't pull off a strapless dress. IBTC, FTW.
I am not a cougar. I'm a puma.
I still don't want a wedding.

Dashboard Processional

2010-05-25T20:17:00.002-05:00

I was proud of Ramona when she sliced and diced the pigeon a couple of months ago. She’s a tough cookie, just like her mom (me, for anyone not fluent in Allison). She don’t take no sass from nobody. But evidently she heard me bragging, and she got a little too big for her britches.

Ramona tangled with a Tundra last week.

She lost. This is what Ramona looks like, by the way:

This is what Ramona would look like were she human:

She couldn’t possibly look like anyone but Maxine from the Hallmark cards, except she would definitely be chain-smoking Virginia Slims. When I purchased Ramona, she smelled like the inside of a smoking room in a Motel 6 in Tennessee. She is now channeling Frankenstein...with all the replacement parts, not much of her is even a Subaru at this point. What seemed like a good deal in the beginning, I have paid for twice over the span of nine months. L-E-M-O-N. At least she has low miles at 150,000. Oh wait, I forgot. The odometer was rolled back. That’s actually 250,000.

Rick, my mechanic, called me at work Wednesday. We’re on a hug-hello, life-story basis at this point. After two days of trying to get the jammed hood open after Ramona’s brawl, they discovered that the pouring smoke (no big deal, right?) was just a radiator hose that needed replacing...25 bucks. Sweet.

Oh, and also another 400 for the body work so my hood would stay shut. He wouldn't go for my bungee cord idea. Hey, my undercarriage is being held up with dental floss. No lie.

See, I have a history of automotive woes.

Before Ramona was the Bunny Slayer.

Bunny Slayer was affectionately named after she chased down and ran over the biggest rabbit I have ever seen, in the middle of the Arizona desert. She steered directly for Bugs and thunkthunk. I lost all control over her. She had blood lust - what can I say?

Bunny Slayer’s rear windows only stayed up due to the fact that I had opened the door panels and shoved a year’s subscription’s worth of Lucky magazines inside. The windows still slipped down a bit, so I jammed ink pens and sticks into the rubber pieces to help hold them up.

I was towing Bunny Slayer once (I think on one of the Georgia to Texas moves) and didn’t realize I had to tow her with all four wheels off the ground. All these truck drivers kept honking and waving. I gave a few the one-finger wave. “I’m going as fast as I can, assholes!” When I got to Texas, Bunny Slayer was literally hanging off of the tow bed by one chain. Doh. I tried to drive her off, transmission gone.

Then I moved her to New Jersey. I came out of my Newark apartment one day, walked to my (always parallel) parking spot, to find her...not there. Hmmm. I called the police, who told me she had been stolen but was found the night before. Two days of back-and-forth later, turned out my dumb ass parked in front of a driveway and got towed.

Before Bunny Slayer, there was the Blueberry.

Blueberry was involved in the world’s first and only drive-by rafting. I was driving with a friend in Portland (likely to a bar, luckily not from one) when everything suddenly went orange and BOOM. I pulled off to the right shoulder. My left side mirror was gone and my hood was dented. I looked around and saw a large orange inflatable raft on the left shoulder. A car had pulled off to the left ahead, and someone was running to pick up the raft. I yelled at him to pull to the right shoulder as my friend got his license plate. He collected his ~~lethal weapon~~ raft...and sped off. When I called the police and told them I had been involved in a hit-and-run incident with an inflatable watercraft, they told me to hold before they said there was nothing they could do. I wonder if they were laughing at me when I was on hold...

My first very-own car was Mervo:

Mervo was a late-80s model Ford wagon purchased for $800 from this woman:

My sweet friend Heather told me it wasn’t so bad...that it looked like a cross between a Mercedes and a Volvo. Thus, Mervo. Mervo broke down mucho.

I really think public transportation is the right option for me.

Brain Dump

2010-05-10T22:19:00.003-05:00

A friend of mine used the term "brain dump" in an email today. I thought this would be an appropriate title, as my brain is 'bout to take a dump in this post. I keep a running list of blog ideas in my BlackBerry notes, and I plan to cover a few of them now. I will hold off on "sesame street techno pants'ed" and "short shorts lotion no shower." Mostly because I have no fucking clue what either of those mean. Also because I think each of those might be awesome enough to need its own entire post.

Let's get this show on the road.

I moved again. For anyone keeping track, that makes seven moves in the last two years - three of those in the last six months. After all that moving, I think I've become quite the interior designer. Let me give you a little tour of my new place.

I went for the minimalist look in the living room. Notice the placement of the quilt-wrapped flat screen - right near the cable jack, should I ever decide to pay for cable. And rain boots right by the door are a functional addition to any home.

Now for the study. I haven't decided exactly how to use the study, so right now it's my art studio, home office and gym. What a useful room!

And here's where the magic happens, bitches. Notice the placement of the air mattress. That's some good feng shui.

Because I know you are wondering, yes, my design services are available to any interested parties.

Whatever, living alone is the best! I spent the weekend unbathed and singing to my iTunes in the living room. Another special treat is having my kitchen back. My kitchen. Nobody else's weird-ass food (mini cocktail weenies in a jar, beans, nasty Chili's leftovers) taking up space in my grill. Now it's only my weird food. You see...

I went sugar-free (or at least really, really low sugar).

So these diet staples...

...have been replaced with this crap.

If you look closely, you'll see hummus, tofu, mozzarella, green tea, soy milk, fruits and vegetables. In the freezer I have gluten-free pizza and vegan chicken nuggets. Why, you ask? I had eight photos of desserts in my BlackBerry. Candy breakfasts are no joke with me - they're a real thing. If I'm not careful, I'll end up with the beetis.

Plus I jump at any chance to be a culinary pain in the ass. I was a vegetarian for nearly six years. My diet consisted of grilled cheese sandwiches and Hostess cakes.

So I'm definitely planning a picnic dinner party like Grace Adler. Put down the organic goat brie cheese and return to the picnic area!

Since I have all this space, I've decided it's time to get a hobby. Do you even know how hard it is to find a Hobby Lobby around here? How can I be expected to choose a hobby with the Lobby? After browsing the aisles, I settled on drawing. Wah waaaah. Yeah, I know, boring, shut it. If the drawing doesn't pan out, I'll move on to my second and third choices: sword swallowing and bee charming.

