What's Up With Universal Studios?

Last night I took a stroll around Universal CityWalk, and it was...uneventful.  The one thing that DID catch my eye was a sign near the ticket booth for Universal Studios.  Woody Woodpecker stood before me announcing to the hordes of visitors that people under 48" could get discounted tickets.  Immediately, I wondered whether this rule applied to "little" people* (or, as I like to think of them, my potential suitors).  Seriously.  Do little people get discounted tickets at Universal Studios?  Too bad the ticket office was closed; otherwise, I would have conducted an informational interview.

I realize that the spirit of the law is to benefit children, but, if employees follow the letter, then really short adults get discounted tickets too.  So, how does it play out when a little person goes to Universal Studios?  Do they get the discount, or was there an asterisk that I didn't notice giving an age limit as well?  Also, what if a kid is just abnormally tall (like my neighbor in the 3rd grade who was 5 feet tall at age 9...and apparently grew to be 6'9)?  Do they miss out on the discount?  It's weird, no?

I'm still kicking myself for not taking my camera on this little jaunt because the sign was a kind of funny.  And it was the only entertaining thing I encountered while I hunted down a Mexican restaurant that was closed at 6pm for no reason whatsoever (except maybe for the fact that all the restaurants were dead....with the notable exception of the Hard Rock Cafe), thus leading me to eat dinner at my hotel.

Oh, and I suppose I should mention that while I was on the elevator in the hotel, a middle-aged man invited me to the party on the 9th floor (which, based on the ruckus from that floor as the elevator passed, was off the hook).  Those FEMA conventioneers totally know how to party.  My coworker told me I should have gone and done nothing but ask them about Katrina.  If only I wasn't so tired...I could have gotten down with some government employees.  Alas, I just stood in my room flashing the lights in hopes that my friend could spot my window from her apartment on the hill.  (I don't know why people think I'm lame.)

*Did you notice how PC I am?  I didn't say the "m" word at all!

There Goes the Neighborhood

I learned an important lesson yesterday:  Nature is never far away, regardless of the fact that you live in a city.

I also learned that wildlife is suspicious of me.

Oh, and I learned that vacuum cleaners DO catch on fire, but that's something else altogether.

So, here's the story.  Last night, I decided to vacuum up a particularly dirty spot in my office/microwave station, when I suddenly noticed (after a very grueling 2 minutes of vacuuming) that there was a terrible-smelling black smoke coming from the vacuum cleaner.  I immediately checked it out by putting my face in the fray, then I unplugged it.  Apparently, I have no fear of things blowing up in my face. Perhaps I am that idiot that gets filmed on "Caught on Tape" exposes (and America's Funniest Home Videos--which isn't as funny as it used to be when I was 11).  Now, I'm not positive that the vacuum was on fire, but I do know that there was quite a bit of foul-smelling black smoke puffing out of it.  At that moment, I knew there was only one thing to do.  I had to get all WT on its ass and take it outside (Not unlike the time I made brownies in the microwave and they caught on fire while we ate hamburgers.  My dad did the only reasonable thing and tossed the flaming brownies on the front porch just moments before our neighbors dropped by for a little visit.  Oh, and I did put rotten eggs on the front porch after discovering that they were source of the nasty smell in my room (and not my dirty clothes as my mom suspected), but these are all tales for another time).

I always get annoyed by people that dump their stuff outside, and, quite honestly, I felt that I should take the vacuum out under the cover of night. Unfortunately, I wasn't willing to risk a lung problem, so I had to do it at 6pm.  Even though it was dark, my little corner was awfully busy.

But busy with what?  Well, let me tell you.  I walked out of my building, turned to walk to the corner where the trash can is, and saw a little creature about 5 feet ahead of me.  At first glance, I thought it was a dog with an odd-shaped backside.  Then, I thought, "Oh, it's someone's cat without a tail".  I took another gander and knew immediately what was now 3 feet away from me--an enormous raccoon.

