Happy Holla Dayz!

All I Want for Christmas

Have you heard of Elfster.com? I hadn't either until my family decided that this year we would do a secret santa gift exchange instead of everyone buying for everyone. My step-sister Jennifer found Elfster, which randomly assigns names, lets you set up a wish list, and even lets you anonymously ask your person questions.

You know there was way too much potential for me to be a complete smart ass. Here's my wishlist. (You have to click on every link.)

http://www.walmart.com/catalog/product.do?product_id=8832950

http://www.walmart.com/catalog/product.do?product_id=9107859

http://shopping.discovery.com/product-65909.html?jzid=40600652-0-0

http://winningisforthebirds.com/

http://www.footballfanatics.com/NFL_Philadelphia_Eagles/Philadelphia_Eagles_Fan_Helmet_Hat

http://farm1.static.flickr.com/188/365838782_c1b3f8d2ec.jpg?v=0

Elfster has standard questions you can ask your person, such as, "Who are your favorite authors?" or "What size shirt do you wear?", boring things like that. You know I had to spice it up a bit, so I asked my person the following:

"What do you want for Christmas?"

I'm all about taking the easy way out.

Of Absolutely Zero Interest or Importance

Recently, someone told me that I should write a book from my blog and become famous for it. I reminded this person that there's no way I could become famous from my blog because seriously, nothing interesting or blog worthy has happened to me for a long time. I'm in one serious dry spell. She then tried to convince me that even the not-interesting-not-blog-worthy stuff that happens to me can be funny and interesting to people.

You asked for it, you got it.

Please to enjoy the not-interesting-not-blog-worthy highlights of my life from the past month, in no particular order and completely not-smoothly-tied-together.

I went through a bad eating-Burger-King-in-bed-every-night phase. And by this I mean the drive thru guys knew me, they stopped charging me for cheese on my Whopper, and I was waking up with sesame seeds stuck to my thigh. Seriously.

Someone said to me, "Sorry I peed on you," and I won't go in to detail, but they really had accidentally peed on my shoe.

The bathroom at work has one of those automatic spritzing air fresheners mounted to the wall. But I swear it only spritzes when I'm sitting in there. Like clockwork, I'll sit down, and one minute later it spritzes...like it knows or something. Then it doesn't do it again the whole time I'm in there. But every time I pop a squat, no matter what time it is, that thing spritzes...I'm starting to take offense to it.

Someone said to me, "Sorry I blew snot on you," because I'd pinched his nostrils shut, which prompted him to blow out really hard, which blew snot on my hand, which caused me to start dry heaving, which taught me to never ever pinch anyone's nostrils shut ever again.

Back in September, I got a call from one of the subcontractors that works on our jobsites. He was calling to invite me to his company Christmas party. Again, he called me in September, which was so far in advance that I didn't have any legitimate reason to say no. So I used that as my excuse to stall - it was so far in advance that I didn't know what would be going on that night, but I told him I'd call him back and let him know.

So why would this be blog worthy? Let me start by saying that this guy is a very nice guy, always polite and nice to me. Very nice. But he's close to fifty years old, and is missing his front teeth. Plus I work with his company closely and know lots of their employees. Plus other employees told me that he usually takes questionable ladies to their Christmas party. And by questionable, I mean loose. Plus they all told me that this guy has a tendency to get absolutely wasted and sloppy and handsy at their parties.

So since September, it's been a joke on the jobsite about me going as this guy's date. Even his bosses were calling to give me a hard time about it. I finally decided that I would just be open minded and try something new, so I called him last week and apologized for taking so long to get back to him, but that if the invitation was still open, I'd love to go to his Christmas party.

Which is when he told me that he wasn't even sure if he could go, because he was supposed to have his kids that night. Which to me means that I took so long getting back to him that he found another questionable lady to take. Which is just fine with me, except that now I've been turned down by a fifty year old man with no front teeth. So I'll add that to my resume.

And that's all she wrote, folks!

There is No Title that Could Possibly Sum Up the Greatest Night of my Life

Saturday night, one of my wildest dreams came true.