So I guess my new sense of calm has somehow spilled over into my workplace. At our all-company meeting last week, I was awarded this:

Something about being a raving fan, yada yada yada. I got a scarlet letter. WTF. It is funny how this stupid little wooden R has washed a strange contentment over my professional life and alleviated the restlessness. Such a small recognition had such a pacifying, sedating effect. I'm fairly certain it's The Man trying to hold me back. Like drugs, those crimson wooden letters. They turn you into a lemming, and the next thing you know it's 30 years down the road. I ought to burn it, that evil voodoo witch letter.

But evidently, it also stands for "Retiree Bait." Check out my dating matches this week. No lie.

Um. I don't remember ever checking "Santa Claus" as my preferred body type. I can just imagine the third dude saying, "I've got a present for you, little girl. Just come sit in my lap."

Brain elimination complete.

Happy Hands Club

2010-04-24T19:21:00.000-05:00

Let's discuss my seemingly endless talent some more.

You probably already know that I'm an expert at The Sprinkler. However, you probably don't know the story of how I honed those mad skills.

Like most little girls, I took dance lessons. I started with ballet, then added tap classes, and eventually I progressed to...jazz. We spent a couple of hours in a second-floor mirrored studio with no air conditioning, practicing to craptastic 70s piano tunes on Mrs. Klagges' busted old record player.

I would typically be wearing something ~~very similar to~~ exactly like this, stirrups and all:

I can assure you, however, that I never did a standing split inside a tree trunk while I was wearing said get-up.

The shoes weren't much better. These are jazz shoes:

And these are tap shoes:

But around age 10, we graduated to high-heeled tap shoes. Which was soooo bad ass. Also, that's the reason I can totally walk so sexy-like in heels now.

Really the best thing about dance class was the location of the dance studio. It was right next door to an old-school candy store. Because I was blessed with my darling little sister, I would "get" to wait around for an hour before my class. Which basically meant that I spent an hour stuffing my face with Sour Patch Kids, Fireballs, Tootsie Rolls, Candy Cigarettes, and anything else that cost less than a dime.

All this tough practice led up to the annual recital, which was, of course, a major deal in Culpeper. It was always held in the high school auditorium (no need to specify, just one in the entire county at the time), which was super exciting for a fifth grader in a unitard and braces.

We wore makeup and ~~itchy~~ sparkly outfits with tutus and chokers:

Mrs. Klagges picked all the music. And let me tell you, it was almost never fair. For example, in 1989, my sister's class danced to this:

We danced to this:

But even though we got screwed with such a lame song, I got a solo. I got to arabesque (or something) myself all over the center stage. I was such a total prima ballerina, bitches.

After the show, my entire family informed me that I had some weird epileptic flutter-finger hands thing going on. Sure enough, upon inspection of the video footage, I took Mrs. Klagges' "soft ballet hands" instructions about 17 steps too far. I don't know what was going on, but those things were twirling and whirling like they were about to detach and take off. It was like I had a baton...but not.

So I quit dance classes after that. Stupid uncontrollably flailing hands.

Take Your Kids to Earth Day: The Musical

2010-04-22T18:24:00.002-05:00

Today was both Earth Day and Take Your Kids to Work Day. A friend of mine had the idea that there simply must be a blog topic here.

There is. Kind of. Stay with me.

Back in the late '80s, I was a student at St. Luke's Lutheran School. I think I "graduated" from sixth grade with nine other kids, we wore knee-length dresses and attended chapel every Friday, and when I got busted for cheating on one little spelling quiz during the last week of my last year there, I truly thought (and kind of hoped) I was going to be brutally beaten and then assassinated by a firing squad. When I finally set foot in the public school cafeteria wearing red hairbows in my pigtails in seventh grade, "You down with O.P.P?" being shouted by some 13-year-old was truly music to my ears.

Anyway, back at St. Luke's, we were really into musicals. Not just any musicals, of course. One particular musical that comes to mind was called, "It's Cool in the Furnace."

Here's a sample. (This isn't my school, by the way, but this is pretty much identical to us 20-some years ago.)

Now, I don't know why, but I somehow ended up with solos or lead parts in most of these things. Maybe it was because I ooze natural talent. Maybe it was because my mom was a kindergarten teacher at the school. Whatever. In the above musical, I sang a nasally solo about dreams...in a drop-waist diagonal-striped dress with Keds, of course.

In one production, "Androcles and the Lion," I was the rhyme-dropping lion.

One of the productions was some kind of Earth Day thing. We were actually pretty ahead of the times, us St. Luke's Crusaders (uh-huh), considering the holiday has only been around for 40 years now. I won't even go into the countless hours I spent outside with my classmates in the cold, crushing aluminum cans into little discs.

The part I landed in the Earth Day musical was Susie Soda Pop Bottle. Out of curiosity, I looked it up. It seems that "Susie Soda Pop Bottle is a 1950s rock 'n roll girl who loves to dance. She has a very bubbly personality." Well see, here was the thing about that.

Here was what I was wearing:

(Except I said "Soda Pop," of course.)

...plus a dash of...

Yes, I was a giant 10-year-old cheerleading, singing plastic bottle. I didn't want to come out of the bathroom. Once I was coaxed out of hiding, I was far from "bubbly."

So there you go, Grant, that's the best I can do tying kids and Earth Day.

Don't Do It: Babies, Bananas and Bachelorettes

2010-04-15T18:31:00.001-05:00

I like Target. I don't own a lot of household items, clothing or accessories from Target, as their cheap (not-made-in-the-USA) crap tends to fall apart just as quickly as anything you'd buy from a cart in Times Square. But they tend to have a lot of polka dot items. And I like polka dots. Because I'm five.

And if you ever, ever say Target with a soft "g" and a French accent, I will slap you in the face. Two slaps for letting it slip out without any hint of irony.

So I went to Target last week to purchase a couple of necessities: a gift bag and post-Easter-sale Cadbury eggs.

