Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
My sister Runtie and I left this morning for Las Vegas, where she's going to run her first marathon. (I'm doing the half-marathon, but that's not nearly as impressive. It just means I get to eat half as much. And drink half as much. And have half as much intestinal distress.)
We’ll be sitting in the Houston Airport for the next two hours, and our entertainment options appear to be either exchanging all of our money to kronor , getting a Rosetta Stone demo on how we can become fluent in Tagalog in only 30 days (the vest-wearing hourly worker didn’t seem impressed when I expressed genuine surprise upon learning that Tagalog was a language and not just a kind of Girl Scout cookie) or testing the defibrillator on each other.
So far, we're getting along well. Sample dialogue, upon landing in Houston:
Me: Wow, you slept the whole flight!
Runtie: Mfrrraorhf. [unintelligible sounds as she buries her face in her neck pillow]
Me: Want some gum? I bet your mouth smells like a foot.
Runtie: Nice. You look like someone punched you.
Runtie: Your eyeshadow. It’s smeared around your eye, like a bruise. Thanks for the gum.
Me: See? Now your mouth smells like a foot that walked through a strawberry field.
Runtie: And you look like Robin Givens.
More details later. We have kronor to spend.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
So I went to Whole Foods to pick up dinner, like I do almost every night because I like weighing my salads. And buying plums that cost more than elective surgery. And because their stromboli is awesome.
I spent an embarrassing amount of time with my nose pressed against the deli glass, trying to decide which flavor of stromboli loaf (sandwich? helping? pup?) I wanted to adopt. Eventually I selected the ham and cheese variety, ensuring that by this time tomorrow I'll be praying for death and/or a bowel movement.
I lugged my meal toward the cash register and, of course, selected the line that had stopped because a thin, nervous-looking woman was demanding a price check. I craned my neck around a man whose t-shirt said "Re-cycling is Re-sexy" (and you, sir, are Re-tarded) to see five boxes carefully stacked into a pyramid at the end of the conveyor belt.
Five boxes of organic tampons.
This was disturbing to me on so many levels. First... FIVE boxes? Either she likes buying in bulk or her uterus is the size of Ohio. Regardless, I'm curious what organic tampons are made of. I couldn't see the, um, ingredient list, but I'm assuming each one is carefully crafted out of a corn husk, a barn owl, or Coldplay's Chris Martin.
Eventually she got her discount, took her five boxes, and left before anyone could suggest that next time, she should maybe just buy a roll of insulation. Or a tarp. Or a hysterectomy. God knows it would be cheaper than my dinner.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Confidential to the Man On the Bike In Front of Me In the 5:30 Spin Class:
--Why exactly did you choose to wear a fanny pack? Since the bikes are bolted to the floor, you probably do not need provisions.
--Yes, I saw you playing air guitar during "Layla". No, I was not at all impressed that you could ride without holding the handlebars. Again, the bikes are bolted to the floor. I would've been more interested if somehow you managed to careen into the wall.
--Just because I didn't appreciate the way you formed the invisible guitar chords, you didn't have to hiss at me. You hissed. Like a goose.
--Perhaps grey sweatpants aren't the best choice for you. When your sweat starts to pool in the legs, it forms dark patches that make your thighs look like oil-drenched seals.
--The farting? Unnecessary.
--Ooooh, you're wearing not one, not two, but three LiveStrong bracelets! I applaud your commitment to curing cancer through your generous support of child labor.
--Just so you know, the next time I hear "Sharp Dressed Man", I'm going to recall tonight's four-minute hill climb through your ass cloud.
--Any type of reasonable ending to this post? Probably is trapped in a nylon sack and strapped to your abdomen. Along with my commitment to NaBloPoMo.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Just woke up from the turkey coma long enough to say hello to my reader(s). I hope all of you have had a lovely holiday and that none of you are trampled at Wal-Mart at 4 a.m. tomorrow by a woman desparate to purchase eighteen sweaters, The Transporter on DVD, two end tables, and a head of cattle for the low, low price of $1.43.
My day included a 5 mile race, a trophy, and a very impressed crowd at IHOP when I walked in with said trophy.
Since I ran this morning, I felt justified to follow the Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity with several helpings of turkey. I like to refer to my dinner as "The Heather Mills Special" since it had two thighs and one leg.
Oh yeah. That just happened.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Bones is a show that I really enjoy watching even though I have no idea how to pronounce the names of either of the stars.
