20 Years and 2 Months Later

While browsing for Santa pictures over the weekend, I came across this little gem:


This is a picture from my 4 year birthday party. Like the Raggedy Ann cake? This picture is a great representation of my general personality as a kid. I was shy, but I had a mean streak. I loved, loved, loved to pinch (still do). And my facial expressions were quite expressive, which, as those who know me will verify, is also true to this day.

My goodness I looked michievious! And look where my hand is. A bit too close to the knife. And check out my awesome bangs. My mom had the unfortunate misgivings that incredibly short bangs were better than crooked bangs, hence the lack of forehead coverage. And check it out, I'm drinking coke and about to eat cake. Caffeine? Check. Sugar? Check. A bunch of rowdy kids and exhausted parents? Oh, all they had to do was wait. My sister is sitting next to me, smiling and looking sweet. Probably unaware of the crazed psycho expression on my sweet little 4-year-old face. Funny how things change, huh? Or stay exactly the same.

Christmas Monkeys

A coworker has a 4-year-old daughter that just experienced her first "real" Christmas. You know, where she's old enough to understand the concept of Santa and getting lots of stuff because a fat guy feels generous once a year. Anyway, she's already starting to doubt the logic of St. Nick and is asking questions.

Q: How come the Santa on tv doesn't look like the Santa at the mall?
A: Well, it's a big job. There have to be regional Santas to get it done.
Q: How come Santa comes down the chimney? Why doesn't he come in the front door?
A: Because the door is locked, and since his reindeer are on the chimney, it's just easier access.

Ironically, her parents have her convinced that there are monkeys living behind the washing machine. When asked by her mother how the monkeys got in, the girl replied in a slightly exasperated tone, "Remember? You opened the door and they ran in, but they were so small you didn't notice them. And now they live behind the washing machine."

Perhaps the monkeys should bring the gifts next year.

Merry Day-After-Christmas

And it's over. Christmas is officially over. I'm back at work today, and I have to admit, this whole working the week after Christmas thing feels a little like everyone has gone on summer vacation, and I have summer school. Don't get me wrong. I'm very thankful that I have a job, and making money is sweet. But so is lazying around and playing with the new camera that Brandon and I gave ourselves for Christmas.

Speaking of gifts, I suppose I'll do a short rundown of the goodies we got one another this year. Brandon gave me The Best Short Stories of Theodore Dreiser, Magical Thinking by Augusten Burroughs, Transatlanticism and The Photo Album by Death Cab for Cutie, and the Robin Hood dvd (my sister and I watched Robin Hood a gajillion times when we were little).

I gave Brandon The Theology of Paul the Apostle by James Dunn, The Beatles' White Album (the only Beatles album that he lacked), a laser thingy that helps measure straight lines (if you know Brandon, you know that he loves playing w/ gadgets like that) and a few other things. That I don't want to say. Okay fine, I got him Talladega Nights, but he asked for it. That boy has a weakness for movies that I'm embarrassed to own. Hehe.

So anyway, Christmas rocked. On Christmas Eve we spent time with my family and watched A Christmas Story. And then on Christmas day we headed back to Atlanta, stopping in Columbus to eat Chinese food, in Christmas Story fashion. Except there weren't any Fa Ra Ra Ra Ra's. Anyway, I hope everyone else had a great Christmas, too. Yay for holidays, even when they seem short.

Merry Christmas

In the holiday spirit, I thought I would share a picture of me when I was a kid, sitting on Santa's lap, screaming and looking horrified. Unfortunately, I couldn't find the one I was looking for. In its stead, I thought I'd share this.

Here's my sister, Brandi, (left) and I (right) on Santa's lap. As you can see, I don't look horrified in the least. My sister, however, appears a bit apprehensive. Static electricity is ravaging my hair. If you look closely, you'll see that I had a red icee mustache - probably the bribery my mom used to get me to be good for the picture. And I think Santa is considering going back to school.



Merry Christmas!

Don't Judge Me, Yo

You remember that fear I have? The one that's totally silly because really, it's not like Jupiter is gonna come after me? Well because of that irrational fear, this article is like a horror story. Stars dying, the fate of our own solar system... Scary, scary, scary, and also? SCARY.

Then She Blogged About It

The receptionist is out today, so I'm at the front desk. A delivery guy came in and proceeded to narrate.

I open the door. She glances up from behind the moniter. She sees me. I place the package on the desk. I ask her to sign for it.

Here's what he missed: Her eyes widened slightly with fear, then she regained her composure and forced a smile. Even though she didn't find his narration amusing, she gave a sympathy laugh and signed for the package, hoping to hasten the event of his leaving. She then decided to blog about this creepy incident.

Bring Back Brows

Plucking eyebrows is an essential task for some of us. That's something we all can agree on. It's not really becoming on most girls to have eyebrows like old Frida here.