When I got to the checkout line, the lady in front of me frantically swirled around and held up a pink baby outfit. "This is supposed to be for a 12-month-old, but doesn't it look like it's more for an 18-month-old?"

I don't think she caught the utter blankness of my stare.

"Is this more for a 12-month-old or an 18-month-old?" she asked, clearly in a hurry at the cash register.

"Uh, I uh, I don't know anything about that."

She held the outfit up a little higher, looked at it, looked at me, clearly expecting an answer.

"I'm really sorry, I don't know babies."

The woman was looking at me like I had three heads and flames shooting out of my butt.

The chick behind me came to the rescue. "Oh, that'll be fine for a 12-month-old," she assured the visibly irritated (at me) woman. And then she gave me an all-knowing-that's-OK-sweetie-I've-seen-those-shows-about-those-weird-still-single-in-their-thirties-women-that's-some-funny-shit-and-I-sympathize look.

Um, since when was every woman expected to have a Baby PhD? I missed that memo. I didn't even know how to change my (totally more adorable than yours, btw) niece and nephew's diapers when they were babies...like, last year. Why would I know these things?

So I paid for my sundries, and Little Miss Know-It-All behind me proceeded to the front.

"Excuse me, ma'am," she said to Large Marge at the register, "but I ate one of the bananas in that bunch. I was just going to pass out if I didn't. The man over there in the grocery area said I could."

I could instantly tell just from the expression on Marge's face that her opinion of Know-It-All was right in line with mine. Know-It-All - all 105 pounds of her - was decked out in her cute exercise outfit, with her hair and makeup just so. Her groceries consisted of bananas (minus one), bottled water, and two bottles of wine.

"Was the banana meant to be complimentary?" inquired Marge.

I slowly gathered my things.

"Um, no? But that man. He said I could. Can't you just ring up an extra banana or something? I was just starving."

"No. I can't just ring up a banana. You ate it, so it's gone. You took the banana."

I could just feel Know-It-All shrinking in her tights.

"Don't worry about it, ma'am. From now on, please be sure you pay for your groceries before consuming them."

The gift bag I purchased was for my baby sister's bachelorette party. (The other, ahemalsoyounger, sister is already married.) Being the, um, least conservative of the three, I was in charge of providing the penis straws. Which I did.

My sister aced the scavenger hunt I created for her, which included such items as, "Get a group of guys to sing You've Lost that Loving Feeling to you," and "Tell someone how great your ass is, and make him believe it." Kudos.

The most-heard advice of the night? "Don't do it." Agreed.

But, since my sister insists, I wish her and Matthew all the happiness in the world.

What Kind of Superhero I'd Be

2010-04-06T16:09:00.001-05:00

There's a new movie coming out called "Kick-Ass." I kind of want to see it, but I avoid movie theaters and their $10 popcorn like I avoid Herpes, so fat chance until it hits Netflix. Anyhooo...

Now I'm not a comic book nerd or anything, but I got to thinking, if I had a superpower, what would it be? Ideally, of course, invisibility would take the cake. But that is cliché and defies the laws of physics. And pshaw, lame!

SO. Here are the things I'm good at:

Swimming. This one only counts if there's a time machine involved, which of course, there is. (OK, screw physics.) I mentioned before that I used to be a bad-ass swimmer, which is pretty much like being a superhero in and of itself.

Check this out.

Once you find my name (Hint: I was 17, still a female and did the breaststroke...yeah), look up a bit and you'll see the name Kristy Kowal, the silver medalist from the 2000 Olympics. Uh-huh. Of course, right below me you'll notice Misty Hyman, a gold medalist, but almost not worthy of a mention simply due to the fact that she has the worst. name. ever.

Yeah, the list is like some national age group top 16 list or something. And yeah, I was on it.

Punching. And not just for a girl, shut up, for real!! This is, by the way, a very marketable skill for a fledgling superhero.

Knowing stuff. I mean, yeah, I know a lot of dumb stuff, but it could come in really handy should I decide to become Trivia Woman or Quiz-illa. Maybe I just hang out with a lot of dummies. No, I know stuff.

Being ~~cheap~~ frugal. OK, cheap. I'm good at being cheap. This list sucks.

The Sprinkler. OK, this list totally just redeemed itself.

Pool. This would make a pretty super superhero, Pool Shark. And I could incorporate my swimming skills, with the help of my trusty time machine. I might be onto something here.

This, however, is what I wish I could do:

Pool Shark it is.

Guilty Pleasures

2010-03-30T19:50:00.002-05:00

Facebook: My ultimate form of escapism. I can easily waste an entire day browsing Facebook, looking for dumb groups to join, which might explain why I'm now a proud fan of "Bob Ross and His Happy Little Bush" and a member of "Hardee's Breakfast is the Sh*t."

Cheaters: I originally began watching Cheaters when I moved to Dallas and found out that it was a local show. I got really into it when I moved to New Jersey...I recorded all the episodes and would always try to figure out where they were in the metroplex, as if one crappy apartment complex looks any different from the next. I'm pretty sure I've lived in at least two or three of them, though.

Chips and French onion dip: I can imagine what I must look like stuffing my face with handful after handful of chips (corn or potato, doesn't really matter), dripping in French onion dip, and then pretty much licking the jar clean. Hot. There is a reason this is a guilty pleasure.

Craigslist Missed Connections: Don't know about it? You better get up to speed. Missed Connections is a mix of lonely dreamers, pathetic dumpees who long to reunite with their exes, and spouses who are attempting to cheat with the hottie they met at the party last weekend. It is junk food of the Internet.

Fashion don'ts: I like when celebrities look like shit. Especially when they look like shit and fat. It makes me feel good about myself. Yes it does.

Napping on the couch: Especially in the winter, or on a rainy weekend. Necessities within arm's reach? Some type of snack cake, the remote control, and...ahem...my woobie...

The entire bakery section at the grocery store: It doesn't really matter if something is about to expire. To me, that just means it's cheaper. I'm going to eat it all in one sitting...pie, dozen cookies, pound cake, whatever.

The mall: I am really ashamed of loving the mall so much. I don't know why this is. It's a place that I only like to go by myself, and I usually look as grubby and unrecognizable as I possibly can. I even have a ritual, which always, of course, includes Sbarro...and Forever 21.

