Happy Effin' New Year

So yesterday, right before lunch, I started to feel something.....something that made me stop and say "Huh?"

Turns out I'm sick....for real sick. Running a fever, snotting, eyes watering, body aching. Which I've got to say is bullshit. Seriously. And I'll tell you why.

I have the next five days off of work. Yes. FIVE DAYS STRAIGHT. And I'm sick. I have three parties I'm supposed to attend tomorrow and I'm sick. Why couldn't this happen next Monday? When I can legitimately call in sick to work? Can somebody answer me that?

My husband said this morning, as I'm lying in bed watching my fifth episode of Grey's Anatomy of the day, "We have plans tomorrow, so of course you're sick." Asshole.

But he does have a point.

Two years ago, we went to Vegas. Guess who was so sick, I could barely walk? And this past summer, we went to New York. Who came down with a serious sinus infection? Yep. It was me.

It's almost as though my body goes into some sort of rejection any time fun is introduced to it.

So here I am, half way into my first day off of an extremely long weekend, one that I had all these plans of getting wasted and dancing on a table somewhere, and I've sneezed about twenty times in the short amount of time it's taken me to type this post. And my nose is chapped. Already.

And to top it all off, I'm on my period.

WTF? Happy effin' New Year to me.....

The Little Things

One of the girls at work said that she just gets a thrill inside when she goes into the bathroom and all the stalls are freshly clean, blue stuff in the bowl and she knows she's the first ass to sit on the clean toilet. This is one of the little things in life that brings her joy.

Here's a few of my things (not in any particular order):

When you go to open a new movie or dvd and that tape on the edge peels off in one strip.

When you wake up in the morning and put your hair in a pony tail and you get the PERFECT pony tail.



When you run into someone you haven't seen in a long time and you know you're looking excellent.

The perfect Long Island Ice Tea.

Dancing in the kitchen while dinner is cooking, by yourself or with someone, it doesn't really matter.

TV on dvd and you have the whole day to lay on your ass and play episode after episode after episode...

Rob Thomas' voice.



Seeing one of my kids read without being told.

Watching my oldest pitch. He's really awesome. Seriously.

My husband getting out of the shower and strutting into the bedroom naked, begging me without words to check out his body. It's really kinda cute.

When a goaltender fights. Lightning's goaltender, Dan Cloutier, done this once and it was awesome. He wasn't very good, but I'll never forget him because of this.

Playing softball and hitting the sweet spot. That's a good feeling.

Getting in the car with your girlfriends and heading out for a night on the town. You don't know what's going to happen, but you know it's going to be fun.




Lying in bed, afterwards, and feeling completely, totally relaxed.

Having your hair done (or did, whichever you prefer)...

Finding the perfect shoes.

The electric slide.

When you try really hard to think of someone's voice, someone you've lost and you can't quite capture it in your mind, and then, sometime later, it's clear as a bell.

Chris Rock

Busting your ass working out, hating every second of it, but knowing your ass is getting in shape and it motivates you to go back the next day for more.

The Way We Were....and Urban Cowboy.



When you know you have an eyelash in your eye and you finally find it and pull it out, that tickle you get as the stringy goo leaves your eye and the lash is caught in it. Kinda gross, but I love that feeling of triumph.

The smell of orange blossoms every March, even when they make me sneeze.



Fire works.

Looking at the ocean as the sand disappears beneath your feet as the surf comes in.

Catching a wave....damn, that's an awesome feeling.

The flea market in Daytona.



New beginnings.

If I could experience these things a few more thousand times in my life, I'll be happy with that. Is that too much to ask?

Snow Sports For Dummies

I don't really understand why people want to subject themselves to ice skating if you grew up in Florida. Or skiing for that matter.

When people were being given out gifts prior to their great arrival, I was not one of the fortunate ones. At least when it comes to coordination.

While I enjoy hockey (A LOT), I'm not so keen on lacing up some skates and gliding across the ice. No thanks. I've managed to break my wrist while climbing a four foot fence when I was a kid. Now that I'm almost six foot tall, I know I could really eff myself up if I hit the ice from that distance.

My dad lives in Colorado. He has a few houses in a little town just over the state line from Oklahoma, but he mostly spends his time in a little town near Salida, where his girlfriend lives. Apparently, there is a lot of fun to be had snow mobiling (is that one word?) and skiing down the mountain. All I can say is no thanks. I'd pull a Sonny Bono and eat a tree if I so much as tried. Seriously.