Also, based on that photograph, I am making Mr. Boreanananaz the latest entry in the "People I Would Like to Meet" series. That's so much better than "Woman Who Has a 'Caution: Driver Singing' Sticker on the Back of Her Corolla". God knows I don't even like seeing her in the parking garage, let alone in a wet, partially unbuttoned oxford shirt.
Monday, November 19, 2007
I was perusing Maury Povich's website today (or as I call it, "Cute Overload") checking out some "I Met My Daddy On Maury" onesies, when this caught my eye:
What I should've done was just post this picture, make a couple of "You are NOT the father" jokes and go back to eating my Kid Cuisine microwavable meal. But instead I dialed all 13 digits in 1-888-MAURY-SHOW and learned that you actually can purchase a "You are NOT the father" ringtone, along with "You ARE the father" (so you're covered both before and after your appearance on the program) the always popular "That's a lie!" and a "Your baby's mama is calling", accompanied by screaming infant sound effects.
For some reason, I found this insanely depressing. I couldn't even finish my Carnival Corn Dog, but that's probably because the packaging makes it look like a severed finger.
So yes, if you are someone whose phone shrieks "That's a lie" every time the creditors call to remind you of another overdue Rooms to Go payment, please let me know. I would like to meet you and, perhaps, give you the other half of this corn dog.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
I had to go to Wal-Mart today because, honestly, no other store can match them for low, low prices and mind-blowing depression. I was perusing the toy aisle (of course...because a single 28-year-old woman doesn't look at all creepy when she's having a lively debate with herself as she tries to decide which Ratatouille plush rat is the snuggliest) when I saw this sitting on the shelf:
The most terrifying part of this (other than the glee on the face of the child whose arm has been decorated with what looks like a bottlecap and a burning pumpkin) is that there was only ONE of these left in the store. Better hurry, parents! If you can't snag this last Inked Tattoo Pen, your kids will have to settle for the "Daddy's Li'l Dentist Playset N' Drill Bit" that is, at best, a distant #2 on their Christmas list.
And no, I don't see anything disturbing about this picture at all, other than wondering only one child is wearing a prison-issue jumpsuit. The other one must be on work release.
If anyone has purchased this item, please take a moment away from watchin' your stories or puttin' a litter of kittens in a cardboard box to let me know in the comments. Even you, Britney Spears. Especially you.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Words cannot describe the awesomeness of this running shirt, created just for me by Clare, one of my co-Ladies...
It has my name! And a dinosaur! And a Deadspin reference!
Seriously, I feel like I need to invent my own language in order to properly celebrate it...and that language would be rich with profanity.
I'll be rocking this in Las Vegas in two weeks and, most likely, every day until then.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
OK, so I'm going to see The Police tonight and need to know everyone's thoughts about wearing this t-shirt:
Would that be:
C) No one cares because everyone is going to be holding up their cell phones to record clips of "Don't Stand So Close to Me".
D) Maybe you should wear that 1996 Sting "Mercury Falling" Tour shirt instead.
E) Do you really own a "Mercury Falling" shirt?
H) Some of the songs on that album were really good! Like, you know, that one. About the horses.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
I was tagged by the Hot Librarian (whose site you should read every day and not just because sometimes she writes about being my college roommate) so here are my answers to some questions, grouped in handy blocks of four.
Four First Names of Crushes I Had
2. Donnie (a different one)
3. Rob (Have. I have a crush on him, right now. This can only end poorly)
Four Pieces of Clothing I Wish I Still Owned
1. My white Los Angeles Rams sweatshirt that my very awesome mom made me with blue felt letters when I was a little kid when the Rams sucked (very much like this season) and she couldn't find any official Rams merchandise. Stupid pre-internet era.
2. My Beetlejuice pajamas. There were two pieces and they looked like his suit: bold black and white stripes, fuchsia shirt, and a black tie. There also may have been some cobwebs screenprinted on. I wore them to a Girl Scout Lock-In at the Y and tore the knees out trying to do a power slide across the gym floor.
3. My USA Hockey hat, the blue one with the Nagano logo on the back. I wore it constantly in college, which may explains why sometimes people questioned my sexuality.
4. A pair of hot pink, splatterpainted Ocean Pacific Hammer pants which I originally purchased (and I'm not even kidding) because they looked like something the Fresh Prince would wear.