Jerry Springer: Yeah, yeah, yeah, so this is what the world thinks of America. That's way too much thinking when I've got a midget food fight and a Reverend Schnorr wedding going on. Look down at me all you want. I wouldn't be caught dead watching "Dancing with the Stars" or "The Bachelor."

Really, really, ridiculously long showers: I mean, the kind that turn your skin bright red and only come to an end when you run out of hot water entirely. My dream house (that I'll have when I get rich...really soon) will have one of those glass-enclosed marble showers with a seat. Droooool...

Do you have any guilty pleasures?

Tuesdays with Allie

2010-03-20T18:21:00.001-05:00

In my book, there’s never been anything special about Tuesdays.

Mondays beg to be hated. Usually a painful mixture of meetings and hangovers, every Monday you make it through is like a tiny victory. And at least Mondays have football for a few months of the year.

Wednesday is, of course, “hump day.” And back in the day, Wednesdays were ski days at Massanutten.

How can you hate on a Thursday, the official (if you’re in college, or like me and most people with whom I choose to associate) start to the weekend? It’s widely understood that late Friday mornings receive automatic forgiveness.

Fridays, my loves. I used to save my coolest outfits for Fridays. In middle school, I would wear my purple Guess jeans and silk printed shirt...and in high school I graduated to my UVA sweatshirt with my dad’s old ripped Levis. Now it doesn’t really matter what I’m wearing, so long as there’s a cold beer waiting at the end of the day. Which there always is.

Tuesdays? Now, OK, there are “Twofer Tuesday” things...drink specials and (long ago) radio plays. But that’s about it.

This past Tuesday was especially wah waaaahhhh.

So I’m running in this Warrior Dash. (I still have yet to come up with an outfit - suggestions are welcome.) After weeks of procrastination (which I have turned into productivity, so bite me), I set my alarm for 5 a.m. and dragged my happy ass out of bed. I knew from the beginning there was no way I was going to work out after a 10-hour day at the office when I could be drinking, so the butt-crack of dawn it is.

When I arrived at Globo Gym, I realized I had absolutely no clue what I was doing. Some of you might not know this, but I used to be a pretty hard-core swimmer, and a hard-core swimming program includes weight training. But that was a lifetime ago, and even back then, I wasn’t a gym rat. I tend to be more of a “just make sure you don’t eat too much McDonald’s” girl.

However, I had a little motivation after attending my “Fit Test,” a free perk thrown in for joining Globo Gym. For this “Fit Test,” I met Linda, an adorable Asian 20-something in a windbreaker and tight black pants who confided that she was embarrassed about her panty lines on her fat-free ass...tee hee hee! She seemed surprised when I told her I was 30, was impressed with my flexibility and strength, and even called me thin at one point. When I found out we both graduated from UTA, I really thought we were bonding. Wow, it was so easy to make new besties! When it came time for my assessment, I didn’t sweat it, piece of cake, heck, I probably didn’t even need a gym membership. Dun dun dunnnnn. Linda stopped smiling, her eyes glowed red...and I think she started growling. The print-out indicated that I needed to lose 10 pounds, my flexibility and strength are “less than optimal,” and while I technically have the body of a 28-year old (yes I will be using that line at the bar), ideally I need to have the body of an 18-year old at my age. “It’s OK, though,” Linda assured me. “We have great trainers here, and you’ll see results in no time.” As I left hurriedly with my fat ass and my print-out with the break-down of the $276 a month trainer fees (and no new bestie), I got to suspecting that maybe that “Fit Test” was a way to make money...

So here I was on my first official workout (sans-trainer). After battling with the fancy ID card-locker-key release mechanism (wow, I’m dumb) for about 10 minutes, I grabbed a towel and made my way out of the locker room. Because I have this grueling 3 (point-something)-mile race coming up, I assumed the most natural place to start out would be the treadmill. Looking around, I realized I was carrying a bath towel. Not that I was self-conscious at that point. I found the nearest - and most remote - treadmill, and hopped up.

Treadmills have really advanced since I’ve last used one, I guess? What happened to the ones with just the metal rollers that had no buttons? Do they not have those any more? I pressed “On.” Lights came on. OK, good start. Why was the tread not milling? Hmmmm. Commence pressing all buttons in sequence. I just pictured myself hitting the “eject” button (they do have those on treadmills, right?) and flying off the back. I finally got that figured out and started running...”running.” Jog-walking. Realized I forgot my iPod, started thinking about it, tripped over my own foot on the treadmill....yeah, try looking cool tripping on a treadmill.

After a tough 12-minute jog-walk, it was off to the free weight area with the big boys. Surrounded by pairs of spandex-clad ripped chicks tossing medicine balls to one another and doing leaping lunges, I grabbed the girlie weights and fumbled through a few of the arm exercises I remember from my athletic days before booking back to the locker room.

There was one fully naked woman in the whole locker room. One. And I tried to open the wrong locker right next to her. So I got an awkward face full of boob, mumbled something about a broken locker key, and slinked into the next row.

Exit gym.

Work.

7 p.m. Walmart. I'm choosing floss. A voice behind me asks, “Excuse me, do you work here?”

“Huh? No.”

“Oh, well I’m just looking for the Band-Aids.”

Sigh. “Next aisle.”

“Thanks.”

I guess I could have put a little more thought into my outfit that day, yes. I'm not your typical Dallas girl. This is proving to be problematic dating-wise. Since, you know, I currently live in Dallas. Aside from the fact that I'm getting older, I can't honestly post any photos that look remotely like this:

Mine are more like this:

Except sans boobies.

And I'm also growing out my hair, which I know guys just love. Remember when Katie Holmes chopped her locks? Well, I followed suit a few months later. (But guess which one of us can afford extensions.) So now I'm feelin' Katie in her painful grow-out period.

Please be a pal and keep me away from salons and sharp objects.

Google "Why Tuesdays suck" for proof that they do.

So I moved.

