I'm by myself at work today and bored. It's quiet and my dance party music isn't all that great company this morning.
There's a janitor here that kind of flirts with me when he comes up to do his janitorial business. He's a nice enough guy, but it just makes me really uncomfortable. He used to bring me flowers of the hand picked from someone's garden variety. I didn't have the heart (read: I'm a giant, passive aggressive, heartless robot) to tell him to fuck off, so I made up some story about how I already had a boyfriend. I thought that would pretty much be the end of that. I assumed that the boy radar in his head would say, Bummer, she's already got a hunky, super fly if not completley made up man and look elsewhere. It's not even like it was a good lie on my part. He gave me some flowers and I was all, "Oh cool, my boyfriend, who I've been dating and who I am seeing exclusively and who is the only guy I'm ever going to be interested in ever and please leave now, gets me flowers like this all the time."
Sadly, my boyfriend lie kind of backfired. Now The Janitor asks me about him all the time. My fake boyfriend works in a store not related to my job, has dark hair and is named Jason. I'm like a black widow with all these lies I'm spinning. Here's the thing though: I CAN'T STOP. I could be like, "Hey, I don't have a boyfriend. I made that up so you would leave me alone," but who actually says things like that? This isn't a Saved by the Bell special.
Unfortunately, this exchange happened today:
The Janitor: How's your boyfriend today?
Me: Oh, he's just fine. Still working at the store with his hair (I may not have said this part out loud).
The Janitor: So when are you guys getting married?
Me: Not for a while.
The Janitor: But you will get married some day, right?
Me: Probably, just not anytime soon.
The Janitor:Oh good, because you wouldn't want to be alone all your life, like you were before your boyfriend, right?
Me: Uh...
I think I may have met my passive-aggressive match! I still have so much to learn about the subtle, seething art that is passive-aggression.
Also, Happy Halloween everyone! Costume Blue Barracuda is making it's debut tonight on the streets of Tucson. Pictures to follow. Have a fun time tonight. Or don't. Whatever. I don't care.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Good one, entire male population
Hey, remember when I said at the end of the last post that I don't understand boys? Guess what-- that still totally holds true an entire day later.
As soon as I decide I'm done with the "boy sitch" and I'm going to move into a convent and hang out with nuns for the rest of my natural born life, the boys come a runnin'. Is there some sort of pheramone I'm giving off? In my head it goes like this:
Me: I'm done! I don't understand boys and I'm moving to the Island of Lesbos. (note: serious, Wikipedia it.)
Boys: Code Lesbos! Everyone swarm her with your adorable boy ways!
You know what, fine. I give up. Mark my words, every male who is not related to me, I don't fucking get you. I'm going to stop trying to understand your crazy ways and just keep on doing whatever it is I'm doing. If you want to date, hang out or whatever with me, I'm going to need a notarized letter, a copy of your birth certificate and at least one real date* before any sort of deal is sealed.
From now on, the only thing I will understand about boys is their love of zombie movies and making out. Everything else I'm going to chalk up to being horribly, horribly lost in translation.
*Note: One real date consists of a period of time where I dress up nice and you try to impress me by being witty, funny, cute, adorable or any combination of the four. It does not include offering to "hook my ride up" with new headlights, trying to get fresh before the check has come or letting me tag along with your friends while you're at a bar.
As soon as I decide I'm done with the "boy sitch" and I'm going to move into a convent and hang out with nuns for the rest of my natural born life, the boys come a runnin'. Is there some sort of pheramone I'm giving off? In my head it goes like this:
Me: I'm done! I don't understand boys and I'm moving to the Island of Lesbos. (note: serious, Wikipedia it.)
Boys: Code Lesbos! Everyone swarm her with your adorable boy ways!
You know what, fine. I give up. Mark my words, every male who is not related to me, I don't fucking get you. I'm going to stop trying to understand your crazy ways and just keep on doing whatever it is I'm doing. If you want to date, hang out or whatever with me, I'm going to need a notarized letter, a copy of your birth certificate and at least one real date* before any sort of deal is sealed.
From now on, the only thing I will understand about boys is their love of zombie movies and making out. Everything else I'm going to chalk up to being horribly, horribly lost in translation.
