I, too, have my doubts about this, but I am a lemming.

The deal?

1) Harken back to your archives.
2) Collect the first sentence you wrote every month for the whole year.
3) Entertain us

06/06: How I've been conned into blogging when I am the world's worst typist, I'll never know...bear with me!
07/06: I am soo broke, and really want a good book right now.
08/06: You know the one... he's got his own personal foible that is so distinctive it's become his moniker?
09/06: I WANT a pretty new blog.
10/06: Carolee Wallis was my mother-in-law.
11/06: So happy halloween. yeah. whatever.
12/06: So you know that I work as a Customer Service rep for the garbage company.

Copied, as ever, from the lovely CRSE at Zamphir Panflutemaster. She had me at Zamphir.

I have soooo got to stop using the word so. Must find bad 80's hair photo for the contest going on at Great Lakes State Of Mind. So far have found some awful 80's glasses photos that were almost enough to have the Honey* sleeping on the couch, but no good hair photos.

*note to future generations: When your woman shows you awful photos from her past, don't start cappin' on her like she's one of your drinking buddies--it will not end well, motherf*cker.

I am so going to burn in a lake of fire....

A few weeks ago I called home to talk to Big O. I left a message for him. You must understand that I have inherited a cheesy fake Russian accent from my father. So I called out on the answering machine,
"O-Dog O-dogovitch, this is your mother--Answer the phone, O-dog. Odog O-Dogovitch, call your mother."
As I was listening to messages the other day, this one played and Little O turns to me with her nose wrinkled, and asks, "Mama, why did you call Big O a little bitch?"

**********************************

Last night my journey to the netherworld was sealed. Little O was at Mama Dina's while we were at the Xmas party. When we went to pick her up, she had three little dolls, two girls and a boy, and she walked me through endless love triangle combinations: Belle and Ariel fighting over Beast, Fighting over Prince Eric, See them dancing? Now the mean girl pushes the nice girl...Now they are fighting over Jesus Crust, and then they are all going to have ice cream...I tuned back in at that point.
"I'm sorry , Little O, what was the boy's name?"
"This is Jesus Crust."
"Er, and what is he doing?"
"He's dancing with Ariel, but Belle is mad because she wants to dance with him."

I was torn. Do I correct her on the pronunciation? Do I explain that he's not generally involved in love triangles?

I am so going to burn.

The Garbagettes Survived!

Okay, it wasn't that bad.

I did get up and sing, we did get up and dance.

The Uber Boss wanted a cheesy name for us, and decided on the Garbagettes--and Bill. My personal favorite was "Bill and the Solid Waste Dancers!" but UB wasn't feeling very Marilyn McCoo--Wasn't that her name? Bre brought Chanpagne, and I had already begun using my drink tickets, so I was, ahem, lubed up by showtime.

Our Christmas party is held each year on an old ferryboat that is permanently docked in the delta. The trick is that it was a working ferry back in the day, so it is divided down the middle, with long corridor for cars on either side. So all of the dinner party is held on one side of the boat, and the dancing is on the empty side. But all night long, the boat tilts to the south, the side the tables are on.

Get yourself some spiky heeled shoes, add several drinks (I tried to get them to choreograph it with a drink in my hand factored in, but they weren't going for it), and then add the subtle tug of gravity sucking you down to the left.

Actually, no one went down, but I guess they couldn't hear us over the music. Whatcha gonna do?

But the party was nice, the food was good, and the prizes were fabulous-even if I didn't win them. He had six Ipod shuffles, a new Xbox 360, two digital cameras, two DVD players, a kareoke machine, and then the items that UB puts in for fun... He had a Superman doll, and a battery operated nosehair trimmer. Oh, and did I mention the envelopes?

UB loves to torture the winners by offering them the gift, or what's in one of the envelopes. Let me give you some examples--Several years ago a girlfriend of mine traded a huge gas BBQ set-up for an envelope, and got twelve dozen Krispy Kreme Doughnuts. ouch. This year, there were no doughnuts, but he had Envelopes, and he had giftcards. We knew the giftcards were fifty bucks. Two of the envelopes contained a certificate for eighty hours pay. One of the giftcards kept getting passed up, and he started writing down the names of who passed on it. Two people passed, then someone finally took it. Yay! It was someone I know!