But I've noticed something that a few girls are doing that I want to try and nip in the bud. They're plucking their eyebrows practically bald. And then applying powder on their faces, erasing the memory of the shamed eyebrows from their faces. No, seriously, I've seen this. What motivates girls to do this? I mean, I know some old ladies who do the same thing, but they manage to pencil in two nice, crooked, unnaturally arched eyebrows to replace the natural ones. These girls are having none of that. Why do they strive to look expressionless? Do you kids know how hard it is to convey anger without eyebrows? I certainly hope this little fad doesn't catch on.

I mean, I can understand getting a little carried away with the plucking. You try to even the eyebrows out and this happens by accident. Or maybe you're like anorexics and tanorexics - you look in the mirror and instead of seeing the skinny, tanned person you are, you see a fat pale person. So you go and starve yourself until you're a skeleton and go to the cancer coffin until you're a leather bag. So I understand how it goes with the eyebrows. But let's be reasonable here. And maybe consult your blunt friends. They'll tell you the truth, that you've assaulted your brows mercilessly. Thankfully, if you do get mad because of their honesty, your browless expression won't give it away.

So if you recognize yourself in this post, go ahead and grow those brows back. You won't regret it. And if you do, at least you'll be able to look angry about it.

We're Not Unreasonable

The Dane pointed me to this seriously funny song by Jonathan Coulton called "Re: Your Brains." The song is not only catchy, but it's also a business-like and reasonable plea to open the door from a zombie to a coworker:

All we want to do is eat your brains
We’re not unreasonable, I mean, no one’s gonna eat your eyes...
I’ve got another meeting Tom, maybe we could wrap it up
I know we’ll get to common ground somehow
Meanwhile I’ll report back to my colleagues who were chewing on the doors
I guess we’ll table this for now

And if that song isn't awesome enough, there's a youtube video where some people used WoW to make a music video with the song. It starts off slow, but by the chorus it's pretty funny.

Check out Jonathan Coulton's site for more great songs.

In Which I Gross You All Out

The following might be considered yucky, so if you're eating, you may want to pass. And stop eating in front of your computer, you internet addict.

I just got over a quick but nasty cold. It pounced on me Friday, and I spent the whole day snotting and running to the kitchen for more paper towels. I know, right? Why use paper towels? Use kleenex like a normal person. Well maybe I like scraping up my tender nose on paper towels. Actually I don't, the paper towels were all I had. And for the record, when you spend Friday and Saturday in a constant state of fountain nose, the skin under your nose gets all scaly and peels on Monday. And when you think no one is looking and try to peel it off, some one will walk by and probably think you're a nose-picker. Just so you know.

Speaking of nose-pickers, on Sunday my sister and I were talking about the two kinds of kindergartners in the world: the booger-eaters and the paste-eaters. Sure, we'd all like to say we were paste-eaters. We'd also like to say that we don't know which one tastes better.

Now who's hungry?

Doggy Personals

My friend Eric has this awesome dog, Pupster (who I call Pugster). He's a great dog - friendly, sweet, not high strung or dangerous or anything. So I thought I'd do Puggy a favor and blog a personal ad for him, in case anyone with a cute sharpei happens across my site.

Single tan male sharpei seeks female dog for companionship - and maybe more! Enjoys romantic dinners, sunday drives, and eating young/elderly people. Want to experience "puppy love"? Send an email or call right away!
P.S. NO FAT DOGS!

Here's a photo of Pugster in all his glory. Isn't he precious?

Advertising Shmadvertising

So, you know how I signed up for Review Me? I actually got another site, besides their own site, to review. That's right kiddies, I'm getting paid to write this. Sweet, huh?

The site I'm reviewing is HotelReservations.com. It seems pretty similar to Orbitz and Hotwire. You can search for hotels, vacation rentals, car rentals, and flights. You can search different countries as well, but the only language besides English is Spanish. The site boasts that you can save up to 70% off of regular hotel prices. Since I'm not really looking to book a hotel any time soon, I did a search for a city I like, San Francisco. And then one I can stand, San Diego. In both hotel searches, I came up with a variety of hotels which can be sorted alphabetically, by price, by quality, and by best value. It seems like the "best value" options are generally about $10 off of what you'd normally pay per night.

As for the airfare deals, I noticed that their prices were about the same as Orbitz, maybe slightly cheaper. I think the main deals are to be found in their hotel prices. The site definitely isn't as pretty as more popular discount hotel/airfare sites, but that's fine. What matters is the kind of deal you get. I'm not terribly sure that I'd go with this site when it comes to buying tickets, just because I've never really heard of it, and I'm more inclined to go with companies I've actually heard of. Although priceline.com really angered me once, and I shall never use them again, nor encourage others to. I'd totally use this site over priceline. Die, priceline, die!