And that's another thing....I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE Colorado in the summer. Cool at night, warm during the day...but right now?! Hell, no. Any place that the snot freezes in your nostrils and your piss freezes before it hits the ground is not for me (not that I know about the peeing thing. Cross my heart).

And yes, I'm well aware that this post isn't really ABOUT anything, I'm just rambling on, but here's the thing. I've been inundated with Christmas trees, holiday cookies and posts regarding family, food and presents, that I just didn't feel like going with the flow today. I'm being a rebel.

Like James Dean....Wasn't he hot?

The whole bad boy image, questionable sexuality (which makes him a serious challenge) and the hair...Dear Lord, the hair....

This Is Why Women Get A Bad Rap

Okay, so sometimes, the male mind completely confuses me....

Over the weekend, it was sprung on me that we were going to host a dinner for several (22 - but whose counting?) family friends - on Monday night. Well, I was really busy all weekend, so I never made it to the grocery store to buy the things that I would need in order to make it happen.

A little background:

My husband's family own a ton of rental properties, a mix between commercial and residential, and my husband is kind of a "Mr. Fix-it". The toilet stops up, he's there....Garage door not working, M to the rescue. Anyway, it keeps him pretty busy most of the time and it's actually better for us if he's sitting on his ass doing nothing because THAT means we're making money and not spending it.

So, me being the poor office worker that I am, I'm working away yesterday and call my dear, wonderful, and thoughtful husband to see if he can maybe go by the grocery store, pick up two hams, a ten pound bag of potatoes and some corn. It's three o'clock and people are supposed to be arriving at six thirty.

He's at a sports bar, hanging out with two of his friends, one of which is down from North Carolina for the holidays. I have no problem with this. I NEVER call with the whole, "Where are you?, What are you doing?, WHO are you with?" psycho babble. That's not my style. And on a typical Monday night, if he wanted to roll his butt in at two in the morning, so long as I got a phone call letting me know he's alive, I'm not going to say anything about that, either. I know a lot of people around town. If he screws up, I will get word of it. Trust me on this.

So this is how our conversation goes:

Me - "Hey, babe. Are you busy?"

Hubby - "Nah, we're up here hanging out at Beef O'Brady's."

Me - "Do you have a job this afternoon?"

Hubby - "Nope."

Me - "Good. Will you run by the store and get two of those smaller hams and a ten pound bag of potatoes for me?"

Hubby - "Yeah."

Me - "You're going to have to start them, too. Just put them in the oven around five and they should be ready by seven."

Hubby - "What temperature?"

Me - "325.....Oh, and get some corn, too."

Hubby - "No problem. Love you."

Me - "Love you, too."

So, it's handled, right? Wrong.

I get home at around five thirty, no ham in the oven, no husband in the house.

Guess where he's at...Still at Beef's. UNBELIEVABLE.

He hurries home because I am super de duper pissed. I now have no time to cook anything before people begin arriving. He's brought a measly fifty wings home and expects that to feed TWENTY TWO PEOPLE.

Is he an idiot? Or is this "normal" male behavior? After all these years, I'm still not sure.

We ended up eating peanut brittle, rocky road and wings....Dumb ass.

To Make You Smile

Okay, so today is a day that traditionally makes me melancholy..

Every year, so many people suffer at this time of year, having lost loved ones through the great mystery of death. I guess because it's a time for family and friends and when you lose someone of either "category", their absence is keenly felt as you sit around a table eating a turkey dinner or making toasts at holiday parties.

It sucks, to put it mildly.

In June of 2004, my sister in law was heading home from dropping her little sister off when she was hit head on by a driver trying to pass on a double yellow line. My two year old nephew and not quite five month old nephew were in the car.

She was killed instantly and we had to take my two year old nephew off of life support later that night as all brain activity had ceased. The baby was revived at the scene, as his heart had stopped and remained on life support for the next month with limited brain activity, but there was SOMETHING and we refused to give up on him. In the process of the wreck, his skull had cracked open, which believe it or not was a blessing, as his brain swelled and had somewhere to go.