*Note: One real date consists of a period of time where I dress up nice and you try to impress me by being witty, funny, cute, adorable or any combination of the four. It does not include offering to "hook my ride up" with new headlights, trying to get fresh before the check has come or letting me tag along with your friends while you're at a bar.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Slowly turning into Macho Man Savage (on the inside)
I can't decide if I'm having a good day or not. I think I am, maybe, kinda, a little, sort of having an alright, not terrible, eh, fine day. I can't settle on adjectives that I like! I feel like I'm split into two folks: Happy KV and Turning into The Hulk Inside KV.
Here are some things that are making Happy KV so damn chipper:
Friends
I'm just going to put this out there: my friends are bomb. They're amazing, hilarious, fun, ridiculous and all around mother effing awesome. But most of all, they all seem to have this sense where whenever I feel like blarg they happen to show up or call just to see what's goin' on. It also just goes to show that I don't keep crappy, lame, silly or redonk people around in my life. Homie don't play that, which leads me to my next point:
Silly Phrases
I think I get it from my cousin Beezy, but I will occasionally latch on to a word and say it until I have taken all meaning and coolness out of it. For example, I'm trying to make the word "woof" catch on. I've been trying for a while. Let me set the mood for you. Say you're at the mall/store/eatery and you see a girl dressed something disgusting. It's terrible. She's wearing something horrible like moccasin boots, cutoffs and a bedazzled sweater with feathers. And not only is her hair stringy, but she's wearing sunglasses inside. And her sunglasses are smudged. You have to squint to look at her because if you opened your eyes at full capacity, your brain would laugh in your face and then quit. You turn to your friend to point out the walking atrocity and the only word you can muster to describe it is, "Woof." It's a powerful word. Go ahead and try it out.
Halloween
There's something about dressing up as someone you're not that's wonderfully comforting.
And since I said it's a 50/50 sort of day, here are some things that are making me die a little inside, even as I write this. True story. I'm 1% more dead than I was a second ago.
The word "excellent"
This word has become dangerous to me. I started using it as part of the words I'm trying to bring into my vocabulary, but it has since gotten horribly out of control. I can't stop saying it. And try as I might, I can't say it without sounding like a.) a surfer from 1991, b.) stoned or c.) feeling like I should be in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. I am officially looking for a new word to bring into rotation that hasn't been popular since the late 80s.
My contacts and my eyeballs
Yesterday I went to put my contacts in and found that one of them was ripped. Ripped! Granted, I've been using these monthly contacts for 6 months now, but what the hell? There's nothing that will make me fly into an unsubstantiated rage quicker than having to break out my glasses. I feel like a huge geek and for some reason there's hair spray residue all over them, even though I haven't used hair spray since I was 14 and rocking the chola bangs. But I tried to make peace with it. Tons of people wear glasses, what's one more? Then today at work this happened:
Co-worker: Hey, I really like your glasses!
Me: Oh, thanks. (feeling less mutant like)
Co-worker: Where'd you get them? I'm trying to find some like that because I'm going to be Sarah Palin for Halloween.
Me: *sigh*
Sound effects eaters
Alright, this is a serious topic that needs to be discussed. I absolutely cannot stand people who make moaning, groaning or otherwise questionable pleasure noises whilst eating. Hey, I get it, that pear is delicious. It's so tasty it might even make you let out an involuntary moan or two. But I don't want to have to hear your sex noises because you're so smitten with your fruit. It's gross and kind of baffling. How is it possible to groan and swallow food at the same time? Any scientists in the house who can explain this to me? Mostly, it's just weird and makes me feel a little uncomfortable. In fact, sound effects eaters have just joined my own personal Axis of Evil.
Boys
Every last one of them are confusing and stupid. I remember thinking this when I was in fifth grade and a boy tripped me with a jump rope because he liked me. I remember thinking this when I was in 8th grade and had my first boyfriend. And I remember thinking it after every bad date, every bad argument, and every bad everything in between. Boys are silly and there is no point in trying to figure them all out.
Now that I think about it, tonight is Dollar Tuesday night at the local theatres, so perhaps my day is more 70/30 in favor of Happy KV. Good thing my love for cheap movies far outweighs any gripes I have with life at the moment. You win, Dollar Tuesday. You always do.