One hundred and twenty hours AND the standard fifty dollar gift card. I did not get picked, but at least the woman who won this one deserves it, and I hope she takes herself on a vacation with it, instead of spending it all on her grandbabies. (Are you reading this, Bananas?!?!?!)

The cash pot was not mine, either. We bought tickets for two bucks apiece, and it was up to eleven hundred and seventy. UB took a vote and drew two winners who split the pot. sigh. I had sugarplums dancing in my head, let me tell you.

Next year...

Thursday Thirteen # 21-Highs and Lows of this week.

Thirteen Highs and Lows that are part of the Rollercoaster of life!

1. HIGH: I am poor. How is that a high? I have spent all week trying to come up with a list of charities and ideas for giving back for my TT, and it's not finished, so this isn't it. But I realized once again that while I am cash-poor, I am not soul wrenching, wishing my kids could eat poor, and so I am grateful to be only poor.

2. low: My clutch went out on me at lunch, and it was just the straw that broke the camel's back. I limped my car back to work in first gear, and promptly bawled like a baby in front of customers and co-workers alike. (I LOATHE public displays)

3. HIGH: The Honey grabbed a mechanic from work, and came riding to the rescue. It turns out my car, while a stick shift, has a hydraulic clutch, which requires some witches brew of oily goop. Once Pedro (Love ya, Pedro) got some witches brew into the resivoir, it was like it never happened. Except for the hysterical sobbing and cries of anguish that my poor co-workers had to endure. (Okay, I may be overstating it a bit, but I.Never.Cry.)

4. low: Rent is still due.

5. High: The company Christmas Party is this Friday, and we always have fun. Our boss is outstanding and there are prizes to win, good food to eat...No rubber chicken here!

6. low: We are often a dysfunctional little family at work, and so I will recite CRSE's Holiday Survival Guide tips and tricks for getting through the night. I especially like the Laughing out loud waaay to long and then saying "I can't believe you actually said that out loud." and then walking away.

7. HIGH: I was nominally on the committee to help out on the par-tay, and we usually get a bonus gift--yay!

8. low: In my geeky fervor to be helpful, I suggested to the girl who usually sings a solo but wasn't too hot to do it this year, that she should get some help! Sing something funny, and get a bunch of your girls up there to do it with you!
Oh, dear Dog, I've been drafted to sing, too.

9. HIGH: They liked the altered version of R_E_S_P_E_C_T by Aretha that Bre and I came up with, so if it's cheesy, at least it'll be OUR cheese.

10: low: They have flippin' choreographed the damned thing three days before we do it, and have added such charming moves as a booty shaking, hip pumping thing and lots of jumping back and forth. Have we met? Have you met my chest? Well, you may get an intro before that little routine finishes. Bre consoles me with the thought that there's always that kid at the recital. I asked her, the one who's picking his nose on camera? she said, well, I was thinking the one who can't dance, but okay. You can just be THAT kid. If I'm not that kid, I'll be the chick that fell out of her dress at the Christmas party. I could put an eye out, people. It's my very best waking nightmare. Oh, and I can't sing.

11. HIGH: My Wednesday Hero post went up this week, and I was pleased with the way it turned out.

12. low: Berta, a girl who used to work with us, went home at lunch and the apartment next door to her house had burned down. The single mom and her 5 year old daughter were standing outside in shock with nothing but their pajamas. Berta sent out an email asking for clothes.

13: HIGH: The mom wears my size! So I have a whole box of things I can get to her tomorrow. These have been some emotionally draining luch hours!


Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
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Gimme Some of that Linky Lovin'!

Wednesday Hero

SFC. Paul Ray Smith33 years old from Tampa, FloridaBravo Company, 11th Engineer Battalion, 1st Brigade Combat Team, 3rd Infantry DivisionApril 4, 2003When you think of the word Hero, SFC. Paul Smith is the person you think about.On April 4, 2003, Smith was setting up a temporary enemy prisoner of war holding area during the seizure of Saddam International Airport when his unit came under attack.Smith kept his soldiers focused during the fight while engaging the Iraqi force of around 100 men with his M16, a hand grenade and an AT4 anti-armor weapon.Smith tossed a grenade over a wall then he climbed atop the armored vehicle. Disregarding personal danger, he sprayed the attacking troops with .50-caliber machine gun fire. According to the Army, he told a soldier who accompanied him to "feed me ammunition whenever you hear the gun get quiet." He fired more than 300 rounds at the enemy before being mortally wounded himself.For his action on that day, SFC. Smith was posthumously awarded the Medal Of Honor by President Bush,becoming only the 3,459 serviceman to be awarded the honor since the Civil War.His "conspicuous gallantry, above and beyond the call of duty," according to his citation, protected the soldiers in his platoon as well as other troops at an aid station nearby.