Your eyes do not deceive you. That is New Kids on the Block, live in concert, blanketed in smoke machines and sexuality.

While most of the concert I looked like this:

the night did not start off as smoothly as I would have hoped. When our tickets got scanned at the door, we were informed that our section had been shut down and they were moving our seats from the front-row-of-the-upper-level-box-closest-to-the-stage, to the floor, three quarters of the way back from the stage. Meaning that instead of having no one blocking our view, we'd have three quarters of the floor space full of people blocking our view.

This is my "Oh hell no" face, and as you can see by the vomit face on the lady behind me, I wasn't the only one upset.

When calm rationalization didn't seem to effectively make my point to the lady who was giving us our "new and improved" seats, I felt my eyes welling up and a lump in my throat. We had purchased our tickets at the absolute first second they went on sale six months ago. We had strategically chosen the best seats at our price range, selected for our optimal viewing pleasure with no big heads in our way.

No way was I being bumped to the floor waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay back from the stage without a fight.

I planted both hands firmly on the table in front of me, leaned forward and forcefully pleaded my case. Thank goodness Nicole was there to document the moment.

"Listen, listen lady!!We bought these tickets specially advanced because we used an American Express card! We picked the absolute best seats we could afford.
We bought these tickets six months ago.
(Sniffle sniffle, dramatic pause for effect)
But I haven't just been waiting six months to see New Kids on the Block.
I've been waiting my whole life."

I'd like to thank the Academy. Now bring on the New Kids!

This was my face when Jordan came on. He was hands down my first love. I had dangly earrings that said "I Heart Jordan", I had the Jordan doll (and Bone Senior had the Joey doll - don't believe her when she tells you she didn't love him), every single trading card in existence, and a semi-pornographic poster hanging above my bed of Jordan with his shirt half off and his braided rat tail over his shoulder. So hot.I think they had about fifteen costume changes. Here we see Sensitive All-White Sexy Men. Here we also see Jordan's pained expression as he hits those falsetto notes.
This picture is just for Bone Senior because deep down I know she still has love for Joey.
Every time his face was on the big screen or he did a solo, I turned to my friend and screamed, "He is SO CUTE!!!!" And PS - When did Donnie Wahlberg become sexy??And oh my gosh I just about peed myself again when Jordan came out and did this solo, as you can tell by the way I scream at the end. I'm such a little girl.
(Please forgive the poor audio)

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for. The New Kids in all their old school glory, and me, screaming like a fourteen year old girl on a roller coaster. Please to enjoy.

I screamed myself hoarse and my ears were ringing for two days. Hands down the best concert I've ever been to, and totally worth the fifteen-year wait.

Kids Say the Darndest Things

Last night I was staying overnight to babysit two little girls that I used to sit for a few years ago. They wanted to watch "Hairspray", and since I love me some Zac Effron, who am I to object. We were about halfway through the movie when the seven-year-old turns to me thoughtfully...

Girl: You know, I think this movie is teaching us a lesson.

Bone Junior: Yeah? What's that?

Girl: Fat people? They can DANCE!

And here I thought the lesson from "Hairspray" was that Zac Effron is a total dream boat.

In Which Cinemark Messes With the Wrong Bee-yatch

You know I love me some movies. I've blogged before about how particular I am about my seats, how I can't miss the previews, how a loud nose breather can ruin the movie for me, etc etc. I'm even particular about the theaters I go to - there's a certain one that I refuse to visit because of the terrible seats and leg room. In other words, I'm a total movie snob, and I'm OK with that.

Last Friday, Nicole and I decided to check out the grand opening of a new theater nearby. I'm a fan of Cinemark theaters, so I thought it would be a nice change of pace to drive the extra few miles and see how well New Theater measured up to Favorite Theater. Favorite Theater is less than two miles away, has covered parking, and is part of the mall. It was going to be tough for New Theater to woo me.

We bought our tickets and commented on the distractingly bright carpet, but otherwise it was so far so good. New Theater was stacking up well against Favorite Theater... digital marquis outside each theater, memory foam seats, "new smell" in the lobby. Nicole and I got our favorite seats - front row behind the railing, middle of the row. Ok, New Theater, maybe you have a chance.