Here are some things that are making Happy KV so damn chipper:
Friends
I'm just going to put this out there: my friends are bomb. They're amazing, hilarious, fun, ridiculous and all around mother effing awesome. But most of all, they all seem to have this sense where whenever I feel like blarg they happen to show up or call just to see what's goin' on. It also just goes to show that I don't keep crappy, lame, silly or redonk people around in my life. Homie don't play that, which leads me to my next point:
Silly Phrases
I think I get it from my cousin Beezy, but I will occasionally latch on to a word and say it until I have taken all meaning and coolness out of it. For example, I'm trying to make the word "woof" catch on. I've been trying for a while. Let me set the mood for you. Say you're at the mall/store/eatery and you see a girl dressed something disgusting. It's terrible. She's wearing something horrible like moccasin boots, cutoffs and a bedazzled sweater with feathers. And not only is her hair stringy, but she's wearing sunglasses inside. And her sunglasses are smudged. You have to squint to look at her because if you opened your eyes at full capacity, your brain would laugh in your face and then quit. You turn to your friend to point out the walking atrocity and the only word you can muster to describe it is, "Woof." It's a powerful word. Go ahead and try it out.
Halloween
There's something about dressing up as someone you're not that's wonderfully comforting.
And since I said it's a 50/50 sort of day, here are some things that are making me die a little inside, even as I write this. True story. I'm 1% more dead than I was a second ago.
The word "excellent"
This word has become dangerous to me. I started using it as part of the words I'm trying to bring into my vocabulary, but it has since gotten horribly out of control. I can't stop saying it. And try as I might, I can't say it without sounding like a.) a surfer from 1991, b.) stoned or c.) feeling like I should be in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. I am officially looking for a new word to bring into rotation that hasn't been popular since the late 80s.
My contacts and my eyeballs
Yesterday I went to put my contacts in and found that one of them was ripped. Ripped! Granted, I've been using these monthly contacts for 6 months now, but what the hell? There's nothing that will make me fly into an unsubstantiated rage quicker than having to break out my glasses. I feel like a huge geek and for some reason there's hair spray residue all over them, even though I haven't used hair spray since I was 14 and rocking the chola bangs. But I tried to make peace with it. Tons of people wear glasses, what's one more? Then today at work this happened:
Co-worker: Hey, I really like your glasses!
Me: Oh, thanks. (feeling less mutant like)
Co-worker: Where'd you get them? I'm trying to find some like that because I'm going to be Sarah Palin for Halloween.
Me: *sigh*
Sound effects eaters
Alright, this is a serious topic that needs to be discussed. I absolutely cannot stand people who make moaning, groaning or otherwise questionable pleasure noises whilst eating. Hey, I get it, that pear is delicious. It's so tasty it might even make you let out an involuntary moan or two. But I don't want to have to hear your sex noises because you're so smitten with your fruit. It's gross and kind of baffling. How is it possible to groan and swallow food at the same time? Any scientists in the house who can explain this to me? Mostly, it's just weird and makes me feel a little uncomfortable. In fact, sound effects eaters have just joined my own personal Axis of Evil.
Boys
Every last one of them are confusing and stupid. I remember thinking this when I was in fifth grade and a boy tripped me with a jump rope because he liked me. I remember thinking this when I was in 8th grade and had my first boyfriend. And I remember thinking it after every bad date, every bad argument, and every bad everything in between. Boys are silly and there is no point in trying to figure them all out.
Now that I think about it, tonight is Dollar Tuesday night at the local theatres, so perhaps my day is more 70/30 in favor of Happy KV. Good thing my love for cheap movies far outweighs any gripes I have with life at the moment. You win, Dollar Tuesday. You always do.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Hot Damn
I'm telling you, it's like I woke up this morning covered in sunshine. And instead of stress and insecurity, I'm surrounded by puppies and rainbows and cake. I'm talking like the most adorable puppies you've ever seen playing on a rainbow made out of cake. It's been a super splendid morning and there's absolutely no reason for it.
I also would like to point out that I think I have a new celeb crush.
Ladies and gents, Mr. Ben Foster. You may have seen his adorable face covered up with yuck in 30 Days of Night or wearing chaps in 3:10 to Yuma.
For those of you concerned, my fake husband Clive Owen is still around. But he's okay with Ben Foster being in the picture now. Clive is confident like that.
I also would like to point out that I think I have a new celeb crush.
Ladies and gents, Mr. Ben Foster. You may have seen his adorable face covered up with yuck in 30 Days of Night or wearing chaps in 3:10 to Yuma.
