What the heck is in the water today (well, this vibe actually started yesterday and has seemed to carry through to today)?! I swear, it feels like I'm getting talked over left and right.
It's. Driving. Me. Mad.
Maybe we need to go over a few brief pointers from the It's Not All About You Guide to Conversing With Others (you know, that little invisible handbook your mama passes down to you in the form of manners):
Step one: Take a breath. Breathe. Allow others to interject thoughts. Kindly remember the world does not revolve around you, nor does the sun shine out of your...well, you get the picture.
Step two: Listen to what others have to say. Allow them to share the air. Everyone is entitled to the same amount of oxygen.
Step three: Nod or otherwise acknowledge that you are listening. Staring into oblivion...or at my chest...or at my lips while licking your own...are not suitable ways of letting someone know you are listening--it only shows what you are thinking.
Get these first three steps down, and we're on the road to a much better--less aggravating--conversation.
Ugh. I just had to vent a little. Sorry about that. Feel better now, though. That's what blogs are for, right?
Time to hum some sunshine-y tune...or, my luck, some hormone-y song.
Sigh. It's a Monday.
On a significantly brighter note, Colin Firth won the Academy for Best Actor, my Mavs won this weekend, AND Dale Earnhardt Jr. overcame quite a bit of on-track adversity to grab a top ten finish at Phoenix. Whoop! *Did I just -whoop-?*
Monday, February 28, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
Friday Fun: Best Actor Goes To...
....um, I don't know, but I'm sure hoping it's Colin Firth. Ever since he captured my heart as Mr. Darcy, I have wanted to see him acknowledged by the Academy. Even in romantic comedies, he's fantastic. I just love the depth he brings to his roles.
His most recent Academy Award nominated role in the King's Speech is no exception. In one word: brilliant.
His most recent Academy Award nominated role in the King's Speech is no exception. In one word: brilliant.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
When People Say Mean Things
Sometimes people say mean things. For whatever reason, they can't help themselves.
Maybe they knock your lifestyle, your choices, your family, your significant other, your job, or even your looks.
Maybe they're just joking around...maybe they're serious...maybe they want to bring you down...and maybe you shouldn't care.
Don't let someone's words get you down.
When someone feels the need to verbally lash out at another for no apparent reason, don't get mad (though you may want to)...don't get sad (because they'd love that and it's a useless emotion)...and don't get even (despite your knee-jerk reaction to spew venom right back--yes, this would be more fun, but would you feel good afterward? Wait. Don't answer that).
Instead, feel sorry for them...because anyone who feels the need to be a jackass clearly has more issues than you could ever imagine having. And that alone is a damn good reason to feel grateful in the face of bullies (of all ages).
Remember: it's your life, not his, hers, or theirs. Yours. Chin up, square shoulders, and move on. And if you want to flip 'em the finger on the sly...aw, hell, go for it.
Maybe they knock your lifestyle, your choices, your family, your significant other, your job, or even your looks.
Maybe they're just joking around...maybe they're serious...maybe they want to bring you down...and maybe you shouldn't care.
Don't let someone's words get you down.
When someone feels the need to verbally lash out at another for no apparent reason, don't get mad (though you may want to)...don't get sad (because they'd love that and it's a useless emotion)...and don't get even (despite your knee-jerk reaction to spew venom right back--yes, this would be more fun, but would you feel good afterward? Wait. Don't answer that).
Instead, feel sorry for them...because anyone who feels the need to be a jackass clearly has more issues than you could ever imagine having. And that alone is a damn good reason to feel grateful in the face of bullies (of all ages).
Remember: it's your life, not his, hers, or theirs. Yours. Chin up, square shoulders, and move on. And if you want to flip 'em the finger on the sly...aw, hell, go for it.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
What If Wednesday: What If He Has A Bet On You?
Although along the same lines as the "what if he uses you" theory, one of the most frequent questions I hear has to do with the "bet" scenario: What if a guy has a bet with his buddies that he can get you into bed?
Well, this goes back to that trust issue. I don't trust in people easily. Some people find that strange, which always perplexes me. Trust, like respect, is earned. Do you trust someone you literally just met? Odds are, you don't.
Whether you realize it or not, there is some part of you that will remain guarded until you get to know the person better. Trust is as much a gift as it is a process.
When people tell me they trust me completely, I'm honored, and would never do anything to break that trust. Heck, I still have people's secrets going back to 8th grade! Guess what? I've never told anyone anything...and I never will. Why? Because they asked me not to tell a soul. I don't care that it was forever ago or that they probably don't remember the secrets themselves. I gave my word.
I guess what I'm saying is this: I'm going to get to know him before I trust him. Doesn't trust come before love, anyway? All I can do is have faith that I won't come across some cold-hearted son-of-a-gun that sees me as nothing more than a bet.
My instincts have never let me down before, and I imagine they won't when the time comes.
Bottom Line: I've fine-tuned my b.s. radar...I can usually smell it a mile away. And you can bet I'll go to y'all and my mama for second opinions. ;)
And, ya know, if for some reason a slick s.o.b. squeaks past my b.s. detector, I'll just call up the vengeance demon to right things for me...(I'm joking...it's a Buffy reference, for those who watched the show--very funny character, when she lost her powers anyway...bit scary before then, though.). ;)
Well, this goes back to that trust issue. I don't trust in people easily. Some people find that strange, which always perplexes me. Trust, like respect, is earned. Do you trust someone you literally just met? Odds are, you don't.
Whether you realize it or not, there is some part of you that will remain guarded until you get to know the person better. Trust is as much a gift as it is a process.
When people tell me they trust me completely, I'm honored, and would never do anything to break that trust. Heck, I still have people's secrets going back to 8th grade! Guess what? I've never told anyone anything...and I never will. Why? Because they asked me not to tell a soul. I don't care that it was forever ago or that they probably don't remember the secrets themselves. I gave my word.
I guess what I'm saying is this: I'm going to get to know him before I trust him. Doesn't trust come before love, anyway? All I can do is have faith that I won't come across some cold-hearted son-of-a-gun that sees me as nothing more than a bet.
My instincts have never let me down before, and I imagine they won't when the time comes.
Bottom Line: I've fine-tuned my b.s. radar...I can usually smell it a mile away. And you can bet I'll go to y'all and my mama for second opinions. ;)
And, ya know, if for some reason a slick s.o.b. squeaks past my b.s. detector, I'll just call up the vengeance demon to right things for me...(I'm joking...it's a Buffy reference, for those who watched the show--very funny character, when she lost her powers anyway...bit scary before then, though.). ;)
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
All I Ask
So, since I have my funky love post over on Cinderita's blog, I figure I'll continue on the love trend. I think most of us agree that love has been made uber complicated these days. So stupid, really. Love should be the simplest, most wonderful part of life, and yet people find a way make it anything but. Shame.
I still believe in the simplistic, uncomplicated version. That's me. Love--pure and simple, love. Trusting the other person is a bit problematic. Whether I'm destined to find it in this world or not, I do not know. I have my doubts. And if I end up alone, it's okay. I'd rather be alone on my own than alone in a relationship.
To me, love isn't about money, prestige, or any of those shallow things. Love should be about two hearts, two souls. Period.
Now, enough with the heavy stuff.
If you listen to the lyrics of a timeless classic, I think they will say it better than I ever could: All I Ask Of You, from The Phantom of the Opera.