Now, Levi is almost six years old and truly a living, breathing miracle. He is in Kindergarten and most likely one of the smartest kids I've ever seen (yes, I know I might be a little biased), especially considering the fact that he only has half a brain, literally. While he walks with a limp and his eye sight isn't what it could be, he is so very happy and makes everyone around him feel the same. There's not a child in his school, from grades K-5th that doesn't stop to say hi to him as he navigates his way through the hallways. He can hear a song once and remember the words and the notes.

My mom has been taking care of him since he came home from the hospital all those years ago, and today, on the day that my nephew Lane would've turned eight, I would like to honor her and all the other selfless, loving care givers out there. I salute you.



Please remember that everyone has their cross to bear, and while I'm not a religious person by nature (I curse too much for that) I see a miracle every time Levi comes running at me, in his little hop-skip kind of way and wraps his arms around my neck and tells me how very much he loves me.

And another thing, stop feeling so damn sorry for yourselves and tell those that you care about just how special they are to you.

You never know when life is going to happen.

Sober Trip To The Waffle House

Have you ever made a sober trip to the Waffle House? I did last weekend, breakfast with my mom. Now I know why I typically go drunk, although their hash browns are AHMAZING.....even when you're not totally blitzed.

So, we had to wait a few minutes for a table (yes, there was a wait. Unbelievable, right?) and then we were seated at a booth behind the low bar. There was a man sitting there, totally bonkers, talking to himself THE ENTIRE TIME WE WERE THERE. What really made it awkward was the fact that he was completely turned around in his chair, facing our booth and using his hands to express whatever internal argument he was having. I was working really hard to tune him out.

So, the waitress comes to take our order and as my mom starts speaking, I notice she has toothpaste on her lips.



"Mom, you've got toothpaste on your mouth......."

She rubs it away. "Well, at least you know I brushed."

She set me up, is my only excuse.

"....or something." My mom turns bright red and the waitress (who was missing one of her eye teeth, by the way) busts out laughing. Which of course means I start laughing, because, helloooo, I totally laugh at my own jokes.

After getting our order, she leaves and my mom chastises me for embarrassing her, and of course I feel no shame at all.

At this point, mom finally notices the bat shit crazy guy that is facing our direction. Here's the thing. He was talking, or at least moving his lips, but no sound was coming out. It was almost like a badly dubbed martial arts movie, especially with all of the hand motions.

"Is he talking to us?"

"No, Mom. He's just crazy. Ignore him."

"Are you sure he's not talking to us?"

"Positive. He's freaking crazy, Mom. Ignore him."

"I thought he was talking to the people behind us, but he's looking right at us."

"Mom, he's bat shit crazy. Ignore him please."

So, Mom is really doing her best to not look at the old guy and I begin to read some of the things that the earrrrly a.m. crowd has written in the fake snow that is sprayed on the window. Christmas ambiance, ya know.

"Chris loves Jennifer. 3:18 a.m." When I see things like this, I always create some kind of back story that probably has nothing to do with reality, but it entertains me internally. I figured Chris maybe picked Jennifer out of the bar crowd when the lights came on. Maybe his beer goggles were on, maybe not...



...and bringing her to this fine establishment, he could soften her up with a pecan waffle before taking her home with him and forgetting her name the next day. As I said, I tend to make up elaborate stories out of these little notes people leave in public places. You should see me in public restrooms, reading the wall art there....

There was another one, it said, "Hoooo, Hoooo" (they might not have used a comma). I was trying to figure out if they were trying to be Santa or if they were making a statement on Jennifer's character, but whatever.

The waitress comes back with my drink and my mom's coffee.

"DO you want cream?"

Then she totally made my day.

"Or have you had enough?" She also laughs at her own jokes, because she then busted out laughing, showing off the rest of her dental issues, but I thought it was so funny, I didn't even mind.

And that folks, is what a sober trip to the Waffle House is like. I'm going to have to make it more of a habit, because I was highly entertained.

And did I mention that I LOOOOVE their hashbrowns?

Getting a "Beach Body"

I truly think it's amazing how crappy it is to wake up every morning at five o'clock and torture your own body.

It's been four months, and while I wouldn't say it's any easier in the physical sense, once you are seeing results, it does make you push yourself a little bit harder.

I took photos two months ago, see below:



so I've gotten a little more results since then. I'm not wanting to lose weight, and I definitely don't want to become all buff like, as my boobs are small enough without shrinking them down with over exercise, but I really do want my butt to be more firm and I lust after Pink's stomach. Seriously.