These brave men and women have given their lives so that others may enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am proud to call them Hero.

We Have Every Right To Dream Heroic Dreams. Those Who Say That We're In A Time When There Are No Heroes, They Just Don't Know Where To Look.

This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll.

If you would like to participate in honoring the brave men and women who serve this great country, you can find out how by clicking here.

Blogs Partcipating In Wednesday Hero

Yankee Mom
Bear Creek Ledger
Mail Call! Supporting The Troops
Yeah, Right, Whatever
CrosSwords
Gazing At The Flag
Gawfer
Ohio Military Reserve
DeMediacratic Nation
My Point
A Day In The Life Of.....
Blue Star Chronicles
Prying1
Pet's Garden Blog
Pictures From My World
Freedom, GUNZ, Glory and EBYJO
Gunz Up
Screw Liberals
Did You Ever Get The Feeling
A Rose By Any Other Name
My Weekly Thoughts
Rightwing Guy
Trying My Best To Support The Troops
American And Proud
Maryannaville
Hooah Wife & Friends
Right-Wing & Right Minded

A little side note, a lot of the blogs in this blogroll are as anti-liberal as they come, and I am about as liberal as you can get without a rainbow flag and a cannibus card. But how astounding and sad that this man died in 2003. Three and a half years ago.

I may not agree with the politics of each person on this blogroll, but I heartily agree that each and every person serving in a branch of our (completely voluntary!) military services is a hero. Why aren't these names read at the end of every major league professional sporting event, every newscast, and every award show? Every time.

This really is very true.

Which Sesame Street Muppet's Dark Secret Are You?

Grover on Ecstasy
You're funny, you're loveable, you're entertaining, you like to call yourself "Super Grover!"--You're obviously on ecstasy. But that's why we love you. Be careful, ok?
Take this quiz!








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| Make A Quiz | More Quizzes | Grab Code

I am so Grover. I stole this from CRSE over at Zamphir.

Am I just evil and jaded?

So you know that I work as a Customer Service rep for the garbage company. I answer phones with the girls, but I also am one of two people who talk to customers when they come into the office. Thankfully, my job does not force me to be the ugly collections agent, demanding to know when you will live up to your obligations. I am here to take whatever payment you can make, and make sure that your service is to your satsfaction.

Over the last few months I have talked to a woman who has not paid her bill in easily ten months. So the last time her bill was due, four months ago, she called to explain that there was a baby in the family that had died, and that she had been the one to care for the infant, so life was a little chaotic. I was sympathetic and told her I'd make a note on her account, and to pay when she could. Not a big deal, but a sad story, and it made me grateful for my healthy children. I noted her account and went on to the next customer.

She actually came in this week, and again told the story, this time with big discliamers that it wasn't HER baby, but that she HAD been the one to care for it. Now I feel like she is trading on this unimaginable tragedy. She peddles this story like it's a get out of payment free card. I've never been through anything as devastating as that would have to be, and I tend to be a private person, but who does that? Am I being a coldhearted bitch? Is it therapeutic to talk about it to strangers? Maybe strangers are the only ones who can stand to hear about it? But it didn't feel like that the SECOND time. It felt like the worst kind of manipulation. Especially after the disclaimer--Oh, not MY baby, but I took care of it.

I felt soiled after talking to her.

Then I felt like a bitch for thinking it.

Thursday Thirteen #20-Fantasy Gifts

If someone could see to it that any one of these things is under the tree this year, I'd be terribly grateful. These are my 13 fantasy gifts for this year. I had a clever graphic for y'all, but My techno-chaos made it go haywire, much like my wierd technorati placement...sigh. Here ya go, anyway.