I still believe in the simplistic, uncomplicated version. That's me. Love--pure and simple, love. Trusting the other person is a bit problematic. Whether I'm destined to find it in this world or not, I do not know. I have my doubts. And if I end up alone, it's okay. I'd rather be alone on my own than alone in a relationship.
To me, love isn't about money, prestige, or any of those shallow things. Love should be about two hearts, two souls. Period.
Now, enough with the heavy stuff.
If you listen to the lyrics of a timeless classic, I think they will say it better than I ever could: All I Ask Of You, from The Phantom of the Opera.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Love Is In The Air...
...on Cinderita's blog. I wrote a guest blog on love for her and she's featuring it tomorrow. Please keep in mind, I was in my Valentine's state of mind when I wrote it, which, as most of you know, wasn't terribly sunny.
Love. That word has been really bothering me lately. It's thrown around so loosely these days, I sometimes wonder if it still exists in its true form. I think it does, but the bigger concern is whether the person saying it actually believes in the meaning...or are they just saying it because it's the "thing" to do. Maybe they feel they've been with someone long enough and better just say it.
Last November, when I asked Wasn't point blank if he loved his girlfriend of nearly one year, there was this amazing hesitation, followed by serious waffling, and then, "Uuuuuh, you know, yeah." Not sure about you, but that's not what I would want to hear. I don't want to be with someone who isn't really sure about me. Granted, he's probably not the best example to go by, but I remember thinking, I wonder if he really knows what it means to love someone. I think that about a lot of people, actually.
I tend to think simple things have become ridiculously complicated these days...things like love and trust. They are so wonderfully basic, but, wow, the way some people act today makes it really difficult to keep them simple.
Okay, I'm totally mind dumping here.
And if I get shocked one more time when I turn on a light switch, I'm going to start getting radio signals...or turn into, like, Electro Girl--tag line: Touch, and you'll get electrocuted. Wow, how popular would I be with guys? So not ideal.
Love. That word has been really bothering me lately. It's thrown around so loosely these days, I sometimes wonder if it still exists in its true form. I think it does, but the bigger concern is whether the person saying it actually believes in the meaning...or are they just saying it because it's the "thing" to do. Maybe they feel they've been with someone long enough and better just say it.
Last November, when I asked Wasn't point blank if he loved his girlfriend of nearly one year, there was this amazing hesitation, followed by serious waffling, and then, "Uuuuuh, you know, yeah." Not sure about you, but that's not what I would want to hear. I don't want to be with someone who isn't really sure about me. Granted, he's probably not the best example to go by, but I remember thinking, I wonder if he really knows what it means to love someone. I think that about a lot of people, actually.
I tend to think simple things have become ridiculously complicated these days...things like love and trust. They are so wonderfully basic, but, wow, the way some people act today makes it really difficult to keep them simple.
Okay, I'm totally mind dumping here.
And if I get shocked one more time when I turn on a light switch, I'm going to start getting radio signals...or turn into, like, Electro Girl--tag line: Touch, and you'll get electrocuted. Wow, how popular would I be with guys? So not ideal.
Lady Luck
Lady Luck and I have never been close. Maybe it has to do with me not really relying on her help or calling her a choice name when she sticks her nose in where it doesn't belong. I'm convinced she gets sheer pleasure out of toying with the virgin...like I'm the yarn ball to her cat.
I guess it's safe to say we are at odds most of the time.
Still, I wish I had her direct line because Luck and I need to have a talk.
Yesterday, twenty-year-old NASCAR driver Trevor Bayne, became the youngest winner of the historic Daytona 500. Oh, and this was his FIRST EVER Daytona 500. To put this win into perspective, Tony Stewart, a two time series champion, has never won the Daytona 500.
I think just about every NASCAR fan and non-NASCAR fan was happy for this hard working, faith-driven young man.
However, what happened to Dale Earnhardt Jr. is just absurd.
Take a look at the following and tell me Lady Luck doesn't have some explaining to do:
1. Dale wins the pole for the Daytona 500 (meaning he starts the race 1st)
2. During practice, three cars jump in front of Jimmie and Dale, causing Dale to get hit from behind.
3. Pole car...gone; must move to the back-up car.
4. Because he has to move to the back-up car, Dale has to start the race in the back of the pack.
5. Dale masterfully moved up through the pack early on.
6. He lead nine laps over the course of the race.
7. By the end of the race, Dale was in position for the win.
8. With about FIVE laps remaining, he gets a flat tire.
9. Forced to pit, he has to restart 15th/16th.
10. Then, on the restart, he becomes collateral damage in another driver's wreck. Day over, car trashed.
11. From a possible win or top 5...to a 24th place finish.
BFF thought it was terrible what happened--just horrible, horrible luck.
If I could, I'd ask Luck why she feels it's necessary to continue battering the man. Don't you think he had enough of that last year?
Believe me when I say, there are other people in this world perhaps a bit more deserving of your game play. Then again, maybe no one deserves any of the rot you dish out.
Lady Luck, there's a reason your name rhymes with a less than flattering word.
I guess it's safe to say we are at odds most of the time.
Still, I wish I had her direct line because Luck and I need to have a talk.
Yesterday, twenty-year-old NASCAR driver Trevor Bayne, became the youngest winner of the historic Daytona 500. Oh, and this was his FIRST EVER Daytona 500. To put this win into perspective, Tony Stewart, a two time series champion, has never won the Daytona 500.
I think just about every NASCAR fan and non-NASCAR fan was happy for this hard working, faith-driven young man.
However, what happened to Dale Earnhardt Jr. is just absurd.
Take a look at the following and tell me Lady Luck doesn't have some explaining to do:
1. Dale wins the pole for the Daytona 500 (meaning he starts the race 1st)
2. During practice, three cars jump in front of Jimmie and Dale, causing Dale to get hit from behind.
3. Pole car...gone; must move to the back-up car.
4. Because he has to move to the back-up car, Dale has to start the race in the back of the pack.
5. Dale masterfully moved up through the pack early on.
6. He lead nine laps over the course of the race.
7. By the end of the race, Dale was in position for the win.
8. With about FIVE laps remaining, he gets a flat tire.
9. Forced to pit, he has to restart 15th/16th.
10. Then, on the restart, he becomes collateral damage in another driver's wreck. Day over, car trashed.
11. From a possible win or top 5...to a 24th place finish.
BFF thought it was terrible what happened--just horrible, horrible luck.
If I could, I'd ask Luck why she feels it's necessary to continue battering the man. Don't you think he had enough of that last year?
Believe me when I say, there are other people in this world perhaps a bit more deserving of your game play. Then again, maybe no one deserves any of the rot you dish out.
Lady Luck, there's a reason your name rhymes with a less than flattering word.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Trying To Clean Up The Blog...And The Survivor Game (Again)
Do y'all ever rework your blog? I was doing that earlier, but deleted the wrong post while watching the NASCAR truck series race and getting all teary eyed over it being the 10 year anniversary of Dale Earnhardt Sr.'s passing. I guess I wasn't paying attention.
Then, I posted a re-post, but realized I wanted to ask y'all what you do when you remodel your blog...so I deleted that one. Sigh. I apologize again.
Blog remodeling questions:
-Do you relabel posts?
-Do you narrow your labels down? That's something I've been working on after noticing some labels that were too similar.
-Do you delete posts? If so, why? Sometimes I'll delete them if they're obsolete (things that no longer matter or even things from when I first started blogging and asked questions about how to blog...stuff like that).