I look at all the movie stars, models (ex. Heidi Klum), rock stars (Gwen Stephani, ya'll) and wonder if they have any idea how fortunate they are to have personal trainers and chefs. After two kids, building up muscle isn't easy, but it most certainly CAN be done.

My whole life I've been skinny and I hated it. Cry me a river, I know, but it's just the reverse side of the coin of being fat. You're made fun of, clothes never fit right (especially when you're damn near six feet tall) and you just feel awkward in your own skin. The older I've gotten, the better it is. At twenty nine, I think I'm more confident and feel a lot more sexy than I ever did at twenty. It's really amazing what aging a few years can do for you. It's really not all bad. But it does suck having to get up in five hours to try and conquer father time.

When I Was Younger, I Put My Face Close to the Fan to Hear My Robot Voice

When I Was Younger, I Put My Face Close to the Fan to Hear My Robot Voice.

That isn't really what this post is about but the name caught my notice on Facebook. One of my friends joined this "group".

Now, can you see how disturbed my childhood was? Because I totally did this. We were bored obviously...and easily entertained. What's sad, I still do this whenever a fan is around. It's fun, right?

My husband and children took off to our cabin in Georgia. I'm not what one would call a "hunter" so I typically opt out of these excursions. The prospect of an entire weekend alone, to be able to do, or not do, whatever I want for a good chunk of time is my idea of a vacation. Honestly.

For all you single folks out there (just had Beyonce running through my head......damn it, now that song is going to be stuck with me all day), trust me when I say that sure, there are positives to being married (you can have sex whenever you want without fear of being infected with something that will make your nether regions rot off), there are also a few drawbacks.

1. A lot of the mystery is gone. It takes a lot to surprise me over my spouse after so many years together....sitting here trying to think up one and I'm drawing a blank...

2. You have to wash their laundry. Sure, he sometimes returns the favor, but he half asses it. It'll be washed, dried and then left in a basket to wrinkle until you decide to fold/hang, and put it away. (I only iron if I have no other choice. We do live in humid Fl. after all, and the heat will make the wrinkles fall out...That's my justification, anyway.)

3. He smothers you all night, because he's a cuddler and all you want is to not wake up with your face in his armpit.

4. There are dead animals on walls in your house.

5. You come home from work and there are five men standing in your garage with beer in their hands, staring at a four wheeler that has all the tires taken off of it, grease all over the place, then proceed to ask you if you're cooking anything for dinner. (I think they do this last thing for the entertainment value it affords them when you use a lot of four letter words and they know that their buddy isn't getting any, at least not that night.)

6. He tells you that he doesn't make a mess, but then when he realizes just how full of it he really is, he qualifies that with, "I keep my mess contained, anyway."

And I guess, seeing as how in my last post I criticized women for bashing their men in the office at work, I will give you a few of the reasons I'm going to spent eternity....forever....and ever....with this man I chose.

1. He sings "Elvira" by the Oak Ridge Boys in the buff to me and makes my stomach hurt, I laugh so hard.

2. He cannot get enough of my body and takes every opportunity he gets to touch me.




3. He's a snuggler. (and even though I hate it at times, sometimes, I'll wake up and he'll sleepily tell me he loves me as he buries his face in my hair)

4. I'll come home from work and every once in a while, he'll have the laundry mostly done.

5. I don't think he could survive without me. Honestly.

6. The other day, he asked me if I ever thought it was cool, being married and having someone that I can kiss whenever I want. (He kind of ruined it when he followed that up with, "and if I really, really need to get some, I know you'll give it to me".

7. He wants me to go hang out at his friends with him on Friday nights. I'm not making this up.

8. He signed me up for an adult softball team, without asking me, because he knew that I missed playing and would love to feel a glove on my hand again.

9. He'll go to hockey games with me, even though, a. he hates crowds and b. cannot understand why I love it so much, as he's much more into basketball, baseball and football, anything other than hockey.

10. He loves getting me drunk on tequila so he can take advantage of me.

11. Our eleven year wedding anniversary was this past week and if he can put up with me for that long, the man truly deserves a prize.


In conclusion (wow, if that was in all caps, I'd feel like I was creating a legal document), I must say that the benefits out weigh the drawbacks by a landslide.