Correction. New Theater had a chance until about halfway through the movie when an usher came in and stood directly in front of us. She said something to me, and being fully invested in the movie, since, you know, it was still playing and it was right in the middle, I didn't understand what she said and asked her to repeat herself.

Usher: Please take your feet off the railing.

Blink. Blink.

Bone Junior: What??

Usher: Please take your feet off the railing.

Bone Junior: Why??

Usher: It ruins the paint.

Oh hell no.

I slowly took my feet down and narrowed my eyes at the usher. At this point in time, I didn't fully comprehend what had happened, because I became too distracted by the usher as she made her way around the theater and asked everyone who had their feet up on the seat in front of them to put their feet down.

Yes, really. She went around to each and every person in that theater who had their feet up on the seat in front of them. If no one is sitting in front of you, when do you NOT have your feet up? I couldn't believe what was happening.

For the rest of the movie, I sat there and stewed about it. Never in my life have I been told to take my feet off the railing. What is the point of the railing if you can't put your feet up? Isn't that the whole reason for its existence - to create the highest level of comfort for me at the movies??

I couldn't even concentrate on the end of the movie. That snooty usher had managed to completely ruin the movie for me, and I planned on having words with the manager afterwards.

Which I did, and which did not have the desired effect that I had hoped. Said manager was a young guy with a fancy ear piece that he kept messing with as I was talking to him. Thank you, manager, I realize you're sooooo important at the MOVIE THEATER that you need an earpiece.

I asked if it was Cinemark's policy to have ushers come in and rudely interrupt the middle of the movie by disrupting patrons and telling them to take their feet off the railing and seats. He said, "Sometimes."

Sometimes? Sometimes they're anal about the paint on their railings? It's not like I was wearing baseball cleats or tap shoes and scraping away on their precious railing. Although next time I think I might do just that.

Extremely Important Manager was extremely unimpressed with my complaint, which I'm totally not used to. Just ask Yanaj - usually if I raise a fuss, I get what I want out of it. She's been aparty to many embarrassing episodes of my shaking fist that more often than not result in discounted meals, movie ticket rainchecks, or chocolate syrup in my water ice / custard combo for only twenty-five cents more instead of the advertised dollar more because there's no way I'm paying a dollar for a squiggly little ribbon of chocolate syrup!

My point being that Extremely Important Manager's Extreme Lack of Interest in my dissatisfaction was making me even more irritated. So I decided to pull my final card.

I looked him square in the eye, pointed my finger in his face, and said in a low, threatening voice, "I am never coming back to this theater again!" Then I turned on my heels and marched out of there with my head held high and said confidently to Nicole, "I think I made my point."

And just in case I didn't, I emailed the owner of the theater and gave him an earful about my Extreme Dissatisfaction with his New Theater. In my email, I told him that I was a writer for a "popular entertainment outlet", and that I was going to tell all my readers to never patron his theater.

So, readers of this "popular entertainment outlet", never go to the Cinemark University Mall in Orem Utah.

Now I think I've made my point.

He's Baaaaaaaaaaaack!

Who wore it better?

Ozzy or Samuel?

Tinkie Winkie or Samuel?

I think Samuel pulls it off splendidly. However, due to the fact that his head is made of plastic, Samuel could never pull off a classic face like this:
Can you tell how I feel about this guy? If my face doesn't make my feelings obvious, then the fact that I posted this video should leave no doubt in your mind:

No words necessary. Score one for the Bone.

You Can Be Joyus, You Cannot Be a Jackass

There have been very few moments in my life where I've cried tears of joy. Most of them have happened in the past year or so. These moments include:

- when Li'l Mil was born;

- when I got my new Mustang;

- when I got my new ginormous bazoombas;

And finally, this momentous occasion:I literally sobbed tears of joy last night when the Phillies finally won the World Series. Now if only the Eagles could get in on a little championship action, I could die a happy woman with an adorable nephew, a sweet Mustang, and ginormous bazoombas.

I Suppose I Should Be Flattered?