-Have you ever tried different layouts? I have, but it never looks right to me, so I ultimately stay with the same thing. I'm probably doing something wrong, though...I'm not so good at this stuff.
I'll try to keep the blog blonde from having another flake-out anytime soon.
I want to make sure I re-post Kelly's Survivor game links. :)
For a super fun change of pace, Kelly (who has an awesomely wonderful blog) over at My Joy Project just started a blogging game based on the show Survivor! If you are a Survivor fan, like playing blogging games, like winning, or just like getting prizes, check it out!! Survivor Blogging Game
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Relevance and Dale Earnhardt Jr.
Question: If someone said to you, "You are not relevant," would that be offensive? How about if someone said, "You [he or she] need to try to become relevant?"
I once had a couple of classmates--groupie girls--tell me that they would never invite me to a post-game party because the Mr. So-and-so's would never be interested in me. According to them, I "...would not be relevant to guys like that." i.e. I wasn't a groupie and wouldn't do groupie things. Of course, relevant was a newly discovered word for them, so maybe they just wanted to work it into a sentence that day. *eye roll*
I remember thinking, what happened to people liking each other for who they really are, not what they do...or don't do? When did being genuine become an irrelevant thing?
Relevant is like the new buzz word used to talk people down.
If you googled Dale Earnhardt Jr.'s name in the weeks leading up to the Daytona 500, all you read were headlines questioning just how relevant he still is in racing. The headlines included things like: Dale Tries To Become Relevant; Last Chance For Dale Jr. To Remain Relevant, Dale Jr: Racing For Relevance.
Really?
Then you see headlines like, Why Doesn't Dale Jr. Smile Anymore? Wow, I wonder. How much would you want to smile if someone kept badgering you about relevancy, talent, passion, blah, blah, blah???
Everyone is relevant in this world. In such a big 'ol place, it's nice to know you are relevant to your mama, your daddy, your friends, and your loved ones.
As for Dale, he will always be relevant in NASCAR. It's funny to me, really, that these people who question his relevancy fail to see the irony in what they write: if he wasn't relevant, then why are you writing about him? See? Relevant. More than that, though, he's relevant to the people that matter most in his life--his loved ones...and you can toss in a slew of fans for the heck of it. Not so shabby.
What's my point? Well, I guess it's just to think about what you say before you say it. We're all in the same boat, no matter our name or station in life...in the end, we're all after the same general things.
***NASCAR NOTE: Yesterday, while running in a two-car tandem with teammate Jimmie Johnson, Robbie Gordon, David Gilliland, and Michael Waltrip veered in front of the 48, causing him to check up and get a little loose. When he did, Dale had to slow up and was hit from behind by Martin Truex Jr. So, even though he won the pole, Dale will have to start in the back of the pack. No biggie. You can move from the back to the front pretty quickly at Daytona...especially if you're the 88.
I once had a couple of classmates--groupie girls--tell me that they would never invite me to a post-game party because the Mr. So-and-so's would never be interested in me. According to them, I "...would not be relevant to guys like that." i.e. I wasn't a groupie and wouldn't do groupie things. Of course, relevant was a newly discovered word for them, so maybe they just wanted to work it into a sentence that day. *eye roll*
I remember thinking, what happened to people liking each other for who they really are, not what they do...or don't do? When did being genuine become an irrelevant thing?
Relevant is like the new buzz word used to talk people down.
If you googled Dale Earnhardt Jr.'s name in the weeks leading up to the Daytona 500, all you read were headlines questioning just how relevant he still is in racing. The headlines included things like: Dale Tries To Become Relevant; Last Chance For Dale Jr. To Remain Relevant, Dale Jr: Racing For Relevance.
Really?
Then you see headlines like, Why Doesn't Dale Jr. Smile Anymore? Wow, I wonder. How much would you want to smile if someone kept badgering you about relevancy, talent, passion, blah, blah, blah???
Everyone is relevant in this world. In such a big 'ol place, it's nice to know you are relevant to your mama, your daddy, your friends, and your loved ones.
As for Dale, he will always be relevant in NASCAR. It's funny to me, really, that these people who question his relevancy fail to see the irony in what they write: if he wasn't relevant, then why are you writing about him? See? Relevant. More than that, though, he's relevant to the people that matter most in his life--his loved ones...and you can toss in a slew of fans for the heck of it. Not so shabby.
What's my point? Well, I guess it's just to think about what you say before you say it. We're all in the same boat, no matter our name or station in life...in the end, we're all after the same general things.
***NASCAR NOTE: Yesterday, while running in a two-car tandem with teammate Jimmie Johnson, Robbie Gordon, David Gilliland, and Michael Waltrip veered in front of the 48, causing him to check up and get a little loose. When he did, Dale had to slow up and was hit from behind by Martin Truex Jr. So, even though he won the pole, Dale will have to start in the back of the pack. No biggie. You can move from the back to the front pretty quickly at Daytona...especially if you're the 88.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Takin' The Fish Off The Hook
I've never particularly cared for being a fish. What girl does? But, there are some men who sneakily slip a hook in the mouth without you consciously realizing as much. *um, that is not meant to sound dirty in any way, shape, or form, btw*
Even after you remove the hook, some men just don't get it. You can remove that damn hook over and over again, but he'll continue trying to keep you hanging there, just in case he's ready to yank you into his little boat one day.
This sticky-fisherman wants to keep the fresh little fishy close, while enjoying his fried catfish on the side.
Though you may swim away as fast as your little fins will carry you--trying to avoid that pesky hook--sometimes it is necessary to pull a Jaws and just face the son of a gun.
If you have the fortitude, going Jaws is really very effective in possibly, officially removing and retiring his beloved hook.
So, if you have a sticky-fisherman in your life, consider going Jaws...make him have to get a bigger boat.
Even after you remove the hook, some men just don't get it. You can remove that damn hook over and over again, but he'll continue trying to keep you hanging there, just in case he's ready to yank you into his little boat one day.
This sticky-fisherman wants to keep the fresh little fishy close, while enjoying his fried catfish on the side.
Though you may swim away as fast as your little fins will carry you--trying to avoid that pesky hook--sometimes it is necessary to pull a Jaws and just face the son of a gun.
If you have the fortitude, going Jaws is really very effective in possibly, officially removing and retiring his beloved hook.
So, if you have a sticky-fisherman in your life, consider going Jaws...make him have to get a bigger boat.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Hickory, The Scottish Deerhound Wins Best In Show!!
Hickory, the Scottish deerhound, has won Best in Show at the 135th Westminster Dog Show, marking the very first win for the breed.
For her final show before retiring, Hickory was absolutely stunning.
All of the dogs were beautiful, putting on quite a show for the crowd.
My other favorite was the little Pekingese--seriously, so cute.
Congrats to Hickory!
Did y'all watch? What did you think?
For her final show before retiring, Hickory was absolutely stunning.
All of the dogs were beautiful, putting on quite a show for the crowd.
My other favorite was the little Pekingese--seriously, so cute.
Congrats to Hickory!
Did y'all watch? What did you think?
Post Valentine's Day Rescue Mission
While you are out buying all kinds of yummy Valentine's candy on sale, do me a little favor? Take a look at all those little cute cuddly faces staring out from the sale bins, and, maybe, rescue one.
