Fodder

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)

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.

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

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

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

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...

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.)