I stopped dead in my tracks.  I started to continue my walk but thought better of it.  Those creatures are mean--and rabid.  A woman was standing on the corner looking up at the raccoon, and she confirmed for me that it was, in fact, a raccoon.  The three of us faced off for a few more seconds, then the raccoon turned and galomped away.  Did I mention that he was huge?

He headed up the street, and I went to deposit my vacuum in the Furniture/Appliance Relocation Program otherwise known as the trash can on the corner..  As I walked toward my garage, the raccoon was slowly walking up the street, turning around periodically to watch me.  I admittedly was a little concerned that he might be interested in hanging out in my garage, so I gave him the stink-eye.  I pulled my car out, and the raccoon was watching me from 4 houses away.  Once I closed the garage door and sat in my car, he came waltzing back down.  I chose to take him up on the invitation for the staring contest.  There we sat, dead-locked.  Eventually, he wandered away.  I went on my way to a rather boring (and ultimately useless) workout class, and when I returned, I spotted him again, watching me from a block away.  That raccoon better not be casing my house.  It's already a mess, and I don't want him coming in and messing it up more.

Nature.  sheesh.

Special Delivery

He's bAAAAaaack!  The cute UPS man was here today.  I thought he was gone.  I haven't seen hide nor hair of him for months.  Our one-sided love affair was over.  But this morning, my buzzer rang, and whose voice should come over the speaker?  The cute UPS guy.  The spark is definitely still there.  We chatted, we laughed, we smiled--all in less than 15 seconds.  He may not be back again anytime soon, but he was here today.

Luckily I was out of my pajamas...though, I still wasn't dressed to kill.  Next time.  If he starts being my regular guy, I'm going to start getting all gussied up and checking myself in the mirror before I answer the door in hopes of him asking me out for a pint (since he's from the Isles). 

I really think we're gonna make it work this time.

Kids Today...

They just can't spell. I don't know what's going on in our educational system, but something is terribly awry. Is text-messaging making future generations terrible spellers with no regard for good grammar? Seriously! I'm not going to claim to be perfect, but I have a solid appreciation for my native language. When I write emails I actually think out the punctuation. To this day, I believe that I was robbed of my spot in the school-wide spelling bee in the 3rd grade. For that matter, the only thing that made me cool in the 4th grade was my ability to spell. We moved to a snobby suburb, and I had a terrible time making friends. My only saving grace was the fact that I could beat the reigning spelling champion, Tommy, in the weekly spelling bee. So, naturally, the team captains all wanted me on their team because prior to my arrival on the scene, no one could beat Tommy. If I can do one thing, it's spell. (In fact, I wouldn't mind competing in an adult spelling bee, so if you know of any, let me know.) The first time I prevailed was on the word, "Doughnut". Tommy and I went through a series of tie-breakers, and neither of us was going to back down. Then, Mrs. Twining gave Tommy the word. We were standing on opposite sides of the room, and I knew deep in my soul that Tommy was going to think of the "Daylight Donuts" sign. Sure enough, he did. I knew I had it. The class was shocked and horrified when the untouchable spelling champion failed to deliver. They were equally elated when I won. I believe (and this could just be my memory playing tricks on me) that there were some cheers. That may have been my most popular moment in school. How I lived for the Friday spelling bee! Any other day involved Susan and her bully friends stealing gum from my purse and referring to me as "gross". That, or having a popular boy ask me if I wanted to "go out", just to have all of his friends jump from around the corner and taunt me saying, "NERD. Nobody would want to go out with you." 

Yeah, my youth was nothing short of awesome, but that's not the point of this. I want to address the misuse of the words, me, myself, and I. People are ALWAYS confusing "me" and "I", as well as throwing "myself" around like a bag of rice on someone's wedding day. I believe that the "me" and "I" confusion stems from fear. Remember as a kid when you used "me" all the time, and your mom would correct you, prompting you to use "I" instead? Was that just me? I don't think so. Kids ALWAYS use "me" over "I". On the whole, "I" is usually the correct choice. However, "me" should be used as the object of sentence. 

EXAMPLE: If you have questions, call Johnny or me.