P.s. He doesn't think I'm weird when I do the voice thing with the fan. Always a plus.

"How RUDE!"

Okay, so sometimes I'm not the most conscientious person in the world (room, whatever). I will occasionally burp or not hold the door open if someone is behind me and I definitely, definitely (shades of Rain Man), DO NOT let people in front of me on the road ways (most people in Florida are transplants and they just don't get the whole southern hospitality thing - give a thank you wave, asshole)...but there are a few things that I absolutely just wouldn't do...

1. Eat a tuna sandwich at the office. Sweet baby Jesus, the smell...

2. Take a shit at the office if I know it's going to smell like something has crawled up there and died - unless my bowel was literally going to explode.

3. Volunteer someone else for a job that I just "don't feel like doing".

4. Tell a bum "Why yes, I do have some spare change, but I'm not giving it to you."

5. Let someone walk around with a bugger hanging out of their nose. That's just mean. I'd rather be told.

6. Cough into my hand, wipe it down the front of my slacks and then proceed to pull open the door to a restaurant that contains buffet eating.

7. Continuously correct someone, either in person or in writing when they are not grammatically correct. (I know, I know, it annoys the hell out of me, too, but I've found that it is also very, very rude.)

8. Go into the kitchen at work and proceed to bad mouth/bash my husband to anyone that will listen. This is bad form, ladies (and also another reason we put up with our girlfriends).

9. NOT lie when I'm asked "How are you today?"...they don't want to hear that my period is due, my kid's a jerk and my dad takes it personally when I want to get off the phone to eat. All they expect in return is "Fine. How are you?"

10. When people don't remember that it is the effing holiday season....This means you, you old bat in an ugly Christmas sweater in the mall parking lot that thought I was going to run her over and proceeded to cuss me out. This means you.

If I Had Money, I'll Tell Ya What I'd Do

If you were given several million dollars, what would you do? Would you curse out your boss, hated co-workers and laugh your way out the door? Do you enjoy your job enough that you would keep it?

Personally, I have this mental picture of myself, sitting on a yacht, heading to the south of France, holding a crystal wineglass full of champagne (I don't even like champagne?) while wearing a big brimmed hat and some hot Mediterranean man massaging my feet which miraculously have become beautiful and dainty instead of too large for my skinny legs.....


(* as a side note, I would like to say that I was amazed at the amount of dirty pictures that came up while trying to pull up one of a man giving a girl a massage. Amazed, I tell you.)

In reality, I would most likely give my boss notice (as I really do like him and would hate to leave him in the lurch) before flying economy to Ireland, where I proceed to get falling down drunk off of a real, live Guinness and sing tawdry songs in various pubs with hot Irish guys (picture the guy that plays Billy in P.S. I Love You - and yes, I know he wasn't REALLY Irish, but you get the picture) before stumbling my way to a shabby bed and breakfast to stare at the ceiling all night, terrified that a bug was going to crawl on me. Then I would head home, twiddle my fingers for a few weeks, be bored out of my mind and wish that I had my job back.

What would you do?

Facebook Entertainment

I'm always amazed by the things people put on their facebooks. Some of the people on mine literally list things like:

Going to the grocery store.

Folding laundry.

Eating pork chops then cleaning the kitchen.

Going to work to do some filing.

My dog is GREAT!

Moving in with my mom because she's a bitch and kicked me out. Gotta save some money. (That one actually entertained me a little.)

I'm SOOOOO sick. Been throwing up and have diarrhea.

Now I know who my TRUE friends are.....

Guess what people? I don't care. Really. If you live in a total shit hole with laundry piled up to the ceiling and you need to finish some filing at work and your hemorrhoids are hanging out your booty hole and you did something that makes a woman not want to put up with your broke ass anymore....I don't care. And please don't air out your dirty laundry on facebook. It's beneath you. So what if one of your friends forgot to call you on your birthday? Everyone you've known since kindergarten doesn't really care. Send a message to one of those "true friends" and leave me out of it.

People put their whole lives on there. Seriously. I don't care if the freckled girl that was on my dance team forever ago got laid last night. Why do I need to know this? And can you maybe keep a little bit of mystery about yourself? If you tell me everything on facebook, we have nothing to talk about when we go for drinks.

I think I'm burned out on all the social networking sites. At least the ones that make it easy for every Tom, Dick and Harriet I went to school with to find me and proceed to tell me (not just me but their entire network of friends) every detail of their boring, mundane lives.

