Happy *Almost* Thanksgiving!!!

Okay, I COMPLETELY lost track of time from my last post until now. HOW did it get to be Thanksgiving so quickly?! My head is spinning at how fast time is flying!!!

I'm thinking my schedule (and accompanying stress) has quite literally taken over. :/

NASCAR ended Sunday with Brad Keselowski winning the Championship. I'm really happy for him, especially since Dale Jr. gave him his big chance. It has to mean Dale's championship is around the corner...in fact, I'm sure of it.  :)

I do have some humiliating--albeit hilarious (after the fact)--moments to share in the coming weeks. Oooh, so embarrassing. 

Sooo, for now I just want to wish everyone a VERY, VERY Happy Thanksgiving!!!! Be safe, have fun, enjoy the parade, food, and football, and then...

...we get ready for The Most Wonderful Time of the Year...with cookies. :)

Love and big, cuddly turkey hugs to you all!!!

Truth Is Thursday: The Eyes Have It

Truth Is: I *think* I see the light at the end of the tunnel where my blogging absence is concerned. I CAN'T WAIT to catch up and read blogs again. I MISS YOU ALL.

Truth Is: My printer ran out of ink at the absolute worst moment. Here's the thing: it didn't even let me know it was running low. Usually, the print will look lighter or something. Nope, nothing. It looked fabulous, then just stopped and said, "Black Ink Out." I pushed the on/off about a zillion times because I didn't trust the whole "black ink out" thing. Still, nothing. I'm convinced there's black ink still in there somewhere.

Truth Is: Wilderness Guy wanted to teach me how to pluck a chicken.  I can't emphasize the "no" enough, here.

Truth Is:  Never, ever have a cheesy nacho snack at night. Made this mistake. Won't make it again. There's a reason I'm not a snack person, apart from cereal. Must stick to cereal.

Truth Is: Mom was all excited about some diner-like mustard and ketchup bottles she found. She said they were super cute...with faces. Sadly, I didn't remember this little detail over the weekend. Had I remembered, I might have avoided a rather spastic me moment.

I walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge for some milk, and was face-to face with this:

My reaction: Funky-freaked face, yelp, stumble, and butt-slam into the dishwasher. I swear, for a second, I thought something had possessed the contents of the fridge, like some Poltergeist movie.

The next time I face the blinking duo will be Memorial Day Weekend, and though I will not be spooked again, I'm pretty sure they will take great pleasure in mocking me...don't they have a mocking kind of look? Don't get me wrong, they're cute and all, but...they are a little creepy when you're not expecting them. lol

Anyway, I hope everyone has a WONDERFUL Memorial Day! God Bless all of our brave men and women, past, present, and future.

Superhero? Me? Um, okay!

My Mavs lost in the last second of the game against the Thunder. Tough loss, but they played super hard, and OK got a really lucky bounce at the end.

Dale Jr. finished 2nd this weekend at Richmond!!! When he drove up to second, the crowd went absolutely nuts! It was awesome. He drove a brilliant race.

Now, are y'all ready for some fun? Jay, a.k.a. The Awesome Quiz Finder, posted this little gem a while back:  Which Superhero are you?

So, I took the quiz, and...

Your results:
You are Wonder Woman

You are a beautiful princess with great strength of character.

Wonder Woman 75% Spider-Man 70% Robin 65% The Flash 60% Green Lantern 60% Superman 55% Supergirl 50% Hulk 40% Catwoman 20% Iron Man 10% Batman 0%

I'M WONDER WOMAN!!! How cool is that?! I get the super cute accessories, which, let's face it, is reason alone to be Wonder Woman. 

Looks like Spidey was a close second. Maybe I could invent a new one...Wonder-Spider-Woman or something. Maybe not.

Anyway, I am going to totally think of myself as Wonder Woman for the rest of the week (why not, right?). 

I hope y'all will take this quiz and let me know your secret superhero identity!

Dig My Car, Baby

I hate to admit where I was when this little gag-me moment took place.  Please keep in mind, it was getting late and I hadn't eaten.

McDonalds. I was at the Golden Arches. I know, awful, right? Here it is right after the annual Thanksgiving gorge-fest and I'm fast-food-ing it up.  I blame the smell of freshly fried fries and grease.

Anyway, while in the parking lot at Mickey D's, Cool Dude decided to give me his best "wassup, baby" move.

Now, I need to paint this picture as clearly as possible for y'all:

1. Having not eaten anything, I was somewhere between a fainting princess and a ravenous bi*#$ wolf. 
2. My nose was busy having a love affair with the smell of smoking hot fries coming from inside Mickey D's.
3. On a scale of 1-10, my desire to have a move put on me was a -5.
4. Did I mention we're in the parking lot of McDonalds? Yeah. A little grease and a little flirt? Not ideal. I just want my bad-for-me food, you know?

Cool Dude had the wassup head move down pat.  No words, just the bob and a semi-smile.  I smiled back, not wanting to be rude (although, I strongly suspect the corners of my mouth turned up because I was one step closer to the fries).