My example is correct; however, I'm constantly getting emails that say "call Johnny or I". That just makes you look dumb. You wouldn't say "Call I". That doesn't make sense at all. However, when you add someone else to the mix, people freak out and throw in an "I". It's so simple to check your grammar, so there's no reason to let this sort of thing slide.

My example goes terribly awry when people inexplicably use "myself" instead of "me". I've noticed this more in the last five years, and it drives me batty. Using the word, "myself" does not make you sound smarter. When used incorrectly, it is just plain annoying. There are very few instances when you actually get to use the word, "myself" (and perhaps people like the word and want the opportunity to use it more frequently, but I'm here to tell you that when you use it incorrectly, you just sound like a fraud). The word "myself" can only be used when you are referring back to yourself (see how "you" and "yourself" go together?). Let's go back to my example: "If you have any questions, call Johnny or me." If you insert "myself" (which far too many people do), the sentence structure is blown to hell. Don't do it. If you want to use the word, "myself" more often, then I recommend saying more of the following:

"I'm going to battle the dragon myself."

"I fed the penguins all by myself"

See how it works? Grammar is good for everyone. Use it wisely.

And if you want to join the grammar club, go to this website: http://spogg.org

I don't know why I went off on this tangent, but I did. I declare war on poorly-written emails masquerading as intelligent missives!

And yes, I know I make mistakes too. I'm not perfect either.

Who Needs Cable When You've Got Gems TV?

I'd like to take a moment to tell everyone about the most compelling program on television today:  Gems TV.

You can watch this every single day for several hours.  I don't know the exact running time, but I believe it is on daily from 10am until 6pm.

What will happen when I tune into Gems TV, you ask?  Well, let me know tell you.

You will be transported to a world of unimaginable beauty.  This isn't just home shopping, this is a bizarre game filled with gaudy jewelry.  I can't tell you how much I've learned about gemstones since tuning into Gems TV.  Nor, can I even begin to express the pizazz of the various hosts.  I admittedly have my favorites.  The British lady is the best (and totally deserves a fan club).  She is always astounded by the dropping prices and implores the viewers to buy, buy, buy.  She tells everyone how smart they are for buying at these CRAZY bargain basement prices.  It's just amazing.  The men all wear tuxedos, and they have a segment called, "Ladies Night". 

This is compelling television.  Inexplicably, compelling television. 

I first started watching Gems TV when I happened upon it and just didn't understand what the whole game was about.  Basically, they have this reverse auction, so take, for instance, they are selling a AAA Tanzanite ring (of which you would be a FOOL to pass up because these are getting very rare, and the value will only go up, and they can only be found in one section of one mine, and they are beyond beautiful assuming you find beauty in ring pops).  The ring has a starting price of $145,350.  There are 2 rings available (because when it's this precious, they just don't have many).  The host then tells you, "Let's play the game".  And this tense music starts playing, and a visual comes up that says the same thing.  The price starts dropping slowly, and then...out of nowhere, the price disappears and comes back at $536.  They keep telling people to call in and make their decisions.  Callers have to push the number 1 on their phone.  Then, the price keeps dropping incrementally until both are sold and both buyers pay the same low price of $473.  It is so very exciting.  I can watch it endlessly.  In fact, since the games keep coming, I'm able to flip around and come back to Gems TV.  There's always something new.

There's also an older lady on there that gets really excited about stacking rings.  She LOVES to stack, and she'll tell you all about it.  She will stack 12 rings on her finger and tell you how amazing it looks.  Everyone should stack.

I don't need cable.  I used to consider Univision to be my cable substitute because they show movies, and I've watched the Blue Lagoon a couple of times.  That's the perfect dubbed-over movie because there's hardly any dialogue.  One day, I hope ot watch Castaway on Univison.  But I have to admit, I wanted additional programming (aside from the Desi TV that's on Saturday mornings where I get to watch the hottest Indian videos of today or Russia Today where I get to find out the haps in the mother land), and Gems TV totally delivered. 

Oh, and don't think I don't know what you're thinking (and will eventually say to me).  I know you think I should get cable, but when someone watches as much useless free television as I do, do they really need the extra incentive of paying cash-money for more useless programming?