There are a few people on my page, like the guy I knew in third grade that got detention for shooting spitballs at the ceiling or the firefighter that goes into graphic detail on some of his calls (I know, I'm a little morbid) that I find entertaining. And don't get me started on all this farm town, ville or whatever in the hell its called. No, I don't want to be your neighbor and I don't want to join Yo'ville. If I did, the app would be on my page.

I currently have 93 requests, most of them stupid crap like that. It's ridiculous.

I'll end with a few status updates that might actually pique my interest:

You know that bitch neighbor of mine? Totally pissed in her pool this morning....

If my husband doesn't groom his man parts, I'm waxing them while he sleeps.

Holy smokes! Brazilian waxes are fo' real!

I'm going to break my co-workers nose if she stands in the door way of my office one more time with that stupid, superior look on her face.

Got my boob job!

Going to get wasted tonight at the gay club! Who's in?

My kid totally got suspended today for beating the snot out of the principals kid.

I'm having inappropriate dreams at night.

Where, oh where, were you last night? Why did you leave me here all alone? I searched the world over, thought I found true love.....

So this one time, at band camp....

Remember that time in high school when I said I didn't make out with your boyfriend? I lied.

On my way to work this morning, I rear ended a cop while applying my foundation and trying to text my girlfriend about the guy I had a one night stand with while eating a blueberry muffin.....in third gear.

You know how hot I was in school? I'm not anymore. Be prepared if you see me out in public. I've grown a mustache and put on a hundred and eighteen pounds and my tits that could once pass the pencil test? Huh uh. Not anymore.

Going to Vegas where I'm going to let the flappers talk me into one of their girls. I'll take pics and post them later!

And that's all for now...I'm sure I could think of a million more, but I'll stop. I need to get some work done. My filings kicking my ass currently. And I won't even mention my laundry.....or the culinary masterpiece I've got planned for dinner.

I Call BullSh#@!

What do you do when you have a career crisis?

When you start to question what you've chosen to do with your life? Let's be honest. We spend most of our time at our jobs. It should be something that fulfills us, right?

Well, I call bullshit.

In theory, it sounds great. In reality, we just want something that is going to pay our bills, buy us new clothes and provide us with a decent vacation every year. If you have a job that does all of the above, most are content. If not content, then at least accepting.

Want me to do the work of three people? Sure, I'll do it. I might bitch and complain under my breath, but it'll get done.

You want me to bill 75 dollars for a twenty minute conversation? Why not?

Do these things make me happy? Hell no. Will I continue to do them to assure myself that I'm going to be able to take an exotic trip when my vacation time kicks back in? Damn straight.

If I was independently wealthy, I might do something better with my time. I surely wouldn't sit in this little office of mine that lacks even a window with a space heater under the desk so that my toes don't get frostbitten with cold. (I mean, really, people! I live in Florida. I was born here, spent my whole life here. If it dips below seventy degrees, I'm chilled. There is no need to have the air conditioner on sixty five day in and day out....)

A few of the people I work with:

The attorney to my left constantly forgets that he doesn't have the entire floor to himself, so I get to listen to his voice mail messages over the speaker phone, along with many of his conference calls. He also enjoys singing.

There is also someone near me that is constantly clearing the phlegm from their throat. She's a prize (and she sings, too! Go figure.)

Then, there are a few that break their necks looking into my office EVERY time they walk past.

Another one that screams G-D it whenever his assistant screws up. It leaves her a crying, shaking mess that I believe would make her jump out of her skin if you so much as said "Boo".

Or the former president to the local country club that can't be bothered to remember anyone's name unless you're a partner.

Or the perve that's always hitting on you every time you get into the elevator.

Or maybe the dorky one that brings his instrument to the office every other week because I guess he plays in concerts around town. He also has ZERO communication skills and I have a hard time believing it's snobbery.

Or the one that has exotic dead animals hung all over his office.

Or the former goth/emo dude that now has a degree hanging on his wall.

Then there is the one that looks at dirty emails all day.

Or the one that has three different girlfriends/hook ups with a wife at home.

I sometimes think about the "disgruntled worker" and hope and pray that one doesn't come back to haunt this place before I decide that tropical locales once a year aren't really worth it.