Yesterday I was at a stoplight being noticeably eyed by two guys in a Jetta next to me. In case you didn't catch that, it was two guys in a Jetta. A Jetta. There's nothing wrong with a Jetta if you're a 19-year-old blonde girl with a Roxy sticker in the back window. But this was two guys.

And also they both looked like this:Meaning they both had the swept-back-Gotti-boys hairdo, not the pouty lips and nice skin tone. And they were both wearing headbands. Headbands!

I was staring straight ahead to avoid eye contact, but I could see the driver give me the standard head nod out of my peripheral vision. Unfortunately my window was down so I couldn't ignore him when he started shouting across the traffic lanes, asking my name. It's so awesomely embarrassing to see the looks on the faces of other drivers who overheard me shouting my name three times because he couldn't understand me.

And to answer your question, yes, I shouted my phone number to him. Sure he drives a Jetta and has amazingly bad hair that I'm sure he believes to be amazingly awesome; but at the very least, it gives me something entertaining to blog about. Stay tuned.

Catch Me If You Can...And Apparently You Can

You know what's funny? Getting pulled over on the SAME ROAD twice in 48 hours.

You know what's annoying? Getting a ticket the first time, but a warning the second time.

You know what's really freaking sweet? Having the second cop ask you if you're aware that it's a federal offense to deface official state documents...Oh, you mean this defacing of official state documents, officer?
That's right. Permanent marker on my license plate.

I told the officer that the real crime here was the defacing of my beloved Eagles, not the defacing of official state documents. He didn't laugh, then told me to get some Goof Off and get rid of it.

Thanks again to the superintendents I work with for helping me to create this post.

I Won Too!

I've won a major award! It could be a bowling alley! Or just the deed to it...

Not quite as tangible as this major award, but it will do. And since I'm not feeling witty or creative, I will plagiarize verbatim Andi Mae.

Somebody loves my blog and has awarded me the honor of answering a few questions...with only one word. For being a verbose chatterbox, we'll see how this goes...

1. Where is your cell phone? I was going to say, "Right in front of me," but then I remembered that these are supposed to be one word answers, and this quiz is going to be harder than I thought so... close? My cell phone is close? Is that right?
   
2. Where is your significant other? Hahahahahahahahahahaha. Does that count as one word?
   
3. Your hair color? dark
   
4. Your mother? pale
5. Your father? tan
   
6. Your favorite thing? Mustang
   
7. Dream last night? pastries...cinnamon rolls to be exact, but that's two words...dumb rules. And stop harping on the fact that I'm using more than one word - the point is that I actually dreamed about cinnamon rolls, people.
   
8. Your goal? fame
9. The room you're in? office
   
10. Your hobby? movies
11. Your fear? SPIDERS
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? famous
    
13. Where were you last night? work
14. What you're not? unfunny
    
15. One of your wish-list items? Reverse-C door stripes for my mustang - I'm sorry, there's no way to condense that into one word. Deal with it.
    
16. Where you grew up? C'Ville
    
17. The last thing you did? Typed. Duh, I'm doing this survey, aren't I? What else could I be doing except typing? Brainstorming?
    
18. What are you wearing? Double D's hahahahahahahahah I crack myself up.
    
19. Your TV? big
20. Your pet? FatDragon. See how I made that into one word?
    
21. Your computer? slooooooooooooooow
22. Your mood? PMSsy
23. Missing someone? sister
24. Your car? HOT
25. Something you're not wearing? A's! hahahahahahah. Reference #18 if you don't get it. I still crack myself up.
    
26. Favorite store? Buckle
27. Your summer? tanorexic
28. Love someone? Elvis
29. Your favorite color? purple
30. When is the last time you laughed? today
31. Last time you cried? today

I'm supposed to give this major award to more people, but...I fear that no one will be quite as witty and clever as myself, so I'll save you all the trouble of trying to live up to my standards. And yes, today I really am that cocky.

Check Me Out in All My Majesty

This week, I realized that I am featured in four other blogs! How's that for cool points?

Here I am, mentioned on my sister's blog.

Here's the report of the first official meeting between two bloggers - myself and $teve. (scroll down down down)

Here's me in the background of a birthday BBQ that I crashed in Philadelphia. (in the video at the bottom...keep your eyes peeled!)