I think not.

Yay Gems TV!

I Should Have Known Better

You’d think that I had already learned my lesson, but apparently I hadn’t.  What’s the lesson?  

Never eat at KFC.

I knew better. Really, I did. But my choices were limited. I was coming back from Tahoe, and the bus stopped at a shopping center in which there were a handful of fast food places.  Even though I wasn't that hungry and knew that all of them were bad ideas, I still decided to just with the first one that I walked near, and that was KFC. I haven't been to a KFC in 5 years. I remember LOVING that place as a kid. Nothing gave my taste buds more pleasure than to eat the "crispy" off of the extra crispy chicken. And yet, now, as an adult who actually makes an attempt (though rarely succeeds as is evidenced by my various posts on here) to eat in a reasonably healthy manner, I still felt that this might be a decent choice (not a good one...I knew I'd regret it in the end).  As I was standing before the menu, I actually considered the "Famous Bowl".  I think I might have been swayed by Patton Oswalt's hilarious rant about this "failure pie in a sadness bowl" which is why I ultimately couldn't eat it.  Honestly, I could just picture him folding his arms and shaking his head disappointedly at me as I ate it.  Instead, I chose the chicken strips with mashed potatoes because I do remember loving those mashed potatoes, mostly because they, in no way, tasted like actual potatoes.  Since the place was all ready to close up shop before 3 busses full of hungry skiers happened upon them, they had to fry up my strips fresh.  I'd like to say it was worth the wait, but it wasn't.  They were so awful.  One bite was all I needed to realize that they tasted like nothing, and in no real way resembled actual chicken.  I'd like to say that I'm not a food snob, but perhaps that's exactly what I've become.  The mashed potatoes and gravy (which I forgot to ask them not to use for smothering because I've never been a fan of the salty glop) tasted like salted cardboard.  It was awful.  Granted, they did throw in a biscuit, which was nothing like I remembered in its bland tastelessness.  All in all, it was a very disappointing meal, and all I could do once I ate it was wait for the fall-out.  Luckily that didn't really happen...until I woke up and looked in the mirror.  Because of the plate of salt I consumed before falling asleep in front of "A Few Good Men", my face was so swollen that my normally bright (and lovely, if I do say so myself) eyes were hidden behind my puffy skin.  It was more than grotesque.  I knew the culprit was KFC (and ultimately my poor decision-making abilities when it comes to road snacks).  Never again.  My bone structure is nice, so there's no reason to cover it up with an ugly old balloon face.  If there's one thing we can all learn from this it's that KFC is NEVER a good choice.  Listen to Patton Oswalt. He is a speaker of truth.  Stay away from the colonel's secret recipe.  It doesn't do anybody any good....and it will make you gain 8 pounds overnight.  No joke.

I'd like to say that my poor choices were the direct result of the head injury I suffered in the first 15 minutes of my snowboarding excursion, but I know it's just the result of my lack of common sense.

Don't be like me, kids.  I'm an after school special waiting to happen.  Everyone thought I'd be the one about clumsiness or tattling, but really, I'll be the one about poor food choices.  Read my other tales of woe.  They all share a common theme--food regret.  No one wants that.

And no one should ever torture their innards like I do.  If you want chicken fingers, at least go to Red Robin.  Seriously.

The Local Taqueria Strikes Again!

Oh, local taqueria, why do you have this hold on me? Didn't I tell you it was over between us? Why must you exploit my weaknesses? You knew I was feeling tired and gross today. You knew that I was suffering from a food hangover (because I'm sure it was all the tasty food I ate for dinner and not the multiple glasses of wine that kept me awake all night, leading me to my decision to not ride my bike this morning). You knew that I would want something cheesy and okay to eat. And, yeah, you won this battle tonight, but the war is far from over. Dare I say that tonight's flautas were particularly bland. It's true. The salsa looked delicious, but didn't taste good. And well...I think maybe this was the kick in the pants I needed. It's over. I'm not falling for your siren's song anymore! Don't expect to see me anytime soon. I'm just going to walk on by. That's right. Walk. On. By. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to try on my snowboarding pants because I have a date with the mountain tomorrow morning.