2010-03-03T13:02:00.001-06:00

This week I moved again. I officially fit everything into my Subaru wagon. (That is, of course, not taking into account the fact thatI have belongings in a basement in Virginia and an apartment in New Jersey...and possibly other locations I've forgotten, which renders those items obsolete. If you aren't one of the two aforementioned holders, you may hereby adhere to the Finders-Keepers rule.)

First description of my new abode: shabby-chic. My roommate has lived in the house for more than 10 years, and she has transformed the tiny, (I'm guessing) 1950s home into a cozy hideaway - a combination of country (think quilts, embroidered quotes in frames, and vintage hats) and southwest (think boots, longhorn skulls and old farm doors). She is the composite of every stereotype of Texas girls; she has it all - the big hair, the tan, the makeup, the sugar-sweet twang. As far as I can tell, she holds the following near and dear to her heart: her family, rodeo, cowboy boots, and anything with rhinestones, sterling silver or turquoise.

But when I say it's cozy, I mean cozy. I am packed in my room like a sardine. And as I mentioned, I only own enough belongings to fit in my car. I was five minutes late to work this morning because I literally could not find anything to wear. This layout will call for some Inspector Gadget-esque innovation. Or I could just go to IKEA and let those Swedes figure it out for me.

Second description of my new abode: temporary. This is for many reasons...although there is a Cracker Barrel 0.2 mile away, which is almost reason enough to stay FOREVER. Refer to my previous post on living alone. I like it. When you read it, I guarantee you'll want to live alone too. I am also not sold on Texas, and I've had the East Coast itch ever since I left New Jersey. Also, the running situation in my neighborhood is abyssmal. I have an interstate practically in my backyard. This is problematic, since I signed up to participate in the Warrior Dash in two months. (See photo below. I'm trying to come with a bad-ass outfit.) At least I finally found the time to join a gym. (An aside: This is the best gym ever, and it's only $39 a month. An aside aside: If anyone wants a great money-making idea for the DFW metroplex, please invest in a kickboxing gym a la this place. There isn't one here, and people would flock to it.)

At least I got out of my former living situation. Picture all the strange individuals in North Dallas living under one 4,000 square-foot roof, with the Queen Weirdo as their supreme leader. It is (unbeknownst to me at the time I found the place) essentially a boarding house - the owner and four random tenants at any given time. Queen Weirdo lives downstairs in her lair - complete with a ginormous canopy bed draped in animal print (what else?), fuzzy rug, and motivational collage, including words like "sexy" and "blessing" - with her two little asshole maltipoos in baby clothes (what else?), which she feeds lambchops for dinner every night. The four tenants live upstairs, two to a bathroom. As the months passed, stranger and stranger tenants moved in.

Queen Weirdo informed me that someone would be moving into the room adjacent to my bathroom - a male occupant this time. I had been sharing with an unemployed, chain-smoking female cruise singer in her 50s who couldn't pass the Texas teaching exam after three attempts and so finally moved to a retirement community in Florida to live with her parents; and then a female community college music student from Brazil who, at 35, didn't know how to hold her liquor and would blast horrid rap music, get sloppy and make out with the other (male) roommates.

"He is really cute," Queen Weirdo told me. "I mean, gawd, not for me...but for you..."

Queen Weirdo is 55 and dating a 32 year-old chubby private pilot who lives 2,000 miles away - a former tenant (what else?). So I was more than a little thrown off by this comment. I was also beyond uninterested. I finally met the person I was sharing a bathroom with - after a couple of days of seeing organic oatmeal shampoo in the shower and Tom's toothpaste on the sink. "Leland" was divorced, 50 if he was a day, his gray hair in a butt-cut. He began leaving his door open all day and all night (about eight feet from my door), and he moved his bed right by the door, and he would sit there all the time, so that he could watch me coming and going. I had to assume he was unemployed, since I never saw him leave the house.

Yeah Queen Weirdo, you found my dream dude: an old, crusty, divorced, unemployed, hippie, psycho-killer. Also, I'm moving out.

So I guess a Cracker Barrel-adjacent cottage in the hood is looking more chic than shabby.

Just because.

2010-02-16T17:03:00.001-06:00

I feel like posting three hilarious commercials. It's my blog. So bite me.

Gender-Age Nesting Intersection Theory

2010-02-13T14:13:00.002-06:00

It’s no secret that men and women are different when it comes to dating and relationships. Our brains are simply wired that way. Who hasn’t heard the phrase, “Men are from Mars, women are from Venus”? We certainly do get frustrated with one another for things that are ultimately out of our control.

However, I have a (bit of an ironic) theory that there is an age intersection at which men and women want are generally at the same point in life and want the same things from a partner. It’s a narrow time frame, granted, but it can be an important one. Now, this theory is based on general observations, and doesn’t apply to everyone, so read on lightheartedly.

Males <21
We’ve all heard women (myself included) complaining about men being immature, underdeveloped, not ready for a relationship. They only think about cars, video games, sports, drinking. They don’t think about the future; they live in the present. They think of no one but themselves. And why would they? Why should they?

Males 21-25
A friend recently opened my eyes to a very realistic stage in men’s development, where they are focused on setting up the nest* above all else. (*Disclaimer: I think that “nesting” is just about the silliest-sounding idea on the planet, and it happens to be a personal joke of mine, but there is no more accurate description for this phase of male development. So, sorry.) His partner will never come first in pecking order (ha ha), when his career, home, or vehicle has not fallen into place yet.

Females <21
This age for women is completely about boys - mostly choosing the wrong ones. It’s hard for women this age to understand why the partners they choose aren’t as committed or serious, even though their parents or wiser friends might explain it to them. Unfortunately, it probably won’t be apparent until after they’ve been hurt - or started dating men a few years older.

Females 21-25
Wedding bells are ringing everywhere for these women. Everywhere. Their friends are getting married, their sisters are getting married. Most women in this age group have marriage - and even babies - on the brain. This can cause a lot of friction with their partners of the same age, who are likely focused on getting their careers started. Men might be pressured into proposing, and then this is a huge stressor during wedding planning.

Males and Females 26-28
This is the sweet spot. Men and women are finally on the same page here. Men have gotten fairly comfortable in their careers at this point, and they’ve started thinking about marriage and a family. Women are fresh off the frenzy of weddings, but they’re still early in their career and ready to settle down. At this stage, both partners are most open to relationships. This is the intersection. It doesn’t last long, and because of the disparities in dating needs (usually resulting women dating older men), this sweet spot is often missed.