He then stood there, chomping his gum, posing by his fancy BMW with tinted windows. He had kind-of a "look at me, baby, aren't I sexy with my 007 car" vibe.

Well, let's see where the sexy ranks, shall we: His pants were so far down that the pockets had to be near his knees.  He had his hat turned backwards with the bill flipped up, and the brightest pi**-yellow shoes I have ever seen. I bet you they glow in the dark...glow in the dark pi** shoes. It's like he missed the mark and hit his toes.

After the pose, he slowly got in his car, put the driver's window down, turned the stereo to sonic boom, and ripped out of there.

Not sure what the heck all that posing was about...or if he was just showing off...or if he expected me to swoon, but the next song that played on the radio was so ironic, I had to laugh. Pretty much sums it all up for me.

Here's the part that really sums it up (Back When by Tim McGraw):

...We got too complicated
It's all way over-rated
I like the old and out-dated
Way of life

Back when a hoe was a hoe
Coke was a coke
And crack's what you were doing
When you were cracking jokes
Back when a screw was a screw
The wind was all that blew
And when you said I'm down with that
Well it meant you had the flu
I miss back when
I miss back when
I miss back when...

~written by Stan Lynch, Stephony Smith and Jeff Stevens; performed by Tim McGraw.


I hear you, Tim--I miss back when, too, even if it's a back when I never knew. 

Mocking Makeup & Hidden Meanings

My makeup is mocking me.

Okay, maybe it’s not really mocking me, but it is chock full of irony. 

I received this eye shadow set as a complimentary gift for spending money my loyalty. 

Just have a look at the names of the eye shadows: 

You see correctly. 

When I saw it, I had the following reactions:

* Eye roll

* Laugh

* Immediately look for a hidden meaning

1. We begin with Heaven, a nice whitish-beige hue. Meaning: Obviously it’s saying I’m an unearthly angelic being. *ahem* We’re going with this meaning ’kay?  

2. Push-Up, a shiny taupe color. Meaning: My choice of dates might improve if I invest in a push-up bra. Bit crude.

3. Silver Spoon. Meaning: Until I get that push-up bra, I will need said spoon for indulging in copious amounts of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and Captain Crunch cereal.  Jackwipe.  We must improve from here.

4. Moving to a lovely matte black shadow called Smolder.  Meaning: Ah, well, this is simply telling me I need to work on the sexy.  Fair play.

5. Ooh, the shimmering, pinkish Satin Sheets is next. Meaning: Start improving on the sexy by getting a pair of pink satin sheets.  My favorite color and encouraging shopping?! This one is a winner.

6. The crème de la crème, Like A Virgin. Meaning: Well, it’s just stating the obvious, isn’t it? I mean, apart from the “like,” since I actually am a virgin.  Thank you for the unnecessary reminder. I’ll just be a smoldering virgin in my satin sheets, thank you very much.

7. Honeymoon. Hurray! Meaning: The virgin moves to a golden honeymoon! Quite like this one. Want to stay on this one.

8. Ever After! Wait, we move from Honeymoon to Ever After! Oh, I do like this! Meaning: Happily Ever After. *swoon & embarrassing girl squeal I will only do in private*

So, my angelic self should invest in a magical bra with man-alluring powers while realizing I must drown my woes with a few thousand silver spoonfuls of ice cream.  Eventually, I will somehow find my inner sex-kitten and smolder underneath some pink satin sheets until he comes along. Then, this little virgin gal will honeymoon her way to happily ever after. Hurray!

Oh no. Slight dilemma. I can’t possibly use this eye shadow set now! Using it would make it all messy, gunk up the words, and possibly, inadvertently jinx the potentially accurate hidden meaning…you know, the one I made up…for myself…yeah. 

Flu Shots Suck

Morning: Failing Flat Iron.

Um, why is my flat iron getting too hot on setting 1? 

"I only use you for bangs! You can't be breaking!"

If it gets too hot, the bangs get all flat and springy, as in they stick out. It's like they're waving at people when I walk. So not good. 

Lunch: Flu Shot Fun

I'm not sure what's worse: the actual shot or the the part where the nurse rubs the area with a cotton pad. Just the feeling of the cold, wet, cotton pad on my arm is enough to bring the chills.

The area where they give the shot is open to passersby, so there is no privacy (i.e. I can't make faces, white knuckle the chair, or otherwise act like a big baby). 

When my mom got her shot, there was no one there. Me? Oh, well, I had a mini audience. Two little boys stopped, pointed, and laughed. Little buggers. And just when the nurse started wiping my arm with that slimy little cotton pad, an older woman quite literally STOPPED IN HER TRACKS and proceeded to smile at me. It was...odd--almost like she wanted to ask me a question or something.

Now, I'm all for smiling, but at that moment, smiles are the last thing on my mind. I managed to urge the corners of my mouth into a weak smile.

Luckily, she left, or so I thought.  She walked around me and began asking the nurse all these questions about the flu shot!!! WTH!!!!