I Just Left the Dark Ages Behind

But not without kicking and screaming.

So, I just upgraded my phone to (drum roll please) a blackberry.  Oh, that's right.  This girl who always has a phone 5 generations behind whatever phone is new and hip, suddenly cut in line.  I've only had texting capabilities for less than 2 years, and I've never had a camera phone.  I don't know what to do with myself!  To be completely honest, I'm a little afraid of the new phone.  I mean, it's cute and all.  I like to look at it and push the buttons, but I'm afraid I'll click onto something and *BAMMO* get charged $100.  Some might think I'm being a little melodramatic, but you don't know my world.  This kind of thing happens to me all the time (though, lately, I've been quite lucky.  Just yesterday, I had a hankering for potstickers after watching America's Test Kitchen, and a half an hour before I was going to head out and get some...my friend called to invite me over to eat...potstickers.  Crazy, no?).

I am the customer that no one wants to deal with.  I usually start out nice, but, more often than not, the call ends with me in tears, screaming about how unfair everything is (and I may throw in unfair things that are completely unrelated to the problem at hand).  Okay, so maybe I'm exaggerating (or am I?).  My point is that anytime I have something that costs me money (and has the potential to secretly cost me money), I get a little nervous.  That, and the purchase of the phone (while possibly the best cell phone buying experience I've had) was a little sketchy...and somehow, I have a family plan.  So, for reasons unknown to single ol' me, I now have 2 phones available for my usage.  And what single person really needs 2 phones?  It's just confusing...not to mention being totally unnecessary.  My salesperson seemed to think it was a great idea.  So, I guess I have to correct that, but I can't do that for a couple of days.  And while I'm correcting that, I need to figure out exactly what data plan she sold me because I have a sinking suspicion that I was eagerly suckered (and everyone knows this wouldn't be the first time).

So, I guess that's my story.  I have a fancy new phone, and I'm terrified of it because, in some small way, I am a bit of a luddite.

You Can Call Me Tri-Ath-Lete

That's right, you heard me, I'm back on the scene.  Tonight was my first track workout (and yes, I do realize that makes me sound like I'm in high school, but if you knew me in high school, you'd know that I spent my time in band and drama so as to avoid any kind of physical fitness--boy has that paid off too!). 

What nuggets of wisdom did track practice give me?  Well...I'm still slow.  It doesn't matter how interesting I find the running conversation, if we're running, I can't last long (as was evidenced when I ended the warm-up conversation with "Can't....talk....too....fast...be...in....back...").  I also was reminded of what asthma feels like (because I may have pushed it a little too hard).  And, I'm a freakin' trooper.  Even though I was dead last every time (yet running at a faster pace than usual--10 min mile, baby!), I discovered that coming in last has a nice side effect--cheerleaders.  Everyone cheered me on.  I've never felt so popular--especially in gym class.

So, yay.  I'm a triathlete again.  And this time, I'm gonna wipe the floor with the elderly competitors....and the morbidly obese....and the one-legged boys.  I WILL OVERCOME!

Iced Tea Trickery

Today I went into a little coffee shop for some iced tea.  I've been there countless times, and their iced tea is always delicious.  Today was a disappointing exception.

I ordered my iced tea AND a cookie (which, once I ate it hours later, was terrible).  After waiting for quite some time for them to pour my iced tea, the new owner (who is quite surly) informed me that he didn't have a to-go cup for the tea, so he was going to refund me in a just a few minutes.  I was dying of thirst, so I told him I'd happily drink the tea in a regular glass.  I wasn't in a big rush.  Then, he decided to put the tea in a to-go coffee cup.

After pouring, he slapped the cup on the counter and told me that there was enough room for cream.  Who puts cream in their iced tea?  I walked over to get a lid, then took a sip and was horrified to discover that he gave me some sort of Thai iced tea.  Blech!  It was powdered tea with sweetened condensed milk.  That is no thirst-quencher, my friends.  That is just plain nasty (unless you ordered it with pad thai, in which case, it's appropriate).