But even when I decide that, it must be said that I truly, truly love me some cute shoes, even if I don't enjoy shopping for them myself.

Maybe I should just say to hell with it and accept the modeling contract offered to me.

Hot People Don't Read???

This morning on my way to work, I was listening to this morning show and they were asking their peeps this question, "Why do hot people NOT read?"

What?

Just because Jessica Simpson doesn't know the difference between chicken and fish and is obviously not well read, as she only answers pre screened questions in interviews (so I've heard, but that could be false) and some people (my husband) would consider her "hot" doesn't mean all attractive people are allergic to the literary word. I mean, really!

Kelly Ripa, people!

I know lots of people that are considered "hot" and also enjoy spending a rainy Sunday curled up with a book.

And while I'm not a super model or anything, I know I clean up pretty good and I have what amounts to a library in my house. I took serious offense. So because I'm a card carrying reader (not really) I'm not considered attractive? WTH?

Does this bias really exist? And why the hell would they put it on the radio if it doesn't?

I was left flummoxed.

Girl Fight

Okay, so call me Scrooge. I was going to write a blog on the premise and promise that I would not write about Christmas, but then, as I got it underway, I realized it kind of defeated the purpose. What to do?

I want to have a girls night, probably start at my house and then subject all of my non sports loving girlfriends to a hockey game. At least they can take in some of the man candy that is hockey players:


Exhibit A



Exhibit B



I could go on and on, but I don't want to come off as some kind of sexual deviant.

I really do love hockey, though I must say that living in the Tampa Bay area, I haven't been witness to some really good hockey in years...years, I tell you. It's been painful.

But to get back to my girls night...They never go as planned. The last one almost ended up in a cat fight. Honestly.

I know this may come as a big surprise, but girls can be mean. Mean, I tell you. And they hold grudges. FOREVER. If you screw up with one of your friends, they don't forget about it. It doesn't fade with time, something to laugh over later. Hell no. And if you tell one of your girlfriends you're going to be somewhere, you damn sure better be there and stay a proper length of time. Leave too early, and you're the crappy friend that gets talked about as soon as the door closes behind you. I'm not making this stuff up.

And I will pat myself on the back, here, as I never get my feelings hurt. Ever. I don't care if you hate my hair, my outfit, my make up, shoes, purse, choice of drink, or the way I dance. Yes, I've heard it all. Not aimed at me (that's always behind my back) but about everyone else.

I find it amazing the way a girl can turn the exact same argument around and make both parties right, depending on whose telling, gossiping, rehashing, emailing, facebooking, texting about it.

Last girls night, I had six of my friends over, seven counting me. And I'll be the first to admit that I was pretty well on my way to hugging the toilet when all hell broke loose. We had blenders going, wine bottles being uncorked, and shots getting thrown back, it was fun. Anyway, it moves to the back patio, where the radio was playing and we're all having a good time, when all of a sudden, the conversation to my right begins to get just a little higher in volume than what is normal (they were screaming until the veins popped out of their foreheads) and sliding glass doors are being slammed open and girls are storming into the kitchen for their super light-ultra light beer (she wasn't about to leave it - thank God, I woulda never been able to drink it anyway) and storming out through the garage. I tried to get them to calm down but was afraid I was going to get a fist in my face for my troubles. Besides, I was so tipsy I probably would've pulled a twenty out and started betting on who was going to win if it came to blows. All I know is we were quickly down to six girls, because only one actually left.

My point here, girls are freaking crazy. Is it just my friends? I don't expect my friends to get along with everyone that I do, but jeez...I thought that maybe we could have a night in, drinking, talking, maybe even doing a little bit of kareoke without it coming to blows. And let me just throw this out there. Most of us are professional women. We have good jobs, make a decent salary and seem to know how to conduct ourselves in a responsible fashion (excluding a Mercedes tearing up my lawn as she beat a trail down my driveway). Hell, maybe we're on the same menstruation cycle and a few of them were doing some serious p.m.s.ing and I'd just killed my violent urges with tequila......(Is that an oxy-moron?)

Anyway, we'll see how the next one plays out and who will actually show up. It might make for better attendance. The prospect for girl fighting might make up for the fact that a sporting event is going to be involved. Maybe they can get their aggression out vicariously as there could be some good fights on the ice (even though year after year it seems that fighting is becoming obsolete - the Hanson brothers would be so ashamed - and hockey is being ruined, but don't get me started).