"How does this work? Do we need an appointment? Do we need to bring anything?"

The questions just kept coming and I wanted to grab the big plastic pumpkin thing across from me and throw it at her.

The nurse finally had to end the question/answer portion of today's flu shot demonstration because the woman clearly didn't care that she was about to give a shot.

What happened next is predictable: I braced, she stuck, and I bought myself a bag of candy corn.

Night: Post Flu Shot Fun

My arm hurts and I'm achy.

They say flu shots can't make you feel icky. What a crock!

Well, I don't give a flying fart what they say--flu shots make me feel cruddy. 

I'm going to grab a few candy corns and watch Harry Potter.

The Cowboys play the Redskins Monday. I will likely need more candy corn...and Harry Potter. 
 

Er, huh? What? Oh...okay.

Well, this has been disappointing.  I recently found out this man I know is a L.I.A.R. (Lazy Inconsiderate Arrogant Rot).  I came up with that on a whim.  This man is a piece of work, let me tell you.  The whole thing has kind-of sent my brain into information overload.


So, what to write? Random tidbits? Um , yeah, okay.

Well, I mistakenly watched The Phantom of the Opera.  *insert tears and stuffy nose* When they sing All I Ask of You...well, just hand me the Kleenex 'cause I'm gone.  Definitely a film to watch solo.

Oh, I saw two earwigs getting it on.  At least, I think that's what they were doing.  Two bugs were having sex on my porch railing.  I mean, bugs? Really? The whole world is just get-it-on-central! Like I really needed a reminder in the form of bugs. 

I think my teeth are claustrophobic.  A single bristle popped off of my toothbrush and practically cemented itself in between my teeth.  Let me tell you, this is not a fun experience.  It hurt like all heck! As the discomfort increased, so did the panic.  It took far too long to dislodge the dang thing.  Fair warning--have floss and tweezers handy.

So, this weekend is the Brickyard.  I've got my trusty new AMP t-shirt (sans Dale's name and number as to avoid any possibility of a jinx) ready to go.  No doubt he'll give it his all--he always does.  Lady Luck better back off or I'll...I'll...well, I'll shake my fist at her and call her a name! *yeah, that's so not intimidating*

Did you hear the drumbeat for HBO (or equivalent) to make a series out of Harry Potter? I read an article where someone thought it would be cool to do a Game of Thrones with Harry and explore more of the books than the films did.  It seems to be gaining ground with fans.  What do you think?  Good idea?   Gotta tell you, I'd watch.

I hope y'all have a wonderful weekend!!!

Dear Road Fates

I have two very small requests, one for me and one for Dale Earnhardt Jr. 

For Dale: Please let my brand new AMP t-shirt bring good luck to Dale Jr. Lately, Lady Luck (a.k.a. the evil bitch) has been covering his lucky horseshoe with mold and it’s tickin’ me off. 

When I saw this lonely little AMP top on a discount table, I thought, “Hey, maybe it will bring him some luck.”  It doesn’t have Dale or his number on it, so I figure it doesn’t fall into the jinx category. 

Any day you fates feel like kickin’ Lady Luck into gear for the 88 would be absolutely fantastic.  

For Me: The next time I stumble off the sidewalk like an idiot with my AMP t-shirt in-hand, please don't let me find an attractive man parked next to my car with several Kyle Busch stickers proudly displayed in his back window (Kyle drives the 18 in NASCAR and probably gets the most boos at every race; Dale, of course, is the most popular and typically gets the most cheers).  So not ideal.  Ironic, yes, but not ideal.  

Make Believe Marriage

Not long ago, some bride enthusiasts basically condemned my future happiness because I was the weirdo who didn't have her wedding all planned out, from gown and location to flowers and cake. Like I said, I'm not one to put the cart before the horse. Does this mean I don't want to get married? Nah, I don't think so. Could I have latent doubts about marriage, i.e. trusting someone won't break my heart? Well, come on, who doesn't?

After thinking back on my childhood behavior...Houston, we may have a problem.

Exhibit One, Kindergarten, The Princess Leia Mentality: While all the girls huddled around an oddly comforting plastic kitchen set during recess, I balked at the idea of faux-baking and instead accepted an invite by the boys to be Princess Leia in our Star Wars remake. The little girls all said, "If you go play with them, you can never play here." At the time, I didn't care. I'd rather sit in the little spaceship outlined in desks and pretend I'm leaving a message on R2D2 while running from Darth Vader. 

The potential problem--Rather than play little homemakers with the girls, I found greater happiness playing a stubborn, strong, independent, laser-gun-wielding princess.

The upside--Princess Leia, for all her strength and stubbornness, fell madly in love with Han Solo...and lived happily ever after. I added the last part. *blushes*

And speaking of Han Solo...

Exhibit Two, Kindergarten, Princess Leia Does The Unthinkable: One day, after narrowly escaping Darth Vader, the little boy who played Han Solo asked me to marry him. I said yes. *pause for the inevitable awwwws*  Young love is so sweet...that is until my friend told me during nap that she was really in love with the little boy I was now engaged to.  Oh, and she was sobbing.  I felt awful. So, what did I do? I gave him to her. I literally told him my friend is sad because she loves you and wants to marry you, so you need hold her hand.  Like a typical guy, he jumped spaceship. 