This is something my papaw started a very long time ago; it's a tradition my mom, dad, and I have kept going. My papaw was like Santa Claus, minus the beard and belly like a bowl full of jelly. His blue eyes twinkled with pure goodness, and his heart was beautifully big.
When I was little, he always said that the little leftover Valentine's, Christmas, Easter, and/or Halloween animals were those most in need of a home. First thing the day after a holiday, he went over to the local drugstore and picked up a little fella. He felt they would hold an extra special place in the heart of the person receiving them.
So, while you're rescuing the chocolate from going into a garbage bin, think about one of those little faces staring at you--you never know when it might be just what you need. After all, we're never too old for a hug and smiling face.
We've carried on my papaw's tradition. Maybe you will too. :)
And, um, I know I sound like a total dork, but...I'm okay with dork.
This is something my papaw started a very long time ago; it's a tradition my mom, dad, and I have kept going. My papaw was like Santa Claus, minus the beard and belly like a bowl full of jelly. His blue eyes twinkled with pure goodness, and his heart was beautifully big.
When I was little, he always said that the little leftover Valentine's, Christmas, Easter, and/or Halloween animals were those most in need of a home. First thing the day after a holiday, he went over to the local drugstore and picked up a little fella. He felt they would hold an extra special place in the heart of the person receiving them.
So, while you're rescuing the chocolate from going into a garbage bin, think about one of those little faces staring at you--you never know when it might be just what you need. After all, we're never too old for a hug and smiling face.
We've carried on my papaw's tradition. Maybe you will too. :)
And, um, I know I sound like a total dork, but...I'm okay with dork.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Vomit Day #3: Driveway Roadkill, Part Two
Aside from the occasional raspberry when I would forget to lift before moving, dinner went quite smoothly. No food drops, food flings, or gags...that is until Mr. Leaver made me try to eat something, knowing I thought they looked like little bits of mushy cow's brain.
Mr. Leaver: "Just try one for me."
Me: "Oh, all right, but I won't like it."
Mr. Leaver: "You'll like this one."
So, I tried it. Didn't like it. Mr. Leaver started grinning at me while I tried to choke the thing down. I made a very tiny ewy-ick face at him, just to make him laugh.
It's quite unfortunate that at that precise moment, the chef came out and wanted to know how everyone enjoyed their meals.
To make matters worse, my date's family was pretty well-known in the community, so the chef, proud of his work, looked to us first.
Yeah.
Poor thing--he seemed so anxious to know if we found his cooking satisfactory. Beaming, he looked to me first. Can you guess what he saw?
You guessed it: The leather-pants-wearing-faux-flatulence-problem girl, wearing the ewy-ick expression on her face.
His face went pale; I really thought he might vomit, which would have been very bad, since the little mushy brain-like thing in my mouth pushed me to the ragged edge of vomitville.
I swallowed the last bit as quickly as I could, coughed a little, made a small gagging sound, nervously (sadly) moved in my chair, and tried to assure him that his meal was delicious.
Not thinking he bought it. Not sure if it was the expression, cough, gag, or faux fart that didn't convince him.
Sigh. I do hope he understood after everything.
After dinner: Once in the car, I could tell something was off about Mr. Leaver. Was it the pants? The ewy-ick face? Ugh, the faux-flatulence?
I should point out that Mr. Leaver did NOT bring me any flowers or candy or a cuddly for Valentine's Day. His reason? Because he wanted to take it slow (fine by me!) and he didn't want to "scare" me off. **He knew about Wasn't**
NOTE: He had not even tried to KISS me yet, much to my surprise.
As the radio played one of my favorite songs, Mr. Leaver fumbled about for a CD. He cut off the radio, put in the CD, and immediately started playing a specific song, saying, "I want you to hear this one."
Uh-oh.
He picked a song that had a very clear message...and it didn't include sleep. Now, the song wasn't Bump N' Grind or Freak Me (those were really good songs, weren't they? Sorry, momentary mind melt), but I got the message.
I can't remember the song specifically--probably because my leather pants and I were busy visiting sweatville all over again--but I do recall some of it was very, very sweet and complementary...still, I got the jist of what it was saying.
He wants to take it slow. He hasn't held my hand. He hasn't kissed me. Yet, he wants to go have sex??
Seriously?
I didn't say anything, apart from commenting on what a pretty song it was; he didn't say anything. It was THE most awkward drive home. He never followed up with anything.
I kind-of think he wanted me to initiate something...suggest we go back to his place, perhaps. I didn't know what to do...usually the guy actually makes a move or suggests going back to his place...SOMETHING. This was new to me.
So, play a song, and I'm expected to recommend the sex??? Total confusion.
Next thing I know, Mr. Leaver says: "I'm just going to take you back home tonight. I have an early day tomorrow. Hope you don't mind." His tone was a bit cold, at least to me.
It was pretty early for a date to end. My initial translation on his words: "You didn't pick up on my song and suggest going back to my place, so I'm gonna pout now." I could have been wrong, but that's how it came off.
After the longest drive ever--where I tried to make conversation and he just seemed distant--we finally pulled into my very icy driveway.
We paused for a moment. I felt bad. I didn't want the date to end all awkward and full of misunderstanding. So, I tried to imply that we could take things to the next level (i.e. kissing...since I was a little confused as to why that hadn't happened yet).
Whatever. It didn't take.
Hmm. Why isn't he moving from that nice warm seat to walk me to my door? Maybe say goodnight with a Valentine's kiss?? Ah, I get it, he's not gonna do either.
He literally dropped me in the middle of my driveway and drove off without making sure I made it safely to my door.
Nope. I was left in the dark, in the middle of my icy driveway, in leather pants, and brand new heels.
Maybe I misread everything, but I still think, no matter what, you see your date makes it to her door safely... especially a Valentine's date. I'm a southern girl, remember.
I scraped and slid my way to the door, looking like something between the Hunchback of Notre Dame and a turtle. During my long hobbit-like walk to the door, several thoughts ticked across my mind:
What happened to "taking it slow?"
Ya haven't kissed me, but you want to have sex? Huh?
Play a song = girl suggesting sex? Really?
Am I totally wrong, here?
Once I made it safely inside--shocked I didn't fall on my arse--I closed the door on Valentine's Day forever...and wearing leather pants on a formal date.
After about three days of nothing, he called and started calling me "honey" and "dear" and I think even "darling." It was strange and, yet, totally par for the course.
So, there you have it, my top three worst Vomit Days. I think the only reason I don't have more is because of my tendency to hide this time of year. If history is any indication, it's a dang good thing I do.
To all of you who love V-Day: Happy Valentine's Day to you. {{{HUGS}}}
To all of you who don't: Happy February 15th...a.k.a. The Chocolate Sale Day! {{{HUGS}}}
Mr. Leaver: "Just try one for me."
Me: "Oh, all right, but I won't like it."
Mr. Leaver: "You'll like this one."
So, I tried it. Didn't like it. Mr. Leaver started grinning at me while I tried to choke the thing down. I made a very tiny ewy-ick face at him, just to make him laugh.
It's quite unfortunate that at that precise moment, the chef came out and wanted to know how everyone enjoyed their meals.
To make matters worse, my date's family was pretty well-known in the community, so the chef, proud of his work, looked to us first.
Yeah.
Poor thing--he seemed so anxious to know if we found his cooking satisfactory. Beaming, he looked to me first. Can you guess what he saw?