1. Consuelo, Our new housewife. Consuelo is just happy to be here, and loves cleaning and laundry. She only cooks traditional Mexican fare, so the honey loves her, and she does all the dishes, so I love her. She speaks Spanish so Little O can learn, and she adores Mama Dina, and has lots of juicy hometown gossip for her. Did I mention she’s magic and if I prick her with a pin, she pops like a soap bubble and re-appears when I wave the toilet brush? Or she might be like a Roomba, and just emerge when we’re not home and get it all done…hmmm, I’ll have to give this more thought before I talk to Santa.
2. A real bedroom set, involving either a lovely sleigh bed OR an ultra modern platform—super clean lines.
3. A week at a beach house with MY family, not his. I love his, but I want a week with MY family. I see his all the time.
4. The gods of employment present a job that actually makes money for my Ex, so I could ask for child support (at this point I’m afraid to file because I think I make more), and co-incidentally, the Honey is given a high paying job sampling beer.
5. POOF! My car is paid off!
6. If he can’t be given a job drinking beer, maybe he could just stop for a while…
7. My son is transformed into a straight A student, practicing his trombone without being forced, cleaning his room so Consuelo doesn’t have to.
8. Diamond Earrings the size of hailstones. Not even golf-ball sized hailstones, just something visible from space. (I am being scolded by my cubicle-mate for being practical AND wanting magic tricks instead of THINGS).
9. A ten thousand dollar gift card for Cost Plus, or, actually, Target. I could do some serious damage. Pier 1 would be nice, but not nice like Cost Plus.
10. A laptop with wireless internet that goes the speed of LIGHT. Next year I am not blogging in November, I am going to PARTICIPATE in NaNoWriMo. I’m dragging my father and my brother with me. You, too, Kat!
11. If #6 is out, maybe a half naked cabana boy with washboard abs and, tragically, an inability to speak. He still HAS a tongue, let me be clear, but no speech. He can, however, laugh at my witty asides, and appreciates my inability to clean. I’ll even share him with Consuelo if I never have to scrub anything, and never HEAR about it.
12. Hawaii. Cabo. Dublin. Fiji. Barcelona. Any of these would be acceptable.
13. A 4-bedroom house—we need an office for the computer and the Honey’s out of control sports crap, er, memorabilia. The computer currently lives in the middle of the dining room, and Little O sleeps in our room. When she outgrows that toddler bed we are so screwed…

Here's alittle Linky Love if you're feeling like you could be my Santa...


Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!


The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I have inserted my magical linky box so I won't have to enter your links myself (it would NEVER happen), but leave a comment AND a link! Just reading TT's? JUMP IN!! We're a pretty friendly bunch and nothing to be afraid of! Give us a list of your favorite things! It's addicting.... Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

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I got tagged!! I got tagged!!

6 weird Things about me!!

The Mind tagged me and I'm doing it at work, so no link-love for her, but she's over on my sidebar, and is running a bad 80's hair contest, so go take a look at GREAT LAKES STATE OF MIND!

1. I am completely creeped out by t.v. sign offs. They don't happen much anymore, thanks to the wonders of the infomercial, but I'm never wierded out about being alone at night. Unless I happen to see them play the national anthem and then do the color bars with the horrible endless beeeeeeeeeep that is the soundtrack I envision for a psycho killer's brain.
2. I just cope with things. I stayed married to my (now) ex in spite of our loveless marriage, and was, in fact, still living with him throughout my pregnancy with Little O. It was cheaper for us both, kept us both in full contact with Big O, and we were so done at that point that we were just roommates. We totally got along. I don't enjoy the drama, or sharing the drama of a life falling to pieces, and several friends had no idea that the baby was not the ex's. Awkward, to say the least, and probably a large part of why the Honey hates the ex.
3. I MUST have a washcloth in the shower. I have to wash my face at least three times with a washcloth in the shower, or I am not clean. The cheaper and rougher the washcloth, the better. I LOVE those uber-packs of multicolored washcloths they sell at dorm time at Target.
4. I hate using strange showers. Other people's showers creep me out, and if I can get home to my own shower the next day, I'll wait. Seriously*the ultimate bad day is having to use someone else's shower, and then they don't give you a washcloth, or it's super soft*ugh.
5. I am pathologically shy until I get to work. Nobody at work understands that I am borderline crazy cat lady*with no cats. I have, literally, no social skills in a party type situation. I am able to be outgoing at work only because it is required of me and I understand the boundaries. I am at a total loss in social scenarios. It baffles the Honey, who met me when I was drunk. He is outgoing as his baseline personality. I am reserved to the point of scowling librarian at parties, which isn't really at all my personality, but I. AM. Socially. Retarded.
6. I am romantic, but not super sentimental. I am really a man with big knockers and a va-jay-jay. I am rarely moved by furry animal photos (but kids still get me every time), and I just don't enjoy stuffed animals and hearts and flowers. Let me rephrase that, I ADORE flowers, but a part of me is wincing that you spent that much on something that is going to turn brown in such a short time. I would love if the Honey got me flowers that were not from the mini mart, and not for a significant occasion, just because. Romance, I am all for, just not sappy syrupy sentiment.