The potential problem--Princess Leia gave up her Han Solo!!! That can't be good. I mean, my mama always said I have the biggest heart she's ever seen, but still....Could I have unwittingly cursed myself by giving away my first faux-groom? Did I bust my own karma?

The upside--Well, I was well-intentioned...I hated seeing my friend sad. That has to count for something, right?

Exhibit Three, Make Believe Marriage...to Superheroes: This may be the most damning of all.  When I was little, I did, in fact, dress up and pretend to marry...Batman, Superman, and James Bond. Yeah. I blame my dad. The first male figures he introduced me to were quarterbacks for the Dallas Cowboys, superhero figures, and 007. The minute I heard, "Bond, James Bond," I was so the smitten kitten. I never pretend-married someone who couldn't fly, melt stuff with their eyeballs, throw a mean spiral, or perform outrageous escapes in a tuxedo. 

The potential problem--Well, hello? Superhero complex, anyone?

The upside--At least I did, you know, pretend to walk down the aisle (we won't mention the rather unique guest list at said wedding or the fact that my groom was in a bat suit and cape). 

Am I strong and stubborn? You bet your chicken fried steak I am.

Would I give my hubby away to someone else? Not on your life.

Do I secretly hold men to an impossible standard? Nah, so long as there's trust and love, he'll be a superhero in my eyes.

Still, it might be kinda fun to, you know, dress up like superheroes and...well...

Meow, Batman.
Han, I'm a slave for you. 
Fly me to the moon, Superman.
I'm your Bond girl.  Shaken, not stirred, 007?

Wedding Weirdness

Mavs lose, and a bad day is sure to follow…the kind you wish would hurry up and end so you can go home, grab some ice cream, curl up in your favorite chair, and watch some guilty pleasure movie, like Dance With Me.

Here are the high points (low points?):

In the course of random conversation with people I barely knew, the topic of weddings came up.  Hardly surprising considering it’s the month of June--the unofficial wedding month--where every girly station like WE, Lifetime, and TLC, airs enough I Do shows to make The Stay Puft Marshmallow Man explode. 

I’m a hopeless romantic, y’all know that, but weddings have never been a fantastic fantasy in my life. This, as I learned, instantly shoves me into the “You are so doomed” category.

Here’s why:

-I haven’t had my ideal wedding planned since I was a little girl.

-I don’t have THE dress already in mind.  An idea, maybe, but certainly nothing set in stone.

-I don’t buy bridal magazines and keep clippings in a box with hand painted flowers and hearts. (I’ve never even held a bridal magazine)

-I don’t have a dream venue; I haven’t chosen my colors (again, an idea, maybe); I don’t have music or flowers picked out.

-I wouldn’t force my bridesmaids to wear something they don’t want to wear—no single style dress/outfit; no single color, etc. If they want strapless, cool! If they want a little jacket, cool!

-I’ve never tried on a wedding gown (Um, is this really something a single woman does?)

Bride Enthusiast: “Didn’t you know it’s bad luck not to pre-plan your wedding?”

Me, amused: “Interesting. And here I thought it was bad luck if the groom sees the bride before the wedding.”

Bride Girl: “Will you take this seriously, please? This isn’t good!  You're jinxing yourself!”

Me, grinning: “Well…I know I don’t want fancy, frou-frou food. I want down-home cooking that everyone will love. Does that count?”

They weren't convinced.

Guess I don’t have the cart-before-the-horse mentality. I don’t begrudge anybody who plans their wedding in advance of an engagement…or a groom…(it’s kinda cute and hopeful, really), but, good grief, don’t say it’s oh-so-bad luck for me because I never did the same.  

Here’s the deal: I don’t define love by a single day event where you wear an unmanageable white dress that is certain to get slopped on by day’s end. For me, it’s about two people who somehow find each other through this unbelievable chaos called dating.

Reckon I just value the love part more; the wedding part, to me, isn’t meant to be stressful—it’s meant to be enjoyed. A bridezilla, I would most definitely NOT be. It’s not my nature. If you’re lucky enough to find a lifetime love, then the wedding is just white icing on the chocolate cake…at least to me (Huh. Looks like I subconsciously have the cake part picked out anyway).

So, after the Bridal Brigade, I didn’t think the things could get much worse.

I was wrong.

My phone is totally PMSing. She refused to make calls, refused to take calls, and denied me my voice mail. She begrudgingly let me text. Little b*&^%.  I had to call (on another phone) to see if I can fix my phone’s funk.

Following the automated voice stuff, I dutifully fulfilled my button pushing role until something went massively wrong.  It asked me to punch in the number of the phone I was calling about (which, of course, wasn’t the one I was calling from). So, I punched in my cranky phone’s number and heard this:

“You chose to pay 1 million blah blah blah…”  Her voice kept reading numbers and my brain went into freeze mode, while my body starting sweating profusely.