Aaaaaaaaaand here's me being called out publicly because my beloved Eagles lost to the Bears AGAIN this year. Luckily I didn't have to remove any stickers from my car this time. I simply had to endure hours of trash-texting from Hizznizzle, his brother, the landscaper, and then some guy I don't even know who was a Bears fan. Talk about a sausage party... but really, when Hizznizzle is involved, is it really any surprise that there are sausages aplenty?

Thanks for all the shout outs! Enjoy your sausages, Hizznizzle!

In My Face

So I guess you're tired of watching me and Zac doing the dance of love...

I steal most of my good lines from the tv show Scrubs. In your endo, the moth joke, etc. One of my favorites is the number one best comeback of all time: "So's your face." I say it to almost everything, especially when it doesn't make sense.

When the accountant told me that my budget was off? "So's your face."

When the excavator said that the house we're working on is ugly and lopsided? "So's your face."

When the superintendent texted me that he saw me staring at my own boobs? "So's your face."

After delivering all these primo insults, I was a little taken aback when the Spanish-speaking tile guy (who last week, when he asked if I was Mexican and I said no; then asked if my mother was Mexican) used my own line against me.

Bone Junior: The tile in the kitchen looks really good.

Tile Guy: So's your face.

Bone Junior: Blink blink. Um, what?

Tile Guy: Your face looks good.

Bone Junior: I don't speak Spanish...

And that's how well I take a compliment.

In the Meantime

As much as it shames me to admit it, I'm so gay for Zac Effron. But my heart belongs to Batman. And apparently I'm twelve.

Please to enjoy.

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A Physics Equation

Super sweet Mustang + 80 mph + giant rubber tire in the middle of the freeway =

And the correct answer is: cracked & scratched bumper, busted AC condenser, dented radiator, broken scratch guard, broken fuel line clips, and the grand finale - lower grill completely gone.

Total damage = $1,113.51

I am so glad I didn't pay to have my bumper fixed when that sweeper attachment jumped out in front of me...

The only thing that made me feel better was when I was leaning across the table to help a 3-year-old girl color, and she exclaimed, "Hey! Dem your boobies!"

Yes they are, sweet child. Yes, they are.

Thanks, Dad.

Last night, I was talking on the phone to my dad, when he felt the need crack open an egg of wisdom over my head.

Bone Daddy: Dear, if you want to get married, you have to do two things. First, stop being such a wise ass; and second, stop being so flip. Those things can be intimidating.

Bone Junior: Really? Because I happen to find those qualities quite endearing.

First of all, I don't even know what it means to be 'flip'. Then again, this is coming from the same man who on the night of my senior prom, told me I looked 'very sharp.'

And here I thought I wasn't married because I don't cook. Thank goodness for the wisdom of fathers.

In Your Face, Hizznizzle

Today I found an article on MSN that ranked the ten best fan bases in the NFL. Hizznizzle, and all Cowboys fans, please to enjoy the results.

#10 - Dallas Cowboys

This fan base, which was really a bunch of bandwagon jumpers during the Aikman-Irvin-Emmitt dynasty, transformed into diehards. With fans in every city, "America's Team" has become wildly popular. Simple folks flock to the star and seem to be enamored with it, but the rules about cheering for a team you have no connection with is still a violation.

#9 - Chicago Bears

Where else can you not put any kind of offensive threat on the field for 20-some years and still have a packed stadium every season? Bears fans come out regardless of the terrible management keeps rolling out players such as Grossman, Orton, Griese, Benson, Salaam, Enis, etc.

And the number one fan base in the NFL IS.....

#1 - Philadelphia Eagles

Some might call this biased, but the most passionate fans in all of sports are without question Philadelphia Eagles fans. They're cold-blooded and probably give KC a run for their money as being the loudest. They are by far the most knowledgeable fans in the league, and invented the perfect "boo." What cemented Philadelphia fans' reputation as the most amoral, loathsome collection in sports is famously called The Booing of Santa Claus. You would boo and throw snow balls too if Santa came out drunk in a half-done costume. Eagles' fans must deal with sports owners whose actions have not produced a champion in 25 years. The Eagles haven't hoisted a championship flag in 48 years, but the waiting list for season tickets is so long that you could sell out three stadiums full of Eagles fans for games.And this is where my gloating begins - it's officially football season!!