You guessed it: The leather-pants-wearing-faux-flatulence-problem girl, wearing the ewy-ick expression on her face.
His face went pale; I really thought he might vomit, which would have been very bad, since the little mushy brain-like thing in my mouth pushed me to the ragged edge of vomitville.
I swallowed the last bit as quickly as I could, coughed a little, made a small gagging sound, nervously (sadly) moved in my chair
Not thinking he bought it. Not sure if it was the expression, cough, gag, or faux fart that didn't convince him.
Sigh. I do hope he understood after everything.
After dinner: Once in the car, I could tell something was off about Mr. Leaver. Was it the pants? The ewy-ick face? Ugh, the faux-flatulence?
I should point out that Mr. Leaver did NOT bring me any flowers or candy or a cuddly for Valentine's Day. His reason? Because he wanted to take it slow (fine by me!) and he didn't want to "scare" me off. **He knew about Wasn't**
NOTE: He had not even tried to KISS me yet, much to my surprise.
As the radio played one of my favorite songs, Mr. Leaver fumbled about for a CD. He cut off the radio, put in the CD, and immediately started playing a specific song, saying, "I want you to hear this one."
Uh-oh.
He picked a song that had a very clear message...and it didn't include sleep. Now, the song wasn't Bump N' Grind or Freak Me (those were really good songs, weren't they? Sorry, momentary mind melt), but I got the message.
I can't remember the song specifically--probably because my leather pants and I were busy visiting sweatville all over again--but I do recall some of it was very, very sweet and complementary...still, I got the jist of what it was saying.
He wants to take it slow. He hasn't held my hand. He hasn't kissed me. Yet, he wants to go have sex??
Seriously?
I didn't say anything, apart from commenting on what a pretty song it was; he didn't say anything. It was THE most awkward drive home. He never followed up with anything.
I kind-of think he wanted me to initiate something...suggest we go back to his place, perhaps. I didn't know what to do...usually the guy actually makes a move or suggests going back to his place...SOMETHING. This was new to me.
So, play a song, and I'm expected to recommend the sex??? Total confusion.
Next thing I know, Mr. Leaver says: "I'm just going to take you back home tonight. I have an early day tomorrow. Hope you don't mind." His tone was a bit cold, at least to me.
It was pretty early for a date to end. My initial translation on his words: "You didn't pick up on my song and suggest going back to my place, so I'm gonna pout now." I could have been wrong, but that's how it came off.
After the longest drive ever--where I tried to make conversation and he just seemed distant--we finally pulled into my very icy driveway.
We paused for a moment. I felt bad. I didn't want the date to end all awkward and full of misunderstanding. So, I tried to imply that we could take things to the next level (i.e. kissing...since I was a little confused as to why that hadn't happened yet).
Whatever. It didn't take.
Hmm. Why isn't he moving from that nice warm seat to walk me to my door? Maybe say goodnight with a Valentine's kiss?? Ah, I get it, he's not gonna do either.
He literally dropped me in the middle of my driveway and drove off without making sure I made it safely to my door.
Nope. I was left in the dark, in the middle of my icy driveway, in leather pants, and brand new heels.
Maybe I misread everything, but I still think, no matter what, you see your date makes it to her door safely... especially a Valentine's date. I'm a southern girl, remember.
I scraped and slid my way to the door, looking like something between the Hunchback of Notre Dame and a turtle. During my long hobbit-like walk to the door, several thoughts ticked across my mind:
What happened to "taking it slow?"
Ya haven't kissed me, but you want to have sex? Huh?
Play a song = girl suggesting sex? Really?
Am I totally wrong, here?
Once I made it safely inside--shocked I didn't fall on my arse--I closed the door on Valentine's Day forever...and wearing leather pants on a formal date.
After about three days of nothing, he called and started calling me "honey" and "dear" and I think even "darling." It was strange and, yet, totally par for the course.
So, there you have it, my top three worst Vomit Days. I think the only reason I don't have more is because of my tendency to hide this time of year. If history is any indication, it's a dang good thing I do.
To all of you who love V-Day: Happy Valentine's Day to you. {{{HUGS}}}
To all of you who don't: Happy February 15th...a.k.a. The Chocolate Sale Day! {{{HUGS}}}
Vomit Day #3: Driveway Roadkill, Part One
Who: We'll call him Mr. Leaver.
Date: 3rd. a.k.a. the expected sex date...on my very first official V-Day date. Fabulous timing.
Mood: Excited, hopeful, happy.
Outfit: Oooh, a good one--leather pants, brand new pink top, brand new, tastefully sexy boots with a decent size heel on them.
Restaurant: Quaint, converted house. Picture a mid-size bar adjacent a surprisingly small dining area--very intimate. The overwhelmingly quiet atmosphere around the bar and dining area made me nervous.
Me + new heels + small area + insane quiet = possible catastrophe.
Mr. Leaver: "Let's sit at the bar while they're getting our table ready."
The bar stools were unusually tall...dangerously so, actually. With my nice new heels, I lifted and balanced myself gracefully onto the stool. Phew.
Mr. Leaver and I talked for a few moments before he left to go talk to someone (I think he wanted to greet someone his family knew...that whole bit is a blur).
While my date did whatever, the front of house informed me that our table was ready.
*Keep in mind, the following happened very quickly, but it felt like slow motion*
As I tried to slide off the stool, I discovered something the mean science teachers failed to tell us in school:
leather pants + wooden seat = inability to slide, slight stuck feeling, and manufactured farting sounds when attempting to move.
Now, I don't know if there were some unknown variables, like whatever they used to clean the wood, the type of wood, or the type of leather pants I had on, but my rear end was essentially STUCK.
Oh. Holy. God.
The height of the stools were such that I couldn't put my foot down and hop off without the possibility of my leathery bottom bringing the stool crashing to the ground. And, as we have already learned, I cannot simply slide off without sounding like I had a flatulence problem.
Growing very hot, I began to sweat--not a good mix with leather.
I had to get off this stupid stool. I slowly lifted my rear, one bum cheek at a time, and tried to ease myself forward until my feet could touch the floor. In doing so, these very strange *FLAWP* *FLAWP* peeling sounds rang out from my derriere.
The people at the tables closest to the bar kept a measuring eye on me; I couldn't tell if they were amused or if they were waiting to see if I would fall off the stool.
By this time, my feet were halfway to the floor, my body was slightly tilted on the stool, and I was in deep danger of the whole stool tipping over should I move one more inch.
I dared to try one more little slide. The only thing I accomplished was the sound of gas.
Grab Guy (sitting behind me at the bar): "You okay, there?"
Me: "I can't get off the stool."
Grab Guy: "Why?"
Me: "My leather pants--they're sticking to the wood. I need you to lift me off the stool."
Grab Guy: "Um, how?"
Me, sighing: "I need you to stick your hands under my bottom and just...peel me up."
Grab Guy, laughing: "I would, but I have a girlfriend."
Me: "I'm not asking you to grope me...just kindly help me off this thing, otherwise my pants will continue to make obscene sounds and eventually succeed in knocking over the stool. Please, I need your help...I can't reach the floor. Now, stick your hands under there and peel!"
Grab Guy, quite literally laughing his rear end off, aided in my dilemma, and I was able to hop off the stool with his, um, forklift-type-help. I did stumble a bit and, in doing so, my heels made an appallingly loud clip-clopping sound as people turned to look at the crazed leather-pants-wearing girl.