Men >28
I’ve heard that men have a biological need to “spread their seed.” I believe it 100 percent. I’ve done the online dating thing, and I’m open about the fact that I might not want any children. I have been asked, begged, on numerous occasions, to PLEASE have children. I’ve been asked why I don’t want to have children. I’ve been told it was strange that I don’t want to have children. In the very first e-mail. The first word that comes to mind when that happens is desperation. (The second word is rude. The third is crazy.) I’ve also had one potential date tell me on our first phone call that he would really like to meet my parents soon. The guy was a surgeon, and we had never even met. Men in their thirties become desperate. They feel that they’re running out of time. They have essentially ignored women in any serious capacity throughout their twenties, choosing instead to focus on themselves, and now they find themselves with a good job, a nice car, a home...alone.

Women >28
Many of my friends are through with men by the time they reach their thirties. They’ve been put second (or third, or eighth), and they’ve been hurt. So they have turned their backs and decided to make decisions for themselves. They focus on their careers, on their friends, on what they want out of life. Men have become a side dish, an afterthought. How different from 10 years ago. Women at this age have moved completely past wedding madness; in fact, their friends might even be getting divorced now. How fun. And any half-hearted baby fever has probably dissolved watching their fertile friends. Personally, that doesn’t seem like something to rush toward. Especially with someone who is not, well, perfect. Women in their thirties have started feel like the prize. They think of no one but themselves. And why would they? Why should they?

Hiding Places

2010-01-31T00:04:00.001-06:00

In an undeveloped cul-de-sac, there's a little outlet that's a perfect fit for my car. There's no one around. I go there when I'm not ready to go home, when I need to be completely, utterly, alone, away, disconnected. When I park there, I turn off the car and lock my doors, and I just sit. After just a few minutes of solitude, my mind is clear. I feel rejuvenated.

I've always had similar spots. In college, there was a couch in an empty part of the student center, where I would nap between classes, curled up under my jacket. When I worked for the airlines, I would take my breaks in the abandoned areas of the terminal. Airports can be extremely relaxing. At my last job, I found a dark, quiet hallway to escape to. In high school, I would sometimes eat lunch in an empty parking lot, sheltered by a row of pine trees.

Even in the city, it's possible to hide. As a matter of fact, it's even easier. People don't notice you there. I love melting into crowds. One of the best places to hide is the mall food court. I have spent many hours sipping my Sbarro soda and watching people there.

These little secret hiding spots are important. Ever since I was making private blanket-forts in the living room, I've made sure there is always somewhere to disappear when things get to be a little too much. Solitude is so therapeutic.

Living

2010-01-28T19:09:00.000-06:00

Some people float through life like jellyfish. They let life happen to them. They find it perplexing that anyone would grab hold of destiny and steer it in another direction. These people would much rather stay in a miserable situation, bellyaching their days away, than take a step off the ledge into anything unknown. Most of them are unable to see past the tips of their noses, and they feel perfectly safe and snug in their tiny life-bubbles. Those are the people who find it "brave" to venture out into the abyss without a safety net.

I find myself drawn to people who aren't afraid of change, who chase down what they want out of life, who don't make me feel like a deviant for my choices. Those are the magnetic, amusing, refreshing people, the people with a panoramic perspective, the people who don't find change "brave," but fundamental - as necessary as the air they breathe.

I recently found out that a friend accepted a job that will require a move from New York to California. He didn't even blink - this is his dream job. I have friends that would scoff at such a decision. I'm ecstatic for him, and anyone who knows me can attest that in his position, I wouldn't have hesitated for an instant. Opportunity doesn't come knocking. You have to seize it.

I've been called a wanderer, a lost soul, and a nomad, but I believe I simply haven't found what I'm looking for. And I refuse to settle for anything else. In the mean time, my life is dynamic and surprising. Tomorrow is unpredictable and full of mystery, not foreseeable and mundane. I can't imagine forgoing those untethered leaps. That is foreign to me. I never know how to respond when people call my choices "brave." There are brave people in this world, but I don't equate fearlessness with things like living lean, moving alone, or changing jobs. Finding your way through the darkness, not flinching at life's punches is...living. There is no other way.

Hermit Perks

2010-01-12T18:11:00.003-06:00

After living alone for about six years, I've spent the last 16 months NOT living alone. But who's counting? The ability to live alone is the biggest consolation for being single. It might not seem like much, but consider the following perks:

You can have candy breakfasts, pancake dinners, and beer brunches, and no one will criticize. Personally, this is a huge factor, as my diet is simply embarassing. I love that I can come home and unabashedly dip my french fries in my Frosty. You can eat whatever you want, whenever you want. There is no such thing as sharing when you live alone. If you buy a package of Sausalitos, you are guaranteed to have that deliciousness to look forward to after work. If you order pizza, you choose the toppings. Every time. And you get all the leftovers.
If I want to sit around in nothing but a belt and socks (eating fries and a Frosty), who's going to stop me? You can dress however you want. Now, I know when you're married, this is generally the same. But when you're single and live alone, you can take it to the extreme. I lavish the fact that I can be slovenly every weekend. I have no problem wearing the same baggy t-shirt, pajama pants, and knee socks from Friday evening through Sunday evening...without showering. Hey, everyone knows it's bad to wash your hair every day!
Seinfeld re-runs. No one else appreciates them on a daily basis. When I have sole control of the remote, this is what is showing after work. Yes, I have seen them all - several times. What's your point, exactly?
Showering with the door open is something I will never, ever take for granted. I despise, despise closing the door when I shower. I hate that the bathroom gets all steamy and slimy. And even worse? Getting dressed in that steamy, slimy, sweaty bathroom. Gross. When you shower with the door open (which you can freely do when you live alone), the whole place is your fabulous dressing room. You're not confined to a slippery, hot 5x5 sweat-box. And on that note...
You can try on as many outfits as you want before work or a date...or going to the grocery store. And you can leave the runners-up flung all over the room for as long as you like. Because...
Yo' mama don't live here. You don't have to make your bed, unload the dishwasher, fold the laundry...until you're darn-well ready to. For me, that's usually on Sunday. But it doesn't have to be. A major high point of living alone is that you never, ever have to clean up after anyone else but yourself.
Need milk? Go get it. Want to hit the mall? Who's stopping you? Feel like throwing a dinner party? Start planning. You can do anything you want when you live alone - without working around anyone else's schedule. You can be governed by whim.