Four Professions I Secretly Want to Try
1. Ranch hand
3. Carnival worker
Four Musicians I’d Most Want to Go On a Date With
1. Paul McCartney (circa 1966, because the older he gets, the more he looks like my grandmother)
2. Peter Gabriel (I'm not even kidding)
3. Ryan Adams
4. Huey Lewis (sans News)
Four Foods I’d Rather Throw Than Eat
1. A giant wad of bread
2. A turkey painted like a football
3. Birdseed (at weddings)
4. 5th Avenue Bars
Four Things I Like to Sniff
1. New books
2. Three or four different types of Shower Gel at Bath & Body Works, until I begin sneezing uncontrollably and the other shoppers look in horror as, after one particularly violent outburst, my chewing gum flies out of my mouth and lands in the center of the "Irresistible Apple" table.
4. Hugh Laurie
The video is done! I spent a couple of hours with an editor yesterday, partially because I didn't have enough room on my hard drive to import even more footage of me talking to my stuffed dinosaur, and partially because this is for kind of a Big Audition and I didn't think that halfway through the DVD, there should be 45 seconds of static with a voiceover apologizing for my shitty iMovie.
Part of the assignment was to do "Man on the Street" interviews with strangers in my hometown because the casting director apparently doesn't understand Stranger Danger. If any of you ever have to do something like this, I do not suggest 1) stopping a person on their way to work; 2) interrupting their grocery shopping, especially if they catch you staring at the FOUR packages of Monistat in their cart; 3) disrupt their lunch; or 4) hide under their car, Cape Fear-style.
I was asked to leave Krispy Kreme (although they did give me a free cup of coffee), ignored by the performers at Old Salem (the Blacksmith did not think it was funny when I introduced myself as "a woman from the future"), and flat-out rejected by almost 30 people, some of whom got effing hostile about it.
Confidential to the Man From Ohio With a Nintendo DS Clipped On His Belt Who Said I "Should Be Ashamed" To Do This: No, you should be ashamed. You're the one with the Ohio State t-shirt.
But it's done. And hopefully I'll have a couple of clips up soon...
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Sorry, reader(s). I totally forgot to post yesterday... I'm working on a video project that could lead to great things--or it could lead to my arrest in the cereal aisle of the grocery store later this morning. Either way, it has consumed my life since Friday afternoon. BUT today is the last day to work on it and then it will be posted here.
Until then, you can have this:
I'm super sorry and today you'll get two posts from me. Including one that is more than 100 words and, quite possibly, chronicles other ways that I have failed. Hooray!
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Because Hardee's and I have both put our Christmas trees up, it's time for me to share my Christmas list with everyone. Granted, I've been unemployed since April so I won't be giving any gifts this year, unless they can be made from ramen noodles and my own tears. BUT that shouldn't stop you, dear reader(s), from showering me with presents.
The items pictured above (and I strongly suggest that you click the picture to view everything in its full awesomeness) are:
1) One not-at-all offensive Cher doll, officially named "Half-Breed". I'm not making that up. The item description claims that the doll has "authentic face sculpting" which is probably true, since at this point, most of Cher's actual face is made of vinyl.
2) A 300 Spartan helmet/votive holder, because I've had difficulty finding home decor that combines my love for both bloodshed and Glade "Angel Whispers" candles.
3) A delightful plastic figurine of hunters driving home with a newly slain deer. Not only that, but it also plays "Sweet Home Alabama", which makes sense..."Hit Me With Your Best Shot" would just be tacky.
4) A t-shirt that says "Corn Poop: One of Life's Mysteries". Also a mystery? Why you rarely see clothing like this at Neiman Marcus. Or on anyone who doesn't regularly sleep on a subway grate.
5) Is it a corset? Is it a lamp? Holy shit, it's both! And I'm determined to be tiny enough to wear it, even if that means removing my own rib cage.
And then sometimes, the product descriptions are too glorious not to reproduce in their entirety. Like this.
Boy, do I wish I'd had this mask earlier. I've wasted so much time... it always seems like the kids are terrified but the animals are still eating from your flower bed, or vice versa.
I would've added this outfit to my list, but was disappointed to learn that it was only available in infant sizes.
What? Sometimes I just want to rock a onesie.
Finally, if you haven't finished decorating your own homes, may I suggest this charming costume for your toilet.
Because there's nothing disturbing at all about evacuating your bowels directly into Santa's mouth. That'll teach you not to bring me a Wii, you jolly old bastard!