I wanted regular tea with a hint of passion fruit.  There is no reason for them NOT to serve that when they boast a couple dozen kinds of tea.

Gross.

I'm may never go back there...especially since their fancy grilled cheese sandwich was sub-par the last time I ordered it.  Hmph!

Their only saving grace was that they were playing my favorite Stone Roses song while I waited.  But that's not enough!  My thirst was not quenched.

And yes, I could have asked for different tea, but the owner/barista was such a jerk, I didn't want to bother....and I had somewhere to be after all.

I've Got Some Letters To Write!

Dear Knee,

I feel that since we've known each other for so long, I can be frank.  What the hell is your problem?  We've gotten along so well, and then, out of nowhere, you decide to act up?  Seriously!  If you were one of my ankles, I'd understand.  They never do what I tell them (especially when dancing wildly, walking down stairs, or getting out of cars), but you...you...I counted on you!  Was it something I said?  To the best of my knowledge, I've been nothing but sugar to you (even if I eat a little too much of it myself).  If I did say something, then all I can say is, I'm sorry...I was drunk.

Now, you need to stop this whining and get back into the game.  We begin triathlon training this week, and I need you to be front and center.  I have a record to beat, and I plan to be just as fast as the 77-year-old, rather than 45 minutes behind him.

Cool?

Non-Athletic Triathlete

 

Dear Bacardi Frozen Margarita Mix,

I have a few questions for you.  First, is your expiration date something I should adhere to, or is it merely a suggestion?  I'm hoping it's a suggestion since I chose to use you in my margaritas even though you expired 2 years ago.  Should I not wake up in the morning, we'll all know why.  My second question is regarding your instructions.  According to the "can", I should add Rum to the mixture.  Now I could be mistaken (since I'm not a professional mixologist), but aren't margaritas made with tequila?  Last I checked the agave elixir cornered the market on margaritas, while rum had a hold on dacquiris, mojitos, and a variety of other frosty beverages.  While I'm asking questions, I wonder if you can tell me if tequila expires as well--specifically if really, really cheap tequila expires.  I know this isn't your realm (especially since you advised against the use of tequila and favored Bacardi Rum), but I thought you might have an opinion.

Well, that's all.  I just thought I'd check in with you.  The margaritas are on the wrong side of delicious, so I probably won't put my health at risk for too much longer.

Sincerely,

Lone Drinker

 

Dear Blender,

Tonight I finally used you for the first time since I purchased you as a gift to myself for my 27th birthday.  At the time of purchase, I truly believed that I would entertain people in my home (which is why I also purchased a variety of glasses that are currently on display in my cabinet).  Sadly, that never really happened for a multitude of reasons, starting with the fact that I'm secretly slovenly.  At any rate, I wanted to let you know that you did a great job on those margaritas.  Don't be sad that I just threw all of it out.  It had nothing to do with you.  The ingredients were some kind of awful, so I didn't want to subject myself to the torture any longer.  Who knows when I'll use you again, since I've never cozied up with the idea of drinking smoothies, so I hope you enjoy your time in the cabinet next to the chopper I also purchased for my 27th birthday (and have used one time).

Your pal,

Drinker of lukewarm beverages

 

Dear Local Taqueria,

What exactly are you putting in your mediocre food that has such a strong grip on me?  Seriously.  It's not that good.  My favorite place requires a short drive (or a long walk), so I really think convenience leads me to your door--that and, your food is really cheap.  I might be a little more on board with your taste sensations if your guacamole were less liquidy and more avacado-y.  I suppose if that is my only gripe you can't be that bad, but you really are.  Please don't allow me to come back into your establishment.  I no longer want to subject my gullet to sub-standard food...even if I secretly love it.  In fact, I'm writing a letter to my paunch regarding this very issue, so you really shouldn't count on getting anymore of my dollars.  Pepperidge Farms will be hearing from me as well, because, as of tomorrow, their goldfish crackers are dead to me.