So, while I hesitate to leave my current living situation because it is cost-effective and temporary, I feel like I need to take advantage of my singledom. Right now I'm really missing out on the best part.

Good Night, Noughties.

2009-12-31T19:04:00.001-06:00

I read an interesting question today. "Are you happier about the end of this year of the beginning of a new one?"

As I was applying my eyeliner to head out to a New Year's party tonight, it hit me that the infamous Y2K was 10 years ago tonight. It seems like a lifetime ago. I was at a party at a farmhouse with my fellow Chili's coworkers, and I had just started dating the very first of what seemed an endless string of...losers. He was a full-fledged alcoholic of 27, and I was barely 20 and didn't quite have my drinking legs yet. I think I had one glass of champagne. Was that really 10 years ago?

Fast forward to tonight, and back to the question at hand. I'm happier about the beginning of the new year. I resolve to stop dwelling in the past. There are a lot of broken things there that can never be fixed. I want to start paying attention to what I've learned from my mistakes and using that knowledge to move forward. This year already looks bright and shiny, more so than any other year I can remember. Maybe that's because I'm going into it with a different outlook. Or any real outlook at all. I'm not focused on losing 10 pounds or getting A's in whatever program or getting a job or buying whatever thing...2010 will be focused inward and, consequently, onward.

Permanence Pansy

2009-12-27T15:35:00.000-06:00

I guess you could call me afraid of commitment. Not just in relationships...I won't join a gym if there's a long-term contract, I refuse to be locked into a car payment, I won't sign an apartment lease (and perish the thought of a mortgage), I don't even keep anything in my refrigerator. If a tornado came and sucked me off the planet right now, there wouldn't be much left besides the greasy spot on the ground - this blog, a couple of J. Crew cardigans and some boots, a Nutcracker collection, and a beat-up old Subaru.

Now, I go back and forth on this. I’m unsure what my life holds for me, and I want to be ready to move if the opportunity presents itself. I couldn’t imagine being tied down to the same place for the next 25 to 30 years. To me, that's sensible. I have changed locations so many times in the last 10 years, that I've found it easier to just live with the necessities. It's extremely hard to pick up and start all over.

Despite my efforts to remain uncommitted to anything or anyone, I have to admit that I have an intense longing for security and belonging, neither of which can happen without commitment. And though I don’t want to be tied down to a job or a house, I still want the security of knowing where my next pay check will come from or where I’ll live next month.

For the immediate future, I live in a nice place, and I have a fulfilling job that I love. But it doesn't seem permanent. I spend a lot of time - all my time - coming up with alternate plans. Life has thrown me quite a few curveballs recently, and I'm still perfecting my swing.

Someone once told me I seem like I'm flailing through life. I feel more like I'm hopscotching. All the other kids already finished the game and went inside, and I keep losing my balance and starting over.

Facebook Survey

2009-12-25T20:51:00.001-06:00

I came across this in my Facebook Notes today, and some of these made me giggle.

1. I like to spell words alphabetically. For example, "dresser" would be "deerrss." "Lipstick" would be "ciiklpst." You get the idea. I sometimes make patterns in my head, alternating the words spelled correctly with alphabetically.

2. I have perfected "The Sprinkler" and have no issues with busting it out upon request. I can pretty much do it to any song.

3. I have a total phobia of bathroom floors, including bathroom rugs. I refuse to step on other people's bathroom rugs - I walk on the tile on my tiptoes...and I cringe until I'm out the door.

4. I have lived in ten states.

5. I crave potato chips and chocolate chip cookies together. There was one Amelia Bedelia story in which Amelia mistakenly made chocolate chip cookies with chips, and I thought it sounded like the best recipe EVER. An acceptable substitute is Wendy's fries dipped in a chocolate Frosty.

6. I have a double-jointed neck. I can move it side-to-side and in circles.

7. I've met Dustin Diamond (Screech), Vanilla Ice, Richard Simmons, Misty May-Treanor, Isaac Hayes and LL Cool J. Yep, jealous?

8. My favorite scent is anything pumpkin-spice.

9. I have always hidden candy in my room, even when I've lived alone. It started at a really young age, and I just can't break the habit!

10. I used to have my nose, eyebrow and tongue pierced, along with five holes in my ears.

11. If I could do anything in the world, I would be an international spy...more Mr. and Mrs. Smith than Austin Powers.

12. It took me 11 years to get my bachelor's degree, and I wouldn't change any of it.

13. I HATE capri pants. I take note of them and mentally scorn the women wearing them.

14. I blush really easily. I can't help it, and it's embarrassing. At the slightest hint of emotion, my face turns bright red. Thus, it can sometimes literally be impossible for me to hide my feelings.

15. I used to want to marry Michael Jackson. Come on people, it was when he was normal, back in the early 80s!

16. I'm almost 30 and still don't know if I want children.

17. I'm randomly good at music lyrics trivia.

18. I'm oddly attracted to forearms.

19. I beat up a boy I really liked at a church picnic in third grade, and his dad got really pissed. I think he was only mad because his kid got whooped by a girl.

20. I was once on a date and had a liiiiiitttle too much wine with dinner...I leaned in to kiss him good night, my hand missed the door frame, and I fell past him, right onto my face.

21. I was once thanked in a CD liner.

22. I have my favorite name. (But when I was a little kid, I wanted to change it to Candy.)

23. I am really good at sit-ups. In pilates class last year, I did 70 in one minute.

24. My all-time favorite song is "Sara" by Jefferson Starship. "Saaaara, Saaaara, storms are brewin' in your eyes...Oh oh oh..."

25. Like my youngest sister, I have issues with stairs. I fell up the stairs my first day of high school, I tripped up the bus stairs my first week of college, and I fell down my apartment stairs in heels on a first date...among many, many other accidents. No booze involved in any of the above incidents. It must be genetic.