The Park City Mustang Show: Where All My Wildest Dreams Came True

Saturday morning I got a call from a co-worker, telling me that I had to get my butt up to Park City because there were about two hundred Mustangs lining Main Street.

A few hours later, I was strolling down Main Street with a huge ridiculous grin plastered on my face, oooh-ing and aaah-ing at all the different Mustangs, and getting amazing ideas to pimp my ride. Mirrors!! On the inside of the hood!!!

This one was my hands down, absolute favorite. It has all the common elements of things that I love: purple, sparkly, bad ass, and has horses on it.

Let's take a closer look...

Aaaaaaaand let's take an even closer look...That's right. I'm not above shamelessly drawing attention to my little ta ta's.
Really I just wanted you to be able to see what my shirt says.
Find your own variation at www.savethetatas.com.

Finally!!

Something amazing and incredible happened this morning. Something I'd been waiting for months to say finally came to be.

In our weekly team meeting, as per usual the conversation had become peppered with "That's what she said" lines from the estimator.

Mitch: Hey guys, can we please stop with all the sexual innuendo?

Bone Junior: In YOUR endo!

So I admit that I totally ripped this line from "Scrubs", but I've been waiting for SO LONG for the perfect opportunity to use it, that I don't care if it's stolen - the pay off was worth it.

Snooty? Snotty.

It's fair to say that I get made fun of on a daily basis for the way I pronounce certain words. (Anyone from Pennsylvania will identify with what I'm talking about here). For example, 'horrible' is 'harrible'; 'orange' is 'ahrange'; 'forehead' is 'farhead', etc etc. My crowning glory is 'wood-er' (water).

Whenever I use any of these words at work, a co-worker will immediately stop and say, "What's wood-er?" My typical response is, "Oh, I'm sorry. Waaaaahhhhhhhhhter." Sigh. Eye roll. It drags out a lot of conversations.

I'm so tired of being "corrected" and I'm so arrogant that I called into a morning radio show to correct the on-air host for her pronunciation of "Reading Railroad", a la Monopoly. Unfortunately, instead of sounding educated, I sounded just plain pompous.

"Um, hiiii. I was just calling to tell you that it's pronounced Redding? Not Reading Railroad? Yeeeeah. It was originally the Philadelphia and Redding railroad, before the Redding company split off in the 1920's?....yeah, and there's a city in Pennsylvania named Redding, and there's even a baseball team called the Redding Phillies.... I'm from there? So, you know....yeah."

I am such an ass.

Character Witness

This weekend, on our way home from the pool, Nicole and I were comparing sun damage. She gets cute freckles all across her shoulders while I am uniformly the color of deck stain.

Bone Junior: I wish I got freckles like you. It adds character.

Nicole: (Sigh) Bone Junior, if you had any more character, I don't know what I'd do with you.

Case in Point: If you ever get pulled over for going 64 in a 35, make sure the cop has a sense of humor before handing him this when he asks for your license and registration:Otherwise he might threaten to slap you with falsely identifying yourself along with a hefty speeding ticket. Hypothetically.

Because I'm a Grownup

My recent "Anonymous" post got a lot of attention, hence the comments. And while it warmed my heart to get everyone's general agreement that Anonymous isn't worth another minute of my time, there were some hilarious, strongly worded comments that I loved, but I chose not to post.

Why? Mostly because I don't want to start some kind of underhanded war with Anonymous. I just want to let it lie, because I made my point. Posting those comments would be juvenile.

And then I emailed the comments to my friends so that we'll have one more thing to laugh about together. Because that's the mature thing to do.

Mobile Shout Out Part 3

Happy Anniversary Hoss & Rose!

Here's to another four years of student hood!