Until next time, try to stay out of the way of manic soccer moms in the mall and avoid all those people in the Santa suits. You never know who is lurking under the beard. Creepy.

TMI?

Eve was such an idiot.

Why do I have to pay for it? I'm having a ghastly monthly flow, cramps and a headache that has me wishing it would just explode already. Why prolong the misery?

This is really disgusting.

And by the way, if you're male, you might want to stop reading. Hell, this might not be appropriate for either sex. You've been warned.

I'm on day three, so it should start to get better, right? That's what I keep telling myself anyway.

Do you know what I hate? When someone pisses me off, and it's attributed to p.m.s., and I feel like I'm genuinely pissed about something ignorant, assholish or stupid that they have done, then the next day or day after I start my period. It makes me second guess myself.

Was it really me just being a crazy, psychotic pre-menstrual bitch? But I felt so righteously angry.... It had to be a real emotion. Not one that has manifested in my overly lined uterus and sore, tender breasts.

And why the hell do I always get a pimple on my chin? Do I really need to highlight, on my face, that I'm about to start bleeding like a stuck pig? Isn't that just overkill?

Last month, I had a serious road rage incident. No, we didn't come to blows and I didn't actually leave my car, but holy cow, it wouldn't have taken much provocation and it so would've been ON. The next day, I started my period. And it occurred to me that I was acting like a crazy ass Jerry Springer guest because of the gravitational pull on my female nether regions. That girl is so lucky she drove past my driveway when I was waving her in.

I think my attorney could've gotten me off on temporary insanity. I totally would've taken pictures of the things leaving my body and labeled them "Exhibit A", "Exhibit B", and when I ran out of our alphabet, I would've begun using the Greek one, like they do with naming hurricanes. And I would've tried to stack the jury with a bunch of redneck men. My dad has always said you can't trust anything that bleeds for 5-7 days straight and doesn't die. I think he might have a point, because I'm beginning to not trust my own emotions when it seems every month, I have some type of meltdown and with in 24-48 hours I begin to lose part of my uterus.

TMI? Sorry, but I didn't think the good ol' boys (attorneys) I work with would've taken any pleasure from hearing me bitch about all the clotting I'm doing. :-)

Quick question. Why do they always have pictures similar to the one below in feminine hygiene ads? They make it look so wistful, and relaxing, and it really annoys me when I'm lying in bed in my ugly underwear with a heating pad under my lower back, afraid to cough because of the possible horrifying ramifications to any sudden movement to my lower half, and you see something like this on an "Always" commercial....wth? Really, wth?



Oh, and have a nice day.

Airbag For My Computer

Okay, so I think I have some kind of sleep disorder. You know how they say that it takes a few hours of sleeping to reach REM. (I love Michael Stipes)? (I might totally be making this up as I go along, but that's what I think I heard....hello? Not a sleep expert here.) And isn't that what pattern of sleep you're supposed to be in when you begin to dream? Well, I don't care if I lay down for thirty minutes. I'm going to have some kind of dream. It's really pretty crazy. There hasn't been a single night (nap at my desk) gone by that I haven't dreamed of SOMETHING. And I think it's making me exhausted during the day.


The company's computer tech person brought me one of those little cartoon comics the other day, all cut out for my corkboard, that said "This computer is equipped with an airbag in case you fall asleep." For real. I'll be trying to work at my desk (or browse the internet - but whatever) and the next thing I know, someone is standing in the door way of my office clearing their throat. It's downright embarrassing for them. I just shake myself awake, yawn and ask what I can do for them.




Should I be worried? Maybe go in for one of those test things where they stick those things all over your head and record your sleep patterns? My luck, I've got sleep apnea and its making me a little crazy. It's so much cooler to be crazy for no reason at all.


I would've already have went, except sometimes I have awesome dreams. Like last night, I dreamed that Johnny Depp was sitting beside me on some bleachers watching a baseball game and I told him I thought Rear Window was an awesome movie. He just smiled, but it was that really cute smile, the kind he wore in Pirates of the Carribean?



Then I woke up in the recliner in my bedroom (where I had apparently fallen asleep while watching Monday night football) went to bed and promptly dreamed that Peyton Manning said he should come over for leftover spaghetti more often....I know. Weird, right? Indy wasn't even playing last night.