Sunday Funday

2009-12-20T21:46:00.002-06:00

I found myself in the office this morning at 9 a.m. It's Sunday. I didn't really have a lot to catch up on...I simply didn't have anything else to do. Over the last couple of months, I've found that becoming the case more and more. I typically work 11 hours a day during the week, without a lunch break, because I can't eat another single with cheese, no onions. Then it's back to the office on the weekend, armed with an iPod and a cup of coffee.

I stared out the window today wondering if this is what life becomes for those who are single at 30. A little bit Bridget Jones-esque, maybe, but I would have the most boring holiday letter on the planet.

Hi everyone,

Hope you're well. I'm living in Dallas. Again. Working for a software company. Again. Still single. Still in and out of grad school. Oh! I replaced my catalytic converters. Well, happy holidays.

Love,
Allison

I'm not ready for a family. But what should I do? Get a cat? I hate cats. Girls, if you're reading this and still happen to be in college, just do yourself a favor, get it over with and find someone. Because if you're single when you graduate, there is a good chance you will stay that way forever. And you will work on Sundays. And you will drink too much. And you will relate to Bridget Jones, which is beyond depressing, because I can't stand Renee Zellweger, and her British accent is worse than the voice in my head that sounds like Mary Poppins.

Moo.

2009-12-20T19:49:00.000-06:00

Evidently, when I was little, all I ever wanted was a cow in the front yard. Well, I got it...kind of.

Melancholy

2009-12-14T20:50:00.000-06:00

The best part of my day was getting home, closing the door, and locking the world out.

From Texas, To My Exes

2009-12-02T20:32:00.006-06:00

BH - My first boyfriend. You were so cute. But you wouldn't hold my hand at the movies...you told me you had poison ivy. And then you tried to out-dump me when you found out I was about to pass you a break-up note after seventh period. Not cool.

DM - You really liked Champion t-shirts, and you were the shortest basketball player I have ever seen. I don't remember much else.

LK - You were my Jordan Catalano. I couldn't even believe it when we started going out. I had my first kiss with you, in your backyard, in the moonlight, surrounded by the sounds of sheep and crickets. For some reason you really liked touching my belly, and I hated that. So I broke up with you.

BH - We dated for like two weeks. I think we held hands before swim practice. I saw you a couple of years later at nationals, and you kind of pretended to not know who I was...

JB - Ahhh, senior beach week. My friends thought you were hot. I got my first speeding ticket driving to your school to see you. Once you showed up at my swim meet stoned. And then you dumped me by e-mail. You apologized later, though.

BG - You were horrible. I don't know why we stayed together as long as we did. I was way too good for you. We saw some pretty good concerts, though, and your dad was one of the kindest people I've ever met.

JS - You were an asshole hippie. I didn't even think that was possible, but that is exactly what you were. Good luck with that.

KH - Not surprisingly, you were best friends with JS (above). You were possibly the laziest person I ever met, but that's probably because you're the biggest stoner I ever met. I'm pretty sure nothing about you has changed...although I heard you were with a married chick.

BC - Were we together? Were we not? I don't know. I really cared about you. You drink too much, and you're wasting your life.

JB - I think you actually had too little drama for me. Otherwise, you were great.

AT - When I say I don't want to see you because I want to stay home by myself, that is not code for, "Please show up at my door unannounced and then get irritated when I turn you away." Clingy much? Buh-bye.

VM - You need your own post. You shattered my heart. I'm still cleaning up the mess you left behind.

SC - How's that going for you? ...Being crazy?

MW - You were a friend when I really needed one, and I will never forget that. You will find someone as wonderful as you deserve.

JS - You are a fabulous shower singer, a connoisseur of snack cakes, my puppydaddy, and still one of my BFFs. Please don't settle.

For anyone I left out, you were either amazing or horrible. I haven't met many in between. And you know which one you were.

Accidentally Me

2009-11-19T16:42:00.009-06:00

There are days when I disgust myself.

Those days, I wonder where things turned tragic. Did I really just say that? Have I really turned into this person? Sometimes I think that if I weren't me, I'd take my Sharpie and write nasty lies about me on the bathroom wall of the nearest bar.

But most days I wouldn't want to be anyone else. In fact, I feel that way more and more each day. The more people I meet, the happier I am to be me. My eye-rolling tendency has gotten beyond out of control lately.

The Doors said, "people are strange." How true.

I wonder if they feel the same about me...with my funny hats, and my endless education, and my nomadic tendencies, and my penchant for reading Missed Connections, and my tempestuous relationship history...

Recently I came across a "Weekly Student Spotlight" from my sophomore year in high school, 15 years ago. My plans included going to college in North Carolina on a scholarship and studying architecture. That was it.

What would my flannel and Doc Marten-wearing, My So-Called Life-watching 15-year-old self think of me?

Would I advise my 15-year-old self on what was to come, so I could make better decisions?

No.

Every decision I've made for 30 years has shaped this eye-rolling person I am today. If I did everything the "right" way, I'd be one of those people that make me happy to be me.

I don't know whether this is the version of myself I've grown used to, or whether this is truly my favorite version. Either way.

Autumn

2009-11-02T20:23:00.007-06:00

The course of my life has been shaped by Septembers, Octobers, and Novembers.

I feel restless this time of year…I feel electricity in the air.

I come alive in autumn. This is when things truly happen. Spring and summer are detached, simply there to refill the trees with leaves that can fall again in September. And winter drags on.

In autumn, I fall in love, I follow my dreams, I am joyful and sorrowful, and everything in between.

It must be the weather.

A six-year-old's cure for loneliness

2009-10-29T14:20:00.007-05:00

A conversation I overheard between two six-year-old girls at a children's Halloween festival last weekend:

"I like your hair. Do you like mine?"
"Yes."
"I got pigtails...and glitter! But I really like your braids."
"Thanks! I got glitter too."
"It looks really good. Do you want to be best friends?"
"Yeah! What's your name?"
"Ashley. What's yours?"
"Sarah."
"I like you."
"I like you too."

“You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes.” ~Winnie the Pooh