I WHAT?! No, I absolutely DID NOT.

I ended the call immediately, not even letting her finish the endless number reading.

“Thanks a lot, you useless piece of PMSing metal!”

What followed was me trying not to channel the horse in Animal House, all while shaking, dialing, glaring at my problem phone, talking, and getting everything resolved—hopefully. The person I talked with said there must be a problem with the automated system.

See, this is why I don’t use GPS. Dang thing would send me straight off a pier, into the ocean, and down the mouth of a whale.

The day ended with a massive headache and an ice bag.   

Mavs, I really, really need you to win. 

Virgin: Code Name For Alien.

So, according to Friend, virgins are no different than aliens. You read right. 

Friend: "You know, virgins, especially older ones, are a lot like aliens."

Me: "How do you figure?"

Friend: "Well, they're rarely seen...

Me: "Actually, they're seen everyday. They're not hiding in spaceships, viewing human life from afar. It's just that most people don't know to scream, 'Hey, look, there's a virgin! Run for your lives!'"

Friend, chuckling: "That blows the whole visual I had involving virgins and little green aliens."

Me, smiling, while shaking head: "You're sick, and I don't want to know."

Friend: "Anyway, okay, let me modify things: virgins could be like the aliens on V--pretty damn hot, but scaly creatures underneath."

Me: "Yeah, that's just fantastic. Exactly what virgins need--the idea that we hide scales and gooey grossness under our flesh. Really, just super. --brief pause-- E.T. phone home." (said in my best E.T. voice).

Friend, laughing: "Hey, maybe the government will want to take virgins in for scientific study!"

Me: "It's called a hymen. Hardly a scientific breakthrough."

And so ended the whole virgins-aliens comparison. Good times. Actually, it was pretty dang funny.

Oh, and just one more thing....

Be Good.

Hmm.  I'm hungry.  Think I'll grab some Reese's Pieces and daydream about how exciting Independence Day will be this year.

Bad Nut

Late Last Night: After watching Ghost Hunters on Syfy, I shuffled into the kitchen for my nightly handful of nuts. (Go ahead, insert the virgin/nuts jokes here).

I poured a small amount of nuts into a napkin, returned to the comfort of my La-Z-Boy, put on a little Angel, and began munching the nuts.

Somewhere between the desire to have Angel save me from, well, anything, and laughing at Spike (yeah, he's sexy, too), I chomped down on a God awful, sour-like nut.

I have no words for the flavor of this thing, but if I had to guess...hardened-sour-horse's pee might cover it. 

God help me. It was the most disgusting little...GAG.  And so began the gagging.

I promptly removed said vile crap from my mouth and began chugging milk.

Very. Bad. Combination.

Note to self: Hardened-sour-horse's pee flavored nut + milk = horrific taste befitting an ogre.

Mental Image: Tom Hanks, circa Big, just after eating the caviar. Yeah.

After some increased gagging, I grabbed a bottle of water and drank that thing like I'd just eaten dirt.

Did I purchase a jar of nuts manufactured by the makers of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans?

What can make a nut taste THAT bad? Just the thought makes me put a finger to my mouth. Ewy.  Anyone ever had that happen with nuts?

Sometimes you feel like a nut...sometimes you don't...sometimes you never will again--at least not for a little while.

When Static Meets A Good Hair Day

With winter comes snow, ice, frost, leaky windows, drippy roofs, and the most annoying house guest of all...static electricity.

Drag your feet, touch a light switch, get a shock.

Slide your bum from a nice, comfy La-Z-Boy, lift your laptop, get a shock.

Rest your locks against practically any surface (car, coat, chair, pillow), look like Beetlejuice...oh, and get a shock if ya touch anything.

After a week of hearing nothing but negative stuff out of Singletonville, I decided to fancy-up my Friday with a different look. So, with my hair sleek and super straight, I headed to the store. Now, the static hadn't really bugged me all day (translation: hair looked good, didn't want to disturb it, spritzed water on it to keep it from going Beetle-J on me). However, my tolerance level had reached its maximum.

Up it goes! I pulled out an ouch-less hair band and did a twisty knot atop my head. Usually, I don't worry about the twisty knot-do because it's usually fool proof.

Enter static.

Walking around the store, I noticed a few odd looks aimed at the top of my head. Ignoring them, I kept on course until I heard a child's giggle. Now, I'm not sure the child's laugh was directed at me or not, but it totally sent me into Paranoid Paty mode.

When I got to frozen foods, I very nearly gagged at the God awful reflection staring back at me from the frosty door.

Oh. Dear. God. 

What the frick was going on with my hair?

I looked like Edward Scissorhands' little sister.

My twisty knot was not a twisty knot, but some creature from the depths of ugly, split down the middle, flopping to each side of my head, while stray strands stuck up all over the damn place.

I've never seen anything quite like it. Horrendous doesn't begin to describe it.

Mortified, I headed to the always empty card aisle, yanked the band out of my hair, and madly fluffed my mane.