For those of you concerned, my fake husband Clive Owen is still around. But he's okay with Ben Foster being in the picture now. Clive is confident like that.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Don't judge me
Second to a Sitcom was feeling a little too pink. I'm messing around with the layout. Sorry the blog is a mess. It's just, I didn't know you were coming and I didn't really have any time to pick up. And my roommates left a total mess and..and...I'm working on it. Just have a seat anywhere. Except on that chair. It's not safe.
If I see a clown on a bike, I'm quitting
Last night I was bored so I watched Saw 3. It was gory and gross, but all around entertaining. I slept pretty good, woke up and came into work. This morning I ventured down into the basement of my office building to get some water from the break room. The basement has always been creepy, but I just chalked it up to fact that all basements are kind of scary and icky. But after watching Saw, I think I've figured out why the basement at work scares the holy ghost out of me.
My basement
Stills from Saw 3
I don't know for sure, but I think Donnie Wahlberg's dead body may be in the basement of my building.
My basement
Stills from Saw 3
I don't know for sure, but I think Donnie Wahlberg's dead body may be in the basement of my building.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Procrastinators Unite
Go figure. The day I plan to write about being a slacker I spend all day doing actual productive and meaningful work. Ha ha, good one, Universe. But the joke's on you Big Guy. Thanks to the magical wonder that is Wikipedia, I will always have a reason to put off doing something productive.
My friends, let me tell you about a little game called 7 Degrees of Wikipedia. It's the best game you're not playing. I know this because if you'd already heard of this game, you'd have no time for this blog because you'd be spending all your time trying to connect Erik Estrada to pie. Alas, I'm getting ahead of myself.
An old co-worker told me about this game and it's simple, easy to follow rules. It requires only two things: a love of wasting time and a working computer with Internet access.
First, pick any two subjects. It's better if it's two totally unrelated subjects. Example, Elizabeth Shue and actual shoes.
After you have decided on your subjects, head on over to paradise in the form of Wikipedia. Type in the first subject. So in this case, it's Elizabeth Shue. Now, here's the fun part. Since everything on Wikipedia is clickable, you have to connect Elizabeth Shue to actual shoes in 7 clicks. You can click on anything on the page. Any word that you think will get you closer to your goal, click it. You click on stuff 'til Kingdom Come! But don't worry baby diapers, I solved his one for you. Sit back and observe.
Step 1: Type Elizabeth Shue into Wikipedia
Click 1: "girl next door"
Click 2: "girly girl"
Click 3: "dress"
Click 4: :"shoe"
BAM! No need to thank me. The idea of everyone secretly playing 7 Degrees of Wikipedia on their work computers is thanks enough.
My friends, let me tell you about a little game called 7 Degrees of Wikipedia. It's the best game you're not playing. I know this because if you'd already heard of this game, you'd have no time for this blog because you'd be spending all your time trying to connect Erik Estrada to pie. Alas, I'm getting ahead of myself.
An old co-worker told me about this game and it's simple, easy to follow rules. It requires only two things: a love of wasting time and a working computer with Internet access.
First, pick any two subjects. It's better if it's two totally unrelated subjects. Example, Elizabeth Shue and actual shoes.
After you have decided on your subjects, head on over to paradise in the form of Wikipedia. Type in the first subject. So in this case, it's Elizabeth Shue. Now, here's the fun part. Since everything on Wikipedia is clickable, you have to connect Elizabeth Shue to actual shoes in 7 clicks. You can click on anything on the page. Any word that you think will get you closer to your goal, click it. You click on stuff 'til Kingdom Come! But don't worry baby diapers, I solved his one for you. Sit back and observe.
Step 1: Type Elizabeth Shue into Wikipedia
Click 1: "girl next door"
Click 2: "girly girl"
Click 3: "dress"
Click 4: :"shoe"
BAM! No need to thank me. The idea of everyone secretly playing 7 Degrees of Wikipedia on their work computers is thanks enough.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Happy Faux-Lumbus Day!
Do you know what today is? Columbus Day!
On the scale of holidays, Columbus Day just barely makes it. It is nowhere near the same level as Christmas, Thanksgiving or Halloween. I'd rank Columbus Day between Arbor Day and Summer Solstice. But, if my place of employment demands I take the day off to observe the day Columbus accidently discovered America, I'm not going to object.