Anyway. With that said, feel free to give hotelreservations.com a try. You might find a good deal, and if so, more power to you.

The Real Question is "Why?"

A commercial for a new ER comes on.
"Oh my gosh, is that show still on?"
"No way. I thought that show ended a long time ago."

Is this everyone else's reaction too?

1 Holiday Party, 0 Meltdowns

So we had a holiday dinner party for my work yesterday. Usually I give myself a good 30 minutes before events such as these for freaking out, because that's how I am. I get all "I hate what I'm wearing, my makeup is sabotaging me on purpose, and that's it, I'm not going and you can't make me. And now I shall throw a fit worthy of a toddler."

But this time I didn't. Maybe it's because I'm growing up, but it's probably because I actually found a dress that I like. I know the pattern's a little "look at me," which is generally so not me, and it has red in it and I generally avoid red (for I am very white, and most of the time red looks good on people with pigment in their skin), but it worked. And you can't tell from the model wearing it, but the dress is really flattering for those who have curves. But the model wearing it has no curves, because y'know, I guess eating isn't her top priority. Fair enough.

Bloated Santa vs. Out-of-Control Frosty

Apparently, it's cool to put inflatable Christmas figures on your yard these days. But I've seen quite a few houses this year where the yards have been overtaken by inflatable Santas, reindeer, snowmen, etc. And that gets a little bit tacky. Really, one inflatable Christmas figure is enough. And since Santa and Frosty are the main two big guys, I think it's inevitable that they will fight to win their place in the yard. Who do you think would win?

Santa is obviously the popular one of the season. He's the one who brings the gifts and lets little kids sit on his lap and cry, or pee on him, whatever comes natural. He's overweight, but that obviously doesn't affect his health, because he's old, like, really old. Plus he's got that sack. Who knows what's in that sack? He could bash Frosty good with that sack. His weakness? Food. He loves him some food. Below, Santa waves at the masses, pretending he is Miss America.


But then you have Frosty, the frost man, the frostinator. He's new every winter, having melted (died) and been reincarnated on a yearly basis. He's like the phoenix. His weakness is definitely heat. But unless Santa comes after him with his corncob pipe, Frosty's good. Because if you hit him, he'll just reform. Snow people are like that. Below, you see that Frosty is 8 feet tall. Notice Frosty is preparing his boxing gloves for the fight. That little girl had better watch out.


But you know what? This is not what Christmas is all about. Secular Christmas is about peace and love, and materialism. Not fighting for dominion of the yard. So let's compromise, hmm?


That's more like it. Nothing brings people together (inflatable or not) like a Christmas tree.

You'll Shoot Your Eye Out

What's my opinion on guns? Well, seeing as how growing up, I was ALWAYS around them, I don't really have any problem with them. I have pictures of me holding a .22 rifle at a crazy-young age. My dad was a sniper in the Vietnam War, so he's always been really into shooting. So I learned gun safety at a young age. My dad's pretty much always had a rifle range of some sort on his land, so I got used to the sound of gun fire.

However. Then when I started getting a little older, I'd say about middle to high school age, I went into this phase where I thought guns were barbaric, killing animals was cruel, and I basically went into all-out rebellion against anything I considered "redneck". Yes, I was basically a hippie. Just with boot-cut jeans rather than bell bottoms and less leaning toward free love (and drugs. remember? high on living?). So anyway, that kind of carried out for a while. Then I went and got married and moved to California for four years. Over the course of that time that was sprinkled with yearly visits home, I saw Brandon's interest in shooting begin to blossom. And I realized, you know what? Who am I to deny my roots? My very gun-friendly, southern roots? I don't think killing animals is cruel as long as you're doing it for a good reason. Like thinning the numbers (a deer ran into my car once) or killing them for food. And shooting is fun, and actually takes more thought than one might imagine. Scopes and zeroing-in rifles is complicated, yo.

So anyway, all that to say, Brandon now owns a rifle. My dad got him one for Christmas - a left-handed one, at that. He gave it to him over Thanksgiving. We're keeping it at my dad's house because for one, our apartment is small and I don't know that the gun would mesh well, but for another, it's a long-range rifle, so it might be hard saying that we had it for protection. Generally, if someone is coming at you from 300 yards away, they're not really considered a threat. Silly, I know.

On to naming the rifle. Much like naming your car, one must name their rifle. My dad suggested an indian (or Native American) name, since it's a Savage brand rifle. I suggested Smoking Gun. Brandon at first suggested Sacagawea, but then after shooting the gun, changed his preference to Kickin' Wing. The name comes from Joe Dirt, but is most appropriate because the gun kicks.

Anyway, I guess this adds to Brandon's points when it comes to being an honorary southerner. Don't worry. Charlton Heston isn't his president. Yet.