Bad move.

The static was now worse than ever. There was no fixing this. My once sleek, sexy hair was now freakishly alien.

Needless to say, I was quite happy to get home and put my hair up...properly.

Evil static.

Bless The Broken Road

I must thank everyone for their comments on yesterday's post, Almost The Best.  You all made some exceptionally good points that truly resonated with me.

I started thinking more and more about what Fellow Singleton said about 30+ singles never being someone's one. Though she made some great, if not alarming, points, I will have to disagree with her.

Between the thoughts swirling about my mind and those that you all posted, I've decided that you can be the one at any age. If things didn't work out with someone in the past, then they weren't meant to be. Period. If he (or she) compares you to an ex, so be it. Maybe you will be the one to show him (or her) how happy life can be. Maybe you will show him what it means to be with a genuine person.

I haven't really been able to put this whole thing into words...and now I know why--because it has already been done...in song. I can't believe I didn't think about this before--guess the whole concept just took me by surprise.

So, here you go--one answer to Fellow Singleton's proposed dilemma for all the 30+ singletons.

Almost The Best

So, it's March, the month of little dancing leprechauns, four leaf clovers, and luck. Maybe it takes a little time for the luck o' the Irish to kick in--it is only the 2nd, after all--but, by the way this week has started, I would say luck is taking a nap...with the leprechauns...in the clover.

Fellow Singleton: "You do realize that at this stage in the game, we will never be the one."

Me, utterly confused by out-of-blue comment: "Huh?"

FS: "Think about it, any man we meet our age or older, will probably have been in love, married, something along those lines...he'll have found the one already. She will always be the one we are measured against, even if he hates her."

Me: "Again...huh?"

FS: "Single women in their 30s or older will never be the best, but only the best the guy can do."

ICE COLD WATER IN FACE.

Me: "Um, that was harsh. So, you're saying hypothetical him will never see us as the best."

FS: "Right. Only the best he can do."

Me: "In other words, he settling."

FS: "Yep. We need to get used to lonely or being second best."

HARD PUNCH IN GUT.

So, are we destined to just be someone's "good enough?" Will he always long for the someone he never had or the one it never worked with?

Honestly, wouldn't it be kinda sad if a man (or woman, if the roles are reversed) compared every woman to a former flame? I mean, there's a reason it didn't work in the first place. And, wouldn't that mean she wasn't the one in the end?

I don't want or expect to be every man's best; I just want to be one man's best...one man's one.

There is a song by Brandy called, Almost Doesn't Count.  Yeah. That. I am not cool with being someone's almost something special. I think it was kinda like that with Wasn't--if only I was older, if only I lived closer...if only, if only...thing is, when it comes to matters of the heart--to the possibility of happily ever after--there is no if only...there is no almost.

Ugh. My head feels jello-y-blah.

Valentine's Eve...A Weekend Roundup.

'Twas the night before V--...

Yeah, I can't carry that one through.

So, yesterday was the Budweiser Shootout, a.k.a. the official return of NASCAR. Hurray! Dale Earnhardt Jr. drew the pole for Saturday night's race, and was having a great night until...Smith got into Carl Edwards, who then clipped Dale. Night over. Boo!

***On the very bright side--Dale won the pole for the upcoming Daytona 500!!!! Hurray!***

Food Drama: Yesterday, I ordered Chinese food. My favorite part of the meal? Fortune cookie time!!

Well, I had 3 fortune cookies. 2 of them were the exact same: "You and your wife will be happy in your life together."

Fantastic.

Two totally inapplicable fortunes for several reasons: 1. Wrong sex; 2. I'm not someone's wife or anything of the like, so I can't stretch it in any possible way to make it fit; and 3. I don't recall ever seeing a marriage fortune, much less two of the same thing--highly inappropriate fortunes right before the-day-that-must-not-be-named.

Result: My dad's getting them, since he and my mom fit said fortunes perfectly.

The 3rd fortune did offer a tiny bit of hope: "All your hard work will soon pay off." Here's hoping. Think I'll keep this one.

Next up was a boatload of fun: After watching Gone With The Wind, another kind of wind began battering my stomach something awful.  The painfully unwelcome visitor then kept me in post-food hell until 8 a.m. this morning. I'm trying hard NOT to take this as a sign, but rather an unfortunate, ill-timed occurrence...one that just so happened to fall on V-Day eve. Ironic and appropriate in so many ways.

Happy V-Day Eve! *just doesn't have the same ring to it*

Bah! Humbug! *now, that works*

Fact or Fiction REVEAL

Well, I knew y'all were smart little bloggers! I tried to actually pull a reverse psychology kind-of thing--make you want to pick the long ones, but then figure they are too obvious and pick the shorter ones.

So, the FACT ones are: 1 and 5.

1. Up Close & Personal with Troy Aikman: Yep, a portion of my face unwittingly landed against *possibly* Troy Aikman's derriere. There's still a 50/50 chance it wasn't him, so who knows. If it wasn't him, then he has a true doppelganger. The whole ordeal is still embarrassing. Just for the record: I didn't lose my balance totally on my own accord--the rude dude behind me kept nudging against me, trying to squeeze me out of line, and I just couldn't keep my footing.