It seems like just yesterday I was looking at these pictures and peeing myself and making everyone at work come look at them and peeing some more from laughing so hard. This is my favorite memory of you, which might be kind of weird, since I wasn't even there... maybe it's because my sister is cracking up as you're suffering and dry heaving, and I know that had I been there, I would've done the exact same thing. The exact same thing as in cracking up, not as in dry heaving and suffering.

Here's Looking at You, Anonymous

You know what's awesome about having Sitemeter on your blog?

Let's say, hypothetically, "someone" named "anonymous" looked at your blog and left a really mean comment; hypothetically, saying that you should have gotten lipo instead of getting new boobs.

Hypothetically, with the help of Sitemeter, you'd be able to find out exactly who the person was. You could find out their IP address, their longitude and latitude, their server provider, what time they left the comment, how long they looked at your blog, how often they look at your blog, where they were before they got to your blog, and where they went after.

And putting all these elements together, you'd be able to find out exactly who the person is that feels the need to anonymously post his opinion about your body. But instead of posting that information, you could choose to take the high road. Because it's someone that you actually know, and now he knows that you know it's him - because he reads your blog regularly.

And your best defense is to take pleasure in the fact that you know he's not worth another second of your time or thoughts.

Hypothetically.

Mobile Shout Out Part 2

Happy Anniversary, Andi & Adam!It seems like only four years ago that we were playing bachelorette games in your grandma's basement. Remember this handsome fella?

Good times, noodle salad. Happy four years!!

Mobile Shout Out

Happy Anniversary, Barbie & Mike!

It seems like only yesterday when I was sleeping on the couch at the colony and you came home from a date and didn't know I was on the couch and I awkwardly heard you making out at the door.

Congrats on your anniversary - you've been able to awkwardly make out whenever you want for seven years now. Way to go!

This is What 1380 CC's of Saline Looks Like

I decided to forgo posting the 'before' pictures because they were so unflattering; and really, the less everyone sees of my small, sad little boobies, the better. Suffice it to say that it didn't look like I had boobs until I put on my padded uplift bra. That being said...

Ta da!
There is still some swelling, so I'm wearing an ace bandage to strap them down for another week. But not too shabby for two weeks after surgery, eh??

It's Been a Tramautic Week

During the course of the past seven days, I have done the following:

- Thrown up in Erin's car;

- Had nightmares that a small man was sitting on my chest suffocating me;

- Nearly passed out when the nurse yanked the surgical tape off my brand new boobs, ripping the skin off in the process and causing blisters;

- Didn't poop for six days;

- Slept sitting up every night;

- Had an emotional breakdown when I took my first post-surgery shower (three days after surgery...I know. I'm gross) and saw my bruised, battered, and broken looking new boobs in the mirror. Crying and wailing continued when I tried to raise my arms to wash my hair for the first time;

- Had an emotional recovery when I bought my first cute new bra and rejoiced at the size.

And then... there was last night. I don't know if I can recount the details of the most horrific, traumatic, terrifying thing that's ever happened to me.

First I need to explain that for the past week (and for the next two weeks) my brand new boobs are wrapped in an ace bandage (otherwise they'd pop out the top of my turtleneck) and I have to wear a granny bra on top of that. It's quite the attractive combination.

Last night, due to the fact that I live in the desert, I was sleeping on top of my covers in my skivvies. And by skivvies, I'm referring of course to the sexy hot granny bra and ace bandage. I was thisclose to falling asleep when in my semi-sleep stupor, I felt something crawling on my hand.

I sat straight up in bed and flailed my hand before leaping up and turning on the lamp. If it was a fly, no big deal. But if it was the alternative...a spider...I had to have a visual, hone in on the target, and destroy it.

I spent several minutes scouring my bed and all surrounding areas, but didn't find whatever had been crawling on me. Which made me feel even more unsettled. If I could just see it and know what was there...

I finally convinced myself that it had only been a fly and went to turn the lamp off. When I looked down, I nearly fainted from fright. There, on my brand new boob, was a huge crusty spider. Right. On. My. Boob.

As you can imagine, I let out a manly wail and started to flail, except it was more of a panicked waving motion, as my boobs are so sore, I didn't dare touch them. Not only did the spider not fall off, but it proceeded to crawl across the ace bandage towards my brand new cleavage.