Happy to Wake Up, for Once

I know, talking about dreams is a no-no. But seriously, I haven't had a weird dream like this in a long time. So forgive me, but I must share.

I dreamed I got a tattoo of a yellow duck on my collar bone, who was wearing a cape that wrapped up to the middle of my neck. The duck looked like this, except, of course, he was wearing a cape.


And immediately after I got the tattoo and observed it in the mirror, I regretted it deeply and flew into a panic when I thought about how much it would cost to get it removed. And then I thought about how much I hate turtle necks. That might have been the worst part, having to wear turtle necks. Ick!

Old Man Winter Stopped Being Lazy

The low tomorrow night is 20 degrees. Finally, winter is starting to get serious. There's a severe weather warning issued for our county, warning us that we'll have our first hard freeze of the year. Not a soft, wussy freeze. A freeze with muscles. I guess maybe we'll have to use our heater.

Then There!

So, how was your weekend? Relaxing? Get a lot done? Did you go out of town? Good for you!

I spent my weekend attempting to stay out of Brandon's way, as he has a big ole paper due sometime soon. So I went to Columbus on Saturday to go shopping with my sister. For once, my shopping endeavor was productive, and now I have gotten gifts for my mom and sister. Oh! And I found me a purse. Crazy, huh? I mean, c'mon, it's pretty unbelievable that I have gotten gifts for two people on my list in early December. But I also found a purse! And it was on sale! And it's pretty! And I can't find a picture online or I would post it.

We're getting ready to send out Christmas cards, and in light of the fact that we've had a ton of change this year, we're wondering if we should include some sort of update. I know, updates can be so lame. All braggy and fake. So I'm not sure if we'll be doing that yet.

Last night Brandon and I strung up some white Christmas lights in our apartment. It's nice because it feels Christmas-y even though we live in a closet and therefore have no room for a tree, but also, it's sort of reminiscent of a coffee shop. However, I was informed by a friend that a lot of druggies like hanging Christmas lights in their dwellings, so I'd like to make it clear that we are not druggies. We only get high on living! That last statement is best read in a Minnesota accent. In fact, most statements are best read in a Minnesota accent. You betcha.

World AIDS Day

Today is world AIDS day. I'm not really good at writing heartfelt things expressing my sympathy toward the countless people affected by AIDS and HIV and my hope that someday there will be a cure. I'm better in the sarcasm and ranting department.

Here's an article about HIV prevention.

Another Sign Life is Getting Too Complicated

When did salads get so fancy? When I was a kid, most of the salads at my house contained iceberg lettuce, carrots, and tomatoes. And you had your choice of ranch or thousand island dressing. Oh! And if things got really fancy, there were bacon bits or shredded cheese.

Now salads have evolved. Here is what little I know, or think I know, about salads. And this information is probably flawed and dated.
Iceberg lettuce is old school, replaced almost completely by spinach (when it's not tainted) and romaine lettuce. And you have to put thought into what goes together. Almonds go with sesame seed dressing. Sunflower seeds go with ranch dressing. Feta cheese meshes well with oil-based dressings. Rasberry vinaigrette goes with apples and craisins. And yes, fruit goes in salads.

When it comes to salads nowadays, I feel like someone at an all-you-can-eat buffet who has NO IDEA what to do with themself. Putting nacho cheese on top of the spaghetti and chili on top of the salmon. And what's sad is that salads shouldn't be complicated. Who is responsible for making them this way? And why am I getting so worked up simply because we've been given the task of bringing a salad to dinner tonight? It's just a salad! And you know what? I just may make it old-school style and say it's for the nostalgia.

Perhaps It's Time to Bring Back Nap Time

Edgy? Yeah, I've been feeling a little edgy lately. Things that grate on my nerves:

- Car doors that linger open for too long. Even if they're not beside an empty parking spot, doors are made for closing! Yes, it's irrational to get annoyed by that. Such is my mood.

- That feeling when my socks are slowly sagging down to my ankle. You know how I feel when that happens? Remember that scene on Pinnochio when Gepetto's socks are sliding down and the cat keeps rubbing up against his legs? Like that.
Or like suddenly my legs have been transformed below the knee into pale, wrinkly old lady legs with flesh colored socks with no elastic, and that the sock suspenders I usually wear aren't doing their job.

- That feeling when my dry skin snags fabric. What the heck? My skin's never gotten this dry before. Perhaps it's due to aging. I'm nearing my mid-twenties you know. But argh! Could there be a worse feeling? It's worse than running into a spider web.
Or hearing metal eating utensils scrape on plates.

- Crowds. Especially when the crowds are so bad that people actually bump into me. Haven't you heard of personal bubbles, people? You have germs, all of you! Worse germs than I do, I'm sure of it.

Obviously, I need me a weekend.