2. Pilot Seagull: This was actually an ALMOST occurrence. I was just a little kid at the time, on vacation with my family.  My mom thankfully saw the gull and yanked me sideways, allowing the bird dung to just miss me.

3. Peter Piper Picked A Pecan Pie: This is true....but it happened to my mom. I was in the front of the restaraunt when it happened. I heard my mom clear as day, turned, and saw her fly down the step, disappear, *THUD*, then reappear, pulling herself up onto the glass counter. She was mortified. It's one of my dad's favorite stories to tell--he was HYSTERICAL, much to Mom's dismay.

4.  The Flagpole: Again, this is true, but it happened to a friend of mine in either 8th or 9th grade. Looking back on it, I'm just really glad she was okay--all of us were too busy stomach-cramp-laughing to talk.

5.  Eye Don't Like You: Um, yeah, all true. This actually happened when I was visiting my grandfather in Texas, so this wasn't my normal eye doctor, but was a doctor my dad knew back in the day.  My dad was in the room at the time and quite literally couldn't believe what he was seeing. All I remember is hearing him unsuccessfully trying to muffle the continuous chuckling. I felt so bad--poor doctor had no idea what he was in for when he walked into the room that day.

So, there you have it. I told you my mom always says my life is like a sitcom (although hers, believe it or not, is far worse, albeit funny). Now, you see why.

Tagged: Fact or Fiction

J.Day has tagged me with a fun game!

Rules: You must list 5 things about yourself; 4 of them must be fiction, 1 must be true. Fellow bloggers will try and guess which one is true. Then, I pass this on to 4 bloggers.  

I'm going to mix it up, as well.  

2 of the following will be FACT; 3 will be FICTION.





1. Up Close & Personal With Troy Aikman: I once met Troy Aikman (he was retired from the game at this point). Of course, when I say "met," I mean I was in the same vicinity.  He sat only a couple of rows down from where I was sitting with a friend and my dad.  

During the break, I ended up directly behind him in a very long line.  I felt so teeny tiny looking up at the back of his head. I kept thinking, "Wow. This was our quarterback! He helped win us super bowls!" He, um, smelled good, too.  And, no, I didn't take the time to sniff him...not really, anyway.  I mean, he was right there, barely an inch in front of me, I couldn't avoid his scent people! 

Well, like an idiot, I dropped my money. When I bent over to pick up the money, the guy behind me tried to push me out of line. What happened next was nothing short of horrifyingly humiliating. 

There I was, stumbling forward, trying to stand back up and maintain my place in line, when I lost my balance and wound up with part of my face and forehead on Troy Aikman's buttocks. 

He slowly turned and asked if  everything was "okay back there." He had a good laugh over it all. So not the way I wished to meet the Hall of Fame quarterback.


What's worse? My friend later swore it wasn't really Troy Aikman; my dad, on the other hand, was certain it was him. All I know is my face decided to cuddle with a man's butt cheeks...a man that could have been the beloved Cowboys' quarterback.


2.  Pilot Seagull: While walking on Fisherman's Wharf with my mom and dad on a trip to California, a seagull decided to dive bomb a massive dump directly on my head. I walked around the rest of the day with sticky-shi**y hair.

3.  Peter Piper Picked A Pecan Pie: Picture an extremely small restaurant --maybe 20 tables; at the back of the place, near the cash register, there was a large glass enclosed area where they sold pies and cakes. The room was so quiet. As I started to leave, I noticed a rather tasty pecan pie calling to me from inside the glass display.  I turned, and said, "Oh, look at that pecan piiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee." Missing an embarrassingly obvious step, I flew down, and crashed into the glass counter. It didn't break, nor did I, but the whole place was trying to keep from laughing, some more than others. I bought the pie out of sheer humiliation. 

4.The Flagpole: Late for class one day after gym, I was too busy talking with a friend and slammed headfirst into a metal flagpole. The impact made that classic "BONG" sound. I fell backwards on my butt, pressing my palm against my head, laughing and crying all at the same time.


5.  Eye Don't Like You: I don't care for people near my eyes, doctor or not. So, when dear Doc tried to put drops in my eyes for the first time, we had a little problem. 

Every single time he got near my eye, some automatic reflex just took over my body: I jerked my head sideways, took my fist, and punched his arm away from me. This happened two more times, with drops going down the side of my face, my ear, and in my hair, before Doc decided he would count to 3. Huh! I'm too smart for that! I knew full well he was going to drop those poisonous drops on 1 or 2.  Sure enough, on 2, he aimed, I fired...my fist punched and my leg kicked into his little table-tray thingy, making a God-awful noise, and sending a few of his tools crashing to the floor. 

Staying calm, Doc said, "Well, you're a feisty one, aren't you? We're going to have to try this a different way then." 