I tag KIM, ANN, CRSE, PIPPA, JENNY in CA, and SAYRE. Okay, I think technically CRSE and Sayre have already done this, but I'm trying to tag people who might actually read this. I will leave them notes when I get home and can blog freely, not this weird email blogging (which is why everything is spaced so oddly).

Do you feel like you know me better?

ack.

My Uber boss, who isn't hard on the eyes, is growing a goatee.

Hmm. The problem is that I adore men in goatees.

I don't want to be one of the legion of office girls crushin' on the
boss.

There are worse things in life, I suppose.

But I blush. Easily.

sigh. whatever.

Happy Tuesday.

*******

With the bald head and the goat, he may look a little like Satan. At least I'm hoping...I'll just picture him red with horns, and I'll be laughing instead of blushing.

Ahhhh....

You know that lovely boneless feeling you get after good sex?

Or the post Thanksgiving dinner feeling when you have to look at that
last little bit of pie and you have to turn it down because you cannot
imagine eating one more thing?

My brain is like that today.

My man went to work on Saturday and Sunday, and I had a whole weekend
with no obligations (eww, except the faux purse party, which I forgot
all about once they told me the bags went for $100. FOR FAKES!?!?!).
Did I mention the brown paper bag full of books that my mom gave me on
the 4th?

Oh yeah... I read six books this weekend, not a redeeming quality
amongst them. Unless you count Number ten in the Janet Evanovich
series.

I drove little O nuts with that one.

"Are there funny words again, mama?"

"AGAIN, mama?"

When I grow up, I wanna be Stephanie Plum, with a Ranger and a Morelli,
and a Grandma Mazur. I'm torn on a Lula.

Bliss.

Mother Of the Year...

She's on to me!

Last night. we closed the cover on the last bedtime story:

"The End."

Little O cocked an eyebrow worthy of the Rock, calmly took the book
from my hands, flipped through until she found the two pages that I had
skipped, and handed it back to me.

sigh.

Busted by my 4-year old.

Gobble Gobble Gobble.

It was a Red shirt day...or was it?

This is my favorite joke, as told by my friend Galen at our morning meetings at Barnes and Noble, oh so many years ago.

There once was a pirate ship that sailed the seven seas, and they were unstoppable. The captain would call for his spyglass when a mast was spotted on the horizon, and if it was a fat merchant ship, he would cry out "Bring me my Red Shirt!" and his crew would cheer.

The Crew knew that the red shirt meant they were going raiding. As time wore on, the crew speculated about the magical properties of this red shirt. If the captain wore his red shirt, they were guaranteed to win! His first mate finally asked the captain about his shirt. The captain laughed and explained that there was nothing magical about his shirts. But the blood never showed on a red shirt, so the crew never saw if he was hurt, and so they never faltered. The captain asked him to keep it to himself, and the first mate agreed.

One day there was a mast spotted on the horizon. The captain called for his spyglass, and as he looked through it, he saw another mast, then another, and another. The Spanish Armada had found them. He put his spyglass away, turned to his crew, and shouted, "Bring me my Brown Pants!"

Okay, Galen told it with much more flair, but you get it. Today was a brown pants day at work. Fully one half of our customers had bills due today, we were down two girls on the phones, and there is nothing better than a customer who complains about how long they were on hold, then has nothing ready when they finally get you. ARGH!!!!!

Teenism

I found This story over at Suburban Turmoil. This has been a memory filled week!

One of my favorite stories about my mom involves teenism. The bad boyfriend came to dinner with Kat and I, and we were meeting my parents. The Waitress was VILE to us, as we had only ordered coffee until my folks got there. I mean literally THREW the creamers at us when she finally brought them, and stomped off.