I thanked Grab Guy, and rejoined Mr. Leaver--the clip-clopping prompted him to leave his acquaintances and attend to his frazzled date. After assuring Mr. Leaver that all was well, we followed the waiter to our table...
...which had wooden seats.
It was only the beginning.
Date: 3rd. a.k.a. the expected sex date...on my very first official V-Day date. Fabulous timing.
Mood: Excited, hopeful, happy.
Outfit: Oooh, a good one--leather pants, brand new pink top, brand new, tastefully sexy boots with a decent size heel on them.
Restaurant: Quaint, converted house. Picture a mid-size bar adjacent a surprisingly small dining area--very intimate. The overwhelmingly quiet atmosphere around the bar and dining area made me nervous.
Me + new heels + small area + insane quiet = possible catastrophe.
Mr. Leaver: "Let's sit at the bar while they're getting our table ready."
The bar stools were unusually tall...dangerously so, actually. With my nice new heels, I lifted and balanced myself gracefully onto the stool. Phew.
Mr. Leaver and I talked for a few moments before he left to go talk to someone (I think he wanted to greet someone his family knew...that whole bit is a blur).
While my date did whatever, the front of house informed me that our table was ready.
*Keep in mind, the following happened very quickly, but it felt like slow motion*
As I tried to slide off the stool, I discovered something the mean science teachers failed to tell us in school:
leather pants + wooden seat = inability to slide, slight stuck feeling, and manufactured farting sounds when attempting to move.
Now, I don't know if there were some unknown variables, like whatever they used to clean the wood, the type of wood, or the type of leather pants I had on, but my rear end was essentially STUCK.
Oh. Holy. God.
The height of the stools were such that I couldn't put my foot down and hop off without the possibility of my leathery bottom bringing the stool crashing to the ground. And, as we have already learned, I cannot simply slide off without sounding like I had a flatulence problem.
Growing very hot, I began to sweat--not a good mix with leather.
I had to get off this stupid stool. I slowly lifted my rear, one bum cheek at a time, and tried to ease myself forward until my feet could touch the floor. In doing so, these very strange *FLAWP* *FLAWP* peeling sounds rang out from my derriere.
The people at the tables closest to the bar kept a measuring eye on me; I couldn't tell if they were amused or if they were waiting to see if I would fall off the stool.
By this time, my feet were halfway to the floor, my body was slightly tilted on the stool, and I was in deep danger of the whole stool tipping over should I move one more inch.
I dared to try one more little slide. The only thing I accomplished was the sound of gas.
Grab Guy (sitting behind me at the bar): "You okay, there?"
Me: "I can't get off the stool."
Grab Guy: "Why?"
Me: "My leather pants--they're sticking to the wood. I need you to lift me off the stool."
Grab Guy: "Um, how?"
Me, sighing: "I need you to stick your hands under my bottom and just...peel me up."
Grab Guy, laughing: "I would, but I have a girlfriend."
Me: "I'm not asking you to grope me...just kindly help me off this thing, otherwise my pants will continue to make obscene sounds and eventually succeed in knocking over the stool. Please, I need your help...I can't reach the floor. Now, stick your hands under there and peel!"
Grab Guy, quite literally laughing his rear end off, aided in my dilemma, and I was able to hop off the stool with his, um, forklift-type-help. I did stumble a bit and, in doing so, my heels made an appallingly loud clip-clopping sound as people turned to look at the crazed leather-pants-wearing girl.
I thanked Grab Guy, and rejoined Mr. Leaver--the clip-clopping prompted him to leave his acquaintances and attend to his frazzled date. After assuring Mr. Leaver that all was well, we followed the waiter to our table...
...which had wooden seats.
It was only the beginning.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
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*
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*
Friday, February 11, 2011
Vomit Day Survival Guide
Still bruised and battered after my Mavs single point loss last night, I thought it might be fun to put together a Valentine's Day survival guide. Why not, right?
Hope you don't mind--my blog is my outlet. I figure once I get all this V-Day aggression out of my system this year, I will be done with it forever. This is the first time I've ever really talked about my V-Day catastrophes in any detail--I have yet to share a particularly "interesting" one with you...reckon I'll save it for the day itself.
Anyway...
Valentine's Day Survival Guide:
*Groan*
*Yawn*
*Gag*
First and foremost:
-remove all romantic movies from vicinity of DVD player (shove deep in closet, drawer, anywhere out of sight)
-eject all sappy-lovey cd's from stereo; do not listen to pathetic f.m.
-turn off answering machine--will only upset you to hear for the 900th time: "No new messages...*^%$"
-keep all phones OFF. Their lack of response to your inherent need for a ringing sound will not help your sanity.
Must gather necessary supplies for impending doom's day, er, Valentine's Day.
1. All vices--junk food? Why not? Soda? Oh, slap me silly and call me candy, you bet your sweet sweat there will be soda. Chocolate? Only in the form of M&Ms, Hershey's, or any non-V-Day candy. NO Russell Stover heart boxes--those are best saved for after V-Day when they are on sale.
2.Acceptable DVDs:
Action: Independence Day, Terminator, Alien (for the stomach blast alone, it's a perfect V-Day movie), Cast Away (okay, not exactly action, but totally apropos--don't we all have a Wilson? No? Yeah, me neither), Saving Private Ryan, etc.
Fantasy: Harry Potter (Stupefy!), Lord of the Rings, Beetlejuice, The Dark Crystal, etc.
If you absolutely must watch a love-themed movie on said day, stick to those with sad endings (happy endings will only tick you off; at least sad is in keeping with the tone of the day): Titanic, Phantom of the Opera, Love Story, Ghost, etc.
Could also go for slapstick comedy.
***Bram Stoker's DRACULA. That would be ideal on V-Day...any day, really. Edward Cullen pales in comparison. Get it? Pales... Yeah. I know. Lame joke. But, this really is a great film--tortured love, vampires, undying love (literally)--it's classic.
3. Advil for certain headache
4. Ice bag to numb head when Advil isn't working fast enough
5. Dramamine for certain queasy stomach when thought of someone flutters across your bruised mind.
6. Computer--equipped with favorite shopping sites minimized and ready for raiding.
7. Credit Card--to aid in said raiding
8. Second Dramamine for buyer's remorse.
9. Kleenex for any spontaneous eye leakage...due to inflamed sinuses, of course.
10. A cute cuddly something, like a teddy bear. Yeah, I love a good hug from a cute cuddly...please don't judge.
11. A partridge in a pear tree...wait, wrong day.
Hope you don't mind--my blog is my outlet. I figure once I get all this V-Day aggression out of my system this year, I will be done with it forever. This is the first time I've ever really talked about my V-Day catastrophes in any detail--I have yet to share a particularly "interesting" one with you...reckon I'll save it for the day itself.
Anyway...
Valentine's Day Survival Guide:
*Groan*
*Yawn*
*Gag*
First and foremost:
-remove all romantic movies from vicinity of DVD player (shove deep in closet, drawer, anywhere out of sight)
-eject all sappy-lovey cd's from stereo; do not listen to pathetic f.m.
-turn off answering machine--will only upset you to hear for the 900th time: "No new messages...*^%$"
-keep all phones OFF. Their lack of response to your inherent need for a ringing sound will not help your sanity.
Must gather necessary supplies for impending doom's day, er, Valentine's Day.