To properly celebrate the day, I did what most people with the day off do: shop. I decided it was time to update my wardrobe for the fall and my bank account was all, "Sure, go ahead and shop for some new things...at the thrift store." So much like Christopher Columbus who came before me, I discovered and raided the thrift shop in the name of cheap fashion. I went in with a positive attitude. There was even a point during the first few minutes I was there that I thought to myself, Gee, I wonder why I don't shop here more often. Oh wait, now I remember.
CRYING BABIES WERE EVERYWHERE. How is it even possible to have that many crying babies in one place?! It's like the amount of crying babies are directly proportionate to the quality of the thrift store. I'd say the crying baby to grown-up ratio was about 1:3, which means the probablity of me banging my head against a rack of old hats drastically increased. It was terrible. But I will say that like Columbus I didn't leave empty handed. I purchased four shirts (the only clean shirts in the place) for less than $20.
Thanks for bringing disease, Christianity and dirty, crying babies to America, Columbus. God Bless America.
On the scale of holidays, Columbus Day just barely makes it. It is nowhere near the same level as Christmas, Thanksgiving or Halloween. I'd rank Columbus Day between Arbor Day and Summer Solstice. But, if my place of employment demands I take the day off to observe the day Columbus accidently discovered America, I'm not going to object.
To properly celebrate the day, I did what most people with the day off do: shop. I decided it was time to update my wardrobe for the fall and my bank account was all, "Sure, go ahead and shop for some new things...at the thrift store." So much like Christopher Columbus who came before me, I discovered and raided the thrift shop in the name of cheap fashion. I went in with a positive attitude. There was even a point during the first few minutes I was there that I thought to myself, Gee, I wonder why I don't shop here more often. Oh wait, now I remember.
CRYING BABIES WERE EVERYWHERE. How is it even possible to have that many crying babies in one place?! It's like the amount of crying babies are directly proportionate to the quality of the thrift store. I'd say the crying baby to grown-up ratio was about 1:3, which means the probablity of me banging my head against a rack of old hats drastically increased. It was terrible. But I will say that like Columbus I didn't leave empty handed. I purchased four shirts (the only clean shirts in the place) for less than $20.
Thanks for bringing disease, Christianity and dirty, crying babies to America, Columbus. God Bless America.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
A Plague Upon Thee!
I am having quite the ass day. I went to bed in a terrible mood and it's like while I was sleeping, my mind was all, "Hey body, let's be super achy and lame tomorrow just to piss her off." So I woke up this morning even more angry and my body does indeed ache. Bleh. I feel like I'm on Grumpers Isle, population 1. But even when you're a Grumpy Angryson, you still gotta make that paper. So I'm here at work listening to my dance party music (that's these guys if you're interested) trying to shake myself out of the funk that is trying to smother me. It's not really helping. Although I should point out that in addition to being in a bitch mood, I do feel like dancing all my troubles away.
Also, Flickr refuses to upload the pictures I'm trying to work with. ARGH! What the hell, Universe?! That's it. A war is waged upon Flickr. And upon my work computer. And Tyra Banks, just because I can't stand her. So for those of you keeping track, my own personal Axis of Evil now looks like this:
I need to be doing some of this:
Also, Flickr refuses to upload the pictures I'm trying to work with. ARGH! What the hell, Universe?! That's it. A war is waged upon Flickr. And upon my work computer. And Tyra Banks, just because I can't stand her. So for those of you keeping track, my own personal Axis of Evil now looks like this:
I need to be doing some of this:
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
It's On
Gah! So here I am, minding my own business, having a good day. All is well and I'm happy. My mom called to take me out to lunch and everyone knows that having your parents take you to lunch is pretty much the best thing ever. I'm serious, it's right up there with finding a long lost $20 in your pants pocket and waking up Christmas morning. I sometimes forget how awesome my mom is, so I decided the least I could do for her is buy her a delicious, super yummy sandwich from Baggins.
Now keep in mind, it's been a good day so far. Work is going alright, my iPod radio is working today and I've got some good evening plans. We're at Baggins and I pull out my debit card, looking smooth and saintly for buying my mother lunch, and my card gets declined. DECLINED. What the eff just happened?!