Imagine our surprise when my parents got there, and she became bubbly and charming. It was a very Jekyll and Hyde moment. We told my folks about the transformation, and my mother mulled that over all through dinner. (Can I just say that The Italian Cottage in Redding was a staple of my childhood and I was deeply saddened to hear that they had closed. Man that Chicken Casserole was unbelievable, and nobody has sawdust on the floors anymore!)

When Dinner was over, this was the tip that my mother left:

(on the back of the check)

We hope that when Paula gets back to her kennel, her mother growls and snaps at her.

My mom is so quiet, especially next to my schmoozy outgoing father. I love her and her sneaky ways. She rocks with a subtlety that people sometimes miss completely.

Chuck Norris

I was watching the news, and they had a story about the cult of Chuck Norris fans. College students devote themselves to coming up with This Stuff. Conan O'brien played Walker clips endlessly. I was just trying to explain it to the Honey last night, and today Stumble gave me Chuck on a silver platter.

In my blog stalker kind of way, I think that you could probably substitute IAI for Chuck Norris in any of those sentences.

I am such a sucker for these.

Your Vocabulary Score: A

Congratulations on your multifarious vocabulary! You must be quite an erudite person.

How's Your Vocabulary?

I went back to community college a few years ago, and was scolded by my classmates and the writing lab people for using words that were too big. The fourteen year old at the writing lab told me my writing was much too "wordy" and I had better tone it down if I wanted a good grade.

Our country is SOOOO going down in flames.

Wait! Wait! Let me re-phrase that.

Stupid people BURN! BUUUUURN!

We are doomed.

I am sure that the fourteen year old Brittany wannabe now has her college degree and makes twice what I do. Or she could be cooking up meth in a trailer in Ripon. I'm just sayin'.

As Promised - The Sausage Post

I had read the books.

I knew how it was supposed to be.

I knew girls with dreams of perfect soul mates and their one true love. But if I wasn't born a steely eyed realist, I was certainly raised to be analytical and practical. I had done my research on the subject. I think in middle school I already knew it wouldn't be about love. There were girls at my school in Junior high having sex. I knew that that was much too young. But I decided that I would be rid of my questionable burden before I graduated high school. I thought that sixteen was an appropriate age.

Being socially retarded but a precocious reader, I knew it could play out one of two ways. I could meet the love of my life and have a romantic, perfect event with candlelight, a moment of discomfort, and we live happily ever after in our European castle with servants who would discreetly dispose of the telltale sheets. Or I could surrender in the fogged up backseat of a chevelle, and he'd never call again, but tell everyone about how easy I was.

By the time high school rolled around, my social life was in a realm I had not pictured in Junior High. While I was still socially retarded and shy and quiet, I had friends who were outgoing and social. I was the wallflower that my girl Kat invited along in spite of my social skills. Kat went to the other high school in town, and had friends who had no idea who I was. I think I managed to stutter out enough funny stuff that they tolerated me for Kat's sake. Or they may have just tolerated me for Kat's sake. I was that bad, and she was that cool.

One of the amazing things that I had not envisioned in junior high was the availability of alcohol, and it's properties as a social lubricant. Parties with alcohol were SOOOO much more fun for me than parties without! It was truly a miracle elixir for a shy girl. There were the inevitable groping sessions, and opportunities presented themselves, but I wasn't ready, and if I didn't think I was in love, then it was going to be when I was totally comfortable. (Remember the analytical thing? This really was my thought process.)

My break came when Kat's cousins came in from Southern California. Two boys, older than us, game for a party, and they would return to the depths of So Cal when I was done. There really wasn't a choice to be made. The younger one (17) was crazy and outgoing and loud--everything I avoided like the plague. Her oldest cousin, though, was funny, quiet, and nice. hmmmm.

He was, in fact, so much older(21) and nicer that when I finally threw myself at him, thanks to a little liquid courage, he declined. But he told me that if I'd like to make the offer sober, he'd love to take me up on it. A-HA! I'd picked a good one, AND an honorable one--that wasn't even something I had considered!

He was so nice. He was so quiet. As things progressed the next night, it occurred to me that there may have been a slight flaw in my plan. I thought that 21 meant he'd be a pro.

I think I may have known a bit more than he did. If he was more experienced, it was definitely more, um, hands on, if you will. So now I'm sober and thinking, and analyzing everything, and the thought occurs to me that THIS was what people meant by "get stuffed." I wish I hadn't, but there it was. That was my overwhelming impression of the deed. Then I had to concentrate on not laughing, because I'd read enough to know that me bursting out laughing while he did his best work was gonna scar the poor boy for life.