Now, get out there and start buying me things! There are only 43 shopping days left and those corset lamps aren't going to last forever. Unlike Cher's face.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Today, you should visit Ladies... (I mean, assuming you don't already read it every day) to learn how to make a freaking giant muffuletta sandwich. It involves one pound of meat and cheese, a Liberace bobblehead, and also Chex Mix.
Note: Yes, those are the ingredients above. Look at all that meat. And, um, fennel.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Rejoice! I have resumed my obsessive, borderline ridiculous analysis of House. Check it out here.
What if I said there were additional pictures of Hugh Laurie? And of Biff Tannen? And of a haggard, elderly woman clutching an IV and a urine specimen? Perhaps that would change your mind...
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
So my David Ortiz Hallmark Keepsake Ornament came in today and I spent entirely too much time debating whether to hang it from my rearview mirror until Christmas or just to string it on a chain and wear it as a festive pendant.
I had an intense internal monologue, where 'pendant' had a slight edge because I thought it would look pretty sweet with a turtleneck. Then I drove past Hardee's, where I saw this tasteful holiday display:
I was powerless to resist...I had to immediately put my Christmas ornament on a Christmas tree! Because if Hardee's says it's Christmastime then dammit, it's Christmastime! I came home and unpacked my reasonably priced but highly flammable fake fir tree and placed my new Ortiz-ament right at the top. Feliz Papi-dad! HAHAHA, I am so clever! And so alone.
That's right, I take decorating cues from a fast food restaurant, one best known for its casual attitude toward arterial health and questionable hiring practices. I mentioned my concerns (the holiday thing, not the hiring thing) to the woman who took my order this afternoon. She thought about it for a moment, quietly monitoring both the deep fryer and her glucose monitor. One or the other beeped, she handed me a warm paper sack, and said, "Christmas is in your heart and you can't put your heart on no calendar."
It's gonna be Christmas in my heart and in one corner of my apartment for at least two months. That's plenty of time to enjoy the tree, delight in the skilled craftsmanship of the Hallmark artisans, and hopefully digest that Hot Ham & Cheese.
Congratulations to my local paper ("borrowed" from the hateful, late-sleeping woman across the hall) for either having a sly sense of humor or having completely clueless editors.
If the sub-head had been "Jeff Gordon's in the rear", I would have subscribed immediately.
Monday, November 05, 2007
1) Eight days ago, my beloved Boston Red Sox won the World Series. And I was there at the games in Denver, waving around a ridiculous "Team of Dustin-y" sign that neither got the attention of second baseman Dustin Pedroia nor made it on television. It did, however, ensure that I'll spend baseball's offseason alone, eating mini-corndogs and re-enacting scenes from the playoffs with my collection of McFarlane figures.
My co-Soxaholic Texas Gal and I will be writing lots of gushing Boston praise in the next couple of days which, of course, I'll provide a link to. Until then, enjoy this picture of Curt Schilling:
2) After six months of unemployment and mailing out 38 resumes (not to the same place), I finally got an interview for a position that would be an excellent fit for me.
Getting this job with this company has the potential to be, like, a career and not just "a place I'll waste two years and have a collection of insurance cards, a Palm pilot I never returned, and a lingering sense of bitterness to show for it". Not only that, but working there won't require me to wear a name tag, use the term "plan-o-gram", or refer to my co-workers as my "Apple-buddies". I really want/need this job.
The interview went very well. I was prepared for everything they asked and they seemed pleased with my answers. They also didn't throw any curve balls, like the last interview I had (in 2004...also right after the Sox won the Series) when, as a final question, the HR director said "Tell me about the last book you read." I froze, my mind stuck on the human skull that decorated the book's cover. As I sat there fumbling for words, long enough for her to question whether I could actually read at all, out of my mouth tumbled the phrase "Well...it's called Death's Acre and it's about a place where they study decomposing bodies."
She said nothing.
"It's a paperback," I offered, as if that made me sound less insane. She silently nodded her head and closed the manila folder with my resume in it, letting me know that it was time to go. And that she would prefer to never, ever be alone with me again.
3) Taking a cue from my former roommate The Hot Librarian, I will be participating in NaBloPoMo which means that I'll be posting here every day for a month (which, for me, will end on December 5) and that I'm too lazy to do that novel writing thing. That means you have 29 more days of reading about the many reasons I have for being single, including a pair of glow-in-the-dark dinosaur footie pajamas and a penchant for doing this every time I eat an orange:
It's going to be a sweet thirty days.