1. All vices--junk food? Why not? Soda? Oh, slap me silly and call me candy, you bet your sweet sweat there will be soda. Chocolate? Only in the form of M&Ms, Hershey's, or any non-V-Day candy. NO Russell Stover heart boxes--those are best saved for after V-Day when they are on sale.
2.Acceptable DVDs:
Action: Independence Day, Terminator, Alien (for the stomach blast alone, it's a perfect V-Day movie), Cast Away (okay, not exactly action, but totally apropos--don't we all have a Wilson? No? Yeah, me neither), Saving Private Ryan, etc.
Fantasy: Harry Potter (Stupefy!), Lord of the Rings, Beetlejuice, The Dark Crystal, etc.
If you absolutely must watch a love-themed movie on said day, stick to those with sad endings (happy endings will only tick you off; at least sad is in keeping with the tone of the day): Titanic, Phantom of the Opera, Love Story, Ghost, etc.
Could also go for slapstick comedy.
***Bram Stoker's DRACULA. That would be ideal on V-Day...any day, really. Edward Cullen pales in comparison. Get it? Pales... Yeah. I know. Lame joke. But, this really is a great film--tortured love, vampires, undying love (literally)--it's classic.
3. Advil for certain headache
4. Ice bag to numb head when Advil isn't working fast enough
5. Dramamine for certain queasy stomach when thought of someone flutters across your bruised mind.
6. Computer--equipped with favorite shopping sites minimized and ready for raiding.
7. Credit Card--to aid in said raiding
8. Second Dramamine for buyer's remorse.
9. Kleenex for any spontaneous eye leakage...due to inflamed sinuses, of course.
10. A cute cuddly something, like a teddy bear. Yeah, I love a good hug from a cute cuddly...please don't judge.
11. A partridge in a pear tree...wait, wrong day.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Roses Are Red...Unless You Are Me...
I have a thing for flowers. I love 'em. My favorite flower is the daisy. It's just such a happy little flower. Every time I bring them home, I swear the house smiles...and so do I. My mom loves to make me blankets featuring all sorts of different daisy patterns, and let me tell you how they brighten up a room!
But, considering we are approaching the wretched day called Valentine's, I want to look at the unofficial V-Day flower: The rose.
Now, I love roses, I do, really (*clears throat* they in no way make me want to toss them in a sewer when I see them handed to an undercover soulless witch)...
...but, they have been a bit of a thorn in my side, as they have with all single women. Society conditions us at a very young age to recognize the rose as a universal declaration of love, acceptance, desire, etc.
Rose = relationship;
Rose = romance;
Rose = gag
Ooh, wait, that last one's my personal reaction. Sorry.
**I do have a favorite color rose...bet you can guess.**
Due to this time of year, personal experience, and just the total randomness of my mind right now, I have this whole rose philosophy when it comes to the colors:
1. Red Rose: Unofficial Vomit Day flower and waaaaaay overused. Result: Nah, I'll pass.
2. White Rose: Innocence and purity. Huh! Well, this one was forever ruined when cute boy gave slut girl a white rose as a symbol of her purity. Turns out he was trying to kiss up for the ideal boy-V-Day, if you get what I'm saying. Result: Not on your life. However, I wouldn't pass up a white rose with pink touches on the petals--those are just gorgeous.
3. Yellow Rose: Soooo, the popular kid in school! Okay, I know there is the famous song, The Yellow Rose of Texas, but the only Texas flower for me is the bluebonnet--love them. Result: Wouldn't turn 'em away. ;)
4. Pink Rose: Poetic romance and sweetness. Aside from the fact that it's my very favorite color, the pink rose has always struck me as the one who quietly sits in the background, not needing to be the center of attention or flaunted about. I hardly see these featured, certainly when compared to the others. Result: We have a winner!
My two very favorite flowers: Pretty Pink Roses and Happy Daisies!
Please, no one tell me a bad story involving pink roses, I beg you.
Wow...this was a random post...I never know where my pre-Vomit Day mind will carry me.
***Aw, who the heck am I kidding? I'd be jumping up and down, clapping, and doing the happy dance over any color rose at this point. ***
But, considering we are approaching the wretched day called Valentine's, I want to look at the unofficial V-Day flower: The rose.
Now, I love roses, I do, really (*clears throat* they in no way make me want to toss them in a sewer when I see them handed to an undercover soulless witch)...
...but, they have been a bit of a thorn in my side, as they have with all single women. Society conditions us at a very young age to recognize the rose as a universal declaration of love, acceptance, desire, etc.
Rose = relationship;
Rose = romance;
Rose = gag
Ooh, wait, that last one's my personal reaction. Sorry.
**I do have a favorite color rose...bet you can guess.**
Due to this time of year, personal experience, and just the total randomness of my mind right now, I have this whole rose philosophy when it comes to the colors:
1. Red Rose: Unofficial Vomit Day flower and waaaaaay overused. Result: Nah, I'll pass.
2. White Rose: Innocence and purity. Huh! Well, this one was forever ruined when cute boy gave slut girl a white rose as a symbol of her purity. Turns out he was trying to kiss up for the ideal boy-V-Day, if you get what I'm saying. Result: Not on your life. However, I wouldn't pass up a white rose with pink touches on the petals--those are just gorgeous.
3. Yellow Rose: Soooo, the popular kid in school! Okay, I know there is the famous song, The Yellow Rose of Texas, but the only Texas flower for me is the bluebonnet--love them. Result: Wouldn't turn 'em away. ;)
4. Pink Rose: Poetic romance and sweetness. Aside from the fact that it's my very favorite color, the pink rose has always struck me as the one who quietly sits in the background, not needing to be the center of attention or flaunted about. I hardly see these featured, certainly when compared to the others. Result: We have a winner!
My two very favorite flowers: Pretty Pink Roses and Happy Daisies!
Please, no one tell me a bad story involving pink roses, I beg you.
Wow...this was a random post...I never know where my pre-Vomit Day mind will carry me.
***Aw, who the heck am I kidding? I'd be jumping up and down, clapping, and doing the happy dance over any color rose at this point. ***
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Vomit Day Confession
In a comment posted on my last entry,Vomit Day#2 , Drake asked if I had any positive Valentine's Day stories.
Answer: No. None. Zero. Zilch. Nada.
Exception: I don't count my parents; they have ALWAYS tried to do something sweet for me on that wretched day, and I dearly love them for it. Likewise, I don't count the days when we were little ones and Teacher practically made everybody give everybody else one of those little single sheet cartoon-y Valentine's.
No, I'm strictly talking about the boy-girl, man-woman Vomit Day experiences. For me, if they weren't flat out terrible, they were nonexistent.
Even when I tried a silent protest by wearing thick black eyeliner, a black top, tight dark jeans, and dark nails on that ungodly day, I had people say, "Ooooh, what a pretty look on you!" or "Do you have a hot date tonight?" So not the ideal reaction. I'm protesting people!!! How is this unclear?
I've never gotten flowers, whether via an e-flower or in the flesh; I've never gotten a Valentine's card; I've never gotten a cute little Valentine's cuddly-something. Nothing. You know who got those things? You guessed it. The girls who were a sure thing or the seriously mean girls--we're talking MEAN with rotten intentions. I've never understood it.
Confession: I'm a hopeless romantic, so I WANT to like Valentine's Day, I really do. Even though it's totally over-commercialized and terribly cliche, I would love to know what it's like to have just one good memory for that day.