He moved all things away from my legs, then wisely moved behind me, so I couldn't see him. He still had a tough time getting those drops in, but he finally succeeded. After all was said and done, he said he never saw someone with quicker reflexes and superior peripheral vision...he also said he needed some aspirin and a vacation. 

Tag, you're it:  I tried to pick people who haven't been tagged with this one, but I may have missed someone.  I just really think they will come up with some awesome stories, both fact and fiction!


chocolate angel; Gorilla Bananas; Oilfield Trash; Rawknrobyn;

Bloggers: Okay, now it's up to y'all! Which TWO are FACT??? I'll post the answers late tonight. :) 

P.S. If there are any typos, please forgive me--very tired eyes today. 

Vomit Day #2: Not A Top 10

If my first Vomit Day story was humiliating, then this one should rank fairly high on the pathetic scale.

The week leading up to Vomit Day during my sophomore year in high school was an exciting one. A friend of mine decided to set me up with this truly gorgeous senior.  After pointing me out to him in the hall, he relayed his interest, and the road to my first decent Vomit Day was well underway.

He got my number from her, saying he would call me on Valentine's Day, and if things went well, he would ask me to a movie that night.

Wow! A date on Vomit Day with Adonis-senior-guy! Finally, a high school dream date coming true! And on my least favorite day of the year!!!!

February 14th: I turned my ringer on high, spent hours picking out my outfit (just in case said Vomit Day conversation turned into a date), and waited...and waited...and waited...

RING! RING!

Me: "Hello?"

Friend: "Aw, you answered the phone so sweetly! Has he called yet?"

Me: "No, not yet."

Friend: "Well, he will, just hang tight."

Not long after Friend called, my mom and dad knocked on my bedroom door with my Valentine's Day gift in hand. They gave me a CD...a soundtrack, to be more specific. I immediately placed it in my stereo and listened. Read on to find out which one...trust me when say this CD was the metaphorical dagger.

By 10:00 p.m., I knew he wasn't going to call. To this day, I can see myself sitting in my bed, staring at my carefully planned outfit all laid out, listening to my Valentine's CD from mom and dad, with my little pink phone by my side. Sad.

By 11:30 p.m., I was crying...while listening to...drum roll please...

The Bodyguard Soundtrack.  You know, the one with I Will Always Love You---a favorite of manic depressives back in the day.

Yep. I was stood up/shafted/ditched on Valentine's Day, while listening to Whitney Houston belt one of the most depressing songs of all time, second only to All By Myself. 

Oh, but there's more to this story! If I thought I couldn't feel any worse about myself, I was about to learn otherwise.

Turns out Adonis-senior-guy asked around about me prior to calling.  He found out my name wasn't on the list of top ten sophomore sluts. 


I believe his exact words to Friend were, "She just doesn't have the right name."

In fact, after a little digging, Friend found out that this guy "needed some kind of sex" on the first date, so he would never take a chance on a "good girl."

Bottom Line: He ditched me because my name wasn't on a list of sluts. It didn't matter that he thought I was cute; it didn't matter about my personality.  He didn't care.  He needed sex, and I didn't have the right name.

It's so pathetic, it's actually amusing. I mean, who gets stood up on Vomit Day for not having the right name?

Ugh, I hate you, Vomit Day.

Vomit Day #1: Mistaken Valentine.

So, I thought I'd tell you how a girl who loves love, adores pink, and is a sucker for romance, literally loathes Valentine's Day.  I've never, ever had a good one. Seriously, I have rigid rules for that God forsaken day (another post for another day).

Mistaken Valentine:

Do you remember the flower tables in school? I dreaded them. Every Vomit Day those damn tables would pop up covered with big white buckets full of friggin' flowers.

The worst part? This whole flower-giving shindig went down in the cafeteria IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE SCHOOL. So, every single self-professed "it" kid knew who got a flower, who didn't, who wanted one, who cried (yes, some cried...I didn't...not in public, anyway), etc.

The stress was unreal: Am I going to get a flower? Who might give me a flower? Oh Dear God, will pick-a-nose boy give me a flower?

Well, on this particular day of blithering bile, I had it on good authority that someone was going to give me a flower. Sadly, I was quite excited in spite of myself. Lunchtime arrives, and I'm a little anxious. Could this be my first actually GOOD Valentine's Day?

Of course not.

Boy after boy approached the wicked flower table, purchased a flower, then delivered it to their chosen girl, while an entire lunchroom took note. Finally, a boy I didn't recognize purchased a pink carnation and began walking in my direction. My friends were all nudging me, yanking on my sweater, etc.

Just as he was about to hand me the flower (and, yes, I was in mid-stretch for the stupid thing) I heard a voice in the distance shout, "No! Not her! The girl behind her!"

Fan-friggin-tastic. 

The boy meekly apologized, then handed the flower to the girl behind me--he literally reached over my head to give it to her.  As he did, a drop of water fell on my forehead. Humiliation personified.

Apparently, he was just the delivery boy...and I was the wrong address.

Needless to say, I didn't get a flower.

I loathe this day with a Medusa-like passion.