Keep up the good work!

Mexican Food Aficionado

 

Dear Jeans Designers,

Who, exactly, are your fit models, and are their waists really that close to their pelvic bones?  I endured yet another frustrating day attempting to find a decent pair of jeans, and I'm really getting tired of this process.  I'm not asking you to flood the market with "mom" jeans, but, at least, recognize that not everyone wants their ass hanging out for all the world to see.  Hell, I'm not so keen on having my flesh pooch out (or see anyone else's fleshy hips bubble over their pants for that matter), but I do understand that you have your reasons.  I just feel like you could add, I don't know, one inch of fabric, so I don't have to walk around with a coin slot (cuz nobody wants what that vending machine is serving). 

Now, some of you have figured out that when making jeans for people that may need to "whittle their middle", you shouldn't pretend that their hips are actually their waist.  Because, when you do that (and you better be listening DKNY), you create an enormous, flabby doughnut between two waists.  There is absolutely nothing attractive about that.  So, to those of you that keep the top of the jeans straight when they are meant to hang at your hips (which is typically the largest part of the female form), I say thank you.  Also, to those of you that realize that some people actually have a little junk in the trunk, thank you for allowing some room for that.  I'm not a fan of my back fat, and I certainly don't want to subject the world to it (especially when my jeans are making a mountain out of a mole hill).  I realize that I could stand to lose a pound or ten, but until I do, I need a pair of jeans to wear that actually look flattering.  And by flattering, I don't mean that after trying on 20 pairs of ill-fitting jeans, I'm suddenly smitten with the ugly old pair I already own.  I just want to look good, okay?  Do you think you can help me out with that?

Warmest Regards,

Bootcut jeans enthusiast

 

Dear Blubber,

Consider this your final warning.  I know I told you that my campaign to rid my body of you began two weeks ago (Friday's delicious meal of polish food was totally unexpected), but I mean business now.  I didn't invite you to be a hanger-on, yet here you are.  I suppose you could argue that I left the door slightly ajar when I ate all that pizza, but I certainly didn't intend for you to be such an eager beaver.  Go away.  I've already informed the taqueria and a few snack foods that our relationship is over, so you may as well wander over to someone else because you are not wanted here anymore.

It's been far too easy for you stick around and invite all your fat friends to the party, but I'm pulling the plug on this operation.  It's true, my self-control has been phoning it in for quite some time, but it's on notice as well.  Things are changing around here, so pack your bags and leave.  I will not let you bust anymore zippers.

With Venom,

Salad Eater

The Universe is on my Side After All!

My oh my, what a morning I had!  This morning I had a "breakfast" meeting (which, much to my dismay, did not include breakfast), so I had to leave the house by *shudder* 8:30 in the MORNING.  After chatting on the phone with my coworker for a little too long, I rushed out of the house to catch the train.  Unfortunately, I realized that I only had a $5 bill, a $1 bill, and a dime.  This simply wouldn't do since the fare is $1.50 (and I'm just not willing to give them $5 for the ride).  Since the train was a couple blocks away, and I was going to be late if I didn't catch this one, I figured I'd just wing it.  The train rolled up (or slid, or skated, or did whatever it does on those rails), and I dutifully got into line.  Just before the doors opened, I noticed a quarter on the ground.  Lucky day, right?  I thought so...until a little old woman picked it up...and then she picked up a dime.  Apparently it was her lucky day.  The train doors opened, and I took a deep breath, knowing that this trip could go horribly wrong.  I was about to step on the train, when a woman got off the train and shoved her transfer in my hand, saying "Here, use this."

I didn't know what to say, so I just said, "Oh, okay."  Then, after I realized my good fortune, I attempted to say thank you, but she was gone (and I was in a crush of people boarding the train...and by "crush" I mean there were 3 of us).  How serendipitous that I needed forty cents for the train ride and that woman chose to grace me with a random act of kindness.

Thank you transfer lady!  I owe ya one!

PS.  Did I mention, that I was given a promotion at work today as well?