Until then....I will hate it with a burning passion that's stronger than a million suns.
Answer: No. None. Zero. Zilch. Nada.
Exception: I don't count my parents; they have ALWAYS tried to do something sweet for me on that wretched day, and I dearly love them for it. Likewise, I don't count the days when we were little ones and Teacher practically made everybody give everybody else one of those little single sheet cartoon-y Valentine's.
No, I'm strictly talking about the boy-girl, man-woman Vomit Day experiences. For me, if they weren't flat out terrible, they were nonexistent.
Even when I tried a silent protest by wearing thick black eyeliner, a black top, tight dark jeans, and dark nails on that ungodly day, I had people say, "Ooooh, what a pretty look on you!" or "Do you have a hot date tonight?" So not the ideal reaction. I'm protesting people!!! How is this unclear?
I've never gotten flowers, whether via an e-flower or in the flesh; I've never gotten a Valentine's card; I've never gotten a cute little Valentine's cuddly-something. Nothing. You know who got those things? You guessed it. The girls who were a sure thing or the seriously mean girls--we're talking MEAN with rotten intentions. I've never understood it.
Confession: I'm a hopeless romantic, so I WANT to like Valentine's Day, I really do. Even though it's totally over-commercialized and terribly cliche, I would love to know what it's like to have just one good memory for that day.
Until then....I will hate it with a burning passion that's stronger than a million suns.
Monday, February 7, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Dallas Mavericks WIN!!!
WOW! If you missed the Celtics-Mavs game, you missed a fantastic back-and-forth battle. Thanks to Jason Kidd's 3 point shot with 2.5 seconds to go, Dallas was able to regain the lead and get their 7th straight win.
My throat totally hurts from yelling, "SHOOT THE BALLLLLLLLLLLLLL..." and I love it! It's the best kind of sore throat to have!!!!!
Way to go MAVS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My throat totally hurts from yelling, "SHOOT THE BALLLLLLLLLLLLLL..." and I love it! It's the best kind of sore throat to have!!!!!
Way to go MAVS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The LOL Award, Part Two
We have another LOL award to give out!! Thank you so much, J. Day for my second LOL Award. If you haven't visited her blog, please do--she is fantastic!!!
Rather than select a few fellow bloggers to receive this award, I'm changing the rules and passing it to EVERYONE! Go on, grab the LOL Award and do what you like with it. Honestly, all of you bring the smiles, making it an impossible task to narrow it down to a mere 7...plus, I really don't like leaving anyone out--I know, I know, I'm a softy. Truly, I think everyone deserves it. :)
So, now I have to reveal 7 previously unknown factoids about myself (this is getting kinda tough, actually):
1. I'm a huge fan of the t.v. show Dallas. My mama introduced me to J.R., Bobby, and the whole Ewing clan at a pretty young age, and I've loved it ever since. The theme song is truly one of the best in television history...at least to me. *blushes*
2. I tend to collect pens. Wherever I travel, I have to get a pen representing the area.
3. Williamsburg is one of my favorite places to visit. It's so beautiful there. The guys in costume have absolutely nothing to do with it. ;)
4. My very favorite Disney movie is Beauty and the Beast. I love the whole theme of seeing past the surface to the beauty of the soul.
5. Haunted houses scare the living daylights out of me. When I was in third grade, our school had a haunted house, which I thought would be fun. After all, we're little kids--how scary could it be? Well, one bloody, headless dude offering me a bowl of eyeballs and Freddy from Nightmare on Elm Street jumping out of nowhere officially did it for me and haunted houses. It was a little too much for a young child. Still, I love the idea of haunted houses...I'd probably still go to one.
6. Sometimes, I like to listen to instrumental music. Several of my very favorite soundtracks include: Sabrina, The Thomas Crown Affair, and Pride & Prejudice. The music is so calming.
7. Fifth grade: One of my classmates threw a huge Halloween party at her house (actually, it was more like a mansion). Everyone had to dress in costume for the party. It was pretty common knowledge that the coveted costume awards would be given to her personal friends. My best friend grumbled, wishing one of us would win something; I just wished I could win something for my mom, who did an amazing job on my kitty cat costume. But, I didn't know the girl very well, so I figured there was little chance of me winning anything. Then, shockingly, I heard my name called for "the big award," Cutest. Think that was the only time I won anything...and it still remains one of my fondest memories--because I could take that award and show it to my mama. :)
So, now I have to reveal 7 previously unknown factoids about myself (this is getting kinda tough, actually):
1. I'm a huge fan of the t.v. show Dallas. My mama introduced me to J.R., Bobby, and the whole Ewing clan at a pretty young age, and I've loved it ever since. The theme song is truly one of the best in television history...at least to me. *blushes*
2. I tend to collect pens. Wherever I travel, I have to get a pen representing the area.
3. Williamsburg is one of my favorite places to visit. It's so beautiful there. The guys in costume have absolutely nothing to do with it. ;)
4. My very favorite Disney movie is Beauty and the Beast. I love the whole theme of seeing past the surface to the beauty of the soul.
5. Haunted houses scare the living daylights out of me. When I was in third grade, our school had a haunted house, which I thought would be fun. After all, we're little kids--how scary could it be? Well, one bloody, headless dude offering me a bowl of eyeballs and Freddy from Nightmare on Elm Street jumping out of nowhere officially did it for me and haunted houses. It was a little too much for a young child. Still, I love the idea of haunted houses...I'd probably still go to one.
6. Sometimes, I like to listen to instrumental music. Several of my very favorite soundtracks include: Sabrina, The Thomas Crown Affair, and Pride & Prejudice. The music is so calming.
7. Fifth grade: One of my classmates threw a huge Halloween party at her house (actually, it was more like a mansion). Everyone had to dress in costume for the party. It was pretty common knowledge that the coveted costume awards would be given to her personal friends. My best friend grumbled, wishing one of us would win something; I just wished I could win something for my mom, who did an amazing job on my kitty cat costume. But, I didn't know the girl very well, so I figured there was little chance of me winning anything. Then, shockingly, I heard my name called for "the big award," Cutest. Think that was the only time I won anything...and it still remains one of my fondest memories--because I could take that award and show it to my mama. :)
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Sucky Snow
Well, winter has arrived. We're getting totally pounded by snow...and I'm less than thrilled.
Christmas snow is magical. Period. End of subject.
However, it's no longer that holly jolly time of the year, and snow without Christmas is absolutely pointless. Frosty won't come back to life with this stupid non-Christmas snow. You can't sing the snow song from White Christmas without wanting to replace the word snow with another s-word.
Dumping over two feet of snow a couple of weeks before THE most grotesque, pathetic, Christmas-wannabe day of the year--Vomit, er, Valentine's Day--is cruel, mocking, and, well, sucky.
We should start naming snowstorms like we do hurricanes. I would name this one Sucky Suckdom...just because.
Christmas snow is magical. Period. End of subject.
However, it's no longer that holly jolly time of the year, and snow without Christmas is absolutely pointless. Frosty won't come back to life with this stupid non-Christmas snow. You can't sing the snow song from White Christmas without wanting to replace the word snow with another s-word.
Dumping over two feet of snow a couple of weeks before THE most grotesque, pathetic, Christmas-wannabe day of the year--Vomit, er, Valentine's Day--is cruel, mocking, and, well, sucky.
We should start naming snowstorms like we do hurricanes. I would name this one Sucky Suckdom...just because.
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