Wells Fargo has once again screwed me. They wait until I get paid to charge me like a gazillion dollars in fees that don't even make sense. In fact, I'd like to take this opportunity to formally annouce that I am waging war on Wells Fargo. Next time I'm at the bank, I'm taking all the deposit envelopes and not telling anyone. And I'm going to steal all the pens and maybe even knock over a fake plant. My chewed gum is going beneath every hard surface in that joint. And those mint candies they have at the tellers counter? I'm stuffing all of them in my mouth. Then Wells Fargo will know what it's like to feel loss.
I'm going old school, ladies and gents. I'm getting a vacuum sealed bag, stuffing all my money in that, and then stuffing that bag into an old mattress. Because I truly believe that The Bank of Old Stained Mattress will be better than The Bank of Let Us Rape You With Our Fees.
You just wait 'til Christmas, Wells Fargo. I'm tipping over a Christmas tree. Mark my words.
Now keep in mind, it's been a good day so far. Work is going alright, my iPod radio is working today and I've got some good evening plans. We're at Baggins and I pull out my debit card, looking smooth and saintly for buying my mother lunch, and my card gets declined. DECLINED. What the eff just happened?!
Wells Fargo has once again screwed me. They wait until I get paid to charge me like a gazillion dollars in fees that don't even make sense. In fact, I'd like to take this opportunity to formally annouce that I am waging war on Wells Fargo. Next time I'm at the bank, I'm taking all the deposit envelopes and not telling anyone. And I'm going to steal all the pens and maybe even knock over a fake plant. My chewed gum is going beneath every hard surface in that joint. And those mint candies they have at the tellers counter? I'm stuffing all of them in my mouth. Then Wells Fargo will know what it's like to feel loss.
I'm going old school, ladies and gents. I'm getting a vacuum sealed bag, stuffing all my money in that, and then stuffing that bag into an old mattress. Because I truly believe that The Bank of Old Stained Mattress will be better than The Bank of Let Us Rape You With Our Fees.
You just wait 'til Christmas, Wells Fargo. I'm tipping over a Christmas tree. Mark my words.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Weekend Shenanigans
I realize it's not the weekend anymore. I was busy and didn't have time (read: was too lazy) to blog. What was I doing? I'm glad you asked (read: get ready for this week's blog post).
Friday
I should start by saying that I don't do girly things. I was raised with brothers and even my girl cousins were alway a little tomboyish. I don't do facials, I don't really get together with my girlfriends and watch "Sex and the City" and I'm not really one to paint nails or do make-up together with my lady pals. Yet on Friday evening, I pretty much did all of those things. Ria (of my Gossip Girl/OTH post fame) invited me over to watch movies and do facials. In the spirit of trying new things, I agreed. Here is what happened:
Looks like a good night, right? Then this happened:
I looked like a ghost. My face was whiter than my shirt and I'm pretty sure I scared myself by looking in the mirror at least once (read: three times).
Ria was having way more fun than me.
Saturday
Someone in my office told me about Oktoberfest. Since I've turned 21, I really want to go to things like this just to prove that I can. It's really weird, but I get a tremendous amount of joy when someone asks me for my ID. It's like, "Suck it, I can totally drink." I'm trying to tone down my looks of satisfaction.
I convinced my brother M, my sister-in-law Garland and my best friend Poppa J to accompany me to Tucson's own Oktoberfest (read: in the middle of a ball park). It was fun! We got some drinks, M and Garland got down with some Greek food, and a good time was had by all.
I don't get people and their need to consume huge pieces of meat. But this guy, this guy was classic and not to mention, very enthused about devouring that baby thigh. Then Garland and I decided we'd really like pickles. You know, those gigantic ones that only taste good when you're walking around in public, suckling them and generally looking really inappropriate. We waited a ridiculous amount of time in a really long line, only to discover that we're really stupid and there were plenty of stands with pickles that did not have a line the size of Germany. We got our pickles, and some of us were less pleased than others.
Also, wtf is happening with my hair? It's like it's eating my face in order to try and get closer to that damn pickle. And apparently pickles turn me into a mutant. Weird.
After the Great Pickle Search of 2008, we capped the night off with a bag of kettle corn the size of my leg (read: Garland's body).
Love at first sight.
This picture was mostly taken to illustrate the classiness of the evening. If posing with kettle corn next to empty kegs of Coors Light doesn't scream sophistication, I don't know what does.