At this point, I started to cry and flail more violently, except this time I bent forward at the waist and did some kind of shimmy (which I'm sure was incredibly attractive and all sexy like) in an effort to stop the spider from reaching my actual skin. Which somehow incredibly shook the spider off my body to the floor, where I promptly grabbed a sneaker and bashed the living hell out of it, crying the whole time.

I'm amazed that my neighbors didn't come over to make sure I hadn't been raped and pillaged.

Then again, judging from the screams they heard, they probably thought I was a man.

Still Alive

I'm still alive, and almost four pounds heavier!

As I'm still coming out of my percocet-induced haze, I haven't been doing much except for laying around and having nightmares that someone is sitting on my chest trying to suffocate me.

And I owe a million thank-you's to all the people who have called, texted, and emailed to see how I'm doing. And especially to Erin and Nicole for their round-the-clock nursing duties. And also sorry to Erin for puking in her car.

"After" pictures to come as soon as my chest doesn't look like a battered wife anymore.

My Car Got Gang Banged

I looked out the office window today and was not at all surprised to see the latest stunt of three superintendents:And yes, I am one of "those people" who parks way far away from everyone else to avoid door dings, and now, gang bangs.

In Which I Become A Woman

"Dad, now that I'm twenty-six, and an adult, I've made the decision to get a boob job."

Blink. Blink.

My sixty-year-old father sat across from me last weekend and stared at me as if I'd just told him that I'd eloped with my twice-my-age boyfriend at the Little Chapel in the Woods at Graceland, and by the way, I'm having his love child and can we stay with you for awhile? Then he proceeded to unload on me all of his fatherly "wisdom"; and by "wisdom" I mean, "I'm your father and I know everything about everything and there is no way in hell I'm supportive of the fact that you're making a huge mistake that you'll regret for the rest of your life."

Suffice it to say, breaking my big news to my dad did not go well.

But for the rest of you, I hope that breaking my big news goes much better.That, my friends, is a preview of the "After" result of my boob job which is happening...IN ONE WEEK! Yes, really. And everyone is invited to a "Bon Voyage Bone Junior's Boobies" dinner this Saturday night.

So if I don't blog much for the next little bit, it's probably due to a combination of the following reasons:

- My stomach is in knots as the surgery gets closer;

- I'm working on a eulogy for my sad little boobies;

- I'm shopping for all my post-op necessities: a large bra, lots of water, crackers, Benadryl, Step Up 2: The Streets on DVD, and lots of Percocet;

- I'm recovering from the pure exhilaration of seeing the midnight showing of The Dark Knight this Thursday;

- I'm so freaking excited to finally get ginormous bazoombas.

Where Do These People Come From and How Do They Always Find Me?

You know what I don't understand? I don't understand why some people think its okay to go up to a stranger and just blurt out whatever they're thinking.

Like when I was waiting for my two-hours-delayed flight at the Philadelphia Airport on Monday, quietly enjoying a peanut butter cup blizzard thingy from TCBY, and an older black businessman comes right up to me and says, "You know you shouldn't be eating that."

Blink. Blink.

Bone Junior: Are you saying that I'm fat?

Businessman: Um, no, ahem, no no no, I'm just saying it's bad for you.

Bone Junior: (shoving another spoonful into my mouth) Right, well thanks for the heads up, but its frozen yogurt, so it's not that bad, and I'm going to keep eating it disirregardless of your opinion.

At this point, any normal person would take the hint that they've already crossed the line with me and would go away. Not this guy. He continued to stand there and tried to engage me in conversation to the point of calling me a Phoenician from ancient Mesopotamia because of my skin coloring. Other topics touched upon include Barack Obama, my nose, my birth order, my age, him asking me to guess his age, and his opinion that if he had lived during the times of slavery that he would have been an ideal candidate for breeding. Yes, really.

The conversation ended when he told me that he believed we were kindred spirits and that he could see it in my eyes.

Buh-bye.

Let the Crying Commence

Final Score:

Sweeper attachment = 1

Bone Junior = 0