No Good At Networking

So I went to this "networking" event tonight, or as some people might call it, an "alumni" event.  On my way there, I coached myself on the virtues of talking to strangers, and yet, once I arrived, I was incapacitated as usual. I'm a terrible networker.

If it weren't for one person, I would have stood there by myself drinking my drink, entertaining myself with my ice, you know...the usual.  Luckily, as I was glancing around trying to figure out who to talk to and HOW to actually talk to them, I passed someone that I recognized.  Luckily she recognized me, and we started to chat.  No, we didn't know each other in college, but we also didn't know anybody there.  So, we became fast friends and discovered that we're neighbors.

Long story short, I may have a new friend.  Yay!

Uh, oh... I Think I'm One of THOSE Girls...

I didn't see it coming.  Really.  I never thought it would get to this point, but it has.  Today, while I was sweating away on the elliptical trainer at the gym (okay, so I wasn't working THAT hard, but still...you gotta start somewhere), I noticed a fellow at the other end of the gym, and I proceeded to entertain myself throughout my workout (33 minutes total for those that were wondering) by gazing at him.  Now that's not so bad...but at one point, I caught myself looking for a wedding ring (of which there wasn't one), and I was quite delighted that I could glance over at various spots in the gym (thanks to the miracle of mirrors) and see him from different angles.  Then, all of a sudden, I started planning our future together.  He'd notice me while I was mouthing the words to a Quicksand song (because I AM that girl--not the crazy lady that actually sings and shouts at the gym, but an animated lip-syncher), and, finding that endearing, would ask me out, and then we'd hit the town.  It was going to be fantastic! 

As I suspected, he started his workout around the same I did mine, so when I noticed him getting off the treadmill, I started planning my "move".  What move would that be?  Well, I finished up my final 30 seconds of sweatin' to the oldies (or to whatever was playing on my iPod, which I think was Starsailor actually), quickly got some water and wandered over to the "stretching" corner of the gym.  I strategically stretched next to him (well, actually, I let him have his space, but I was next to his belongings), and then as I was bent over showing off my superior flexibility...he left.  I think this love affair may last forever, cuz I've totally got game.

When did it come to this?  At what point did I decide it was okay to stalk someone with my eyes at the gym (while pretending I was merely watching the snowboarding video on the monitor above him--which, in my defense, I was watching occasionally)?  And how did I think that was going to turn out?  I mean really...I, for one, don't look my best at the gym, and I may be THE WORST flirter in the world, since I attempt to flirt by situating myself near the mark with nary a word or glance.  But I digress...

Oh well, it passed the time, and maybe will motivate me to keep going to the gym; however, should anyone talk me up at the gym while I'm all sweaty and gross, I probably won't be receptive (based on one instance where a guy started chatting me up at 6am...come on!!).  Word to the wise, if you see me emerge from my mole hole and hit the gym (and you want to talk to me) wait until I emerge all sparkly and clean from the locker room.  I am much more amiable when I smell nice.

When is it MY Turn?

So, on Friday, I was wandering around the mall because they had electricity there (and I didn't have any in my apartment), and I started wondering (as I often do) when it will be my turn. (Okay, just so everyone has a clear picture, I was wandering around Bloomingdale’s in my AWESOME new raincoat that gives the false impression that I would actually buy ridiculously expensive hairbands. So now that the scene is set, I'll continue.) As I was saying I started thinking about how I'm always waiting for the day when I can be frivolous (okay, more than I actually am in the first place), but it never seems to come. Then, as I was passing by the handbags, I realized that I may be to blame. Perhaps my insistence on just waiting for the lush life to find me is actually the problem. So, I decided that from this point forward, I'm going to make it happen. That's right. I'm finally going to follow my late grandmother's advice that she bestowed upon me when I graduated from college. I am going to find me a rich man with one foot in the grave and one foot on a banana peel.

Or maybe I'll just keep chugging along with my life as is... I'd hate to waste all that book learnin' on anything other than my elbow modeling career. And I am endlessly attractive to the terminally unemployed, so why push my luck? When you've got it, you've got it.