And three minute (maybe?) later it was done.

The cousins went back to So Cal, we exchanged a few letters, and I went back to my social hermitage until I got a job at Taco Bell and met the bad boyfriend.

My dad still throws up in his mouth a little if you mention the bad boyfriend's name.

But that would be another post, wouldn't it?

Thursday Thirteen # 19: Movie Moments

Thirteen Movie Moments Jen enjoys.



1. Auntie Mame- When she invites the horrible suburbanites over for drinks and has the crazy modern art sofas...and the flaming cocktails.

2. Four Weddings and a Funeral- The funeral is awful, but gets me every time when he reads the poem. It makes me want to like poetry.

3. Young Frankenstein- Almost any line from Marty Feldman in the first third of the movie. I can still probably recite them all.

4. Holy Grail- If I have to pick one spot I'll short circut, here, but the coconut shells and the whole Sir Robin bit. IF I have to choose.

5. Dude, Where's my Car?- I'm sorry. I know. It's awful. But the bit where they read the tattoos is just so totally a conversation you could overhear in California. It cracks me up. It's the left coast version of Who's on First.

6. Toy Story- When Woody leads the toys in the uprising against Syd.

7. Christmas Story- The tongue. The pole. bwahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

8. Sideways- Sandra Oh beans him with the helmet. None of this boo hoo my heart is broken--she is pissed.

9. Brigit Jones- Sliding down the pole into/onto the camera. That would SO happen to me.

10. Chocolat- The gypsy music was soooo catchy, but when I bought the soundtrack , there was only one song. I wanted to go live with those gypsies. Okay, THAT gypsy, but still.

11. Cool Hand Luke- After the egg contest, when they are thumping on Paul Newman's belly.

12. Flushed Away- If you haven't seen it, I am torn--not sure it's worth the price of admission to everyone, but the slugs are sooo worth it to ME!!!!

13. Pretty much any moment where the good guys win, regardless of how cheesy and obvious it was. I'm a sucker like that.




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This is my favorite E-mail in a year!

I got this from My best Jen, in Coarsegold, CA:

Here is the Washington Post's Mensa Invitational
which once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary,
alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a
new definition.

2005 winners are:

1. Cashtration (n. ): The act of buying a house, which renders
the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time.

2. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.

3. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts
until you realize it was your money to start with.

4. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a
hillbilly.

5. Bozone (n. ): The substance surrounding stupid people that
stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately,

shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

6. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the
purpose of getting laid.

7. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high

8. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of
sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

9. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running
late.

10. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.

11. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.
)

12. Karmageddon: It's when everybody is sending off all these
really bad vibes, and then the Earth explodes and it's a serious
bummer.

13. Decafalon (n. ): The grueling event of getting through the
day consuming only things that are good for you

14. Glibido: All talk and no action.

15. Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter
when they come at you rapidly.

16. Arachnoleptic fit (n. ): The frantic dance performed just
after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

17. Beelzebug (n. ): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets
into your bedroom at three in the mo rning and cannot be cast out.

18. Caterpallor (n. ): The color you turn after finding half a
worm in the fruit you're eating.

The Washington Post has also published the winning submissions to its
yearly contest,
in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common
words.

And the winners are:

1. coffee, n. the person upon whom one coughs.

2. flabbergasted, adj. appalled by discovering how much weight
one has gained.

3. abdicate, v. to give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.

4. esplanade, v. to attempt an explanation while drunk.

5. willy-nilly, adj. impotent.

6. negligent, adj. absentmindedly answering the door when
wearing only a nightgown.

7. lymph, v. to walk with a lisp.

8. gargoyle, n. olive-flavored mouthwash.

9. flatulence, n. emergency vehicle that picks up someone who
has been run over by a steamroller.

10. balderdash, n. a rapidly receding hairline.

11. testicle, n. a humorous question on an exam.

12. rectitude, n. the formal, dignified bearing adopted by
proctologists.

13. pokemon, n. a Rastafarian proctologi st.

14. oyster, n. a person who sprinkles his conversation with
Yiddishisms.

15. Frisbeetarianism, n. the belief that, after death,

the soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.

16. circumvent, n. an opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by
Jewish men

LMAO, I hope it emails to blogger okay.
Much more upbeat than a WTF Wednesday!