The rest of the weekend was great too. Hamlet in the park, watching movies, being lazy and late night drinking with friends made it a great weekend. Sometimes I forget how awesome my friends are and then weekends like this come and I'm like, "Oh yeah, this is why I continue to know these people." Duh.
Friday
I should start by saying that I don't do girly things. I was raised with brothers and even my girl cousins were alway a little tomboyish. I don't do facials, I don't really get together with my girlfriends and watch "Sex and the City" and I'm not really one to paint nails or do make-up together with my lady pals. Yet on Friday evening, I pretty much did all of those things. Ria (of my Gossip Girl/OTH post fame) invited me over to watch movies and do facials. In the spirit of trying new things, I agreed. Here is what happened:
Looks like a good night, right? Then this happened:
I looked like a ghost. My face was whiter than my shirt and I'm pretty sure I scared myself by looking in the mirror at least once (read: three times).
Ria was having way more fun than me.
Saturday
Someone in my office told me about Oktoberfest. Since I've turned 21, I really want to go to things like this just to prove that I can. It's really weird, but I get a tremendous amount of joy when someone asks me for my ID. It's like, "Suck it, I can totally drink." I'm trying to tone down my looks of satisfaction.
I convinced my brother M, my sister-in-law Garland and my best friend Poppa J to accompany me to Tucson's own Oktoberfest (read: in the middle of a ball park). It was fun! We got some drinks, M and Garland got down with some Greek food, and a good time was had by all.
M and Garland rock the camera phone
Myself and Garland
Oh that guy? That's my pal Poppa J and his amazing hand face. I know, science should study him. That's what I keep saying.
I don't get people and their need to consume huge pieces of meat. But this guy, this guy was classic and not to mention, very enthused about devouring that baby thigh. Then Garland and I decided we'd really like pickles. You know, those gigantic ones that only taste good when you're walking around in public, suckling them and generally looking really inappropriate. We waited a ridiculous amount of time in a really long line, only to discover that we're really stupid and there were plenty of stands with pickles that did not have a line the size of Germany. We got our pickles, and some of us were less pleased than others.
Also, wtf is happening with my hair? It's like it's eating my face in order to try and get closer to that damn pickle. And apparently pickles turn me into a mutant. Weird.
After the Great Pickle Search of 2008, we capped the night off with a bag of kettle corn the size of my leg (read: Garland's body).
Love at first sight.
This picture was mostly taken to illustrate the classiness of the evening. If posing with kettle corn next to empty kegs of Coors Light doesn't scream sophistication, I don't know what does.
The rest of the weekend was great too. Hamlet in the park, watching movies, being lazy and late night drinking with friends made it a great weekend. Sometimes I forget how awesome my friends are and then weekends like this come and I'm like, "Oh yeah, this is why I continue to know these people." Duh.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Halloween For The Ladies
Whew! Today at work my computer crashed AND it was map inventory day. So, needless to say, doing actual work today was quite tiring. Also, I don't understand how people used to function without a computer. I mean, I know I had a life before computers but it couldn't have been that great, right? I don't know how I could've functioned all those years without knowing what celebrities were up to or what free stuff was up for grabs on Craigslist.
Anyway, do you know what today is? October 1st! So it is officially the first day of my Halloween costume search. I did what all Halloween enthusiasts do and went to Google. So here I am, searching costumes and I see that the women's costumes are are surprisingly similar.
I think it's pretty safe to say that the designers of women's Halloween attire pretty much follow this equation:
I don't know that I feel comfortable showing off my lady bits in Spandex outfits just yet. But I am considering being a contestant from Legends of the Hidden Temple (Team Blue Barracuda, of course) or Velma from Scooby Doo. Because Velma was a hip, hip lady who never got any play.
Anyway, do you know what today is? October 1st! So it is officially the first day of my Halloween costume search. I did what all Halloween enthusiasts do and went to Google. So here I am, searching costumes and I see that the women's costumes are are surprisingly similar.
I think it's pretty safe to say that the designers of women's Halloween attire pretty much follow this equation:
I don't know that I feel comfortable showing off my lady bits in Spandex outfits just yet. But I am considering being a contestant from Legends of the Hidden Temple (Team Blue Barracuda, of course) or Velma from Scooby Doo. Because Velma was a hip, hip lady who never got any play.
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